Category: Bad news

Say it ain’t so, Joe

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 13 Comments
Out near El Malpais National Monument on a shoot for the Adventure Cycling Association.
Out near El Malpais National Monument, “working” as a model during a photo shoot for the Adventure Cycling Association.

I was somewhere near Grants, New Mexico, riding a touring bike for fun and profit, when the word came that Joe Cocker had passed on.

It’s a wonder Joe made it to 70, given the way he lived his early years. John Belushi, who mocked him so well, didn’t last half as long.

And man: “A Little Help From My Friends.” “She Came In Through the Bathroom Window.” Dude out-Beatled the Beatles, is what. “The Letter.” “Delta Lady.” Hoo-lawd, he left it all out there on the stage.

“You Are So Beautiful.” “You Can Leave Your Hat On.” And “Feelin’ Alright.”

“I’m not feeling too good myself,” Joe sang, and he wasn’t kidding. But he had too much to do before he died, and thank whatever gods there are that we got to watch, and listen.

As Pat noted in comments, give our best to Frank, Joe.

The torture never stops

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments

Some days it just doesn’t pay to be a news junkie.

In addition to the actual torture we’ve discussed the past couple of days, day seven of Zappadan 2014 brings:

The Soma Double Cross and I took a spin on Trail 365A, a fun, swoopy adjunct to Foothills Trail 365.
The Soma Double Cross and I took a spin on Trail 365A, a fun, swoopy adjunct to Foothills Trail 365.

Great googly moogly! FZ was right! The torture never stops! And that was just from The New York Times. Elsewhere, we have the UCI awarding Astana a WorldTour berth, which is like giving Dracula the keys to the blood bank.

I fled the office and took a nice bike ride into the nearby hills, proving that the American dream can still be had, if only as a brief respite between nightmares. I’m gonna do it again tomorrow. I recommend it to you all.

R.I.P., Lori Cohen

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 22 Comments
"Lori "Doc" Cohen.
“Lori “Doc” Cohen.

My friend Lori Cohen went west on Saturday after a long battle with cancer.

“Doc” was my chiropractor, and she spent a lot of time and energy saving me from myself, so much so that she tried to get me interested in yoga to lighten her load a bit (sorry, Doc).

We shared a wide variety of interests — food and the preparation thereof, exercise to burn off the attendant calories, Santa Fe, Vespas, lefty politics, snark, and so on.

The final stage of her illness came on as we were beginning the transition from Bibleburg to Duke City, and I wasn’t able to give Doc as much attention as she deserved, having given so much of hers to me over the years.

But I did drop by on the day she was selling her beloved blue Vespa LX 150, to take it for a short test ride, make sure everything was in working order, and see how she was bearing up.

After I rolled the Vespa back into her driveway, Doc said she wanted to take a final spin on the scoot. The cancer had brought her quite a bit of pain, and limited her use of one arm, so I wasn’t eager to sign off on the ride, noting that if anything got horribly sideways her longtime friend and caregiver Jeff Tarbert would beat the shit out of both of us, but mostly me.

But Doc wasn’t going to let that final opportunity pass her by. She climbed aboard, twisted the throttle and putt-putted off up the hill. She didn’t fall off until Saturday.

My thoughts are with her many friends and family.

Shhh! (Part 2)

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 17 Comments
The Turk grabs (what else?) a catnap on a bit of furniture we bought from the previous owner of Rancho Pendejo. It won't last.
The Turk grabs (what else?) a catnap on a bit of furniture we bought from the previous owner of Rancho Pendejo. It won’t last.

Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) doesn’t know it yet, but his repose is about to be disturbed yet again.

The movers are supposed to show up with all our crap today, and you know what that means: the terrifying sounds of Unauthorized Personnel Operating Within the Perimeter.

Sigh. And we had just gotten back to what passes for normal around here, if your idea of “normal” includes a small satchel full of soiled clothes, no cooking/eating gear, and less furniture and electronica than one might find in the average Motel 6.