Category: Bike stuff

Chin up, Jazzy

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 26 Comments
The Boo was quite taken with Jazzy, though she was less enamored of him. Photo: Herself
The Boo was quite taken with Jazzy, though she was less enamored of him. Photo: Herself

We had visitors for Valentine’s Day: Dave, Megan and Jazzy the Japanese Chin, bound for her new home in Arizona.

Dave and Megan were Jazzy’s “foster parents” until her adoption, which coincided nicely with a road trip they already had in the works. Megan is a volunteer with Colorado Japanese Chin Rescue, a fine organization wholeheartedly supported by Herself, and when they called to inquire about lodging possibilities en route we invited them to dine and spend the night at Rancho Pendejo.

Lovely people, and a lovely Chin, too, though Jazzy is very nervous around strangers, particularly men; someone was not kind to her in her previous life, and it shows.

Happily, that’s all behind her, and we wish her well as she begins a new life with her new person. Mister Boo certainly found her entrancing.

And we thank Dave and Megan for showing up with a sack full of sidewalk softener. That’s been known to open a door or two in my experience.

Meanwhile, if you happen to be in the Greater Denver Metropolitan Clusterplex this morning, swing on by the Colorado Custom and Vintage Bicycle Expo and say howdy to my man Mark Nobilette. I was riding one of his bikes just yesterday, and it’s a beaut’, just like everything else that comes out of his shop.

 

How ’bout them Mazamas?

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 14 Comments
There's snow in them thar hills.
There’s snow in them thar hills.

See that? No, not the nifty red Novara Mazama — the non-blue sky.

Yup. It started snowing on me during today’s ride. Snowing! And in late January, too. Who knew?

Naturally, I kept riding. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, and deadlines are deadlines. That Mazama review for Adventure Cyclist ain’t gonna write itself.

But when I got home I didn’t sit down at the iMac. Nossir. I got right in the kitchen and whipped up a steaming pot of posole.

Did I mention it’s snowing?

In unrelated news, we watched the State of the Union last night, as is our habit. The prez — when he wasn’t giving off a strong subtextual whiff of “Fuck all y’all!” — reminded me of the future Sen. John “Bluto” Blutarsky trying to rouse the Deltas with stirring oratory.

But the prez wasn’t speaking to Delta House. He was addressing Omega Theta Pi.

 

Cogito ergo dum

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
The culprit.
The culprit.

I will never be smart.

I’m riding the Soma Double Cross on Tramway this afternoon and on the speedy big-ring drop to Interstate 25 I suddenly hear this high-pitched whine coming from what I’m certain is the front wheel. Sounds like a brake shoe rubbing up against the tire, or maybe Jimmy Olsen’s watch calling Superman. Zee zee zee zee zee.

As this can only end badly on a fast descent, I stop — not once, not twice, but three times — to try to diagnose the problem. No joy. But then, as I turn around at the bottom for the climb back up, the noise stops.

Well, OK, then. Ain’t much bad can happen to me at 10 mph. So on I pedal in blissful ignorance.

Until I shift back into the big ring, get out of the saddle to stretch, and hear it again — zee zee zee zee zee.

A light bulb sputters on, about a 20-watter. I’m running the biggest tires this bike will take, 700×38, and I bet the rear tire is heating up and expanding and rubbing up against the front-derailleur mech. Genius!

Well, maybe not so much.

The Double Cross doesn’t have one of those bulky new Shimano mechs that intrude into the rear triangle the way the NSA does into your life. It sports a svelte old Ultegra model.

And, as I found when I got home, it also has a front-derailleur cable that somehow got itself bent inward, and the cable cap was rubbing the rear tire whenever I shifted into the big ring.

So if you’re ever riding with me and wonder what the funny noise is, don’t worry — it’s just the air leaking out of my head.

 

 

All dressed up (flak jacket optional)

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 24 Comments
We got our java on at Mangiamo Pronto in Santa Fe.
We got our java on at Mangiamo Pronto in Santa Fe.

Ah, January. My least favorite month of the year.

“Uncertainty” is the word that best describes the month named for Janus, god of beginnings and transitions. Wikipedia notes that the word has its roots in the Latin ianua (door), and come January it seems one is either slamming on my fingers or ajar and letting the cold air in.

Paychecks invariably arrive late, and I often get purged from the comp-sub list, so not only am I short of cash, I can’t even see what the editors have done to my work.

Do I still have work? The Magic 8-Ball I’m behind says “Outlook good,” but that thing was made in China, so for all I know this means management has traded me to Xinhua for an iPad Pro, a low-interest loan and some dim sum.

There are a few vacancies at Charlie Hebdo, of course. But I’ve forgotten all the French I learned during grade one in Ottawa, and I bet they make the new guy sit with his back to the door.

Happily, even an old, blind dog unearths a Milk-Bone now and then. As on Tuesday, when I got to ride my bike around Santa Fe and Madrid during a photo shoot for the Adventure Cycling Association, which will be unveiling its Bicycle Route 66 early this year.

It was the second round of a two-day shoot with Santa Fe photographer Michael Clark, and the models got java, lunch and American money for their troubles, which were few indeed.

Didn’t need my Saint Laurent flak jacket or nothin’. Just some Adventure Cycling kit, is all. La vie est belle, non?