Herself and I were enjoying the usual weekly quail-spotting ride through High Desert and Sandia Heights yesterday when another cyclist caught up to us and we began chatting, as cyclists do.
It being The Duck! City, we found ourselves collecting one of those odd tales that seem to be included in every random encounter with a stranger.
After discussing the beautiful almost-fall weather, other places we had lived, and the critters we had seen, our new riding buddy told us about a neighbor who objected strenuously to hikers tramping along the arroyo that snakes along behind their houses.
So much so, he said, that one day she hid in the scrub with a Louisville Slugger and took a little vigorous batting practice on one of them.
Now, I’ve ridden this arroyo a time or two, or one very much like it in the general vicinity, and I’ve never seen any signs, placards, fencing, or other indication that it was private property. Which I don’t believe it is.
Nonetheless, I told him I’d keep my eyes peeled henceforth.
“Watch out for an old bat with a bat,” he advised.
The Chinese pistache would like some rain, please. And thank you.
More clouds. Fewer birds. Lower temperatures. In the morning, anyway.
And come to think of it, in the evening, too. I’m not needing a wee rinse before bedtime to resolve the late-in-the-day stickiness that goes along with life in the desert and a firm hand on the thermostat.
Damp it is not. The drought not only persists, it thrives. The Rio Grande is on the edge of running dry in The Duck! City for a second consecutive year. When I stripped the bed of its sheets in the dark this morning I got a free static-electricity light show for my troubles.
But at least my rides and runs have not been the usual rolling boil for the past week. Maybe I can resume my habit of slipping out nine-ish instead of kitting up in the dark, when I need a headlight to see, not just to be seen.
It’s not summer’s end; not yet. But it’s around the bend, just flyin’.
Open for business, but no customers.
There’s a smaller crowd queueing up at our bird feeders, and they’re getting a later start, too.
On yesterday’s looping ride through Sandia Heights I didn’t spot a single solitary quail, not a one. Didn’t even hear any. Just last Sunday Herself and I saw them by the dozens as we spun leisurely through the Heights.
This morning I made our oatmeal on the stove, instead of mixing up a müesli version to “cook” in the fridge the night before. We added diced peaches, chopped pecans, and local honey, and washed it down with a side of hot tea.
At the stove, with the windows open, I caught a whiff of bacon frying nearby. The pig is Herself’s spirit animal and she won’t tolerate it on a plate, but apparently marrying one is OK, as long as it makes a pork-free breakfast.
Then, suddenly, at 9 on the dot with the breakfast dishes washed, the birds turn up. The hummers re-enact the Battle of Britain around their feeders, and the finches perch greedily at theirs while the doves stalk the ground hunting misplaced morsels.
Is this the summertime equivalent of Punxsutawney Phil seeing his shadow? Do we have six more weeks of summer on tap?
I’d best kit up and get out there. Don’t forget the sunscreen. Might be another scorcher.
The prez is coming to town today, but he hasn’t texted me, so I don’t suppose he wants to hang out, maybe go for a bike ride, drop a hint or two about the cell he’s having prepared for The Defendant on Gitmo.
His motorcade is likely to play hell with the already-chaotic Duck! City traffic, which resembles nothing so much as a fire-ant colony remodeled by M-80.
Maybe his SS detail can thin this perpetually stampeding herd of road-ragers during the presidential visit. They could probably use the target practice, and for sure we could use fewer hotheads with lead feet.
If that pulls a Team Cinzano on the old bikey ridey for a couple of days it’s tough titty for Your Humble Narrator because The Duck! City’s flora and fauna need the moisture. Just because the feds and the Colorado Water Compact states are talking to each other doesn’t mean they’re listening.
Also, weather like this is why Odin invented SKS fenders. And running shoes.
In other news:
• The Journal devoted a little ink to the demise of the Bike Coop; nothing we didn’t already know, but still, damn.
• Another item you’ve probably already seen: A lone cyclist heckles the Patriot Front peacocks in DeeCee and a grateful nation thanks him. If you haven’t seen it yet, be sure to check out the video. The PF parade looks like a community-college production of “Springtime for Hitler” in Gator Bait, Florida.
• And finally, Save the Elena Gallegos wins a second round in its battle with The Duck! City over its plan to erect a “visitor/education center” in our beloved open space, where Your Humble Narrator frequently recreates. The place gets plenty visitors as it is and we have the Internets for education, thanks all the same.
Mad Blog Media 