Autumnal

October 16, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 21 Comments

It’s not really fall until instead of taking arm warmers on a ride you actually wear them.

I packed mine on Wednesday’s ride and pulled them on after the first descent. Yesterday I had them on before I rolled out of the garage.

And both days I was wearing knickers.

Only three of us showed for Wednesday’s Geezer Ride — our senior leadership, two 80-somethings who also ski, plus Your Humble Narrator — and the outing turned out to be something of a bust once we turned south into a ridiculous headwind.

The cadre has not been much interested in climbing lately, so the ascent of Simms Road was right out. And grinding along into that brisk headwind was — well, if not exactly Mao’s Long March, neither was it your barrel of monkeys of which it is said that nothing is more fun.

So when my companions suggested cutting the ride short, I agreed. It seemed colder than the alleged temperature indicated, and the wind has been my least favorite weather feature since my very first bicycle race, a 40km out-and-back time trial that I thought I was crushing because guess why? Huge tailwind on the way out. On the way back? Um, not so much.

Had I been alone on Wednesday I would’ve done what I usually do in those conditions: commence random changes in direction like a spook trying to lose a tail. Off the road and onto the trails, this way and that, using the Sandias’ rubble and shrubbery as a windscreen.

I was on the Soma Double Cross, with some mildly knobby Hutchinson Caracals in 700x35mm and a triple crank with a low end of 24x34T (19 gear inches) that lets me spin instead of stomp. Nearly perfect for that sort of getaway. But leaving the lads on their own would’ve been rude, so I shelved the idea and didn’t peel off until home was just a few blocks away.

Yesterday was warmer and less blustery — starting at noon instead of 9 was definitely a factor — but I still wore arm warmers and knicks and opted for a solo, two-hour Vuelta de Variable Surfaces.

It’s a great ride to do on a brisk Thursday in fall. The kids are in school, their parents are nose to grindstone, and a lone geezer can do as he pleases. Generally I ride side streets to the Embudito trailhead, slalom over to the Bear Canyon/Michial Emery trail, take that into the Elena Gallegos Open Space, and pick a loop or two from the non-technical menu.

Then I’ll blast down Simms and turn north into Sandia Heights, climb a series of low-traffic hills I like, and on the way home sample a selection of the unofficial trails that provide off-street options along Blue Gramma, Academy, Spain, and Tramway.

It’s not hard to cobble together a ride of 20 miles or more this way. And like crucifixion, it gets me out in the open air.

If I’m careful I don’t collect any fresh stigmata.

Pinkos

March 16, 2026March 16, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments

Pink over the Sandias (and at the O’Scars, too).

The weather suddenly has a nasty case of multiple-personality disorder.

First it was breaking heat records right, left, and center. Then yesterday, it was the thundering winds and the air so thick with particulates, pollen, and various monoxides and dioxides — hence the phrase, “Beware the ’ides of March!” — that one had to chew each breath 666 times before swallowing. The AirNow.gov klaxons were going all like aaaaaaOOOOOOgahh and the local air-quality monitors were an equally loud shade of red that matched my eyes.

I didn’t even think about going out for a ride or run. Nevertheless around 10:30 last night I was blown out of bed and into the spare room by an allergy attack the likes of which I haven’t suffered since LBJ was hoisting his beagles and the Vietnamese by the ears. I didn’t think it was possible for a human body to contain that much snot, unless maybe that body belonged to Karoline Leavitt.

I did wonder whether UFC bro’-brahs Addled Hitler and Bibi the Beast going all Michael Corleone around the Bible Lands might have had some effect on the global climate. I’ve heard it said that The Pestilence can change the weather in DeeCee just by dropping trou’. In any case both should be in cages, and if they wanted to fight, well, I’d buy a ticket.

Today we awakened to temps in the 20s with a forecast high in the 60s, which would be par for the course this time of year. But the forecast also calls for highs to ascend to the upper 80s by Thursday. Perhaps Lucifer has finally found the escalator that runs upward.

“The Devil you say? Wonderful to see you again, old chap. Bit of an upgrade from the trip downward, yes? ‘Hurl’d headlong flaming’ and all that? Will you have tea? Oh, I beg your pardon, something cool for a change, certainly. …”

Speaking of failed rebellions and free beverages, I see “One Battle After Another” took the big prize last night. At times I wonder if the Oscars aren’t actually the work of some third-rate TikTok movie critic name of Domhnall O’Scar, an Irish-American knee-walker who decides who gets what depending upon who’s underwriting his bar tab at the moment.

“One Battle After Another,” y’say? (belch) Is tha’ an empty glass I see before me? Yeer a gennl’mun an’ a scholar, sir. Down the hatch and up the rebels! (urp)”

Stupid cold

January 22, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 23 Comments

It was only 14 miles.

Hell, I do this a couple times a year. Drop the Subie downtown for a little love at Reincarnation, ride a bike back to El Rancho Pendejo. Repeat in reverse to collect the old warhorse and drive ’er home. Ain’t no thang.

