No Day at The Beach

Wednesday brought another welcomed chance to ride, and attempt to burn off some of the calories I put on over the past week (and years) of rideless slack. It was also a chance to ride dirt and gravel roads south of town. Some of those roads proved to be no day at the beach, even though they were very much like riding on one.

I was aiming for a 35 to 40 mile ride, but the miles of deep sandy dirt that I ran into slowed me down more than I expected and I needed to get home to at least pretend that I contribute something to society (the facade struggle is real). So it ended at 31 miles. Given the power I needed to put out to plow through the deep sand, and the bike handling skills I had to bust out of moth balls to stay upright at times, I’m sure I burned the calories in those lost miles somewhere.

One downfall to the ride was that I forgot to take my computer off charge and found myself continuously looking down at a stem that that had nothing to show me but an empty mount. Which begs me to question yet again… if you ride and its miles are unrecorded, did it really happen?? Well according to this abomination of a blog, it did.

There were highlights here and there, like riding past a group of Amish kids and their father on the front step, having them shout encouragement, and the father bust out an Arsenio Hall fist pump.  I also rode by what must be the tenth pair of discarded underwear this year. I’ll still never understand why I see so many undies on the road, or more importantly why I feel the need to take a photos of them.

My favorite sighting however was seeing the old Ford 100 truck below. I’m in no way shape or form a “truck guy,” but damn that thing is sweet. Add on a bike rack and some Horton Heat on the stereo, and it would be perfect.

Time to get things done.


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