Part I Things Got Worser
After nearly 20 years of writing this bullshit, I still don’t consider myself a writer. Mostly because I have zero formal training as one, and often, my posts are an unintelligible scrambled mess of thoughts. So, to say I have “writer’s block” sounds stupid, but I really have been at a loss for words this week, and I have tried writing this post about 4 times. Mostly because the past week has been a whirlwind of travel and, unfortunately, more sadness.
I skipped a lumber on Wednesday due to heavy rain on potentially still icy trails. I should have got on the magic Whoosh machine in the basement, but alas, I did not, ’cause fatty gotta fat.
After I got home from running some errands last Friday, I shut the garage door and didn’t leave the house again until 7:40 AM on Monday.
I have little desire to go out of the house if it’s not a hike, groceries, or beer shopping. I have little need for the American public, and the American public has little need for me. It’s your classic win-win sitch between a couple of assholes.
With temps already in the high 20s and an expected daytime high in the mid-40s, I knew trail conditions could be “iffy” on Friday morning, but with three good trainer rides already in my meatsticks this week, I really wanted to get outside for some miles in my feetz and hopefully some images on my SD card.
I know it’s hard to tell, but sometimes I do actually know a thing or two. Mostly just one thing, but still.
So, I admit, I took some pleasure in that one thing I know, being that the trails would be shit on Monday and Tuesday; thus, me stuffing myself into an ancient bike kit (the one that still actually fits) and riding the trainer two days in a row.
The week of outdoor lumbering thus far, and for the foreseeable future, has been completed on snowshoes, and with each day, my lumbers have gotten a bit longer.
It was 12˚ when I pulled into the lot for my snowshoe today, which felt like a gahdamn heatwave compared to yesterday’s 3˚. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but it really does make a difference to the seasoned lumberist. How much? Well, if we’re splitting hairs, about 8˚.
Moving on.
After five days inside with my ass alternating between Whooshing on the trainer and relaxing on the couch, I was back in the woods on Tuesday morning for a snowshoe.
The -1˚ morning temps made me less than enthused to return to the woods, but it did warm up to 3˚ by the time my feet were on the trail, so I guess I shouldn’t complain too much.
After a less-than-desirable breakfast of coffee, “homemade” turkey sausage, egg whites, and a side of ketchup, I was off to the trails for another wintry hike.
I pulled into the lot, got my micro-spikes on, and as I was getting my pack situated, an eagle flew overhead while my camera lay on the seat of the car. I’ve been working on my negative thought process lately, but I couldn’t help but mutter, “Just my luck, why the hell do I always see an eagle when I have no chance of getting a shot??”
And with that “woe is me” attitude, I drug my ass down the main path from the parking lot and into the woodsy trails.
I was NOT in the mood to head out into the cold this morning. My bones ached, my joints creaked, my mind craved sleep, and my colon was a fecal-spewing trainwreck. No, I wasn’t sick; 53 just be like that some mornings.
