In a post earlier this month I mentioned how happy I was to be back on skinny (40c) tires and off of the Farley for a while. That time off of the Farley lasted about two weeks. It’s not that I found myself longing to ride slow, soft, heavy, four-inch tires on dry dirt roads or anything, but with Saturday’s ride time temps hovering around 30˚ I figured I might as well roll fat and slow, work harder and thus stay warmer.
It was a week and counting Thursday since I had last been out on the snow-covered dirt roads of Michiganderburgh. In that time I rocked a pretty unenjoyable head and chest cold which made spending time out in single digit temperatures a less than desirable option to blowing snot rockets on myself as I rode the trainer in the Stankment™.
Since Tuesday’s 30+ mile per hour wind gusts and -25˚ wind chills moved on, we here in central Michigan have been treated to a few days of brilliant sunshine and blue skies. Of course the lack of cloud cover also means that temperatures are struggling to get out of the single digits until well after lunch. Unfortunately, my time slot to ride is around 10 a.m., when the thermometer is grunting, groaning and moaning to get above zero.
Because of those high winds earlier in the week and the frigid temps that followed, I spent the first three days of this week hunkered down in the Stankment™ putting in miles running on the treadmill and riding the trainer. You would think that after forty-three years of living in the cold winter climates of Pennsylvania and Michigan I would be used to the cold and snow and would have learned to love it. Nope.
Like many of my cycling friends in Michigan, Wisconsin and Minnesota I try my best to be active through it, but unlike many of them, I always fail to embrace or love the winter. For me the result is always the same; I tolerate winter and merely try to survive it with my mind and liver still functioning properly and my pant size unchanged come spring.
But enough of that winter hating hyperbole, lets’ get to the winter riding hyperbole…
Like my grandmother** (God rest her soul) used to say, “Jason, no matter how much of a disgusting, big, fat, lazy, good for nothing douche bag you are, something good will happen sooner or later.” I guess she was sort of right, because after two weeks of failed attempts at riding outside, I FINALLY got out for a ride on Saturday. It was nothing great; a short 20 mile ride on dirt roads that alternated between snowpack, solid, bone breaking ice and bare dirt. Still, I was out riding shortly following one of the coldest spells of the year and I have to say, after temps that were in the -25 degree range, 30 degrees in the sun felt like a warm, heroine enema covered in chocolate and espresso, scented with that Victoria’s Secret perfume that strippers wear. Mmmmm(ish)…
Thursday has quickly become my day to head northward and ride the trails at Hanson (not to be confused with Hanson). It has also become my day to ride with my friend Napper. He co-owns the shop I frequent, and I have no f*cking job, so his work schedule is flexible and mine is non-existent. Thus our partnership in this Thursday (thankfully non-sexual) affair.
I write this post at half time of the Stuper fucking Bowl, an ode to everything I hate about American sports. BUT, that Stuper Bowl was an excuse for us to trek a few blocks over to our friend’s house, eat some food, drink a few beers and be goofs for an hour or so before we called it a night.
While we watched overpaid, grossly overweight NFL jagoffs run into each other, the snow and winds thrust down upon the mid-mitten with furious anger (that is hyperbole for it was snowing and blowing). That made me smile, not because I LIKE wind and snow, but because I had forced myself out yesterday to enjoy a couple of hours of pre-snowmageddon goodness.
The trail reports coming from the strong armed, jackbooted thugs at Hanson Hills (that’s a joke, they’re completely nice from what I’ve experienced) via Stalkbook and from folks who rode the trail recently (I cannot confirm their niceness or jackbootedness) claimed that the fat bike trail there was in killer shape: firm, packed and fast. So my friend Napper and I headed north early Thursday morning in his Tundra-Ram-Osaurus truck type, four wheel drive thing in the hopes of riding said firm, packed and fast trails.
Then it snowed.
Friday night after B-Man’s soccer practice and after I enjoyed a Hopslam while playing FIFA ’15, I started looking ahead to a possible fat gravel snirt road ramble on Saturday. I presumed that the packed snow that I rode in on Thursday morning, followed by warmer temperatures later in the day and into Friday, combined with well below freezing nighttime temperatures would be now be ice, so I made the not-so executive decision to stud up the Farley for the morning’s ride. It ended up being the right decision. At least I told myself it WOULD be the right decision as I rolled the 1.5 miles of wet pavement towards the snow and ice packed dirt roads sounding ever so much like a giant metal box full of silverware being dragged down the road by a Sherman tank.
Firstly: The week did not provide the opportunities that I had hoped for as far as outdoor riding was concerned, but that’s not to say the week was void of activity. The trainer was forced into service and provided much heavy breathing and ample sweatyballness, as was the treadmill, which birthed some moderate success (for a lumbering, flailing, non-runner like myself) as I ran a complete 5k (without walking) for the first time in my life. 24 hour solo, 100 mile and XC mountain bike races– yes. Running for 3.1 miles without stopping– no. I know, I know, pathetic. But I did it, now I just have to transfer that to running outside and hopefully run a few races with Wifey and/or B-Man in the spring.
Thursday brought an end to the crap excuses and I returned to Hanson Hills to roll the Farley on the trails. Last week the trails were groomed but super soft, this week they were in need of a fresh groom, but were way firmer and rideable allowing for two laps and much less walking.
