A Lost Weekend, Sort Of

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I knew going into last weekend that there would probably be no riding had. B had a match in Grand Rapids on Saturday that would have us gone most of the day, Wifey had plans for us that night, and Sunday B had another match at home, which isn’t really like a home game because his club is 40 minutes from where we live. But that’s all good stuff. Both matches were good, both were wins for his team, and B scored his first goal in the regular season during Saturday’s 2-1 victory. Yeah.

Now to backtrack a bit…

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Stank Memories #TBT

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This morning as I ate a hastily thrown together peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and threw back a large gulp of Starbucks® K-Cup® coffee (don’t judge!), I was hit with a memory from my time doing endurance mountain bike races, many of which required overnight stays.

Until I got too soft and started opting for crap hotel rooms–often given the “Cuckhold Room®'” against my wishes, even though I explained that my buddy’s wife was only there because we were too cheap poor to get our own rooms–most of the time those overnighters meant camping; either in a leaky, crap tent (why did it ALWAYS rain???), or the back of my [insert your choice of boxy, imported vehicles I’ve owned here].

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I Rode Too

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Wednesday’s ride wasn’t just me rolling around singing 505 by Arctic Monkeys, it was also a nice 27.7 mile ride in perfect ride conditions. Sun, fluffy white clouds overhead, and comfortable temperatures with the slightest hint of a fall nip made for a perfect morning. There was some headwind heading north, but when you ride as slow as I do these days, it doesn’t really matter. Quick question: Other than 3 MPH, what’s the difference between going 13 MPH and 16 when you’re riding just to ride? Answer: Nothing.

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Back To 505

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Most, if not all, of the dirt road rides I do north of town take me on North Crawford Road at some point, especially now that I live spitting distance from the paved portion of Crawford; a portion that I am on for just a nugget hair over a mile until it turns to blessed dirt.

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Rolling The Old Fat

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Remember when mountain bikes were called “fat tire” bikes? Yeah, me too. These days fat usually denotes fat bikes which utilize 3.8″ wide tires and up. And now there’s 29er and 27.5 plus bikes too. I’m at a loss on what exactly I should call my mountain bikes that run 2.2″ tires.

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The Best Worst Ride

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I was up at 6 AM today to start my weekday process of coffee drinking, crap taking, breakfast making, boy waking, and lunch packing as I get Wifey and B-Man out the door. Once they were gone I did a few quick web edits that needed done, drank more coffee, and thought about when and where I wanted to ride once I got back from my next to last useless chiropractor visit.

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Another Ride & A Break

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Monday was Labor Day, but I just think of it as Monday, as I have no place of work to stay home from. Of course that didn’t stop me from not doing any work, goofing off all day, and getting another 30+ miles of dirt roads in to cap off four straight days of riding dirt roads and singletrack.

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