Category: Albuquerque

Sweet and savory

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 23 Comments
Looking NNW from the back yard.

We had quite the sunset going on last evening.

Earlier, Herself and I enjoyed a ridiculously warm bike ride for March — I’m talking short sleeves and shorts here — through the hilly, low-traffic streets of the northeastern ’burbs.

Well, unless you count Tramway, which is anything but “low-traffic.” At the northern end you do get rewarded with a sniff of the fixin’s at The County Line barbecue joint, though.

No BBQ at the rancheroo, however. Instead I tried a Sam Sifton recipe for the Cuban comfort food picadillo, largely because I had most of the ingredients on hand and was bored with tacos and other ground-meat dishes.

Didn’t have any dried Spanish chorizo, or even any wet New Mexican chorizo, so I substituted some mild Italian sausage, plus some Spanish paprika and half a jalapeño. Also, no stuffed green olives, so I made do with black olives. And lacking canned whole tomatoes I went with crushed, which made the dish a little soupier than it might have been had I been able to drain off the excess juice and hand-squeeze the tomatoes.

Still, not bad, not bad at all. Next time I might skip the cloves and nutmeg, dial back the cinnamon, and use a bit more chile. And I’m definitely laying hands on some chorizo.

Cold deck

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments
This little canyon stair-steps up to the north off Foothills Trail 401.
A bit of bouldering is required in spots.

This is why I always shunned the casinos while in Sin City for Interbike.

I gambled on a nice long hike yesterday, betting that today would be better for the old bikey ridey.

Wrong.

Sure enough, something snuck in over the Sandias.

Yesterday was most enjoyable, two hours of up and down and all around, with a bit of light jogging thrown in here and there as the spirit moved. Rolled up the sleeves. Probably could’ve worn shorts.

Today I gnawed on a chilly wind from behind a handlebar for an hour and the nicest thing I can say about that is that I was not indoors. Long sleeves. The knickers and fingerless gloves proved unwise. Airborne allergens caressed my nostrils the way a peeler does a potato.

And now the weatherperson says snow is on the way? Snow? Who dealt this mess?

Git along, lil’ Dog-ie

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 23 Comments
Looks a little weatherish to the north
from just below the Candelaria Bench Trail.

In mid-March last year I had a hitch in my gitalong.

All I was good for was a short stroll with crutches, or a slightly longer spin on the stationary trainer. A Darth Gimp boot gripped the broken bone like an ankle monitor. Only the mind wandered freely.

Today, with the skies darkening, the wind thundering, and the pollen scattering, I almost — almost! — decided to stay indoors.

And then I remembered last March. So out I went.

I needed a thin watch cap, mask, hoodie, henley, pants, wool socks, and thin gloves, but still. Outside! On a trail! And a rocky one, too, even worse than the one that took me down last February.

Even jogged a few bits, just ’cause I could. What a difference a year makes.

Up near where the climb to the Candelaria Bench Trail steepens, I saw seven deer peering at me from across a ravine. They’ve been thick as rush-hour traffic around our place already this year, peppering The Compound with poop.

I’m not certain what they’re after down here in the ’burbs, before spring has actually sprung. But like most Americans deer will pretty much eat whatever is convenient. Free will is an illusion, at least for certain foods.

Speaking of airline travel, which we were not, do not expect to see me boarding a flight to anywhere anytime soon until (a) The Plague is over, and (2) the drunks have a clear idea where the toilet is.

Going to town from the desert

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 27 Comments

Triggered by a listener’s letter, Ken Layne at Desert Oracle Radio rang up Phoenix scribe Jason P. Woodbury, and the two of them demythologize desert life a bit by trading observations about a few Southwestern communities — among them the Duke City, home to Your Humble Narrator.

Layne says our town “has a reputation as sort of the ugly stepbrother of Santa Fe,” which he argues lends it a skosh more soul than its pricey neighbor to the north. A working-class, salt-of-the-earth vibe, don’t you know.

Albuquerque “is sort of famous for eight of nine cars around you in the process of falling apart all at the same stoplight,” he says.

The ninth, of course, is stolen.

Also up for review: Palm Springs (Woodbury likes hanging out at the Ace Hotel) and Sedona (Woodbury’s a fan; Layne, um, not so much).

“Sedona’s like a vortex of intelligence, you know? And it all disappears as soon as you get there,” he says.

The bee’s knees

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments
Somebody tell the bees and the trees that it ain’t spring yet.

Actually, you can’t see their little knees — do bees even have knees? — but the little bastards sure are buzzing away up there in our backyard maple, which is already budding out.

So is the ornamental pear by the master bedroom window.

The pear thinks it’s spring too.

I haven’t budded out, but I have bugged out, for a pleasant two-hour loop that took in some of the bike paths I avoided in Year One of the Pale Horseman. The forecast called for a high in the low 60’s, so I figured why not?

For openers I rolled down Paseo de las Montañas to Indian School and thence to the I-40 Trail, which took me to the North Diversion Channel Trail. This trail has been blocked for a while north of Comanche as the Water Authority engaged in a bit of valve rehabilitation, whatever the hell that means.

Heading north on the NDCT I passed through Balloon Fiesta Park and worked my way over to Interstate 25 and Tramway for the half-hour climb to County Line Barbecue. Tailwind, mostly, so yay. Nevertheless, records failed to crumble beneath my thundering wheels. No prizes were awarded.

I stayed on Tramway for the trip home. Usually I dick around a little bit on the side streets to the east but I felt like scaring the shit out of myself for no good reason.

I’m going to insist that the State install a flyover exit for bicycles only at Comanche so I can make the left turn without (a) getting stuck for three-four rotations in the turn lane (the arrow refuses to appear for bicyclists), or (2) getting run over and killed to death.

There’s a pedestrian bridge just south of the intersection, but getting to it almost certainly would involve (2) because nobody ever even slows down for a right turn at Comanche and Tramway, much less stops to gauge the oncoming traffic. When the YMCA goes belly up I expect it to be replaced by an auto body shop and an EmergiCare.