Wednesday night after I helped Wifey out with her strength training, I hung around in the Stankment™ to search through piles of bike crap for a saddle to put on my road bike, a bike which these days stays affixed to my trainer all year round and has been missing a saddle for the past eight months. Knowing that crap weather was fast approaching I searched, cussed, found and installed the saddle in preparation for another day hunkered down avoiding high winds and rain.
Fall, autumn, the Sunday of seasons, call it whatever you want, it’s nearly gone. I know, it’s not officially over until December 22nd when winter, the relentless heavy flowing period week of seasons takes over, but it feels like it’s all but done now.
I admit it, my Friday night consisted of making Mexican food, hanging out with Wifey, having some drinks, watching bad TV (those Tiny House f*ckers!) and going to bed late. Despite all that, I was up early and feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. But it was only 7 AM… on a Saturday… and it’s football’s international break, so there are no BPL matches to watch… so I went back to bed.
After three days in a row of decent riding, we here in Michigan were treated to two days and nights of rain, gray skies and gusting 30+ mile per hour winds. Needless to say there was no way I riding in that crap, but since I had to go out to run a series of errands late Friday afternoon, I took my camera and did some stomping around one of the county parks close by.
For me, a slack forty-four year old who is currently training for nothing other than to not drunkenly kill over whilst on the crapper, riding three days in a row is not only strange, but sort of an effort at times. Yeah, I know, I’m not exactly setting the world afire with my speeds and distances, I’m not doing intervals, hill repeats or anything that stupid resembles a hardcore training regime, but I’m still riding at a “comfortably hard” pace (in between photos), a pace and structure that is often referred to as “junk miles” by racers and coaches that give a shit [foreshadowing, ask me later]. And sometimes my crap body feels it.
What-evs, with today being Veteran’s Day [thank you Vets], Wifey was off from work, but B-Man was at school. Part of me wanted to stay at home, draw a hot bubble bath full of love, and nakedly lounge around being all lovey dovey with my bosomy, ginger haired gal-pal. BUT, the other part of me wanted to get out for a ride of a different sort on the Boone.
Why can’t we do both? [TMI? I thought so, sorry].
After windy, crap ride on Saturday and a Sunday-Sloth Day, it was nice to start off the week with a ride on the dirt roads and not feel like I wanted to take a freaking hostage or lie down in the dirt and wait for a ten ton tractor to run me over.
I am pretty lucky in that, if nothing else, my current [real] joblessness affords me the ability to get out to ride on weekdays in between dad/husband duties and occasional freelance projects. While lucky, those rides can often be rushed or limited in length due to said responsibilities. Soccer-free Saturday’s usually are a bit more relaxed and allow for longer rides. THIS Saturday was not one of those days.
In many ways, the Thursday Ride Was much like the Wednesday ride; most of the roads were getting a fresh coat of deep, power sapping dirt and gravel. However there were a few things that made it different, yet still wildly uninteresting or blog worthy…
In Monday’s post I commented about the amount and severity of the pot holes on the dirt roads north of town. In the back of my mind I was thinking that with the roads this bad, the county would surely be dumping some fresh dirt and doing some grading to the roads soon. I thought about how much better the 35c X’Plor USH tires would handle the roads when they were finished. What I didn’t count on was riding on the day they were actually dumping and grading that fresh dirt and gravel.
After having my anal innards smashed around by pot holed riddled dirt roads north of town on Monday, I decided to roll the Fatterson south of town on Tuesday. This would have been great–except for the creaking.
