Years ago I was in Colorado Springs, in February. I had my Cross-Check with me, which I happily rode around town, fixed, with a single disc brake on the front.
Although windy, it was not terribly cold, and one day I had nothing to do but ride my bike. I figured, with my eastern sensibility, no snow down here, and warm weather, it would just be a smidge colder if I climbed into the nearby mountains and rode back down on some trails. My bike had very wide cross tires (or narrow mtb tires, depending on your perspective) and flared drop bars, run very high (the bars, not the tire pressure). A bit of dirt would not be a problem.
Before leaving that morning, I flopped my hub to the freewheel side, knowing the lower gearing would be a good thing. Up I climbed, passing and being passed by various roadies, enjoying the brisk and sunny day.
This climb was of my favorite type; the first mile or two were paved, which turned to dirt, followed by single track. Perfect, and something I miss here in Pittsburgh. Near the top I stop to get my bearings and head into the single track seeing how far I could spin my 42-20 gearing. This is where I ran into my first few patches of snow.
I continued to climb, doing more riding than walking thankfully. Got a few weird looks from various hikers. Didn't see a single other biker on the trail, probably should have been my first clue. The snow was spare and for the most part rideable.
Kept climbing, hit bigger patches of snow. Topped out, ate some food, dropped down the backside. You know, the backside of the mountain that got very little sun. It did get snow, and it was still there. I’m a pretty stubborn person, so I didn’t turn around. People hike in Colorado, even in the winter. So the snow was packed down. Packed down to the point of being hard and frozen, you know, like ice. Remember when I talked about how many brakes I had, and what wheel it was on?
So there I am, careening down a mountainside singletrack, hanging on for dear life. The trail was a series of off-camber, packed-down snow with a steep scree slope dropping off to the valley below followed by 10 feet of bare dirt. After a bit I developed a technique. Off the brakes, roll, slid and skidder across the icy snow, front tire hits dirt, brake!!!!, slow to a crawl, let off the brake, enter the ice zone, pick up speed, remind myself to relax, almost lose it and tumble down the hill, dirt! brake!, repeat!
Eventually, I made it down and off the single track, without crashing. I have no idea how. The trail spit me out on a wide fireroad, angled slightly downhill. It was also covered with snow hard packed by hundreds of hikers. After the long decent on the treacherous singletrack, I managed to crash hard enough on this road to bloody my knee in the first 50 feet. Better that than ending up freezing to death in some scree filled valley. After crashing I couldn’t get more than 20 feet without a get off. So I ended up walking miles until the snow petered out.
Moral of the story?
Buy some studded tires.