The Out and Back


As a you may, or may not know, this is a cycling blog. Well, it used to be MORE of one, but since I seem to ride and race less and less as the years go on, this blog seems to be more of an online journal for me [a 43-year-old doofuss]. I often find myself apologizing for the blog posts that are strictly about my crap, mundane self and the goofball shit I do. But I think I am going to stop apologizing. I’ve said it before, I’ll surely say it again– I’m always happy to get some readers, but in the end, it’s no big deal. This is a hobby, it’s free (for you) and as of right now, no one is putting a gun to your head to read this drivel (although I am in talks with a small militia group of kooks that might be willing to help me out if I go against my core beliefs and post occasional, outlandish Fox News worthy, radical right-wing propaganda.

Sigh… I guess I’ll just have to continue on with my three faithful readers without help from The Brothers of Paranoid Delusions with Arms (Michigan Chapter).

This week was not ideal for riding and doing stuff. Hell, it wasn’t really ideal at all. I mean there is no good to be found in a week that features a more violent (and painful) than expected removal of a wisdom tooth on Monday, a six and a half hour-long drive to western PA on Wednesday, a visit to the funeral home upon my arrival, way too many 800 mg Motrins, and a funeral mass on Thursday which was followed by another six and a half hour drive so I could get home to hang with B-Man on Friday as he kicked off his spring break.


While there is no fun in driving thirteen hours round trip to attend the funeral of a cousin that lost his battle with cancer at just 56 years old, I guess I did manage to find a bit of good in there. Good like realizing how much it meant to his family that I made the drive to pay my respects, spending some alone time in the car, listening to music and podcasts while thinking and trying to figure out just what I want to do with the rest of my life (still thinking). And once he finally pried his eyes away from his computer screen and the ridiculous YouTube videos he watches, I got to spend a few hours talking with my father [the internet is truly wasted on him]. I also got to see my brother and his family for a bit and go for a semi-nice walk around the neighborhood where I grew up in 65˚ temperatures before returning to the 30˚ “spring-like” temps of mid-Michigan.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I also found a bit of comfort in Thursday’s funeral mass. Despite the various problems that the Catholic church has had, the burn out that I experienced after 12 years of Catholic schooling and a father who evolved into being a tad extreme with his interpretations of the religion (and want to let you know about it), I still find the rituals and routine of the mass comforting. Maybe it was just being in the church that I grew up in, was married in and have said goodbye to too many family members in. Maybe it was the memories of my late mother and grandmother who both had a deep unwavering faith that was kind and gentle and never judgmental. I’m not real sure.

While my own thoughts of religion and faith are about as stable as a house of cards built on a fat man’s belly, I will take comfort where I can find it, even if it’s in routine and ritual of the mass with a heavy snort of incense smoke. *sniff*

Despite managing to find some good in another wise dreadful week, I am not very eager to experience another week like it for some time. However I AM eager for the blood hole that once contained a third molar to stop throbbing and heal up, and to get some miles in my legs, even if I have to get them in the crisp 30˚ temperatures of the Michigan “spring.” So that is what I am off to do…


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