Wednesday night as I looked at the next day’s schedule of Dad duties, house duties, and a mid-afternoon appointment with my mind bender, I made the decision that I would get up with the dogs at 5:45 AM, get them fed and outside to poop, then immediately get out for a ride. This would have me home in plenty of time to get B to his morning conditioning session at the soccer fields.
Then I remembered that my appointment was actually a bit later than usual and would allow me to get a ride in after getting B. So, I said fuck it and went back to bed as soon as the last dog turd hit the grass. Fear my slack.
After I got B home from conditioning, I headed out into the warm morning sun—rare this rainy summer—for a 25-mile dirt road loop from the house atop Mr. Burgundy (sans jazz flute).
Sure, getting out early that morning would have meant cooler temps, and more time to get things done, but we all know that, 1. I’m an idiot. And 2., I’m a lazy idiot.
Despite the warmer temps, I felt good, and continue to be stoked on the Trek Checkpoint. I doubted that I would find much difference between the Checkpoint and the Boone, but the difference in gearing, the ability to run even wider tires, and a less race oriented geometry is perfect for me. I do need to update my saddle, though. I took the stock saddle off and replaced it with a softer crap saddle that I had in my stockpile of crap saddles, and it’s just not working with my ass (that sort of resembles an old man’s scrotum with sit bones these days). I’ll probably pick up a better one when I’m at the shop on Saturday. I’m sure my ass-scrote will thank me.
I was glad to get a ride in during a busy day and to have good legs for a change. Especially since my Friday will be spent dodging thunderstorms and my Saturday will be spent working in the shop.
With that goofiness out of the way, I would also like to share something else about Thursday’s ride…
On the evening of June 27th, 2017, a drunk driver killed one of my best friends while he was riding his bike less than a mile from my house. Sadly, I wouldn’t find out about his death until the next morning.
I was out riding that morning when I got a call from another good friend, asking me to call him back. I was just a few miles from home, so I waited until I got home, put my bike away, and returned his call. That’s when he gave me the news about my friend Mike Seaman’s death.
Since that day, every time my phone rings while riding, and I see a message pop up on my Garmin, I fear the worst. Today I got a message from B about 15 miles into a 25-mile dirt road ride north of the Cul-De-Sac-Shack. I stopped, checked my phone and saw that there was no message, just a ridiculous, foul-mouthed video that one of B’s friends saw on Periscope and sent to him. B finds it hilarious and wanted to share it with me… AGAIN. In the middle of my ride. It is pretty funny, but I don’t tell B!
When I set out for my ride this morning, I knew that this was the date of Mike’s death, but thankfully found nothing but inner peace and fond memories during my ride. The sound of my phone snapped me out of that, but the random video made me laugh out loud in the middle of nowhere and made me happy.
B surely does not remember what June 27th represents, but his random text of a stupid video reminded me of some of the stupid things Mike would text me, and how awesome goofing off with friends is.
Now, go forth, have fun, be a goof with a friend.