Snow Down Yeah

In January 2015 four of us went to Snowdonia to bust two-wheeled shapes and leave pieces of our hearts strewn in dope patterns on the Welsh mountainside. It was hilly as fuck. And cold. And beautiful. Nuts to think that kind of wilderness is less than three hours away from London by train.

Here's digi-boy taking us through the multiple uses of his snood.

Touring in wintertime is an all-round ballbreaker. You have to suffer the cold and the wind and the rain and the hail, and you have to put the hammer down, because there is so much less daylight to do your cycling in. But in a sadistic way this beats the heady summer days of high-fiving sunsets and gramming everything in sight. At the end of a bleak midwinter day, the beers and the sanctity of even the worst B&Bs Wales can throw at you take on quadruple the meaning. Because you've spent the whole day fighting. Not only the elements but the repetitive question jack-hammering your brain, which is what the fuck are you doing. You should be on a sofa under twelve layers of duvet in the clutches of a warm embrace. But there's nothing new in that. Without a soupçon of suffering we wouldn't learn a thing.