Month: August 2017

On my uppers

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 24 Comments
Duke City as seen from the Sandia foothills.

I piddled away a bunch of daylight early yesterday doing bits of this and that, and come 10 a.m. I was in the mood for the great outdoors but not quite sure how to approach it.

Finally I loaded a Gregory day pack, pulled on my old Vasque Clarion boots and went for a short hike in the Sandia foothills. I have some marching to do next month, at Interbike, and it never hurts to refresh the old muscle memory, especially old muscles and old memory.

Shoes for industry.

Wise choice, as it turns out. On the way home my decrepit hiking boots performed what Herself, a former outdoor-equipment retailer, called “a de-lam’.” Both soles basically crumbled and peeled away at the heels.

“Sonofabitch,” I observed. “I’ve only had these boots since the elves made them for that down-on-his-luck cobbler, and what a steal they were, too. Or was it Elvis? Anyway, curses, etc.”

So home I flapped, like a nattily dressed hobo. And now I get to buy some new boots. I feel happier than Carrie Bradshaw with a Manolo Blahnik catalog.

His August Majesty

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 18 Comments
The Boo is all sleek and shiny and very interested in whatever it is that Herself is holding in her hand while that other person clicks the shutter.

Mister Boo has had his monthly wash and brush-up and feels much better about himself, though he was less than amused to be all dressed up with nowhere to go for the first half of today (one of his varlets got hauled into court again).

Yes, once again they called my name, and once again I was marched upstairs to a courtroom. But this time we actually enjoyed a spot of voir dire as both defense and prosecution sought to pick a crew that wouldn’t give them a pain in the pinstripes.

Nearly 350 people got rounded up today, and 46 of us were in the pool for this trial, a criminal matter that actually sounded interesting until a couple potential jurors began expounding on their knowledge of the Law According to Too Much Television.

Then I began praying for mercy and lo! My prayers were answered.

“Go thou forth, yet check thee back at 4:30 every afternoon,” they said. “Thou still owest us eight days.”

Gimme a brake

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 15 Comments
Now I can hit the binders without innocent bystanders thinking they’re being attacked by a deranged eagle.

I got paid for a little extracurricular work I did a while back and decided to spread some of the love around, ordering up a new set of Avid BB7s for the Bianchi Zurigo Disc.

The fine folks at Two Wheel Drive handled acquisition and installation, and now I don’t have to listen to those gawd-awful BB5s gargling whenever I squeeze the levers. Sumbitches made more bad noise than a busted chainsaw.

There are worse things than shite brakes, though. Ask anyone in Hurricane Harvey’s vicinity. The Houston Chronicle is all over the story, with one of the most horrific moments (for me, anyway) being the residents of a senior center sitting in waist-deep water, awaiting rescue.

There are other tales nearly as grim, and I expect there will be more of them as the days drag on. And weird ones, too, about a guy catching fish in his living room and dogs carrying their own emergency rations.

We often crack wise about Texas around here, because hey — it’s Texas, y’all! But spare a thought if you will for the residents of the Lone Star State, and if you haven’t spent all your disposable income on new brakes, consider sending them a little sumpin’-sumpin’.

From our Request Line

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments
The Commander hard at work.

Friend of the Blog® Jon Paulos asks for a report on the feline members of the household, specifically, how they’ve adjusted to life in the upper reaches of the Chihuahuan Desert after spending their formative years in the posh Patty Jewett Yacht & Lawn Bowling Club.

Miss Mia Sopaipilla is on top of things.

Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) finds his new post slightly overwhelming.

Security was incredibly lax when The Commander first arrived to take charge, and he has spent many a long day (and night) napping furiously in search of some solution that doesn’t involve him actually, like, y’know, doing anything.

Aide-de-camp Miss Mia Sopaipilla, meanwhile, inspired by Herself’s midlife career change, is contemplating a lateral move into the library field. She can be seen at right cataloging back issues of Bicycle Retailer and Industry News.

In between naps and feedings they practice biological warfare in the litter box, enjoy occasional outings in the back yard (on harnesses), and keep a weather eye on Mister Boo, because you never know when a 12-year-old, one-eyed Japanese Chin is liable to get Western with you.

 

Dude, where’s my column?

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments
The homebound leg.

Whew. Finally, chucked another Bicycle Retailer column and cartoon over the transom, just in the nick of time, too.

This fake-news bidness isn’t as easy as some folks would have you believe.

Yesterday the brain-lock was so severe that I had to resort to vigorous outdoor exercise to shake the nickel loose and set the music to playing.

Apparently I wasn’t the only sufferer. The trails were alive with folks running, riding, or simply enjoying a beautiful day in the Duke City.

Today — not so much. Gray, cool and damp, which is to say fine weather for making up stuff indoors and enjoying a rare cup of afternoon coffee.

A fella who’s not making it up is my old comrade Hal Walter. Check out MotivRunning for one of Hal’s stories about his neurodiverse son, Harrison.