The past week and holiday weekend was not as conducive for riding as I would have hoped: there was travel to Kalamazoo and back for B’s soccer tournament amongst other time eating activities. With that I found myself rideless since I rode dirt last Wednesday, but after a good night’s sleep on Sunday night, and a lazy Memorial Day morning around the house processing the hundreds of photos I took at the tournament, I finally got out for a ride; another ride on dirt, real dirt… singletrack dirt.
It was nearly a full week since I last rode my bike. The break was not planned, nor was it enjoyed. It was five days of rain, high winds, cool November-like temps, a busy travel soccer schedule with B, and a nice bout of “who gives a f*ck?” ennui. However, per usual, just when I thought that I might never actually ride my bike again, I found myself rolling out from the cul-de-sac onto the roads of rural Michigan.
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.
Wednesday brought another welcomed chance to ride, and attempt to burn off some of the calories I put on over the past week (and years) of rideless slack. It was also a chance to ride dirt and gravel roads south of town. Some of those roads proved to be no day at the beach, even though they were very much like riding on one.
After Sunday’s short, miserable windy ride, I had little desire to do anything but what was required of me as a father, husband, and human being on Monday. I did what I had to do, and got it over with… sort of like me in grades 1 through 12.
I’m on a streak of late. Sadly it’s not a good one. This streak has included one of two things: not riding, or shit rides. The past three days, the streak continued.
I hadn’t been on the bike since last Tuesday; a full eight days that seemed to include everything but riding my bike. Many of those days had weather that was more like early March than late April and May, so I don’t feel like I missed out on too much, except the opportunity to burn some calories as I attempt to shed my muffin top.
After last Tuesday’s ride, the rest of the week was lost to illness and shit weather. Thursday night I finally got more than 2 hours of sleep, as a result I felt the best I had in days on Friday. Not “let’s go for a ride” good, but good enough to catch up on some adulting, then hang with B-Man and Jake (the dog) in the yard of the Cul-de-sac Shack, capturing some of the backyard nature that can be found around our home with my camera. Due to a complete lack of doing anything, all of today’s images are from that afternoon of backyard slack.
As I mentioned here in my last digital dispatch of dystopian cycling life, I appear to have contracted some sort of allergy. Since Tuesday morning I’ve been dealing with itchy eyes, sinus pressure, a scratchy throat, clogged ears, coughing, endless streams of snot, and a bright red nose that only goes to further the general public’s assumption that I am some sort of jobless, beer drinking scoundrel.
Alas, it’s taken me two days, and two sleepless nights to finally admit; I don’t think this is an allergy, I think I’m ill. If it’s not illness, it’s one bastard of an allergy, and the trees from which the pollen spores fled should be burnt to the ground by hordes of torch wielding warriors on horseback, Game of Thrones style.
Monday’s 45 mile ride was one of the best rides I’ve had in 2017. Everything just fell into place; warm, but not too warm, low wind, good legs, and a great attitude. Tuesday’s ride… not so much.
