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!

I was going to pontificate, but...

"Road Closed" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

Took this shot out on my ride this morning. I was going to pontificate about both the real & metaphorical road being blocked before me, but nah...

It's been raining for, I think, ever around here. We're at least a solid week from trails being doable again. I had to get out. Cabin Fever is no joke. Lake is up, road closed, had to go around. Got 14 miles in. Had to pee. Went home. Road excitement! Can you feel it? Gimme my trails back!!!

There...that's the Reader's Digest appraisal of today's tire spin.

April went by in a blur, but it sucked. As mentioned previously we lost our boy Bucky. Life wasn't done with the shake ups though. That night, after having to put Bucky to sleep, the phone rang. What we thought were gonna be condolences turned out to be just more terrible news. One of our family's best friends/adopted uncle had died. We're all still kind of in shock. I've seen cat ghosts, and I've nearly texted my lost friend more times than I wanna admit. Death is waiting for us all, no doubt...inescapable part of the story. Obviously there are those that welcome that part, but for those that whose time shouldn't be done? Nah...re-write! Gimme the Hollywood ending. And not the Old Yeller one.

Have Fun!

The King is gone...

"The King" © Mike Moore Studios

Bucky Roscoe Stripes Moore left the world a little after 9 this morning. He joined us in 2009. He was King of his domain.

Our family used to own a large liquor store that was the hub of our little community. We worked with a local vet occasionally to help find homes for kitties, we were kinda locally famous for having friendly store cats. We're cat people. I worked the register next to the kennel where the kitten then known as Stripes and a couple of his siblings were showing off for prospective new homes. They'd all been tossed from a car, found, and taken to the vet. The vet called and asked if we could help. Of course!

At home we were dealing with the imminent loss of another feline family member, Roscoe. We were sad, maybe especially our oldest son who'd really formed a bond with Roscoe. We did not need, or want a new cat.

The kitten had other plans. His siblings got chosen first through no fault of his own, a perfect sweet little gentleman. I talked to him while I worked, he reached out of the kennel to get my attention when I wasn't paying enough of it to him. We both knew, deal was done. My wife called a little later in the day to ask how it was going and if we'd gotten them all adopted. "Yep" I said, told her who went where with who. "What about the other one?"

The idea of him coming home wasn't immediately thought well of. "Roscoe isn't gone yet, and you're replacing him?". It changed quickly, and I believe helped us all with that transition. Travis, our oldest son, named him Bucky after the cat star of Get Fuzzy a comic strip he was reading at the time. He also chose to honor our elder statesman Roscoe by attaching his name, and he kept his OG name, adding our last. He's been called, Bucky, Buck, Bucket, Buddy Bucket, Buckethead, and many more.

After Roscoe passed, Bucky was left under the watchful eye of his big "sister" Sandy. She was half his size, but very much in charge...until he got ornery. Younger bigger brother, picking on big sister. She'd scream, we'd scream. He was just having fun, didn't mean anything by it. Luckily as they got older the relationship mellowed and became one of mutual distance for the most part. When she passed, he missed her. He became a bit more of something he'd never been, a lap cat. He enjoyed all eyes on him. Loved the love.

I'm honored he chose me, and chose us all to be his family.

The King is gone.

Gonna miss you Buddy Bucket.

Have Fun.

I feel ya...

"I Feel Ya" © Mike Moore Studios

Don't feel like I'm making much ground lately. Not sure why it matters, not much needs to get made, but still feel off pace. I've been down for a bit, trying to fight through, but it's hard. Our old boy Bucky will be leaving us soon, soon as in "the appointment's been made". This is our last weekend together. We're all sad, all dealing with it differently, but sad is the prevailing mood. I guess I've been sad, and slow for a while now. His health started declining during the home renovation we just went through, which had it's own share of still ongoing issues. Between the two funfests, my spark has dimmed.

Reckon like my friend up there though, even slow is still going.

Have Fun! 

 

Gettin' Dirty...

"Gettin' Dirty" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

 C'mon...who doesn't like gettin' a little dirty every now and again? You've been screamed at about it most, if not all, your life. "Don't get dirty!" Gettin' dirty was quite likely one of your first "F You" moments. Mom said not to, but...dang...who knows how it happened? Can't wear those pants to school now. Gettin' dirty is an escape from the trappings of polite society. Screw wearing white, before or after Labor Day. There are those among us it is hardwired into, gettin' dirty is life. Sadly, there's flocks of those who's need to get dirty has been terminally beat, or bred from them, homogenized sterility.

Run wild. When you get wrecked, rub some dirt on it.

Have Fun!