Today I’m not even going to pretend to talk about cycling, I am gonna straight up waste your time talking about music, actually a musician. In particular Mr. Noel Gallagher. Yeah Noel, the talented one from Oasis, the older brother to nut job Liam. I dig him and here’s why, starting from the beginning…
Today’s fifteen mile time trial on the trainer left me with an evil amount of estimated calories when I stopped. No man should blog about being on the trainer, but I will anyway…
The above A.P. photo of Vincenzo Nibali from Stage 20 of the 2013 Giro in NO way represents the “ride” I did today. However, the original photo by Fabio Ferrari (that I played around with) is pretty bad ass, but I digress and now move on to a blog post containing all the lackluster quality all four of my readers have come to expect…
Raymond “Bad Luck Badass” Poulidor, 1968 Tour de France.
This post takes a few different views of Raymond Poulidor’s crash on Stage 15 (Font-Romeu-Odeillo-Via to Albi) of the 1968 Tour de France.
I’m not a fan of the time trial (individual or team) unless it’s vintage pre-time trial bike, pre-aero helmet stuff (like the pic above featuring Jacques Anquetil circa 1953) or on dirt (like the Yankee Springs Time Trial here in Michigan each spring). While I have NO plans to ever do a road time trial, I do plan on returning to Yankee this spring. This winter I also plan on continuing my version of the time trial on the trainer; pedaling my ass off, going nowhere for 15 miles trying to best the time before. It’s basically doing lactate threshold training but that sounds all fancy and like I actually know what I’m doing. Since I don’t, and tend to wing things by the seat of my soiled chamois, I just call it doing a time trial.
It’s the eve before Thanksgiving Eve (also known as Tuesday) and the day/eve, was a fucking mess. We got an ice storm last night, so B-Man’s school was cancelled today and I needed to get the snow tires back on the xB. Not to mention I had a million other things to do as we prepare for our trip back to Western PA for the holiday. Thankfully (or not) I had the chance to squeeze in 40 minutes on the trainer. 40 minutes that would have been better spent guzzling a vodka/sleeping pill/Lexapro cocktail instead of half heartedly spinning along and going nowhere for 40 minutes of a planned 60.
Don’t get me wrong, I am anxious to see my father, brother, sister, and in-laws, but mentally I would rather suck on a gas pipe than have to endure four days of explaining why the magazine went bust and I am mooching off my Wife’s brain and (thankfully) its associated income with no gainful employment in sight. But… such is life. I am very thankful. A slacker, but a THANKFUL slacker.
There aren’t many artists, musicians, or sports figures that I would honestly care to meet and NO political figures at all (swarmy bastards!) I always fear that they would be total assholes and ruin any fondness I ever had for their art or abilities. Why ruin it?
The photographer (and painter) Saul Leiter would be an exception to this rule.
Long before I ever moved to Michigan I was a fan of Michigan brewed beers from Founders and Bell’s. Then once I moved here I found even MORE delicious beverages from breweries like Short’s, Arcadia, Brewery Vivant, Dark Horse, Greenbush, North Peak, Right Brain and many more.
I am also lucky to live stumbling walking distance from pubs like The Brass Cafe and The Bird that aren’t afraid to serve craft beers from all over Michigan and the country.
Blessed be thy FOAM FREAKING ROLLER!!
I have had this torture device for a while now, but never really took the time to use it. Then after suffering with some mild back discomfort (most likely due to my half assed weight lifting technique at the gym) the past few days, I decided to take the time and watch some videos (like the one below) on the proper use and how to really fuck myself over with it.
Balls Deep In Deer
Even though Michigan is balls deep into deer season, I took a chance and rode in the woods today anyway. My local trails are on non-hunting land, but they still come close to private land and have a slight reroute to try and keep meaty bike geeks like me from getting capped in the buttocks, but it is still a bit of a risk since I think I read once that a rifle bullet can travel like 32 miles or something ridiculous like that. OK, maybe not that far, but pretty far. I left my fur riding vest and antler helmet at home just in case.
The Pic
The tree in the pic above fell across the trail a year or two ago. I pass it EVERY ride but only today stopped to take a look at its rings (mostly due to having to wiz). Pretty cool to see the rings n’at..