Posts Tagged ‘Bicycle Retailer’

Back in the saddle again

February 25, 2016
Miss Mia Sopaipilla inquires whether I plan to stick around for a few head bumps before pissing off again to God knows where.

Miss Mia Sopaipilla inquires whether I plan to stick around for a few head bumps before pissing off again to God knows where.

Nose, meet grindstone.

I pretty much plugged right back in after my little sojourn in the desert. Cranked out a column and cartoon for Bicycle Retailer, edited pix and video for Adventure Cyclist, bashed out a post and gallery for all y’all, delivered myself of a few quips on social media, replenished the larder, and got the Subie serviced.

The old rice rocket is still ticking along nicely after 11 years and 117,000 miles, and a few inexpensive repairs — replacing the cracked moon roof, reupholstering the driver’s seat and buffing the haze out of the headlights — should keep me off the car lots for a while yet.

The critters’ separation anxieties have all been soothed (I haven’t told them Herself will be pissing off to Hawaii here directly). And if I haven’t had a lick of exercise in three days, well, at least I’ve gotten a few things done.

After a heavenly week of shunning radio, TV and the Innertubez, I can’t say I’ve enjoyed catching up on the news, save for a bit of heehawing at Jeb (!) finally noticing all those loafer prints in his ass. How pleasurable it was to finally see a head roll in that dime-store dynasty, even with The Donald serving as executioner.

And speaking of The Mouth That Roared, that tale has pretty much stopped being funny. Over at MoJo, David Corn reminds us that the Rethugs have no one to blame but themselves for this billionaire buccaneer who sailed right into the middle of their tony fleet and let fly with broadsides to port and starboard.

At The Guardian, Jeb Lund distributes the credit a little more widely, observing that the courtier press is a bit too comfy in its own box seat at the opera to notice that the peasants outside are revolting (oy, are they ever).

Me, I think we all had a hand in the phenomenon that Charlie Pierce calls “He, Trump.” Or off it, as in abandoning control of our electoral processes to the pros, fixers and wizards.

This is one of the reasons I’m not sanguine about the idea of self-driving cars. If you’re not in the driver’s seat, you can be certain that someone else is. And they may be taking you somewhere you’d rather not go.

The 411 on the D.O.G.

August 12, 2010
It's quite a hike to this trio of hot-springs pools — about 10 minutes to go a quarter mile. But they were worth the walk.

It's quite a hike to this trio of hot-springs pools — about 10 minutes to go a quarter mile. But they were worth the walk.

Here’s where I’ve been after a few days in the VeloBarrel, a Bicycle Retailer deadline and a primary that seems proof positive that the Republican Party no longer exists as such. If Barry Goldwater saw his party today, he’d ask Curtis LeMay bomb it back to the Stone Age. Or maybe forward to the Stone Age.

Whatever. After finishing my chores and viewing with alarm, albeit in private, I fled Bibleburg for a place with hot water a-plenty but without wi-fi, cell service and black helicopters. More later.

Oh, by the way … I already own a blue helmet, a nifty Rudy Project with a visor and everything. I’m gonna have to get creative with some press-on white lettering, which I just happen to have on hand.