Despite having lived through 39 Pennsylvania winters and 7 Michigan winters I have yet to learn to embrace winter. I’ve got better at dealing with winter over the years by adding activities like snowshoeing and rides on the Fatterson with my camera into my routine but saying I embrace those activities is just crazy talk.
Friday’s ride was just the mental enema that was needed to clean out the brain sludge that had has been accumulating over the past few weeks. Because of that, I was eager to get back out on Saturday.
When I rode last Saturday I returned home mentally broken like expelled wind forced betweenst the ass cheeks of a 300-pound hobo who just finished off a can of ice-cold pork ‘n’ beans. With that brokenness, I puttered and muttered through the week logging several miles of sprint intervals on the dreadmill, a session or two of pedaling nowhere fast on the trainer, perfecting my return to pescatarian eating (80% of the time), and many a night doing 12-ounce curls undoing all the work put into those workouts and diet changes.
Thankfully for all concerned that ended on Saturday when the temps warmed up and I forced myself out onto the slirty1 and snirty2 dirt roads.
After a week that was filled with doing a lot of stuff that I really didn’t want to do, I was looking forward to the weekend and getting out on my bike. I was, of course, prepared to ride in the snow, ice, and cold temps… it’s winter in Michigan, that shit happens.
Proper clothing, ice-gripping studs, fat tires, and a “Fuck it” (in a good way) attitude help one to make the best out of what winter throws your way, and I have nearly all of those things, yet I still came away from yesterday’s short ride mentally broken.
I was motivated to ride, I swear I was. I was up at 8 AM Saturday and dumping coffee down my throat as I watched FA Crap footy and waited for the temps to rise. The thing is, they never did.
2018 has arrived. Great.
I like to believe that a new year is a catalyst for change, but I am a realist (that’s code for pessimist) and greet the new year with as much enthusiasm as getting French kissed by your great aunt (the one with the perfume that smells like Febreze, sagging bosoms, and a beard).
To go forward you first need to go back. I’m not sure that’s true, but it sounds profound, and I like to at least give the air of not being a complete dumb ass.
Never has so much nothing been done in a week filled with so much.
The week that was, er, wasn’t. There was very little riding over the last six days. There were a few trips down to the Not-So-Stankment to climb on the treadmill (including one five-mile walk, run, lumber-fest) and one trainer ride that lasted roughly 5 minutes before I said “fuck it” and quit.
After a few days away from home, it’s been nice to settle back in and to get some riding in. Monday’s ride was a quick loop north of town in the crisp morning air. Tuesday would bring spring-like temps to mid-Michigan, but would also bring steady winds with gusts exceeding 25 miles per hour.
