“We need more budget cuts. Call it 10-15 percent. And a couple of bibs.”
When Lean Dean says you’ve gone too far, you’ve gone too far.
Dean Singleton, who once mused about consolidating, outsourcing and perhaps off-shoring the various MediaNews copy desks, says the owners of The Denver Post have “cut the heart out” of the once-mighty newspaper.
Undeterred by bad press, senior staff departures, and even the resignation of Lean Dean, the hyenas at Alden Global Capital continue gnawing away, taking comfort in the knowledge that there are plenty of toothsome tidbits left on the stinking carcass.
I know, I know — it’s a new world, information wants to be free, adapt or die, etc., et al., and so on and so forth. Doesn’t mean it’s pretty to watch.
The May 1 deadline has come and gone to declare for the inaugural Ruta del Rancho Pendejo, slated June 2-3. Bienvenidos to those who will be there, and hasta luego to those who will be square.
This is a veritable freeway of a descent, until it isn’t. The trails tend to be a tad on the narrow, twisty and sandy side.
Looks like the Marriott Courtyard Albuquerque will be the base of operations for out-of-towners. It’s close to the Paseo del Norte bike trail, which leads straight down to the Paseo del Bosque, and looks pretty much on-and-off, freeway-wise, despite a construction project to the south. High Desert Bicycles is the closest bike shop, and Weck’s is the best bet for a serious pre-ride breakfast.
The weather to date has been warm and dry, so much so that much of the state is suffering drought conditions, but you never know when those “monsoons” might show up, so consider packing a light rain shell … which, of course, will ensure that it doesn’t rain that weekend. Sunscreen will probably prove more useful.
Prone to seasonal allergies? Consider fetching along your performance-enhancing substance of choice, which will spare you a trip to the apothecary.
And don’t sweat the buzzworms. They’re tired of green chile and are biting the burger-gobblers back in Bibleburg.
The roads, trails and paths are all in tiptop shape, but you needn’t be, as Coach says the pace on all rides will be relaxed and of a conversational nature. I’m assuming we’re all hip deep in Manly Points from previous triumphs and thus can rest comfortably on our laurels.
Questions? Holler in comments. I have all the answers, even if I have to make ’em up.
¿Tengo sed? Claro que si! Haz que llueva, pendejo.
Come the dawn, after a long night’s duty, Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) likes to refresh himself with a drink from the sink, holiday or no holiday.
And speaking of no holiday, at least one learned sort thinks Cinco de Mayo may be one of them there — created largely to sell beverages, and plenty of them too.
“It’d be like if the Fourth of July were reduced to beer and hot dogs,” said UCLA prof David Hayes-Bautista.
Dude. How long you been on this side of The Wall, ese? I bet you can’t find three gabachos off campus who think the Fourth is about anything else.
The stars of The Pueblo Chieftain copy desk circa 1984. Two of us are still walking the earth. Guess which ones.
The news biz is a tough racket. Yeah, I know, “stop the presses.”
Up in Colorado, The Denver Postis in a bad way, thanks to the vulture capitalists who have been treating it like an ATM at a Vegas casino. They may be wiping their overfed asses with your local daily, too.
And now The Pueblo Chieftain is said to be in the midst of a sale to … well, someone. Some thing.
I worked at The Chieftain for a spell back in the early Eighties. It’s where I met my man Hal Walter, who helped me get off the cigarettes and back onto the bike — at that point, a $320 fire-engine-red Centurion Le Mans 12.
As I wrote in my journal in 1983 — you remember journals, a sort of analog blog with a readership of one — “I can’t wait to get it and start riding all over fucking town. I may take it with me during my vacation so’s I can get some exercise between drinks.”
Yeah, I still had a ways to go. But still, baby steps, amirite?
Anyway, Hal has penned a recollection of the glory days — and some observations about The Chieftain‘s future — for Colorado Central magazine. He makes mention of Your Humble Narrator, and yes, my lawyers have been informed, so you’ll want to read the piece before HBO makes a documentary of the entire sordid mess and we’re strolling along the red carpet at Cannes giving the finger to Tarantino, the Coen brothers and del Toro.
I see T.J. Miller playing me, or perhaps Rory McCann, and probably Justin Timberlake as Hal, whom we used to call “Teen Angel,” for reasons that should be obvious. I mean, just look at that fucking picture, f’chrissakes.
The intersection of Trails 341 and 342. I like to hang a left here (because of course I do) and do a clockwise loop that tops out at the wilderness boundary.
There’s Revolution and there’s revolution.
With the masses otherwise occupied for May Day 2018, and all my rousing calls to action going to voicemail, I settled for a bit of the lower-case variety, pulling on the red-and-black Mad Dog Media kit, stuffing red water bottles into their cages, and rolling out for a short spin on the people’s trails.
Comrade Red Cap keeps the people’s air where it belongs.
There’s more than one way to lose a chain, and I know most of them. I lost one on Sunday after a rear puncture and got good and greasy (the Voodoo Nakisi has horizontal dropouts that open to the rear, and it’s easy to get filthy removing and replacing the rear wheel).
On Monday I punctured again, this time the front. It was a slow leak, like the proletariat losing political power, and I was able to make it home without overthrowing the bourgeois wheel.
But today, International Workers Day, went off without a hitch. Maybe it was the red valve caps.
Mad Blog Media 