Hi! I'm Jenna. I've been riding my bike to work since the spring of 1996, when my old Chevy Cavalier needed a transmission that cost more than the car and I decided, mostly out of stubbornness, to see how long I could go without replacing it. That was three and a half years ago. I still don't have a car. I've ridden through three winters now and I'm gearing up for the fourth.

I made this page because every time somebody at the office finds out I rode in (usually in February, when I come in with frost on my eyelashes), they have the same six questions, and I figured I'd write the answers down once. I'm not an athlete. I'm not training for anything. I'm a 31-year-old office worker who happens to get to work on two wheels, and if I can do it, you probably can too.

It's 6.2 miles each way, door to door, which takes me about 30 minutes in good weather and closer to 45 in the snow. I'm not going to put a map up here (a girl riding alone at 6:45 in the morning doesn't need to tell the whole Internet exactly where she'll be) but in general terms it goes like this:

• The first mile is quiet residential streets. Stop signs every block. This is where I wake up.
• Miles two through four are on the river trail. Paved, no cars, gorgeous in October, dark and a little spooky in December. The city plows it, eventually, sometimes.
• Mile five is the part everybody worries about: a four-lane road with a bus lane. I ride it in the right lane, in the middle of the lane, not the gutter (see Safety). It's fine. Really.
• The last mile is downtown, with traffic lights, delivery trucks and the parking garage where I lock up. Slow and careful.

I've got three variations depending on wind and weather. When the wind is howling off the lake from the northwest I take the long way through the neighborhoods, where the houses block it. Five extra minutes and worth every one.

People assume you need a fancy bike. You don't. Mine is a steel touring bike I bought used in 1996 for $180 from a fellow who'd ridden it across Iowa once and then hung it in his garage for eight years. It weighs a ton and it will outlive me. What you do need is the boring stuff nobody puts on the poster:

New this fall: I finally replaced my saddle. The old one had a rip that let water in and then let it back out, slowly, into my pants, all day. Three years I put up with that. Don't be me.

Here's the secret: you're going to get wet. The question is just whether you get wet from the outside (rain) or the inside (sweat inside a plastic jacket). Once you accept that, rain is no big deal. My rules:

1. Rain jacket with pit zips, so you can vent it. Rain pants only if it's really coming down or it's cold. In summer I skip the pants and just ride in shorts and change at work.
2. Work clothes ride in a plastic bag inside the pannier. Always. Even if the sky is clear when you leave. Especially then.
3. Slow down on the painted lines, the manhole covers and the metal bridge grating. They're slick as ice when wet. I learned this the hard way in 1996 and have the scar on my elbow to prove it.
4. Brakes don't grab right away when the rims are wet. Squeeze early, squeeze gently, and give yourself twice the distance.
5. A cheap pair of dishwashing gloves over your regular gloves keeps your hands dry in a cold rain. Looks ridiculous. Works great.

The office keeps a small fan under my desk and my shoes go in front of it. By lunch they're dry. Nobody's said anything yet.

This is the part people really want to know about. Yes, I ride when it's ten below. No, I'm not crazy. Riding in the cold is actually easier than riding in a 40-degree rain, because snow is dry and cold is predictable. The two things that matter are layers and tires.

Layers. The trick is that you'll be cold for the first five minutes and then you'll be warm, so dress for five minutes in. If you're comfortable standing on the porch, you're overdressed. What I wear when it's around 10°F:

• Polypropylene long underwear, top and bottom. Not cotton. Cotton gets wet and stays wet and then you're in trouble.
• A wool sweater or a fleece over that.
• A windproof shell on top. Doesn't have to be fancy; it just has to stop the wind.
• Regular pants over the long johns, with a rubber band or an ankle strap on the right leg so it stays out of the chain.
• A thin balaclava under the helmet, and ski goggles when it's below zero or windy. Your eyes will water and then the water freezes on your lashes. It's not dangerous, just weird.
• Mittens, not gloves, when it's really cold. Fingers keep each other warm. I use big lobster-claw mittens so I can still work the brakes.
• Wool socks and boots that are too big, so the air inside can keep your toes warm. Tight boots equal cold feet.

