The weather has kept me under house arrest. I've been putting in a lot of miles in my garage going zero miles per hour on my resistance trainer that attaches to the rear wheel of my bike.
I can picture in my head every little detail of my garage door.
So, when global warming gave us almost 60 degrees Sunday, I headed out for my favorite hill training ride out to Miamisburg and back. When I get there, I do loops where I ride up Linden ave, which is .75 miles at 10-15%, then I ride down I-725 which is like longer and less steep and I can hit like 45 mph, rinse and repeat 5-7 times until I feel like I'm going to toss my cookies. Miamisburg seems friendly. This is because I've had numerous people give my a "friendly honk" while I'm climbing the hill, which way beats people throwing a Big Mac at me or yelling "Fag!".
I'm so glad I ride a road bike. I would never see a tenth of the stuff I see if I was still running.
Like:
The fork in the road: Literally, I saw a fork in the middle of the road. Someone had dropped it there. That struck me as cute.
Buzz Returns: This summer, I noticed a toy Buzz Lightyear doll. For months, he was always at the same spot on the side of the road at the exact point on the hill where it kicks up to 15%. Seeing Buzz was my cue to find my 25 tooth cog and grunt it through the last part of the climb. I figured there was no way that he would have survived the winter and all the snow plows. But, yesterday, I saw Buzz! I had to look for him for a while but I spotted him a little closer to the curb and a little further up the hill. But, he survived the winter. My hero.
Niave cat owner: Lots of people were out Sunday, including a cat owner who was trying to walk a cat. The cat was sitting back on it's haunches and having none of that while the silly owner tugged on it's neck and tried to make it move. I concluded that this person has not yet learned basic cat behavior.
A photographer: shooting a photo of a plastic cup that someone threw on the ground. I dunno...
A sad person sitting by the side of the road: head in hands, ostensibly crying while a person waited in a car by the road. I wish I could paint. Ironically, this was happening right in the same exact spot I got smacked in the head with a low-flying bird. Coincidence? I hope so.
A falling dead bird: Speaking of birds, on my 60th and final mile, a dead Robin just up and drops out of a tree and almost falls on me. I looked around and saw that a hawk flying away that had dropped it.
In conclusion, I'm too lazy to write a poignant ending to this blog. But, I like seeing stuff like this and it's one of the reasons I love my bikey so much.
I should probably do some work.
Bye.
About Me
- Mick
- In 1968, a baby boy was born and his parents named him Michael. As a cute little zero year old, he had a little round nose and made gurgly noises. But, he also had colic which tired his mama out and his grandmother often rocked him to sleep. One night, while doing this, she nicknamed him "Mickey" and that is why people also call him Mick. He grew up in upstate New York in a place too remote to be called anything. There were a lot of bugs and his Dad yelled at him for using too many paper towels. Little Mickey tried to have fun playing war with his friends and shooting BB guns. He didn't apply himself very much in school and he graduated high school Magne Cum Lousy. One day in 1986 he discovered a lump in his neck which he promptly ignored for more than 6 months. As fate would have it, it was Hodgekin's Disease and after months of dicking around with inept doctors, he promptly underwent aggressive treatment involving brutal tests and chemotherapy. This lasted a year followed by many years of paranoia. This is where he learned to suffer and it payed great dividends. Now he teaches 13th grade at a college in Ohio where he suffers daily.
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