Post Category → Cycling

Not Half Good

The ass end of February/dick tip of March was semi-kind to me as far as getting outside to ride my bike. Sure, there was the minor schedule alteration due to an armed suspect at large in the area, a nice helping of psycho winds, and various dad duties to complete but as I’ve said before; at this time of year I am grateful for 1 ride a week and last I got 3! As a chubby, food loving, beer drinking, ex-crap amateur racer that only occasionally gives a shit about anything at all—let alone riding his bike—I’ll take that all day long! But then that ended.

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Going Bald

My dad is bald, he’s been bald my entire life. He’ll always be bald. I am not bald. I have been bracing for baldness since puberty yet at 46 years old all I’m contending with are minor problems in Sectors 1 and 31, but I am not bald2 My tires, on the other hand, are quite bald.

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Shots in Arms

Nearly all of last week was spent in the Not So Stankment running/lumbering nowhere slow on the dreadmill as part of my continued efforts to be the fittest fat man on earth. My first “run” of the week was OK, but the second was more crap than usual and I found myself lumbering and walking way more than running. It was sort of pathetic.

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One Ain’t Bad

Last week started with about six or seven inches of snow and icy roads that forced schools to cancel. Somewhere in the middle of the week the temps warmed up towards 50˚ and the aforementioned snow all but melted. Then come to the end of the week the temps dropped again and froze the roads solid which aided me in finally getting out for a ride.

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Forced Rides

Despite having lived through 39 Pennsylvania winters and 7 Michigan winters I have yet to learn to embrace winter. I’ve got better at dealing with winter over the years by adding activities like snowshoeing and rides on the Fatterson with my camera into my routine but saying I embrace those activities is just crazy talk.

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Finding Something

After spending what seemed like all of January in a frigid, vile funk that reeked of self-loathing, miserableness, ennui, WAY too many double IPAs, and white trash Mexican food, I have finally escaped said funk like a freshly birthed whale exiting its mother’s birthin’ bits.

That’s not to say that things are all beer and Skittles in my world, but riding three of the past five days and having the chance to ramble around the snirt roads on the Fatterson with my camera has me feeling a shit ton better of about life (as long as I don’t watch the news, look in a mirror, peruse the want ads, or step on a scale).

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Mental Enemas

Early parts of this week brought shit weather that included steady cold rains that made the dirt and gravel roads even more of a quagmire than they already were. This caused me to retreat to the Not So Stankment and time on the dreadmill and/or to The Chamber of Farts to climb under the covers and wish myself somewhere else.

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Broke Like The Wind

When I rode last Saturday I returned home mentally broken like expelled wind forced betweenst the ass cheeks of a 300-pound hobo who just finished off a can of ice-cold pork ‘n’ beans. With that brokenness, I puttered and muttered through the week logging several miles of sprint intervals on the dreadmill, a session or two of pedaling nowhere fast on the trainer, perfecting my return to pescatarian eating (80% of the time), and many a night doing 12-ounce curls undoing all the work put into those workouts and diet changes.

Thankfully for all concerned that ended on Saturday when the temps warmed up and I forced myself out onto the slirty3 and snirty4 dirt roads.

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