After last Saturday night’s snowstorm and the forecasted SUN! and bitterly low temps, I knew I would have to adjust the lengths and expectations from the coming week’s hikes.
Tag Archives | doing stuff
More Snow & Funk 45s
The more things stay the same, the more you want to drive to your local watering hole, hand them your credit card, and not leave until spring or your liver fails. Either way, it’s a win/win situation.
I sort of jest; despite the lack of sunshine, shit weather, and now the addition of 6 more inches of fresh snow on top of what we had, I have not been slowed down from my near-daily hikes and was able to hit my 25-mile goal on Saturday morning with a SLOW 4.5-mile lumber through the woods before the gamey balls of the latest winter storm arrived later that evening.
Stomps & Bootlicking
Wow, you gotta give January credit. As I type this shit on Sunday morning, it is, of course, still dark out, and of course, we are entering our 21st day of 22 featuring grey, sunless skies. Fuck January.
Dogs, Hawks, and Chats
As we enter the second half of January, things remain dark, dank, repetitious, dark, and dank. Except for last Saturday, when the Weather Dogs actually blessed mid-Michigan with our first day of sunshine in 2023, 14 days into the new year. Of course, roughly 24 hours later, it was gone, and Dankuary continues on.
Dreary Hikes & Stiff Ones
With my SSL certificate back in place, I think, THINK!, I have the website back up and running. As with most problems I’ve encountered in my life, I fucked enough shit up that I needed to ask for help; repeatedly until I finally got it sorted. It was like the parable of the leper and the unleavened bread from the 2nd season of Fraggle Rock. I think.
Winter Walks & Hot Garbage
Last week was a snowy and cold one, but it felt great to be outside stomping miles through the woods rather than on a treadmill in the gym, going nowhere slow while trying to avert my eyes from the row of TVs in front of me beaming crap morning talk shows and right-wing news, as well as trying to ignore Karlee checking her booty gains in the mirror and Brice flexing his massive arms while disregarding the squat rack and his steroid-induced thinning hair which is offset by his ironic mustache.
Sure, I have abandoned Operation Peck Lift III and lost all my gains again, but I’m much happier outside, embracing shit weather, taking photos, and, let’s face it, pushing myself through the aches and pains that an out-of-shape 51-year-old doofus feels when hiking 4+ miles 6 to 7 days a week while attempting to stave off the depression that had me opting for hours staring a dusty ceiling fan (since dusted) while laying in the Bed of Torment wondering how one person could be filled with so much self-loathing, even on the nicest of summer days.
Good Weeks & Getting Along
The last week was a good one; I exceeded 25 miles of woodsy walking (26.52), finally received the new to me, no longer produced Fuji Film X70 that I traded in some old, unused Nikon DX kit towards, and Election Day went very well on national and local levels, including Big Gretch being re-elected, and Michigan passing Prop 3 which adds women’s reproductive rights to our state constitution.
Woods and Cassius
Here is another unneeded post about me stomping around in the woods with my camera for no real reason other than to stay active outdoors while exfoliating the depressive hunks of shit that often cling to my brain like barnacles on a 17th-century sailor’s unkept man-nubbins.1
Hikes & Dreamboats
It’s strange to me (not really) that when I am getting outside and doing stuff—in this case, near-daily hikes in the woods—I, of course, feel better physically and mentally, but I also notice that I blather less here. I know that is a win/win for all parties concerned, but strange to me nonetheless.
This in no way means that I plan to abort my woodsy walks or return to the Bed of Torment in the Chamber of Farts for the sake of something to write about because, let’s face it, it can be a tad insufferable, and while I personally might find it therapeutic in some way to spew out depressive word salad thrice weekly and post it for the whole world to read, it can be tiring and its value overpriced.
Wet Hike Lover
Last week was filled with near-daily lumbers through the woods with my camera, followed by a day off to let my 51-year-old body rest and recover; I was ready to get back at it on Monday and returned to Deerfield Park for a 4-mile hike in the cool, rainy woods.
The morning was dark with a rain that alternated between a steady drizzle and a refreshing misty spray that gave the woods a real Dagobah System feel (Google it, youngsters).