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Tag Archives | unsolicited opinion

Silence In a Forest

By on December 1, 2022 in Outdoors

This blog, website, journal, whatever the fuck it is, is holding on like the last elastical strains of Moscato-flavored vomit off a drunk sorority girl’s chin; for that, I apologize.

In all honesty, I should have put this thing to bed years ago when I realized my love for cycling, especially racing, was evaporating. However, if I sat around thinking of all the things I should have or could have done with my life, I would be a depressed, 51-year-old fat man living in the middle of nowhere-ass Michigan with no real career, dreams, desires, passions, or lusts left in the tank. Um, OK, forget that.

With all that said, I begrudgingly continue on for some reason.

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Thankful Lumbers

By on November 26, 2022 in Outdoors

Holiday #1 in the Trifecta of Holiday Evil has come and gone without incident, as expected. Mostly because B’s schedule and dog-boarding issues prevented us1 from traveling 13+ hours round trip for the pleasure of me being riddled with enough sadness, anxiety, and resurrected childhood traumas to keep my mind racing in The Bed of Torment for the next 12 months again. Fuck that shit. Continue Reading →

Winter Walks & Hot Garbage

By on November 22, 2022 in Outdoors

Last week was a snowy and cold one, but it felt great to be outside stomping miles through the woods rather than on a treadmill in the gym, going nowhere slow while trying to avert my eyes from the row of TVs in front of me beaming crap morning talk shows and right-wing news, as well as trying to ignore Karlee checking her booty gains in the mirror and Brice flexing his massive arms while disregarding the squat rack and his steroid-induced thinning hair which is offset by his ironic mustache.

Sure, I have abandoned Operation Peck Lift III and lost all my gains again, but I’m much happier outside, embracing shit weather, taking photos, and, let’s face it, pushing myself through the aches and pains that an out-of-shape 51-year-old doofus feels when hiking 4+ miles 6 to 7 days a week while attempting to stave off the depression that had me opting for hours staring a dusty ceiling fan (since dusted) while laying in the Bed of Torment wondering how one person could be filled with so much self-loathing, even on the nicest of summer days.

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Fake Math & Being Alive

By on November 9, 2022 in Outdoors

Like the millions of leaves that now litter the trails, the past week or so has been a blur of daily hikes, crappy photos, and getting the last bits of pre-winter outdoor duties finished up around the Cul-De-Sac-Shack; I’ve also been missing B-Man, and checking my aggression while being visually assaulted by hundreds of garish roadside political signs from mid-Michigan’s best of the worst, Trumpers, bigots, racists, science haters, election deniers, and religious nut jobs (they go together gut cramps and rancid Wal-Mart peanut butter).

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Woods and Cassius

By on November 1, 2022 in Outdoors

Here is another unneeded post about me stomping around in the woods with my camera for no real reason other than to stay active outdoors while exfoliating the depressive hunks of shit that often cling to my brain like barnacles on a 17th-century sailor’s unkept man-nubbins.2

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Mid-Week Lumbering

By on October 28, 2022 in Outdoors

It’s been a good week of woodsy walking (AKA hiking). However, I did take today off to tend to my husbandly and Cul-De-Sac-Shack responsibilities and give my feet a rest after 11 straight days of hiking, but I currently sit on 17.35 miles in my feet over four days with two days left to hit my self-imposed 25 miles goal. [You say days a LOT, maybe read more, get a better vocab – ed.]

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Hikes & Dreamboats

By on October 24, 2022 in Outdoors

It’s strange to me (not really) that when I am getting outside and doing stuff—in this case, near-daily hikes in the woods—I, of course, feel better physically and mentally, but I also notice that I blather less here. I know that is a win/win for all parties concerned, but strange to me nonetheless.

This in no way means that I plan to abort my woodsy walks or return to the Bed of Torment in the Chamber of Farts for the sake of something to write about because, let’s face it, it can be a tad insufferable, and while I personally might find it therapeutic in some way to spew out depressive word salad thrice weekly and post it for the whole world to read, it can be tiring and its value overpriced.

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