Playing a bit a catchup here after a busy, rainy Thursday which, doing stuff wise, only included 40 minutes of Dreadmill® running, and lifting heavy stuff for no reason in the basement of the Cul-de-sac Shack. So here on Friday we’re lookin’ at Wednesday, and ride-wise, I don’t like what I’m seein’.
Monday was a hodgepodge of adulting, fruitless attempts at a design project that I volunteered to help out with, and other crap-o-lah like lifting heavy things for no reason in the basement. All of that was done while dodging rain drops, enjoying spring temperatures, and waiting for some promised evening thunderstorms to arrive and send those spring-like temps back to into the 40s and 50s, thus making for a more “normal” Michigan spring. Like the saying goes “If your nipples ain’t hard, you ain’t in Michigan.”
Given the nearly endless wintry rain, snow, wind deluge that mid-Michigan experienced last week, I was thinking that the week would leave me with nothing but a case of pent-up, crotch thumping ride rage. Thankfully, by the end of the week, Ma Nature got her shit together and threw us a few days of crap free weather. Thank you.
I woke up fairly early on Sunday morning, tended to Jake (the dog), made some coffee, and sat down to watch sub-par footy. As I sipped my coffee and thought about the day ahead I knew one thing: I did NOT want to ride. Well, scratch that, I did not want to do a paved road ride.
Earlier this month I lamented the fact that after a pretty sweet February of warmer weather and riding, March had come in like a lion with snow, ice, rain, and a lack of riding. Now here we are on the last day of the month and March is still twerking its wet, cold, slushy ass cheeks in the face of central Michigan like a trailer court queen drunk on wine coolers, wooing her step dad into paying for that dolphin tattoo she wants on her ankle. Thankfully I found some time–in between those unwanted wintry twerks–to get some miles in.
There was a time, now almost literally years ago, that me talking about riding dirt meant one thing– singletrack. These days most of my miles spent on dirt are of the dirt road variety. Something that I find to be a hexagonal tug of war equal parts a challenging, loved, creative spike to the vein, and a depressing, sad, pathetic state of my cycling life. The latter is rarely thought of unless I start to think about the days of racing–or just plain ol’ riding–my mountain bike in the woods for long periods of time.
I got behind on this digital shit show, so playing some catch up here with a bit about yesterday, today.
Since Friday’s crap-tastic ride in the relentless wind I have done the following:
Saturday: Run, strength train, slack hard, hang with Wifey, drink beer, play video games.
Sunday: Take B to practice, slack harder, drink beer, play video games.
Monday: Catch up on web duties for various side/freelance projects, run, strength train.
In other words I didn’t ride, but 2 of the 3 days I did some “stuff.” Then 2 of the 3 days I did things to undo the stuff I did. But just think if I wouldn’t have done that “stuff.” The good “stuff,” not the bad stuff! We’ll call it all even… ish. This is why I don’t lose weight.
Finally Tuesday I rode. I rode pavement, and I rode dirt. Or as my friends at Terry’s Cycle say #morethanpavement.
My plan for Tuesday was to not ride. My morning was spent doing laundry, writing a post for this crap site, returning emails and phone calls, taking care of some email issues for a website I maintain, and catching up on some other semi-work related things; all the while taking comfort in the fact that I was not out riding in the extremely crisp and breezy morning air. Until I was.
I woke up to a layer of slush on Saturday morning, so the morning was spent doing Saturday type stuff, followed by a trainer ride and strength training in the basement of the Cul-de-sac Shack. Sadly, if I had just waited a few more hours, the temps rose, the slush was all but gone, and I could have easily squeezed in a road loop. But I didn’t, ’cause I’m dumb.
After three days of indoor workouts, I finally escaped the confines of the Cul-de-sac Shack’s underground bunker to pedal out of doors. However, given that at ride time it was about 27˚ with 10-15 MPH winds blowing out of the north-west, it took a LOT of self loathing, guilt, and promises of meaty lunchtime rewards to get me into the multiple layers of cold weather gear and out on the road.
