I like to ski, mountain bike, drink beer, cook and listen to any jam band I can get my hands on; all while making a complete ass of myself. Hopefully this catharsis is as interesting to others as it is to me.
It's always funny to see one's fat cells after a long hiatus. At first, your curiosity draws you in. For being fat....they're awfully firm. I mean, when you poke at them; you'd expect to get some jiggly action, but instead, they're kinda like tapioca colored, small ball bearings. I guess the jiggly action only comes into play when you have a lot of those tapioca colored small ball bearings all moving together.
Which gets me to my post...went for a ride on my Friday off, and now I'm drinking a beer and listening to some Bitches Brew to mellow out the reason I came to view my fat cells for the first time in a long while...fat cells which had been torn out of my palm, just hanging there. I won't bore you with the details...long story short; I went down at about mile 15, I went down hard, I went down fast, my left palm took the brunt of the impact on some rocks through the hole I ripped in my glove two days ago. Got blood on my fork, it looks kinda cool...so I'm gonna keep it there. If that ain't arrogance, I don't know what is....or is that ignorance....screw it...it's arrogance.
Before that, got some good pics of Red Mountain and a cool formation you get to ride under which I like to call Jabba. Also, a pick of my goat whom I affectionately call Jenna Bush.
After the fall, I rinsed the wound the best I could with stingy amounts of electrolyte mix which I drink out of my camelback. At the time, I was a little concerned that it was less than sterile, what with the fungus growing in my camelback...but figured the alternative was far less sterile...so i did it anyways. I then pulled out my med kit, patched, taped and put my glove back on. It really sucked gripping down on my bar with my left hand, and every bump just shot pain into my forearm. I strongly considered riding out to the road and heading home the easy way...screw it, I came to ride. 6 miles later over a few bumpy rocky sections, a few grunts and groans and one throbbing left palm, I was home.
On a tangent...I was watching a show last night on the History channel regarding cooling vests used for NASCAR and originally developed by NASA for astronauts. NASA determined in the 60's that pilots made on average 60 errors per hour when the outside temp was 95, but when the testers dropped the outside temp to 90, the average errors dropped to 9/hr. The tests they were running were basic coordination tests, flipping switches in a cockpit, etc. You know, stuff Coco the Monkey could do. Now that Miles Davis is getting into the middle of the jam and the Arrogant Bastard is taking hold...my mind is wondering if the heat had anything to do with my physical reaction (or lack of one) which led to me going down. Hrmmmmm....I'll have to think on that over another beer and test it out tomorrow.