The past few days have been filled with random rides that featured varying degrees of misfortunes, aches, issues and minor successes, like forgetting to charge my Garmin 500 for weeks and having it die before I even made it to the dirt roads on Friday. If you do a ride and there’s nothing to record it, did it really happen? I’m joking of course, and in my case my ride, the stats are best left unknown.
The gun people have the NRA in their corner defending their right to blow big holes in things. Cigarettes have the tobacco industry and all those old smokers trying to look hip on ventilators in their corner. Sugar, which has come to be blamed for everything from childhood obesity, to Obamacare, to erectile dysfunction, has nearly the entire American food industry in its corner. And pasta? Well, pasta has me to champion how freaking good it is when eaten in moderation (although I prefer not to) and prepared with love (Note: please make a rainbow arc with your hands as you read the word love).
Pasta can warm the cockles of even the most staunch carb hater. Yeah, I’m looking at the Atkins people with their three meals a day of cheese & bacon but can’t walk up a flight of stairs and the ninety-nine dollars a pound, grass-fed, Cross-Fit doing, high horse riding Paleo people! Go ahead, hate on pasta! I’ll still be here eating it and loving it along with millions of Italians, the state of New Jersey and that hot Italian cook with the giant head on the Food Network. We be tight.
Today, the wind was gusting hard and at times sounded like a freight train roaring past the house… it was the perfect day to seek refuge in the woods.
As any reader of this blog knows, I am not a smart man. Intelligence is a rare commodity betweenst my ears and I did nothing this weekend to prove any different.
Yesterday (on the road for 41 miles), and today on the trail, was all about the scale. No, not the scale that tells me that I’ve gained 40 pounds since 2005 when I started this blog, fancied myself an endurance mountain bike racer who eventually realized he just likes to ride his bike on trails, gravel and roads, drink beer, eat good food and sometimes race, but the pain scale. I have to say, that even though I don’t like pain, I like this scale way more than that fucking, lying piece of shit in my bathroom… Forty pounds my ass!
This week has been made up of the following: riding, bitching, moaning, hate, expanding my liver, stretching, core work, ice therapy (to that area that makes up the gulf betweenst my two giant love handles) and adjustments to my riding position. Right now, things are going pretty darn, not bad. In fact, today I completed my normal 16 mile loop and on a pain scale of 1 to 10 I think it was merely a 4… maybe even a 3. Woot!
To go back a smidge, I got out yesterday on the road bike. I felt like shit… I felt great… I felt like shit… I felt great. Grrrr…
While I didn’t feel great over the entire 41 miles of crap Michigan roads, I felt well enough that I didn’t want to sell all my bikes and take up drinking and masturbation as my “go-to” hobbies (they will remain in the 2 and 3 slots).
And I as I said above, today’s slow/quick lap felt pretty OK… ish.
Later…. I have a couple other hobbies to take care of.
Jake (the dog) never waits too long at the door before he’s back in the house to do what Jake (the dog) does best: sleep, fart, snore, eat, burp and sleep some more more before going back out to take a dump. And I did’t wait too long after Sunday’s blunderful crash to get back at trying to burn off the fleshy kegs attached to all sides of my torso. However, I did wait longer than I thought I would have to.
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.
It was hard not to ride today given how nice it was outside today. It was harder still knowing that a bunch of my friends were riding the trails at MMCC today while I spent the day going to the doctors, baking bread, doing loads of laundry and hanging out with the B-Man who was off from school today. It’s not much of a life, but it’s the only one I got right now. Oh well, there was still much bike-ness crammed in there.
I’m never sure whether to love fruit, hate fruit, laugh at fruit or be scared and run the fuck away from fruit. Jesus H., look at this strawberry! It looks like something they lopped off an old man’s back.
Other than a trip to the gym to work on my glutes and pecs, today was something less than special. Oh well, it could be worse.
Later.
The Trip Home, Part I
I’m finally back from a whirlwind few days of travel. Wifey, B-Man and I headed back to Pittsburgh to be with family and say goodbye to Wifey’s grandmother. A long trip for a funeral is something that no one ever wants to do, nor is introducing your ten-year old son to the grieving process, but both are part of life.
