Anyone who has ever come within three feet of me or this blog knows that I hate winter. I’m not happy about it, but there’s nothing I can do about it, so I have learned to embrace it. However, that embrace is sort of like when you’re thirteen and one of your grandmother’s buxom friends decides that she wants, nay, NEEDS a hug upon meeting you. You’re not happy about it, but at some point during the embrace your realize that despite the woman’s advanced years, caked on makeup, wrinkles, eye watering perfume and ongoing fight with gravity, her extremely large, round boobs ARE indeed pressing into your chest. Sadly, no matter how hard your try, you end up using that bit later whilst in private*. You’re not happy about it, but there’s nothing you can do about it. Riding in the winter is my touchy/feely big boob hug.
And with that paragraph above I have surely lost another couple of the very few readers I have, as well as sort of turned myself on talking about boobs. I am sorry… ish.
Truth be told, I really didn’t feel like riding today, BUT the weekend looks to be shit for riding. A warm front is moving in and bringing freezing rain and showers, thus ruining the snows that have fallen. Any thoughts of snow packed dirt road rides (snirt), or heading down to Grand 1, 2, 3, Repeater**, Michigan to ride groomed fat bike trails is OUT of the question.
Despite my lack of wanting to ride, the knowledge of crap weather coming, and a crap*** week that includes traveling back to WPA and numerous family duties forced me out for a short spin on the snow packed dirt roads south of town.
The temps were only in the teens when I started out but I was plenty warm. I continue to be amazed at how my ever fattening carcass has started to adapt to riding in the Michiganderburgh winter. Years ago, there was a day that I wouldn’t ride outside if the temps dipped below 40. If I did that here I would pretty much only be able to ride the month of July. Maybe.
I felt slow and sluggish for a good portion of the ride but I am glad I went, ’cause there is nothing worse than the feeling of regret that comes with passing up a chance to ride. OK, that’s a lie, the gut wrenching embarrassment one feels after getting rebuffed tying to cop a feel off your grandmother’s buxom friend the next time you see her is WAY worse.
With that, it’s time to embrace the weekend and all its buxom goodness; crack some beers, have some fatty food,
hug my buxom wife a bunch and get ready for a couple of days of watching the footy now that the Goddamned boring and relentless international break is finally the fuck over.
*I am shocked that I have escaped actual one on one therapy thus far in my life. Prescribed drugs yes, therapy no. Hmmm… it might be time. The more and more shit that I spew forth here makes me think that it’s pretty much inevitable.
**I am well aware that it’s Grand Rapids, Michigan, NOT Grand Repeater, but if I called it Grand Rapids, I wouldn’t have been able to link up that bad ass Fugazi song now, would I? So, from now on, it’s Grand Repeater.
***I seem to say crap a lot. Many apologies to any readers who have an issue with the “nicer” word for shit.