It drizzled all day yesterday. Today the temperature dropped to  -20 degrees. Perfect conditions for a total bike freeze.

It took me half an hour to unlock my bike this morning. Already loaded into the baskets were two bags full of clothes for value village, where I was meeting a friend in her neck of the woods for donating and shopping. The u-bar that locks the front wheel to the railing outside, unlocked fine, but I couldn’t budge the cable lock that holds the front wheel to the frame.

I carried my locked and loaded bike up the few stairs into the lobby, left it all there to thaw, grabbed my wallet and walked over to the tool store that never carries anything I want. I’ve looked at that store from this side of the street for 15 years, finally went inside last summer, can’t remember what I needed, but they didn’t have it. Today I gave it another shot. They don’t carry de-icer.

When I got back I unlocked my bike, changed to middle gear while I could, and went on my way, already 35 minutes behind. I called my friend to tell her I’d be late. At the first intersection I noticed that only my back brake worked. Oops, oh yeah the brakes!  In the next few moments I noticed my bell had turned to stone. “Yo, drring, drring!”

I stopped at the home hardware near my house and bought a little bottle of lock de-icer.

I had a long way to go.

It was so windy, about a third of the way there, my toes started to get cold. And they were better covered than my hands, and did more work, too. Even though I don’t wear boots, my toes never get cold, except today. I stopped at a subway station and brought my bike into the heated entrance. While warming up, I examined my bell. The bottom had filled up with water and the whole mechanism was an ice cube, like a pretty paper weight. I squirted in some de-icer just to see what it would do. It did nothing. After a while of watching people go in and out of the Tim Horton’s I continued my trek, slightly thawed. For a minute I could even use the front break!

I kept checking if my toes still hurt. My toes still hurt, wiggle, my toes still hurt. That’s good.

I ducked into a warm vestibule two more times, once at a bank and once at another subway station. The nice security guard at the BMO didn’t kick me out. I asked the lady using the bank machine how much farther to Lansdowne. She said I had to take the streetcar. I glanced at my bike beside me. They live in another world, the folks who take public transit. And the security guard didn’t know which way Bloor was. I’m from Niagara, he said. Bloor!

My bike and I live in a parallel universe. Usually I enjoy it, but today, frozen brake, gears, bell, lock, eye lashes, brows, feet and ass, the wind punishing me for being free, I felt alone, invisible, helpless.

I almost gave up two thirds of the way there. I saw a Starbucks – it would have been so nice to sit down in an over-heated coffee shop, with a cappuccino, and heat up those sore toes!

At my last pitstop I called my friend again to let her know where I was, and begged her to tell me I was almost there.

When I finally got to Value Village, I hugged her and laughed hysterically for a minute. And then I bought these great hand made socks for the ride home!

The way home was mostly down hill, the wind in my back. The condensation of my breath on my covered face was escaping through the eye slit. I watched through a curtain of frozen together lashes a guy dragging his bike across a side street, back wheel not turning, and trying to disengage his breaks.

My feet were warm.