After a lackluster ride on Wednesday, I took Thursday off the bike, limiting myself to getting stuff done, running on the Dreadmill® and lifting heavy thing for no reason. I returned to the saddle on Friday, and got in some much-needed time riding dirt roads; dirt roads that seem to finally be shaping up.
Playing a bit a catchup here after a busy, rainy Thursday which, doing stuff wise, only included 40 minutes of Dreadmill® running, and lifting heavy stuff for no reason in the basement of the Cul-de-sac Shack. So here on Friday we’re lookin’ at Wednesday, and ride-wise, I don’t like what I’m seein’.
Monday was a hodgepodge of adulting, fruitless attempts at a design project that I volunteered to help out with, and other crap-o-lah like lifting heavy things for no reason in the basement. All of that was done while dodging rain drops, enjoying spring temperatures, and waiting for some promised evening thunderstorms to arrive and send those spring-like temps back to into the 40s and 50s, thus making for a more “normal” Michigan spring. Like the saying goes “If your nipples ain’t hard, you ain’t in Michigan.”
Given the nearly endless wintry rain, snow, wind deluge that mid-Michigan experienced last week, I was thinking that the week would leave me with nothing but a case of pent-up, crotch thumping ride rage. Thankfully, by the end of the week, Ma Nature got her shit together and threw us a few days of crap free weather. Thank you.
I can guarantee you that when I look back on 2017, this week will NOT be in my top ten. Since Sunday the week was spent indoors as rain, snow, and high winds swirled incessantly over Michigan like the tongue of a weather making cunning linguist.
That’s not to say SOME good didn’t happen.
I woke up fairly early on Sunday morning, tended to Jake (the dog), made some coffee, and sat down to watch sub-par footy. As I sipped my coffee and thought about the day ahead I knew one thing: I did NOT want to ride. Well, scratch that, I did not want to do a paved road ride.
I don’t want to sound negative, but there was nothing all that special about today’s ride. After two days of wet snow and rain, the weather was near perfect today, the wind was so calm it felt like cheating, and I completed my 30+ mile road loop without much mental or (perceived) physical effort. It was swell, but I’m not going to blow smoke up your blog reading asses by telling you it was something all that amazing. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take that shit all day long, but it was nothing special.
So, I give you three photos, by the numbers, that sum up the ride and my Saturday…
There was a time, now almost literally years ago, that me talking about riding dirt meant one thing– singletrack. These days most of my miles spent on dirt are of the dirt road variety. Something that I find to be a hexagonal tug of war equal parts a challenging, loved, creative spike to the vein, and a depressing, sad, pathetic state of my cycling life. The latter is rarely thought of unless I start to think about the days of racing–or just plain ol’ riding–my mountain bike in the woods for long periods of time.
I got behind on this digital shit show, so playing some catch up here with a bit about yesterday, today.
Since Friday’s crap-tastic ride in the relentless wind I have done the following:
Saturday: Run, strength train, slack hard, hang with Wifey, drink beer, play video games.
Sunday: Take B to practice, slack harder, drink beer, play video games.
Monday: Catch up on web duties for various side/freelance projects, run, strength train.
In other words I didn’t ride, but 2 of the 3 days I did some “stuff.” Then 2 of the 3 days I did things to undo the stuff I did. But just think if I wouldn’t have done that “stuff.” The good “stuff,” not the bad stuff! We’ll call it all even… ish. This is why I don’t lose weight.
Finally Tuesday I rode. I rode pavement, and I rode dirt. Or as my friends at Terry’s Cycle say #morethanpavement.
This week has been an exercise in futility. The exercise of course being riding over 100 miles the past few days, and the futility being that despite those miles my weight hasn’t budged in a week. Not even a tenth of a mother f*cking goddamn pound one way or another. I blame the scale, I really do. F*ck that piece of shit.
[insert mental image of me frantically panting with a vein popping out of my enraged forehead like Ren Hoek here]
