Wednesday morning brought sunny skies but cold temps and a steady wind out of the west. Motivation to ride was high, motivation to ride in the cold wind was low. A compromise in the form of a Better Than The Trainer Ride™ was made. Who says you can’t have it all!
Heaven, earth, hell, multi-dimensional planes, planets, and universes lined up on a crisp and cool Tuesday morning to make the love making-like magic of a slow rolling dirt road ride happen. Joy to the f-ing world.
After Wednesday’s lackluster ride which featured me working more on a jacked up shoe cleat and taking photos than it did actually riding my bike, I was hopeful that Thursday would be more fruitful in the mileage department. Sadly, it was not.
After three days off the bike due to soccer travel with B, weather, and “stuff,” I was finally able to get out for a ride on a dank fall morning. The ride started off bad, got worse, then got mildly tolerable. There’s no one to blame but myself, for as you all know very well, I. AM. AN. IDIOT.
I was up early Saturday morning to let Jake (the dog) out. He took just long enough to do his business that I put aside notions of returning to the Chamber of Farts, got a cup of coffee and sat down to watch Spurs lose to Man U. I did all of this with the idea that I would not be riding. The gray skies, cold temps, and steady wind made sitting around watching soccer and drinking coffee until it was a reasonable time to drink beer just too appealing.
After multiple days of rain and mud the conditions turned optimal for a dirt road ride south of town on Thursday. While conditions were indeed optimal, it also coincided with our first heavy frost of the fall. Shit be freezin’.
Posts have been few are far between (it’s the least I can do for the people of the interwebs) but I have been well occupied, if not well while being occupied.
Monday morning I quickly finished up some stuff I needed to attend to and then got out for a 31-ish mile ride on the Boone in the nipply Autumn air north of town.
The title of this post suggests that I am going to wax poetic about my ongoing fisticuffs with the “black dog,” attempt to sell you some sort of $19.99 faux copper-infused compression stocking snake oil shit that will dull the pain of your torn rotator cuff, or talk at length about the greatness of the song Cure For Pain by the band Morphine.1 But I’m not, I’m gonna talk about my ass. Again!
Note: This post has been edited from its original publication to reflect my current and final thoughts on the Sony RX10 III.
I found some extra miles somewhere this week and officially pushed over the 3,000-mile mark for the year. As mentioned in a recent post, undoubtedly I will be falling well short of my 5,000-mile goal, but I suppose 3,000+ miles are better than none. Of course looking at the raging Dad-bod I’m rocking right now, you would think I drove the 3,000 miles and hit every burger and pub I could find along the way!
Mile totals aside, I had a pretty good week on the bike, especially on Thursday when I headed south of town and did some dirt road ‘splorin’, hit some new roads (by accident) and had a good time shooting with the new to me electronic image making device (AKA a camera) I picked up via eBay last week.