I didn’t ride today. Or yesterday, or the day before that, or the day before that, or the day before that, or the day before that, or the day before that, or the day before that, or the day before that, or the day before that, or the day before that, or the day before that, or the day before that. The day before THAT I did though.
Sweet Jesus it’s been two weeks since I rode my bike outside!!
I woke up today around 8 a.m. when Wifey came in the bedroom to fetch her eye glasses. I assumed she had been by my side all night, but it turns out she fled the room at some point, claiming that it got “too hot” in the bedroom. Since it was roughly -15˚ outside, I doubt that was true and this was most likely her way of telling me that the baked ziti I made for our Valentine’s Day celebration had taken the form of a vile, warm, humid gaseous cloud of digested red wine, garlic and sausage and had exited my flabby rears way too much though the night and had caused her to seek refuge elsewhere. Much apologies to my ginger haired, bosomy Valentine of what is now 20 years. You deserve better…much, much better. But I’m sure you know that already.
I am forty-three years old. That means that I’m getting older, as well as saggier, fatter and harrier in all the wrong places. It also means that I have endured forty-three winters. I’m not sure how many wet, slush filled shoes, slips on ice, scraped car windows, shoveled driveways and bouts of uncontrollable cuss-filled shivering that adds up to, but I’m sure it’s a lot.
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.
The photo above in an overexposed, misfired shot taken a couple of weeks ago while riding at Hanson. I ended up liking the pic for some reason and posted it on my Instagram page, then sort of forgot about it until today when I decided to use it to help sum up my past four days. Sort of the whole best intentions, crap results, take the lemons life gave you, trade them for limes and (literally) make several gin and tonics.
The plan for today was to ride snow-covered dirt roads on the fatty, and that is what I did. Until I didn’t.
Look at that photo! A ribbon of snow and trail at Hanson Hills, groomed JUST for clown bikes. It’s a thing of beauty. Except it wasn’t… at least not today. Drat.
Yesterday we had blue skies, bright sunshine and 35 degree temps here in Michiganderburgh, perfect for getting out to roll some dirt roads. Sadly I was on my last day of Christmas vacation dad duty and found myself spinning for an hour in the basement. Later I would watch Facebookers post photos from their rides, hating them all with the venom of a thousand cobras. Freaking status posting bike jerks!