Riding My Own Winter Journey: Autism, Sensory Challenges, and the Turbo Life

"Why don’t you just go outside?"
"Everyone else is doing long rides outside already."
"Don’t be so sensitive."

These thoughts have been swirling through my mind this winter. Part of me is itching to get out and do a long ride, but deep down, I know the reality: under a certain temperature, more than a few hours outside would be highly uncomfortable—sometimes unbearable.

My Strava feed and social media are filled with others braving the elements, smashing out long rides with café stops and winter smiles. Meanwhile, I’m here on my turbo trainer, hiding from the weather and wondering if I’m missing out.

When I do go outside, it’s far from simple. The amount of layers I need to wear then feels restrictive, tugging uncomfortably at my skin. My hypersensitivity meaning by the time I get home, I need to rip them off just to breathe again. My hands are often numb and red raw when I return, and I can’t even step into the shower until they’ve warmed up slowly.

And gloves? They’re my nemesis in the winter. I know I should wear them more, but the feeling of material restricting my fingers is so painfully uncomfortable that I resist it as long as possible. I know—it’s a strange contradiction. I’d rather let my hands freeze than endure the sensory discomfort of gloves.

I had even planned some long audaxes this winter, excited to challenge myself with endurance rides. But as the dates approached, I couldn’t ignore the reality of how I’d cope with the weather. The thought of hours spent battling the cold, the layers, and the sensory discomfort made me realise it wasn’t worth the toll it would take.

Autism and Sensory Experiences

Autism is different for everyone, and that includes sensory sensitivities. The way I experience sensory overload isn’t the same as someone else on the spectrum. But for me, temperature has always been one of the biggest triggers.

I’ve always known I’m overly sensitive. For the longest time, I thought noise was my main challenge. It still affects me a lot—on the bike, I avoid cities and busy areas because the constant stream of loud vehicles is overwhelming. Even in the countryside, unexpected sounds like motorbikes roaring past can make me wince, sometimes bringing me to tears. Moments like those force me to stim just to calm myself, and it takes time to return to my inner peace.

But noise is different from music. Music, especially my own, is my escape. I’ll have it as loud as it can go sometimes, and even then, it doesn’t feel loud enough. There’s something about music that blocks out the chaos and calms my mind in a way that other sounds just can’t.

Noise affects me off the bike, too. I used to tell my partner that their blinking was keeping me awake at night. That tiny sound felt as loud as clapping, leaving me bracing for the next blink, anxious and unable to relax.

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve started to notice other sensitivities. For example, my heightened sense of smell. I can detect the stale scent of water lingering on clean dishes from the dishwasher—sometimes from the other side of the house. I’ve gotten strange looks for sniffing every piece of cutlery before using it, but I can’t help it. That smell makes me cringe, and I need to be sure it’s gone before I eat.

Hyper-Sensitive to the Cold

For years, I just thought I was a “cold person,” but now I understand—I’m hyper-sensitive to it. On ultra races, the amount of kit I need to carry is far more than most people’s. Keeping my body comfortable is a constant challenge, and it affects the races I’d even consider signing up for. You won’t find me racing through wet and cold terrain anytime soon!

This winter, I’ve decided to embrace what I can do to stay comfortable. Instead of forcing myself to ride outdoors, I’m staying in an environment I can control. It’s not the same as cycling outside, but I’m lucky to even slightly enjoy it—my playlist loud, singing along, and pedaling in the comfort of a temperature-controlled, safe space.

I still look at others enjoying their long winter rides with café stops and scenic views, and it’s tempting to feel left out. But I remind myself that my time will come—when it feels right for me.