Grocery run

August 7, 2025August 7, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments

Yesterday the Geezers made their annual run to the Morning Star Grocery, a 42-mile round trip from El Rancho Pendejo that chalks up about 2,400 feet of vertical gain.

Medals and promotions all around!

Ordinarily we do this ride in the fall, when Tonatiuh steps away from the stove to burn one, to wit, something other than us.

Not so this year. Someone (not Your Humble Narrator) thought it would be a swell idea to make the trip when the forecast was basically “hotter than the hubs of Hell.”

Nevertheless, we persisted. And one of us more than the others.

Yesterday I chose the New Albion Privateer for the Assault on Morning Star Grocery. But for today’s recovery ride in the Elena Gallegos Open Space I chose the gentler gearing of the Soma Double Cross.

Our peloton included three octogenarians and a couple gents sporting aftermarket parts installed after unscheduled getoffs. One of the 80-somethings may have been jealous of the cyborgs and hunting a retrofit of his own, because he crashed coming into Tijeras; alas, not hard enough to require the full Steve Austin makeover.

Bloodied but unbowed, our man soldiered on and made it to the grocery without further incident, accompanied by our senior officer, an 84-year-old motorhead who immediately began grilling a stranger about the technical specs of his BMW motorcycle.

I made it into the lead group, but was not first to the grocery. We were a trio, ticking along nicely at 155 beats per minute, and I knew that I’d have to find another 10 bpm somewhere starting about six miles out to win the roses. This I felt was a dog that would not hunt.

When the terrain shifted from straight climb to rollers one of the cyborgs got the jump on me and that was that. I found another 14 bpm, briefly, but not in time to close the gap. No bouquet, no podium girl, no anthem.

Well, it wasn’t my first rodeo. Sometimes you’re the cowboy, other times you’re the clown. Good times either way.

Like Bilbo Baggins I made it there and back again. Also like Bilbo, I ate and drank prodigiously afterward, and treated myself to a short nap. It was my fourth trip to the Morning Star and back, so I suppose you could say I’m making a hobbit of it.

Hammer time?

June 2, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

Thor is teasing us again, twirling his hammer like a drum major’s baton.

Will Mjölnir finally deliver the goods today? The Monday Geezer Ride is scheduled for 10:30, but I’d gladly trade 20 miles of asphalt for .20 inch of rain. What the hell, I got a nice 20-miler in yesterday on my No. 2 Steelman Eurocross, jumping from road to trail and back again as the spirit moved.

If it does rain, it would be a perfect opportunity for me to revise that bike’s cockpit. I’ve never really liked the chunky aftermarket Flight Deck STI levers, and the old Deda bar has more drop and reach than I prefer in my Golden Years.

Happily, I have a new Soma Hwy One bar awaiting its callup and the original STI levers from my No. 1 Eurocross, long ago transformed to standard brake levers and indexed bar-end shifters.

I’d go to indexed bar-cons on No. 2, too, but I’m fresh out of the eight-speed versions — nine I got (from the now-dismantled Voodoo Nakisi), and seven (still on the Steelman time-trial bike,. But not eight.

While I’m at it maybe I could replace No. 2’s old Shimano 600 rear derailleur with a “new” 105 or a “slightly used” Ultegra? I even have a never-used Altus from Rivendell. Said to be Grant the P’s favorite rear d., it will accommodate a 34T (!) cog. That’d be a nice change from the 28T cog on there now. My No. 1 Eurocross uses a derailleur-tab extender and a 32T cog for the steep bits.

If I were smart I’d swipe the seven-speed bar-cons from the TT bike, put them and my last set of Shimano 600 brake levers on No. 2, and call it good.

But you know the odds of me ever getting smart.

Monday, Monday. …

May 19, 2025May 19, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 19 Comments

Splish splash, I wasn’t takin’ no bath. …

It’s been one of those Mondays.

Monday is a watering day. But the forecast called for rain, so early this morning I went out to shut off the irrigation system.

“Huh,” I thought. “Doesn’t look like rain to me.” So I left it on.

Monday is also Geezer Ride Day. So, naturally about the time the watering was done, the clouds started creeping in and the wind began ramping up.

“Huh,” I thought. “Better bail on the ride.” Which I did.

Monday is not Grocery Day. That would be Sunday. But I blew off Sunday’s grocery shopping for a two-hour bike ride in the wind plus a meet-and-greet with the mayor and a few dozen of his supporters.

So suddenly Monday was Grocery Day. And off I toddled to the Sprouts at Tramway and Central, en route nearly getting croaked by a street racer who roared up behind me in the right lane, then shot into the left and around me, barely missing both me and the dude slightly ahead of me in the left lane.

