It’s Not Fall!

IT’S NOT FALL!! Well, at least not technically, but it’s starting to look like it. Shit.

While I enjoy some mild dips in ride time temperatures, I will never be mistaken for one of those “I love the four seasons, Oktoberfest beer drinking, leaf peeping, pumpkin spice in every Goddamn thing, can’t wait to ski and ride fat bikes soon” sort of people. Give me sun, blue sky, 75˚, long stretches of dry gravel roads to ride and a cold crisp IPA to drink, give it to me every Goddamn day and I’ll be one happy bastard!


But this is Michigan and that means that last weekend I was wearing a winter coat and gloves at an early morning soccer match, this weekend I was sweating my balls off on the side of the same pitch, today I rode and there was a chill in the air, and this weekend it’s going to be over 90˚ before it dips down into the low 60s next week. And all of that psycho-weather (Qu’est-ce que c’est) is just the precursor to what will inevitably follow: rain, ice, snow, slush, wind, and upwards of seven months worth of nipple erecting cold that will have me wanting to crawl as far into a bottle of gin as I can before emerging from my drunken cocoon in May like a fat, out of shape butterfly with a liver counting down the days to failure and a waistline crying to live out the rest of its days in ever-expanding, taco grease stained sweatpants. Hyperbole much?


But here I am putting carts before horses again instead of just enjoying the extended warm weather, the colors of fall, the chance to get in some miles, take some photos and keep those couple of pounds wanting to nudge me up another pants size waiting a bit longer.


While my blogging has been sub-par of late, I did manage to squeeze a good number of rides in over the past week. In fact, I spent enough time in the saddle that by week’s end I literally had the red outline of a chamois irritatingly etched into my ass cheeks. It looked like someone got two soggy Arby’s roast beef sandwiches, put them side by side and then drew the pattern of a chamois pad on the top of the buns. This isn’t to say I set any mileage records, just that I was in the saddle a good bit and my ass cheeks are two overly sensitive bags of flabby flesh that not only become irritated easily but sadly also resemble two grease soaked hamburger buns.

Having blathered on enough, let’s look at some pics…


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