I鈥檝e been getting back on the bike lately.

Which, given the time of year, means that I鈥檓 climbing aboard an exercise bike in my condo complex鈥檚 gym.

Every weekend starting around the end of January, I start glancing longingly outside and hoping that it will be an unseasonably early spring.

This past Sunday, I was awakened by the sound of ice crunching under car tires outside my windows.

So I spend my time 鈥渃ycling鈥� indoors. It has its advantages. I can listen to music or podcasts. I don鈥檛 have to oil my bike鈥檚 chain or adjust the tire pressure.

But after an autumn in which I did not ride nearly enough, and a winter in which I did not get out on my bike at all, I鈥檓 eager for the seasons to change.

For a cyclist on the Coast, there are probably four seasons, though not the ones everyone else is used to.

First comes the Season of Ice and Salt. Roads are coated with grit and brine where they aren鈥檛 slick with black ice. This will play merry hell with your bike鈥檚 delicate bits, if you are brave enough to head out. (I am generally not.)

Next we get the Season of Puddles. It鈥檚 going to rain. If it isn鈥檛 raining, it will rain soon, or it has just finished. You will either fit fenders to your bike, or you will spray water everywhere 鈥� including onto your own back as far up as the nape of your neck.

Finally, there鈥檚 the Golden Season, the time when the days grow longer and longer, and rainshowers become rarer. Rides after work can stretch out, instead of turning into panicked sprints to get back home before dark. Weekend rides can start early amid warm winds. This season is all too brief.

Then there鈥檚 the Season of Retreat, in which the sun slowly vanishes, the temperatures drop off, and we get our second round of rain.

Each ride in this season is snatched from approaching winter.

Maybe I鈥檒l manage to get out of the house for my first 鈥渞eal鈥� ride of the year this month, or maybe it鈥檒l be another couple weeks of staring at the wall and pedalling to nowhere, before the Season of Puddles begins.