I rode 47 miles of dirt roads and pavement today; it was swell. Then I showered, went for groceries, made dinner, did some laundry, took B to soccer practice (a half hour early of course to kick the ball around) and then met up with a friend of mine at a pub a couple blocks from home to chat over a few Duvels. All and all a pretty good Thursday.
My original plan for today was to go to the shop, work ’till 6 and get a couple of loops in on the Alma mountain bike trail after. Well, heavy rains last evening may have left the trail too soft for proper riding, so I ended up aborting.
Some late day reports said the trail was firm enough to ride, but by quitting time I had convinced myself otherwise and was content to just help myself to some carbon prep to aid the Superfly’s slipping seat post, work, and get home to see B-Man and Wifey.
I was also content to finally nab a pic of one of the buildings in the back alley of the shop. I wish I would have got it with one of my 35mm cameras (and still may) but for now was I am happy with what I got with my iPhone. Not sure why I get some enamoured with back alley shots, but I do.
After Saturday’s shoe incident, in which I drove twenty-five minutes north to MMCC for a ride only to realize I forgot my shoes, I headed back on Sunday for another attempt.
Successful cycling, or at least ENJOYABLE cycling, is a about many things: fitness, diet, the bike and a foolhardy commitment to a sport that 99.225% (that stat is made up) of America doesn’t even recognize as an actual sport, and forces its participants to face varying degrees of mocking, hatred, violence and derision [MURICA!!].
What the racers, pundits, and gods of the cycling world fail to mention–to pretty everyone–is that sometimes, success or failure as a cyclist comes down to one thing and one thing only: the shoes.
After spending 8.5 hours with my ass puckered on Wednesday, waiting to screw something up on my first day at the shop, I slept like a baby last night* : a six-foot one, 200+ pound, shaved legged, beer bellied, Morrissey haired, love handled, bike riding, wanker-like baby. Despite that lengthy, yet still abbreviated, list of my handicaps, it still managed to feel great.
I usually reserve Mondays for getting the biggest chunk of shit I hate to do out of the way, and I did do a bunch of that stuff today, but since I didn’t ride yesterday, Tuesday has a inconveniently timed mid-day dental appointment and Wednesday has me actually going to work some hours, I figured I’d better get out today just in case.
I’m not sure why, but the past few days and the weekend have been a bit of a blur. As predicted, most of Friday was a soggy mess. So I took the time to head down to Terry’s in Alma to swap out some brake pads on the Superfly.
The week so far had been pretty lackluster in the bike ridin’ department: one hour on the trainer and a 15+ mile lap of singletrack at MMCC was all I had under my ever-expanding belt. Thankfully that changed today and I got out on the Boone for 47.5 miles of dirt roads, pavement and gravel. Huzzah!
It’s been a while since I last rode snowless singletrack; I reckon about six months. Most of the delay was due to me being lazy and not having my mountain bike(s) up and ready to go when the Michigan winter finally broke. The rest was due to the fact that I got a new cross bike (Boone!) and have been stacking up hours and miles riding dirt, gravel and paved roads so as to give my fitness a much needed kick in the lard ass and lose a few pounds.
I knew after Thursday’s 45 mile ride that the following days–especially the balls of the weekend– would feature less miles due to family commitments and forecasted rain. However that is not to say that the weekend sucked.
