It took 145 days, or 4 months and 24 days if you like counting that way better, for me to finally make it back outside for a ride. There was much rejoicing; there was also some “what the fuckery?” and some generous helpings of self-loathing on the sad topic of what I’ve let myself become (spoiler alert: fat, drunk, and stupid).
We’ll get to the ride soon enough, but given there’s not much to talk about, let’s backtrack for a little bit and talk birds, dogs, and beers.
After a Sunday that contained nothing but a short hike in the rain and some 12-ounce curls, the week has started off pretty not bad.
After a pretty good indoor cycling session and a short forest walkabout with my camera on Tuesday, I was looking forward to some outdoor saddle time on Wednesday. I got that, but also got a bonus hike in the woods with B later that day.
The wind FINALLY calmed down for a bit on Thursday and I got out for a ride north of town on dirt and gravel roads. It was the first truly cold ride of the season and it had me busting out the (way to snug) tights, and a bunch of other cold weather riding gear.
For better or worse (probably worse) I tell the truth here. I don’t purport to be a better cyclist than I am, and I sure as hell don’t think I’m a better person the rest of you all (I’m pretty sure there are animals that are better humans than me). To some, this comes off as being a fat face malcontent, while others dig the vibe I set. I like that a few people read this shit, but in the end, it matters not. It’s here. It’s free.
After a weekend off the bike hiking/walking amongst the wet leaves and mushrooms of central Michigan, I took Columbo day off to… um… do stuff that wasn’t actually doing stuff before going to the MP varsity soccer match with B to take photos as requested by the team “Momager.” Happy to oblige.
Monday was an OK-ish ride in the morning, and a HOT early evening in Midland watching B’s JV team get trounced while I sweat all over myself and anyone in a 30-foot radius of my gelatinous body. I don’t know how a person can produce as much sweat as I do just standing there, it really is disgusting and a tad embarrassing.
On Wednesday morning Wifey headed to Chicago for a three-day meeting at HQ, and I snuck out for a morning ride in the dreary mist, happy to be out on my bike after working the balls of Tuesday in the shop.
A crap ride on Saturday was followed by a day of slack and nothingness on Sunday. By Monday morning I was ready to take on some dirt roads south of town, hopefully before it got too hot.
As I closed my last post, I said that whatever I decided to do with my day—doing stuff-wise—it would be the right decision. That sounded good, and I tried to make it right, but choosing to ride had me wishing that I would have done just about anything else.
I’ll explain, because that’s what I do…
I spent most of Friday at the shop doing things that one does while working in a bike shop and was anxious to get out for some riding on Saturday.
