I’m starting to sound like a broken record, or a corrupt file for you youngsters, but I find myself —yet again—playing shit show catchup.
Archive | July, 2019
Who Dis?
My excuses are longer than a porn star’s manhood. My slack is stronger than a pre-castrated bull. And my waistline’s girth and body weight are that of a Mart-Cart fatty with a basket full of Ding Dongs and Mountain Dew.
Bizness
This past week was another busy one: There was time working in the shop, time shuttling B (and other neighborhood teammates) to soccer scrimmages and conditioning sessions, mind bender appointments, bike sales (goodbye Fatterson), family duties, house duties, a wedding anniversary (our 22nd), a birthday (my 48th), and some dirt road riding.
I won’t try to recap the week. It wasn’t that interesting, and I don’t have enough 48-year-old brain cells left to attempt to make it so. Instead, I will post some pics, say I’m mentally feeling good, physically looking like a walking sack of SPAM, and hoping for another week of riding, pedaling for pixels.
Another County
Mistakes were made. Again.
What Day is It?
This week is all over the place, and I feel like I have no idea what day it is. I feel like the weekend just happened and today is Monday. But it’s not. At least I don’t think it is.
An Earlyish Morning Ride
I don’t give myself credit too often, mostly because there is little to give credit for, but I will give myself a quick pat on my meaty back for somehow getting up and out the door on my bike early Sunday morning.