Wednesday and Thursday brought two more dirt road rides. Wednesday’s ride was finally in some sun south of town on the PrOcal, and Thursday’s ride was a muddy slog north of town on the Fatterson in dense fog.
Off and On
After three days off the bike traveling for B’s soccer, crap weather, busy-ness, and/or general laziness, I found myself back on the bike Tuesday morning for a foggy dirt road ride on the PrOcal.
Two Fat Ones
Despite the some crap weather this week, and being an even crapper cyclist these days, I managed to get out for four rides this week. They weren’t all that long, one in particular being under twenty miles due to an exterminator coming to rid us of a hornet’s nest on the side of the house, but I got out, got some miles in, and the rainy weather gave me that rural photographic doom and gloom that I enjoy so much.
Nothing, Then South & North
Monday was spent doing all the things that Monday brings, none of which were that fun, or had anything to do with riding my bike. Tuesday however brought some ride time south of town on the PrOcal in cool, fall conditions.
Sub Par, Good Enough
Last week started off well enough; I received my Fuji X-T1, the weather looked great for the week, and I felt really good during Monday’s ride. Then things went south, but not too far south.
A Lost Weekend, Sort Of
I knew going into last weekend that there would probably be no riding had. B had a match in Grand Rapids on Saturday that would have us gone most of the day, Wifey had plans for us that night, and Sunday B had another match at home, which isn’t really like a home game because his club is 40 minutes from where we live. But that’s all good stuff. Both matches were good, both were wins for his team, and B scored his first goal in the regular season during Saturday’s 2-1 victory. Yeah.
Now to backtrack a bit…
Stank Memories #TBT
This morning as I ate a hastily thrown together peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and threw back a large gulp of Starbucks® K-Cup® coffee (don’t judge!), I was hit with a memory from my time doing endurance mountain bike races, many of which required overnight stays.
Until I got too soft and started opting for crap hotel rooms–often given the “Cuckhold Room®'” against my wishes, even though I explained that my buddy’s wife was only there because we were too cheap poor to get our own rooms–most of the time those overnighters meant camping; either in a leaky, crap tent (why did it ALWAYS rain???), or the back of my [insert your choice of boxy, imported vehicles I’ve owned here].
I Rode Too
Wednesday’s ride wasn’t just me rolling around singing 505 by Arctic Monkeys, it was also a nice 27.7 mile ride in perfect ride conditions. Sun, fluffy white clouds overhead, and comfortable temperatures with the slightest hint of a fall nip made for a perfect morning. There was some headwind heading north, but when you ride as slow as I do these days, it doesn’t really matter. Quick question: Other than 3 MPH, what’s the difference between going 13 MPH and 16 when you’re riding just to ride? Answer: Nothing.
Back To 505
Most, if not all, of the dirt road rides I do north of town take me on North Crawford Road at some point, especially now that I live spitting distance from the paved portion of Crawford; a portion that I am on for just a nugget hair over a mile until it turns to blessed dirt.
Rolling The Old Fat
Remember when mountain bikes were called “fat tire” bikes? Yeah, me too. These days fat usually denotes fat bikes which utilize 3.8″ wide tires and up. And now there’s 29er and 27.5 plus bikes too. I’m at a loss on what exactly I should call my mountain bikes that run 2.2″ tires.