Riding three out of four days in February is cherished, even if they yield a mere 75 miles combined. Most of the miles were forced to be done on pavement, due to the dirt roads being a bottom bracket grinding, potential collarbone breaking, concoction of ice, slush, mud, standing water, and gritty sand.
Some light rain overnight did nothing to help the swampy conditions of the dirt roads, but the warm-ish 40˚ temps were enough to poo poo an indoor workout and get out for a quick Better Than The Trainer Ride™ (Plèasant – Bêal – Plèasant road ride edition) before another round of “wintry mix” moves in.
The weather goofs were right, we got snow. Yeah! About four inches or so, then it started raining and turned everything into a slushy, sloppy mess. Boo!! Now we’re getting 35+ MPH winds, more rain, and the temps are supposed to be dropping into the low twenties later. That should REALLY make things awesome by morning. I’ve learned to tolerated winter in the past few years by riding the Fatterson and snowshoeing, but wet snow, rain, ice, is about the worst ever. What sport or outdoor activity is done best in slush? Exactly.
Since the New Year’s Day ride on Sunday the weather has not cooperated for outdoor ride fun. Monday was a day of getting stuff done and sort of recovering from “doing stuff” for six days in a row. Tuesday brought a day of rain, freezing rain, wind and 38˚ (no thank you, I’ll workout inside), Then on Wednesday we got the flip side of that– 40+ MPH winds, blowing snow (that seemed to be falling upwards rather than down), and 18˚ temps. Again, no thank you. However don’t be fooled by the pic of Jake (The Dog) hunkered down in his blanket, I’ve actually done stuff.
This holiday week I have immersed myself in sloth of varying degrees, mostly saved for the tail end of the day in front of the fireplace. During the day I’ve been eating proper and being as active as possible so as to make amends for my evening vices. Those activities have mostly been confined to 3.5 mile runs/lumbers on the treadmill, but yesterday I got an itchy bung to be outside. So I aired up the Fatterson, dawned multiple layers of winter clothing, and headed out to experience The Joy of Snirt (thankfully void of hairy hippies getting their freak on).
Wednesday I celebrated the Winter Solstice with a snowshoe stomp around in the woods on Sally’s Trail. A fat bike ride on the same trail would have been possible, but with winds gusting up to 40 miles per hour the day before, I was hesitant to believe L.C.’s tales of the trail being in good enough shape for a proper ride. So I slapped the Tubbs on my tubbiness and headed our for a 3.5+ mile loop to blow the stink off me and give cafeteria Pagan thanks to the sun which will be inching itself back into our lives in the weeks to come.
The winter thus far has left me with little motivation to get out on the bike. Prior to riding Sunday I had only ridden twice through the week; one freezing cold ride in the wind and snow drifts, and one short ride on the soft snow at Sally’s Trail down in Alma. The rest of the week was spent on the treadmill and lifting heavy things for no reason. I wanted to get outside on Saturday, and even went so far as to ready my snowshoes, but after I was done clearing the driveway of another five inches of snow, I lost my desire and found myself reaching for my Xbox controller and a bottle opener instead. Saturday would be Sloth Day.
I woke up Thursday and did my normal Jason things: multiple coffees, multiple dumps, wake B, make lunches, get B his breakfast, make and eat my breakfast, check that B brushed his teeth, make sure Wifey remembers her travel mug, etc., etc. Then as soon as Wifey and B were out the door I laid down for an hour of what I call “second sleep.” Pretty much an hour for me to lay there and think about what I need to do and try to forget about the fact that I got up at 6 AM without a paycheck in sight.
Whilst I laid there digesting breakfast, what I needed to do, the never f*cking ending Trump shit show and my hatred of said orange skinned Hitler, the mouse (or bat) living (mouse, now dead) in our garage wall, and whether or not I’ll ever have a real job again, I got a text from L.C. at Terry’s filling me in on the condition of Sally’s Trail down in Alma (slow, but rideable he said). Little does L.C. know, but I farted in his general direction, turned over an farted again (I had Mexican the night before. Maybe I should build a wall? Around my anus!!! Sorry).
After two days off the bike doing little other than snow removal, cussing, house work activities, and playing EA Sports FIFA, I somehow forced myself outside into the snow to ride this morning. I’d like to write a litany of motivating words telling you how great it felt to be out in the 20˚ temps, riding through the blowing and drifting snow, and how alive and full of life lusting TED Talks vigor I was, but that would be a bunch of bullshit.
Tuesday was Deer Day here in Michigan, a legit day off of school for kids, and sort of like Christmas Morning for gun loving, blood thirsty, meat eating adults across the state. Actually I take that back, it is indeed like Christmas Morning for many, but the rest of that made it sound like I have an issue with hunting and hunters when in fact I don’t. I have an issue with me hunting, but not with the act itself. I’ve never fired a gun or launched and arrow in my 45+ years, but I’m pretty, sort of, kinda sure I could kill an animal, cook, and eat it. It’s the everything in between (guts and stuff) that I couldn’t do. I will happily eat any venison that any of my friends want to give me though, especially summer sausage or jerky!
