Happy Fun Day (mostly)
There it was, just to the right of center on the busiest walking/running/cycling trail in town: A Gigantor-sized pile of bear shit.
I nearly doubled back to snap a picture of its blackberry filled goodness; but then I thought, "Why would the world want to see a big pile of shit?"
Even if it just goes to prove that the natural world is a lot closer to the urban world; much more than most people think about.
I am beginning to be addicted. To exercise.
Strap a 40-plus-pound backpack to your back and hike at least 10 miles a day, every day, for six straight days, and the body begins to crave the pain, crave the endorphins that come.
"People with happy endorphins play nice with others," a hiking buddy said. "People with happy endorphins don't kill people."
True, true.
I was in the saddle by 9 a.m. Sunday. I rolled back into my driveway at about a quarter to 1 (and made myself a tasty chocolate/banana/peanut butter protein shake).
Time stopped (OK, it marched on, but I didn't notice).
I just kept rolling, further and further on roads and trails so familiar. Until I saw the knobby treadmarks in the dust that lead to a little slice of singletrack heaven. A path less traveled and all that.
Tunes in my ears and the satisfying crunch of rubber on rock. The path dusty and slick in spots - yeah, I walked this rock section - but didn't fall once. OK, I did nearly manage to rip my thumb off, but that was it. I came around a tight curve, the trail bent around a pine, and I reached out and jammed my thumb against the pine. Whoops.
And I know what you're saying now; "Say, ThomG, isn't that the $3,999 Trek Project One custom Liquid Fuel EX mountain bike you won in a raffle? The one that is just a wee bit too small for your fat ass? The one that you're selling for $2,500 out the door?"
Why, yes it is. Which goes to show you just how much of a lazy S.O.B. I really am. I got the flatted tube out of my Giant's tire, and found that I didn't have another tube. Not in my pack; not on a garage shelf. Buying new tubes meant a trip to the bike shop. Conversation (remember, I'm currently in selfish bastard mode). And then I realized, "Shit, I have a whole 'nuther bike right there."
Except, I have this break-it-and-buy-it ride mentality when I'm on the Trek. I baby the durn thing. Since, hey, it is for sale and all (ridden on dirt twice, that's it; I'm stopping by the shop today for tubes).
As for the rest of my Sunday, it was a blur of things that needed to be done, crisis' that cropped up and finally the disappointment of a friend who I had promised dinner, but rescinded (so I could finish a proposal I'd promised to someone else).
By the time I went to bed, tired quads and all, I kinda wished I was back on the saddle. Sucking up good endorphins.
I nearly doubled back to snap a picture of its blackberry filled goodness; but then I thought, "Why would the world want to see a big pile of shit?"
Even if it just goes to prove that the natural world is a lot closer to the urban world; much more than most people think about.
I am beginning to be addicted. To exercise.Strap a 40-plus-pound backpack to your back and hike at least 10 miles a day, every day, for six straight days, and the body begins to crave the pain, crave the endorphins that come.
"People with happy endorphins play nice with others," a hiking buddy said. "People with happy endorphins don't kill people."
True, true.
I was in the saddle by 9 a.m. Sunday. I rolled back into my driveway at about a quarter to 1 (and made myself a tasty chocolate/banana/peanut butter protein shake).
Time stopped (OK, it marched on, but I didn't notice).
I just kept rolling, further and further on roads and trails so familiar. Until I saw the knobby treadmarks in the dust that lead to a little slice of singletrack heaven. A path less traveled and all that.
Tunes in my ears and the satisfying crunch of rubber on rock. The path dusty and slick in spots - yeah, I walked this rock section - but didn't fall once. OK, I did nearly manage to rip my thumb off, but that was it. I came around a tight curve, the trail bent around a pine, and I reached out and jammed my thumb against the pine. Whoops.
And I know what you're saying now; "Say, ThomG, isn't that the $3,999 Trek Project One custom Liquid Fuel EX mountain bike you won in a raffle? The one that is just a wee bit too small for your fat ass? The one that you're selling for $2,500 out the door?"
Why, yes it is. Which goes to show you just how much of a lazy S.O.B. I really am. I got the flatted tube out of my Giant's tire, and found that I didn't have another tube. Not in my pack; not on a garage shelf. Buying new tubes meant a trip to the bike shop. Conversation (remember, I'm currently in selfish bastard mode). And then I realized, "Shit, I have a whole 'nuther bike right there."
Except, I have this break-it-and-buy-it ride mentality when I'm on the Trek. I baby the durn thing. Since, hey, it is for sale and all (ridden on dirt twice, that's it; I'm stopping by the shop today for tubes).
As for the rest of my Sunday, it was a blur of things that needed to be done, crisis' that cropped up and finally the disappointment of a friend who I had promised dinner, but rescinded (so I could finish a proposal I'd promised to someone else).
By the time I went to bed, tired quads and all, I kinda wished I was back on the saddle. Sucking up good endorphins.
Comments
Ride on!