This was one of those weekends that I really needed. This summer had all the makings to be a good one, but then a variety of set backs–some big, some small–caused it to be tolerable at best. Thankfully in the past week, I feel like I’ve started to turn a corner mentally, physically, emotionally, and creatively. This Saturday’s ride was a culmination of all those things coming together.
Yesterday morning I woke up to dark clouds and rain followed by some ongoing mist. As I drank coffee and typed another crap blog post that no one asked for, I was excited to get myself out into it with my bike and camera. My plan was to head south of town since there’s a bit more of the rural decay that I love. I readied the PrOcal and my camera, took care of some Dad duties and other business, got into my kit–which is no easy feat these days–looked out the window and saw blue sky and sun. Damn.
After Sunday’s ride, I entered a two-day period of nothingness. Other than catching up on some stuff, getting some house chores done, and another doctor’s appointment there was not much going on. Well, I guess there was the rodeo on Tuesday night. Yeah, you read right, Mr. Artsy-Fartsy, Smiths listening, left winger, shaved legged bicycle boy went to a rodeo.
The promise I made to myself to get back into the routine of riding and writing was short-lived. The riding part held up, but I fell short with the writing. I got caught up in processing photos from last Thursday night’s Alma MTB Time Trial, riding, taking and processing my own photos from rides and a rainy Saturday hike. There was also some bitterness and depression, too many beers, and bidding farewell to my friend Mike at his memorial service on Sunday.
Monday morning’s schedule had a variety of crap that needed done and I was content not to ride. Until I wasn’t. I found myself caught up and feeling guilty for not riding, so I kitted up for a rare late afternoon ride on dirt roads and pavement north of town.
This summer I have truly lowered the bar for this blog. I know, I know, that’s seemingly impossible, but I’ve done it. Having said that, I have a list of excuses (and rebuttals) ready to go…
It seems like it’s been forever since I headed south of town to ride. I got in the routine of some northern loops, and then with all the flooding we had a few weeks ago, many of the roads were jacked up and impassable, so I continued riding north of town, or worse yet, not riding at all.
Sunday morning I got up early to see Wifey and B off on their trip back to Pennsylvania. I’m not one to want to waste a perfectly good lazy Sunday morning, so I quickly returned to the Chamber of Farts to sleep for another hour as soon as the car was out of the drive.
After a lackluster blog post earlier Friday morning I scurried out onto the dirt roads for another short ride. The morning sun was hot as balls and I felt like a crispy honey baked ham after just two hours of riding.
A little over a week ago, in the wake of my friend Mike’s passing, I contemplated ditching my bike completely. The prospect of riding my bike on roads and dealing with the ongoing losing battle that cyclists face with motorists was something that I wanted no part of, nor did I want my family to be part of it. Given my ever growing figure, surely I am now built better for such sports as poker, online gaming, and competitive masturbation, more than cycling, so saying fuck it and ordering a copy of The Idiot’s Guide to Poker was at the forefront of my mind. 1.
With the support of friends (some close, some via social media, and emails), I was encouraged to get back on the bike, and to not let the cars win the mental battle (we all know they’ll win the physical battle). As you may have seen in some previous posts, I did get back on the bike, and it was OK enough.
Since that last post, I am happy to say that getting out and riding has gotten easier, but not exactly better.
