Been wallowing a bit. For, like, a year?
Been suffering from Läzyfücker Syndrome. Riding bikes for long distances has just been seeming too durned hard. Dunno if it's a positive reaction to the longer days and more colorful light or a negative reaction to the tightness of my carhartts and belly overhang. But it's something. Something vernal I think.
I've been finding joy in the long ride again. I'm digging out of some pretty crappy physical sloth and my muscle is marbled like a high-quality prime rib, but pedaling the bike is starting to feel good again.
Poncha Pass in early March
Put my name down to ride my very own Salida Big Friggin' Loop in June. Might ride the Dirty Double Fondo in May if I'm there in terms of fitness yet.
I have become aware of the fact that for many many years, my own perceived life purpose was riding mountain bikes really far. That started to seem pretty absurd to me. It still does. Am I on this planet to wear out mountain bikes? Is that what I'm for?
Well, I'm not sure where I am with that. But endurance riding is a part of me. I'm not ready to put it into the past, and I'm completely at a loss to identify something with which to replace it.
The Universe doesn't seem to have a plan for me. The idea that The Plan™ would be riding bikes still seems absurd, but frankly the fuggin' Universe seems more absurd and random than it seems orderly. There's order in nature, and that's one of the things that draws me out into it on a bike. But the universe of humans? So-called Humanity? Absurd and getting more so with every passing hour.
As Walter Sobcheck might have said if he was a mountain biker and not a bowler:
"Fuck it dude, let's go riding."