Despite having legs that felt as heavy has a two sacks of haggis, I got out for a ride on Thursday. Right now, I’m not so concerned with the length of the rides, just trying to get consistent time on the bike. So I headed out for yet another Better Than The Trainer Ride™, but this time ventured off of pavement for a bit and reintroduced some dirt, er I should say mud, to the ride.
When I came downstairs to get my morning coffee at 6 AM and saw it drizzling, I figured we were in for one of those dreary, all day drizzle-fests that make you want to lay in bed all day wishing for the end of days. Thankfully that didn’t happen.
Today I happily ditched the treadmill, the trainer, AND the slow, sluggish, lovable pig that I call the Fatterson and joyfully grabbed the Boone, and its skinny enough for me Nano 40 tires, for a Better Than The Trainer Ride™ (also known as the spring semi-classic Plèasant – Bêal – Plèasant).
Thursday’s ride was followed by two days in the Stankment™ on the treadmill. One of those days consisted of some brief–don’t pull a hammy you fat bastard– sprints, followed by incline intervals at a walking pace that surprisingly got my average heart rate higher than the trainer, and about on par with–what admittedly are–my crap fat bike rides on snirt roads. Thankfully those two days underground were followed by a ride outside Sunday, a ride in which I pray to the Cycling Gods was my LAST ride on snow until late 2016.
A fecal laced recipe of heavy snow, strong winds, little time, and the slap in the face realization that I need to lose a toddler sized amount of weight forced me into the Stankment™ to ride the trainer for three days in a row this week. I think it’s been two years or more since I rode the trainer that many days in a row! Ever since I picked up the Fatterson there’s been no need for such stupidity. Why do something stupid like pedal a bike to nowhere in your basement, when you can do something equally as stupid–yet oddly more fun–like ride a clown bike on snow covered dirt roads in 25˚ weather.
Every year about this time I find myself posting something about the Strade Bianche road race in Italy’s Tuscany region. A race that has nearly 53 km worth of white dirt and gravel road sectors along its 176 km percorso. Think Paris-Roubaix; in Italy; with dirt sectors instead of cobbles.
After a weekend that featured back to back rides on the Boone, I haven’t been on a bike since. Other than some borderline useless Stankment™ based workouts, pre-moving chores, and some free design work for B’s soccer club, I’ve been a slug.
Wednesday I was jonzing to get out on the bike in the morning, but a winter storm was barreling down on Michigan and I didn’t want to get caught out in the snow storm, so I opted to attempt hiking in the woods again.
Last week was a strange beast indeed; one day I was riding snow and ice-covered roads in 25˚ temps, the next day it was 50˚ and I was watching debris fly by my kitchen window as winds gusted from 20 to 50 MPH. The next two days I was riding my bike on snow free roads with a grin on my face. Well, at least on Sunday I was grinning, because for nearly half of Saturday’s ride I seemed to be pedaling directly into constant headwind thinking that I should have just stayed at home watching crap FA Cup footy instead of riding.
It seemed like forever since I last rode outside. I am fully aware that in reality it was 11 days, but it might as well have been 1,100. As mentioned in a previous post, that time was well spent doing my best to become a Tub-O-Goo. A fatter, rounder, dumber me. Just what the world needs.
Today however I was finally able to say “Goo be damned!” and get out for a ride. Not a long ride, but a quick short 20 mile snirt road ride on the Fatterson in 25˚ temps is better than nothing, and since it was on the Fatterson it felt 50% harder, and was 40.23% slower than when on a “real” bike (stats based on feel rather than some whacked out witchcraft like math). No offence to fat ridin’ , winter lovin’ folk, but I can’t wait to ditch the heavy fatty and get back to riding real bikes while wearing less than four layers of clothing on.
I was this close to writing a blog post about how the weather’s got me down and how I feel like a paper white turd. But just as I began to type I realized that every year since the winter of 2006 I have reached a point in the winter that I write some post about how the dark days, slush, ice, cold, and muck of winter have finally beat me down like a $5 hooker with an angry pimp. I guess just in writing those first sentences I have written it again, but I will go no further. Winter has not beat me down, but the lack of riding and physical activity has beat me down and has me looking and feeling like pre weight loss, pre pedo, pre jailed Subway Jared. Or like me circa 1990.
