Despite having legs that felt as heavy has a two sacks of haggis, I got out for a ride on Thursday. Right now, I’m not so concerned with the length of the rides, just trying to get consistent time on the bike. So I headed out for yet another Better Than The Trainer Ride™, but this time ventured off of pavement for a bit and reintroduced some dirt, er I should say mud, to the ride.
When I came downstairs to get my morning coffee at 6 AM and saw it drizzling, I figured we were in for one of those dreary, all day drizzle-fests that make you want to lay in bed all day wishing for the end of days. Thankfully that didn’t happen.
Today I happily ditched the treadmill, the trainer, AND the slow, sluggish, lovable pig that I call the Fatterson and joyfully grabbed the Boone, and its skinny enough for me Nano 40 tires, for a Better Than The Trainer Ride™ (also known as the spring semi-classic Plèasant – Bêal – Plèasant).
Thursday’s ride was followed by two days in the Stankment™ on the treadmill. One of those days consisted of some brief–don’t pull a hammy you fat bastard– sprints, followed by incline intervals at a walking pace that surprisingly got my average heart rate higher than the trainer, and about on par with–what admittedly are–my crap fat bike rides on snirt roads. Thankfully those two days underground were followed by a ride outside Sunday, a ride in which I pray to the Cycling Gods was my LAST ride on snow until late 2016.
A fecal laced recipe of heavy snow, strong winds, little time, and the slap in the face realization that I need to lose a toddler sized amount of weight forced me into the Stankment™ to ride the trainer for three days in a row this week. I think it’s been two years or more since I rode the trainer that many days in a row! Ever since I picked up the Fatterson there’s been no need for such stupidity. Why do something stupid like pedal a bike to nowhere in your basement, when you can do something equally as stupid–yet oddly more fun–like ride a clown bike on snow covered dirt roads in 25˚ weather.
Riding has been non-existent for over a week now. Along with doing a crap ton of stuff to get our house ready to sell, I’ve been doing some volunteer design work for the soccer club and some freelance stuff for the shop. The only physically active things I’ve done has been some running lumbering on the treadmill and the lifting heavy things for no reason.
Last week was a strange beast indeed; one day I was riding snow and ice-covered roads in 25˚ temps, the next day it was 50˚ and I was watching debris fly by my kitchen window as winds gusted from 20 to 50 MPH. The next two days I was riding my bike on snow free roads with a grin on my face. Well, at least on Sunday I was grinning, because for nearly half of Saturday’s ride I seemed to be pedaling directly into constant headwind thinking that I should have just stayed at home watching crap FA Cup footy instead of riding.
It seemed like forever since I last rode outside. I am fully aware that in reality it was 11 days, but it might as well have been 1,100. As mentioned in a previous post, that time was well spent doing my best to become a Tub-O-Goo. A fatter, rounder, dumber me. Just what the world needs.
Today however I was finally able to say “Goo be damned!” and get out for a ride. Not a long ride, but a quick short 20 mile snirt road ride on the Fatterson in 25˚ temps is better than nothing, and since it was on the Fatterson it felt 50% harder, and was 40.23% slower than when on a “real” bike (stats based on feel rather than some whacked out witchcraft like math). No offence to fat ridin’ , winter lovin’ folk, but I can’t wait to ditch the heavy fatty and get back to riding real bikes while wearing less than four layers of clothing on.
I have a solitary, not at all lofty, goal when it comes to my winter riding–get outside at least once a week for a real ride. See, not that lofty. However it can still be pretty hard to accomplish.
Since last Saturday’s “race,” riding has been somewhat limited by road and trail conditions, time, and desire. Other than that 4.5 mile snowshoe up north, my laziness kicked into high gear and my half-hearted attempts at strength training turned into quarter hearted attempts, and any time on the trainer was short-lived with a focus on “fuck it.”
It looked as if I could get in a dirt road ride in Saturday morning. With an eye on rising temps, I hoped that I could roll the studded Fatterson on frozen dirt and ice and avoid the slushy, muddy quagmire that the Michigan dirt roads would become as they thawed throughout the day. As you can see, I didn’t make it. I could have made it if I could have pushed my ass out the door earlier in the morning, but I got wrapped up in laziness, coffee, and FA Cup footy.
