The prez risks contracting Teh Crazy

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

The prez came to town today to address the U.S. Air Force Academy’s graduates. I hope he was inoculated against Teh Crazy before he left DeeCee to chat up the Blue Zoomies, ’cause Teh Crazy is an epidemic in these parts, along with viral stupidity. All we need is a stupid, crazy president. Oops, wait, too late — that was the last guy.

Meanwhile, and for the permanent record, Rep. Doug Lamborn (R-Asshat) is a chickenshit punk who was born in Leavenworth, Kansas, and should be returned there with all speed, to take up residence in the U.S. penitentiary for impersonating a U.S. congressman.

In a sane nation a would-be ward heeler like this numbnuts would be restricted to standing up to his fat ass in a ditch full of raw sewage with a shovel, where his shit-talking would have the audience of inattentive turds that it deserves. Alas, as I have noted before, while most states send their mental defectives to the state hospital, Colorado sends its fuckwits to the U.S. House.

• Late update: And Jesus H. Christ on an armored vehicle, who is handling press relations for Rep. Mike Coffman (R-HAL 2000)? This is what you get when cousins marry, or you elect a middle-school science project to Congress.

Beer me

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments

Yow. Another temperature record today — 90 degrees. I believe that’s three high-temp marks that have fallen this year, and it’s only May, f’chrissakes.

I did a bit of work and then I did a bit of cycling before the mercury rose too far, riding the Pikes Peak Greenway to the north gate of the Air Force Academy and back. Weird winds, coming from every whichaway, but mostly from in front, as per usual.

Back at the ranch, the “lawn” needed mowing. We call it a lawn, because it is (a) mostly green and (2) on the ground, but between you and me it needs more than mowing. And it didn’t even get that today, because I ain’t mowing no lawn in no 90-degree temps, thanks all the same.

Instead, I’m drinking a beer. St. Lupulin from Odell Brewing, to be specific. It’s my new favorite beer, and I recommend it to anyone considering mowing the lawn.

Splish, splash, I’ll be takin’ the cash

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 5 Comments

Well, shit. Some crazy bastard tried to rob my favorite grog shop last night.

Dude pops in, squirts a clerk and a customer with lighter fluid and demands cash. Clerk says something along the lines of “Kiss my ass,” the bandit tries to come around the counter, and another clerk produces a baseball bat. Exit bandit, stage left.

It was the second attempt in less than 24 hours at robbery by flamethrower, too. Dude actually got money from a hotel clerk the first time around. Grog-shop clerks must be made of sterner stuff.

And times must be harder than I thought. It’s usually all knives and guns around here. Hell of a note when the bandits have to retire their PPKs and go all BBQ on a citizen.

Words to live by

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments
Garden of the Gods
The Garden of the Gods makes a fine backdrop to any kind of bike ride.

I took five from chores yesterday to drag the Voodoo Nakisi around the west side of town.

The route I chose is one reason why a cyclo-cross bike — or better yet, a MonsterCrosser® like the Nakisi — is the ideal Bibleburg bicycle. I headed south on the creekside bike path and then west under I-25 to Bear Creek Regional Park, where I picked up a short bit of single-track before settling down to a nice, steady, pulverized-granite climb to Gold Camp Road.

At Gold Camp you can hang a left and ride all the way to Victor, if that’s your idea of a good time. But I haven’t got the legs for that, and anyway there was a stiff wind out of the south, so I took advantage of it and rolled down 26th Street to Colorado Avenue to pick up 31st Street and another steady wind-assisted climb through the Garden of the Gods.

Herself, Buddy and the iPad
Herself and Buddy, a.k.a. Mister Boo, video-chat via iPad with the kinfolks in Maryland.

After the Garden I hit the Sinton Trail and headed for the Goose Gossage Youth Sports Complex, where I briefly contemplated continuing on to Palmer Park for a little more single-track. But then my tummy alarm went off, and I recalled a bit of leftover steak and potatoes in the ’fridge at home, so off I went.

Herself was having a spot of fun with technology, video-chatting with her mom and a sister in Maryland via FaceTime on the iPad, occasionally taking a break to play Words With Friends with one or the other. I won’t play until someone comes up with a dirty version.

As it turns out I probably should have gone for the extra miles. Today is about 30 degrees cooler than yesterday, and windy, too, with a spot of rain from time to time. And the chores have returned, too, goddamnit (good for 476,209 points in Scrabble).

So that’ll teach me, right? Probably not.

Chirp … chirp … chirp. …

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
Highway 24
Pikes Peak as seen from Highway 24 near the Banning-Lewis Ranch.

Wow — the sound of all those virtual crickets digitally chirping is deafening.

The days have seemed about 90 minutes long lately. Bicycle Retailer and Industry News deadlines have been coming and going like cabs at McCarran International Airport. Likewise bicycle reviews for Adventure Cyclist. I just wrapped up the Cyfac Vintage; next in line is a Moots MXYBB, with a Van Nicholas Amazon Rohloff waiting in the wings.

Too, I’m been chiming in during Charles Pelkey’s live updates from the Giro, for all the good it does him. And Herself and I celebrated our 22nd anniversary on the 12th.

So, yeah. Busy busy busy, especially considering that I remain seriously underemployed — and, as a geezer who earned his chops in a dying profession, am likely to stay that way. Well, that just means more time to ride, no?

So I go out and flog myself around the countryside for a couple of hours, followed by a bite of lunch, and by the time the day’s Amgen Tour of California stage rolls around I could give a shit. I mean, I like Peter Sagan and all, but four stage wins? For reals? And today brings the time trial in Bakersfield. Pass the toothpicks, someone, I need to prop my eyelids open.

Of course, with my eyelids propped open, I can’t not look at stupid shit like this, from Rep. Mike Coffman (R-Fuckwit). Jesus H. Christ on a flatcar. Most states in the Union put their crazy people in mental institutions. Colorado sends them to the U.S. House of Representatives.