by Paul Selden
Quick Lesson in Black Ice
Only 6 miles separated me from home. A pleasant 39 miles with my good biking buddies were behind me. The weather had been great in December 2011. Temperatures hovered in the low 40s for most of our weekend ride.
I approached what looked like a thin black puddle on the Portage Trailway. Under the mostly sunny skies that Sunday, most of the recent snow fall had melted and most of the blacktop was dry. But having heard stories of road rash earlier in the day from my more experienced buddies, when I approached the six foot long "puddle," I slowed down. My plan was to keep the front wheel dead straight, topped by what I thought was a brilliant tactic not to wobble as I crossed the wet-looking patch.
My tactic unraveled faster than in the blink of an eye. Before I could think, "What's happening?" I was down, skating on my left hip and elbow across super-slick black ice. My feet were still clipped in and my hands still held the handlebars. I came to rest riding the bike on my side. My hip was bruised and scuffed strawberry red. My windbreaker sported a new little hole in the elbow. Luckily, nothing was broken, sprained, or even bleeding. My bike was fine. Lesson Learned: In the future, stop and walk the bike or ride in the grass to the side of any such "puddles."
A Cost-Effective Alternative (To Medical Bills and/or Not Riding At All)
Fast-forward a month later to the snowstorm ending around Friday the 13th of January 2012. During the intervening month, I performed a simple calculation. The math was needed, due to my determination to commute and run local errands all winter by bike whenever feasible. On the one hand was the cost and inconvenience of medical treatment if my next fall was more serious. This could run into the thousands of dollars. On the other hand, there was the cost of a pair of studded snow tires, with the only time spent being another excuse to go to my local bike shop. Hmm . . .
Weighing my options carefully, I invested in a pair of Schwalbe Marathon Winter tires and prepared myself for a new kind of adventure. Naturally – why lay in a hospital bed, when I could be mounting a set of tungsten carbide studded ice tires with "Kevlarguard!" See how the mind of a cyclist works if left alone at home too long?
The Results So Far
The fact that I am smiling as I write this article from the comfort of home gives away the results of my ice tire adventures (so far). Before I write further, I must say that I don't recommend what I've done to anyone. Cycling can be dangerous; the hazards are compounded when riding on inherently slippery surfaces. If you decide to ride in the variety of situations I'm about to cover in the unscientific tire tests described below, that is your decision alone.
On partly plowed side roads where little or no pavement is showing, where tire-tracks can be followed, leaving an underlying coating of uneven ice, I find that intense concentration is needed to maintain balance. The experience is somewhat like downhill skiing. Firm control of the handlebars is a must, because many quick corrections are needed. Imagine taking a mountain bike over roots, or a road bike over very uneven and odd sized cobblestones. I have never tried unicycling, but I think that the need for constant steering adjustments would be somewhat similar. That said, the studded tires bit in and even let me climb some short hills on my route. No falls. I didn't test going fast around sharp turns at the bottom of some of those hills. What do you think I am, crazy?
The partly plowed side roads confirmed the wisdom of my initial decision to ride with full (quick mounting) fenders and mud flaps. The advice to ride with full fenders was often repeated in the web research I did on winter riding. The treads throw snow and slush like other deeply treaded tires throw water and mud. My back was clean after all my romps in the snow, ice, and slush. The bike gets somewhat de-slushed with whatever is left in my water bottles and then I bring the bike inside to drip on some old hand towels. I pre-tested and used my brakes often during each ride; they never failed me, by the way.
On unplowed asphalt bike trails with 4-6 inches of mid-density snow, I found I needed to keep the wheels turning to avoid slowing to a stop. The trick was to shift into the lowest gear and keep pedaling. I could climb small hills even when losing the paved path hidden under the snow, unintentionally riding over snow-covered grass. I felt confident enough to plow straight through some of the mounds thrown up by snow plows at the beginning and end of the path, provided I hit them at a tangent. Riding over an untracked snow-covered bike path made me feel like a kid again. No traffic. Good traction and control. Totally different from any riding I've experienced. Speeds were low, in the neighborhood of 1-5 mph. Again no spills, but some fun thrills.
