With the Ice Capades on pause and my cabin fever in triple digits I found time for a lazy 20-miler yesterday.
Back when I was a man, instead of whatever it is that I am now, I thought nothing of driving for a few hours to race cyclocross for 45 minutes plus one lap in conditions that made the ice planet Hoth look like Epstein Island.
Now I perch like a zopilote on the frozen carcass of my summertime fitness, pecking away at the Weather Underground website until the temperature creeps into the mid-40s.
It finally got there around 11:30 yesterday and I sprang into action, which looks an awful lot like some old bald dude tottering into his bedroom to see if he has any clean winter cycling kit.
Lo and behold, he did — Sugoi tuque, long-sleeve Paddygucci base layer, long-sleeve Gore Bike Wear jersey, full-finger Pearl Izumi gloves, Voler bibs, Pearl Izumi tights, Smartwool socks.
I glanced longingly at my Shimano SH-XM700 GTX clodhoppers with their Gore-Tex liners and Vibram soles. Toasty warm? To be sure. But there is always the chance of shoe-fender conflict when riding a bicycle so equipped, as I intended. Furthermore, your Duck! City driver — unpredictable at any time of year, in all conditions — doubles down on the dumbass on weekends, in poor weather, and during holiday seasons. When rocking the trifecta you want to be able to get out of your pedals faster than a Republican fleeing a primary (or his constituents).
So the beater Sidis it was, and boy, do I ever need a new pair of them. The soles have been ground flat by Dog only knows how many skidding dismounts at speed and long runs up muddy hills. And the Velcro straps are basically ornamental at this point, flapping in the breeze like my tongue at any heart rate over 150 bpm.
This dithering proved bootless (har de har har). Not only did I not need the fenders, I could’ve ridden in Birkenstocks, the way my old pal John “Usuk” O’Neill once did while we climbed Hardscrabble Canyon in Colorado. The roads were free of ice and snow, the only menace to traction being a scattering of white powder, which I assume was the remains of whatever the transpo dudes use to melt that mess. Probably fentanyl seized by the John Laws. Maybe there’s a tariff on road salt. There sure as shit is on Italian bicycle saddles. No, don’t ask.
Anyway, toward the end of the ride, just a few meters east of that bike-lane sign, some northbound asshat in a sporty red auto blew right through the stop sign at the intersection of High Desert and Spain as I approached headed south. Never even touched the brake pedal. An eastbound motorist gave him the horn, and the asshat gave one right back.
I left my Incredibell unrung. Why add my little tinkle to that sonic stream? That’s what blogs are for.
Mad Blog Media 
Well done mi amigo! Each post better than the last. Continuous process improvement, heh?
I don’t know what Paddygucci is, but I want some.
I would have followed the offending vehicle to its parking place and given it a tinkle. And, it wouldn’t be the sonic variety.
Thank you, sir. Swear to Dog, it’s getting worse. Nobody stops at red lights or stop signs anymore. They’re barely advisory at this point.
Sheeyit, I’ve seen motorists at the red get tired of waiting the 90 seconds or whatever it takes to get a green and just take off, zoom. On Tramway. A 50-mph highway where 50 is considered the minimum speed limit.
Sent you this link in an email. It is yet another survey the NM DoT is putting out on bike ped improvements to our roads. Take a look when the laughter subsides.
http://s.alchemer.com/s3/atp-survey
Oy. Meanwhile, have you seen Better Burque lately? Scot has been on a tear about intersection remodeling and slip lanes. I fucking hate fucking slip lanes.
Agree with Scot. Slip lanes are free fire zones. As bad as I thought Fanta Se was, we are a light year ahead of that kind of thinking.
My mama don’t dance, and my daddy don’t walk or roll.
Badaboom, badabing!
Do y’all have traffic light cameras? We’ve got them. Apparently they catch quire a few red light runners. In 8 months they got 17K violations.
Speed cameras we got, Carl. Red-light cams we used to have but no longer do, for some reason.
If the speed cams are having any effect I have yet to see it. The street racers are the worst of the lot, but pretty much nobody pays any attention at all to speed limits around here. It’s foot through the firewall at all times.
It’s mildly amusing to watch these yahoos floor it from intersection to intersection as I mosey along at the posted limit and arrive just in time for the light to turn green. I mean, you drive Comanche west from Tramway to I-25 more than twice, you’ll figure it out. Shit don’t be rocket surgery, yo.
Lament traffic all you want. Herb and I have winter, real winter.
After a foot of new snow, I had to remember how to traverse the countryside. Upper twenties and maybe cloudy, but definitely not temperate. I was walking, not riding, wearing my new big cleat shoes, but the snow and ice had my eyes on the ground ahead of me more than I’d like. Tread carefully. laddy.
I miss summer.
Real winter? Like this?
Real winter in Ottawa, sometime in the early Sixties.
Stop it, just stop it…
In Bibleburg winter was particularly irksome because none of the local libertarians would shovel their sidewalks, and the libertarian government wouldn’t plow the streets. Sure made running and cycling interesting propositions after a few rain-snow/freeze-thaw cycles.