After Friday’s big, fat, hot as fuck, fail of a ride, I headed to Sylvan Solace on Saturday to capture the macro shots you see today. Saving another attempt at two-wheeled happiness for Sunday.
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Gettin’ frothy.
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Night train.
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Feetus leaves.
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Coming to a turd near you.
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Dirty fingernail for scale.
— PART II —
“To and fro, here and there, back and forth, out and back, this way and that way, whatever it takes.”
— Leonard Nimoy1
I did very little different from Friday’s ride in preparing for Sunday morning’s ride other than drinking more coffee, yet the results were drastically different.
I planned to do an out and back from the Cul-De-Sac-Shack, hit the main road, ride a mile of pavement, hit the dirt, and keep going, turning around at the 11.25 mark.
I had done a similar out and back Better Than The Trainer Ride™ last week with some good results, but as a rule, I am not a fan of the out and back ride if it can be prevented. And it can almost always be prevented.
There is something about the out and back that just doesn’t sit well with me; it’s sort of like Republican Sex (loveless sex under the covers, grinding away in the missionary position, possibly while wearing pajamas, for the sole purpose of procreating and perpetuating their race of Bible-thumping, science-denying, money-loving, misogynist racists). Does it get the job done? Yes, but it’s not as fun as a loop. Or being buck naked on top of the covers having sex for sex sake. (I may have gone too far with this analogy. Part of me wants to apologize, part of me say’s fuck it).
Sunday’s 22.5-mile ride in the late-morning heat got the job done and more: I felt good, avoided the breeze from the west, hit some parts of North Crawford Road I hadn’t seen in years, took some pics, and got a sweat on.
While there were still hints of Republican Sex, it was less like loveless under the covers sex, and more like Republican Affair Sex (covert sex done with a secretary, assistant, massage parlor madam, rest area boy-toy, or Beltway male prostitute that may or may not contain a non-disclosure agreement, threats of legal action, shouts of “FAKE NEWS!” and denials).
OK, this has gone entirely off the rails right into a pointless rant. I’ll stop and just say that I rode my bike, it was an out and back, and was surprisingly enjoyable.
Off-topic (thank god!), today marks three weeks since my intestines turned themselves inside out due to what I think was some bad chicken. It also marks three weeks and one day since I last ate meat. I’m not saying I’ll never go back to meat, but now, the memories of a dry-heaving bunghole are too fresh in mind. And now yours too, you’re welcome.
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And so another week begins, stay safe, buck naked and on top of the covers, people.
Later.