Archive for the ‘Spring’ Category

Nasal barrage

April 14, 2018

The backyard maple is greening up, along with pretty much everything else.

Here at El Rancho Pendejo we are spared the cruise missiles but not the snot rockets. Faugh, sneeeerk, hyeeeeenk, auuuughhhhh, hoccccccccck, ptui, etc.

The apple tree next to the garage.

The incoming includes mulberry, ash, juniper, cottonwood and sycamore, fueled by red-flag winds. I haven’t been on the bike since Wednesday. So, yeah. Not bombed, but bummed.

And taking drugs, which I used to enjoy. But these ones are boring. You don’t get to talk to God but at least you can breathe through your nose.

Maybe we should drop a shitload of mulberry bombs around old Bashar’s secure location. If he’s honking his beezer 24/7 he might not feel chipper enough to get medieval on folks.

The wisteria bracketing the front door.

Checking the oldometer

March 31, 2018

The bosque is greening up, no thanks to the weather. New Mexico is nearly 100 percent drought-afflicted, with the Duke City environs classified as in “severe drought conditions.”

Boom! Another birthday ride in the books, just as the month skids to a stop.

Going up: The Saga tackles Tramway.

A few days late, it’s true, but remember, we’re running on O’Grady Standard Time here.

Anyway, today’s entry in the old logbook officially lists 40.2 miles, which is 64.7 kilometers. Naturally, I shall carry the 0.7km forward to next year’s ride, assuming I’m still above ground and not studying The Little Orange Book in re-education camp.

The weather being slightly insane — 63 degrees at the start, 73 at the finish — I rode down to pick up the bosque trail just west of downtown, took that to the Alameda parking lot, and then noodled over via 4th and Roy to the Tramway climb, which always seems to take about a half hour, no matter what bike I’m riding.

In this instance it was the Soma Saga Disc. Which reminds me: I get extra credit for logging my birthday mileage on a 33-pound bike, right? Right?

Spring has sprung …

March 20, 2018

I’ve had to mow twice already. Next up: Replacing the string in the electric trimmer. No, not the one I use on my nose hair.

… and the grass, it has most definitely riz.

I wonders where the flowers iz.

Happy spring equinox.

 

Looks like snow

April 30, 2017

Hal Walter demonstrates the capabilities of the Suzuki SX4 Snowplow Car.

And now, here’s Hal Walter with the weather! (Not brought to you by the Greater Crusty County-Weirdcliffe Association of Realtors®).

April showers (March edition)

March 28, 2017

‘Twas a fine soft day at El Rancho Pendejo.

Boy, can I pick a day for a birthday ride or what?

Yesterday, three hours of cycling in spring kit; today, 40 minutes of trail running in tights, long-sleeved polypro, rain jacket, tuque and woolen glove liners.

But hey, I’m not complaining. This is the upper Chihuahuan Desert and we’ll take all the aqua fria we can get and then some.

Plus I got to watch the neighbors’ 2-year-old splashing happily in the puddles, and heard the first hummingbird of 2017 while walking The Boo. It’s all good.

 

Acid test

March 26, 2017

The back yard is flowering up at light speed.

As I fought my own losing battle with seasonal allergies on Friday it was a pleasant distraction to see Darth Cheeto and Paul “Lyin'” Ryan sound “Retreat” and skedaddle off into the swamp, their shit-stained tails tucked between their legs.

The weather here has abruptly become more seasonable, which is to say less awesome, but Herself and I got out for a 40-minute trail run yesterday. Her pink “Bernie” shirt accessorized nicely with the blooming foliage while my wheezing was just another instrument in the symphony of shortcomings that is the U.S. health-care system (albuterol inhalers just plain cost too fucking much, even without additional tax cuts for the rich).

For a guy whose stash box once made Walgreens look like Baskin-Robbins I have developed a surprising reluctance to take drugs, for anything, even asthma and allergies. Non-Drowsy Claritin-D 12 Hour (pseudoephedrine sulfate) reminds me of decent speed for the first couple of hours, but after that it’s all like, “Dude, where’s my cognitive functions?”

That said, when I saw I was down to my last two tabs I was all like, “Whoa!” and toddled off to the Walgreens for another box.

That shit don’t be cheap, neither. And you can’t just pull it off a shelf. No, you must negotiate with the pharmacist to get it (thanks, meth-heads). But once you show the whitecoats that (a) you have all your teefers; (2) aren’t furiously scratching any open sores; and (III) aren’t twitching like you just got tased by the John Laws, why, all you have to do is fork over the $23.99 for 20 tabs.

Shit, that’s about what I used to pay for acid in the good old days (dealer’s discount). It was loads more fun than Claritin-D, and I don’t recall my nose running, either.

Spring fever

March 20, 2017

The pear tree woke up over the weekend.

Hoo boy. Allergies. Good times. Maybe not.

But at least it’s spring, amirite? Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaachoo!

 

The cat’s meow

March 14, 2017

Flower child.

Miss Mia Sopaipilla reports from the field that spring has sprung, no matter what your calendar may say.

Also, she adds, you needn’t worry yourself sick about health care. Whenever Mia gets the vapors, a sick headache, or the jim-jams, some two-legged type takes her to the vet and picks up the tab.

Apparently this good Samaritan also provides nutrition and sanitation, likewise free of charge.

Mia recommends we all get ourselves one of them there.

 

Flowers, child

April 5, 2016
Maybe it's Woodstock. Did I take the brown acid again?

Maybe it’s Woodstock. Did I take the brown acid again?

Goddamn acid flashbacks. Where the hell am I now? Xanadu? Hobbiton? Oz? Oh, whew, just the back yard. I was afeared I’d stumble across Ann Coulter with a house on top of her.

Spring has sprung

March 20, 2016
Vern would be pleased.

Vern would be pleased.

Welcome to the earliest vernal equinox since 1896, according to EarthSky.

The vernal equinox is named for Vern, the ancient Roman god of aeration. The illegitimate offspring of the lesser deities Benadryl, god of drying up, and Kleenex, god of mopping up, Vern (like Your Humble Narrator) had a small but entirely deranged following; his was dedicated to perforating nouns, which is to say people, places and things. Especially people.

The conspirators who did for Julius Caesar were all dedicated Vernalites, though they claimed afterward that their knifework was intended to permit vital fluids to gain entrance rather than draining them.

Indeed, among the Vernalites a certain belligerent thickheadedness was considered a blessing rather than a curse, and today we can find their descendants manning customer-service “help” desks, hosting the morning drive-time “zoo” at local radio stations, and running for president on the GOP ticket.