Category: Albuquerque

‘Just bump him, bruh’

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 22 Comments
The ghost bike installed by the Duke City Wheelmen in remembrance of Scott Dwight Habermehl.

“Just bump him, bruh.”

Sounds better than “Gonna hit him hella fast,” doesn’t it?

But the difference was no difference at all to cyclist Scott Dwight Habermehl, who last May was sent flying over the passenger side of a vehicle with three giggling kids in it — ages 15, 13, and 11 — and left fatally injured on the side of the road.

He was 63. Father of two. A Sandia National Labs engineer who was just cycling to work, as he had done for years.

Two of the three kids said to have been in the vehicle that hit him have been arrested, charged with an open count of murder, conspiracy to commit murder, leaving the scene of an accident involving great bodily harm or death, and unlawful possession of a handgun, according to the Albuquerque Journal. The eldest remains at large.

We’ve all been in this neighborhood. I’ve been right-hooked into a parked car; tumbled over the hood of an SUV whose driver passed me only to start executing a leisurely U-turn; narrowly escaped a homicidal trucker on a wide highway shoulder; had a full bottle of beer thrown at me from a speeding vehicle; been threatened with a gun.

The joke among longtime cyclists with a dark streak of humor is that if you want to murder someone without suffering any consequences, wait until your target gets on a bicycle and then hit him with your car.

But it doesn’t seem all that funny when you consider that two of these three suspects were charged — within days of the crash that killed Habermehl — in connection with what the Journal called “a weekslong crime spree that included a smash-and-grab burglary, shootings and auto theft.”

And yet nothing came of it.

The case against the 13-year-old was dismissed in August 2024 “when prosecutors failed to meet court requirements,” the Journal added. It’s not clear what happened to the charges against the 11-year-old.

Maybe prosecutors will “meet court requirements” in this instance, since (a) Albuquerque Mayor Tim Keller and Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham have weighed in, and (2) we’re not talking about property crime now — this time, a man was sentenced to death by three children for the crime of riding his bicycle to work.

• Video: The Albuquerque Police Department provided this clip from a video said to have been uploaded to the Internets by those involved. APD says this triggered an anonymous tip, a homicide investigation, and what we can only hope will be justice for Scott Dwight Habermehl. Thank Dog for the stupidity of many of our 21st-century criminals. Back in the Day® we knew better than to rat ourselves out.

• Addendum: The third suspect is in custody.

Ho, ho, ho

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
Francis Phelan explains how he wound up a bum in Albany. (Apologies to Jack Nicholson, William Kennedy, and “Ironweed.”)

Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham, via Michael Corkery and The New York Times, gives Duck! City Mayor Tim Keller a little sumpin’-sumpin’ for Christmas.

The New Mexico governor’s mansion sits on a hilltop in Santa Fe, roughly 7,100 feet above sea level.

The air smells of pine needles and sweet meadow grass. An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting greets visitors as they enter the foyer of the elegantly appointed home.

Michelle Lujan Grisham, a Democrat entering the final few years of her governorship, has been spiffing up the grounds of the residence to showcase her state’s rich culture and immense beauty. But for all its splendor, New Mexico faces some grave problems, she said. “Have you ever been to Albuquerque?”

Hoo-boy. And you thought socks from grandma were bad. I wouldn’t expect a thank-you note.

Tick, tock

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 19 Comments
Blanket pardon.

“You must concentrate upon and consecrate yourself wholly to each day, as though a fire were raging in your hair.”

—Taisen Deshimaru

When I awakened on the morning of my 70th birthday, March 27, 2024, my heart was still beating. Tick, tock; tick, tock. Fifty-two beats per minute, just like clockwork.

I was pretty sure I wasn’t in Hell. I don’t know if we take heartbeats with us to Hell, but if we do, I expect they’re slightly more elevated, what with the pitchforks and roasting and screaming and all.

Also, it was almost six o’clock, and it seemed I had been allowed to sleep in. I’m almost certain that’s not part of the drill in Hell. If there’s any extra sack time in Hell it’s probably spent in an actual sack, being dipped like a teabag into a giant iron mug of boiling shit that you have to drink instead of coffee in the mornings that look just like midnight, only more so, while a grinning D.I. who looks like a cross between R. Lee Ermey and Hellboy screams at you: “You gotta be shittin’ me, Joker! You think you’re Mickey Spillane? You think you’re some kind of a fuckin’ writer? Now get on your face and give me infinity!”