He then swerved onto the shoulder to pass everyone else in sight at about 25 mph over the 50-mph limit, which encouraged another jackass to do likewise, scattering dust, gravel, and debris from previous eejit-triggered crashes across the traffic lanes.

It happened so fast, in so much traffic, that I couldn’t grab the iPhone for a shot of either license plate. And it wasn’t the first time I’d wished I had some other sort of shooter with a tad more authority, like a Browning Hi-Power or a Colt 1911. I mean, you can’t AirDrop one or both of the silly sonsabitches.

Anyway, I got to the grocery without being killed to death, and only then did I notice that I’d left my grocery list at home.

“Huh,” I thought. “Maybe I can do it off the old internal hard drive.”

And I did! Didn’t miss a single item, and even picked up a bonus packet of ground turkey for a chili con carne in case the weather turned ugly.

Which of course it did, since I’d decided earlier to water the lawn. Our widget makes it 0.08 inch of precip slashing down sideways out of the north, and I expect that statistic does not include the hail.

“Huh,” I thought. “I suppose a run is out.” Which it was.

So instead of running, since a few of you seemed to enjoy our little Tour of Memory Lane, I decided to spend a couple hours collecting and posting PDFs of a few of my Adventure Cyclist reviews.

Naturally, I couldn’t find the one about the Rivendell Sam Hillborne, the bike I was riding in yesterday’s wind-fest (13 mph with gusts to 23). If I recall correctly, that one didn’t make the print magazine, but was posted to the Adventure Cyclist blog, where it languishes behind the membership paywall.

“Huh,” I thought. “I bet I have my original copy on another Mac.” And I do.

But I’m not gonna post it. Not yet. I got chili to cook.

Breaking (away) bad

February 27, 2025February 27, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments

Stupid warm in these parts.

On Monday I watered turf, trees, and shrubs. On Tuesday, I enjoyed my first ride since making my Denver pilgrimage, in shorts and short sleeves.

And on Wednesday, it seemed everything was springing to life all at once. Juniper, maple, alder, you name it. Pollen out the wazoo and right up my snout.

“Screw it,” I thought, examining a sodden Kleenex for signs of brain tissue. “I’m taking drugs.”

And lemme tell you, that behind-the-counter Non-Drowsy Claritin-D 12-Hour with the pseudoephedrine frosting will kick the tires, light the fires, and set your eyes out on wires.

During Wednesday’s Geezer Ride, after I spun past a few guys on a short hill, one asked, “Why aren’t you even breathing hard?”

“I’m on drugs,” I replied. I felt like Ol’ Whatsisface ’fessin’ up to Oprah, only without all that annoying money and fame.

Maybe it was spending an afternoon with my old college cuates, but I was reminded of a “Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers” cartoon by Gilbert Shelton.

Freewheelin’ Franklin wants to borrow Phineas’s car to go buy a couple pounds of weed, but he’s sold it and bought a bicycle. So Phineas offers to pedal him out to Country Cowfreak’s place to make the buy.

On the way home they decide to take an illegal shortcut via the freeway, and the law takes an interest. No problem. Says Franklin: “First, I’ll snort a whole buncha cocaine … now,. you steer while I pedal.”

For the punchline, you can read the whole strip here.

Not-so-little fluffy clouds

January 3, 2025January 3, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments

These are not the clouds The Orb was thinking about in 1990.

Clouds we got, sometimes. Rain, snow? Not so much.

The mornings are chilly in these early days of the Year of Our Lard 2025, but once the sun finally creeps over the Sandias, shortly before 9, things warm up considerably. The weather wizards predict a high of 60° today.

Yes, I said 60°. Six-oh degrees Fahrenheit. In January.

Miss Mia would like to invite the birds to dinner.

Good for the healthful outdoor exercise, for those of us who take it. Unless we’re talking skiing. Also, not so much for the plants and wildlife and drinking water come summer. See John Fleck for more.

In the meantime, we need not bundle up like the Michelin Man for running and riding so far this winter. It’s been so unseasonably warm that my brother geezers, who ordinarily are traveling to ski or working out in the gym, have called a ride for today.

In the early afternoon, of course. No need to wear the hair shirt. We are not children, with their barely tested HVAC systems fresh from the factory.

Meanwhile, Miss Mia Sopaipilla gets to bird-watch at the patio door, where I scatter a little seed for the house finches and dark-eyed juncos who don’t feel like battling the bigger birds at our feeders.

There’s a little bit of Sylvester and Tweety Bird going on there in her little mind. Bad ol’ puddy tat. …

In other news, the cuckoos in the House of Reprehensibles nearly give their Squeaker the bird. Says NYT’s Carl Hulse: “House Republicans certainly relish their internal drama.” Dinner theater for the insane.