You can’t avoid getting sick. Sorry.
B was sick over the weekend, Wifey is sick right now, and just about every classmate, coworker, coach, teammate, friend, lover, enemy, and germ spreading, narcissistic Trump voting sycophant in the tri-county area has been, or is, currently ill.
I am not sick, but I have no doubt I will be soon.
IT’S NOT FALL!! Well, at least not technically, but it’s starting to look like it. Shit.
Today as I readied my bottles for my ride I briefly thought about taking the PrOcal out. Then I remembered how packed down and fast the roads were yesterday morning and how well the Boone performed on said roads. “What could change in 24 hours?” I thought. It turns out the dumping of fresh gravel on just about every gravel road north of town is what. Cuss!
Sunday and Monday were spent off the bike; doing dad stuff, catching up on some work, goofing off, and going to the shop to swap from the too knobby for Michigan singletrack, side wall Stan’s weeping Maxxis Ikons to the trusted Bontrager XR2s. Thankfully on Tuesday, the Magic 8 ball of life had all signs pointing to a ride on dirt roads.
This was one of those weekends that I really needed. This summer had all the makings to be a good one, but then a variety of set backs–some big, some small–caused it to be tolerable at best. Thankfully in the past week, I feel like I’ve started to turn a corner mentally, physically, emotionally, and creatively. This Saturday’s ride was a culmination of all those things coming together.
After Sunday’s ride, I entered a two-day period of nothingness. Other than catching up on some stuff, getting some house chores done, and another doctor’s appointment there was not much going on. Well, I guess there was the rodeo on Tuesday night. Yeah, you read right, Mr. Artsy-Fartsy, Smiths listening, left winger, shaved legged bicycle boy went to a rodeo.
The promise I made to myself to get back into the routine of riding and writing was short-lived. The riding part held up, but I fell short with the writing. I got caught up in processing photos from last Thursday night’s Alma MTB Time Trial, riding, taking and processing my own photos from rides and a rainy Saturday hike. There was also some bitterness and depression, too many beers, and bidding farewell to my friend Mike at his memorial service on Sunday.
It seems like it’s been forever since I headed south of town to ride. I got in the routine of some northern loops, and then with all the flooding we had a few weeks ago, many of the roads were jacked up and impassable, so I continued riding north of town, or worse yet, not riding at all.
After a lackluster blog post earlier Friday morning I scurried out onto the dirt roads for another short ride. The morning sun was hot as balls and I felt like a crispy honey baked ham after just two hours of riding.
A little over a week ago, in the wake of my friend Mike’s passing, I contemplated ditching my bike completely. The prospect of riding my bike on roads and dealing with the ongoing losing battle that cyclists face with motorists was something that I wanted no part of, nor did I want my family to be part of it. Given my ever growing figure, surely I am now built better for such sports as poker, online gaming, and competitive masturbation, more than cycling, so saying fuck it and ordering a copy of The Idiot’s Guide to Poker was at the forefront of my mind. 1.
With the support of friends (some close, some via social media, and emails), I was encouraged to get back on the bike, and to not let the cars win the mental battle (we all know they’ll win the physical battle). As you may have seen in some previous posts, I did get back on the bike, and it was OK enough.
Since that last post, I am happy to say that getting out and riding has gotten easier, but not exactly better.