Earlier this week, the talking weather heads predicted, nay, PROMISED warmer 40-ish degree temperatures for the mid-Mitten. They lied. I hate them.
Yeah, yeah, it wasn’t 25˚, it was in the low 40s/high 30s but with a good dose of gusting wind direct from the teat of the witch, so it felt like it was 25˚. It was your classic robbing Peter to get six and one-half dozen apples and/or oranges from one pocket to another to pay Paul to stay away from Mary (I think) scenario.
Winter is not over. That much I’m sure of; this is Michigan after all, land of May snow flurries, and June sweater wearing. However, on Sunday, we got a nice reprieve from the grey skies and the sort of snow, sort of ice, frozen ejaculate that a modern-day mid-Michigan winter spews, with some blue skies, sunshine, and improved temps.
A former mountain biker turned chubby part-time cyclist/full-time slacker with a camera recently said, “I suppose February will be bringing more of the same. Good thing, the same isn’t so bad.” And you know what? That chubby slacker was right!
Well, I’m glad that’s over! “That” being January. The month was long, sunless, dark, dank, gray, slushy, and boring.
Unlike you, part of me misses when I blogged almost every day. If for no other reason, I can’t remember what I did or rather didn’t do after a few days. Especially when the gloomy days have been nearly all the same for the past week. Such is life in the dank pre-winter of mid-Michigan.
Most of the past week was spent in the gym lifting heavy things for no reason, in the dentist chair having my mouth torn apart, or in various doctor’s offices having my brain shrunk or now mended ankle looked at.
The past summer has been rough for a multitude of reasons. Most of that painful miserableness has been documented here in recent posts. So, let’s move on, finally.
My life, am I right?
I’m starting to sound like a broken record, or a corrupt file for you youngsters, but I find myself —yet again—playing shit show catchup.
This past week was another busy one: There was time working in the shop, time shuttling B (and other neighborhood teammates) to soccer scrimmages and conditioning sessions, mind bender appointments, bike sales (goodbye Fatterson), family duties, house duties, a wedding anniversary (our 22nd), a birthday (my 48th), and some dirt road riding.
I won’t try to recap the week. It wasn’t that interesting, and I don’t have enough 48-year-old brain cells left to attempt to make it so. Instead, I will post some pics, say I’m mentally feeling good, physically looking like a walking sack of SPAM, and hoping for another week of riding, pedaling for pixels.