Studded tires. I went two winters without them, fell four times, and bought a pair in the fall of 1998. They have little carbide studs set into the tread, maybe a hundred per tire, and on ice they are honestly a miracle. I don't slide, I don't fall, I don't even think about it. They're loud and slow on dry pavement, so I put them on around Thanksgiving and take them off in March. If you're going to ride through a real winter, this is the one thing I'd tell you to spend money on.

Other winter things: Lower your seat an inch so you can get a foot down fast. Ride slower than you think you need to. Keep the bike inside if you can, or the salt will eat it; wipe the chain down and oil it every few days. If it's snowing hard enough that the cars can't see you, take the bus. There's no prize for stubbornness. (Well, there's this page, but that's it.)

My building doesn't have one. I know; that's the number one reason people give me for why they can't do this. Here's the truth: six miles at a commuting pace isn't a workout, it's a brisk walk. Most days I don't need a shower. What I do:

• Ride slow in the morning. Save the fast riding for the way home, when nobody cares what you smell like.
• Get in ten minutes early, go to the ladies' room on the fourth floor (the quiet one), wash up with a washcloth, and change. Baby wipes, a little deodorant, done.
• Keep a week's worth of work clothes at the office. I bring five outfits in on Monday morning (that's the day the panniers are stuffed) and take the dirty ones home on Friday. Every other day I ride with practically nothing.
• Keep dress shoes under the desk. Never ride in them.

In July and August, when it's 90 degrees at 7 a.m., I admit it gets closer. On those days I leave earlier, ride even slower, and there's a health club two blocks from the office that lets me use the shower for $3 if I'm desperate. I've done it maybe five times this year.

I get asked "isn't it dangerous?" a lot, and my honest answer is that it's about as dangerous as you make it. In three and a half years and about 7,000 miles I've been hit by a car exactly zero times. Here's what I think matters most:

Wear the helmet. Every time. I've cracked one (the rain-and-manhole-cover incident of 1996) and it did its job and my head was fine. Helmets are cheap. Heads aren't.

Ride where drivers can see you. This is the thing that surprised me most when I started. Hugging the curb feels safer, but it's the opposite: drivers don't see you, they squeeze past you with six inches to spare, and you've got nowhere to go when a car door opens or there's a storm grate. I ride about a third of the way into the lane, which is where the right tire of a car would be. Cars have to change lanes to pass me, which is what I want. Sometimes somebody honks. I've made my peace with it.

Ride like a car. Stop at the red lights. Signal your turns. Stay off the sidewalk (drivers coming out of driveways never look at the sidewalk). Don't ride against traffic. Be predictable and boring.

Lights and bright colors. Yellow jacket. Reflective ankle straps (they move, so they catch the eye). Lights on any time it's even a little dim.

Assume nobody sees you. Especially the ones turning left across your path, and the ones pulling out of parking spaces. Make eye contact before you go through an intersection. If you can't see their eyes, they can't see you.

Watch the parked cars. A car door opening in front of you is the thing that gets city cyclists most, in my experience. Stay a door's width away from parked cars, even if it means taking more of the lane.

I keep a little notebook in the pannier and write down the odometer every Friday. This year through September 24th I'm at 2,100 miles even, which pleased me so much that I sat in the parking garage for a minute just looking at the number. That includes the commute, errands, and a couple of weekend rides on the trail, but no "training." Just going places.

The car I didn't replace would have cost me, by my rough math, about $3,000 a year in payments, insurance, gas and parking. The bike has cost me about $400 total since 1996, counting the studded tires and the new saddle. I'm not saying that to be smug. Okay, I'm saying it a little to be smug.

What about groceries? Panniers. Two full bags of groceries fit, three if I bungee one on top of the rack. For the big stuff I borrow my sister's car once a month and buy the cat litter and the 12-packs.

What if it's really pouring? Then I get really wet, or I take the bus. The bus has a bike rack on the front now, which is the best thing the city has done in years.

Don't your legs get tired? The first two weeks, yes. After that, no. Your body just decides this is what legs are for.

What do you do at night? Lights, reflective stuff, the quiet route, and I ride a little slower. I've never felt unsafe on the trail, but I don't ride it alone after about 9 p.m. either.

Y2K? My bike is entirely mechanical and will work fine on January 1st. Can't say the same for the elevator at the office.