On deeper snow, I couldn't make headway, coming to a complete stop. I wasn't able to get going again, so I turned around and walked back to where I could ride again. Even inflated to their lower-than-road tire pressures, the 35mm tires sunk in too deep; they didn't float over the top. Regardless of the fact that I mounted the tires in their proper directional tread orientation (as indicated by arrows on each sidewall). At some point the depth and consistency of the snow felt like I was trying to pedal against a wheel chock.
On plowed main roads that are still snow covered, but with motor vehicle tracks and a fairly consistent snow pack, the going could be very good. Intense concentration was needed, because staying in the track was critical to safety at faster speeds. On the upside, I found I could maintain 10-12 mph in this type of track. On the downside, I have never been beeped at by so many cars (about four or five) in such as short stretch as when I rode on South Westnedge from Centre heading south to Osterhout. I don't know if the drivers were thinking that this would help me concentrate better, or make me get out of their way so that I'd have to ride in the deep uneven snow plowed into the bike lane or on the unshoveled sidewalks. My wife confirmed my suspicions that the beeps were mainly a primal symbol of anger. My presence on their road was making them drive outside the safety of their tire tracks. Never mind they wanted me to get out of their tire tracks, too, regardless of what that meant for my own safety. I consider this type of bike riding among the most dangerous, due to the close proximity of vehicles on slippery roads.
On cleared roads that may have some snow and slush, the experience is almost like regular road riding. Due to the heavy knobby tires and their comparatively high rolling resistance, I experienced a 3-5 mph reduction in speed, with greater effort required overall. The sound the studs make on fairly dry pavement is a pleasant crackling, like a merry little campfire, or the sound of running over pea gravel. Looking over my front tire when it is spinning on a road like this I see four bluish-silver semi-circular streaks. At night when wearing amber lenses, the silver blue fire turns into a stroboscopic pattern of green dots that blurs, slows, stops, and moves forward or backward depending on how fast I'm moving. A very cool aesthetic experience.
Off-roadon local woodland trails and hiking paths with inconsistent patches of snow and ice, I needed to learn fast to adjust to each new surface texture and to what was on either side of the path. Taking a back way into Portage's West Lake Nature Preserve, I discovered, while moving over a surface of inch-deep footprints forming a continuously cratered ice layer, that I could not stay seated if I wanted to avoid bone jarring shocks delivered to my sit-bones and more tender parts. Standing, finding the right gear and cadence while maintaining forward momentum, and with intense concentration, I made my way toward the overlook in the marsh to the west of West Lake. The frozen cratered surface posed no problem for the spiked tires. Maintaining balance and quick maneuvering were the critical elements here, not traction. As I approached the narrow floating walkway that led to the overlook, the chain and posts to either side could have been very hazardous, had I fallen (but I didn't). Returning to the main entrance via the lower trail, the surface changed to partly frozen mud with some snow and ice – all deeply cratered by walking shoes. The tires kept turning, and I kept standing. This was work. I would pause from time in a more solid patch to rest and reflect on what was coming next.
Leaving the Preserve, a smart, well-disciplined rider would have headed for home, satisfied that what started out as a recovery ride to the mailbox was now becoming a decent workout, and that further exertion would mean "breaking training." It is therefore a testimony to something deeply flawed in this reviewer's personality, that I would even think that I should "just take a minute" to ride the ice-cratered tarmac leading up to the eastern entrance to Bishop's Bog "to investigate." Needless to say, gentle reader, that once your reviewer reached the floating walkway to the bog, another bit of his mental machinery could be heard quietly cracking up in the background. True to my Norwegian heritage, I like to explore. The path called me. Need more be said?
