When you get bucked off...

"Bucked Off" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

 

There’s that old cowboy mantra — "When you get bucked off, get back on!" — rattling around in my head like a rock in a hubcap. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not one for motivational nonsense. Those kitten posters telling me to “hang in there” just make me wanna roll my eyes. Sure, hope the little furball makes it, but seriously, we all got our own battles, right? Suck it up, buttercup. (Kidding… mostly.) No one deserves to go through hell, but do we really need discount hobby shop wall art screeching “Live, Laugh, Love” at us like some demented suburban mantra? Makes me wanna “Hurl, Puke, Vomit.”

Dammit… I’ve drifted off the trail here. Focus.

Okay, so picture this: I’m just your average overgrown manchild, who, in a moment of misguided showboating, managed to “injure” himself. Yeah, injured. Nick, my ever-wise buddy, pointed that out. “You didn’t get hurt, man. You injured yourself.” And damn it, he’s right. It’s been a while since I’ve been legitimately injured, and I guess I’d just forgotten that it could still happen. I’ve never been the gnar god, with skateboarding or mountain bikes, keeping it relatively low key — just trying to stay around maybe a “twist your ankle if you mess up” level. But, you know, sometimes life will give you a taste of knuckle sammich.

Fast forward to today. My third ride since getting cleared to run free again. Back at the scene of the crime, BLORA. Knocked out a solid 10 miles, the sun shining, wind in my face, and — miracle of miracles — no trips to the ER.

(Side note: tried to do this on Tuesday, but forgot my helmet like the aforementioned manchild I am. I took it as a sign from the Ride Gods, packed up, and went home. No tantrums, no broken bones, just a wounded ego.)

Now, on the way back home, I pass another trail — Miller Springs. The legs were feeling like they were plugged into an electrical socket, so I thought, why not? Stopped and knocked out a few more miles of a favorite hunk of trail still recovering from tornado redecorating.

So now here I am, tapping out this rambling mess of thoughts. Bottom line? I got bucked off, but I’m back on, baby. Feeling invincible, ready to tackle the world, and hey, there’s some amazing leftover vittles waiting for me. Life’s good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some vacuuming to do and some scrubbing bubbles to set loose.

Have Fun!

After the fall...

 

"After the fall" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

August 19th, 2024. The calendar said it was a Monday, but my gut told me it was a victory lap. Another morning ride, then home for some graphic freelance magic, or maybe diving in to some domestic duty. Routine, right? Wrong. That day, I was cocky. Strutting around like a peacock with a death wish, thinking I was king of the trail. Looking back, I was overconfident, underprepared, and setting myself up for a date with gravity.

It wasn’t even a big jump. Hell, on the scale of extreme, it barely registered—a blip. But let me tell you, no amount of "visualize it, manifest it" was gonna save me when my shoulder met earth like grandma’s old Lincoln and her neighbor’s cat. Yeah, that hurt. Bad.

Fast forward six long weeks. I’ve scrolled through the entirety of the internet at least four times, mountain biking vids on repeat. Normal folks, superhero freaks—they all have something I was dying to get back: freedom on two wheels. Watching those videos? Torture. The real kind. The “you can look but don’t touch” brand of hell.

Yesterday, I went for the six-week follow-up with the doc. Good news? No surgery. But, surgery’s still on the table if I feel like playing mad scientist with my skeleton. Right now, the shoulder’s a little funky—like I could moonlight as the bell ringer at Notre Dame, but it’s not causing trouble. Just hanging out, reminding me it's there. Doc hit me with the “at your age” spiel, but wrapped it up with a casual, “Take it easy out there.”

So today, I took it as easy as I could stand. Eleven miles—part road, part off-road dirt—just a test run. Legs? Still kicking. Lungs? Holding up. Not bad. A few bone-rattling moments made it clear the shoulder isn’t 100% yet, but not in an “oh shit, I’m broken” kind of way. More like a friendly reminder: “We’ll get there, just not today.”

And you know what? Even after those measly 11 miles, I felt like a GAWD! Like I’d shed 50 pounds of funk, frustration, and futility. The comeback is real, and it’s on!

Have Fun!

All fun, til it's not...

Bum Wing © Mike Moore Studios 2024

 Monday (8/19/24), started off pretty good, slept decently and had a ride planned. Got a text from my riding buddy that he'd be able to go after all, day got a little better!

Everything was business as usual from there. Nick got to the house, we tossed everything in my truck, and shoved off, BLORA (Belton Lake Outdoor Recreation Area) bound. I'd ridden the same area Friday, and had been visualizing a way to launch into the trail since. I had had it in my head to try anyway, having a buddy along as a witness to my super heroic feats of daring? Bonus!

Looking back, can't remember exactly if I said what I was gonna try, or that I was just gonna try "something". I cranked off towards the trailhead, rolled over the "fun hump" before, locked onto the entrance, and headed in hot...Too hot!

I'm not even going to try and sell this as some Red Bull XXXtreme Hardline Death-Defying kind of a jump. IT'S NOT. Everything about it is within my skill range...except probably the speed I hit it at, and not being able to adjust to whatever it was that kicked the ass end of my bike all wonky. As soon as I was airborne, I knew it wasn't gonna end well, but didn't have time to finish the thought before I was on the ground.

I didn't get knocked out, but it was close. My old pal, the vasovagal response, was creeping around for sure. I remember being PISSED that I'd a) screwed the jump up, b) screwed the ride up, then c) was a random thought about food or something else completely unrelated to the situation at hand. Probably not great. After 40 years of throwing myself at concrete for fun (skateboarding), I knew I wasn't HURT, but I was definitely hurting. Nick rolled up nearly instantly, I think...the concept of time and clear thinking weren't quite within my reach yet. I remember him asking if I was ok, then urging me to sit down. He told me later I had a death grip squeeze on the rear brake lever and my eyes weren't really focusing, probably not great too. My legs kept trying to convince my brain that we should all just take a minute to catch our breath, and all would be cool...then my shoulder spoke up, "Time to go. NOW!"

