I did an awful, awful thing the other night.

I loosened the straps on my helmet.

OK, maybe it’s not that awful, but in my mind, loosening the straps — to make room for the headband or hat I’ll need to keep 74.5 percent of my body heat from escaping via my noggin — it’s a concession that cold weather is here to stay.

Truth be told, I don’t much mind riding in the winter (or late autumn or early spring) chill.

I’ll admit there are some nights like, well, just a few evenings ago, when the temp was in the teens and the wind was howling on all the organ stops and, wouldn’t you know it, there was a fire roaring in the fireplace, and the smell of roasted chestnuts filled the air and … OK, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit.

But, yes, I’ll admit there are nights it’s awfully hard to pull on multiple socks, three or four shirts, long underwear, a couple of pairs of gloves, neck gaiter and hat and saddle up for the ride back to work after a nice, warm dinner.

But, honestly, though I’ve occasionally questioned my own sanity while pedaling through the subzero chill, I’ve rarely regretted it once I’ve arrived at my destination.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit I did not ride Wednesday, the night after the great Nonblizzard of 2009. But it wasn’t because of the cold but the road conditions.

Though the storm was far worse in the forecasts than the aftermath, my street still was a skating rink for days. (You know how after every snow storm, everybody thinks their street is the last to see a plow? I’m sorry, unless you’re a neighbor of mine, you’re wrong. My street’s always the worst).

I barely left the house Thursday, so there was nowhere to ride.

But by Friday, I was back on the bike, and I quickly rediscovered the joys of riding in the cold and snow.

The major roads were clear, but there was enough frozen precip in several forms — snow, slush, ice — on the minor roadways to keep intrepid bike commuters on their toes.

Maybe that’s what I like so much about riding in the deep freeze. Take a routine commute, throw in a hypothermic windchill and, for good measure, toss in a smattering of black ice and stealth slush — plus a skatey new surface thanks to a thorough covering of salt and sand — and every ride becomes an adventure.

My commute home Friday, for instance, was mostly uneventful. Except when I had to ride no-handed for a stretch and felt my stomach flip as I heard my front tire crunching over a patch of snow I had mistaken for wet pavement.

Then I went up a short but steep climb and got a quick lesson in the importance of keeping my weight back over the rear wheel when riding uphill on ice.

A little later, spinning around a traffic circle near home, I found myself in an impressive two-wheel powerslide reminiscent of when I was a new driver turning doughnuts in my parents’ 1978 Dodge Aspen in the Kmart parking lot.

Then less than a block from home, I just about ate it when I turned the corner and hit a patch of ice I hadn’t seen in the fading light.

And finally there was the return ride after dinner, when the sun set and the temperature dropped and all that melting snow and slush hardened into slick, splintering ice.

Maybe the best part, though, is that the colder it is, the wider the berth most drivers give the crazy guy on the bike.

Trouble is, I fear the novelty of the new season is the best part about it. By February, I’m sure, I won’t be able to wait until I can tighten up the old helmet straps again.