Winter is now (unofficially) officially here in the mid-Mitten. I was hopeful that it was detoured when the snow we got last Sunday melted through the week, but I knew it was here for sure when a quick pre-ride check of my phone Friday said it was 24˚/Feels like 17˚. What it should have said was 24˚/Feels like cold as f*ck.
After two days spent working out indoors for a variety of reasons (weather, time, not giving a shit), I got out for a ride on Wednesday morning. It was a short and sweet 25 miler, with little photo ops along the way, and many of the roads were still muddy messes, but a ride, is a ride, is a ride, is a ride.
Saturday was spent doing three things: eating, driving, and drinking (not all at the same time). Mostly eating foods that I really didn’t want to eat (hastily thrown together ham sandwiches and pretzels for the trip home), driving for over six hours at Cannonball Run speeds, and after 3.5 days finally having some drinks in an attempt to come down from a whirlwind Thanksgiving visit to Pennsylvania and all the angst that comes with. Through all of that I had my eyes on riding Sunday no matter what Ma Nature or life threw at me, and I did.
Friday and Saturday this week were like night and day. Friday it was 70˚ and I rode 30 miles in shorts and short sleeves under a blue sky and sun. Saturday it was dark and gray, the wind was gusting, and it was blowing rain and snow most of the day.
Tuesday was Deer Day here in Michigan, a legit day off of school for kids, and sort of like Christmas Morning for gun loving, blood thirsty, meat eating adults across the state. Actually I take that back, it is indeed like Christmas Morning for many, but the rest of that made it sound like I have an issue with hunting and hunters when in fact I don’t. I have an issue with me hunting, but not with the act itself. I’ve never fired a gun or launched and arrow in my 45+ years, but I’m pretty, sort of, kinda sure I could kill an animal, cook, and eat it. It’s the everything in between (guts and stuff) that I couldn’t do. I will happily eat any venison that any of my friends want to give me though, especially summer sausage or jerky!
I swear to you, until I moved to Michigan six years ago I had no idea that sugar beets even existed. I knew of red beets only because my grandmother used to pickle and can them, and that I avoided them like the plague. Unbeknownst to me it turns out I’ve probably been eating sugar beets most of my life in the form of sugar. In years past when I saw piles of sugar beets from a distance I assumed they were potatoes or something. Seems I was wrong.
In my last post I recounted going out for a hike walk in the woods on Thursday with my camera. I was finally starting to rid myself of the cold and flu shit that I had going on, and I was happy to be goofing off in the woods. Still, I longed for a ride. Thankfully after spending my free time on Friday mowing grass (for the last time?), I would finally get to ride on Saturday, Sunday, AND Monday. Thrice as nice!
As I mentioned in my last post I was sort of sick, then that turned into balls out sick for a day or so, then by Friday the illness went away, and I was stoked. The snow we got on Wednesday had melted, and I got out for some muddy dirt road rides on Friday and Saturday and felt really good. Then on Sunday we spent the day freezing our asses off in Bay City watching B take part in a one day soccer tournament (they won it, yeah). Then around 3 AM on Monday I woke up with all sorts of sludge in my sinuses, and full on body aches. Oh yeah boy, the illness that had been gone, was now indeed back. There was much mental cussing.
After a full weekend of traveling downstate to Monroe, Michigan for a soccer tournament I was anxious to get some riding in, and to eat some food that was in no way made for me, but rather by me. Mondays are usually pretty busy for me, but I managed to get a for quick 22 mile dirt road ride from the house.
Each day, each week, each ride, fall continues to fall upon central Michigan. More and more fields are now bare; crops harvested and carted off to become Doritos, Big Macs, and corn flavored gasoline, leaving the landscape wide open for crisp winds to travel 3,800 miles from the Witch’s tit (located on a small island in the East Siberian Sea) all the way to rural Michigan to turn the nipples on my sagging pecs into glass cutting diamonds as I lumber along dirt roads on my bike.
Thankfully there are still some crops hanging on, and leaves remaining on the trees to keep all that from happening quite yet, but each day we creep a little closer to death, er, I mean winter.