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.
Instead I planned another excursion on dirt roads south of town. After two days of snow and rain late last week, I had no idea what to expect, so I rolled the PrOcal, and hoped for the best. I have to say, I was treated to really, pretty OK conditions.
The original plan, from the day before, was to try to get a 40 mile road ride in, but now that I was on dirt I didn’t know what I would end up with. I figured at very least it would be around thirty, and at the very best it would be 40. What I ended up with was 37.5, and time spent rolling dirty with the Fuji X-T1.
Nearly all the roads were in great shape, and only a few were beat to hell by Amish horse and buggy traffic, or had any deep mud to speak of. In fact, some roads were downright dry with a lot of loose sandy dirt. That made for some slow going, but the added challenge was nice, and I figured I burnt a few extra calories because of it.
The weather was near perfect, and I was able to ditch the jacket for the first time in a while and even found myself a bit overdressed wearing a Craft base layer, and knee warmers. The world has been spared seeing my thick, paper white legs for another day.
I hit a bunch of the ol’ standby roads, but also took a couple short “new to me” sections. On South Coldwater, I rode through a section that had me looking over my shoulder quite a bit. Lots of “interesting” sites, and sad, questionable living conditions for sure. Not to mention some rowdy (getting drunk at 11 AM or still up from the night before?) folks out and about in their yard (a giant mud pit with multiple discarded refrigerators, cars on blocks, sofas, burning plastic, and heaps of spent Natural Light cans strewn about). They looked the sort to huff gasoline, set a pet on fire, and view incest as a pleasurable hobby that’s a convenient way to procreate. As a full-figured man in lycra, atop a bike, I can’t say I felt all that comfortable. Just another part of the mid-Michigan experience I suppose; thankfully not all that lengthy, or the norm.
With about five miles to go, I started to get a bit hungry, and cursed myself for not stashing a Clif Bar (or extra large pizza) in my pocket when I left. I usually don’t need any nutrition other than water, maybe some Gatorade, and my vast fat storages during my rides, but when you waste as much time as I do taking photos, contemplating the meaning of life (there isn’t one), or staring blankly at an endless horizon of muddy farm fields, you can find yourself away from home longer than you would if you were just riding. So as the hunger pangs started, my photo taking diminished, and I focused on getting home, and sticking my face in a big, fat, juicy,… veggie chic burger. Mmmmm…. soy protein pretending to be chicken. Nothing quite like it.
No, it wasn’t a 40 mile ride, but it was a 37.5 mile ride. Close enough, and enough to get me close to get me 140+ miles on the week, and put me well over 700 miles in 2017. A lackluster stat for most, but perfectly acceptable for a slow rolling, picture taker, with enough excess fat storage to help him easily avoid potential bonks.
The week ahead looks iffy with rain and wind, called for most days, so I might find myself in the basement of the Cul-de-sac Shack running, lifting heavy things for no reason, or riding nowhere fast on the trainer.
Later.