I’ve just ridden a BMW 1200GS from London to a ski resort 1850m up an Alp. Non stop. The people in the ski resort thought I was some kind of masochistic hard man; nothing could be less true. When it comes to being cold, I’m the biggest wimp in the SuperBike office. Editor John has his army-spec mental strength that allows him to ride across frozen deserts in his pants. I have a nice big pile of heated kit. Without it, I’m the first to jump back in the van, the first into the cafe and the one responsible for several sizable hot chocolate bills.
Some snow, yesterday.
With the temperature peaking at six degrees Celsius and dropping to minus six on the mountain, the only time I was cold was unpacking the panniers when I arrived. I had a Keis heated jacket and trousers running off a lead on the bike, complimented by Weise battery powered heated gloves. That was all I needed to carry the facade of manliness through every petrol garage and into the bar that evening. If you haven’t tried heated kit yet, do yourself a favour and get some – what’s the point in being cold?
