Rain today, finally. Maybe the dust on the trails will finally turn back into sand. Asking for actual mud would be too much.
Last night Herself and I enjoyed cocktails and snacks at The Broadmoor, courtesy of an old college pal whose line of work dollars up on the hoof a little faster than does free-lance rumormongering. Our shared and violently colorful past was disinterred for inspection, tales of relatives, pets and exploding toilets were exchanged, and the whereabouts, whys and wherefores of absent friends came up for extended and critical examination. Hilarity ensued and the four of us agreed that we see each other far too seldom. Good times.
The Broadmoor is a Forbes Five-Star resort, so naturally it draws Republicans in the way that a gutpile does buzzards, and I felt as comfortable as John Edwards at a NOW rally as various Suits ambled past, occasionally glancing at me as though I were encamped on the pine-board stoop of a 9-by-40 single-wide with my bib-alls around my ankles, a copy of Maxim in one hand and a 40 of Olde English in the other, irrigating my tooth while a half-dozen three-legged pit bulls chased chickens, social workers and red-headed stepchildren through an overflowing leach field.
Happily, a couple drams of Bristol Brewing Company’s Compass IPA removed all apprehension and I even managed to shake hands with one of the sonsabitches when my bro’ engaged him in polite conversation (though I cleansed the hand vigorously in an unflushed toilet afterward).
It was something of a late night for us, and today we barely managed to get breakfast, chores and a two-hour ride done and dusted before the rains came. Rain? I don’t mind. Shine? The world looks fine.
Mad Blog Media 
Just picked up a six of Compass IPA but have not given it the once-over as of yet. I am prepared to be wowed.
I like the Avery IPA in the can, too. Excellent camping beverage, being crushable and packable.
Any IPA needs to be loved!
No rain here in Italy though the forecast was for rain all day on the arrival day for Vineyards to the Sea. Sunny skies so far this afternoon. In between preparing for the tour we caught the Dauphine staqe – BRAVO Evans! Attacked on the descent while lil’ Andy Schleck rode in the back, pretty much tossing his chances of any result here in the sh__-can. The “world’s greatest team director” doesn’t seem to be able to work any of his magic on RadioSchleck Team 2012, even after badmouthing them in the press. Wassupwithat? Could it be he’s NOT the genius so many made him out to be after success with BigTex and Il Pistolero – both guys who pretty much supplied their own motivation?
Jeezo, did Schleck the Younger stink it up today or what? Bad RadioSchleck. Bad, bad, bad. Johan spank.
Can’t say I’m a big fan of that brother act. Always talking shit, flashing the stinkeye or glancing over a shoulder instead of riding the fucking bike.
Say what you will about Texus Maximus — when he gave someone the stinkeye, it was prefatory to ripping the dude’s legs off.
Yeah. Say what you will about Texus Maximus, but he was the Michael Corleone to the Scheck brothers Fredo Corleone.
Haw. Spot on. One of my favorite scenes in “Godfather II” is Fredo slouched in a chair, looking like a bad caricature of Don Vito on a three-day Chianti bender, and hollering, “I can handle things! I’m smaaaaart! Not like everybody says … I’m smart and I want respect!” Every time a Schleck cracks its piehole I think of that scene and snicker.