I know my luck too well, and whenever something happens to me (medically speaking), shit always goes pear-shaped. No worries, I’m used to it. So when my dentist pulled one of my wisdom teeth last week and said “you should feel fine in two or three days… unless you get a dry socket.” I KNEW right there and then that I was destined for a dry socket. Ever see one? Here look [HERE]… ah, I can’t do that to you, sorry.
Sunday brought little in the way of riding, but much in the way of gusting winds and even some blowing snow at times. It also brought me and Wifey to a local furniture store to buy new mattresses and our first set of bedroom furniture that wasn’t a hand-me-down or dug out of a dumpster. It actually felt kind of nice to finally do that and will probably feel even better to sleep on a mattress that doesn’t feel like it’s stuffed with dead pigs.
While we were out and about, I dropped off a roll of film that I recently shot with my Holga 135. It’s sort of fun to shoot pics with the $35 plastic Holga. It’s also a roll of the creative dice pretty much every time you click the shutter as to whether the crap photo will be a GOOD crap photo, or just a crap photo.
As a you may, or may not know, this is a cycling blog. Well, it used to be MORE of one, but since I seem to ride and race less and less as the years go on, this blog seems to be more of an online journal for me [a 43-year-old doofuss]. I often find myself apologizing for the blog posts that are strictly about my crap, mundane self and the goofball shit I do. But I think I am going to stop apologizing. I’ve said it before, I’ll surely say it again– I’m always happy to get some readers, but in the end, it’s no big deal. This is a hobby, it’s free (for you) and as of right now, no one is putting a gun to your head to read this drivel (although I am in talks with a small militia group of kooks that might be willing to help me out if I go against my core beliefs and post occasional, outlandish Fox News worthy, radical right-wing propaganda.
Sigh… I guess I’ll just have to continue on with my three faithful readers without help from The Brothers of Paranoid Delusions with Arms (Michigan Chapter).
Even though I could easily do so (and should), this isn’t going to be another post where I blather on about my love of potatoes (like I did here and here). It’s more of a post where I blather on about nothing in particular.
Part I (Friday & Saturday)
After two cold, windy days of riding out on the roads of Michiganderburgh last week I decided to skip riding on Friday and take shelter from the cool winds with a hike in the woods of Deerfield Park. It was nice to be out and enjoying the sunshine and crisp spring temps without having to be layered up in several moisture wicking layers of Lycra and wool. Still, it wasn’t riding.
After what I would consider a good(ish) week of early March riding last week, this week has gotten off on the wrong pedal stroke and has felt slightly off. Monday greeted me with what some might call “a bout of irritable bowel.” I tend to be a bit more colorful and descriptive (at least when talking to Wifey) but I’ll just leave it at that for now and say that I’m not sure what’s up with my guts? OR what’s coming out of them!
With the (family) unit out-of-town for a couple of days one would think that I would proceed to live the life of the rake, roustabout and debt ridden drunken mess that I am (not really). Not so surprisingly, the opposite has been true.
Lord, fashion father almighty, forgive me for I have sinned against you and the Fashion Commandments that you have set forth before thee… in particular Commandment IX: Thou Shalt Not Wear Wrangler Jeans, They’re for Squares and Cowboys. I’m sorry my narcissistic fashion father, but I gotta tell you, they feel good and I’m sure I’ll do it again!
My faithful three readers, I also ask you for forgiveness, because I am about to bore you with yet another post that is 98.5% void of cycling and 98.5% about a pair of jeans that has me and my thighs a tad geeked.
My Monday turned a bit nutso as Jake (the dog) went and got himself a yeast infection that required an emergency trip to the vet. I told him he was asking for it with his muscular, thick thighs and want to wear too tight, humid, crotch-jungle inducing leather pants, but he insisted on wearing them anyway. Stupid dog!
A week ago tonight I got hit with my first major cold/cough/sinus issue of the year. I guess I was due. In that time I’ve not done a hell of a lot in the way of riding my bike outside. So far I believe the week’s total on “doing stuff” amounts to just three hours on the trainer. Unlike in years past, I have no early spring races coming up that have me anxious about my fitness, nor am I overly concerned about the lack of recent riding, especially since the weather has been ass monkey cold (I just made that phrase up, feel free to use it at your leisure). It’s been sunny nearly every day for a week, but cold enough that I am quite content to spin my miles away in the Stankment™ as snot oozes out my face like a lanced boil.
