One long winter years ago, I actually started to suffer from seasonal depression. I was also dating a lunatic, so that might have had something to do with it as well. Anyway, my solution was to try tanning, to get those life-affirming yet deadly UV rays - and it worked! I felt a lot better, and I didn't even care that I looked ridiculous. As I sit here watching out the window at the sleet falling, the sleet that will eventually turn into five inches of snow by morning, I'm considering tanning once again. Fortunately or unfortunately, this time around the thought of middle-aged me knowingly entering a tanning salon is seriously holding me back. So I'm wondering, will using a tanning product fool me into cheerfulness? I was thinking of going with Kardashian Glow.
(Her boobs are still bigger than mine.)
The hammer blow of this recent weather development is particularly heavy because,
1. All predictions up until 24 hours ago were pointing to It's Finally Going to Get Warm! and,
2. My Ride for Roswell buddies and I were going to go on our first group ride since October.
Sunday, March 30
Well, I gave up yesterday, ate a lot of pasta, and hid under the covers. This morning we woke up to this:
Before admitting defeat, however, I went for a ride yesterday before the sleet/snow started. Just by myself - the group ride will have to wait, again.
I decided to go over to Canada (everything's better in Canada) and ride on the Friendship Trail (see? they name trails after friends!), and see what's up. Here is the start, below the Peace Bridge (I'm pretty sure Canada named that, too).
I decided to go over to Canada (everything's better in Canada) and ride on the Friendship Trail (see? they name trails after friends!), and see what's up. Here is the start, below the Peace Bridge (I'm pretty sure Canada named that, too).
The trail was pretty clear for the next 2 miles, with some squishy spots, and then I left the trail to ride along Lakeshore Rd., which is what Canada builds along its lakefront instead of a thruway.
To be fair, there's a Lakeshore Rd. on the American side, too - it's just 20 miles south of Buffalo, in a place that isn't Buffalo.
This part of Lakeshore Rd. on the Canadian side, going SW, ends at the next trail head for the Friendship Trail near Waverly Beach. Here is where the trail became impossible to ride on.
Under several feet of snow is another foot of sand that had blown in before the beach froze.
(frozen beach)
After some "portage", and with floppy, wet toe covers that looked like elf shoes, I chose to ride on an access road called Edgemere Rd., which runs parallel to the trail. Every once in a while I'd pop onto the trail to see if it was clear,
and, nope. Silly me had taken the studded tires off my bike already, it being March and all, otherwise this ice landscape would have been ride-able.
Edgemere Rd. ended at someone's property, so clearly it was time to take a picture of my bike.
This is the mountain bike for "getting around unpleasant obstacles", rather than for actual mountain biking. Which is a good thing, because the bolt holding the rear derailleur to the frame disintegrated a month after I bought the bike (no, there was no salt on the roads at this point). Ah, Specialized, why did I think you were a good idea?
Heading back the way I came, I decided to take a picture of the "thing".
This has been under construction for months, and I never knew what it was until yesterday, when I interrupted a conversation between two men standing in front of it to inquire. The fellow who looked the most knowledgeable began with, "Well, now, it's got three storeys, see...." What I took away from this speech was, this was a house, and the owners were actually living in it already, in the back of the first floor, and there was a swimming pool on the second floor. The third floor, with large glass doors "so they can go look at the lake after they get out of the pool", is apparently just for after-pool lake viewing. Oh, and "for watching the dogs in the yard", which I realized three hours later was probably humor (or maybe it all was). So now I know, and it's even weirder than I thought. It still reminds me of making Star Wars stuff out of shoe boxes when I was a kid.
More portaging, and more soggy elf shoes, and then it was over the bridge back home (I forgot to mention that I was scolded at the Canadian crossing for doing exactly as I had been instructed the last time I crossed, which seems to be a fun activity for Canadian customs agents, and is a regular occurrence - I guess not everything is better in Canada).
These instructions appeared last fall on both ends of the bridge. No one walks their bike over, ever.
Just about the halfway point - there's a lot more "hill" on the way back over.
The scary Niagara River (which wasn't too frightening this time), and good ol' Buffalo.
And then the "cage" at the end you get to stand in until someone lets you out. So very welcoming we are, aren't we?
We get a bike rack, at least.
After making sure he could see my ears really well, the American customs agent sent me on my way. I don't want to know.
So this has been circulating the interwebs for a couple of weeks. It's British, and it's cool. It's also applicable to us here in the US, just without the words, "mum", or "velocipede".
Here is also something those fabulous Canadians are doing in Vancouver. It would never fly here in Don't Tax Me Tea Party Land, but it's always nice to dream.
Also, to top off this ok blog post - I was reading a Team Estrogen forum thread about the ubiquitous topic of My Ass Hurts, and found out about this really interesting cycling apparel company in the Southwest. They have a line of wool clothing, even shorts! And the designs are classic. Let your randonneuring friends know about this one.
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