Adventures in Cycling, Near-Death Edition

When it comes to personal safety, there are few things in life that can faze me. Biking in traffic? I dare you to hit me, cabdriver! Running at night by myself? Been there, done that. Fights escalating in public places? Eh, nothing I haven't seen in high school locker rooms. Probably the only time I've ever been really worried about the prospect of severe injury was the time I nearly skidded off an icy road on the way back from Iowa. And then, there was last night.

The Lakeshore Path runs alongside Lake Michigan for 18 miles, the length of Chicago's lakefront. During the peak summer season, the path is packed with a mixture of high-speed cyclists, slower joggers and roller-bladers, rubbernecking tourists, ice cream carts, and small children with unpredictable trajectory patterns. All in all, it can be a dangerous place if you aren't careful. I tend to enjoy biking the LSP a lot more in spring or fall, when it's colder and there's plenty of space.

Yesterday, the winds off Lake Michigan were blowing at a furious clip. In particular, near Oak St Beach, water was getting blown onto the path, soaking the pavement. This section of the path is also on an incline, sloping toward the water. I took note of this earlier in the day, but a little water never hurt anyone, so I didn't think twice about it. By the end of the day though, the temperature had dropped below freezing, and the water had solidified into a thin sheet of ice. I couldn't tell that there was ice, rather than water, on the ground, and biked ahead full speed. Immediately, I could feel something was awry. Before I could slow down, I flew off my bike and hit the ground. My bike began sliding down the slope, shooting toward the edge of the lake, and I silently emitted a primal scream, "NOOOOO!" Meanwhile, I was also sliding precariously toward the icy depths of Lake Michigan. I clawed at the pavement in a desperate measure to increase friction, and stopped about 10-15' short of the water's edge. Luckily, my bike managed to stop about 5' short of the drop-off. My heart was pounding.



(For good measure, I've included a delightful diagram produced in Paint.)

At this point, I was at the bottom of a slippery slope, surrounded by ice. At the very top of the slope, there was a thin strip of dry pavement. I picked up my bike, put together the shattered pieces of my helmet light, and began walking uphill. Almost immediately, I fell over. To add further insult to injury, the wind was still howling and a large wave crashed upon shore, soaking through my shoes. I picked myself up and gingerly tried to take a lateral step. After two steps, I ignominously slipped and keeled over again. Another wave washed onto shore, and now my pants were completely soaked from the knees down. At this point, I realized the only way I could get anywhere was to crawl. So, that's what I did. I pushed my bike uphill a couple feet, crawled forward two feet, and repeated this process. The normally crowded path was wholly deserted, and no one else was visible for miles. It was an epic struggle for survival, man vs. nature, akin to a scene from Into Thin Air.

Eventually, I made it to safety at the top. I quickly surveyed my bike to make sure it was in okay mechanical condition; the brakes were frozen over, but other than that, everything seemed intact. Then I got back on my bike, mostly nonplussed, and rode the next 6 miles home, pausing to warn the two bikers that I passed about the ice ahead. Luckily, it wasn't that cold (somewhere in the mid-20s), otherwise my wet toes would have been in serious trouble. As it was, by the time I got home, I couldn't feel my pinky toes and my feet were lobster red.

Anyway, in conclusion, I think it's about that time of the year where I stop biking the LSP, and bike exclusively through the streets instead.