Some days it’s fun to go out and pedal through the drizzle, mud and crisp fall winds; the past two days were not those days.
Tag Archives | fucking weather
This is Tuesday
Today is Tuesday, which (as I touched on before) means two things: the time for me to get a weekday ride in and for rain to descend upon Michiganderburgh. Oh Tuesday, I might hate you. Actually, I KNOW I hate you. Stupid non-feeling, rainy ass day.
The Curse of Tuesday
I’m not going to lie, I HATE Michigan winters. Of course, I also hated every one of the, slightly shorter Pennsylvania winters I experienced in my first thirty-nine years of life before moving here in 2010. On the flip side, MOST of my time here in Michigan has been blessed with some amazing summers and falls. I would have included spring, but our spring is the drunk, psychotic uncle of seasons; cloudy, cold, sunny, blustery, warm, rainy, icy, grey, humid and dry. However, this summer has been pretty darn excellent in the weather department; not too hot, not too humid and sunny most of the time. Except on Tuesdays.
It seems that Tuesdays in central Michigan are reserved for heavy rains, strong winds and storms. Tuesday also happens to be the day that Wifey has the option to work at home, which allows me to get out for a ride during the day. Sadly–more often than not–on the days she has done so, I have awoke in the morning to the sounds of rain blowing against the house. Today was no different.
Dirt Road Love
After a week holed up in the basement successfully, but miserably, “running” on the treadmill, I finally made it out for a ride on dirt roads on Saturday. Woot.
A Fooled Fool
My ride plan today included a 45 mile road ride. Mother Nature’s supposed weather plans had me alter that to 25 and some core work on the big physio ball of pain and some mid-evil stretching exercises.
Psycho Weather
Wow, the Michigan weather has been even more psycho this spring than usual and today was no exception.
The Non Ride Ride
I woke up at 7 this morning to the sound of more rain pelting the windows. So, I rolled over and went back to sleep. An hour later the rain was slowing down, so I forced myself out of bed and downstairs to drink some coffee, watch some sub-par football and make sure Jake (the dog) didn’t shit the house.
As I ushered Jake off the porch I cursed the continued rain and chilly temps and conceded that I would most likely end up on the trainer today. Shit.
After a match and half of football, breakfast, about 200 ounces of coffee and multiple colon evacuations, I got caught up reading some stuff about the Giro online (maybe the greatest stage race of all time). Rain be damned, I was going for a ride!
I checked the radar (it looked like I would be OK), hurriedly got my gear together, kitted up and grabbed my cross bike. I would be road riding but my road bike is still on the trainer with a nasty ass, ever balding rear tire, so the Jake would have to do. I took off down the road and I just didn’t feel right on the bike. I pedaled to the edge of town and realized my saddle was a bit too low. Shit.
A Long Time
Today’s short ride was a long time coming. Yikes! I hadn’t been on the bike since last Saturday’s Rust Shaker XC race. A combination of windy, cold, rainy, vile weather, B-Man’s soccer, strength training in the gym and general malaise (e.g.. laying in bed praying for the end of my days) from dealing with my continued unemployment and lack of societal contribution got in the way. Hey, this is what separates the Pros, neo-Pros, fast peeps and slow, depressive fat fucktards like me.
An Unexpected Detour
I debated back and forth whether to go for a ride or not today. The weather LOOKED beautiful; sun, blue sky and a light breeze. Very spring-like. The only thing missing was the spring-like temperature. I think when I headed out the door it was less than 20˚. To say I was less than thrilled to ride in such temps (yet again) would be an understatement. But the prospect of the trainer was just NOT that appealing and since I gotz handfuls of fat that need to be burned off ASAP, that meant layering up–yet again–for a ride in cold ass temps.
Back To Racing (Sort of)
As I drank a couple of beers late last Saturday afternoon I somehow convinced myself to go ahead and enter the Barry-Roubaix’s 36 mile race, a distance– at the time of entering–roughly 15 miles longer than any ride I had done in 2014 due to the relentless and brutal winter we’ve had. It would also be only my second ride not to be completed on fat bike this calendar year. “This could be bad for me, but other than a few out-of-staters, everyone else will be in the same frigid, snow, ice and shit filled boat as me,” I thought as entered my credit card information and took the final draw from my pint of Founder’s Imperial Stout. So let it be done… it’s God’s will… it is what it is. Pffft! Whatever, it’s just bike ridin’.
And with that, I now give you yet another race ride report, in a long history of Soiled Chamois race reports, that didn’t need to be written…