Ooo, new iMacs. Shiny objects entrance the lesser primate. Ook ook ook. Opposable thumb and forefinger grasp the credit card in quivering anticipation. Premonition of imminent demise at hands of enraged alpha-female primate postpones joy of immediate gratification via Intertube transaction. Much pointless bounding about and screeching. Chee chee chee!
Folklore for the 21st century
Forgive me if you’ve already stumbled upon this — I’m usually late to these parties — but you should drop whatever it is you’re doing and take a squint at a Twitterer who posts under the name shitmydadsays. The “author” is Justin, who says he’s 29 and lives with his 73-year-old dad.
“He is awesome,” writes Justin. “I just write down shit that he says.” And so he is. I laughed out loud, and more than once. Since I think everything sucks, you can take this as high praise.
Old Dog, new bikes
If you’ve ever wondered why so many Coloradans seem inexplicably insane, consider this: Last Sunday it was about 22 outside, with black ice coating every horizontal surface. Today, it was 81 and sunny. This sort of meteorological inconsistency tends to mess with a person’s mind.
I was on the job for VeloNews.com, but it was a slow news day, as in practically motionless, so I slipped out for a couple leisurely hours of rolling terrain on the red Steelman. What a pleasure to be riding sans undershirt, arm warmers, knee warmers, winter gloves, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Just the bibs and jersey, for modesty’s sake.
While out and about I happened upon Dennis the Menace, who was fresh from a running race at Bear Creek and cycling home. I kept him company and just short of arrival we noticed that Big Bill McBeef’s door was open, so we paused to harass him.
Imagine my surprise when the sonofabitch pops the garage open to display two brand-new bikes — a Giant full-susser mountain bike and a Douglas carbon road machine that weighs under 16 pounds, or just a few grams more than my left tit.
McBeef was one of the last of the Original Dogs still riding titanium DBR road and mountain machinery from the mid-Nineties, Usuck O’Neill and I being the other two. Now it’s just Usuck and me. I was tempted to raise my voice in righteous indignation until McBeef told me he had originally intended to buy a new car with the money.
This way, I figure, some of his money could find its way into my pocket, should increased ad buys from Giant and Colorado Cyclist lead to more paying work for Your Humble Narrator. Then maybe I can afford my own carbon wonderbike. Or breast-reduction surgery.
Dog day afternoon
I went out to spectate at today’s Sand Creek Fall Classic, thinking I’d catch a bit of the action, snap some pix, then roll off for a nice, long ride on the revamped red Steelman.
Hah. Yeah, right.
Instead I stood around in various spots for the better part of quite some time, watching the races and bullshitting with people I haven’t seen in a while — Greg Frozley, Rob Lucas, Mike Elmer, Jurgen Bergeron and of course promoter Andy Bohlmann.
I suggested Andy consider promoting a cyclo-cross in the park next fall, maybe in September. He looked at me like I owed him money.
The turnout seemed low, which is perfect for the first bike race in Palmer Park since the mid-Nineties — fewer chances for negative interaction with other park users, less trail damage, and so on. That last is particularly important, as Bibleburg is not exactly rolling in dough for parks and recreation, which is one of the many reasons why the city is asking voters to approve a property-tax increase on Nov. 2.
Among the spectators was Charlie the Chihuahua. He isn’t old enough to vote, but nonetheless seemed to be enjoying his day in the sun on this woefully underfunded piece of city property. I bet he’d kick in a peso or two if he had any squirreled away in that nifty sweater.
Charlie was rescued from a puppy mill and no doubt was happy to be pretty much anywhere besides there, even if that meant riding around in a slightly girly blue bag borne by one of his humans while the other was racing.
Hey, what the hell, I was rocking eight-speed Shimano 600, bald Michelin clinchers and some seriously old Mad Dog Media-Dogs at Large Velo kit. You won’t see me casting any stones from that obsolete glass condo.
Putting the ‘fall’ in fall
Another frosty morning, but the temps are supposed to crack the 60s today. Seventies tomorrow. Fat city. I’ve gotten out the past couple of days for short cyclo-cross spins and hope to squeeze in a few more before the iceman cometh.
Toward that end, I’ve been upgrading the fleet. The red Steelman Eurocross now has a new-used Ritchey crankset and bottom bracket, a new chain and a new cassette, thanks to the fine folks at Old Town Bike Shop, and thus no longer sounds like a broken chainsaw. It also has a rear flat — goddamn goatheads — so I have a little work to do before today’s ride.
The Voodoo Wazoo has a fresh pair of 700×28 Conti Ultra Gatorskins and will soon sport a pair of Planet Bike fenders for evil weather. Mounting the fenders will be problematic as the Wazoo lacks both chainstay bridge and a drilled seatstay bridge; zip ties will be involved. How did the world ever get along before zip ties and duct tape?
Meanwhile, Andy Bohlmann’s Carmichael Training Systems Sand Creek Fall Classic is on today at Palmer Park. I might pop by for a look-see, as I haven’t been to a race all year. I know these trails the way Glenn Beck’s head knows his colon, and there will be amusement a-plenty if a guy stations himself in the right spot. I like to think of it as putting the “fall” in fall. Nothing like human suffering to brighten up an already-cheery autumn morning.
And don’t forget today’s ground-breaking at Boulder’s Valmont Bike Park. The festivities include an ACA ’cross race, and if it were a 10-minute ride away from the DogHaus the way Palmer Park is, why, I’d be there, too.
