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janestarzEven though KNMI predicted 0 mm of rain, and Rijnmond's own Ed Aldus predicted only a light shower in the afternoon... it was snowing heavily around 3 pm yesterday. Though a very pretty sight, it did not bode well for cycling home that afternoon.
I checked Buienradar for the snows, and realised that coming home dry would be hard. The predictions for the rest of the week were no better, and I wasn't about to leave my new recument bicycle standing around at work for a week or two!
At five I saw one last spot of 'rain' overhead on Buienradar and changed into my cycling clothes. I added the turtleneck I wore during the day to the already 5 layer-outfit. By the time I took my bicycle outside, there was some heavy shower going on. Melted snow, i.e. "ice rain" was dropping in big flecks. Cold enough to be just above freezing, big enough to be masquerading as snowflakes, and enough of it to seriously hinder traffic. By the time I got to one of the two traffic lights on my route, my lycra pants were thoroughly soaked.
The bike paths were a mess: at least five centimeters of snow had been compacted by traffic, but at least it wasn't melting yet, so it was steadily slippery (not at all like half-molten slush, which is just dead tricky to navigate), but I could manage. I was quite surprised at how well the cycling still went. Recumbent cycling is a little more tricky on keeping your balance than sitting-up cycling, mostly because you haven't had 15 to 20 years to perfect the craft. But I managed quite well, thank you very much.
The rest of the traffic was at least as careful as I was on the road. Cars rode by slowly, the streets a mess of slush and compacted snow, creating pockets of tricky slipperiness here and there. The ice rain half-blinded the cyclists, and people on mopeds and scooters were driving only slightly faster than I was. Everyone was taking care, some holding their feet at ground level, should they slip.
The ice rain really spoiled my day, though. By the time I reached the roundabout at the Van Stolberglaan, I felt that near my armpit water was soaking through the numerous layers. My pants were soaking wet, my shoes no better. Cycling through the snow was tough, requiring more balance, precision and strength than usual.
As I reached the Nutricia building where I follow Fietspad 14 down the A12, I saw that the path was marginally better there, asphalt could be seen among the snow. But because of the building on one side and the highway on the other, that wouldn't be an accurate portayal of how the Rottekade would be. With no fence around the water and snow and ice accumulating, cycling down the Rottekade on a cold day could be a death trap (imagine slipping, sliding into the water, and having your bike along with your bag and mobile phone sinking down while you're freezing to death...)
Instead, I chose to stop, lift my bike up the station steps, and buy a trainticket for myself and my bike. Luckily I didn't have to wait long, and the train was empty enough to accomodate the recumbent. I parked it in the back until the conductor needed acces to his cubbyhole there.
At Gouda I had to switch trains, and I parked my bike out of everyone's way until the staircase was clear. Though recumbents usually fit into elevators, the elevators are often used as a restroom for impatient humanoid males, and very smelly. I lifted my bike down one flight of stairs and up the other.
At the other platform an intercity was still waiting to depart for Rotterdam, and I was a little disappointed to see people standing wegded together. I walked with the bike to the front of the platform, but it wasn't any better there. Worse still, a conductor was motioning at people through the window to walk on, so the people in third class near the doors would have more space. In the end, he gave up, and started shouting at the passengers that they wouldn't be departing. "It's too dangerous, and if nobody will listen and make room for one another, this train will be canceled." Sure enough, the signs over the platform soon changed to "No boarding" and the conductors disappeared into the front compartiment where the train driver was waiting.
On the other side of the platform, where usually the trains towards Den Haag depart from, a Sprinter arrived, which would be going to Rotterdam. Half the people in the now cancelled intercity stepped into the Sprinter, hoping it would go. I waited, not wanting to bother everyone with my bike, even though my legs were nearly freezing.
The Sprinter departed, and the conductors stepped out of the stranded intercity again. People came up to him now, asking him what the hell he was thinking. "It's Monday for us too, you know" one woman said, but he was not to be dissuaded. "If it's not safe, I'm not letting the train depart. It's my call, my responsibility."
