I rode my bike two days in a row.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA! Before uncomfortable white guy high fives and fist bumps are presented to me like we’re a couple of jaoffs watching fake basketball games in a Papa John’s commercial, let me say they both sucked. Sucked real hard.
The past week was filled with miles on the Dreadmill, some prison-style weight training, and a tall drink or twelve of “Well, at least January is fucking over.”
I took some pics around the Cul-De-Sac-Shack (two of which you see here), but outdoor activities were limited due to a winter storm and my distaste for being cold.
Yeah, I know, nothing makes one sound old like talking about the weather, but I’m going to talk about it anyway. I’m also going to talk a little about bikes, which is something I rarely do these days on this cycling blog turned outlet for idiocy.
This week started off HORRIBLE, but progressively got better-ish. Still, I’m glad to see it almost over.
Having a plan on Friday proved useless, so I entered Saturday planless and brainless. In other words, it was just me being me.
I was up around 8 for coffee, toast, and a couple of dippy eggs before lubing up Mr. Burgundy (not code for sex) and getting my shit together for a quick ride in the rapidly warming morning sun.
Say what you want about the necessity, value, and quality of the—went on a bit too long—Soiled Chamois mini-shit show entitled The Quarantine Chronicles, it motivated me to write. Now, not so much.
Someday this will all be over. Eventually, I will wake up in the morning and know what day it is, and care what day it is. Someday the country won’t be a polarized and divided dumpster fire, and the name of the orange fuck face in the White House will just be a despicable footnote in the pretty darn, not bad history of our country.
Until that day comes, I will keep doin’ what I do to make life fun: ride bikes, take photos, hike trails, love my wife and kid, watch the footy, drink beer, and make food.
The past week was filled with ups and downs. To be honest, it was mostly filled with downs, but I’m choosing not to devote any more brainpower than is absolutely necessary to those bits and think about my Friday morning ride.
This week has been a rollercoaster shit show of good days, bad days, a swell 49th birthday, COVID angst, life angst, adulting, a crap walk in the woods that yielded not one photo I liked, a somewhat OK ride south of town, and a few hours at the shop.
Given how much I hate Michigan winters, I will refrain from hating on Michigan summers. I mean, the summers are just fine for people not wearing a 90-pound fat suit and trying to ride their bike on shadeless dirt roads under the steamy mid-morning sun.
After Friday’s big, fat, hot as fuck, fail of a ride, I headed to Sylvan Solace on Saturday to capture the macro shots you see today. Saving another attempt at two-wheeled happiness for Sunday.