Lately, I have been getting a lot of photographs from a retired drinking buddy Nurse Mike, err “GARN” (of the “Big Box of Records” fame—click HERE) , who is currently south on what looks to be a relaxing bicycle trip into Pasco County along the Coastal Anclote Trail, which runs along the Anclote River from somewhere near Tarpon Springs in Florida, westward towards the Gulf of Mexico. By all accounts and pictures that he’s sent so far, the trip looks very scenic, warm and lovely—the exact antithesis of how my own rides look these days.

GARN’s photos, of course, display nice rolling vistas and scenic vantage points, as well as all the inviting brew pubs and restaurants that they’re inevitably stopping off at along the way.

Sounds glorious, right? 

Lovely even.

Yeah, well, here’s what I have to say about that GARN ‘ol buddy:

Honestly, I’m spinning my balls off in -6° temperatures at 6:00am in the bloody morning in the middle of January.

How excited do you think I am to see your pictures of cactus, manicured parks and fucking eagle nests?

Umm, how about FUCK NO!

DING!  DING!  DING! 

We have a winner!

So just for shit’s and giggles, I’d thought I’d share with you some of the amazing highlights from my own bike ride this morning.

Now if you recall, here is my current view from the saddle each morning:

Which is quite an improvement considering that this used to be the old view:

That shit was like slowly boring holes into your own eye sockets with a dull drill bit.

However, the new view is still pretty darn tedious too given the obvious, flagrant and inexcusable abomination that’s staring me directly in the face for the entire 45 minute workout.

You don’t see it? 

How about now?

Ghastly, isn’t it?

For the entire spin this morning all I could think of was: “how long before I can get off this damn bike and fix that shit?!”

No OCD going on here!

Of course, there’s also this big, glowing orange ball of heat to stare into as well:

That’s fun too, amiright?

Not exactly glamorous of course, but it does serve two very important purposes: 1) it stops me from becoming hypothermic, and 2) if you stare directly into it for long enough you can almost use it to successfully hypnotize yourself into believing that what you’re doing is actually beneficial.

(Disclaimer: it isn’t)

From the saddle to my right there’s the other essentials to my morning spins: a pair of pliers, my nearly defunct Garmin, a bottle of water, and a steaming hot cup of coffee:

Oooooo. Aaaaaaaa.

It’s hardly National Geographic worthy, is it?

And beyond that, there’s my corner cabinet of odd collections including clothesline pulley’s, a bucket of wooden spoons, some extension cords and gas cans, a ladder and a few buckets of random iron and scrap metal crap. Oh, and then there’s my big bucket of plastic bait station keys and an old glass jar full of used swim goggles:

I bet you didn’t see those along the Anclote Trail, did ya buddy?

HELL’S NO!

Looks southward behind me, there’s the garage recycling station:

Not to mention my snowblower, a large roll of burlap, and an old Subway menu board that I’m going to refinish into something else—eventually—and ash bucket full of birdseed, a bait station and overhead, two other bikes that I am not currently riding and have conveniently stored away for the winter:

Instead of dropping off at local pubs and restaurants, here is my current refuelling station:

Sadly, there is no ‘bike-side’ service at this dump either.

God help me.

I’ve been thinking lately that maybe it’s time—time to get back on my bicycle.

It’s true.

However, I now have the rather non fortuitous circumstance of having allowed my YMCA membership subside (conflicting gym hours made getting there difficult) so instead of going there regularly, I am instead now visiting a local gym thirty seconds from my front door which I can visit in the early mornings prior having to go to work. Unfortunately though, they do not have a spin bike , meaning of course, that I am now left to my own devices as far as ‘spinning’ is concerned.

You know what that means then—two words: PAIN CAVE.

Now don’t get too excited as there is certainly nothing hi-tech nor fancy about this pain cave, as the most ‘painful’ thing about it (cold temps aside) is the super uber-boredom of spinning in one’s garage—trust me.

Take a look:

As you can see, it’s certainly not glamorous (or warm) but as far as “pain caves” go this is about as ‘torturous’ as it gets.

Where others have fancy manicured pain caves or some other specially dedicated workout spaces that have been kitted out with all the necessary and creature accoutrements, I have a space heater, a 2×4 to place it on and a whole lot of …

Mind you though, that ‘get er done’ attitude has been coming across a whole lot more like “but do I hafta?” instead these days.  Regardless, instead of free weights, kettle bells, medicine balls and other assorted workout paraphernalia and electronic gadgetry, in my pain cave I am surrounded by hammers, wrenches, screwdrivers, extension cords and (for God knows what reason) a bucket full of used wooden spoons.

Yeah.

What can I say?

Dare I remind you (click HERE).

To say that my garage set-up is pretty Spartan would the understatement of the century.  Personally, I prefer to think of it as more like the training montage in Rocky 4 (click HERE).  If there’s anything more tedious than staring at a rack of old, rusty tools for sixty minutes as you spin your ass off in a meat locker, I haven’t found it. In truth, I don’t wake up so much deciding what kind of workout I’m going to do or how long I’m going to ride, I wake up thinking to myself: “I wonder where I can put that gasket wrench I haven’t used in eight years”

Stupid, right?

Whatever it is, it represents a (very) small positive step back towards reclaiming my old healthy self and something resembling my former cycling prowess so that …

… instead of the guy riding at the back this year (not that there’s any problem with that!), I’d like to once again make a return to being the reliable, hard-driving machine riding at the front like I was in the past and I know I can be again.