My dad is bald, he’s been bald my entire life. He’ll always be bald. I am not bald. I have been bracing for baldness since puberty yet at 46 years old all I’m contending with are minor problems in Sectors 1 and 31, but I am not bald2 My tires, on the other hand, are quite bald.
After Saturday’s ride, I was eager to get back out for some more. Sadly, Sunday brought 40+ MPH wind gusts (no thank you) and time on Monday did not cooperate. All I could muster was the weakest of attempts at time on the dreadmill. Tuesday, however, was looking much better.
Nearly all of last week was spent in the Not So Stankment running/lumbering nowhere slow on the dreadmill as part of my continued efforts to be the fittest fat man on earth. My first “run” of the week was OK, but the second was more crap than usual and I found myself lumbering and walking way more than running. It was sort of pathetic.
No, this isn’t a post-Valentine’s Day entry about lost love. However, it has everything to do with losing the excitement and mystery of travel.
Last week started with about six or seven inches of snow and icy roads that forced schools to cancel. Somewhere in the middle of the week the temps warmed up towards 50˚ and the aforementioned snow all but melted. Then come to the end of the week the temps dropped again and froze the roads solid which aided me in finally getting out for a ride.
Three tomatoes are walkin’ down the street.
Papa Tomato, Mama Tomato and Baby Tomato.
Baby Tomato starts lagging behind, and Papa Tomato gets really angry.
Goes back and squishes him and says: ‘“Ketchup.”
—Mia Wallace, Pulp Fiction
Despite having lived through 39 Pennsylvania winters and 7 Michigan winters I have yet to learn to embrace winter. I’ve got better at dealing with winter over the years by adding activities like snowshoeing and rides on the Fatterson with my camera into my routine but saying I embrace those activities is just crazy talk.
After Tuesday’s short—but sweet—ride, things turned pretty pear-shaped. First, the wind kicked up on Wednesday and was blowing hard enough to bend some trees and rattle some shutters. There was no way I was going out in a cold wind like that, that’s just not fun to me. Then, come Thursday, the temps sunk into the mid-teens and the wind continued to blow. Screw that!
Despite not getting outside over the past two days, I kept quite busy indoors.
After spending what seemed like all of January in a frigid, vile funk that reeked of self-loathing, miserableness, ennui, WAY too many double IPAs, and white trash Mexican food, I have finally escaped said funk like a freshly birthed whale exiting its mother’s birthin’ bits.
That’s not to say that things are all beer and Skittles in my world, but riding three of the past five days and having the chance to ramble around the snirt roads on the Fatterson with my camera has me feeling a shit ton better of about life (as long as I don’t watch the news, look in a mirror, peruse the want ads, or step on a scale).
It’s been 5 days since the Suckest Ride of 2018 v.1 and I’ve had little interest in returning outside since. My mind hasn’t been in the right place, not to mention the days have been all over the place this week due to the MLK holiday, B-Man having 1/2 days due to finals most of the week, an appointment, and a general slack and disinterest about most things not involving sleeping 18 hours a day.
