Give ’er a hand

January 5, 2012January 5, 2012 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 18 Comments

Pikes Peak peeks out from behind the Garden of the Gods.

One nice thing about quitting a pain-in-the-ass job and not being pissed off all the time is that I find myself noticing the little things again, now that the red haze of homicide unrealized no longer clouds my vision.

Case in point. Having shot a Velo-sized hole in my wallet I’ve spent a couple of days test-driving grocery stores that are not Whole Foods to gauge the extent, quality and price of their organic offerings. Yesterday it was a Safeway, today a King Soopers. Neither was particularly impressive, barring a real steal on Greek yogurt at the King Soopers.

As I walked into the Safeway some pretty young women of color were walking out, weaving around an elderly white man in a motorized wheelchair. One complained, “I’m hungry.” Another said, “So eat, nigga!” The poor old boy in the wheelchair did a slo-mo double-take, wearing the sort of expression you might expect from a pro-lifer who just saw an abortion-clinic janitor pitchforking defunct fetuses into a Dumpster.

Then today, going into the Soopers, I noticed another attractive young woman who seemed very pleased with herself, strutting along as though she were a model on a runway. I’m guessing her mood had something to do with the dusty, perfect imprint of a left hand on her right butt cheek. That’ll put some spring into the step of just about anybody, even a 57-year-old underemployed rumormonger of the cycling persuasion.

Speaking of which, between bouts of people-watching I squeezed in a nice 90-minute ride today. Goddamn shiftless disloyal Fenian bastards. Can’t hold onto a part-time job for more than 22 years and yet they have the cheek to insult the working man with bouts of casual cycling during business hours.

Slow news day

October 23, 2011 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 5 Comments

Turkish bags some rays — Turkish has almost come to terms with the New World Order, which requires him to wear a leash outdoors. Almost.

Seems like it’s either feast or famine in the ol’ VeloBarrel. Last week it was nothing but heartache; today, it’s been mostly nothing. I wrote up the men’s World Cup in Tabor (having overslept and missed the women’s race), posted some results and an Andrew Hood piece, and … well, that’s about it. Bor-ing.

There are things going on, of course. There are cyclo-crosses from coast to coast, the Pan American Games, the Japan Cycle Cup Road Race, but because we are short on staff, free-lancers and travel money my in-box remains appallingly free of dispatches from the front. Only Agence France Presse chimes in from time to time, and that lot mostly speaks Frog: Le Belge s’est imposé en solitaire lors de la seconde épreuve dimanche, à Tabor (République Tchèque). Parti très tôt, dès le quatrième tour, il a laissé derrière lui un groupe incapable de s’entendre pour refaire son retard.

C’mon — we saved you guys from the Nazis and you can’t give us a race report in U-nited States American? And who are you callin’ a retard? Merde. Where’s my big ol’ Google translation hammer?

Between bouts of doing not much Herself shaved my dome, Turkish got some quality time in the sun and I whipped up some tuna salad for lunch. And if my in-box doesn’t go ping! real soon I’m gonna grab a bike and enjoy what looks to be one of our last few really nice days before a winter storm blows in.

Sayonara, September

September 30, 2011 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

Fall leaves — A bit of color in the Old North End.

Judas Priest. How did September slip away so fast? Was it that week in Vegas? Confusion caused by allergy meds? Could it have been downsized along with everything else?

Whatever. Tomorrow it will be October, and I’m betting we get our first snow before Halloween. The furnace just clicked on at midday and the thermostat is set at 67 degrees. Sheesh. Close the doors, shut the windows, batten down the hatches.

It sure is pretty out there, though. Fall will always be my favorite time of year, even though it means hunting up my comfy samue pants for around the house, and arm/knee warmers for outside of it.

It’s a dog’s life

August 26, 2011 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments

I signed on for a couple extra shifts in the VeloBarrel during the Vuelta and (Not) The Tour of Colorado, and also have been chiming in mornings at Charles Pelkey’s newest venture, LiveUpdateGuy.com, so I’ve been scurrying about like a roach on a griddle the past couple of days.

Being a professional slacker who hasn’t had a full-time job since the fall of 1991 it always comes as a shock to my system whenever I actually have to work anything close to a full week. How the hell did I do it all those years? How the hell does anyone do it?

Every aspect of the literary and artistic life suffers as a consequence. Grocery trips become hectic affairs instead of leisurely noshing expeditions, and mealtime the equivalent of filling the tank at a Conoco. The quality and quantity of training declines. The liquor tab takes on Pentagonesque dimensions.

But at least no one has cut me, and I’m not wearing a cone. There’s an upside to everything.

Beer-thirty

May 4, 2011May 4, 2011 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 5 Comments

Pikes Peak in May — The big hill still packs a chill, no matter what the calendar says.

We have a bad case of the brain cramp going on around here today. I had to pick up Herself at the Bibleburg Interdimensional Airport at 10 p.m. last night, we didn’t hit the rack until about midnight, and neither of us slept for shit, thanks to seasonal allergies that have triggered massive tsunamis in our respective snotlockers. So this morning we both had jet lag and I didn’t even get to go anywhere.

I tried half-heartedly to pay attention to the news, which has become even more Pythonesque lately (“And now it’s time for the Medicare card in your wallet to explode.”). But I lost interest in bad imitations of good comedy and decided to ride the bike instead, shoot a little video of some of my favorite trails in Palmer Park.

Alas, that went sideways as well — the video, not the riding — and by the time I realized that my cinematography was a few Cecils short of a DeMille I’d run down the batteries in my Flip Video, so there was no take two without plugging the bugger into the iMac back at the ranch.

So I stuffed the Flip into a jersey pocket, bagged a few more trails sans video, then headed for home, where the beer is. Was. And I feel much better now, thanks. Tomorrow is another day.