Except Tuesday, it kinda was.

God damn, but it was cold.

I had been expecting a temp in the low 30s, which for some reason sounds a lot warmer than high 20s, which is what it was. So I wore a jacket over a long-sleeved jersey over a long-sleeved base layer, tights over bibs, wool socks, cold-weather shoes and gloves, and tuque.

Wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. And I knew it at 9 a.m., a half-block into the 14-mile ride home.

O, lawd, I will never be smart. I had Buff neckwear, beefier tights, an old balaclava, and an even older pair of sure-’nough winter gloves … and they were all in a drawer back at the Rancho.

“Well,” I thought, “at least it’s all uphill.” And so it was, 1,200 feet of up, not including a long stretch of that fabled “invisible hill,” which is to say a damp, bitter wind out of the NNW and straight into Your Humble Narrator’s chattering choppers.

Whoever coined the phrase “What can’t be cured must be endured” was probably not thinking about stupidity. But I was as I grumbled my way up the North Diversion Channel Trail, whenever possible sitting bolt upright with hands tucked into armpits.

At Montgomery I came upon a street person’s smallish campfire underneath the bridge. I couldn’t decide whether to report him or join him. So I did neither. Onward!

By the Arroyo del Oso Golf Course, with six miles to go, I had gained some altitude, caught a soupçon of sun, and warmed up just a bit … so much so that I began contemplating some extra-credit stupidity, to wit, leaving the pavement at Juan Tabo for the trails that wind through Bear Canyon Open Space to the Embudito trailhead.

Now, in my defense, we’re talking extremely non-technical trails here, and I was on the Soma Double Cross with its 42mm knobbies. Easy breezy like a cover girl! Assuming she were properly dressed for conditions and had a pro mechanic to get her rolling again in 30 seconds after a puncture.

I, on the other hand, was dressed for conditions that existed only in my head, which was up my arse as per usual. I would be fixing my own flat with half-frozen fingers, only 80 percent of which are fully functional when warm. It would take longer than 30 seconds. Finally, there was the absolute certainty of some rapid evaporative cooling on the 1.5-mile paved descent from the trailhead to the Rancho.

So for a change I did the smart thing: took the pavement home, slammed a steaming mug of tea, and spent way too much time in a hot shower. Around 3:30 I got back on the bike and zipped down to fetch the Subie. Didn’t even need the jacket for the return trip. Ah, the desert Southwest, with its 30-degree temperature swings.

This is hardly the stuff of legend, or even unpaid bloggery. There was a time when I would drive for hours in much worse weather just to race bicycles in it, then tidy up at the car wash afterward. But that was when I was a man — a slightly better insulated man — instead of whatever it is I am now.

Plus my auto mechanic was only 14 minutes away by bike. Sometimes I’d just run home.

Blue Monday

December 29, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 15 Comments

Winter, being less than tempestuous around here, always catches me with my pants down. Then up. Then down. Then up. …

Take yesterday, for example. It wasn’t all that cold, but there was a stiff, bitter wind out of the northwest. I briefly considered and swiftly rejected a bike ride, then set about trying to figure out what to wear for a short trail run.

Jaysis wept, etc. The winter clothing options in my dresser look like the “Free” box at the last day of a garage sale in a bad neighborhood.

Paddygucci base layers from when they were still made in the US of A. Hind tights old enough to run for president, in any season. Prehistoric Smartwool socks that couldn’t even make the cut for that “Free” box.

And none of this gear has a pocket for the iPhone, which I have carried religiously since breaking an ankle during a tech-free run five years ago (unable to summon a chariot like a king wounded in battle I had to serf home using a downed tree limb as a crutch). One long-sleeved Columbia top, a bit of VeloNews swag, sports a zippered iPod pocket in the left sleeve, with cutouts for earbud wires. Anybody remember iPods? Wired earbuds? Or VeloNews, for that matter?

In the end I chose the Columbia top (leaving the iPod and earbuds at home); the warmest (and possibly eldest) of my Paddygucci base-layer shirts; Darn Tough wool socks; Sugoi tuque; Smartwool gloves; and the lightweight Paddygucci Terrebonne pants I shredded when I broke the ankle (three pockets plus plenty of holes if I wanted to choose the scenic route for the earbud wires from the iPod I wasn’t packing).

And thus equipped, as Herself and I were jogging up the final winding climb before the paved descent back to El Rancho Pendejo, I thought, “Goddamnit. I am totally overdressed for this shit. I should’ve gone for a ride.”

Resistance training

December 22, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 3 Comments

Thanks to His Excremency King Piggy the Sticky-fingered, Despoiler of Poorboxes and Underage Girls, it is now possible for a 71-year-old cyclist with zero upper body to grip $150 worth of groceries in the left hand — yes, the one with the two dislocated digits — while opening the hatch of the Forester with the right.

Small wonder he croaked all the offshore wind farms. We have all the ill wind we need and then some.

If I’d known how my Golden Years would turn out, I’d have acquired more gold.