After two weeks of riding that had me in the saddle for nearly 9 hours one week and over 9 hours the next, I struggled to make it over the 5-hour mark last week. And this week I will probably struggle even to hit that. Uncharacteristically it will not be from my inherent slack but from real life getting in the way.
I finally slept pretty good last night and was up reasonably early this Saturday to make sure B was up and ready to get to his 9 AM referee class1.
I was also up early because it was the first Saturday of the 2018/19 Premier League season AND I wanted to get out for a ride before it got too hot.
Premier League footy + a ride = a great Saturday!
People say that life is full of bad decisions, that you can learn from your mistakes and all sorts of bullshit like that. I hope that there is some truth to in those words, but rarely in my life have a learned anything from my bad decisions — other than I make a lot of bad decisions.
After a Monday spent doing Monday stuff, I was looking forward to getting out on the bike on Tuesday morning. I did, and it was good, but it could have been great. It wasn’t.
I have written this blog since 2005. The first five years or so it was dedicated to racing mountain bikes, bike lust, and what I loosely interpreted as training for that racing. As I’ve mentioned many times before, I look back at Soiled Chamois v.1 with very little fondness and a good dose of embarrassment, there’s a reason it’s hid from the public eye these days!
Then, as my amateur racing slowed to a standstill I found new passions, that, along with cycling, fueled my want to continue writing this blog whether your like it or not. A love of cooking, photography, cycling, soccer football and the outdoors combined with honest, self-deprecating humor that is all too often sullied with low brow dimwittedness and poor grammar is what I offer.
I don’t write well, but I like to write. Most often my goal is to make the reader laugh or at very least get them to go outside and/or be creative.
I had hoped to return to the dirt roads for some miles on Tuesday morning, but heavy thunderstorms overnight and morning rain had me thinking otherwise. The idea of the fresh dirt put down by the county combined with heavy rain was not something I felt like putting myself—or my drivetrain—through. So, I headed into the wet woods to stomp out a couple of miles with my camera before getting home to do what I do. Which is hard to put into words, so I won’t.
If I could have had added a subtitle to this post I think the full title would have been Old School Renewal, The Good, The Bad, and The Goddamn Ugly.
It’s April 17th, and we Michiganders remain slung over a barrel with our snow pants down to our ankles as the rhythmic slapping of relentless ice, snow, and wind continues.
B’s school is closed for the second day in a row, and I haven’t been in the saddle of my bike in 5 days. In fact, no stuff has been done in nearly 5 days: weights go unlifted, the treadmill remains stagnant, and the pedals of my trainer bike remain in the same position which I left them weeks months ago. Running shoes and hiking boots remain closeted, and my mind has deteriorated into a vile mushy substance usually scraped off the bottoms of shoes while muttering obscenities and trying not to inhale.
Last Sunday was April 1st, is also known as April Fools Day. It was also a week ago and the last time the saggy lumps of flesh I call an ass hit the saddle of a bike; a cold morning ride that yielded a mere 20 miles and some crap photos.
For me, this time of year between winter and actual spring is one of the worst times. It can often LOOK like it’s a beautiful spring day but upon leaving the house you quickly realize that it’s only 30˚ with a 20+ MPH wind which makes it feel like it’s 15˚ and despite the winter gear that you stuffed your muffin top into you want to turn around, head home and crawl into your still warm bed in the Chamber of Farts.
The “you” in the above scenario is, of course, me, and this happened to me on my rides on both Friday and Sunday and resulted in varying degrees of suck that left me wanting a new hobby that doesn’t require freezing my face off and uncontrollably cussing into the deafening wind like a Tourettes riddled fat man in a lycra sausage casing.