When I finally crawled out of the sack I was 99 percent convinced I was not in Hell.

For one thing, instead of Gunnery Sergeant Beelzebub demanding an eternity of pushups I found a sweet little kitty-cat purring happy birthday to me. Like Herself, who had slipped silently off to work, Miss Mia Sopaipilla had granted me a little extra catnap instead of yowling me up at stupid-thirty to fill her bowl and/or empty her litter box.

And for another, it was 29° outside, with a dusting of snow on the green grass.

Huh. Not Hell. Albuquerque. Some people think it’s Hell, but everyplace is Hell to someone. Especially in March.

So I enjoyed two cups of coffee instead of a bottomless mug of Lipton Shitfire Hellbroth, attended to Miss Mia, and got back to the bloggery. Tempus fugit. Tick, tock; tick, tock.

Thanks to one and all for the birthday wishes. And apologies to anyone who had 69 in the office pool. I had 30; imagine my surprise.

Sweet 16?

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

Cold out there. Let’s stay in here.

I was not expecting to see 16° on the old weather widget when I stumbled into the kitchen this morning.

Six-fuggin’-teen? On April 5? Was Dante right? Hell is cold? Can we crank up the heat a smidgen, please, Beelzebub, you old devil? I know, I know, I’ve been bad, but shit, if I wanted to freeze my huevos off before coffee I’d still be doing my sinning in that hillside hacienda outside Weirdcliffe, where I had a stove, ax, and woodpile.

Still, could be worse. I spoke with Consigliere Pelkey yesterday and he said that I-80 was closed between Laramie and Cheyenne due to vile weather, th’owin’ a hitch inta his gitalong as regards a doctor’s appointment in the capital city.

My old Bicycle Retailer comrade Steve Frothingham checked in from the People’s Republic of Boul-Daire to report that it was “puking snow” in his neck of the Woke Woods.

We passed a few pleasant moments discussing jurisprudence and journalism in Manhattan and agreed that if a courtroom artist were required we wanted Ralph Steadman, since S. Clay Wilson is unavailable, being dead.

Today, meanwhile, rather than skulk around indoors and risk absorbing some news, I decided to motor around and about The Duck! City, scratch a few chores off the to-do list, wait for the desert to assert itself.

By midafternoon, the temperature finally inched into the low 40s, and I finally ventured out for a leisurely 5K on the trails, though asthma and allergies (juniper, poplar, elm, etc.) had me sounding like a secondhand accordion in the mitts of an unruly middle-schooler with a tin ear.

Tonight the wizards are calling for another hard freeze. I didn’t hear them calling yesterday, but I’ve heard them this time and unplugged the two hoses I use to water the trees.

“These temperatures are cold enough to kill most early season vegetation,” says the National Weather Service.

Good. Maybe they’ll croak the junipers, poplars, and elms. A man needs some breathing room.

Sun’s out, guns out

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 19 Comments

Looks cold up there. Let’s stay down here.

The weather turned a wee bit brisk this week. January can be that way, even in The Duck! City, with hired assassins throwing hot lead at decent people’s houses.

When we’re talking 30-something with wind and gloom outside, I’ll stay inside, or lace up the running shoes and go pound ground for a while. A short while. I’m not training for anything other than staying above the auld sod a while longer.

I’ve gone running twice this week, and stayed indoors once. But today the sun was out. Just 35 degrees, to be sure, but still; big yellow ball in sky. Which it apparently will not be tomorrow. Cloudy, cold, windy, 50 percent chance of snow, yadda yadda yadda. In other words, January.

Snow on the Crest, mud on the trails. But hey, the sun was out, and so was I.

With that in mind, I layered up, grabbed the Co-Motion, and got out there. Not for long, mind you, but I was riding a 30-pound touring bike on singletrack, so extra credit, please.

When I climbed off to take this photo some dude wearing VeloNews kit soldiered on by. I didn’t recognize him, but then I wouldn’t, having walked away from that low-speed crash back in 2016.

It took them six years and a change of ownership to stop sending me free copies of the magazine, which kept shrinking like a solo breakaway’s lead on a long, flat stage. I sold all the kit on eBay.