Phew. Another day of supervising home improvements instead of riding the bike. Why does the Lord wish me to serve him in this fashion? Beats me. You’ll have to ask Him. I only work here.
In the past few days we’ve had the solar collector off, the roof reshingled, the solar collector reinstalled and the attic bespooged with insulation, all in the name of tapping into various socialist schemes for denying the Heat Lobby its obscene profits. Herself did all the heavy lifting as regards setup and follow-through, of course, but I had to watch, and frankly it was exhausting.
After the last tradesman hit the door running, I felt I deserved a new toy for my troubles, and so I bought one — a Voodoo Nakisi. A track bike and a 29er are about the only machines missing from the Mad Dog fleet, and soon I will be lacking only the former, a condition that will persist until I am safely dead. Life is too short to spend it making left turns only.
What the hell, I had all these old parts cluttering up the garage and the thought of building up a MonsterCross® machine with them captured my imagination the way the Turk’ does anything smaller and slower than him, which covers a lot of Darwinian waterfront, believe you me.
This Voodoo is going to wind up looking something like Brent Steelman’s late, lamented CC cyclo-crosser, which he once described as a 700c mountain bike. I think Dr. Mikey von Schenkenstein still has that hand-me-down, and if so, I’ll grab a photo of it for posterity. It remains one of my favorite bikes, and (dare I say it?) must be an unacknowledged ancestor of the 29er all these crazy kids keep going on and on about.
Mad Blog Media 
We’ve got the same blanket. Way to go supporting those critters! And we can eat them if times get worse or visa versa.
Billbeau, Herself volunteers at the local Humane Society — she brought home the blanket, as well as the Turk’, who was not an official Society adoption, but rather a foundling handed over by a friend.
I picked out Miss Mia Sopaipilla at the Society, and if I could clone her, we’d have a dozen of her around the premises. She’s like a 3-D cartoon cat, all round eyes and snuggles. Though I went her bail, she is Herself’s kitten.
The Turk’, on the other hand, is a strange creature, full of sharp edges. He loves me, but that won’t save me from a swipe of those massive paws. Dude has a lot of voices in his head and they ain’t all my pals. The trick is to know which one is in charge when you’re dealing with him, and I’ve gotten pretty good at long-distance ID.
He does love a cuddle come bedtime, but Lord, does he pitch a bitch when Herself plucks him out of the rack and exiles him to the basement with Mia.
Congratulations on your new build! And your new roof! I love “Turk”-key posts. This afternoon I go to the vet. On the wall is a Cats of the World poster and I always think of your cat when I see the dead ringer illustration of the Turkish Van.
Andrew Lloyd Webber had one. The kitten managed to delete the entire score of a “Phantom” sequel from Webber’s digital Yamaha piano. No back-up. He had to reconstruct it. Hmmm, computer problems and a cat with attitude.
aNOTHER bike???
I’m jealous, podnuh.
I gotta make room in the garage for another bike. They are already swinging from the ceiling.
Any takers on a 2007 Subaru WRX?
How big are the paws on that monster? You better look out, Patrick, lest Turk starts looking at YOU as something smaller and slower than him. We just acquired a third cat, a 5 month old stray that showed up sick and starving. On the one hand, the cat bill for medical and food just went up, but on the other hand I figure they’ll fight each other for the right to my tender flesh long enough for me to escape. We named him Oscar, after Oscar Hijuelos, but he just came back from getting neutered yesterday, so for the nonce he’s Oscar No-Huevos.
Hey, what is this “Send me site updates” button? Ooh, button, let’s click it……
Well Patrick…allow me to help you complete the fleet.
Just Saturday my bike-shop-owning friend was asking me what I wanted to do with my Santa Cruz Roadster and all I could muster was “I don’t know”.
The Roadster, in case you don’t know has bolt-on drop-outs and it comes with a set- much like us guys- of two. So, it’s currently fixed up as a fixie, but it sits in the shop until I or Shannon get a notion for extreme knee workouts. As far as I know, I’m the only occasional devotee.
I’d hate to see it go, but your fleet omission (despite the rather finite declaration) seems like a sign…from somewhere, or someone, or nothing at all.
Libby, glad you like seeing and reading about our Turk’. The big galoot is quite a piece of work. Runs about 16 pounds when not enhanced by filth and is as long as a furry tube of traction sand. He’s actually about a cat and a half. And Jon, those forepaws measure 1.75 inches across when relaxed; you should see ’em when he flexes. Like a fielder’s mitt full of X-Acto knives.
The funny thing is, despite his obvious physical advantages, Miss Mia runs Turk’ ragged. When the two get to playing Rock ’Em/Sock ’Em Robots, as Herself calls it, Mia is almost always the instigator. Plus he speaks in this high-pitched Mike Tyson voice: “Meeeeeyewwwwww.” And he, not Mia, is the cat who will climb into your lap. Well, mine, anyway. He likes me for some reason. Go figure.
Chris, K, go buy more bikes. The industry needs you. And I need the industry. So buy early, buy often. Repeat as indicated.
But alas, Barry, I must decline your generous offer to fix me up with a fixie. I have the knees of the 2,000-Year-Old Man and exactly zero mad skillz, fixie-wise. Plus I’m in trouble enough with this 29er project. Herself was not consulted pre-purchase, which is a violation of the Terms of Endearment, and if I survive to throw a leg over its top tube it will be a miracle.
Patrick:
Regarding your oversight in getting pre-approval of the recent bike purchase from your household CFO/CEO (Herself), what songs would you like sung at your upcoming wake?
I am pretty much in the same boat, having been gradually assembling my new bike, a Surly Travelers Check randonneuse, by the old “Stone Soup” trick — “If I just had a pinch of new seatpost, the soup would be perfect.” Kind of like those Detroit auto workers you heard about that smuggled Chevys out of the plant part-by-part, but in the opposite direction. I fear my own Herself will not fail to notice a new complete bike in the basement, and then Hell will be owed several sizable payments.
On a more festive note, a heartfelt wish from our household — me, my own Herself, and our three cats — to yours for a happy Thanksgiving. You keep us laughing, Patrick, and for that we are most thankful.
By the way, we are big fans of the Mia and Turk photos; keep ’em coming! One of our boys, Ivan (The Terrible), is the spitting image of Mia, but has the personality of Turk (a Turkenpilla?; a Sopanturk?), a delightful and deadly concoction.
Ciao!
Dale