Somehow I’ve managed to bollix my back again, possibly the upshot of doing a wee bit too much of what’s supposed to be fun and good for me.
P’raps at my advanced and ever-accelerating state of disintegration it’s not smart to follow a 120-mile week with a few days of caroming various cyclocross bikes and a rigid mid-Nineties 26er off rocks in various calibers while rolling the foothills trails? Plus a trail run and adding a couple elbees to the ol’ dumbbells, like a dumbbell?
Well … you know what we say about “smart” and Your Humble Narrator — rarely seen together, like Clark Kent and Superman, and without all that useful Kryptonian super-strength and invulnerability, too.
Anyway, shit took me right out of the game. I never know precisely what triggers this old injury, acquired in college while delivering appliances for beer money. And there’s no curing it, not since we headed south from Bibleburg and my miracle worker Doc Lori took that long road west.
So when it pops round like the taxman, a cold-calling insert-your-home-improvement-project-here rep’, or a chirpy acolyte of the Campus Crusade for Cthulhu, I just wait it out. No sudden movements, no heavy lifting, and definitely no bicycling. A little gentle stretching, a few equally gentle walks, spasms working their way up and down the carcass looking for structural weaknesses, and, inevitably, finding them.
A severely restricted news diet is a must as well. Ping-ponging between the hysterical laughter of disbelief at the countless teensy weenies being so fiercely trodden upon and a shrieking “Follow Me Up to Carlow” rage (up with halberds, out with swords, etc.) is not a balm for the slowly recovering organism.
Thus the lack of recent bloggery. I’m feeling much better now, thanks. Though I can’t remember where I parked my halberd, goddamnit. ’Twas a nice Rivendell model too.
Mad Blog Media 
Sorry to hear you are out of sorts. Me too. I got off the plane from Buffalo a little over a week ago and apparently, someone on that plane had a bad case of The Grunge. I’ve been hacking my lungs out for a good week now. Yecch. I finally got on the bikey-bike yesterday just to see if breathing hard would help clear the phlegm out of the lungs.
Get well soon.
Thanks, mate. Your pipes coming along a’ight? The allergies remain pow’ful down to here, but thank Dog I’m only sneezing and not coughing … when the back goes pear-shaped the coughing feels like stepping into the ring with Mike Tyson.
Sandy has also been going through the back thing last few days. When it happens to one of us, the first thing we run out of is patience. But, usually three days of Aleve, rest, and for me the Thompson maneuver takes care of it.
Benedryl has been real popular around here last few weeks.
I need to give the new Taylor some love today. A neck relief adjustment or switching it to light gauge strings is called for to make it a little easier to play.
My sympathies to the both of yis. Here in Duck!Burg the back malady coincided with a stretch of much cooler, much windier weather, so taking a bit of time off the bike wasn’t quite the annoyance it might’ve been.
But still.
In other news, I saw a striped whipsnake on the trail during one of my foothills walks. Don’t believe I’ve seen one of those before, though I’ve seen Sonoran coachwhips before. Pretty snakes they are. I tried to edge a little closer to this one for a better snap but he took off like a shot.
Nice pic! Being outdoors as a slower speed has its rewards, heh?
Taking a break from the doom scrolling is also nice. Last night I sat on the patio, minus the iPad, and watched darkness happen with the light from a single Dietz kerosene lantern. I like watching the flame dance.
Patio time is good time. I still have to check the DoomScroll from time to time, for professional purposes.
For example, Dr. Jesus (H)itler Christ has thrown his considerable weight behind a study to determine the medical value, if any, of ibogaine.
What the hell, it worked for (or on) Ed Muskie. Or so said another fake doctor, Hunter S. Thompson, in “Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ’72.”
Maybe Dr. Jesus thinks that enough of us get crazy on psychedelics he has a fighting chance of not dying in a federal penitentiary. Doubtful. I was crazed on any number of substances during the late Sixties and Seventies and still saw right through Nixon, Ford, and the rest of that crew.
I think the panic is setting in on the boy. If congress swings the other way, and the new minority gets tired of his insanity, impeachment is sure to follow. Plus, iron clad indictments are just waiting for him. Jail for sure, although an institution for the criminally insane would work. Or even just house arrest at the mara lardo would satisfy me. I never want to hear his name again. Excuse me, got to go sit on the throne and take a trump.
A friend of mine got rear-ended on her bike last week and fractured the L1 vertebra. She’s wearing a back brace for a few weeks and the doctor said she would be good to go. Backs are weird things so I suggested she get a good going over before she signs any insurance documents. Stay safe