The snow of Sunday gave way to sun, and melting snows on Monday; followed by days of rain. Pretty typical spring weather. With that, saddle time has been non-existent, but sometimes I’m OK with that. As life goes on, cycling is something I like to do, not something I have to do, rely on for my identity, feel pressure to do, or rely on for my sanity. Sorry, I digress.
It was here; I swear it was! Just for a moment spring was here. And just like that [insert finger snap here], it’s gone.
I recognize the words I throw up from the rotting nether regions of my head and onto these digital pages are vital to everyone’s day. I totally get that and apologize for the ongoing gaps between posts.
Monday morning I took a chance and headed to the Not So Stankment to ride the Hammer and Zwift™ for 20 miles while letting Lola and Jake (the dog) sleep on the couch. Jake is a great dog, but the joke around the house is that he’s kind of a moody asshole. Yes, I see the irony of a moody asshole of a human having a moody asshole of a dog. Let’s move on…
After I hit publish on my last post, I was anxious to get outside to ride again. Sadly, after I looked at everything that needed to be done around the house—and elsewhere—before we went to pick up our new bulldog puppy late Friday afternoon, I reconsidered and slipped into a world void of riding and littered with chew toys and puppy prep.
With tired legs and a belly full of a shit breakfast (it was so tasteless and bad, I’m ashamed of myself), I headed out for a short ride on Thursday morning before attending to real life duties in the afternoon followed by a trip to the Mind Bender.
Sweet Gabriel Jesus, it took me forever to beat that chest cold, but I finally did it!
There are very few wintertime activities that bring me real, actual joy (drinking beer and masturbation don’t really count as wintertime activities, those are year-rounders). I’ve tried cross country skiing, and I’ve ridden my fat bike on snow-covered gravel many a time, but any attempt to ride “groomed” trails has always left me thinking I should have done something else.
Wifey and I are going out of the country for the first time ever in a couple of weeks; Jamaica if you must know. Not my first choice for my first time leaping fuck face Trump’s “wall” around the U.S., but it looks like it’s going to be a killer time celebrating our 20th anniversary (1.5 years later) with another couple we’re good friends who are celebrating their 25th. Sun, beach, warm water, rum, and boobs; that’s pretty much all I need to survive. As documented here, I’m a woodsy-type of guy, but there’s something to be said for being a beach sloth. And rum.
After weeks months of putting myself through a mental ringer of worry and personal shame about the holiday season and seeing family, they are just about over with. Only New Years remains and other than the fact that I met my wife on New Year’s Eve many, many moons ago, that holiday means nothing to me (not that the other ones do). Out with the old and in with the new? More like out with one shit year, and in with another. I’m being negative, aren’t I? Sorry, it’s a gift. And a curse. Mostly a curse.