Posts Tagged ‘Arizona’

Interbike 2016: Arizona’s not here, man

September 18, 2016
Arizona cordially invites you to piss off.

Arizona cordially invites you to piss off.

FLAGSTAFF, Ariz. (MDM) — Arizona wasn’t very welcoming when I arrived, as you can see. And I’m a reg’lar white guy and everything.

That Sheriff Joe gets meaner every day, seems like. Maybe if someone got a hammerlock on that racist assclown and brought the legal bills down to a manageable level the state wouldn’t have to sell Geico the naming rights to its roadside shitters.

Vato's got a ticket to ride. Orrrrale.

The drive from Duke City to Flag’ was uneventful. I caught a glimpse of a few garishly attired cyclists enjoying the Tour de Acoma before I left New Mexico behind, and once I rolled into range KNAU-FM began telling me every few minutes that if only I’d give them some money right now they wouldn’t have to annoy me later.

Sorry, fellas, but Herself and I already underwrite two NPR affiliates. Have you tried Geico?

Meanwhile, the grub at Beaver Street Brewery is still tasty, though the clientele seems even more grizzled than last year (unlike Your Humble Narrator, of course).

This may explain the background music, which could’ve been pulled straight from my iPod: “Cross-eyed Mary,” Jethro Tull; “Rock and Roll,” Led Zeppelin; and “Night Moves,” from Bob Seger, who inspired this morning’s headline. What my man Charles Pelkey derides as “old man’s music.”

I should’ve washed that geezer playlist down with a little Olympia and maybe some blotter acid. But as I no longer partake of the adult beverages, I sampled a Sioux City Prickly Pear instead, and I can recommend it as a tasty alternative to the usual popskull.

• Question of the Day: Are those signs with the glyph of a bicycle and the legend “USE SHOULDER ONLY” really necessary along Interstate 40? Any of you feel the urge to throw a leg over the old two-wheeler and go mano-a-mano with a speeding Peterbilt in the traffic lane? Maybe we could ax that particular educational initiative and spend the savings on public restrooms and/or radio.

 

A gay old time

February 26, 2014
"Don't we have anything to read in here that isn't a bicycle magazine?"

“Don’t we have anything to read in here that isn’t a bicycle magazine?”

That little Albuquerque training camp spoiled me for the remainder of February in Colorado.

After a week of long, steady distance in springlike temperatures, coming back to winter flat crawled up my butt. Twenty, feels like 10, y’say? Well, to hell with that, I think I’ll just stay inside and eat everything, watch Arizona try to out-stupid Colorado. Next these sunburnt simpletons will be issuing 55-gallon spray cans of Homo-NoMo® to the National Guard. Send the bill to the po’ folks, sonny, this here’s a Christian state.

Anyway, I was in danger of reaching that tipping point at which my inner fat bastard says, “Fuck a bunch of bicycles, let’s sell ’em all and buy a pie factory.” And it struck me that the problem wasn’t so much the weather as it was riding other people’s bikes all the damn’ time. Inspecting this, questioning that, making notes about it all — this is not unlike riding a couch in the company of a psychotherapist.

“How does that 30-inch low gear make you feel, Patrick?”

“Like a fat little girl with polio, you head-shrinking halfwit. Now shut the fuck up, I’m trying to climb this hill without chowing on the handlebar tape.”

So today I dragged the old Voodoo Nakisi out of the garage, aired up its Bruce Gordon Rock n’ Roads, and rode off to see how many times I could fall down on the ice in Palmer Park (none, though one sneaky patch in the South Cañon nearly got me). It was a beautiful day and I hardly endured any shrinkage at all, being covered from tonsure to toenails in colorful fossil-fuel weather repellent.

I even saw one bozo riding in shorts. Take that, Arizona.

Another Tuesday, another primary

February 28, 2012

If this is Tuesday, then it must be another GOP primary, and the race between the sweater-vestmented reincarnation of Torquemada and a Terminator built on spec’ by a couple of laid-off Rambler mechanics has been too close to call.

But tonight there will be a winner and … a winner?

Rick Sanctimonious’ handlers are already on record as saying that they’ve won in Michigan and Arizona, regardless of whether their man actually wins.

Which he won’t — not in Arizona, anyway, where CNN called it for the RomneyBot 2012 before I finished my second beer this evening.

Michigan apparently remains up for grabs, in no small measure because anyone can play in the GOP primary there, and the Donks are queering the pitch by turning out for Frothy Mix, who has encouraged their participation against the RomneyBot 2012 via the irony of robocalls.

