Sallying Fourth

July 4, 2026July 4, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 18 Comments

Betsy Ross would like to know who left the lid up, among other things.

Someone up the road a ways is flying the flag upside down.

It’s fair, I thought. Someone across the street had been doing likewise under the previous administration. What’s good for the goose, etc.

I had been debating whether to fly a flag at all on this Fourth of July, right side up or otherwise. Part of me feels that to fly the flag at all hints of complicity with the brigands, featherbedders and toadies who snuggle up to it as though Old Glory were a young girl on Epstein Island.

It’s one of the reasons I never wear the stars-and-stripes jersey some wiseguy at USA Cycling awarded to me for being a National Champion Pain in the Ass, or something very much like that.

Sure, I earned it. But actually wearing it? I dunno.

“Hey, check out the senior citizen in the national-champ kit. He must’ve been something before electricity. I didn’t know Depends made bib shorts. And what’s that thing he’s riding? Steel? Bar-end shifters? Rim brakes? Yo, Rip Van Weinmann! Wake up and smell the future! Haw haw haw!

• • •

So, yeah. When Herself and I rolled out for this morning’s ride I was not wearing the stars-and-stripes. Yet I was rockin’ the red, white, and blue, as hard as I could, for anyone who cared enough to take notice.

Red Steelman Eurocross (USA) and Giro gloves (Vietnam). White Rudy Project helmet (China), cotton headrag (ditto), Patagonia undershirt (USA), and Gore socks (?). Blue Voler jersey (USA), a match for the decals on the Eurocross and the Cane Creek Crono X Cross wheels (?). The bibs were Voler (USA) — not Depends— in basic black, to match my Sidi shoes (Romania) and my aura.

Quite a few of our fellow Americans were getting their heart rates up despite the smoky haze applying a gray filter to the normally beautiful blue skies. Joggers, dog-walkers, e-bikers, you name it. The quail were mostly under cover, but we saw a few bunnies and one deer curled up in a shady spot against a Sandia Heights house for sale.

And what’s with all the crows lately? Could be ravens, I suppose. Quite a conspiracy of them, too. Someone should write a poem.

• • •

When we got home a few of the Spanish-speakers that so frighten the nation’s mismanagement were prepping a neighbor’s place for stucco in the 94-degree heat. Another will be working a checkout lane at a nearby grocery until 10 p.m. I know this because she told me so.

“Gonna miss the barbecue and everything,” she said, ringing up my purchases, mostly the ingredients for that most American of condiments (salsa).

Our post-ride lunch was some Mexican red rice and savory ground beef left over from last night’s dinner, that most American of dishes (tacos), with a couple of scrambled eggs and a sprinking of Irish cheese. The last of the taco filling will be put to use tonight in that most American of meals (pizza).

• • •

But we were talking about flags, yeah? I put ours out, right side up. They’re nothing special, just a couple of cheap promotional items dumped on the property years ago by some long-forgotten real-estate shithead with zero respect for flag etiquette. Nevertheless, Herself and I agreed that we should hew to the gospel preached to us by our late friend and neighbor Marv’ Berkman.

Shortly after we moved in next door to Marv’, once I had gotten the feeling that he wasn’t your standard-brand, hard-right Bibleburger, I asked him why he flew the flag day in and day out.

And the old Chicago saloon picker sez to me he sez (stop me if you’ve heard this one before):

“I just want those guys to know they’re not the only ones who can fly it.”

Fire on the mountain

July 2, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments

The Aspen Acres fire, as seen from my old stomping grounds. *Photo: Hal Walter*

Long distance runner, what you standin’ there for?
Get up, get out, get out of the door. — “Fire On the Mountain,” The Grateful Dead

Caught between a rock and a hard place. Or a hot place.

That’s my man Hal Walter, who is dealing with not one, but two fires up in Colorado.

The big one — the Aspen Acres fire, presently the No. 1 priority blaze in the country — is reportedly at more than 48,000 acres, with zero containment and evacuations ordered in Hal’s old hometown of Wetmore, plus San Isabel, Rye, and Colorado City.

Hal’s rancheroo is miles west of the road closure at Mackenzie Junction atop Hardscrabble Canyon, at highways 96 and 165, but a fire with that much reach and attitude isn’t the sort of beast you want running loose anywhere near your area of operations.

Especially when your wife and son are up in Leadville, where another no-containment blaze— the much-smaller Willow Fire — is giving folks the jitters.

