Thursday brought another chance to ride outside in the cold. I wasn’t looking forward to the cold that much, but wasn’t going to pass up a chance to get a ride in.
Tag Archives | dirt road life
The Sweet & The Short
After a morning of making multiple breakfasts and readying lunches, I took some time to see what I wanted to get done today and what would probably not get done. Then I drank more coffee.
Complete Almosts
Thursday was a pretty good, not bad time on the bike. I rode, I took some photos, I blathered about it here, and I was ready to do it again on Friday. Sadly, Friday was not ready for me. Shit.
Going Bald
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.
Jack in The Country
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.
Shots in Arms
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.
One Ain’t Bad
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.
Finding Something
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).
Making The Best of The Slop
Friday’s ride was just the mental enema that was needed to clean out the brain sludge that had has been accumulating over the past few weeks. Because of that, I was eager to get back out on Saturday.
Broke Like The Wind
When I rode last Saturday I returned home mentally broken like expelled wind forced betweenst the ass cheeks of a 300-pound hobo who just finished off a can of ice-cold pork ‘n’ beans. With that brokenness, I puttered and muttered through the week logging several miles of sprint intervals on the dreadmill, a session or two of pedaling nowhere fast on the trainer, perfecting my return to pescatarian eating (80% of the time), and many a night doing 12-ounce curls undoing all the work put into those workouts and diet changes.
Thankfully for all concerned that ended on Saturday when the temps warmed up and I forced myself out onto the slirty3 and snirty4 dirt roads.