Some Donks think Torquemada v2.0 will be easier for the prez to flog in the general; others clearly have been driven completely insane by seeing these two wealthy honkies crisscrossing the state like gold-plated drones, each claiming to speak for the working man.

I probably won’t follow this nightmare to its conclusion this evening because there won’t be one. The Four Stooges will battle on through Super Tuesday at least, and there will be plenty of opportunity to bring the snark between now and then.

In the meantime, here’s the current occupant of the Oval Office addressing the United Auto Workers Annual Conference. Say what you will about the guy — he makes the rest of the applicants for the job look like the Deltas overestimating their popularity with Otis Day and the Knights in “Animal House.” *

* And yes, I know that the GOP lot are much more Omega Theta Pi than Delta Tau Chi. I was just reaching for the whole getting-your-privileged-ass-kicked thing.

• Late update: The nets have called Michigan for the RomneyBot as well. Gold-plated human-cyborg-relations droids everywhere cheer.

Tahoe, Sacramento and excremento

February 25, 2012
Chevy Tahoe

Dig the giant hunk of Detroit iron Herself is driving to Function Junction. And yes, the Death Star is a rental, not a keeper. I've lived in smaller houses.

Ahh … another Saturday unsullied by work for vampire capitalists. Doesn’t pay worth a damn, but it has its advantages nonetheless.

For example, today we’re looking at a high in the mid-50s, which strikes me as pretty good cycling weather. And there are containers of freshly made green chile sauce, chili con carne and vegetable beef soup in the ’fridge, so the day’s eating is more or less taken care of — assuming I don’t decide to assemble some chicken enchiladas to slide under that green chile come dinnertime.

The trick will be to stay far away from the computer, wherein all the evil tidings dwell. There remain four red-ass baboons running for the GOP pestilential nomination — ook ook ook chee chee chee! — and they are flinging dung at each other with a will in advance of Tuesday’s primaries in Arizona and Michigan.

There’s plenty to do around here without all that smelly old shit. Herself is off to Function Junction for a couple of days to handle some library business, and Bouncing Buddy Banzai the Spinning Japanese Wonder Chin has managed to FUBAR his right eye, which requires the application of various pills and potions, and eventually surgery.

Poor little dude has not had much luck with the medicos. Neither have we. Every time we take him to the vet I hear the sound of someone’s Mercedes payment being made. Cha-ching!

Once Herself gets back, I’m off — to the North American Handmade Bicycle Show in Sacramento. Never been to one before and I’m looking forward to it, if only because I’m in dire need of a road trip, some sort of Gathering of the Tribes. Plus there will be editors there, and occasionally where one finds editors, one finds paying work.

What I’d really like to do is hit the Arizona desert for a week of running and riding. But since that pays, um, not at all, an actual play date may have to wait until I unearth another patron of the velo-arts or two or three.

It’ll certainly have to wait until after the primary. You couldn’t pay me to set foot in the state until someone’s policed up all that GOP poo.

On the road again

March 8, 2010

I call this composition "Cyclist with iPhone and Too Much Time On His Hands."

Technology can be fun, when it works. But occasionally this bit doesn’t make nice with that byte and as serenity and higher-order thinking begin to desert you the way fleas do a dying dog you inevitably find yourself channeling your inner primate, bashing on this and that with a big rock or thick stick between frantic bouts of bounding about screeching, “Oook ook ook chee chee chee!”

Case in point: I’m on the road for a spell, soon to be enjoying a supported tour courtesy of the Adventure Cycling Association, and if there’s anything I like more than playing while the rest of you are working, it’s telling you all about it from a safe distance.

But where I’m going I may not always have access to the old PowerBook and wi-fi, which causes the exhibitionist in me to recoil. What to do?

Aha!  The iPhone, that nifty device which is so much smarter than many of its owners. Take a pic, write a post, upload same to website via AT&T — it’s easier than double-flatting in a Colorado pothole, right?

Well, not so much, as it turns out.

As I discovered a couple of days before hitting the road, my website uses an old version of the WordPress blogging software — too old to be updated via the WP iPhone app. And updating via the Flash-impaired iPhone’s version of Safari is an exercise in eyestrain and anger management.

I caught myself looking around for a nice hand-sized rock. No, don’t do it, this shrunken head of a computer cost a ton and you may need it to call a cab somewhere around Patagonia. But the question remains, as posed by Lenin: What is to be done?

This is the answer, right here. I’d forgotten about this WordPress blog, one of several I set up a couple of years back when I was in an experimental frame of mind. Its software is up to date, and a test post from the iPhone went more or less smoothly. So expect to see regular updates about how much fun I’m having.

And try not to work too hard, OK?