After feeling good on the bike yesterday, I found myself creeping around the house last night and early this morning like someone repeatedly hit me in the back with a baseball bat. Me thinks that my lower fat back did not take kindly to the hip stretches that I did yesterday, oddly enough, done to relieve me lower back pain! Typical me-ish-ness.
On Tuesday I got out for a quick 35 mile multi-surface road ride. There was little that was impressive about the ride: it was more pavement than dirt, featured little elevation gain and it wasn’t all that long. What was impressive about it was it was a perfect sunny day, there was little wind, I felt strangely good on the bike, and the bike itself [the Trek Boone Disc 5] continues to impress and woo me with its charms, whether I am on dirt, gravel or paved roads.
The weekend ended up being pretty crap for riding; it pissed down a hard rain all day Saturday, and Sunday was sunny, but windier than hell. Wifey got home around 1 PM from Pennsylvania and I had plenty of time to ride, but has absolutely NO desire to ride in the chilly June wind (yes, I said chilly and June in the same sentence, welcome to Michigan).
I am going to try my best to catch up on my blogging, if for no other reason than I want to. Reading this dross is up to you, typing it is up to me. The fact that either one of us takes the time to do either of those things baffles me.
I rode 47 miles of dirt roads and pavement today; it was swell. Then I showered, went for groceries, made dinner, did some laundry, took B to soccer practice (a half hour early of course to kick the ball around) and then met up with a friend of mine at a pub a couple blocks from home to chat over a few Duvels. All and all a pretty good Thursday.
After Saturday’s shoe incident, in which I drove twenty-five minutes north to MMCC for a ride only to realize I forgot my shoes, I headed back on Sunday for another attempt.
Successful cycling, or at least ENJOYABLE cycling, is a about many things: fitness, diet, the bike and a foolhardy commitment to a sport that 99.225% (that stat is made up) of America doesn’t even recognize as an actual sport, and forces its participants to face varying degrees of mocking, hatred, violence and derision [MURICA!!].
What the racers, pundits, and gods of the cycling world fail to mention–to pretty everyone–is that sometimes, success or failure as a cyclist comes down to one thing and one thing only: the shoes.
After spending 8.5 hours with my ass puckered on Wednesday, waiting to screw something up on my first day at the shop, I slept like a baby last night* : a six-foot one, 200+ pound, shaved legged, beer bellied, Morrissey haired, love handled, bike riding, wanker-like baby. Despite that lengthy, yet still abbreviated, list of my handicaps, it still managed to feel great.
I usually reserve Mondays for getting the biggest chunk of shit I hate to do out of the way, and I did do a bunch of that stuff today, but since I didn’t ride yesterday, Tuesday has a inconveniently timed mid-day dental appointment and Wednesday has me actually going to work some hours, I figured I’d better get out today just in case.
I’m not sure why, but the past few days and the weekend have been a bit of a blur. As predicted, most of Friday was a soggy mess. So I took the time to head down to Terry’s in Alma to swap out some brake pads on the Superfly.
