No matter what the bike companies tell you, there is no reason to EVER ride a fat bike on anything other than snow or sand. You are absolutely fucking stupid to ride it on anything else. Yet people do–I do. I hate myself. I mean I REALLY hate myself.
I know in my fart of farts, that during a thirty-two mile mid-Michigan dirt road ride there will be a total of one to two miles that four-inch wide tires helped, yet I keep doing it. I have what might be my favorite bike ever in the Stankment™– the Trek Boone 5 Disc, yet I often find myself atop the Farley 6; a bike that is better than my long gone used Surly Pugsley, but still could stand to lose SEVERAL pounds and better rubber for rides void of snow and ice. An act, which as I’ve mentioned, should never be done.
Fall be bright and glowy and all that shit.
I tell myself that “it’s a good workout,” or that “it’s fun.” However the truth is there, staring me right in my fat, alcohol bloated face: it’s not fun, it’s a shit ton of work to go ten to twelve miles per hour into the wind on rolling dirt roads, and it hurts. Yet one to two times a week I instinctively put the fat beast in the back of the xB and head out-of-town to avoid excess fat tire paved riding, and commence to ride twenty to thirty-five miles of rolling dirt and gravel roads, feeling slow as shit whilst I take a bunch of photos that no one cares to see.
Another mile, another barn.
There’s no doubt I have fun, I’ve said for years that I could have fun riding a 26er, 29er, cross bike, fat bike or a cursed road bike. The tire’s width, the terrain, the season, none of that really matters, as long as I’m on a bike, I’m probably having fun, even when I’m not [see any race report I’ve ever typed up].
I admit, until I Googled it, I had no idea what a “feeder pig” was.
I wanted to get in some ample time in with my new Fuji X-T10 camera today, so maybe that was the reason I rode the fatty again. Go slow, take some photos, expect nothing and get it in spades.
I kept hitting at it, but no candy ever came out.
When you are plugging along up a long hill or a deep gravel false flat going less than ten miles per hour it’s easy to stop, take a few pics, fuck around, throw a piss, talk to the cows, etc. It’s also pretty Goddamn fun when you crest that hill and bomb down the other side at nearly thirty miles per hour through deep rutted sand and gravel without a care in the world! But then it ends, you go back up again, and you’re filled with hate.
A cow shunned.
All joking and hyperbole aside, there is no REAL reason that I should have fun riding a fatty on crap farm roads, looking like a big fat douche. Yet I do.
When big screen TVs were BIG (and not along a dirt road).
Like John Lennon said– “you can’t stop stupid fat douche bags from doing stupid fat douche bag type stuff if they want to do it.” Sigh… that’s the sorts of words that make me forget Yoko and the crap, peace-loving songs, etc., Well, at least until I remember that he never said such a thing and that I just like to think he would have said that.
Some gravel is bigger than others.
Regardless of the bike, or how much of a big fat douche I am, I DID have fun today. I took a few pics with my new camera and realized that I might love that camera more than anything not my wife, son or dog. John and Yoko would be proud.
Wifey and B are out of town for the next few days, so I am hoping to find my way into the woods and on my mountain bike one to three times. I expect nothing and will surely get that in return. I’m pretty sure Ringo said something like that once… Maybe not.
Did I mention that I would make love to my new camera if it were socially accetable? No? I would.
Later.