Author Archive | soiledchamois

Trees and Sand

We’ll start this unneeded post back on Friday, ’cause that was the next time I did something since the last time.

As I sat and sipped my A.M. coffee on, I started to get the itch to ride. Knowing that I am full-on mother fucking out of shape and the heat outside was some real swamp-ass type stuff, I knew it wouldn’t be a long ride, but I wanted outside. The plan was to ride the paved mid-Michigan pathway (or whatever the fuck it’s called) from MP towards Shepherd, then jump off for some dirt roads and then back. All in all, it would be about a 20-mile lollipop of a loop with a dogleg left and a cul-de-sac.

But it never happened.

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Early Dog Days

It seems as if the Dog Days of Summer have arrived before summer even has; it hasn’t rained in weeks, the temps hover around 90˚, I sweat like a preacher (AMEN!) and that strange summertime boredom that usually doesn’t hit me until August has set it. At least until my bikes are healthy and in-country (rear-wheel repair and new bike build), the weather cools a bit, and I feel like leaving the house for more than a sweat-soaked hour at a time. 

Oh well, the nine months of Michigan winter will be back soon enough, so I will reserve my bitching for then. 

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Still No Mojo

Note: This post may or may not sound like I’m a six-pack of beer and a 5 gallon-sized bag of weed into the weekend, but I assure you it’s only fueled by coffee, too much time on my hands, and cold rain pelting against my office window. 

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Advice Sort of Taken

The following is a conversation I had with my editor yesterday. I sort of took her advice.


Me: Guess what, I did it!

Stacy B: Did what?

Me: I went back to the gym.

Stacy B: Oh.

Me: I’m going to write a blog post about it.

Stacy B: Hmmm… Literally, no one will care.

Me: Why not? It had been over a year of daily COVID beers, very little exercise, and the fewest miles ridden on my bike in over 25 years; don’t you think people will want to read about it?

Stacy B: No.

Me: Seriously?

Stacy B: Seriously, no.

Me: So you’re saying that even if I tell the world about the beginnings of Operation Pec-Lift II and how the gym was better than I thought in COVID times—especially being fully vaccinated—that no one will want to read about it?

Stacy B: I can’t imagine someone bored enough to read about some non-athlete dad going to the gym to lift a few weights. But what do I know? I just work here. Do you have any coupons or bottle slips?

Me: No.

Stacy B: That’ll be $124.98. Cash back?

Me: No thanks.

Stacy B: Good luck with your exercising and stuff. You might want to try cutting back on empty calories and maybe do some incline chest presses.

Me: Yeah… yeah. Thanks. Are you sure that no one…

Stacy B: NO!!!!

Me: OK!! OK!! Thanks.

Stacy B: Thanks for shopping at Meijer.


Later.

 

Death Moments

No, trust me, I haven’t died yet. Nor has anyone in my immediate circle of humans. What I mean by “death moment” is a moment so incredibly good that if I died during said moment or whilst enjoying the emotional afterglow of the moment, I would die happy. Or at least happy enough.

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