After Saturday’s sweat-soaked, meaty dick slap to the face/Breezies™ huff of a shit ride in the heat and humidity, I was toast (almost literally). I felt almost as broken as I do after every ride from December to April. Only this time I was shaking my fist angrily towards the heavens cursing the unholy creation of heat and humidity instead of snow and sub-zero wind chills. A break was due.
The past week contained a little bit of riding, goofing off in the woods with my camera, hanging out with friends, some blood, and some shit. Literally, some shit.
In the last post, I mentioned a couple of things that proved false, so I will address them here.
Finally, after three days off the bike due to a slight rib injury, I was back on the bike for a quick ride north of town.
Me last week:
I know that some back and hip pain a few years ago, combined with the lack of a need to “train,” derailed my mountain biking but I’m not sure when I just gave up on it. In any event, I don’t plan on letting that happen anymore. I am promising myself to return to riding trails once a week at the very least.
The great thing about being a non-racing, chubby dad-bod type cyclist is that sometimes, even on a perfect spring day in Michigan, you can say “Fuck it, I don’t feel like riding.” Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to do something outside.
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.
I’m not sure what happened, but I nearly lost track of what “stuff” I did this earlier this week. I truly forgot; until I remembered.
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.