People were getting very angry now. "You're just shifting the problem around. People will still have to travel home, only now they're moved to a different train!" one man shouted. I readied myself. I would leave my bike completely unattended if it meant I could save the conductor from a beating, and things were starting to go into that direction. People were getting really frustrated, voices rose, and I think if there had been only one conductor there, he'd have been in trouble. But there were three others standing around, portophone in hand, and there wasn't a fight.
In the end, the conductors agreed to go by each door in turn, leaving the main conductor (who had cancelled the train in the first place) at the front-most door. They would call in as each door was secure and safe. People got into the train again (most of those with a seat never bothered to get up in the first place), but thanks to the Sprinter it was far less crowded than before. One by one the doors closed, and I heard the other conductors sound off through the portophone. Finally, the front door closed, but the train did not depart yet.
Meanwhile, the 17.52 intercity never showed up, but the 17.57 Sprinter did. Even though it would stop a lot more, I opted to get in. The intercity could have harbored me and my bike, but I chose not to bother the poor man any more. The Sprinter had plenty of space, and I put my bike out of the way so nobody would be bothered by it.
Our Sprinter left, the troublesome intercity still standing around waiting on the other side of the platform.
In Rotterdam there was considerably less snow on the streets and it was thawing but I made it home safely enough. I took my safety reflection vest along upstairs to let it dry, and peeled off all the layers, each one very wet, right down to my underwear. A hot shower was very welcome, but my legs hurt when the warm water touched it and the skin was turning lobster-red. I wasn't very cold, despite everything from the waist down being drenched, because my torso was still 99% dry and still warm. And my shoes protected my wet feet from undercooling, although I thought they were bloody useless, because they drench so easily. Can't cycle with my mountain boots on, though, they're too heavy.
The rest of the night was spent on the couch. First eating boerenkool stamppot met rookworst, traditionally Dutch dish for winter, then watching DS9 and sogging out under a warm blanket. Warm snuggles and stuff were especially welcome.
Carrying my bike around caused some nasty bruises on my thighs, though, so I might think twice about public showers for a while. They're a particularly nasty shade of purple!
I checked Buienradar for the snows, and realised that coming home dry would be hard. The predictions for the rest of the week were no better, and I wasn't about to leave my new recument bicycle standing around at work for a week or two!
At five I saw one last spot of 'rain' overhead on Buienradar and changed into my cycling clothes. I added the turtleneck I wore during the day to the already 5 layer-outfit. By the time I took my bicycle outside, there was some heavy shower going on. Melted snow, i.e. "ice rain" was dropping in big flecks. Cold enough to be just above freezing, big enough to be masquerading as snowflakes, and enough of it to seriously hinder traffic. By the time I got to one of the two traffic lights on my route, my lycra pants were thoroughly soaked.
The bike paths were a mess: at least five centimeters of snow had been compacted by traffic, but at least it wasn't melting yet, so it was steadily slippery (not at all like half-molten slush, which is just dead tricky to navigate), but I could manage. I was quite surprised at how well the cycling still went. Recumbent cycling is a little more tricky on keeping your balance than sitting-up cycling, mostly because you haven't had 15 to 20 years to perfect the craft. But I managed quite well, thank you very much.
The rest of the traffic was at least as careful as I was on the road. Cars rode by slowly, the streets a mess of slush and compacted snow, creating pockets of tricky slipperiness here and there. The ice rain half-blinded the cyclists, and people on mopeds and scooters were driving only slightly faster than I was. Everyone was taking care, some holding their feet at ground level, should they slip.
The ice rain really spoiled my day, though. By the time I reached the roundabout at the Van Stolberglaan, I felt that near my armpit water was soaking through the numerous layers. My pants were soaking wet, my shoes no better. Cycling through the snow was tough, requiring more balance, precision and strength than usual.
As I reached the Nutricia building where I follow Fietspad 14 down the A12, I saw that the path was marginally better there, asphalt could be seen among the snow. But because of the building on one side and the highway on the other, that wouldn't be an accurate portayal of how the Rottekade would be. With no fence around the water and snow and ice accumulating, cycling down the Rottekade on a cold day could be a death trap (imagine slipping, sliding into the water, and having your bike along with your bag and mobile phone sinking down while you're freezing to death...)
