I mentioned a few things here recently about the need to shake things up and push myself a little harder, so as not to burn out on any one outdoor physical activity, similar to what I did with dabbling in trail running last summer to get over some injuries and summertime ennui.

I love my lumbers, and I love lumbering with my camera, but the past couple of weeks of relentless bugs, lack of quality photos, and humidity have had me a bit miserable and looking for easy options.

Since I had a come to Jeebus moment in the spring of 2024 in regards to my love/lost/sort of re-found love of cycling, I figured, fuck it, let’s interject some riding into the lumbering mix again.

With that, I took both The Stache (my full rigid mountain bike known as The Mustachioed Bastard) and Mr. Burgundy (my gravel/dirt road/road bike) down to Terry’s Cycles (which is actually no longer owned by Terry, but my friend Chris) to get some Stan’s and replace some tires. Giving myself no excuse to go for a ride if I’m feeling burned out on hiking.

Plan A: A 10-mile loop at Deerfield on The Stache. No.

Plan B: A 15-ish mile dirt road loop from The Cul-De-Sac-Shack. No.

Plan C: A 25-ish mile dirt road loop in July heat, even though I haven’t ridden longer than 25 miles since September of 2021 and haven’t gone further than 30 miles since 2019¹. FUCK YEAH, LET’S DO THIS!

With that said, I kitted up and hurled myself toward the Jacques bike path in Clare, where I would park, ride the paved trail a few miles, and then jump off onto one of my many North of Town Dirt Road courses that I miraculously still had saved on my Garmin. What could go wrong?

As I hurled Mr. Burgundy down the paved bike path, dodging bunnies, I was feeling awesome and confident about completing the 25-mile loop somewhat easily. I mean, I can hike up to 10 miles pretty comfortably, AND I have 30+ years of cycling muscle memory. I got this, fool!

(No, no you don’t)

One of the 300 bunnies I saw along the bike path.

Once on the dirt roads, I started wishing I had lowered my air pressure a bit because I was bouncing all over the place on the washboard dirt surface of the well-traveled Summerton Road. Regardless of too much PSI, I was feeling good and felt completely at ease on the bike again. I really should have stopped to let some air out, but you know I have a tight schedule!

And, you KNOW you saw this coming!!

At around the halfway point, I began to feel hungry. This makes total sense because all I had to eat before I left the house was a cup of coffee with cream and sugar. A dumb habit I got into pre-morning lumber, saving breakfast and coffee guzzling for after. But a 6-mile hike with an average heart rate of around 110 and a 25+ mile dirt road ride with an average of 131 BPM and spikes up towards 150 seemed to blow right through whatever calories I had leftover from last night’s Soiled Chicken Rice and Beans.

YES, YES, OF COURSE I KNOW BETTER! BUT, BUT MY ROUTINE!!

Bucky the barn.

All I had was water on me, so nothing to do but keep going. Something easier said than done, as the early morning sun was getting hotter by the minute, and the roads I was now on were getting a much-needed fresh layer of dirt put down by the county. However, they hadn’t made the return trip to grade the road, making for tough pedaling through mushy dirt.

No food, running out of water, hot as fuck, next to no shade, riding on freshly dumped dirt, and feeling every single gahdamn day I didn’t ride for the past 4 years with each pedal stroke.

Finally, with six miles to go, I was on a long stretch of dirt road that would take me back to the Jacques and what had previously been (five years ago) an easy spin back to the car.

There was one lump of a hill that I was dreading, and I was crawling to the top of the climb as the hot sun beamed down, and I was running out of steam fast. A dog was angrily barking at me from the edge of an unkept yard featuring a lived-in dilapidated house, a yard filled with trash, multiple broken down cars on blocks, dog shit, and I kid you not Trump/Vance signs. I truly thought I had died and was in fucking hell. Side note, do you think they support Trump to get those sweet tax breaks that all the billionaire-bros are getting, or something a bit more sinister? I digress.

Soft dirt for miles.

I was so happy to be back on the rail trail, but I was absolute toast (Mmmmm… toast) and had NO energy—NOTHING! I could barely soft pedal on the flat paved trail and would stop to drink water and rest every single time I found some shade; I even sat down in the grass for a couple of minutes to rest, which is something I have never done on ANY ride unplanned. This bonk was fucking EPIC!!! But not unforeseen by everyone but me.

Epic bonks are nothing new to me after my years as a shit endurance mountain bike racing wanna-be, and as I sat in the Shady Grass Patch of Crap Fitness Reflection, it was hard not to think about the past, and the fact that I used to do 40-mile road rides a few times a week after working 8 hours, and mountain bike the other days. And yes, I would be tired, but couldn’t remember bonking like this—ever! (Barring one mountain ride I did with Dahn Pahrs back 2009-ish in the mountains of PA).

But hey, that was 16 years ago! I’m about to be 54, I’m a bit flabby, I drink too much beer, and I eat too much cheese. Riding can just be for shits and giggles or to go from point A to point B and that’s what I’m looking to get back.

*voice in head*

C’mon, kid, you know to start slow and get consistency first! You fucked up, and you know better, but you’ll get there again. Plus, look at the story you have to share! Now let’s do this, you sweaty, red-faced, fat fuck!

*voice in head now off*

Yeah, voice in my head, let’s do this! Thanks, whatever part of my brain both motivated and fat-shamed me, you’re the best! Wait until I tell the OG Mindbender that I didn’t start flogging myself for my poor choices. This time.

I drained the last of my water, thought about throwing up, and then limped down the last half mile at about 4 MPH to complete my longest ride since 2021 (27.25).

By the time I got home, I had zero appetite, but a slice of toast and some full-sugar, full-caffeine Pepsi that a delivery driver mistakenly gave us 5 months ago got me feeling good enough to get some shit done.

After some errands, I had a couple of liters of water, some electrolyte drinks, and a big ol’ Soiled Cheeseburger; now I’m back to my non-bonk self and looking forward to another ride in the coming days. Except THIS time I’ll actually eat breakfast and maybe aim for fewer miles until I get my body used to riding again.

I’ll be back in the woods tomorrow for a lumber and HOPEFULLY some better photos.

Eat your Wheaties, kids, and don’t bonk.

Later.

1. That, my friends, is what falling out of love looks like. Coincidentally, this fallout occurred just as I was entering one of the worst couple of years (mentally) that I had ever experienced, unrelated to tragedy. And I didn’t feel like I truly started getting out of that funk until September of 2022, when I started hiking almost daily, and what I jokingly called my 2022 Comeback Special.