Of winter and discontent

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments
Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo . . .
Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo . . .

We enjoyed a beautiful morning today in Bibleburg. There was finally enough snow to shovel, just barely, and the Big Yellow Ball In the Sky took a valiant stab at burning through the clouds that have been hovering overhead for the past few days.

Herself has returned from a sun-splashed weekend in Palm Springs and is very much not amused by the conditions here, especially since she has to drive to the office in Denver shortly. This is not unlike entering a demolition derby held on ice, driving your good car instead of some beater.

Last night, as I was gingerly negotiating the slippery streets en route to the Bibleburg Intergalactic Airport to fetch her home, I saw any number of speeding nitwits piloting two-wheel drive vehicles one-handed while jabbering away on their phones. Why not just stay home and shoot yourself in the head? That way you’re performing a public service instead of being a public menace.

Speaking of public menaces, don’t miss this Mother Jones story on the Oath Keepers, a so-called “patriot” organization whose core is men and women in uniform. You can’t grow up in the military or live where I’ve lived without meeting people like this, and they’re much more frightening than their leftist counterparts, with whom I palled around in my younger, dumber days.

I occasionally consider selling my guns. Then I read a piece like this and check to see whether they’re all still loaded, with extra magazines and speedloaders within easy reach.

Glory Road

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 34 Comments

Oh, bugger. Snowing again. These pissant “storms” that merely grease the trails and glaze the streets are slipping the proverbial tube steak to my carefully cultivated serenity.

Herself certainly picked the right time to hightail it out of Dodge. She and a couple of girlfriends are on the lam from winter this weekend, hiding out in a Palm Springs condo, eating, drinking and watching it not snow, not even a little bitty bit. They just called with the culinary rundown as I was whipping up a spartan meal of tacos, rice and salad. This is like telling a creekside wino all about your latest gourmet feast.

Speaking of things one does not wish to hear about, I understand Tiger Woods finally performed the obligatory mea culpa before the cameras and mics today. What a load of ice-cold horseshit. First off, if you’re gonna cop a plea, get ’er done while the dew is still on the lily. Second, rehab is for wankers. Show Tiger some pussy, then show him his bank balance. Choose one, big guy. Presto, he’s cured. Thanks, I’ll take my fee in cash.

I couldn’t care less about golf, and where Tiger’s putter has been fluttering is even further down the list of things that hold absolutely no interest for me.

“But what about the young people who view Tiger as a role model?” you ask. To which I reply, anyone looking to emulate the morality of the average multimillionaire athlete should also consult swine for advice on table manners.

I’m reminded of a line from Robert A. Heinlein’s “Glory Road,” in which Star tells Oscar: “I have known many heroes and some were such oafs that one would feed them at the back door if their deeds did not claim a place at the table.”

You want to learn how to pop some skinny nerd in the ass with a wet towel, or imprison him in a gym locker, ask a jock. For all other matters, consult a higher authority. Say, a Magic 8-Ball, or even your own conscience.

White ’cross

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 13 Comments
The Nobilette cyclo-cross bike is ready to roll.
The Nobilette cyclo-cross bike is ready to roll.

Meet the latest edition to the Mad Dog Media bicycle collection — a custom Reynolds 853 Nobilette cyclo-cross bike.

Like pretty much everything else in the garage, it’s a blend of old and new. The wheelset, taken from my oldest Steelman Eurocross, is a well-used Cirrus pair from Excel Sports — Michelin Jets on Mavic Open Pros laced to Dura-Ace hubs with DT 14/15g and Revolution spokes. Likewise the brakes, a used (and mismatched) set from Paul Components — Neo-Retro up front and Touring in the rear, both with Kool-Stop Thinline pads. Whether that grippy Neo-Retro will overwhelm the fork’s one-inch steerer in a panic stop remains to be seen; back in the day I ran lower-profile Dia-Compe 986 cantis, which were basically speed modulators.

An old Salsa Pro Road handlebar sports new Cane Creek brake levers (the traditional non-aero’ sort plus a top-mounted set). The stem is an Origin8, an outfit I’d never heard of before.

The drivetrain is nearly all new — Race Face Cadence compact cranks (50/36), nine-speed Dura-Ace bar-cons, FSA front derailleur, Ultegra rear, 11-28 cassette. The lone exception is a thousand-year-old pair of Time ATAC pedals.

Check out the nifty integrated cable hanger.
Check out the nifty integrated cable hanger.

And finally, the seat post is a new Ritchey WCS, but it holds a used Selle Italia Flite saddle that I got for a six-pack of beer. Assembly by Chris and Randin at Old Town Bike Shop. Thanks, guys.

