You step outside.
And immediately regret every decision you’ve ever made.

Because October wind isn’t just wind. It’s a full-body attack. It doesn’t push — it slices. You are now no longer riding a bike. You are participating in a meteorological hazing ritual. Here’s how to (try to) dress for a month where the air has opinions and none of them are nice.

Trust no forecast

The weather app says 13°C. That sounds reasonable. Until you realise that:
It’s 13°C in the sun.
It’s 6°C in the shade.
It’s 1°C when you’re descending at 58 km/h into a headwind that feels like betrayal.

You learn to ignore numbers and base your decisions on vibes. And suffering memory. October is a master of disguise. And you’re the fool who believed it.

Start cold, regret nothing

Conventional wisdom says “you should start a little cold.”
October wisdom says “you will never be warm again.”

You layer up. You layer down. You unzip. You zip. You take off gloves and immediately scream.

Every ride starts with shivers and ends with you sweating inside a windproof shell that now smells like cooked despair. But the alternative of being underdressed leads to a personal vendetta with the weather gods.

So you dress big. Then you strip halfway up a climb like you’re doing interpretive dance with your base layer.

Windproof ≠ warmproof

You own a windproof jacket. That’s adorable.

October wind doesn’t care about your jacket. It finds seams. It finds zips. It finds your soul. No matter how technical the fabric, the wind says: “cute try.”

You could wear a parachute made of industrial insulation and the wind would still slap you across the spine like a disappointed parent.

Gloves are a gamble

You forget gloves once in October.
Once.

After that, you hoard them. Light gloves, thermal gloves, lobster mitts, that weird single-finger ninja thing. You start carrying extras like you’re a glove dealer for the underprepared.

Still, nothing prevents the existential dread of cold fingers wrapped around brake levers at 60 km/h.

You scream a little. It fogs up your glasses. The wind finds that too.

The neck warmer becomes religion

It’s not just an accessory. It’s a belief system.

You wear it around your neck. Over your ears. Up to your eyeballs. Inside your helmet. You’d wrap your entire head in it if you could.

It’s the only thing standing between you and an emotional spiral caused by a stiff crosswind and mild drizzle.

Embrace the crunchy apocalypse look

By mid-October, everyone looks like a post-apocalyptic bike courier.

Nothing matches. Your colours are “whatever’s dry.” Your fit is “functional panic.” You’re wearing shoe covers with holes, a jersey from 2016, and a buff that might actually be a dish towel.

But no one judges you. Because they’re doing the same.

This isn’t about style. It’s about survival.

Eventually, you return home

You open the door like someone crawling back from a minor war.
Your household looks at you with a mix of pity and confusion.
You peel off clothes with the grace of a drowned giraffe.
You drop one glove in the sink. You’re not sure how it got there.

And as you sit, sipping tea in three blankets and one emotional crisis, you whisper:

“Next time, I’m bringing the winter bike.”

You won’t.
But it’s cute that you think you will.