Today as I readied my bottles for my ride I briefly thought about taking the PrOcal out. Then I remembered how packed down and fast the roads were yesterday morning and how well the Boone performed on said roads. “What could change in 24 hours?” I thought. It turns out the dumping of fresh gravel on just about every gravel road north of town is what. Cuss!
I recently went on a five-day stretch without riding and to be completely honest I really didn’t miss it, until I did.
I got out Tuesday morning for a ride south of town with the PrOcal. I’ve been opting to use the PrOcal on the rides south of town due to many of the roads being extremely sandy and torn up by Amish horses and buggies this time of year, but I have to admit, anytime the roads smooth out I am left longing for the efficiency of the Boone. The gearing of the PrOcal is way more suited for actual singletrack (probably because it’s made for actual mountain biking, not putzing around slowing on gravel roads), and I just feel like I’m pedaling on fly paper much of the time.
Having said all that, when things get sandy and shitty I plow through with confidence without so much as a wobble.
After Wednesday’s crap 16-ish mile ride I took Thursday off the bike and just goofed off and got caught up on some stuff.
By Friday I was feeling better mentally and ready to ride, but could have used better legs. I got a half way OK ride in and took some photos, but that was about the extent of it.
I took today (Thursday) off the bike for a couple of reasons: 1. I needed to get some shit done and 2. Wednesday’s ride sucked, sucked real bad and I wanted a break. I should clarify that the ride didn’t suck, the bike didn’t suck–I sucked!
Sunday and Monday were spent off the bike; doing dad stuff, catching up on some work, goofing off, and going to the shop to swap from the too knobby for Michigan singletrack, side wall Stan’s weeping Maxxis Ikons to the trusted Bontrager XR2s. Thankfully on Tuesday, the Magic 8 ball of life had all signs pointing to a ride on dirt roads.
This was one of those weekends that I really needed. This summer had all the makings to be a good one, but then a variety of set backs–some big, some small–caused it to be tolerable at best. Thankfully in the past week, I feel like I’ve started to turn a corner mentally, physically, emotionally, and creatively. This Saturday’s ride was a culmination of all those things coming together.
Yesterday morning I woke up to dark clouds and rain followed by some ongoing mist. As I drank coffee and typed another crap blog post that no one asked for, I was excited to get myself out into it with my bike and camera. My plan was to head south of town since there’s a bit more of the rural decay that I love. I readied the PrOcal and my camera, took care of some Dad duties and other business, got into my kit–which is no easy feat these days–looked out the window and saw blue sky and sun. Damn.
After Sunday’s ride, I entered a two-day period of nothingness. Other than catching up on some stuff, getting some house chores done, and another doctor’s appointment there was not much going on. Well, I guess there was the rodeo on Tuesday night. Yeah, you read right, Mr. Artsy-Fartsy, Smiths listening, left winger, shaved legged bicycle boy went to a rodeo.
The promise I made to myself to get back into the routine of riding and writing was short-lived. The riding part held up, but I fell short with the writing. I got caught up in processing photos from last Thursday night’s Alma MTB Time Trial, riding, taking and processing my own photos from rides and a rainy Saturday hike. There was also some bitterness and depression, too many beers, and bidding farewell to my friend Mike at his memorial service on Sunday.
