Woke up yesterday and it was Tuesday.
A FULL week since the LAST ride.

Time for a little something more.

Intentions:
Depart BULL lot at 16:00
Arrive ALBION HILLS 16:30
Meet Craig et al at 17:00
Ride
Meet Bob et al at 18:00
Ride
Depart ALBION HILLS 20:00
Arrive BULL 20:30

Actualizations:
Rapidly bleed Magura Julie’s in driveway 15:58
Zut allores re-bleed Magura Julie’s in driveway WITH instructions 16:12
Shitfuck, re-read instructions for CORRECT brakes 16:20
Motherfuck, realization that the pads are still installed 16:21
Blame Magura for not making instructions easier to ignore 16:22
Arrive at BULL 16:45
Depart BULL 16:58
Blow through stop sign, brakes contaminated but SUPER fast 17:00
Arrive ALBION HILLS 17:19 (a new totally unverifiable record)
Catch Craig et al 17:40
Wait for Bob et al 18:00 to 18:25
Ride without stopping (literally)
Fail (physically, mentally, commercially)
Depart ALBION HILLS 19:55
Arrive BULL 20:22

Aside from words, just how did the Tuesday ride go?

Imagine if you will…

…less sandal, more cursing.

Mind says GO.
Body says NO.
Repeat.

Yes I do.

Not riding.
Not predictably nor with intent.
Yesterday I didda shoulda, coulda, woulda all day long…wee wee wee.

If it’s the thought that counts, it’s going to be a banner year.

For some many reasons going to the gym is (simply) more appealing.
Maybe it’s the relative predictability of it.
Open 24/7 and climate controlled.
Maybe that’s it.

Maybe it’s that throwing shite around has always been an important part of mine personal development and stress erosion.
When I don’t go, I inevitably throw things I probably shouldn’t.
Maybe I’ve always accepted that ‘The Gym‘ is just a place, just a THAT, just whatever.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
A place with which I have no attraction or connection.

An essentially horrible, terrible, sterile place (that is except for dust bunnies of pubic hair, skin flakes and nail clippings fused and hopelessly bound by dried human sweat) where one goes and does things one doesn’t want while causing measurable trauma to the very flesh that one is attempting to salvage/enhance/extend.

For some very logical reason, I accept this.

Meanwhile, riding remains something else.
Something to be savoured, enjoyed.
Race or otherwise, purpose beyond amusement is counter productive.

More to a point, mine intentional off-season experiment SEEMS to have been positive as it relates to the on-season.

What riding (all of one cross, one mountain) I have done this 2010 has been surprising in it’s efficiency…
…even if it’s lacking the specific lung capacity for true power bursts or extended expulsions.

Motion seems to be coming at a far lesser cost.

That is, weight loss at the expense of endurance.
Via iron in lieu of alloy.

This strategy was a matter of convenience firstly and mostly a first.

A first in that, typically speaking, I don’t target anything more specific than destroying a person, place or thing.

Total weight loss now stands at 16lbs.
My svelte frame now glistens in at a scant 195.5lbs*.

* You would be correct in recalling that 195.5 is GREATER than 194.  194 was an all-time 20 year adult-life LOW that somewhere, sometime I declared this past winter.

Either way.

Yesterday as I was perusing for PayPal powered skull products when I came across (figuratively NOT literally) this suit:

Yes it’s very Robert, Giant and (particularly) Zombie, I suspect that’s the point.

A man could wear this suit.
A man with sensitive nipples.

Regrettably, this exact suit was either sold out or discontinued or too well hidden.
Interest depleted.

Moving on.

Excerpt from (overheard) gym conversation:

Woman #1:  Ugh.  Waxed today, iiiiiiiirritating.
Woman #2:  Really, what for?
What do you mean ‘what for‘.  Because.  Ugh.  I swear I’m going to laser one of these times.
That’s like 1500$, who are you trying to impress?
???
Let’s face it, you’re almost 40 and (whispers) mostly alone.
Isn’t that all the more reason to do it?  You know (whispers) in case.
Unless you’re adding it to your online profile, no.  I mean anyone you let down there is going to be as bad off as you anyway.  I mean, you know, (whispers) grateful.
But I was kind of hoping for BETTER…
Sure.  Sometimes we just need to be realistic about these things.
I guess.  See you tomorrow?
Tomorrow.

Until tomorrow.

No motion towards motivation.
Nothing.
Last night I sat patiently in front of The Biggest Loser.
Nothing.
Not so much as a quiver, beyond a brief overextension as I lunged towards the salsa.

Tick tock grows the adipose tissue.

Enter whimsy.

Another strategically fiscal instigation has been implemented.
A stimulus of motivation by guilt.
I figured it’s the least that the wealthy would do.

No accounting for paint.

In fact, the Opus Spark is hereby awarded a little something special:
Best Worst Paint on a Production Bike.

Ordinarily at this juncture I’d link you to the page so you might see first-fist how awesome my Spark could be.
But instead some frenchman flashed the fucker and you’ll have to dig through the 90′s yourself.

Ungrateful?
Uncertainly!

OGC (parent or foster something for Opus Bikes) has been a proud sponsor of Team Misfit Psycles since 2008 (Giro, Easton etc).

Moving on.
As specifically stated yesterday, I am not done my superficial preparations for the 2010 season.
And so long as PayPal holds out, may never be.

The time was then 12:00:00:01 EST.
Colorado Pride FTW!

Destine to be dangled along the ORIGINAL Snow Bunny’s good side.

