Friday? Already? ‘Bout fuggin’ time, is what.
It seems to have been an active week. Ace shooter Casey B. Gibson blew through town en route to the Tour of the Gila and we got together at El Bruno’s to eat chile and wonder why all these sullen young punks are moping around on our lawns. Mister Boo continues to have a leaky faucet. One deadline was confirmed and another beaten into submission, if barely. Call it a TKO.
The Giro d’Italia got under way, but not without a hiccup at Live Update Guy.
The software pulled a Rip Van Wankel on us and Consigliere Pelkey had to deploy the Taser to encourage vigorous if financially unrewarding activity.
Hey, it was a 9.8km time trial; no wonder the 1s and 0s nodded off, along with most of what proved to be a very small audience.
And there was healthful outdoor exercise. Various elements of the Universe conspired against my fitness regimen for much of April, but May is off to a better start — this week I’ve logged two runs and three rides, all of which featured old bikes, blue skies and tailwinds home.
This afternoon I required a short nap on the sofa for some reason. Happily, The Boo needed a snooze, too, and he kept it corked, which I call progress.
Every silver lining has a dark cloud, of course, and ours at the moment is the aforementioned wind — a thunderous gale that has triggered a wind advisory, a red-flag warning and my allergies.
P’raps Der Trumpenführer is giving an address somewhere? That would explain all this hot air.
Mad Blog Media 
My guess is that Der Trumpfuehrer had a large dinner of beans and made a pass through the southwest. Fortunately for me, my ride home from da bomb factory entailed either a tailwind or 90 degrees amidships except for the last half mile.
An ill wind, for sure. Peeeeeeeyew. But at least it’s from the rear. (rimshot)
Red flag last two days. Stinks, but at least we don’t live in Ft. McMurry. Moving moves along, slowly, but the end is in sight. A ride has not happened in over a week now. I’m too old for this shit.
Down your way too, hey, Pat? And yeah, not being on fire surrounded by tar sands is good. I expect I’ll have all I need of that come the afterlife.
Take five on the move and ride, if only for an hour. Your brainpan will thank you.
Sage advice. Thanks for the reminder.
When will Mr. Boo’s faucet quit leaking?
That top photo is stunning. Beautiful sky.
~doug moore
The skies here are unreal, Doug. I’d forgotten after a couple decades away. You can see company coming a long way off.
You must be singing’ the blues with those skies! Spectacular!
And blowin’ the schnozz with those winds!
Hope the Boomeister is on the accelerating recovery curve.
Oh, man, JD, the BoogerMeter is pegged at 11. The trees are killin’ me. It’s like “The Day of the Triffids.”