In which one of the Tiny Hat Size folks gets his comeuppance. Pow! Zoom! To the moon! If only we could do likewise to all such*, what a wonderful world it would be.
* And no, I’m not talking about beating the Little Friskies out of itty-bitty kitties. You know who I’m talking about. The dildos who dangle tea bags from their itty-bitty Revolutionary War hats. Thanks to Ornery Bastard for unearthing the feline fisticuffs.
Wouter Weylandt (Leopard-Trek) took a horrible digger in today’s Giro stage. He was on the deck, bloody and unconscious, for quite a while; AFP reports he required cardiac massage at the scene and was evacuated to hospital. More as I hear it. Meanwhile, keep your fingers crossed, and be careful out there.
• Update: Weylandt has passed. He was 26. Condolences to his friends, colleagues and family.
Thanks to Jeff Cozad for the inspiration.
I had hoped to take the Vespa out for a spin in honor of the Giro d’Italia, which began today with a team time trial, but it was not to be. It remained parked next to the lawnmower, which at least got rolled out of the garage and then rolled right back in without so much as a tug on its starter cord.
Those In Authority at VeloNews.com had thunk up a couple of new wrinkles they hadn’t told me much about until D-Day (the off-site contractor is always the last to know) and so the usual Saturday chores took just a wee bit longer today and involved several of the famous words that introduced George Carlin to the Supreme Court. The only two-wheeler I straddled, briefly, was human-powered, if you will concede that I am human, which is a subject of debate in some circles.
The fun continues tomorrow with a mostly flat stage that all agree practically has Mark Cavendish’s name spray-painted all over it. In the Manxman’s honor, however prematurely, I’m drinking beer instead of wine. We have a jug of Yellow Kite pilsner from the fine folks at Bristol Brewing, and a sixer of Red Chair NW Pale Ale from Deschutes Brewery, a longtime favorite here at the DogHaus.
We’re likely to need all of it to put out the fire from the tinga poblana I made last night. It’s a stew with chunks of pork, chorizo and chipotle chiles, and I think I put in a couple-three chiles too many, because the goddamn thing is nuclear. I’m surprised the leftovers didn’t burn their way straight through the bottom of the refrigerator and head straight for the earth’s core, which is only slightly hotter.
The Blue Zoomies were at it again today, jumping out of perfectly serviceable aircraft for no discernible reason.
I was taking a recovery ride out to the Air Force Academy’s North Gate and back, and stopped to take a snap when I saw the chutes unfurling and the gliders catching a tow into the blue.
Then I stopped again almost immediately thereafter because there was a cable across the New Santa Fe Trail and a sign stating that it was closed at the bridge, which is undergoing repairs, through October. October! On weekdays, anyway. On weekends you can apparently barge right on through. Like I want to ride this fucker on weekends, when the Small Hat Sizes are out in force. No, thank you.
Happily, I know a top-secret workaround. Don’t tell the Air Force. Or the Small Hat Sizes.
