This week has sort of been all over the place; one day I’m doing nothing but random house stuff, the next day I’m walking around in the woods like a crazed hermit with a camera, the next day I’m on my cross bike north of town rolling on fast, hard packed dirt roads, and the next day I’m on my fatty, rambling over, wet, muddy dirt roads in ninety degree heat for just under thirty miles [I think thirty miles on a stock fat bike equals fifty on a regular bike, but I might be wrong on that].
I didn’t plan on riding thirty-ish miles on the fat bike in 90˚ heat, it just sort of happened. My plan was to do twenty to twenty-five miles, take some pics and get back home as soon as possible to beat the heat, pick up B at a friend’s house and do some work on the front steps of my house.
Well, I spaced out a bit on the ride, missed a turn I wanted and then misjudged how much further I needed to go before I could loop back to take dirt roads back. Not a big deal, but I now found myself creeping along on the aforementioned soft dirt roads under the heat of the midday sun. I felt like a pig roasting on spit.
The dirt road rides around Michiganderburgh aren’t that difficult, but I somehow find a way–most often through my own stupidity–to make them more difficult. A ride that should have taken roughly two hours turns into one that takes over two and a half hours due to a poor bike choice, un-Michigan-like heat, soft roads, bubbling fat around my midriff, and the fact that I was hauling the additional weight of a DSLR along with me. God knows the fat bike, hauling my ass around isn’t heavy enough!
However it is often these poor choices that keep things interesting. While a fast thirty mile ride on a cross bike is fun, there is something to be said for creeping along dirt roads, sweating all over myself while taking in the sights, sounds and smells of rural Michigan on a hot summer day.
Sometimes I think of it as some sort of bizarre strength training (both mentally and physically). Many people go to the gym to work on leg strength, I find myself grinding up soft dirt road climbs on a fat bike at five miles an hour. Then again, I think I just tell myself this borderline bro-science type shit to keep me and my ever worsening “dad bod” from giving up completely and laying down in a pool of beer and pizza for the rest of my days.
I’ve never been known to make great life choices, so why should my ride choices be any different? But then again, we’re talking about riding a bike, not fate of the free world type shit. Any bike ride, is a win/win situation, whether you felt like a pile of turtle shit or have legs like a pro roadie who just drained a blood bag in his hotel room.
Dirt road traffic.
Since this post is getting dangerously close to me handing out pseudo life advice based on crap rides, I will stop writing words and just finish with a few more shots from the ramble.
More elusive than the double rainbow; the double Fiero.
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Brown horse on red barn.
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I can’t believe I’m writing this but I think I am actually going to forgo a Saturday ride to finish patching up the cement on my front steps. What could be more fun than mixing and slathering on cement in the 90+ degree mid-day sun? Riding a fat bike on muddy dirt roads, that’s for Goddamn sure!
The window to my soul.
Later.