Nick drove us back to the house, pretty sure it would've sucked heavily had I attempted it. Thanks for being there, and for being a voice of reason Nick. Sorry we only got a half mile in. Soon as the wing will flap, I'm ready to roll.

A bit later I drove myself to the ER, or as more aptly described, "Satan's Bus Station". The ER is like being trapped in a real life documentary on the deplorable state of healthcare and human services with no way to mute or change the channel. No breaks, sprained, and a self pledge to try to not go back to the ER.

So how was your Monday?

Have Fun!

Got my happy face on...

 

Happy Stuff © Mike Moore Studios 2024

Went out and got my ride on this morning. Was reconning the route I'll be going tomorrow with a buddy. Pretty much the same "course" we always ride, but with a new section added and going the opposite direction. Not any harder, not any easier, exact same scenery, but completely different. Such a good time! I've got a grin that would make the most seasoned Village Idiot neon-cartoon-vomit-green with envy.

Reckon there's a lesson here kids... Change it up every now and again. Go a different direction. It might suck, or it just might just trigger a case of overt giddiness and/or glee. Worth the gamble I think.

Have Fun!

Getting into it...

Getting Into It © Mike Moore Studios 2024

I like heading into the unknown. Moving forward devil may care. Admittedly, as the gray has increased, the urge to see what's out there has slacked...the level of excuses growing exponentially. Some grown up thing always keeping the mysteries at bay. The known is comfortable, you can snuggle up in it and drift off dreaming the sanitized dreams of the status quo. The unknown can be the best, worst, or some fiendishly twisted combination of the two. You dare not slumber on the unknown, lest you miss the pay, or the pain.

Get out there. Somewhere. Somehow. Get lost. Find yourself. Repeat.

Have Fun!

The difference...

Solo © 2024 Mike Moore Studios

Up until very recently, I rode solo. I got lucky every now and again and my son's and my schedules lined up and we were able to get some miles in together. Mostly though, it's just been me and my thoughts. I ride with earbuds, music at a level so I can hear what's going on around me, and  "the voices".

"The voices" typically ramble on about some twist of the same mundanity, "Could I? Should I? Did I? What if? How come?" Their mood changes, but their lazer-like deathbeam focus is most certainly always on yours truly. I've been granted the gift of being absolutely certain I was under the universe's microscope as long as I can remember. Trust me, I'm not so full of myself that I actually believe it, but I do sometimes have that hard to reach itch. Doing it to myself, self-microscopy? That's a special kind of hard to reach. Usually, we all get along just fine, understanding our places. Sometimes, not so much. When the conversations get loud, or uncomfortable, I go harder, turn on the body, try to turn off the brain, don't think, be, do.

As previously reported, a good buddy got a new bike and we've gotten in some rides together. I’ve more than enjoyed it, it's been rad. Laughing, talking, riding. I haven't gone as far, or as fast, as I might go solo, but even with all the talking and laughing, they've been much quieter rides. "The voices" don't come along.

This morning I was back on a non-solo solo mission. "Why are you wearing sunglasses?" Dammit. Shut up. "You should go back to the truck". It'll be fine. "Did that guy call?" "You still need to do that thing" Yeah, yeah, oh shit, big rock, spider web, can't see good, shouldn't have worn my sunglasses, should've gone back to the truck, fuck me...

Stop. Breathe. Ride.

A different voice started in on me, this one missing the nails-on-a-chalkboard-spirit-breaking abrasiveness of the others, but just as demanding, "Why are you doing this?" Because I love it, it makes me happy, it’s fun. "Then stop listening to us and get to it doofus...why's everything gotta be spelled out to you? Geez!"

So, I did. I rode. Eddie Spaghetti and Bon Scott were my wingmen. Negative murmurs from the peanut gallery were ignored in favor of the symphonic flow of two wheeled dirt surfing through Central Texas chunk and moon dust.

The difference between riding solo and riding with someone else? Too much me. I'm not a bad guy I know, but I'm with me all the time...so really, what do I know?

Have Fun!

Gratitude...

I have a lot to be thankful for in life. I have a beautiful, healthy family that loves me. My wife and I worked hard for a lot of years to build this life. I know full well my reality isn't the same as others, and that I should be grateful. Guess what? I am, in spades. I really don't know why I'm allowed to live it, but thanks for my life, seriously.

The weather has SUCKED for a couple months now. Coupled with life's other curveballs, it has been less than a good time of late. Last time my butt touched a bike seat was May 10th. I have not been happy Mike. With all I have around me, it does strike me as strange how much curative power those 2 wheels have. Can't argue with what works.

Good buddy of mine got a new bike. He's been through a lot the past couple years. He'd just started a new business, was kicking ass, got bitch slapped with a bad vax reaction, and was literally paralyzed from the waist down. He went back to kicking ass. Worked his ass off rehabbing, went from a chair, to a cane, to a full suspension mountain bike. He's also been building his business back up and kicking ass there.

With the weather, and his biz we hadn't been able to get out together until this morning. Pretty sure our mutual stoke to go ride was matched by our wonder how it would go. Perfectly imperfect? There were a few ponds with trails under them, easily circumnavigated. He hadn't been on a bike at all in a while, and he's still learning this one, but nothing but smiles coming from that direction. We didn't go far, we didn't go fast, but damn...it was good.

My mood hasn't been this good for weeks. This is me, expressing GRATITUDE.

Gratitude © Mike Moore Studios 2024

Thanks for it all.

Have Fun!