Officially, the first day of winter is Dec. 21. Unofficially, it's damn cold outside, the sky is dark by 5 p.m., and spending more than five minutes on my bicycle turns my nose into a snot fountain. Winter is coming, and I am not prepared.
Truthfully, I've never been prepared to bike in what passes for winter where I live, in Washington, D.C. By late October, I start riding to work with socks on my hands. By November, I'm layering a sweat shirt and a shapeless leather jacket from JCPenney. Biking at all between December and March has, in past years, meant sacrificing my dignity for warmth. And that's if I decide to bike through the cold. (The last two winters, I let my tires go flat. Such fail.)