Perhaps Where I need to Be.

 The last time I was in Biloxi was in November of 2016. I was recovering from a broken collar bone, but otherwise was relatively fit, lean, and getting fitter and leaner. Because I had nothing else to do and energy to burn, I rode a lot. It was wasted effort that translated into burnout during the trainer season, but I really didn't care.

I hadn't been riding at all. A handful of road rides before the season ended. A couple fat bike rides when the trails near my house were packed well. Mostly I've hiked, cross-country skied, and sat on my fat ass. Primarily the latter.

I knew I was going to be spending the month of February in Biloxi. I swore I was going to get back on the trainer in preparation, but I never did. I came in cold.

I packed all sorts of warmers and raingear and stuff that I have yet to use.I forgot all sorts of tools. My tires were excessively worn and my tubes weren't in great shape either. I ended up buying new ones after a horrible first ride led to 4 flats. I left tools at home, which I had pilfered from the case over the years for other projects. I bought those too. Helps to have friends that own bike shops in the area.

I was weak. My power was pitiful. I just decided to throw it in the small ring and just focus on getting my cadence back up to something that wouldn't blow my knees out. My butt hurts. My lady parts are chafed. I' a little disgusted with myself, which is actually a positive mindset for me. Self-loathing is a powerful motivator in my life.

I haven't ridden much more than two hours yet. Sure,I get tired. Mostly it's the sore butt thing. The main thing is I ride. That is, until I don't.

Fat Tuesday Biloxi had a parade that blocked me in. Thousands of drunks screaming at even more drunks on towed trailers to throw them plastic bead necklaces. From the looks of it, most of them ended up on the streets, along with a whole lot of trash. I decided to avoid the whole thing and do my laundry at a laundromat, which unfortunately had the local TV coverage of the whole spectacle on the tube. Non-stop inane chatter. For every one float with the thinnest of ties to a cultural heritage, there were ten that openly just admitted that their whole purpose was to be blitzed in public. A trailer covered in glitter and tinsel filled with drunk 40- and 50-somethings, hucking plastic and being obnoxious in the name of civic pride. I don't get it.

I'm all for people having fun, but this was a little over the top for me. The next day the parade route was covered in debris. A couple days later they made an attempt to clean it up, but there's a lot that will be washed down the drain and out into the gulf. Oh well, it's not like the microplastics will make it into the seafood, wildlife, and drinking water. Let the good times roll... at least until I roll a tire on discarded beads and break a collar bone.

Let's be honest, I tend to look for faults when I'm here. This isn't my jam. I am not a beach person and hate crowds. For all of the bright lights of the casinos and other packaged fun that so many people flock to, I see the dark underbelly. I'm staying at the Hyatt Place, and the restaurant is named The Placery. What fucktard corporate nitwit thought that was clever?

And yet, even I have to recognize the positive influence guys like my friend Bart, owner of Biloxi Bicycle Works, is having on the community. The biking infrastructure is far from great, but it's improving and he's relentlessly pushing the culture. It could be worse, and I have seen it far, far worse. I hope he keeps fighting the good fight.

A couple weeks and I'll be gone. Back home to my dog and my kids and a magical woman that inspires me to be a better human. I won't say I will never be back, because I've been wrong about that too many times to count. Let's just say I hope I won't have to return. Again, not my jam and not my scene. Even as I play hyper-critical douchebag, I will try to wring some sort of positive out of this. If I walk away a little healthier, that's a start.