There’s a whole bunch of the boom-boom-boom going on around here today.
But lucky for us, it’s only thunder. And the only thing raining on us is, well, rain.
Who was first to the “thoughts and prayers?” I had Ted Cruz in the office pool.
No, I didn’t watch the “debate.”
I didn’t watch “The Apprentice,” either.
Nor have I watched “American Idol,” “The Bachelor,” “American Ninja Warrior,” or “The Circus.”
I did, however, read Hank Stuever’s appraisal of the “debate.” And he said pretty much everything about it that I wanted to say, save for “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Somewhere in the Beyond, Hunter S. Thompson is fitting another cigarette into its holder, ordering another round of mescaline and margaritas, and chuckling to himself over having gotten it so right so long ago.
“Jesus! Where will it end? How low do you have to stoop in this country to be President?”
Nope, I didn’t break the speed limit. I maxed out around 35 mph as I dropped from the top of Tramway to Roy, 4th, Guadalupe Trail, Alameda, and finally, the Paseo del Bosque.
As you know, I am a law-abiding fellow, and rarely in a hurry.
Last trip down I was on the Soma Saga (disc). This time I took the Soma Saga (canti), having finally toed the squeak out of the TRP RevoX brakes.
I’ve tried a bunch of brakes on this bike and hadn’t really liked any of ’em. Paul’s MiniMoto would be the shit, but cabling proved a little crowded with 38mm tires and fenders. And I was fresh out of my go-to stoppers, Paul’s Neo-Retro and Touring cantis, having shifted my last pair to the Voodoo Nakisi.
Happily, I had this set of TRPs idling around the garage, so on they went. A little fiddly for a half-assed mechanic to set up, and on our last outing they brayed like jackasses, but now they work and sound just fine. Still, when time and finance permit I’ll give some more money to my man Paul, just ’cause.
The bosque was nuts for a workday morning. Racer dudes and dudettes, recreational riders, e-bikers, recumbents, joggers, skaters, strollers, equestrians, even one grinning young woman aboard what I think was an ElliptiGO.
I had thought about doing the whole enchilada, continuing down past Rio Bravo and back around, but discretion proved the better part of valor. I hung a U at Interstate 40 and went back the way I came for a grand total of 47.8 miles, which felt about right.
As I rode up Roy toward the Tramway climb I saw a rara avis indeed — a triplet, barreling down toward the roundabout at 4th and Roy. I waved, and the dude in the middle waved back, but he looked like he’d rather have both hands on the bars and I can’t say I blame him. That was one crowded bike and like our “democracy” I imagine it demanded everyone’s attention and participation.
Checking out morning as it breaks over the Sandias beats inspecting cat barf before coffee.
And yes, I have some experience in these matters.
I’ve spared you the ground-level snaps.
You’re welcome.
There was a little water running on Thursday’s 66km ride down to the bosque and back, so I could feel the Tour’s pain when Friday’s stage got its icy wings clipped and today’s was likewise heavily edited, basically dialed down to a 33km, mass-start uphill time trial.
Here in ’Merica, happily, we restrict our water to ditches so that it does not interfere with our bikey rideys. Because freedom.
Also, moreover, furthermore, and too, we have air conditioning to take the edge off those 110° days.
The “monsoons” are in session here at the moment, and so far the precip’ has been arriving around dinnertime, which is nearly as good as keeping it in ditches. Open the doors and windows and let the fresh air in.
Meanwhile, somebody else threw the doors open and then bolted right on through. Congress just beat feet for a six-week recess. And “recess” seems just the word for this cluster of kindergartners, though the exodus leaves the biggest toddler of them without any supervision, however childish.
I wouldn’t be surprised to see a “For Sale” sign pop up outside the White House.
Whoops. Too late.
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