Month: February 2010

Where would Jesus camp?

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 24 Comments
You ain't gonna be spendin' no 40 days wanderin' ’roun' this desert, bo'. Move along, move along.
You ain't gonna be spendin' no 40 days an' nights wanderin' ’roun' this desert, bo'. Move along, move along.

If Christ were to begin wandering around our local wilderness, collecting disciples and preaching sermons, sooner or later he and they would run afoul of Bibleburg’s latest ordinance forbidding camping on public property.

The ordinance is both shameful and silly in that it (a) demonstrates the lack of compassion in the black, withered heart of Industrial Christianity and (b) will be impossible to enforce.

Regarding the former, I always thought that it was the money-changers who were supposed to get tossed out of the temple, not the poor and helpless. As for the latter, if I’m a stony-broke homeless guy living in a tent by the creek and a cop hands me a ticket, I’m wiping my ass with it and sending it downstream to Pueblo. Put me in jail for noncompliance and I’m enjoying three hots and a cot, plus regular showers, at taxpayer expense. Shameful and silly, as I said.

Homelessness is a real problem, for the campers and the Chamber of Commerce alike, but there is no one-size-fits-all solution. Some campers are just down on their luck and awaiting better days. Others are mentally ill, addicted to this or that, and perpetually in need of social services that are either stretched beyond the breaking point or simply unavailable. And still others are real, honest-to-God hobos who prefer nibbling along the tattered edges of our consumer culture to diving in head first. Treating them all the same is absurd.

The private sector, various non-profits and individual volunteers are doing what they can. One local businessman sees an opportunity to house the homeless in a former KOA campground off South Nevada Avenue, but the city is standing in his way.

Many a passage from the Sermon on the Mount comes to mind here. Let’s try this one on for size — Matthew 8:21-23:

Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven.

Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name done many wonderful works?

And then I will profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.

Shelter from the storm

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
No more goose with a sluice thanks to my new Planet Bike fenders.
No more goose with a sluice thanks to my new Planet Bike fenders.

How the hell did I ever get along without fenders?

I tell you, I’d have skipped more than a couple outdoor rides this year without these nifty little plastic mothers. Unless I’m actually racing cyclo-cross — something I haven’t done since 2004 — I’m just not into the freezing, muddy douche up the old exhaust port any more. Cold is bad enough. Cold and wet just plain sucks, especially if you plan to stay out for a while. And washing your kit and bike daily is as much fun as drinking a bottle of cough syrup and watching a chart-wielding Repuglican on C-SPAN.

The roads were particularly filthy today since the sun finally came out and got after that last snowfall, so I slapped a set of Planet Bike fenders on the DBR mountain bike and rode the Greenway Trail for 90 minutes. The Voodoo has fenders, too, but after hitting the deck and dislocating that finger, I’ve decided I like wider tires and a lower center of gravity for a reconnaissance ride in evil weather.

Anyway, it was nice to be outdoors doing something other than running through lumpy snow. I only saw two other cyclists so I get big manly points too. The weatherman says mid-40s tomorrow. Sheeyit, that’s practically tropical. Maybe I’ll ride in a Speedo.

Speaking of things that should not be seen, a local billboard company has rejected a bus-shelter ad that would have displayed the alluring cleavage of  — a puppet. The ad, for the touring Broadway production “Avenue Q,” featured the furry pink hooters of Lucy the Slut, one of the stars of the admittedly adult show. Not on my bus shelter, said Lamar Advertising account executive Jeff Moore, who explained his criteria for determining what’s appropriate for bus ads and billboards: “If I have to explain it to my 4-year-old or my grandmother, we don’t put it up.”

That covers a lot of waterfront, there, Jeff old scout. Better invest in a couple sets of blinders for Junior and Granny if you ever plan to leave the house, what with all the titty bars, massage parlors, adult bookstores, XXX theaters and other ungodly sights in our otherwise immaculate Industrial Christian community.

Hell, they might see Doug Bruce. Any sane community would recognize that loudmouthed tub of lard as an obscenity. Alas, our community’s standards are a little looser. When it comes to man-boobs, anyway.

Of winter and discontent

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments
Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo . . .
Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo . . .

We enjoyed a beautiful morning today in Bibleburg. There was finally enough snow to shovel, just barely, and the Big Yellow Ball In the Sky took a valiant stab at burning through the clouds that have been hovering overhead for the past few days.

Herself has returned from a sun-splashed weekend in Palm Springs and is very much not amused by the conditions here, especially since she has to drive to the office in Denver shortly. This is not unlike entering a demolition derby held on ice, driving your good car instead of some beater.

