The bad thing about snow is it keeps me indoors, where the news is.
The good thing about snow is it gives me something else to shovel.
We got a couple-three inches of the white stuff here yesterday, about double the official tally at the airport (which is stupid, because I don’t know anybody who lives at the airport).
It started falling overnight. This I know because the Cold Moon reflecting off the accumulation in the back yard blasted me out of a sound sleep around 2 a.m. I howled at it, briefly, then drifted back into a fitful drowse that ended at stupid-thirty, when I had to drag ass out of the sack and shovel the Driveway of Doom for Herself, who had an early appointment with the dentist and a 2WD Honda to get her there.
I got her half of the drive cleared without breaking a hip or throwing out my back, and she navigated the descent without incident, so, winning, etc. Then I went back indoors, microwaved my half-finished second cup of coffee, slammed it, and went back out to shovel my half, as I too had an appointment with the very same dentist, but at a reasonable hour.
Or what would’ve been a reasonable hour, had I not already burned some critical daylight freeing the driveway of Itztlacoliuhqui’s icy booger-snots. There was no time left for my traditional X-rays-and-cleaning breakfast of sardines in mustard sauce sprinkled with chopped anchovies, red onions, and feta, which keeps these visits short and to the point.
So instead, as the hygienist chiseled, scraped, sanded, power-washed, and polished, I was compelled to listen as she prattled on and on — backed by a soundtrack of treacly holiday ditties clearly penned by Satan Himself — about how lovely Herself is and how she was sure someone had made a mistake when listing her birthdate on the paperwork, with nary a word about the striking male beauty of Your Humble Narrator, his wrinkly old Irish-American apple cheeks aglow from an hour’s snow-shoveling in the frosty high-desert air.
Oh, well. At least it wasn’t news. Not to me, anyway.
Mad Blog Media 
Our hygienist Lee does the same thing to me. He goes on and on about he really has nothing much to do when Sandy comes in, and her oral hygiene is just perfect. Me, on the other hand, have to listen to this shit while he has his knee into my chest to get leverage on the plaque scraper. I’m going to adopt your preparation breakfast menu to try to shut him up. By the way, that was some seriously funny shit. I’m telling you if you let me get you some stand up gigs, we can make some serious Tubmans. (A wink and a nod to President Obama.)
“Knee into my chest.” Ho, ho. For reals. And ringing up Archimedes Hardware to see if they stock any longer levers, too. And maybe a little C-4.
I’ve spent about the price of a decent hardtail mountain bike at the dentist this year. Two root canals set me back at least $2400 not including follow up visits. Funny that the root canals were for teeth damaged by doing a face plant off my bike in 9th grade. Cold and rainy here.
Carl: As you probably know, one of the many jokes in the MTB community is only dentists can afford the $6K-$12K mountain bikes. So …. consider your root canals (NOT ricocheting off wet tree roots to an MTB face-planting) as a long deferred investment into dental financial well-being. That’s called astute strategic financial planning! 🙂
PS: Does your dentist MTB? If so, maybe you apply some leverage on pricing?
PPS: If you have fewer bikes than PO’G …… hard to believe????? ….. grab a decent hardtail and ENJOY! 🙂
I never visited the dentist or an oral surgeon due to a MTB mishap, but I did see a really good plastic surgeon. Although it was expensive, that was the best injury I ever had – Faces heal fast.
POG: Is your snow all gone yet? Or has the day been pleasantly cool and crisp keeping the white stuff around? There’s still no winter to be seen up here in mushroom and beer land. Just a little wet and lot’s of gray.
I’ve been exceptionally lucky, given my lack of mad skillz (knock on wood). Just abrasions, contusions, lacerations, dislocations, and fractures, all of which healed on their own without surgical intervention.
That heavy, wet snow started melting the second I got out there with the snow shovel. It rarely hangs around for long. But I gotta get out there and move it off the driveway before it turns into ice. The drive is steep and faces north, and the last stretch before the doors stays in the shade this time of year. We can always get out when that happens, but getting back in can be iffy. I don’t wanna slalom in at speed and take out all those nifty bikes hanging on the west wall.
Well the damage wasn’t caused on a MTB but my junky BMX bike. Back in the day all my friends were into jumping ramps. My buddy had the record distance, I don’t remember how far, maybe 13 feet. Not to be outdone I set up a ramp in the street with a 2×6 and a log. My first attempt was about 12 feet so I tried again. My face made it maybe 14 feet. I knocked lose 4 front teeth and broke my arm.
It’s a wonder anyone survives childhood, which for anyone with any imagination at all is just one extended suicide attempt.
Some of the strongest (and best equipped) riders I knew in the B-burg were medical professionals. The first to toe a start line astride a Moots, and whatnot.
Down here they’re all Sandia National Labs retirees rocking the plastic fantastics, tubeless tires, and electronic shifting.
I guess I shoulda listened to what me sainted ma told me when I was a sprout.
“What did she tell you?” you ask.
I dunno. I wasn’t listening.
Dentistry dollars up on the hoof right smart, doesn’t it? And once they have you up on the lift they start looking around for other sources of income. My tooth wizard decided a couple fillings needed touching up, so back I go next week so he can get in there with his air hammer, Dremel tool and caulking gun.
I guess it beats gumming Jell-O in your golden years, but still, damn.
Well then laddie….I too went to the dentist yesterday and had barnacles removed. And they snuck yet another series of xray’s in on me while I was in a stupor. I will say my Dental Dominatrix is the silent type. And thank Zeus very skilled and leaves no lasting nightmares. Except for the bills….
3 inches?!! C’mon man…that’s hardly worth putting on your ear muffs for. Gonna melt anyway….I had 7 inches to deal with and 300 foot of driveway that even in the dead of summer the goddamn FedEx driver still prefers to dump packages out near the street. So if I don’t clear it neither the mail nor expected xmas purchases will arrive. I have a walk-behind plow that is sure to wrench your back and shoulders out of joint since it tries to escape whatever path you are trying to choose for it. I really should do a video of me trying the tame the fekker whilst keeping the engine from stalling. I can’t have a pro just plow it since it’s gravel and they peel it all off into a pile that rivals Mt. Everest by spring.
I know….just park the cars by the road and snowmobile out to them right? That’s how they do it in the U.P.
Snow is such a rare (and welcome) occurrence here in the high desert that even a little of it seems like a lot, Herb old iceman.
We had some epic dumpers in the B-burg, where we could break out the cross-country gear and ski the Patty Jewett streets and/or parks now and then. Even more so outside Weirdcliffe in CrustyTucky, where we kept a closet full of water jugs, batteries, and nonperishable edibles because the backhoe wranglers charged $75 an hour to dig you a bobsled run to the county road and they were always in high demand. A neighbor had an old 4WD Dodge pick-’em-up with a blade attached, but that was some real Road Warrior shit and only useful against maybe a foot or two of the white stuff.
We also maintained a large tarped woodpile for the Lopi fireplace insert, with a woodbox right next to the door, as the propane dude hated and feared our hill. Ah, the happy mornings I spent shoveling a path to the woodpile after forgetting to load the box before bedtime.
And it should go without saying that we had snowshoes, small for running and large for emergency travel. One Thanksgiving after a four-footer I stomped a snowshoe course around our hilly 43-acre parcel so I could do something other than ride the indoor trainer and curse the gods.
Pobrecito.