This week has been an exercise in futility. The exercise of course being riding over 100 miles the past few days, and the futility being that despite those miles my weight hasn’t budged in a week. Not even a tenth of a mother f*cking goddamn pound one way or another. I blame the scale, I really do. F*ck that piece of shit.
[insert mental image of me frantically panting with a vein popping out of my enraged forehead like Ren Hoek here]
My plan for Tuesday was to not ride. My morning was spent doing laundry, writing a post for this crap site, returning emails and phone calls, taking care of some email issues for a website I maintain, and catching up on some other semi-work related things; all the while taking comfort in the fact that I was not out riding in the extremely crisp and breezy morning air. Until I was.
After three days of indoor workouts, I finally escaped the confines of the Cul-de-sac Shack’s underground bunker to pedal out of doors. However, given that at ride time it was about 27˚ with 10-15 MPH winds blowing out of the north-west, it took a LOT of self loathing, guilt, and promises of meaty lunchtime rewards to get me into the multiple layers of cold weather gear and out on the road.
So far this week [month?] there’s been a distinct lack of doing stuff outdoors, so today’s photo is from a ride back in February. I like the photo well enough but I hate the utility lines that cut through the middle of it. Yes, through the magic of Photoshop I removed them and the pic looked fine, but it didn’t feel right. I have no problem with retouching images to get rid of sauce spatter on a food photo, the zit on your nose, those nips poking through your wife’s t-shirt, or to make myself NOT look like the poster model for the upcoming, soon to be self-produced movie Dad Bod Gone Wild, Every Day I’m Jigglin’. In other words viva la narcissism! when it comes to spatter, zits, nips, and blubber, but in landscapes and/or documentary style photography I find it creepy and wrong (like hearing your parents talk about sex). So the power lines stay.
Goddamn you March…. Goddamn you straight to hell. Too much? Probably, but who cares.
After 48 straight hours of gusting 25 to 40 MPH winds that sounded like an eternal freight train passing by the house, things finally mellowed out on Thursday morning. I almost got used to the constant roar of wind through the pines and the sound of lawn furniture blowing off of patio decks, but I was glad to see them gone. Continue Reading →
March has come in like the expected lion, but more like a sad, fey, depressed lion that isn’t all that dangerous due to his lethargy and lack of motivation to kill. Still, it’s a lion and not to be f*cked with it.
This March lion has been void of any substantial snow fall, but has included plenty of general winter malaise: dark clouds, crap snow, cold rain, and as of today–super high winds that make the prospect of road riding not only unappealing, but dangerous and stupid. The bright side is that the 40+ MPH winds should dry out the dirt roads. So at least when the temps drop down to the 20s in a couple of days, the dirt roads will be dry… or frozen solid.
I feel like I need to say a big thank you to February. THANK YOU!
You see my winter riding goal is usually to get out at least once a week, braving the cold, snow and ice on the Fatterson with studded tires. The rides are usually no longer than 20-25 miles, I’m cold and miserable for most of the ride, and I swear that I’ll never do it again as I mentally plan my “let’s move someplace warm” sales pitch to Wifey. The rest of the time I hole up in the basement on the Drainer® or the Dreadmill® and pray that I’ll miraculously find fitness, despite not riding and drinking too much beer. Even back when I gave a shit about racing (that seems like a long time ago) I didn’t venture out too often in January and February. I would go to the gym, strength train, ride the trainer and use the StairMaster for hours on end.
Despite its brevity, February in Michigan can be a long, depressing bastard of a month. February lodges itself in between the death-like acceptance of winter that January offers and the hopefulness of spring that March provides. Most often it’s bitterly cold, windy, and blanketed with ice and snow. However this February was not “most often.” We had several days of temps between 45˚ and 60˚, very little snow, and just a hint of ice at the beginning. While I am the first to admit that it should not be 55˚ in February, I am in no way going to complain about the ability to log over 265 miles as I attempted to jump start my fitness and hopefully some weight loss.
Riding three out of four days in February is cherished, even if they yield a mere 75 miles combined. Most of the miles were forced to be done on pavement, due to the dirt roads being a bottom bracket grinding, potential collarbone breaking, concoction of ice, slush, mud, standing water, and gritty sand.
