We got 0.28 inch of rain yesterday in about 28 seconds, so, ’ray for us.
The deluge will not resolve our water issues, though it ended the struggles of at least one poor soul whose last known address was a washout down near Edith and Roy.
We stayed indoors where it couldn’t get us. Well, mostly.
Herself took her chances with an early run. I held out hope for a bike ride, and if I’d moved fast I could’ve had one, too.
But fast is not my speed. So instead of risking a good soaking I dithered, waffled, and procrastinated, and then finally tottered out for a short run and never even got my shoes damp, though at one point I was jogging up a sandy arroyo that feeds into that long flume ride downtown.
Thor is teasing us again, twirling his hammer like a drum major’s baton.
Will Mjölnir finally deliver the goods today? The Monday Geezer Ride is scheduled for 10:30, but I’d gladly trade 20 miles of asphalt for .20 inch of rain. What the hell, I got a nice 20-miler in yesterday on my No. 2 Steelman Eurocross, jumping from road to trail and back again as the spirit moved.
Gaming out a new bar setup.
If it does rain, it would be a perfect opportunity for me to revise that bike’s cockpit. I’ve never really liked the chunky aftermarket Flight Deck STI levers, and the old Deda bar has more drop and reach than I prefer in my Golden Years.
Happily, I have a new Soma Hwy One bar awaiting its callup and the original STI levers from my No. 1 Eurocross, long ago transformed to standard brake levers and indexed bar-end shifters.
I’d go to indexed bar-cons on No. 2, too, but I’m fresh out of the eight-speed versions — nine I got (from the now-dismantled Voodoo Nakisi), and seven (still on the Steelman time-trial bike,. But not eight.
While I’m at it maybe I could replace No. 2’s old Shimano 600 rear derailleur with a “new” 105 or a “slightly used” Ultegra? I even have a never-used Altus from Rivendell. Said to be Grant the P’s favorite rear d., it will accommodate a 34T (!) cog. That’d be a nice change from the 28T cog on there now. My No. 1 Eurocross uses a derailleur-tab extender and a 32T cog for the steep bits.
If I were smart I’d swipe the seven-speed bar-cons from the TT bike, put them and my last set of Shimano 600 brake levers on No. 2, and call it good.
Monday is a watering day. But the forecast called for rain, so early this morning I went out to shut off the irrigation system.
“Huh,” I thought. “Doesn’t look like rain to me.” So I left it on.
Monday is also Geezer Ride Day. So, naturally about the time the watering was done, the clouds started creeping in and the wind began ramping up.
“Huh,” I thought. “Better bail on the ride.” Which I did.
Monday is not Grocery Day. That would be Sunday. But I blew off Sunday’s grocery shopping for a two-hour bike ride in the wind plus a meet-and-greet with the mayor and a few dozen of his supporters.
So suddenly Monday was Grocery Day. And off I toddled to the Sprouts at Tramway and Central, en route nearly getting croaked by a street racer who roared up behind me in the right lane, then shot into the left and around me, barely missing both me and the dude slightly ahead of me in the left lane.
He then swerved onto the shoulder to pass everyone else in sight at about 25 mph over the 50-mph limit, which encouraged another jackass to do likewise, scattering dust, gravel, and debris from previous eejit-triggered crashes across the traffic lanes.
It happened so fast, in so much traffic, that I couldn’t grab the iPhone for a shot of either license plate. And it wasn’t the first time I’d wished I had some other sort of shooter with a tad more authority, like a Browning Hi-Power or a Colt 1911. I mean, you can’t AirDrop one or both of the silly sonsabitches.
Anyway, I got to the grocery without being killed to death, and only then did I notice that I’d left my grocery list at home.
“Huh,” I thought. “Maybe I can do it off the old internal hard drive.”
And I did! Didn’t miss a single item, and even picked up a bonus packet of ground turkey for a chili con carne in case the weather turned ugly.