Last night, as I was gingerly negotiating the slippery streets en route to the Bibleburg Intergalactic Airport to fetch her home, I saw any number of speeding nitwits piloting two-wheel drive vehicles one-handed while jabbering away on their phones. Why not just stay home and shoot yourself in the head? That way you’re performing a public service instead of being a public menace.

Speaking of public menaces, don’t miss this Mother Jones story on the Oath Keepers, a so-called “patriot” organization whose core is men and women in uniform. You can’t grow up in the military or live where I’ve lived without meeting people like this, and they’re much more frightening than their leftist counterparts, with whom I palled around in my younger, dumber days.

I occasionally consider selling my guns. Then I read a piece like this and check to see whether they’re all still loaded, with extra magazines and speedloaders within easy reach.

Glory Road

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 34 Comments

Oh, bugger. Snowing again. These pissant “storms” that merely grease the trails and glaze the streets are slipping the proverbial tube steak to my carefully cultivated serenity.

Herself certainly picked the right time to hightail it out of Dodge. She and a couple of girlfriends are on the lam from winter this weekend, hiding out in a Palm Springs condo, eating, drinking and watching it not snow, not even a little bitty bit. They just called with the culinary rundown as I was whipping up a spartan meal of tacos, rice and salad. This is like telling a creekside wino all about your latest gourmet feast.

Speaking of things one does not wish to hear about, I understand Tiger Woods finally performed the obligatory mea culpa before the cameras and mics today. What a load of ice-cold horseshit. First off, if you’re gonna cop a plea, get ’er done while the dew is still on the lily. Second, rehab is for wankers. Show Tiger some pussy, then show him his bank balance. Choose one, big guy. Presto, he’s cured. Thanks, I’ll take my fee in cash.

I couldn’t care less about golf, and where Tiger’s putter has been fluttering is even further down the list of things that hold absolutely no interest for me.

“But what about the young people who view Tiger as a role model?” you ask. To which I reply, anyone looking to emulate the morality of the average multimillionaire athlete should also consult swine for advice on table manners.

I’m reminded of a line from Robert A. Heinlein’s “Glory Road,” in which Star tells Oscar: “I have known many heroes and some were such oafs that one would feed them at the back door if their deeds did not claim a place at the table.”

You want to learn how to pop some skinny nerd in the ass with a wet towel, or imprison him in a gym locker, ask a jock. For all other matters, consult a higher authority. Say, a Magic 8-Ball, or even your own conscience.

White ’cross

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 13 Comments
The Nobilette cyclo-cross bike is ready to roll.
The Nobilette cyclo-cross bike is ready to roll.

Meet the latest edition to the Mad Dog Media bicycle collection — a custom Reynolds 853 Nobilette cyclo-cross bike.

Like pretty much everything else in the garage, it’s a blend of old and new. The wheelset, taken from my oldest Steelman Eurocross, is a well-used Cirrus pair from Excel Sports — Michelin Jets on Mavic Open Pros laced to Dura-Ace hubs with DT 14/15g and Revolution spokes. Likewise the brakes, a used (and mismatched) set from Paul Components — Neo-Retro up front and Touring in the rear, both with Kool-Stop Thinline pads. Whether that grippy Neo-Retro will overwhelm the fork’s one-inch steerer in a panic stop remains to be seen; back in the day I ran lower-profile Dia-Compe 986 cantis, which were basically speed modulators.

An old Salsa Pro Road handlebar sports new Cane Creek brake levers (the traditional non-aero’ sort plus a top-mounted set). The stem is an Origin8, an outfit I’d never heard of before.

The drivetrain is nearly all new — Race Face Cadence compact cranks (50/36), nine-speed Dura-Ace bar-cons, FSA front derailleur, Ultegra rear, 11-28 cassette. The lone exception is a thousand-year-old pair of Time ATAC pedals.

Check out the nifty integrated cable hanger.
Check out the nifty integrated cable hanger.

And finally, the seat post is a new Ritchey WCS, but it holds a used Selle Italia Flite saddle that I got for a six-pack of beer. Assembly by Chris and Randin at Old Town Bike Shop. Thanks, guys.

I asked Mark to add eyelets for fenders and a rear rack in case I want to do a little light touring. If this were a road bike, I’d have sprung for a pump peg, too, but ain’t no pump peg in the world gonna secure a frame pump on a ’cross bike. Not the way I ride it, anyway.

Weather permitting, the Nobilette will undergo its maiden voyage this morning. The weatherman’s calling for snow, but hey — that’s cyclo-cross weather, right?