It’s quiet out there … too quiet

“Tweet of the day,” notes a colleague, forwarding this:

lancearmstrong Happy hour w/ the whole @LIVESTRONG team here at the house. For those who think we’ll be distracted, think again. We’re here to serve.

The old Million Pound Yellow Shithammer of Denial just ain’t what it used to be, hey? Not as long as Big George Hincapie may be one of the moles in need of a stout whacking. This shot will require some finesse, muses Big Tex, consulting his caddy: “What club do I use here, do y’think?” All the anticipation makes one’s putter flutter.

I get a feeling we’re on a rest day here on the Tour de Lance. But sometime soon it’s gonna be game on and Big Tex will have to start taking some very long pulls indeed, with the Devil running alongside him. And I ain’t talking Didi Senft here.

Meanwhile, I awakened to the sound of rain, thunder and hail at Chez Dog. I think I’ll sell all the bikes and buy a submarine. A yellow one. I bet I know where I can get one cheap, and all the rats should be out of there momentarily, if they haven’t all leaped overboard already.

Well, at least it’s not snowing. …

Reflections
Ah, it's the old "trees reflected in the puddle" shot again.

The poor bastards at the Amgen Tour of California are facing weather that the Chamber of Commerce would be cheering — if this were a ski race.

Alas, it’s a bike race, and with cyclo-cross season behind us it’s looking like the lads will face a shortened course. No word whether they’ll be running the Emerald Bay KOM.

Here in Bibleburg, meanwhile, it’s rain with temps just above freezing. Good for the trees, but also bad for cycling, if you’re a sissified geezer like me, anyway. I’m almost jealous of Herself, who is off to my old hometown of Alamosa this morning, where temps should hit the 70s by afternoon. She and a colleague have some work to do with the local biblioteca and plan a visit to the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve.

Me, I’m sentenced to rumormongery without parole today, with both the Giro and the AToC going on. Oh, well — it beats shoveling snow. Or racing in it.

• Late update: As you know already, organizers pulled the plug on the Amgen kickoff after the weather got ridiculous. My friend, colleague and fellow Bibleburger Casey B. Gibson, who’s shooting the race for VeloNews, says six motos went down 20 minutes after the race was canceled, so it seems organizers made the right call. So the racers got a day off, but I didn’t. You’d be astounded how much crap there is to post about a race that never was.

This Belgian doesn’t waffle

Easter bouquet
Not much of a snow, but we'll take it. Good for the May flowers, don't you know.

It snowed last night. I know this for a fact because (a) there was snow on the ground this morning, and (2) I was out walking around in it at 1:30 a.m. with a big black flashlight, looking for the bogeyman.

A neighbor happened to be awake and heard a sound she didn’t like, so she rang us up and out I went in my Ten Thousand Waves kimono and a pair of Teva sandals. I left the .357 Magnum hand cannon indoors because there hadn’t been any reports of any terrorist Muslim floorboards lurking in the neighborhood and a 10-inch Mag-Lite makes a pretty good blackjack.

Anyway, I took a quick look around and didn’t see anything, not even an Easter bunny freezing his eggs off. So back inside and to bed I went, and this morning I see Philippe Gilbert is enjoying a very happy Easter indeed. Go thou and do likewise.

A blustery day

Snow on Pikes Peak
Just 'cause it's spring where you are doesn't mean it's spring at 14,110 feet.

Typical oddball Colorado weather today. Twenty degrees cooler than yesterday, a brief spell of popcorn snow from an otherwise blue sky, actual snow atop Pikes Peak, more of the winds from hell, and about umpty-ump pounds of tree pollen blasted straight up my snoot. Blaugh.

In other Bibleburg news, USA Cycling assumed the position — pardon me, assumed the UCI position — on race radios after initially deciding to allow squawk boxes in NRC events. That NastyGram® Paddy McQuaid sent must’ve really read out the old riot act, as in “IOC spank.” Don’t want to throw away your bucket while all that money is still spewing from the five-ringed faucet in downtown Bibleburg, don’t you know.

Who’da thunk race radios would end up being Dire Portents of the End Times, cycling-wise? Silly sods have been gobbling enough dope to bring Hunter S. Thompson back from the dead, mainlining each others’ blood bags and fleeing drug raids through hotel windows, and what finally does the job is Thor Hushovd’s inability to hear Jonathan Vaughters’ sideburns flapping in the breeze from an open window in the team Volvo.