March keeps pitching its meteorological curveballs.
It just snowed for a solid 10 seconds, so I guess the drought is over.
Whoops — on its thin white heels comes the red-flag warning. Winds of 25-25 mph, with gusts to 55? Ixnay on the inklerspray, hon’; we’d only be steaming the neighbors’ raggedy-ass cottonwood.
What a fine day to not be towing a rented travel trailer, as the neighbors will be doing directly. Even a bicycle will be too high-profile a vehicle for Your Humble Narrator.
Here in a bit I hope to squeeze in a short run. Got to keep the muscle memory alive in case Voldemort Poutaine decides he’d like to add The Duck! City to his collection.
Of course, the old spook might be having second thoughts about property acquisition given his struggles in Ukraine. And if he isn’t, he should be. To paraphrase Rick from “Casablanca,” “There are certain sections of New Mexico that I wouldn’t advise you to try to invade.”
“Boris, is this not where we parked the tank?”
“Da, Mikhail, it was right here. Central and Pennsylvania. Remember the friendly lady behind the In & Out who beckoned to us as we passed? She offered to take us around the world and you said, ‘But we just got here!'”
The dust storm we had on Friday would have reminded their fathers of the good old days in Afghanistan. It looked like one of the haboobs that periodically buggers traffic between Tucson and Phoenix. Blotted out the valley to the west and a slice of the Sandias to the east, redistributing portions of the Upper Chihuahuan Desert without need for tanks, aircraft, or artillery.
I didn’t ride or run Friday. But I got out yesterday for a 90-minute ride, and found myself dealing with another sort of Eurasian invasion — trails clogged with tumbleweeds, also known as (wait for it) the Russian thistle.
Tags: Casablanca, red-flag warning, Russians, The Duck! City, Voldemort Putin
Mad Blog Media 
March 6, 2022 at 11:58 am |
I did notice that the Duck! City seemed to be vanishing in a cloud of dust the other day.
I’m hobbling around on a bum knee from doing a steep downhill jog at the dog park a few weeks back. So only riding every other day, trying to spin rather than mash, and staying off the Hors Old Guy climbs. Maybe a short one today but if it keeps snowing up here, it will be with the fender bike.
Or maybe I’ll go out Old Buckman Road and sharpen my skills with the AR in case Boris and Natasha try to pull some stunt for Fearless Leader up here in the People’s Republic of Santa Fe. We might be commie pinkos up here, but we ain’t interested in being taken over by the KGB.
March 7, 2022 at 7:03 am |
I take it low and slow on those downhill jogs. I creak and pop like the Tin Man on a damp day, and the Yellow Brick Road is not as smooth as it used to be.
March 6, 2022 at 12:57 pm |
That wind storm on Friday closed I-10 from Wilcox almost to the the New Mexico border. I’ve had enough of madmen, emphasis on men, for awhile. Going to escape to the Arizona Folklore Preserve to hear some bluegrass for a few hours. Sonoran Dogs!
March 6, 2022 at 4:58 pm |
Been thru that section of I-10 quite a bit, PO’B over the years. Signs all over now on what to do in case of a dust storm (pull over, lights off, feet off brakes, etc.).
One time “Back in The Day” my bride and I were in our 1969 VW Beetle, doing a USAF move with our moto strapped to the top of the Beetle, and our windward car door was indented about 3″. And heaving in and out with the changing wind velocities.
Mother Nature plays the long game and always wins. 🙂
March 6, 2022 at 6:46 pm |
The Wilcox Playa is famous for its dust storms. The wind was howling when we were driving back to Sierra Vista after riding with Khal and Patrick up in Santa Fe. We just got to Wilcox, when they closed I-10 behind us. Whew, since Liz and Andy (our “kids) had to fly out of Tucson the next day. I had a spanking new 93 VW Eurovan camper that I drove into a dust storm just past Casa Grande. Pulled over to wait it out with no damage done. Like Joe Walsh said above!
March 7, 2022 at 7:23 am |
I’ve been through there a time or two or three m’self, starting in the spring of 1980 when I took the job at The Arizona Daily Star. Just me and Jojo the Street-fighting Dog in a ’74 Datsun pickup, fleeing Bibleburg for Tucson.
I had one bicycle and zero wives and I lasted just nine months on the Daily Star‘s fascist copy desk before I shot out of there like a rat out of an aqueduct. Hated the job, but loved the desert.
I think my leetle adobe hacienda west of Orange Grove and Oracle has been scraped; at least I can’t find it on Google Maps anymore. Time passes and things change.
March 7, 2022 at 8:36 am |
I’m surprised that some rich somebody didn’t buy it and convert into a million dollar showplace. Lot’s of gentrification going on in the Tucson barrios. “Them that’s got shall get, them that’s not shall lose.”
March 7, 2022 at 8:46 am |
That may be what happened/is happening. My mud hut was a guest house tucked behind a substantial main house with swimming pool, and it looks like the whole shebang is gone. I can’t recall the precise location, but I’m guessing it’s either an empty lot, a stretch of vacation rentals, or a new house/shopping center.
March 6, 2022 at 11:36 pm |
We just had a bit of weather blow through north TX in the last hour, just enough rain to make the black gumbo mud like glue. And rattle the windows a bit.