Off-road on ice-covered continuous floating walkway, with patches of wet snow and foot-print cratered ice of various lengths and depths, I discovered some personal boundaries and limitations. One discovery was the limit of my riding ability, previously confined to riding roads and bike trails. In 35 degree temperature, with scenic stretches of open water, snow, and marsh to either side, but no railing to lean on, the consequences of steering off a two inch deep ice and snow covered crown takes on a whole different meaning than accidently veering off a woodland path onto some leaves. Half-way along the floating path, heading southwest to the bridge that delivers travelers onto dry land, I stopped to pant from the novel exertion of standing the entire distance so far. Perhaps it was dehydration that led me to a completely irrational conclusion. "The unexplored half lying around the bend ahead couldn't be much worse than what has been successfully traversed." I imagine that this twisted bit of logic has spelled the doom of many an otherwise longer-lived explorer.
Ah well, things did get worse. Now a deeper wet snow covered more of the icy craters. (Can you say, "White goose grease?") As my wheels spun with each carefully metered downward stroke (still standing), I discovered that deep treads and ice spikes counted for much less on this type of terrain. Loss of traction meant slowing down. Slowing down made it more difficult to balance. Mental fatigue made it harder to concentrate on how to turn the handlebars to regain the line, each time I'd fall off a little buried icy footprint. I was having to stick my foot into who-knows-what off the path, each time I slowed to a stop and had to unclip to stay upright. The record shows that somewhere in this part of my "recovery ride" my heart rate hit 161. Somewhere in there I also slowed to a stop – because I was suddenly resting on my right side in a patch of soft snow next to the trail. Had my overbooted bike shoe caught in my front mud flap once too often? I have no idea. That theory didn't run through my mind until much later.
But did your reviewer give up his test? After all, he had not been impaled by a sharp branch or otherwise injured. Did he throw in the towel just because he had a mere 30 yards of more of the same standing between him and the bridge? Shrewdly, your ice-tire reviewer weighed the fact that open water would soon be flanking each side of the path. Into the mix was the knowledge that his progress over the floating walk had been slower than a walk thus far. The answer is that, sagely, this test pilot walked his bike to solid ground. I hereby post this type of path as a double black diamond when crowned with 2-3 inches of slippery wet snow and a footprint cratered base of ice. (Note to self: Ah, I think I get it! This may be a path comparable in difficulty to the paths that lead my brother-in-law to don Kevlar pads so that he looks like Ironman when mountain biking in the Rockies, in his home state of Colorado.)
I make no claims as to fitness, but I confess to the reader, this was the most physically demanding bicycling I've ever done. I can push my heart harder for longer on the road, but this type of riding is demanding in more dimensions. It not only requires good aerobic stamina, it requires continuous, intense mental concentration, as well as the ability to ride standing all the time (which uses a set of muscles not exercised as much). Seriously, even my hands felt like they were getting a workout from gripping and having to continuously steady, then forcibly turn the handlebars (every inch of the way). By the time I reached dry asphalt, my jacket, balaclava, and mittens were stowed away, and every zipper I could unzip was open, while sweating for much of the ride home.
On a skating rink, I can only guess – call this situation "untested at time of press." I have not tried riding on a surface as large or slippery as an ice rink (or nicely frozen lake), so I can't tell you how the tires would perform in that situation. However, if you believe that your reviewer is still capable of rational thought after reading this article, I deduce that the spikes would do very well, as the mere existence of a sport called motorcycle ice racing might suggest. The studs are sharp (walking the bike across a wood floor would probably leave a trail of marks), so I think they'd bite in and provide sufficient traction. My personal, possibly erroneous, conclusion is if I'm going be winter-riding anyway, I am safer riding on these studded babies than on my mud/sand or road tires.
Another possible over-generalization is that, it was slick, tractionless snow that did me in, not ice. The mind leaps ahead to the future, to tests with a genuine snow bike sporting, say, 135 mm (5.3 inch) tires. Heh heh.
As of the big melt at the end of January 2012, I know that my Schwalbes will be ready for their next test. Sitting on their own cyclocross rims. Looking at me with those big black eyes, wondering when we'll get our next chance to play outside.
