Unknowingly, a co-worker threw down the gauntlet.”Did you ride today? If you rode today, you’d be a man,” he said.No, I didn’t ride, but not because of any gender issues, thankyouverymuch.I didn’t ride Saturday, just as the cold wave started to roll in, because of a balky Achilles tendon, not because I’m afraid of a little chill.Saturday marked the 11th straight day I’ve been unable to ride my bike to work. My only pedal time has been two 10-minute stints on an exercise bike at the physical therapist’s office, and by Sunday I’d had enough.If I can ride the bike to nowhere, I figured, I can ride a real bike, so I bundled up and geared up, and, boy, is it good to be back in the saddle.Or maybe I should say it felt good to be back in the saddle once I thawed out.Despite longjohns, two pairs of socks, three pairs of gloves, three tops, a hat and a neck gaiter, I have to admit I felt the chill Sunday. By the time I made it home for dinner, the wind chill was a brisk 8 below.That’s not the coldest it has been for a ride to work, but it’s the coldest I can recall for a long time.And, honestly, except for the very ends of the dangly bits — fingertips, toes and the tip of the nose — I didn’t feel all that chilled.The long layoff might have had something to do with it.Or maybe it was the fire in the fireplace I had roaring within minutes of my arrival home.Whatever, it was good to be back on the bike … but not good enough to get me back out there Sunday night. I drove to work for the second part of my shift, but if anybody asks, I’ll insist it was to protect my Achilles.My manhood has nothing to do with it.
