Archive | Cycling

Not For Real

I sort of failed on this week’s Macro Monday. But I guess that sort of depends on your definition of macro, and just how close you need to be. What I’m trying to say is that this post contains some “close-ups” but an actual “macro lens” was not involved. Hairs have been split for the good of the internet.

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A Gravel Ride & Some Thoughts

Friday morning was spent at the vet getting Lola her shots, and her nails clipped. After dropping her off at home, I headed to the shop for a few hours to check some stock in, and then to get groceries and supplies for an evening of summer slack.

I found myself up reasonably early on Saturday morning, so after some toast and coffee, I stuffed various hunks of blubber and unsightly manly bits into some too-tight kit and headed out for a quick 20 mile Better Than The Trainer Ride™.

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Bugs and Bloat

Where did the week go, eh?

A week ago tonight, I was hit in the belly by the iron fist of a stomach bug. I believe the bug was brought to me via some tainted chicken thighs and caused me to spend the next 24 hours in bed or in the bathroom with a dry heaving bung. Alas, I’ve said too much.

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Adulting, Colts, N’at

As the last week of being Not Really Quarantined winds down (for now), and most shit opens back up (except my goddamn barber!) this coming Monday, my week was filled with adulting. My outdoor activities were limited to a quick ride on Monday morning, a short walk around the Sylvan Solace with my camera for an hour on Wednesday (while getting eaten alive by mosquitos), and a 25-mile dirt road ride on Saturday afternoon.

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The Last in a Series

NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY 80.

“I can go out. I can go in.
Out. In.
Out. In. In. Out.
Out. In.”

– Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H

I wrote the first edition of The Quarantine Chronicles 80 days ago today. With Monday’s announcement from my girl G.W. lifting the Stay at Home order for Michigander’s, I have decided that this will be the last post in the series.

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Missed Connections

NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.

“I must be ill.” – Withnail

I know it’s wrong to talk of illness in the throws of a global pandemic, but given my two-year on/off relationship with my bike, for me to ride three out of the past four days must mean I’m ill. In an awesome, it feels good to sweat, slobber, pant, and wake up sore sort of way. Cheez-Its H. Rice, that made it sound like I was having sex with a bear. A bear, not a “bear.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

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