Archive | Mountain Biking

A Weekend of Dirtz

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My plan for Saturday morning was this: get up, drink 2 to 14 cups of Bust Ass Coffee, eat some sort of lame breakfast, watch football (YES!!!) and then head out to ride some singletrack north of town. All of that was on course to happen until I checked the radar on Weather-dot-look-at-all-these-ads-and lame human interest videos-dot-com and saw that my trails appeared to be getting pissed down on with rain by the uncontrollable, loose bladder of Ma Nature.

Plan B was activated.

Plan B was to grab the El Mariachi and head out for a couple of hours or so of pavement and dirt roads. Obviously not my first choice (made fucking obvious by the fact that it’s Plan B, NOT Plan A. But dirt is dirt, miles are miles, calories burnt are calories burnt and a fat, crap cyclist is a fat, crap cyclist).

Upon fetching the El Mariachi (my current “go-to” gravel road bike that is really just a hardtail mountain bike) from the Not-So-Stankment®, I realized that in a raging fit of laziness [surprised?] I failed to rinse the bike off after Tuesday’s muddy dirt road ride. No big, I sort of like riding around with what amounts to an extra 2 to 5 pounds of dried cement on my frame. What’s a few extra pounds of dried cement on my bike when I’m already sporting at least 15 extra pounds of beer, pizza and general fuck-up-ness around my ever broadening and bouncing midriff??? Nothing!

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What Saturday Is

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Saturday–by the grace of God (as well as Buddha, Allah, WICCA, Lucifer, Jake The Dog, that crazy guy that screams Bible verses at you in the park and everything and anything else that is holy, unholy and plain old strange in this world) is meant for one thing: bike ridin’!! Watching football (proper football), comes in a VERY close second, but thankfully matches happen early enough in the day for we Americans, that once the season gets started (NEXT WEEK!) it shan’t interfere with the divine holy/unholy/strange grace bestowed upon Saturday and the bike riding that is to be done within its hours.

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An Unforeseen Ride

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It’s 3:45 p.m. and I’ve started making dinner. An ungodly hour to be making dinner for anyone under the age of seventy-five, but a very light lunch, boredom and the want to avoid cracking open a beer has forced me to the kitchen.

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Metaphors Aside

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I recently found this photo amongst the hundreds of unused, crappier than most, photos I take while riding my bike. It’s obviously not all that good, yet I find myself liking it. I like it–if for no other reason than–because in the past, every time I have ever crossed over this particularly heavily trafficked intersection (heavy for being out in the middle of Bumfuck, Michiganderburgh) where the North Higgins Snowmobile Trail crosses a Roscommon County seasonal road, I have been forced off my bike to walk. The sand is too soft and the numerous tire ruts from trucks, ATVs and dirt bikes too deep.

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Flying Fat

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You probably think that I have already reneged on my promise to no longer follow Cycling Writer Law 26/3.7 and that I am writing yet another post about riding a fat bike and using the word “fat” in the post title. Well, you’re wrong fool! This time I AM talking about me being fat and rolling fast enough to use the word “flying” (in my feeble mind) to describe it. So take that!

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Fat Again

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No, the title of this post is not referring to how 20+ years ago I was a hulking, 300 pound sack of man flesh, lost 125 pounds and am now seemingly going out of my way to gain as much of that weight back as I can with a steady diet of burgers, pizza, pasta and beer. No, I am simply adhering to Cycling Writer Law 26/3.7 which states that if you ride, review, touch, hear about or suggestively rub up against a fat bike and proceed to write about it, you MUST mention the word “fat” in the title of your piece, e.g. Getting Fat, Rolling a Fatty, Fat & Fun, Fatties Do It BetterFat Between My Thighs, etc., etc.,  Since I suggestively rubbed up against rode my Surly Pugsley for the second time this week on Thursday, I have gone with the title Fat Again. OK, with all that fat talk out-of-the-way, I will move on…

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Fat on Fat, Man on Bike Love

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With B-Man in Pittsburgh with his Poppy for the week and Wifey in Baltimore on .gov business, I am considering this week a vacation week. There will be many miles ridden and copious amounts of beer drank. There will be drunk Tweeting and Facebooking, strippers and casual sex with throngs of horned up CMU girls aching to get a piece of me. OK, that’s all pretty much a lie. I plan to get some miles in, hit up some new riding areas, drink a few beers and maybe hang out with some friends. The rest is just perverted daydreaming by a 43-year-old man with a wife of seventeen years and a 10-year-old son out-of-town for the week.

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The Fat Between

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The past week was once again low on hours in the saddle and high on Dad duties and other activities. I’m not going to complain about that, I’m very lucky to have been given the opportunity (thanks to the size of Wifey’s brain) to hang out with my son during the summer rather than send him to camp or seek “baby” sitting so I can utilize my utter lack of education and useless past work experience working at Taco Bell…Not that there’s anything wrong with that (if you’re 17), Taco Bell makes some fine quasi, sort of, not at all authentic Tex-Mexican-ish foods that are beloved by the obese and stoned college kids world-wide (except Mexico).

However–as I mentioned in quick post yesterday–I was able to get out for a double dip of dirt on Saturday and slow-paced loop on Sunday. Joy!

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