When I gaze upon this and that.
I will see nothing less.

ULTIMATE DICKTORY!
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Among other reasons, I hate you because of the offseason.

Realistically speaking, the best one can hope for (during the offseason) is to impede a complete erosion of fitness.

Many cyclists, too many cyclists, relish the affirmation that their season ‘knows no end’.

They declare with a heaping helping of superiority that, for them, ‘cycling is a lifestyle’.

These cyclists are duct taped grocery bag sock wearing idiots*.

*And jerks. And stupid.  And should be abhorred WHILE being publicly beaten with fat sticks.  Sticks of disproportionate diameter NOT necessarily sticks designed specifically to beat the fat…although I firmly do believe that an increased number of fat sticks (sticks designed to beat the fat for being fat) WOULD help alleviate the impending crush on our socialized medical systems.

Weather is NOT the predominating impetus for the offing.
At least, it doesn’t have to be.

The offseason is a naturally occurring phenomenon.
It is a resultant concessionary FACT.
A statistical bi-product of a delicate seasonal equation.

Opportunity to Interest to Investment to Output to Satisfaction.

Full season riding is not efficient.
Winter riding is a not training.
Full season riding is not practical nor financially viable.
Winter riding is, at best, an excuse not to do something more productive.

Sadly, winter riding is yet another indication that narcissism is firmly entrenched in the elastane fiber of simply being a cyclist.

Previously at LIESNSHITE we have discussed, rather I have posthumously and pejoratively declared (to your fervent approval) , mine own repugnance towards what is a seemingly veracious vanity* expounded by the majority of cyclists.

*In conventional parlance, vanity is the excessive belief in one’s own abilities or attractiveness to others.
Wikipedia

Take a look around.
At your next ‘race’.
On MTBR.

Cyclists are why cycling isn’t more popular.

To the non-pedalic public cyclists are of the lessthanlikeable sort…obsessive, conceded, self righteous, vain, insecure and odd.

Cyclists are to sport what Hummers are to evolution.

Superficially speaking, the general public considers cyclists amongst the mostly detestable underbelly of society.

Politicians, lawyers, car salesmen, more lawyers, bankers, plus size lingerie models and myself.

Cyclists.  Motorists hate them.  Pedestrians hate them.  Bike shop employees hate them.

What seperates cyclists from these ‘other’ unlikeables is simple…

• The ‘other’ unlikeables KNOW that society doesn’t like them.
• Society (albeit begrudgingly) NEEDS this collection of unlikeables.

Not buying it?

Of course not.

You’re a cyclist and you KNOW sooo much better.

NEXT:

Not necessarily in this order.

• diSSent (ALC) pre-buy.
• diSSent (AL) pre-buy.
• diSSent (FE) availability.
• Offseason Training Tips.  We (the experts) discuss how my (new) 2010 offseasoning will allow for 33% MORE pummeling of the PORTLY PEPPER and a 14% FURTHER fling of the PUNY DING.
  Regrettably I was unable to come up with something appropriate for Thad…Thad Thad he’s not THAT bad…was nearly condescending enough but not.
• More contempt for cyclists.

That is all.

Before changing into something a little less different, it would be worth noting that racing, albeit racing badly, essentiofficially ended with the Fall 8 Hour.

I stank as good as I ever did.
Possibly better.

Of course, given the season that I offered, we could endlessly argue that my racing never began.

You would make this result the butt of your poorly constructed joke.
Hardy.  Har.
I would cleverly alter the context in mine mind and agree.
I know it wasn’t, so what am I?

For the purposes of further defecation, that is what it is, what it was, what it will be.

2009.  Race-less.
Less the intent.

The riding, while sporadic and undisciplined, has continued relatively unfettered since September.

Without volume.
Without structure.
Without target.
Without purpose.

Rides that are and were, anything else.
And everything but.

Rides intent on simply not training.
Not racing.

I said I would train.
I needed to train.
I planned to train.

I did NOT.

And THAT, the not that is, I did and did very well.

If there was a high point to this season it would have been January 9.
9 days in and some 38 days out.

That long after the Declaration of Intent (to train, like a real live racer) is when I publicly acknowledged winning the battle against training.

“December 1st I started Joe Friel’s “The Mountain Biker’s Training Bible“.
Very quickly (first 10 pages) I learned how ineffective my current regiment is and how utterly impossible it will be for me to EVER improve based on my ‘it’s just a bike’ approach to riding (among any number of other character flaws).  FAIL.”

The die was cast.
All of this unintentionally.
Perhaps unconsciously.

Fast forward to Saturday October 31.
It was wet and it was dark and it was 08:00.

It was to be a most optimistic ride.
Only three deep.

One was Tom.  One was Dave.  One was me.

Tom is Tom.
Dave is not.

Dave doesn’t rest.  Rests are for the weak.
Dave would just as soon and much rather ride you into the ground and be done.
Dave doesn’t drink or eat unless he is moving.
Dave isn’t social.  Riding isn’t Twitter.

THIS is one of only two stops ALLOWED during the entire 3.5hrs.
Allowed because I stopped.  Just stopped.

Tom, eyes clenched tight (to protect against flying bone ), prepares a jugular jab…something Dave was not expecting.

This is what spent looks like just before the stroke of 11:59.  And spent is what it’s about.

I will not promise to train.
I will just ride more.
I will.
Sometimes fast.  Sometimes long.  Sometimes.

Anyone interested in a barely used copy of the MTB’s Training Bible???