Over the past year or so, I’ve gone from riding with a palm sized Canon s95 camera stuffed in my jersey pocket to using either the Fuji X-T10 or Fuji X100s in one of two different bags on my bike. The reasons are twofold:
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Spring Tries, Winter Wins
As much as spring tries to come to Michiganderburgh, winter just won’t let it. Wednesday was yet another one of those April days here: snow, freezing rain, sleet, rain, and slush. There are signs that spring is here, but they need to fight through the heaps of wintry puke to reveal themselves.
In Between Storms
The past four or five days have been spent dealing with one storm after another: rain, snow, gusting winds, sleet, cold temps, and a bout of the black dog like I haven’t dealt with in a while. Obviously the black dog part was the worst, but the end is in sight, and for that I am grateful.
The Weight of A Toddler
Riding has been non-existent for over a week now. Along with doing a crap ton of stuff to get our house ready to sell, I’ve been doing some volunteer design work for the soccer club and some freelance stuff for the shop. The only physically active things I’ve done has been some running lumbering on the treadmill and the lifting heavy things for no reason.
Out of The Saddle
That rear brake cable.
As expected, there has been little no time in the saddle since Saturday’s foray out onto the snirt roads. Most of that is due to doing a crap ton of other shiz that seemed more important than freezing my tits off out on some desolate frozen dirt road.
Grasping & Scratching
While the northern lower peninsula of Michigan has been enjoying some steady snow, further south we have been stuck in a continuous mix of melting snow in the day, freezing snow in the night, along with ice, slush, rain and other wintertime fecal matter. The days since Saturday’s race have been a wasteland of [fun] physical activity and I find myself grasping at any legal means to keep myself motivated through the soggy, gray, wet crap-tastic days.
No Cure For Stupid
From my records (records = this crap blog) it seems that it’s been well over a year and a half since I lined up for a race. I’ve gone to races, photographed races, talked about races, wrote about races and peed in the woods at races, but somehow I’ve managed to avoid racing for 1 year, 8 months, 25 days and counting. During that time I’ve gained weight, rode less, then rode more, still gained weight, rode anyway ’cause that’s just what I do and all but forgot what it’s like to put out any sort of race day effort. So, it makes perfect sense that I signed up for the Fat Chance at Crystal Mountain this coming Saturday.
I’m a moron.
Still Standing at Year’s End
The year 2015 is at an end. Time to reflect, ponder, hate, and give thanks for all the good and bad things that happened in 2015.
In My Ears: Rozwell Kid
It’s been a while since I spewed forth notes from my musical manifesto, but I figured the holiday down time is a good time to waste time with nonsense about my band of the week/what I’m listening to at the moment.
These days–nine times out of ten–I am late to the party compared to modern-day hipsters. However as a forty-four year old living in a small town in the middle of rural Michigan who often leaves the house only to ride his bike, I’m just happy to get to the party at all, even if the trip to said party means wading through a sea of snarky “no one listens to them anymore” comments from people young enough to be my kid and wearing a slouchy ski cap in 75˚ temperatures.
Broccoli & Barbells
Part I, The Broccoli
Wednesday was a planned day off the bike to get some things done during the day (the least of which included washing two months worth of mud off the Boone) before heading into the Stankment™ to do some treadmill sprint intervals and strength training in the evening.
It was also my day to not eat leftovers and make myself something tasty for lunch. That something was one of my fave standbys: whole wheat pasta tossed with fresh, store-bought, not at all locally grown, non-organic broccoli, garlic and extra virgin olive oil.