I wasted much of my Thursday morning writing pointless words and posting photos to this digital fish wrap instead of riding. There have been times in the past where I’ve just said “fuck it” and climbed back into bed so as to avoid human contact and find escape in my dreams. But I’ve grown a bit lately (inward and outwards) and instead donned my kit, lubed up the undercarriage and headed out for a quick ride on dirt roads.
This was the first ride in a long while that actually had a bit of a nip in the air as I rolled out. A summer weight base layer would have been appreciated for those first few miles, but I was content to rely on the thick layers of flesh that fit snugly between my jersey, no-so-vital organs and bones.
I knocked out the paved miles first this time and then turned northward on dirt and ran smack into a section road completely covered in water from the massive storms earlier in the week.
As I approached the water, I could see a line through the middle that wasn’t that deep, so I switched into a lower gear and smoothly rode through. I was tempted to stop and get a pic of the washed out road, but the fumes of a farmer emptying a tank full of cow shit water into the field to my right made my mind up for me.
Nippy air and wet legs encouraged me to ride a bit faster to get warmed up, and I soon found myself in a nice groove as I exited dirt and hit the paved section of Jordan Road. For not having been on the bike all week and a breakfast that consisted of giant tumblers of chocolate milk-laced coffee, I was feeling pretty amaze.
Just as I was nearing Doc Pol’s place, I could hear the car behind me slowing down and pulling up along the side of me. I braced for insults, a hurled bag of urine, or at very least someone asking for directions. Instead I was met with a woman yelling at me but trying to be helpful..
“YOU’RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!”
“YOU’RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!”
It was at this point that I realized what she was saying and that she assumed that I was a part of the DALMAC ride. I was not.
“OHH, NO. I’M NOT DOING THAT RIDE! I’M ON MY OWN! BUT THANKS, MUCH APPRECIATED! I yelled back as cars queued up up behind her, surely having enough of our conversation.
I continued on, stopping for some pics here and there and having what I believe was my first coyote encounter.
I’ve seen plenty of foxes, and some dead coyotes before, but never a live one out in the “wilds” of Michigan. When I saw it up ahead of me, I thought it was a dog, but as I got a little closer, I realized that there was no way it was a dog and way too big and gray to be a fox.
It saw me and started running. I did what I could to get a photo, but was still a bit too far away for anything good.
I’d had only pedaled about 9 miles and had already had a water crossing, a mid-ride conversation with a motorist, and a coyote sighting.
After all that I was content to settle in and enjoy my surprisingly good legs for the rest of the ride, only stopping for the occasional photo.
With the dick tip of the week loaded with crap weather and time at the shop, and a scheduled day at the shop on Friday, I was happy to get out for a nice 28-mile ride. I sure hope the Labor Day weekend cooperates with more miles.