I asked Mark to add eyelets for fenders and a rear rack in case I want to do a little light touring. If this were a road bike, I’d have sprung for a pump peg, too, but ain’t no pump peg in the world gonna secure a frame pump on a ’cross bike. Not the way I ride it, anyway.

Weather permitting, the Nobilette will undergo its maiden voyage this morning. The weatherman’s calling for snow, but hey — that’s cyclo-cross weather, right?

Winter Games

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 29 Comments
A bit of pink tinges Pikes Peak just past sunup.
A bit of pink tinges Pikes Peak just past sunup.

Another blisteringly cold day. Yesterday neither Herself nor I left the house. But today she bundled up and toddled off to work. I spent the morning processing pixels, then slipped out for a short run around noon after things warmed up a bit.

I probably should’ve ridden — after all, I’m not going to be running around southern Arizona next month — but I like to run, and besides it can’t hurt to mix things up a bit. Yesterday my legs felt like giant sausages full of botulism after three consecutive days of riding hills in the cold, and spending all Sunday sitting at the iMac, posting copy and photos to VeloNews.com, didn’t exactly meet my admittedly loose definition of “active rest.”

Speaking of high technology, we’ve finally debugged our Rube Goldberg TV hookup (streaming video via laptop, Blu-ray player, rabbit ears) and have been watching bits of the Winter Olympics. My God, how does anyone get through an evening of American television without the skull exploding like a Pfalzgraff piggy bank zotzed by a .40-caliber hollow-point? The drug ads provide some amusing irony, and there’s no denying the improved sports coverage possible with digital video, but still, damn.

It’s not enough that an athlete kicks ass. No, he or she has to have a touching backstory: grew up living in the trunk of a Chevy Caprice in the Appalachian hills; has a one-eyed half-brother with the yaws and 13 toes: plays the uilleann pipes professionally when not doing something insane involving ice and/or snow.

Speaking of which, it’s gonna be cold again tomorrow. Tonight’s low should bottom out around 11, and NOAA says we’re looking at a high in the mid-30s tomorrow. But a man must ride, and so I’ll be out there, me and my three long-sleeved jerseys, the neoprene leg warmers and pretty much everything else in the kit kloset.

And maybe — just maybe — with my just-completed Nobilette cyclo-cross bike, too. Stand by for fresh bike porn.

Head for the hills

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 1 Comment
Your roving reporter captures a shot of a socialist deer dining for free upon a taxpayer's shrubbery.
Your roving reporter captures a shot of a socialist deer dining for free upon a taxpayer's shrubbery.

It hasn’t exactly been cycling weather around Bibleburg of late — nevertheless, I sucked it up yesterday, pulled on about half the clothes in my closet and got out for two and a half hours of hills.

This is not as easy as it sounds. Despite sitting in the shadow of Pikes Peak, the road riding around Bibleburg is less than stellar, and the one long, sustained paved climb into the high country — Highway 24 west — is just plain dangerous, going up and coming down.

So a guy has to improvise. Though I was going to be mostly on pavement, I broke out my red Steelman Eurocross (fatter rubber, lower gearing) and rode west through a moderately gooey Monument Valley Park to Mesa Road, then started climbing.

Mesa is a nice warmup, a steady-state ascent that dumps you out on North 30th Street by the Garden of the Gods. From there I hung a right on Garden of the Gods Road and descended to Centennial Boulevard for another short climb to Fillmore Street, then hung a right and returned to Mesa.

I was thinking about doing laps of this short circuit to minimize my exposure to a nasty south wind, then said screw it and headed north on 30th to Flying W Ranch Road (hey, if you have a tailwind, why not take advantage of it?). Flying W is a steeper climb than Mesa, and a short 40-mph descent dumps you out at Centennial and Vindicator Drive for the pièce de résistance, the ascent of Centennial Boulevard/West Woodmen Road.

Centennial-Woodmen is steeper than any of its predecessors and something of a challenge for the average fat bastard. It’s one of those pain-in-the-ass climbs that flattens out every now and then, even throws in a couple of short descents, just to fuck with your head. It’s why I rode the Steelman with its low gear of 34×28.

Anyway, I made it up without throwing a rod or blowing a seal, and on the way down the other side I saw this pretty little buck with a couple of his cousins, so I stopped to take a snap with the iPhone. It reminded me of living outside Weirdcliffe, where we always had a few mule deer camping out under our deck. We used to say that they were so dumb you could hunt them with a Twinkie and a ball-peen hammer.

But we never saw one stupid enough to be riding a ’cross bike on the roads in the dead of winter.