The promise I made to myself to get back into the routine of riding and writing was short-lived. The riding part held up, but I fell short with the writing. I got caught up in processing photos from last Thursday night’s Alma MTB Time Trial, riding, taking and processing my own photos from rides and a rainy Saturday hike. There was also some bitterness and depression, too many beers, and bidding farewell to my friend Mike at his memorial service on Sunday.
Monday morning’s schedule had a variety of crap that needed done and I was content not to ride. Until I wasn’t. I found myself caught up and feeling guilty for not riding, so I kitted up for a rare late afternoon ride on dirt roads and pavement north of town.
After a very rainy and busy weekend, I looked forward to getting out on Monday morning for a quick ride. Mondays are by nature busy, but I needed some saddle time to blow the weekend slack off of me and burn some calories.
Wednesday’s ride left me feeling like spent dog shit, and on Thursday there was a large part of my even larger body that wanted to say “f*ck it,” and do anything at all that didn’t involve me riding my bike into a steady headwind on a dirt road.
There has been little time to get any miles in on the bike for a variety of reasons, including a home tournament for B-Man over the weekend that had us at the fields most of the weekend.
I don’t want to sound negative, but there was nothing all that special about today’s ride. After two days of wet snow and rain, the weather was near perfect today, the wind was so calm it felt like cheating, and I completed my 30+ mile road loop without much mental or (perceived) physical effort. It was swell, but I’m not going to blow smoke up your blog reading asses by telling you it was something all that amazing. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take that shit all day long, but it was nothing special.
So, I give you three photos, by the numbers, that sum up the ride and my Saturday…
There was a time, now almost literally years ago, that me talking about riding dirt meant one thing– singletrack. These days most of my miles spent on dirt are of the dirt road variety. Something that I find to be a hexagonal tug of war equal parts a challenging, loved, creative spike to the vein, and a depressing, sad, pathetic state of my cycling life. The latter is rarely thought of unless I start to think about the days of racing–or just plain ol’ riding–my mountain bike in the woods for long periods of time.
I got behind on this digital shit show, so playing some catch up here with a bit about yesterday, today.
Since Friday’s crap-tastic ride in the relentless wind I have done the following:
Saturday: Run, strength train, slack hard, hang with Wifey, drink beer, play video games.
Sunday: Take B to practice, slack harder, drink beer, play video games.
Monday: Catch up on web duties for various side/freelance projects, run, strength train.
In other words I didn’t ride, but 2 of the 3 days I did some “stuff.” Then 2 of the 3 days I did things to undo the stuff I did. But just think if I wouldn’t have done that “stuff.” The good “stuff,” not the bad stuff! We’ll call it all even… ish. This is why I don’t lose weight.
Finally Tuesday I rode. I rode pavement, and I rode dirt. Or as my friends at Terry’s Cycle say #morethanpavement.
Mondays are usually all over the place for me schedule wise, and are usually filled with doing all the stuff I avoided doing on the weekend. Because of that, they often contain little to no riding. Well that was before Operation Stop Looking Like a Fat Morrissey/Orange is The New Black Inmate began back in February! Now I am willing to sacrifice freelance commitments, husbandly duties, home repairs, cooked meals, and clean undies as I attempt to lose 50 pounds (40.6 to go).
So with that I threw myself out into the crisp Michigan morning with all the gusto of a hump happy bovine, and got in my second 30+ mile ride in less than 24 hours.
So far this week [month?] there’s been a distinct lack of doing stuff outdoors, so today’s photo is from a ride back in February. I like the photo well enough but I hate the utility lines that cut through the middle of it. Yes, through the magic of Photoshop I removed them and the pic looked fine, but it didn’t feel right. I have no problem with retouching images to get rid of sauce spatter on a food photo, the zit on your nose, those nips poking through your wife’s t-shirt, or to make myself NOT look like the poster model for the upcoming, soon to be self-produced movie Dad Bod Gone Wild, Every Day I’m Jigglin’. In other words viva la narcissism! when it comes to spatter, zits, nips, and blubber, but in landscapes and/or documentary style photography I find it creepy and wrong (like hearing your parents talk about sex). So the power lines stay.
