It’s an angry runaway stream roller, barreling down the trail intent on flattening all that dare remain in its direction of travel. Being astride such a beast is inspiring, the sound of the fat tread finding purchase where there ought to be no hold in enthralling. As Arthur C. Clarke once said, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”, and while I’m no magician, the confidence found in the voluptuous circles is certainly something to write home about. The invigorating experience is enough to drag you from the warm comfort of your bed on a cold Sunday morning to meet up with the usual suspects and test the laws of physics with circular refined dinosaurs and frozen water. Whoever can ignore the heckling of friends-not-in-the-know and asinine questions from strangers in the parking lot, those people shall be rewarded with a newfound love for winter, one which likely went dormant as climate change really started to knock aggressively on the front door a few years ago.

Getting fat, as it turns out, was the key to happiness all along. It just needed some added clarity, in that the fat needed to be in reference to a bike tire. My own personal tire that usually lives around my midsection from November to April has been decidedly absent; I seem to have lost it somewhere on a ride… not that I’m looking to have it back. The catharsis of riding is notable in my life, and to be able to continue the mental health maintenance outside, instead of on a basement trainer is truly a revelation. I’m used to the cold and bundling up in order to get my recommended doses of sunlight this time of year. Only now, I’m able to do it while gripping a handlebar and hanging a foot in hopes of not creating an impromptu snow angel as I do my best WRC car impression through a fast corner.

I grew up skiing, and it’s not that I have fallen out with the sport, I’ve only just discovered a new way to enjoy another one. The exciting newness of riding my usual trails in a whole new way has been a treat, though at times a brutal effort. The woods of the North East are a marvel in the winter, and I’ve always been taken with the stillness that they take on when blanketed in fluffy whiteness. And to be able to seek fun without going to a ski hill, overpaying for a ticket to ski unknown conditions is something I revel in. On days that the runs aren’t good, I can’t just go home… $80 says I’m staying until my dollar-per-run value is in single digits. But with winter riding, like any other day on the bike, if it’s awful you either go home or suck it up; it’s only an hour or so of being a little cold or wet, all to the tune of the maybe $3 in gas it took to drive to the trailhead.

Admittedly, I was slightly goaded into spending the money on yet another bike. Everyone I ride with bought fatbikes in 2014, the first year I went to New Zealand to escape the cold, and since then, fatbikes is what they do in the winter. This year, I wasn’t going to be left out, as they talked it up too much, and it sounded like a good time. I’d even proclaimed the year of my temporary departure, that if I wasn’t leaving for the other side of the world and was stuck at home, I’d buy a pontoon bike. Now, I’m home for my first winter in almost three years, and I’ve come correct on those wise words. No buyer’s remorse either. I’ve ridden almost just as much since the first snowfall as I did when the main trail surface was dirt. The once taboo bike-of-great-girth has found its way into my life, and I’m happily enjoying the benefits.

The new foray into winter adventure has been a return to basics in a way: finding the simple joy in going for a pedal in the woods, with friends or solo. Importantly, the bike is quite basic, fully rigid, mid-range parts, no flourishes. I added a few upgrades from the parts bin in the basement in the form of a dropper post to aid my short legs, flat pedals (to win Strava medals), an old water bottle cage off of my dad’s ancient Nishiki, and a new water bottle cage, which has a rad little multi-tool that attaches to it. It’s a ready-for-anything beast that boasts a nondescript white paint job and a bunch of stickers I had tucked away in a tool sleeve. For $1,175 it was an absolute steal; buying on closeout is helpful. The simplicity of the Cold Crusader aka Fatty is a strong part of its appeal. It’s a no-fuss, minimal-maintenance funmobile.

Through the monster truck bike, I’ve rediscovered the zeal I have for riding. It’s not that I was lacking any interest or drive, but I now find myself pining to go out for a lap on my favorite loop, or planning my whole week around the couple of rides I want to do. I’m excited about the climb up to the top, I’m stoked to see if I can make “that one corner” without hanging a foot, and above all, I’m just happy to be happy in the winter for once. Growing up in a place where winters make men out of boys, it’s was hard to truly enjoy the winter. But, being a little smarter, a little bolder, and a lot better dressed for the occasion, aided in the moment by a bike, I’m having an absolute hoot out there. To rediscover the quaint thrills of snow and what a simple machine can achieve has been the best way to spend my time at home this year.

While it is said that, “it’s not about the bike”, I can only suggest that the cliché speaks of a perspective from that of an observer, commentator. For me, it is always about the bike. It is the mode of transportation that we have all embraced as a tool for adventure and fun. Without it, this conversation wouldn’t have been possible. Some might argue that it is not my implicit happiness that is directly derived from the metal mechanism itself, but rather the act of employing it for my joyful gain; I don’t think those people get it. The relationship between rider and bike is more than just body and wheels. It’s the personal tailoring we each work into the controls, the fine adjustments of contact points, and the over-thinking of cockpit setup that truly bring the experience up from the basic consumer who is “out for a bike ride”, to being a full-on “bike rider”.

Anytime spent atop what was described as “…the noblest invention of mankind” by William Saroyan is time well spent. Saroyan also felt the connection that one develops with the bespoke contraption, saying, “I can think of no sincere, decent human being, male or female, young or old, saintly or sinful, who can resist the bicycle.” The plain and simple thrill of zooming around on two wheels has given me endless happiness on a personal level. This isn’t unique though: a simple roll around on his bicycle gave way to the origins to Einstein’s Theory of Relativity; he was cycling about when he puzzled together it’s preliminary concept. I don’t dare compare myself to one of the greatest humans to have ever lived, but I think it ties together my own personal feelings about what I’m passionate about, and that at the end of the day, it’s not about KOMs, watts, BPMs, or VO2 max: it’s about JRA and being clear of mind, enjoying one of the most simple pleasures to be had.

It is with this in mind, that I have no qualms about racking up credit card debt or being covered in grease stains as I climb into bed. This is what I do, this is what I live for. At times, I feel silly for having what appears to be a trite obsession from a superficial standpoint. But then, I put thoughts to words like the ones above, and it all becomes clear again. It is about the bike. It isn’t about the bike. It’s about the relationship we each have with our chosen mechanical stallions. When we invest our time and money into these triangles with wheels, we invest in our happiness, our mental and physical health, and ultimately our quality of life. Knowing that the snow would fall, and so my spirits, I made a proactive decision to make sure I wouldn’t be without my main source of dopamine and serotonin until the Vernal Equinox comes spinning back into view. It is important to understand a motive to help explain an action, and for me, that means being able to rationalize to others why I have a fleet of bikes in the basement. Not everyone will understand, but those who do are the people I call my dear friends.

Fresh snow has fallen, and the sun is out. The trails are once again freshly obscured. It is now up to us, the intrepid band of fat tire riders, to layer up and go pack trail. Each pass we make through our well-loved trail network is another ride in which we all will find our zen, the “happy place” that keeps the internal fire burning bright. The bicycle kept me out of trouble as a teen, kept me sane in my years at university, and keeps me motivated and smiling as an adult. Its timeless capacity to deliver on its promise is something I marvel at with the first pedal stroke of every ride. From gate starts to icy parking lots, the two wheels keep on turning out a burst of joy with each rotation.