Which of course it did, since I’d decided earlier to water the lawn. Our widget makes it 0.08 inch of precip slashing down sideways out of the north, and I expect that statistic does not include the hail.
“Huh,” I thought. “I suppose a run is out.” Which it was.
So instead of running, since a few of you seemed to enjoy our little Tour of Memory Lane, I decided to spend a couple hours collecting and posting PDFs of a few of my Adventure Cyclist reviews.
Naturally, I couldn’t find the one about the Rivendell Sam Hillborne, the bike I was riding in yesterday’s wind-fest (13 mph with gusts to 23). If I recall correctly, that one didn’t make the print magazine, but was posted to the Adventure Cyclist blog, where it languishes behind the membership paywall.
“Huh,” I thought. “I bet I have my original copy on another Mac.” And I do.
But I’m not gonna post it. Not yet. I got chili to cook.
Looked like the Martians were working out on Cedar Crest last night.
It was fury in the foothills most of yesterday and well into the night.
The rain started as I was driving home after dropping Herself at the Sunport. Then came the wind, a few rounds of dime-sized hail shotgunning the backyard maple (which shed leaves and one sizable dead limb) and the roses (still plenty of them left for the deer to eat), and more rain.
And finally the light show captured above.
Herself’s flight to Maine was not without drama. First Southwest couldn’t fuel her plane because of lightning. Then the fuel truck didn’t have enough go-juice to top off the tanks, so another had to be pressed into service.
By the time she got off the tarmac an hour late it was clear that making her connecting flight in Baltimore was going to be iffy. The plan had been to grab a bite to eat and chill a bit between planes, but you know what they say about plans.
So Herself touches down with just enough time to hit the bathroom, join the queue for boarding, and find her seat … after which there was another extended wait for a couple dozen passengers who had been delayed for reason(s) unknown. She could’ve had a sitdown meal, an adult beverage, and a nap, but nooooo. …
The long and the short of it? A flight that was supposed to arrive at stupid-thirty in Portland instead touched down at extra-double-stupid thirty.
And it’s raining there, too.
I stayed up way past my bedtime to provide moral support encoded in bad language. Once Herself was finally settling into her hotel room I turned out the light and … and then Thor turned it back on, as you see.
The flickering electrical display that brought me out of a fitful doze was utterly silent. No thunder at all. Thor was pulling his punches. Or maybe Mjölnir needed recharging. Odin knows I do. And Herself still faces a couple hours in a car this morning before she reaches what the airlines like to call her “final destination.”
Whenever the Thunder God gets his iHammer back up to four bars maybe he can have a couple swings at Beelzebozo. The senile old fool currently propped up as “president” of the “United States” doesn’t know what the Declaration of Independence means or what the Constitution requires of him.
It’s a helluva note when you can’t hear the rumbling furnace over the thundering wind.
The sleeping last night was not spectacular, but a quick glance around the yard indicates most of the property remains in place, and we even got a soupçon of rain, so, yay, etc.
Still, as Mr. Waits has taught us:
The hawk had his whole family out there in the wind And he got a message for you to beware Kicking your ass in, in a cold-blooded fashion And dishing out more than a good man can bear
A man needs his shuteye in these dark, blustery days. You never know when the ICEholes are gonna kick down your door, demand proof that Great-Great-Grampa Conán was in this country legally, air-freight your ass off to a Salvadoran lockup, and lie to a federal judge about it.
Waking involved extra grumpitude because for some reason yesterday I thought it would be smart to ride the 32-pound Co-Motion Divide Rohloff on some narrow, mildly technical, occasionally steep singletrack, and in the opposite direction from the one I normally choose, too.
So there were missed turns and dabs and bad language and this morning I had a minor hitch in my never-too-suave gitalong as I crabwalked to the coffee.
But we’re not hiding in closets from tornadoes like the sis-in-law in Tennessee, or dodging fireballs in the Carolinas like my man Big Nurse, so it’s all good, yeah?
Mad Blog Media 
