I think we can all agree that some who have held the office do not deserve a Day, unless that day is in court, wherein a judge intones:
“Will the defendant please rise?”
Still, setting dreams aside for the moment, there once was a time when Presidents’ Day was less about presidents, good, bad, or indifferent, or even our first president, than it was about (wait for it …) bicycles.
According to a 2015 story by Yoni Appelbaum in The Atlantic, Americans once honored George Washington on Feb. 22 through feats of cycling.
When the date became a federal holiday in 1885, Appelbaum wrote, the nation “was deep in the grip of the bicycle craze.”
“In Boston, cyclists used the public holiday to hold bicycle races before cheering throngs. Local bike stores opened their doors to entice the race-day crowds, bringing them in off the snowy streets to preview the pleasures of spring. February 22 soon marked the start of the season, the day on which bicycle retailers held open houses to show off their latest models to eager crowds.”
—The Atlantic
As with quality in the nation’s highest office, this glorious state of velo-affairs could not last, of course. As the appeal of the humble two-wheeler began to wane in the early 1900s, the automobile rose up to take its place on the national stage, and the seasonal advertising campaigns shifted gears, from vehicles powered by living people to ones that ran on dead dinosaurs.
This will not stand, y’know? This aggression will not stand, man. So, today, turn a pedal for Liberty! Leave the dino-burner in the driveway! Take your bicycle for a red-white-and-blue spin!
And for the love of George Washington, don’t buy any golden high-tops.
Mad Blog Media 
Those sneakers are as ugly as he is. How far we have fallen from Obama.
If they included a free kick in the ass (for him, not me) I’d buy six pair and take a running start. A fella could wear out three pair of kneecaps kicking this fool in the ass.
Well Sir Patrick P Canine- I won’t ride today but tomorrow by jingo it may hit the magical 50 degree mark whereby the Herbs of the realm kit up and mount. Even with the predicted wind gusts of maybe 20 mph. But as it’s 40 degrees, less some wind chill right now I aint’ a goin- no way -no how. But I did hike 5 mile yesterday in the hill region so a rest day is somewhat deserved. Aw hell….I’ll admit it…my calf muscles are killing me.
I gotta watch it myself, Herb old hill-hiker. I have this tendency (a hangover from my cyclocross daze) to be going gangbusters in February only to fade like a cheap paint job in June.
It is close to sixty out there. I’m outa here.
Jeebus. We already got a fire-weather watch down here. Still February, innit?
Yikes. Wait till summer, assuming we get there.
I finally stole some time away from life to escape on one of the bikes for an hour (Tuesday afternoon). It’s a good start for my winter training, for next year. Although I left granola bars at my Big Foot altar stump out back and tossed a few dribbles of Oregon IPA on my roses, it remained a somber Pacific Northwest gray day. At least the streets are dry and the hillsides are remaining in place unlike that of those those folks in that big state with all those carbon emitting vehicles.
I wonder if sasquatch like dried chiles?
Hit sixty here in Cheeseland today. Weirdest February ever. Tomorrow too, then we lose twenty degrees before it’s supposed to rebound even a bit higher next week. I got a few miles in this afternoon. Mebbe more tomorrow.
Old Herb bought into the weather newscast that it would hit 50 and pedaled in to the bean counters to file taxes. It didn’t but I survived the 15 miles since the wind wasn’t ripping and I was able to generate enough heat to fog up the specs. When I hit the accounting office they looked at me kitted up and treated my short jaunt as if I summited Everest. Late in the afternoon it did hit 54 which just ain’t normal when you’ve lived here long enough to have experienced 2 feet of snow on the same date.
Funny, iddn’t it? The guys at the various auto shops I’ve patronized over the years have been goggle-eyed at me dropping a rig off and cycling home, then cycling back to the shop to collect it.
“What the hell, I was gonna ride today anyway,” I’d say as they looked at me like I just climbed down from the Mothership wearing a Bootsy Collins suit.
The most extreme example was cycling from Bibleburg to Weirdcliffe to Bibleburg to drop off/collect the red Toy truck, which I was having painted at the Maaco at Nevada and Garden of the Gods. Those were two long days on the old two-wheeler, even for the insane.