I was up early Saturday morning to let Jake (the dog) out. He took just long enough to do his business that I put aside notions of returning to the Chamber of Farts, got a cup of coffee and sat down to watch Spurs lose to Man U. I did all of this with the idea that I would not be riding. The gray skies, cold temps, and steady wind made sitting around watching soccer and drinking coffee until it was a reasonable time to drink beer just too appealing.
After multiple days of rain and mud the conditions turned optimal for a dirt road ride south of town on Thursday. While conditions were indeed optimal, it also coincided with our first heavy frost of the fall. Shit be freezin’.
Roughly twice a year I don a pair of chamois-less shorts and running shoes and head into the Not-So-Stankment™ to do some heavy flirting with the weight bench and treadmill.
It’s been raining for nearly all of the last 24 hours and the dirt roads are surely a muddy, gritty, drivetrain killing mess, so today marked the start of said flirtation.
Posts have been few are far between (it’s the least I can do for the people of the interwebs) but I have been well occupied, if not well while being occupied.
Monday morning I quickly finished up some stuff I needed to attend to and then got out for a 31-ish mile ride on the Boone in the nipply Autumn air north of town.
The title of this post suggests that I am going to wax poetic about my ongoing fisticuffs with the “black dog,” attempt to sell you some sort of $19.99 faux copper-infused compression stocking snake oil shit that will dull the pain of your torn rotator cuff, or talk at length about the greatness of the song Cure For Pain by the band Morphine.1 But I’m not, I’m gonna talk about my ass. Again!
Note: This post has been edited from its original publication to reflect my current and final thoughts on the Sony RX10 III.
I found some extra miles somewhere this week and officially pushed over the 3,000-mile mark for the year. As mentioned in a recent post, undoubtedly I will be falling well short of my 5,000-mile goal, but I suppose 3,000+ miles are better than none. Of course looking at the raging Dad-bod I’m rocking right now, you would think I drove the 3,000 miles and hit every burger and pub I could find along the way!
Mile totals aside, I had a pretty good week on the bike, especially on Thursday when I headed south of town and did some dirt road ‘splorin’, hit some new roads (by accident) and had a good time shooting with the new to me electronic image making device (AKA a camera) I picked up via eBay last week.
The second cup of coffee is now down my gullet. There is still much work to be done in the getting awake department and even more to be done in the wanting to be awake department as a cold rain pisses down outside my window.
Back in early 2017 I had a doctor’s appointment in which I was encouraged to think about losing a few pounds. In turn, I cut back my liquid calories (beer), tried to control my portion sizes, upped my mileage on the bike, and flirted with the goal of 5,000 miles by January 1, 2018. That resulted in losing almost 15 pounds by my next visit in early May. I was stoked, at least for a little while.
After a horrible night’s sleep that involved various amounts of tossing, turning, numerous bladder emptyings, cussing, and restlessness, I was up at 6 AM to do all my normal Dad/husband duties, and prepare for another #blessed day (sorry, as you can see I’m #beingadick). Once all duties were complete I set my eyes on a quick ride before the meaty parts of the day kicked in.
