After a week void of cheeks in saddle time, I was finally able to get out for a ride on Sunday. With the wind blowing steadily from the northeast at 15-20+ miles per hour I was expecting the worst, but it was somehow tolerable. I guess when you’re that hard up for a ride, anything will do.
As I closed my last post, I said that whatever I decided to do with my day—doing stuff-wise—it would be the right decision. That sounded good, and I tried to make it right, but choosing to ride had me wishing that I would have done just about anything else.
I’ll explain, because that’s what I do…
I spent most of Friday at the shop doing things that one does while working in a bike shop and was anxious to get out for some riding on Saturday.
I wasted much of my Thursday morning writing pointless words and posting photos to this digital fish wrap instead of riding. There have been times in the past where I’ve just said “fuck it” and climbed back into bed so as to avoid human contact and find escape in my dreams. But I’ve grown a bit lately (inward and outwards) and instead donned my kit, lubed up the undercarriage and headed out for a quick ride on dirt roads.
I proclaimed loudly (or at least typed some shit here) back in May about how I was going to start mountain biking more. That lasted about two or three weeks, and then I immediately went back to riding gravel roads.
I’ve been doing this whole blogging thing for a while now; since April 2005 to be precise. I’ve seen many a blogger come, and many a blogger go since then. Most of that was due to the instant-gratification-self-love that was brought forth via Facebook and Twitter. I’ve dabbled in those platforms for sure, but the only real social media platform that I feel compelled to be a part of—beyond blogging this pixelated shit storm—is Instagram.
Friday was pretty wet around these parts. So wet that I had to abort a rail trail spin due to the heavy rain. When Saturday came around, I planned on doing Friday’s ride on Saturday; a 25 to 30-mile ride on the paved Jaque rail trail out of Clare. Then I didn’t.
Monday was a mish-mash of guys here to stain and seal our deck, and me at the shop all day, before stopping to watch the end of B’s JV soccer practice, and then finally home after 7 to scrub the lube and rubber smell off myself and eat something.
Tuesday. It’s only Wednesday, but I barely remember what the hell I did on Tuesday! I know I didn’t ride… Oh yeah, I trimmed the bushes and hedges in the front yard while sweating my ass off, then hauled the clippings to the recycling center. After that, I waited around all day for a package I needed to sign for, then took/fetched B at practice.
Then today—after two days bikeless—I finally made it back in the saddle for a short Better Than The Trainer Ride™ south of town.
A quick ride in the hot sun late Sunday morning finished off my best week of riding since November. That is not to say it was like the old days of “training” and racing, but for a chubby, 47-year-old slacker who cares more about photo ops than accrued miles, 9+ hours of saddle time wasn’t too shabby.
I finally slept pretty good last night and was up reasonably early this Saturday to make sure B was up and ready to get to his 9 AM referee class1.
I was also up early because it was the first Saturday of the 2018/19 Premier League season AND I wanted to get out for a ride before it got too hot.
Premier League footy + a ride = a great Saturday!
