Yes, this blog is only months old and already it has broken the rules. We here at Trogdor the Blogingator have a pile of excuses. However, this blog will once again conform to regularly scheduled updates beginning Monday, January 6th. If you are worried that waiting until that date for another post will put your sanity at risk, we will write you a prescription for your bicycle: must ride twice daily with water.
It's been over six weeks since the author of this blog has ridden a bicycle. That kind of hiatus hasn't happened since he began commuting to work over six years ago. For the first time in years, his thighs yield like a cheap wedding cake when gathered in a fist, and he is winded after scraping the ice from his car, which hehe h is driving more now than in six years. Needless to say, his sanity is at risk. So, why this switch from two wheels to four? He's getting old. Injuries tend to catalyze more injuries. The author has begun to injure himself in his sleep. When he wakes to find he cannot move, he further injures himself while reaching for his reaching stick. For six weeks, a smallish (but not that small) swollen growth shaped like a breast has been swaying from his left kneecap. As it was the author's best feature, he wasn't sad to have it, but he missed his bike.
Odds are that the author ought to be completely healthy every now and again, and this is one of those times. The hiatus was an undemanding six-mile Pugsley ride down the bike path. The author cannot convey how good it felt to be on a bike path, despite the farty odor of the exposed creek bed and a landscape determined to appear urban.
By the way, the bike path was busy for a chilly day in mid December. High five, Denver.
There is little more about the ride that deserves mention. We saw some manmade waterfalls that were frozen and pretty, several cyclists inexplicably dressed more for a space walk than for a bike ride, and over two hundred ear buds.
This next picture somehow ended up in the folder of photos from today's ride. It was drawn by the author when he was eight. The monster on the right eerily anticipates many of the skeletal complications faced by the author as an adult. The monster on the left eerily anticipates how much the author enjoys golf as an adult. As a child, the author never drew monsters riding bikes, much to his discredit.
See you back here in three weeks.