Friday morning was spent at the vet getting Lola her shots, and her nails clipped. After dropping her off at home, I headed to the shop for a few hours to check some stock in, and then to get groceries and supplies for an evening of summer slack.
I found myself up reasonably early on Saturday morning, so after some toast and coffee, I stuffed various hunks of blubber and unsightly manly bits into some too-tight kit and headed out for a quick 20 mile Better Than The Trainer Ride™.
I have done little in the way of physical activities this week. I can’t really pinpoint the whys and why nots, but it didn’t happen—until today.
We back!
By we, I mean Macro Monday, and by back I mean, well, um, it’s back. Macro Monday is back. [face in palms because I’ve overcomplicated things yet again.]
Where did the week go, eh?
A week ago tonight, I was hit in the belly by the iron fist of a stomach bug. I believe the bug was brought to me via some tainted chicken thighs and caused me to spend the next 24 hours in bed or in the bathroom with a dry heaving bung. Alas, I’ve said too much.
[THERE SHOULD BE A PHOTO HERE]
To say things did not go as I planned since my last post would be an understatement.
Yes, I rode my mountain bike on Friday, and it was excellent, as was celebrating Wifey’s 49th birthday that evening. Saturday, I dedicated myself to sloth and outside chores. Sunday was to be a day of hiking with my camera. That’s when things started falling apart.
As I mentioned here a few times of late, despite my reservations and having fired myself last fall, I have returned to the shop to help out a couple days a week.
Sunday was another perfect summer day for being outside, and I had a woodsy walk with a camera (or two) on my mind.
My original plan was just to hit one of my usual locations, but at the last minute, I decided to go to the Forest Hill Nature Area just outside of Alma.
As the last week of being Not Really Quarantined winds down (for now), and most shit opens back up (except my goddamn barber!) this coming Monday, my week was filled with adulting. My outdoor activities were limited to a quick ride on Monday morning, a short walk around the Sylvan Solace with my camera for an hour on Wednesday (while getting eaten alive by mosquitos), and a 25-mile dirt road ride on Saturday afternoon.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
In my previous post, I talked of being on a mood rollercoaster. Well, that rollercoaster went off the rails and smashed right into a crowded elephant ears stand a hundred feet below.
NOT REALLY QUARANTINED DAY ____.
I know it’s wrong to talk of illness in the throws of a global pandemic, but given my two-year on/off relationship with my bike, for me to ride three out of the past four days must mean I’m ill. In an awesome, it feels good to sweat, slobber, pant, and wake up sore sort of way. Cheez-Its H. Rice, that made it sound like I was having sex with a bear. A bear, not a “bear.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
