The week thus far has been a three day blur of riding, house shit, chores, heat, humidity, traveling, soccer practices, and AC repairmen. None of that is all that bad except for the AC needing repaired during one of the hottest summers I’ve experienced in my almost six years here in Michigan. Thankfully we had some sort of appliance, warranty bullshit and that covered the cost of the repair. Now just to hope that the thing holds on for the summer without having to have the unit replaced!
Last Thursday I resurrected the Fatterson– Jesus vs. Lazarus-like–for a dirt road ride in which I whole heartedly expected messy, gobsmacking mud due to some thunderstorms that came through on Wednesday night. Instead I found tacky dirt roads that were near perfect for riding. So when I woke up on Friday morning and saw we had received more rain, I figured I might as well just roll the Boone since the dry roads have been sucking up the water pretty good.
In my life I have been known to make grandiose statements and decisions that I was 100% certain of, only to change my mind later.
The past week has been blazingly hot here in Michigan with temps often hovering in the mid-90s. As I’ve mentioned several times in the past, mid-90 temps in Michigan are roughly equal to living on the surface of the sun, especially when you realize that we were getting snow flurries in early May! As much as my super large former fat man (on his way back again) sweat glands don’t mesh well with high heat, I won’t complain all that much, since I would rather ride in some heat than the cold.
The week hasn’t been ideal for riding, but I did force myself out into the heat for couple short rides over the past few days.
I had another early morning PT session on Wednesday. You would think a ride after a session with a therapist stretching, and ripping at my muscles and forcing me to work my core in a million different directions would have me super loose and ready to ride. Sadly, past experience has proved otherwise. Until Wednesday.
I was up super early Monday morning to go to a 3:30 AM physical therapy appointment (OK, it wasn’t 3;30 AM, but it sure felt like it). I was stretched, yoga-balled, pounded, rolled, BOSU-balled, etc., etc., in the ever failing attempt at having my back and hip feel normal during rides.
With two straight days filled with work, stress, home issues, and 45th birthday angst behind me, I woke up on Friday anxious to get out for some miles and picture snapping. It took a while to get my mojo going, but eventually it all worked out.
Thursday was my birthday (thank you, but no gifts please). It seems I turned 45 years old, even though for some weeks I was convinced I was turning 46. Maybe that’s because my body feels way older these days? In any event, it’s been a long-standing tradition of mine to try to get out for a ride on my birthday to celebrate another of year of being healthy and fit enough to do such things. That my birthday plan… until it wasn’t.
I finally got a good night’s sleep in, and was enjoying the first day this week that I didn’t have to be up super, ass crack of dawn early. Then Wifey burst into the bedroom saying something like “THE CLOSING’S AT 9:20 NOT NOON!!! SHE TOLD ME NOON! SHE TOLD ME NOOOON!! IT’S IN MY CALENDAR!! I SWEAR!! Oh, and she said that the buyer wants us to remove some cabinets and some other shit from the garage.”
I got two days of dirt road riding in this weekend and am pretty sure that outside of singletrack I rolled on every surface imaginable: dirt, sand, gravel, pavement, shit pavement, and bombed out might be pavement, might be gravel roads.