Over the past couple of years, I have had a couple posts about rabbits.
There was the time I accidentally hit one with my car as I drove to the trails to lumber and, ironically, attempt to take photos of wildlife. That one hit hard.
Then, last summer, there were three baby bunnies, alone, snuggled up in a small hole in the backyard, that I had to safely remove before mowing the grass and then saw them reunite with Mama Bunny before bed that night.
Now I have another one.
I know it’s hard to tell, but sometimes I do actually know a thing or two. Mostly just one thing, but still.
So, I admit, I took some pleasure in that one thing I know, being that the trails would be shit on Monday and Tuesday; thus, me stuffing myself into an ancient bike kit (the one that still actually fits) and riding the trainer two days in a row.
As I’ve mentioned previously, Wifey is out of town for work and three hours behind, and B is at school an hour away in East Lansing, so I am home and very alone. This is probably why my posts have been rambling word salads that could have been reduced to a paragraph.
One of the worst things about being an outdoor lumbering enthusiast in the winter is the constant weather-watching and weather-based decision-making.
The week of outdoor lumbering thus far, and for the foreseeable future, has been completed on snowshoes, and with each day, my lumbers have gotten a bit longer.
After five days inside with my ass alternating between Whooshing on the trainer and relaxing on the couch, I was back in the woods on Tuesday morning for a snowshoe.
The -1˚ morning temps made me less than enthused to return to the woods, but it did warm up to 3˚ by the time my feet were on the trail, so I guess I shouldn’t complain too much.
Time to catch up on recent wintry slack and indoor living. Here we go.
Late in March 2024, I was enduring a spell of multiple injuries to my back, knee, and both feet due to age, overuse, and an accident while caring for Jake (the dog).
I was really struggling, and lumbering was super painful. So, after much nervousness, anxiety, and bouts of “what the fuck is wrong with my brain?” I stuffed myself into some bike kit, got on board my trainer in the basement, and rode a bike for the first time in 2 years, 4 months, and 26 days. It was pretty OK, and I would do it again a few more times during my recovery.
After a less-than-desirable breakfast of coffee, “homemade” turkey sausage, egg whites, and a side of ketchup, I was off to the trails for another wintry hike.
I pulled into the lot, got my micro-spikes on, and as I was getting my pack situated, an eagle flew overhead while my camera lay on the seat of the car. I’ve been working on my negative thought process lately, but I couldn’t help but mutter, “Just my luck, why the hell do I always see an eagle when I have no chance of getting a shot??”
And with that “woe is me” attitude, I drug my ass down the main path from the parking lot and into the woodsy trails.
I was NOT in the mood to head out into the cold this morning. My bones ached, my joints creaked, my mind craved sleep, and my colon was a fecal-spewing trainwreck. No, I wasn’t sick; 53 just be like that some mornings.
