the search for youth and hydration

several “episodes” ago, i told a meteorological story about the month of august. in it, i said that “soon will come a nasty hot stretch of warm, muggy weather which will ultimately release itself to the strong will of a massive cold front.”

i should have made it rhyme.

the warm and muggy are here. the cold front is coming.

as if to test the merits of warm and muggy, on sunday i embarked on a 38 mile mountain bike jaunt into the jaws of summer. i went inland and upland from the shore and once finally all the way “upland” regretted my decision. there was no breeze…not a whisper…the sun beat down upon me like a punitive birch rod on the naïve knuckles of life. worse though, i ran out of water half-way through the journey. by the time i made it home through the stifling heat and claustrophobic humidity, i was certain i knew exactly how the fiber optic camera feels during one of dr. terrill’s colonoscopies.

okay…i didn’t exactly make it home, i literally crawled up the last steep pitch that leads to my driveway. home never looked so good, though the smell was something a bit less than desirable.

one would think that, after all the experience one has accumulated, one would not make such a ramshackle decision to exercise when conditions are less-than conducive to survival, but that’s what i do. i ain’t gonna go out swaddled in depends, making fecal smears on the kitchen floor…i’m gonna go out in a blaze of glory.

i hope.

ultimately, the end of august means the challenge of the chaquemegon fat tire 40 is near-at-hand, which is like the largest mtb and beer bacchanalia in the history of the world. hosted by the towns of hayward and cable wisconsin, the fat 40 is an end of the year race that brings together all those eager to throw their mountain bike into the crawl space with the dead bodies and clown suits.

it brings closure, unless you get into “the iceman cometh”, a november race in traverse city, mi, featuring beer and at that point…nothing else matters.

sunday’s forecast calls for a low in the mid-40’s. the shins will be stirring. so will the broad-wings. it’s time to fill the feeders so the accipiters can cull the blue jay herd and more importantly, i can watch.

damn, i love what’s coming into view.

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About borealbilly

i am cursed by nocturnal self-awareness. View all posts by borealbilly

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