Tracking

• It wasn't looking too good Sunday morning; the evening's snowstorm had left a foot or so of powder, and my neighbors were busily digging out their cars as I pushed the snow bike down the street. The snow bike it a fifty pound Scandinavian step-through with a rear cargo rack that weighs more than my road frame. Top speed: 12mph, maybe 8mph in the snow. But the day's journey would be worth it: twenty miles north, into a headwind, to retrieve a fine 1985 bonded aluminum Vitus frameset with my name on it. This wouldn't be a day for clipless pedals, spinning, or lycra of any sort: this was hiking boot, cashmere sweater, and heavy wool flat cap weather, and I fully expected to spend more time walking than riding.

  The half mile to the path took nearly twenty minutes, but once on the path, I found it to be freshly scraped. The dog walkers and sledders were already out, and the morning sun on the snow was pretty blinding. Twenty minutes in, I settled into the ride: upright, chest into the wind, hands cocked at 45 degrees. The snow bike has a perfectly broken in Ideale Model 90, which is a slightly narrower and shorter design than my usual B17 -- but strangely comfortable for upright riding. Thirty minutes in, and still no signs of other cyclists. But when I peer down to scan for tracks, I notice a single set! They are narrow and shallow: 30-32c cross tires, ridden by light and/or fast rider. The line is very good. The tread points north, but the line seems to indicate a rider headed south. Hm! This would require some detective work, so I pull to the side of the path and examine the tracks closely.

  Sure enough, they seem to be Michelin Mud 2s, mounted backwards. Devon? No, surely hers are mounted forwards. Aspen? I can't recall which tires he runs, but I could see him running at least one tire backwards for traction. Patrick, Matt, Liam, and Ty all run wider tires. Michelle wouldn't ride in this weather, and Jim is too heavy to make these tracks. I figured that it was probably Tim, training hard at such an early hour, on his blue KHS.

  The path turned away from the highway and it became very quiet. Why are these geese still here, I wondered. And who salted the basketball courts near 31st? As I approached the convention center, I noticed a lone figure descending at speed. We nodded wintry regards at the pass. Although I couldn't see past the rider's snow goggles, the blue frame and the trail of matching reverse tread indicated that my detective work had indeed passed muster.