Excuse me while I sing one of my favorite lines from one of my least favorite songs…“ITTTTT’S the most WWWWONDERFUL time of the yyyyyear….” Yes, the holidays, barring New Year’s Eve, are OVER! Can I get an amen??
Posts Tagged → unfunny commentary
Solstice Stomp
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 Slogging Continues
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.
4 Degrees In The Sun
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).
Motivation In The End
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.
Dodging Bullets (Not Really)
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!
Let There Be Routine
Looking back, last week is a blur. Mostly because life and riding was all over the place; B-Man off one day, Wifey off another, high winds that made the prospect of riding very unattractive, and spending many an evening with a drink in my hand in front of the TV playing EA Sports FIFA to take my mind off the pending demise of our country at the hand of a bad haired, orange, dictator-like buffoon. But that’s over and done with, time to move on, to let the chips fall where they may, and to get back to a routine that includes riding, time in the woods, working out, and not seeking refuge in a bottle.
The End of The Beginning, First
In my last post I recounted going out for a hike walk in the woods on Thursday with my camera. I was finally starting to rid myself of the cold and flu shit that I had going on, and I was happy to be goofing off in the woods. Still, I longed for a ride. Thankfully after spending my free time on Friday mowing grass (for the last time?), I would finally get to ride on Saturday, Sunday, AND Monday. Thrice as nice!
Fighting It
At the end of my last post I mentioned that I was flirting with illness, that a sore throat had developed along with some body aches. Thankfully the sore throat went away, but the aches and joint pain have lingered on, I also bypassed the casual flirting and went right into some Trump-style heavy petting with some coughing and stomach issues. No vomit, and no flappy sphincter, but at times over the past two days I have felt that I was right on the cusp of it, with a taste in my mouth akin to licking the metal handrail of a men’s room handicap stall. As you might imagine, since Monday, there has been no riding.
Fall Keeps Falling
Each day, each week, each ride, fall continues to fall upon central Michigan. More and more fields are now bare; crops harvested and carted off to become Doritos, Big Macs, and corn flavored gasoline, leaving the landscape wide open for crisp winds to travel 3,800 miles from the Witch’s tit (located on a small island in the East Siberian Sea) all the way to rural Michigan to turn the nipples on my sagging pecs into glass cutting diamonds as I lumber along dirt roads on my bike.
Thankfully there are still some crops hanging on, and leaves remaining on the trees to keep all that from happening quite yet, but each day we creep a little closer to death, er, I mean winter.