Bugs and Bloat

Where did the week go, eh?

A week ago tonight, I was hit in the belly by the iron fist of a stomach bug. I believe the bug was brought to me via some tainted chicken thighs and caused me to spend the next 24 hours in bed or in the bathroom with a dry heaving bung. Alas, I’ve said too much.

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Skipping Monday

[THERE SHOULD BE A PHOTO HERE]

To say things did not go as I planned since my last post would be an understatement.

Yes, I rode my mountain bike on Friday, and it was excellent, as was celebrating Wifey’s 49th birthday that evening. Saturday, I dedicated myself to sloth and outside chores. Sunday was to be a day of hiking with my camera. That’s when things started falling apart.

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Adulting, Colts, N’at

As the last week of being Not Really Quarantined winds down (for now), and most shit opens back up (except my goddamn barber!) this coming Monday, my week was filled with adulting. My outdoor activities were limited to a quick ride on Monday morning, a short walk around the Sylvan Solace with my camera for an hour on Wednesday (while getting eaten alive by mosquitos), and a 25-mile dirt road ride on Saturday afternoon.

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Funk, Mr. Roper & Diamond Dave

NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.

“I’ve got a ticket come ride with me
Let me go down on the merry-go-round
All is fair ‘n’ a big fairground
Let’s go slow, let’s go fast
Like a licorice twist gonna whip your ass.”

      –Love Rollercoaster, Ohio Players

Other than having the word “rollercoaster” in the song, the lyrical reference above from funk legends Ohio Players does absolutely nothing to illustrate the mood rollercoaster that I—and many others—have been experiencing during Pandemic-A-Go-Go 2020.

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Missed Connections

NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.

“I must be ill.” – Withnail

I know it’s wrong to talk of illness in the throws of a global pandemic, but given my two-year on/off relationship with my bike, for me to ride three out of the past four days must mean I’m ill. In an awesome, it feels good to sweat, slobber, pant, and wake up sore sort of way. Cheez-Its H. Rice, that made it sound like I was having sex with a bear. A bear, not a “bear.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

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