After working all day at the shop on Thursday, my plan for Friday was to get in some miles on the Boone. Sadly, that didn’t happen. Instead it pissed down Old Testament-esque rains all morning and the rest of the day was filled with FINALLY getting a permanent crown put on one of my teeth and dealing with a backed up main drain which resulted in plumbers in the house to snake it. The only highlight was celebrating Wifey’s 44th birthday.
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 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 knew after Thursday’s 45 mile ride that the following days–especially the balls of the weekend– would feature less miles due to family commitments and forecasted rain. However that is not to say that the weekend sucked.
It’s funny how quickly things change. It seems like only yesterday I was riding my Farley over frozen dirt roads, with five layer, of woolen, wicking, hi-tech, extreme cold weather gear and still freezing my tits off in 1˚ weather. Today I rode 45 miles of pavement and dirt roads (about 65% pavement today) and came home a sweaty, fat piece of salty baked ham in human form. Believe me, that is in NO way complaining, I loved every hot, sweaty, ham-like moment of those 45 miles! I’m just sayin’.
As I mentioned during yesterday’s short post, I was able to log another 200 mile week last week. All 200 miles were on local pavement, dirt and gravel roads and all were completed atop my new Trek Boone 5 Disc with a smile on my face (except for the times that I was dealing with a craptastic headwind.
Over the past three days I have been blessed with great weather, getting to watch B-Man play soccer and squeezing in some miles on the dirt roads. I have a few good pics and some of my typical not-so-wise words about all that to share, but right now I am caught up in me, eating food, hanging with my family, and having my well-earned weekend beers.
As a you may, or may not know, this is a cycling blog. Well, it used to be MORE of one, but since I seem to ride and race less and less as the years go on, this blog seems to be more of an online journal for me [a 43-year-old doofuss]. I often find myself apologizing for the blog posts that are strictly about my crap, mundane self and the goofball shit I do. But I think I am going to stop apologizing. I’ve said it before, I’ll surely say it again– I’m always happy to get some readers, but in the end, it’s no big deal. This is a hobby, it’s free (for you) and as of right now, no one is putting a gun to your head to read this drivel (although I am in talks with a small militia group of kooks that might be willing to help me out if I go against my core beliefs and post occasional, outlandish Fox News worthy, radical right-wing propaganda.
Sigh… I guess I’ll just have to continue on with my three faithful readers without help from The Brothers of Paranoid Delusions with Arms (Michigan Chapter).
As I mentioned in my last post, Wifey is out-of-town dropping law knowledge on .gov types for the next five days, so I am flying solo with B-Man. That means there would be no Sunday ride. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t get outside to enjoy the sun and 40 degree heat wave that central Michigan is experiencing right now.
