Category: Rain

Nopocalypse

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments
No snow, and no Chihuahuas, neither.

AND THE GREAT WEATHERPERSON spake unto the People, saying, “Place thy Shovels where thou canst Find them in the Dark, for I shall send a Snowpocalypse to thee, yea, even unto the Upper Reaches of the Chihuahuan Desert, wherein roam the Purse Dogs from which it takes its Name.”

“And they shall be Sore Vexed, for their Darling Little Aztec-Themed Sweaters and Tiny Suede Booties shall not Warm them and keep their Feet Dry in this, the Hour of their Need. And they shall Tremble and Yap and Bite the Hand that Feeds them, which is to Say it shall be the Same Ol’, Same Ol’, only Colder and Wetter.”

But the promised Snowpocalypse failed to Eventuate, and the People grew Restless, having Armed themselves with Shovels, Snow Blowers, and Strong Drink, and endured many painful Bites from their Chihuahuas as they stuffed them into the Cutest Miniature North Face Gore-Tex Insulated Jackets with wool Paddygucci Beanies and Itty Bitty Sorels.

“What gives?” they enquired. “Where it at the Snowpocalypse?”

And lo, the Great Weatherperson answered in a Voice like Thunder, proclaiming: “Ho, ho, got you again, didn’t I? Check the Calendar, dummies. April Fool! You might get a little Rain if you’re Lucky. Gotta run; these Chihuahuas don’t make Themselves, y’know.”

Tuque and roll

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 14 Comments
My muddy Merrells.

Today I ran.

The windblown rain pelting El Rancho Pendejo woke both of us around 3 a.m., and conditions had improved only marginally several hours later, after a couple cups of mud and a light breakfast.

So I had a little more breakfast, and then a mug of tea. Next I wasted time in various time-tested, time-wasting ways. And finally a bit of blue cut through the gray and boom! Off I went, like a white-whiskered rat out of an aqueduct, for a not-very-quick 5K on the foothills trails.

Though the sun shone the Outside Hyperactive Currency Furnace’s PR people would not have made hay with me. My running garb was trés unhip by Boulder standards, light on iconic brands, the polar opposite of au courant.

There were the well-used Merrell Moab Flight ground-pounders. Ancient, saggy, and pilled Head shorts and tights. An equally elderly Hind base layer. Smartwool liner gloves. The Sugoi tuque. Some Rudy Project shades from three prescriptions ago because I’m too lazy to change lenses to match the lighting conditions.

Anyway, I’ve seen enough. Haven’t you?

The marquee bits were a 3-year-old pair of Darn Tough wool socks and a 6-year-old, fire-engine-red, long-sleeved Gore Power Thermo cycling jersey, which is only so-so for cold-weather cycling but does quite nicely as a running top in the 40s and slightly below. Its three pockets are perfect for stashing the iPhone and any bits of kit I might decide to remove or add en route.

That it makes me look like a cyclist who has mislaid his bike is of no consequence. Nobody asked you to look at me, especially Outside, which has a business to run, even if only into the ground. I don’t even look at me. From inside my head I look exactly like a young Davis Phinney, or perhaps Michael Creed. To preserve this fiction I shave in the dark without using a mirror and in public avert my eyes when passing any reflective surface.

I prefer not to be empowered; I am unplugged, possibly unhinged. Anyone building community may leave me outside the wire.

I run because I can. Because I like it. Because shoes are easier to clean than a bike.

Werewolf? There wolf!

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 13 Comments
The Wolf Moon, peeking through the clouds over the Sandias.

I was a little late to moonrise last night, but managed to catch a glimpse of the Wolf Moon despite the heavy cloud cover.

The Duck! City has been gray and damp the past few days, with 0.13 inch of precip’ in the past 48 hours. On Wednesday I just beat a short downpour home as I wrapped up a run, and yesterday I caught a little sleet in the chops while cycling through the foothills.

Climbing into the Elena Gallegos Open Space I saw a couple of Albuquerque Police Department vehicles in the parking lot. The officers waved at me, and I waved back. If they thought I must have been drunk to be cycling in January — rain jacket, tuque, tights, winter shoes — they didn’t oblige me to perform the Stupid Human Tricks or empty the wallet I wasn’t carrying. (I had a $20 in the Ziploc bag that keeps my phone dry, but shh, that’s top secret.)

It’s definitely looking runny out there this morning. And there seems to be another atmospheric river rolling in.

I have fenders, and rain gear. But maybe what I need is a kayak.

Noah shit

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments

After the deluge? Nope. During.

Holy hell. Talk about an angry inch.

We just got that much rain between coffee and oatmeal. It sounded like the Bad Old Days, when I lived next to the railroad tracks in a series of shacks. That train just kept on thundering along.

We’d gotten just under 3 inches all year long until this morning.

I’ma go out on a very soggy limb and speculate that this may be a poor morning for the ol’ bikey ridey.

Probably be a good day to swim laps around the house, though.