The past week was filled with miles on the Dreadmill, some prison-style weight training, and a tall drink or twelve of “Well, at least January is fucking over.”
I took some pics around the Cul-De-Sac-Shack (two of which you see here), but outdoor activities were limited due to a winter storm and my distaste for being cold.
Yeah, I know, nothing makes one sound old like talking about the weather, but I’m going to talk about it anyway. I’m also going to talk a little about bikes, which is something I rarely do these days on this cycling blog turned outlet for idiocy.
February has already given mid-Michigan more sunny days than we had the entire month of January. Bravo February!! Well done. Of course, along with that sun, Ma Nature and her back door lover, Jack Frost, have combined to make it as cold as the protuberances on Witch Hazel’s milkers. In other words, it’s fucking cold.
Last week as I pounded out some weak-ass runs/walks/lumbers on the Dreadmill, I started thinking about my fat bike. Yeah, the one I sold two years ago.
I started thinking about how we had some good times together, but in the end, we just weren’t made for each other.
See, the optimal weather conditions for fat biking are Cold As Fuck. I really don’t do Cold As Fuck anymore. Especially on a bike.
I’m older (as you can tell by my constant talk of weather conditions), and the thought of spending an hour getting layered up to ride and be miserable is no longer on my list of fun things to do. I’m not going to apologize for that, but I am a bit sad I sold my fat bike.
READER ONE OF ONE: But, but, but Jason! You said you hate riding fat bikes in the cold and snow. Why do you wish you still had one??
It was the rides that I didn’t do in the cold and snow that I remember the most, that’s why. Even more so, it was the rides in which a fat bike was simultaneously the wrong and right bike for the ride that I cherished. I called those rides “rambles.”
Most often, it was summer, and the dry heat had turned the dirt roads into dust and sand for long stretches, and the big ol’ tires carried big ol’ me and my camera over them like a champ. Not to mention a husky bear of a man riding and taking photos via a fat bike has a way of soothing the damaged soul of the many right-wing conspiracy theorists, renegade killer Amish, meth makers, and militia members that dot rural Michigan like herpes on a sickly, pus-filled dick. There is just something about tooling around dirt roads on a plus-sized bike that screams party pace! (with nods to Laura and Russ from Path Less Pedaled).
The thought of those rambles had me briefly thinking that I should have bought the now discontinued Trek Stache 29er plus bike (full bikes are discontinued, frame sets will be available according to the shop) instead of the 27.5+ Roscoe. But then I stopped thinking that, because the Roscoe is essentially a slightly thinner fatty, that, with some modifications, will make a great rambler in addition to still being a sweet trail bike. The tires will be too narrow to ride groomed winter trails, which is fine by me but should allow for great rambling once the weather warms. EDIT: See next post.
I own a great gravel bike in the Trek Checkpoint, so I have no idea why the prospect of riding a heavy, plus-sized bike over dirt, gravel, and forest roads has me excited to ride my bike again, I just know it does, and these days I’ll take what I can get. Only three more months of winter!
Later.