Harrison Walter went to school at Colorado Mountain College, and since graduating has been dividing his time between the family home and an apartment in DisneyLead, where he works a couple-three part-time jobs while Hal and his wife, Mary, tag-team supervisory duties. Harrison is neurodiverse and can be a tad sensitive to stress, though things that would dissolve your average normie into a puddle of pee and tears — such as running the 2026 Leadville Trail Marathon, where he placed third in his age group — don’t seem to bother him much.

Harrison and Mary were supposed to be headed home today, the Fourth of July festivities in DisneyLead having gotten a big thumb’s down, but I haven’t heard from Hal yet this morning.

Here’s hoping he’s not loading up the truck with the devil on his tail. In addition to the usual family heirlooms Hal has a pasture full of burros and a book under construction.

The longest day

June 21, 2026June 21, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 17 Comments

Hot town, summer in the city, as the fella says. Welcome to the summer solstice in the Year of Our Lard 2026.

It’s 76° at 15 minutes after the big hour of 9 a.m. here in The Duck! City, with a high of 95° expected — three degrees above normal but well short of the record of 103°, set all the way back in 1981, when “Bette Davis Eyes” by Kim Carnes topped Billboard’s Hot 100 as Ronald Reagan shredded the social safety net while bulking up the Pentagon.

Well, there you go again. … Good times. Maybe not. Better than now? Your mileage may vary.

Where there’s heat, there’s often fire, and it should go without saying that we have a few: Deer Canyon, south of Mountainair; Osha Canyon, south of Placitas; Rio, at Mesa de la Gallina; and Elk, in the Pecos Wilderness.

Rather than add my little flame to this hot mess I whipped up cool smoothies for breakfast: Mango, strawberries, banana, yogurt, honey, rice milk, and a sprinkle of Vietnamese cinnamon.

Up north my man Hal Walter was putting the finishing touches on his Substack series, “The Blur Goes to College,” which over the past two years chronicled son Harrison’s adventures in higher education. And I do mean “higher” — The Blur attended college at 10,000 feet, in Leadville, after growing up at 8,800 feet outside Weirdcliffe.

Hal’s plan is to transform the Substack chronicle into a physical book, with a cover by noted Leadville artist and old pal Craig Schreiber. Mine is to go for a ride before it gets too bloody hot.

I can’t go all the way back to 1981 for a bike — that year I had just abandoned a Seventies Schwinn when I fled The Arizona Daily Star and Tucson for parts unknown, shortly after my father’s untimely death in Bibleburg.

But I can time-travel back to 1994, when I bought a DBR Prevail TT from John Crandall at Old Town Bike Shop in that very same town.

Do you believe in magic?

Hot town, summer in the suburbs

June 17, 2025June 17, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 15 Comments

Smoke in the foothills. It looked worse in the rear view.

Wildfire smoke and a record temp yesterday — 101°, 10 degrees above normal.

Nothing like what’s happening down in Aridzona, of course. Tucson hit 111°, and that wasn’t even a record. Neither was the high of 114° in Phoenix.

Do not expect to see me pitching my little tent at McDowell Mountain Regional Park anytime soon. Smoked Irish ham is not on the menu.

The air quality hereabouts being remarkable for its lack of same, I decided to skip the Monday Geezer Ride. I thought briefly about a short trail run, but when Herself returned from a morning appointment she advised against it, which is significant, her exercise mantra being “We can do anything for 30 minutes.”

After I drove to the bakery for a loaf of bread and a breakfast scone I agreed with her. Looking west I could barely see the river, and the Sandia foothills were shrouded as in the photo up top.

So we stayed indoors, following the news and gnawing on our livers.

Speaking of the news, here’s a thought: I’m sick of seeing cops decked out like comic-book vigilantes. I appreciate that theirs is a dangerous occupation, but it’s the one they signed up for. And the rest of us — the civilians who pay their salaries — don’t get to go about our business kitted out like X-Men as security cameras, drones, and our own pocket informers document our every move.

I want to see badges, nameplates, and faces. When even the cops can’t tell who the cops are, it’s time for a little transparency. Save the costumes for Halloween.

Air conditioning (and one ventilation)

May 31, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 23 Comments

One of those hazy, lazy days of not-quite summer.

Lots of schmutz in the air today. Our air purifier started sounding like a 747 trying (and failing) to take off from Newark, so I figured Elon was back to blowing up Starships in Texas between Special K binges and using his face as a catcher’s mitt for some pitcher’s high hard one.

But nope. Just windblown wildfire smoke and dust from Mexico, according to the local press. A health alert* has been issued. And warmish, too, so much so with the doors and windows closed that I finally caved and turned on the air conditioning. We must think of Miss Mia Sopaipilla, after all.

* Health alert not provided concerning side effects of the Second Amendment.