Category: Albuquerque

Deep doodoo

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 3 Comments
Nope, no snow up there.
Nope, no snow up there.

Thirty-six inches: That’s the final tally from Maryland, where the digging out has commenced.

"It snowed how much? Where? Let's never go there."
“It snowed how much? Where? Let’s never go there.”

Adding insult to inundation, the gut rumble that started working its way through the kinfolk beginning with the brother-in-law has so far claimed 75 percent of the clan, with only Herself spared (so far).

Meanwhile, the mom-in-law’s flight back to Tennessee got croaked by the storm, so Herself the Elder is enjoying a little extra recovery time before clambering into an aluminum tube full of fresh viruses for the trip home.

This whole clusterfuck was intended to give her the chance to inspect a couple of properties with an eye toward relocating somewhere down the road.

I bet the trip made Albuquerque look like the Garden of Eden. The place has its warts like any other, but the snow rarely arrives three feet at a time and the only time anyone ever shits themselves is at the thought of living in Maryland.

"'Maryland,' you say? Sounds like Hell to me."
“‘Maryland,’ you say? Sounds like Hell to me.”

Chile, hold the snow

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 21 Comments
You can still find some snow around here, but nobody is duking it out at the grocery over the last can of Spaghetti-Os.
You can still find some snow around here, but nobody is duking it out at the grocery over the last can of Spaghetti-Os.

I bitch a fair amount (OK, so I bitch a lot, maybe even a whole shitload), but I’m having a hard time complaining about my lot in life today.

For starters, I am not in Maryland, where Herself is going toe to toe with Snowmageddon, various blood relatives and in-laws, and a vile case of gastroenteritis that has already felled 50 percent of her party.

The Four Corners Elite isn't your grandpappy's steel touring bike, nosirree. Now get off my lawn.
The Four Corners Elite isn’t your grandpappy’s steel touring bike, nosirree. Now get off my lawn.

No, I am right here in the Duke City, where today it was a balmy fiddy-sumpin’ and strictly blue skies as I rode the Marin Four Corners Elite around and about for a blissful 90 minutes, inspecting a bit of bike path with which I was unfamiliar.

The sonofabitch takes more inexplicable twists and turns than a Caribou Barbie speech, but the Domingo Baca eventually gets you there, “there” being the North Diversion Channel Trail, a major north-south backbone of the local trail network.

Once safely on the main stem I took my usual route back to El Rancho Pendejo, heading over I-25 and along Osuna to the John Roberts Dam, where Walter White caught his getaway ride in the extractor’s red Toyota Previa, and then riding the dirt trails behind the dam to the Tramway bike path and home.

I arrived back at the ranch just in time to receive a generous compliment on one of my videos for Adventure Cyclist — just call me Quentin Ferrentino — and now I’m cooking up a green chile stew by way of refreshment and celebration.

Tomorrow looks even better. And I won’t even have to cook the stew when I get home.

 

Road work

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments
I wanted to get a decent ride in today, as this is supposed to be the calm before the storm.
I wanted to get a decent ride in today, as this is supposed to be the calm before the storm.

Lord, it was a beautiful day to ride the bike.

Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty. (Pay no attention to the leash on the field marshal.)
Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty. (Pay no attention to the leash on the field marshal.)

I was actually overdressed for a change — three long-sleeved jerseys, a light Pearl Izumi jacket with winter gloves, heavy Descente winter bib tights, wool socks, Sidis with Castelli booties, tuque under the helmet — and while I was glad for all that during my descent of Tramway, when I turned around and started climbing I began wishing that I’d clipped some panniers full of lighter-weight kit to the Salsa Marrakesh’s rear rack.

Instead, I stuffed the jacket into a jersey pocket and enjoyed the unexpected warmth.

The temps had risen to the low 40s by the time I returned to my heavily fortified compound, which I had left in the capable paws of Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment).

The Turk’ reports that the most immediate threat to the security of El Rancho Pendejo comes not from Y’all-Qaeda, but rather from the skies. The weather wizards are calling for light snow through Friday.

Maybe we should ask the Weather Underground to occupy the Weather Underground.

 

Turkocalypse now

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 23 Comments
Never get out of the bed.
Never get out of the bed.

“Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker, and every minute Charlie squats in the bush, he gets stronger.”

Maybe. Especially if the bush is in a sunny window. It’s nearly noon, and all of three degrees above freezing, and the weather wizards say that’s about as good as it’s gonna get around here until sometime in 2016, when we could be looking at 45 and sunny.

The horror … the horror. …

Still, a man must ride. The world is full of bicycle reviews and deadlines, and never the twain shall meet if a man doesn’t ride.

And after the riding there shall be the cooking and the eating of the tinga poblana, a recipe I found when I was purging my collection in the process of searching for something I hadn’t prepared yet.

And after the eating there shall be … resolutions? Naw. I’d like to ride more in 2016, maybe (gasp) do some more self-supported touring, and toward that end I’m throttling back on the workload a bit, discarding the most irksome of my chores like unused recipes. That’s about it from this end.

How about you folks? Any big plans for the New Year? Sound off in comments.