Archive | Cycling

Rides & Recommendations

I was up late on Saturday (11 PM is late for me) as Wifey and I watched a Tom Talk (not to be confused with Ted Talks or Turd Talks) and waited for B to get home from a day trip to MSU with E-Dawg (his lady love) and some friends. I only mention this to set up the fact that I wanted to ride on Sunday morning, and each minute, my ass stayed up past nine o’clock; I became more and more resound to the idea of sleeping until noon. Snore.

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Better Than Nothing, Again

I was up at 6:15 AM on Friday to embrace whatever fresh hell moderate inconveniences the day might throw at me. It’s been raining for like three days straight, and when it’s not raining, it’s gloomy as fuck as if it were raining. So it took a few extra guzzles of coffee and the promise of sunshine later in the day to finally convince me to start thinking about possibly leaving the house to ride my bike.

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Summiting

WEDNESDAY 7:53 AM

I’ve been up since 6:30 AM, which is pretty normal since I usually go to bed by 9 PM these days. Oddly, it’s dark as night with threatening clouds leftover from last night’s thunderstorms, and I have a feeling it’s going to be like this for most of the day.

Given the rain overnight, I’ll be keeping my Roscoe and its new 29er wheels with low-profile Kenda rubber out of the mud and in the garage1. Instead, I’ve developed a plan to tackle 2 to 3 laps of the Bundy Hill Preserve, hopefully without being struck by lightning. 

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Weight and Fate

Well, that didn’t go as planned. In all honesty, I don’t know if I ever had a plan other than to try and ride my bike on Friday

Where, which bike and distance were factored in, changed, and then changed again. However, I did not factor in weight and fate.

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Rides & Bacon Strips

Wednesday, I needed to shoot over to the local lab to get some bloodwork done, and then it was home to the savory arms of a 225 calorie Soiled Egg Sammich1 before getting into some kit, looking at myself in the mirror, thinking about taking the kit off and downing a bottle of gin, aborting that boozy plan for some reason, and then going for a short 20-mile dirt road ride that hurt like it was 120.

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Day One Again

It’s become clear to me, via my bathroom scale, that my self-imposed extended layoff from riding has not helped (in ANY way whatsoever) my attempt at getting back to being a “husky” man who is a whisker under being morbidly obese. No offense to my fellow “husky” and “morbidly obese” friends and neighbors. “For there are many,” sayeth Luke. Luke, the dude that hangs out at the skatepark, not Luke of the Bible book.

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The Chronicles of Meh

My newfound custom of getting up early continued on Sunday, and with that, I got a shit ton of stuff done, including baking some crispy, crunchy toasted homemade muffin bread and installing an Ortleib bag bracket on the Fattishson (The Roscoe’s current name before it becomes a 29er in the future). 

Then I decided to ride.

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The First Mile’s The Hardest Mile

After last Sunday’s aborted ride due to the gusting wind and cool morning temps, I was convinced that not riding my bike (outside) for 5 months just may have crushed my fitness into a fantastical memory never to be relived in any form. “I WILL NEVER RIDE MY BIKE AGAIN!!” I proclaimed in grandiose hyperbolic thought as I returned Mr. Burgundy to his home in the garage. 

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