Despite having legs that felt as heavy has a two sacks of haggis, I got out for a ride on Thursday. Right now, I’m not so concerned with the length of the rides, just trying to get consistent time on the bike. So I headed out for yet another Better Than The Trainer Ride™, but this time ventured off of pavement for a bit and reintroduced some dirt, er I should say mud, to the ride.
When I came downstairs to get my morning coffee at 6 AM and saw it drizzling, I figured we were in for one of those dreary, all day drizzle-fests that make you want to lay in bed all day wishing for the end of days. Thankfully that didn’t happen.
Today I happily ditched the treadmill, the trainer, AND the slow, sluggish, lovable pig that I call the Fatterson and joyfully grabbed the Boone, and its skinny enough for me Nano 40 tires, for a Better Than The Trainer Ride™ (also known as the spring semi-classic Plèasant – Bêal – Plèasant).
Thursday’s ride was followed by two days in the Stankment™ on the treadmill. One of those days consisted of some brief–don’t pull a hammy you fat bastard– sprints, followed by incline intervals at a walking pace that surprisingly got my average heart rate higher than the trainer, and about on par with–what admittedly are–my crap fat bike rides on snirt roads. Thankfully those two days underground were followed by a ride outside Sunday, a ride in which I pray to the Cycling Gods was my LAST ride on snow until late 2016.
A fecal laced recipe of heavy snow, strong winds, little time, and the slap in the face realization that I need to lose a toddler sized amount of weight forced me into the Stankment™ to ride the trainer for three days in a row this week. I think it’s been two years or more since I rode the trainer that many days in a row! Ever since I picked up the Fatterson there’s been no need for such stupidity. Why do something stupid like pedal a bike to nowhere in your basement, when you can do something equally as stupid–yet oddly more fun–like ride a clown bike on snow covered dirt roads in 25˚ weather.
Every year about this time I find myself posting something about the Strade Bianche road race in Italy’s Tuscany region. A race that has nearly 53 km worth of white dirt and gravel road sectors along its 176 km percorso. Think Paris-Roubaix; in Italy; with dirt sectors instead of cobbles.
Pre-blog post note of sadness, guilt, regret and admission to you that the following has shit all to do with cycling, save for a tiny, tiny sliver.
Ma Nature decided welcome in March by puking down upwards of 8 inches of fresh snow and wind all day today. As I type at 7:25 E.C.T. (Easter Chamois Time) it continues to puke down and I have no doubt that B’s school will be is cancelled tomorrow. March; in like a dead, frozen, one-legged fucking lion. With that said, the only riding I did today was another sweaty hour on the trainer in the Stankment™.
