The Current State of Affairs

It was a profound honor to be photographed by none other than Ultra Romance during my Eroica California expedition, and while the images that ultimately made it into the Outside feature are each wonderful in their own way, none captures my essence even remotely as well as this one:


(Photo: Ultra Romance)
This was on top of the big climb, and I was in the process of removing my base layer as the temperature had gone up a good 20 degrees since our rollout that morning.  Here's a later shot I screen-grabbed from I don't even remember where:

(Photo: I Don't Remember)
Astute viewers will notice that I subtly inserted it into an image I used in this post:

Basically I'm angling to become the next Nonplussed Bib Shorts Guy.
Of course you don't cultivate a physique like mine by sitting around on the couch all day.  You've got to actually lie down on the couch, and I find the best way to encourage a full day of loafing is to get up really early and go for a short ride:

It's really not about training, it's about priming yourself for a solid nap.
For my chariot, I chose my trusty Milwaukee, which by the time I returned had accumulated a pleasingly postmodern splattering of mud:

It felt good to sample a little bit of dirt, even if it was just a small portion of the Old Croton Aqueduct, though I admit I've been a bit woods-averse lately.  See, while road riding does expose you to the risks presented by both motorists and law enforcement, once you leave that road you risk running afoul of nature itself.  This is true even when those woods are located within the city limits, as are the trails upon which I was knocking around just a couple weeks ago:

Indeed, I had just darted into Highbridge Park when I managed to put a wheel wrong and found myself falling over into the undergrowth.  This is a daunting proposition in Highbridge, where the vegetation could be hiding all manner of perils, including discarded needles and human feces.  Fortunately I encountered neither, but unfortunately I did encounter a large-ish rock.
While I sustained no injury from the rock, a few days later it became clear to me that I had managed to contract poison ivy.  Owing to middle-aged allergy onset, I seem to be especially sensitive to the oils of the Toxicodendron radicans as of late.  A brush with it last year resulted in some strange corporeal colorways upon my person, and this particular case, while more localized, is decidedly bubonic in character.  Of course, one can never rule out the possibility of contracting some heretofore unknown illness in the wilds of Highbridge, but I'm fairly confident it's nothing quite so insidious.
Anyway, in addition to being wary of routes that may result in lots of leaves brushing against my body, I'm also frightened of Ol' Piney itself.  See, the bike fell in the foliage with me, and until I can give it a good hosing down I'm considering it toxic.  And when it comes to washing my bikes I'm like a kid at bathtime in that I'll find pretty much any excuse not to do it.
I should also disclose that this was the day after I fell off of a skateboard and onto my ass, so this is me in my mid-40s: battered coccyx, contact dermatitis, and ticketed for alleged light-running.
Clearly I should grow up and lease a Hyundai already.