I went out to spectate at today’s Sand Creek Fall Classic, thinking I’d catch a bit of the action, snap some pix, then roll off for a nice, long ride on the revamped red Steelman.
Hah. Yeah, right.
Instead I stood around in various spots for the better part of quite some time, watching the races and bullshitting with people I haven’t seen in a while — Greg Frozley, Rob Lucas, Mike Elmer, Jurgen Bergeron and of course promoter Andy Bohlmann.
I suggested Andy consider promoting a cyclo-cross in the park next fall, maybe in September. He looked at me like I owed him money.
The turnout seemed low, which is perfect for the first bike race in Palmer Park since the mid-Nineties — fewer chances for negative interaction with other park users, less trail damage, and so on. That last is particularly important, as Bibleburg is not exactly rolling in dough for parks and recreation, which is one of the many reasons why the city is asking voters to approve a property-tax increase on Nov. 2.
Among the spectators was Charlie the Chihuahua. He isn’t old enough to vote, but nonetheless seemed to be enjoying his day in the sun on this woefully underfunded piece of city property. I bet he’d kick in a peso or two if he had any squirreled away in that nifty sweater.
Charlie was rescued from a puppy mill and no doubt was happy to be pretty much anywhere besides there, even if that meant riding around in a slightly girly blue bag borne by one of his humans while the other was racing.
Hey, what the hell, I was rocking eight-speed Shimano 600, bald Michelin clinchers and some seriously old Mad Dog Media-Dogs at Large Velo kit. You won’t see me casting any stones from that obsolete glass condo.
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I’m glad to hear Charlie was rescued from a puppy mill and has a happy cycling friendly home now. At first glance though, I thought maybe it was the Taco Bell dog enjoying his retirement !
Well, I betray my prejudices here, but I can’t help but think that the best thing for that dog is to take him home and let the Turk and Mia play with him for a while.
Our own mighty hunter, Spritz, has been honing his skills in catching the mouse-sized rodents that have been getting into the house each winter and shitting in the back corners of the kitchen. I thought he was pretty worthless as a mouser until about three weeks ago, and now he’s batting about a .500 average in nailing them. All hail the Spritzinator!
Hey, Doug — Charlie has a buddy, Elvis, who also was rescued from an abusive owner. Both seemed amazingly well adjusted. Their new people must be extra cool. The one I met certainly seemed so.
And Jon, funny you should mention it — I just went outside to corral Turkenstein, and what do I see? The big galoot rolling around in the grass, playing catch with a recently deceased rodent. Damn, but he was pleased with himself. If I were a mouse I wouldn’t come within a mile of this place. Turk’ is big and fast, and anyone who thinks white guys can’t jump never saw him in action. Nijinsky couldn’t carry his jock.