Instead, I chose to stop, lift my bike up the station steps, and buy a trainticket for myself and my bike. Luckily I didn't have to wait long, and the train was empty enough to accomodate the recumbent. I parked it in the back until the conductor needed acces to his cubbyhole there.
At Gouda I had to switch trains, and I parked my bike out of everyone's way until the staircase was clear. Though recumbents usually fit into elevators, the elevators are often used as a restroom for impatient humanoid males, and very smelly. I lifted my bike down one flight of stairs and up the other.
At the other platform an intercity was still waiting to depart for Rotterdam, and I was a little disappointed to see people standing wegded together. I walked with the bike to the front of the platform, but it wasn't any better there. Worse still, a conductor was motioning at people through the window to walk on, so the people in third class near the doors would have more space. In the end, he gave up, and started shouting at the passengers that they wouldn't be departing. "It's too dangerous, and if nobody will listen and make room for one another, this train will be canceled." Sure enough, the signs over the platform soon changed to "No boarding" and the conductors disappeared into the front compartiment where the train driver was waiting.
On the other side of the platform, where usually the trains towards Den Haag depart from, a Sprinter arrived, which would be going to Rotterdam. Half the people in the now cancelled intercity stepped into the Sprinter, hoping it would go. I waited, not wanting to bother everyone with my bike, even though my legs were nearly freezing.
The Sprinter departed, and the conductors stepped out of the stranded intercity again. People came up to him now, asking him what the hell he was thinking. "It's Monday for us too, you know" one woman said, but he was not to be dissuaded. "If it's not safe, I'm not letting the train depart. It's my call, my responsibility."
People were getting very angry now. "You're just shifting the problem around. People will still have to travel home, only now they're moved to a different train!" one man shouted. I readied myself. I would leave my bike completely unattended if it meant I could save the conductor from a beating, and things were starting to go into that direction. People were getting really frustrated, voices rose, and I think if there had been only one conductor there, he'd have been in trouble. But there were three others standing around, portophone in hand, and there wasn't a fight.
In the end, the conductors agreed to go by each door in turn, leaving the main conductor (who had cancelled the train in the first place) at the front-most door. They would call in as each door was secure and safe. People got into the train again (most of those with a seat never bothered to get up in the first place), but thanks to the Sprinter it was far less crowded than before. One by one the doors closed, and I heard the other conductors sound off through the portophone. Finally, the front door closed, but the train did not depart yet.
Meanwhile, the 17.52 intercity never showed up, but the 17.57 Sprinter did. Even though it would stop a lot more, I opted to get in. The intercity could have harbored me and my bike, but I chose not to bother the poor man any more. The Sprinter had plenty of space, and I put my bike out of the way so nobody would be bothered by it.
Our Sprinter left, the troublesome intercity still standing around waiting on the other side of the platform.
In Rotterdam there was considerably less snow on the streets and it was thawing but I made it home safely enough. I took my safety reflection vest along upstairs to let it dry, and peeled off all the layers, each one very wet, right down to my underwear. A hot shower was very welcome, but my legs hurt when the warm water touched it and the skin was turning lobster-red. I wasn't very cold, despite everything from the waist down being drenched, because my torso was still 99% dry and still warm. And my shoes protected my wet feet from undercooling, although I thought they were bloody useless, because they drench so easily. Can't cycle with my mountain boots on, though, they're too heavy.
The rest of the night was spent on the couch. First eating boerenkool stamppot met rookworst, traditionally Dutch dish for winter, then watching DS9 and sogging out under a warm blanket. Warm snuggles and stuff were especially welcome.
Carrying my bike around caused some nasty bruises on my thighs, though, so I might think twice about public showers for a while. They're a particularly nasty shade of purple!
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no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 11:42 am (UTC)I am lucky to be working so close to home.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 11:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 11:51 am (UTC)The conductor didn't make any trouble, though. I think he felt for me. ;-)
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Date: 2010-01-05 12:46 pm (UTC)I'm glad you arrived home save.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-05 01:50 pm (UTC)And stupid rush hour people. If the conductor says it isnt safe, it really isnt. I'm glad nothing happened.