It’s a helluva note when you can’t hear the rumbling furnace over the thundering wind.
The sleeping last night was not spectacular, but a quick glance around the yard indicates most of the property remains in place, and we even got a soupçon of rain, so, yay, etc.
Still, as Mr. Waits has taught us:
The hawk had his whole family out there in the wind
And he got a message for you to beware
Kicking your ass in, in a cold-blooded fashion
And dishing out more than a good man can bear
A man needs his shuteye in these dark, blustery days. You never know when the ICEholes are gonna kick down your door, demand proof that Great-Great-Grampa Conán was in this country legally, air-freight your ass off to a Salvadoran lockup, and lie to a federal judge about it.
Waking involved extra grumpitude because for some reason yesterday I thought it would be smart to ride the 32-pound Co-Motion Divide Rohloff on some narrow, mildly technical, occasionally steep singletrack, and in the opposite direction from the one I normally choose, too.
So there were missed turns and dabs and bad language and this morning I had a minor hitch in my never-too-suave gitalong as I crabwalked to the coffee.
But we’re not hiding in closets from tornadoes like the sis-in-law in Tennessee, or dodging fireballs in the Carolinas like my man Big Nurse, so it’s all good, yeah?
Mad Blog Media 
We just got a trace of rain overnight and awoke to 35 degrees outside this morning.
But, I have a jam session with some nice folks this afternoon where cares and worries get squashed for a couple of hours. “This machine kills fascists.”
Pickin’ and a-grinnin’. Well done, sir.
Got several inches of snow up here in the People’s Republic. Quite the turnout at the Roundhouse for the rally, too. Not that I think Progressives rallying in Santa Fe will change the course of history. Still, was worth showing up.
The trick will be to harness the energy we saw nationwide yesterday. Some of those rallies were yuuuuuuge. I can’t believe the photos from Salt Lake City. I mean, Boston, yeah, sure. But SLC?
We have concerns here about your use of “bad language “ as stated. Wrong use of verb tense? Improper pronouns? We’ve always trusted your syntax and editorial skills so hopefully this is temporary?
Prolly nothin’ Big Nurse can’t cure with a little Edison medicine.
A little dynamic weather eh? Maybe a result of the maelstrom circling in DC and the street of Wall? I suppose no matter where you’re at, it could get exciting. Even in Elon’s astro-Tesla where when the orbital spiral is just right, the stereo blasts Mr. Miller’s Take the Money and Run and a little of Mr. Bowie’s Space Oddity.
Although perhaps not as strenuous as yours’, my little bit of rolling exercise yesterday was also out of the ordinary. I discovered that my little village no longer has a taxi service in the area. I rolled out one of the bikes and as I pursued another wheeled rabbit, I felt the disheartening steering control that comes about from a slowly deflating front wheel. Damn! I discovered that double-damn applied when my spare tube was only good for maintaining equal pressure inside and out. Then more damning was elicited when I found that the trump glue-sniffing fairies had been into my patch kit rubber cement and depleted all elements thereof. My miniscule air pump was not enough to give me any pressure in the tire for riding so after a moment of considering stuffing the tire with vegetation, I decided to hoof it a little and head for the nearest taxi-accessible roadway. For a moment I had wished that I was riding in running shoes, be it that old Sidis aren’t the best walking clogs. But after a time I arrived at a possible vehicle roadway juncture, a couple of cell calls revealed that the pay-for-ride folks were no longer operating in my area. At least the afternoon was sunny and pleasant. A long walk wasn’t a sad thought, but the anxiety of the aged parent awaiting at home dictated that time was important. Fortunately I have truly wonderful neighbors and a brief call to one of them had a smiling chum and a stranded bicycle swooped away home toot sweet.
O, the irreparable flat is one of my least favorite things. When we lived in CusterTucky I once had to stash a bike in some brush and jog home a half dozen miles, in Sidi MTB shoes, after a flat. I had two spare tubes in the saddlebag, but both were leftovers from previous punctures.
“No brain, no pain,” I often say, but that shit hurt.