As I’ve mentioned previously, Wifey is out of town for work and three hours behind, and B is at school an hour away in East Lansing, so I am home and very alone. This is probably why my posts have been rambling word salads that could have been reduced to a paragraph.
One of the worst things about being an outdoor lumbering enthusiast in the winter is the constant weather-watching and weather-based decision-making.
The Week: Even though I came up well short of my already abbreviated for winter 20-mile lumbering goal, I still managed to have a good week of “doing stuff” by re-embracing the trainer and logging over 26 virtual MyWhoosh miles in addition to the 14 miles of snowshoeing. It’s not ideal, but it’s getting me through the last weeks/months of winter with no ropes taken to attics. Yet.
The week of outdoor lumbering thus far, and for the foreseeable future, has been completed on snowshoes, and with each day, my lumbers have gotten a bit longer.
It was 12˚ when I pulled into the lot for my snowshoe today, which felt like a gahdamn heatwave compared to yesterday’s 3˚. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but it really does make a difference to the seasoned lumberist. How much? Well, if we’re splitting hairs, about 8˚.
Moving on.
After five days inside with my ass alternating between Whooshing on the trainer and relaxing on the couch, I was back in the woods on Tuesday morning for a snowshoe.
The -1˚ morning temps made me less than enthused to return to the woods, but it did warm up to 3˚ by the time my feet were on the trail, so I guess I shouldn’t complain too much.
Time to catch up on recent wintry slack and indoor living. Here we go.
Late in March 2024, I was enduring a spell of multiple injuries to my back, knee, and both feet due to age, overuse, and an accident while caring for Jake (the dog).
I was really struggling, and lumbering was super painful. So, after much nervousness, anxiety, and bouts of “what the fuck is wrong with my brain?” I stuffed myself into some bike kit, got on board my trainer in the basement, and rode a bike for the first time in 2 years, 4 months, and 26 days. It was pretty OK, and I would do it again a few more times during my recovery.
Well, the weather goofs were not wrong, and we ended up with about 5 inches of snow last night. For the most part, it was light and easy to move but still a pain in the balls and enough to curtail this morning’s lumber.
After a less-than-desirable breakfast of coffee, “homemade” turkey sausage, egg whites, and a side of ketchup, I was off to the trails for another wintry hike.
I pulled into the lot, got my micro-spikes on, and as I was getting my pack situated, an eagle flew overhead while my camera lay on the seat of the car. I’ve been working on my negative thought process lately, but I couldn’t help but mutter, “Just my luck, why the hell do I always see an eagle when I have no chance of getting a shot??”
And with that “woe is me” attitude, I drug my ass down the main path from the parking lot and into the woodsy trails.
