Soup’s On! Again

I’m Not a Vegan Creamy Vegan Tomato Soup with bread and vegan butter.

I visit you all here again with tales of wonderment, awe, and spectacular deeds done atop my bicycle!! No, not really. Not at all. But there’s soup! And pictures of my kid playing soccer!! The two main ingredients in any great crap—dare I say legendary infamous—cycling blog.

I think I may have fully given up on the notion that this is a cycling blog (I’m sure you have figured that out). I still dig riding my bike, but it is in no way the priority it was 10+ years ago, and I in no way experience the same joy; I now seem to get the same pleasure from shooting photos, cooking, and playing with my bulldogs (not code for masturbation).

My body looks like a soft, giant rotting potato, some days my mind feels like that of a rotting corpse, and the only thing that keeps me writing this dross is that I find it cathartic, and it’s hard to break a 15-year-old routine. I should just change the name to Soiled Undies and be done with it.

Perky sweet potato.

But enough about what this shit show is and isn’t.

The tail end of last week brought better vibes than its demonic head; I had few lumbers on the Dreadmill, life stuff came together, and B’s high school soccer team managed to be pitted against a team of equal subparness for the first round of the district playoff tournament. His team won, 6-1, and he had three assists on the night. Not sure they will fare as well on Tuesday, but after two years of “one and done,” it was nice to see them finally advance beyond the first round.

I would also add that after 8 months of COVID-LIFE and all of its worry and dystopian mind fucking, and a less than stellar season for the team, it was nice to see the boys experiencing such pure joy after their win. When the final whistle blew, I was making my way back towards the bleachers from my photo duties, and B left his teammates and ran towards me, threw his arms around me, and hugged me. I have to admit I was a bit surprised but loved every second of the embrace. Just about a year ago, I took a photo of him hugging his mother after the team’s first-round defeat, and he was inconsolably crying in her arms, having not only just experienced a season-ending loss but also letting go of the season’s worth of pressure he puts on himself to carry the team as much as he can. Tuesday evening may bring more of that, but for now, I am still enjoying the memory of the smile on his face and his arms around me.




The week ahead looks chaotic: playoff match on Tuesday, some oral surgery for B on Wednesday, some time at the shop, and trying to remember all of my pre-winter home maintenance duties in between lumbering in the Not So Stankment, getting out for some walks in the autumn woods, cooking more soups that no one asked for, and numbing my mind to the Great American Dumpster Fire (2020 Edition)


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