And so it begins

September 16, 2015September 19, 2015 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments

Run away. Even if somebody else is buying.

LAS VEGAS, Nevada (MDM) — Should you ever find yourself forced to choose between eating at the Public House or doing a full-gainer freegan dive into a Dumpster behind the Luxor, I recommend going for the garbage.

The Bicycle Retailer crew had a prix fixe deal going on — at the Public House, not the Dumpster — and you’d think that would have greased the culinary wheels of progress somewhat, but no.

Getting “served” required more than two hours, during which time several of my colleagues’ beverage orders went walkabout, and as for what finally arrived at the table, I’m going to go out on a limb here and call it “food,” if only because it came on a plate.

This Starbucks has been the cornerstone of my mornings at the show ever since it moved from the Sands to Mandalay Bay.

The racket was abominable, and holding a conversation was impossible, which is kind of a pisser when you have two-plus hours to kill waiting for the grub. So we all shouted at those closest to us — mostly “What?” — and as a consequence this morning I feel like I’ve been gargling with broken glass.

Hey, there could have been anything in whatever that was on my plate. The foundation of a first-rate weight-loss program, is dinner at the Public House.

But, hey, First World Problems, am I right? It’s a brand-new day, I’ve had a couple $5 cups of coffee, and I didn’t have to wait two hours for them, either. Off to the show.

Next: Day one of Interbike.

Putting on the Dog

September 15, 2015 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

For today at least, Sin City is not a scorching hellhole.

LAS VEGAS, Nevada (MDM) — Early rising makes me disagreeable, even more so than usual. So rather than make my usual pilgrimage to Late for the Train, I fled Flagstaff for Vegas, where one more bad attitude is the equivalent of a mouse fart at a sewage treatment plant.

Oddly, my arrival was completely incident-free. I checked in at the Luxor, picked up my show badge, and settled into my spacious Cycling Journalist’s Suite at the Luxor, awaiting the first of what I hope will be many meals at someone else’s expense.

The kickoff is always dinner with the Bicycle Retailer and Industry News mob. Then Adventure Cyclist takes a pounding for the duration.

That's Smirnoff, but not of the Yakov variety. — That’s Smirnoff, but not of the Yakov variety.

Throwing a few meaty bones to the old Dog is a small price to pay to keep me out of the office, and indeed across state lines. More than one of them, too, BRAIN being a California concern while Adventure Cyclist is based up Montana way.

On the way over to score my badge I noticed that someone had already had his dinner. Well, like they say, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Specifically, in and around the toilet at the Luxor.

Next: It’s showtime!

Through a windshield, darkly

September 15, 2015September 15, 2015 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

It's a long and lonely road when the wind is up in your grill like you owe it money. — It’s a long and lonely road when the wind is up in your grill like you owe it money.

FLAGSTAFF, Ariz. (MDM) — It seems as though I always see at least one tourist while motoring to and from Interbike.

This poor sod was fighting a wicked head wind that took my miles per gallon down from Subaru Forester to GMC Yukon range. He had just struggled out of the rest area east of Flagstaff, and I didn’t see him until it was almost too late to snap a “quick” pic (goddamn the iPhone and its secret-password bullshit anyway).

It probably didn’t help that I was listening to a collection of old “National Lampoon Radio Hour” classics and giggling like a stoner. Some of the bits hold up mighty well, like “Stand Up,” “Light Your Faith” and “Frank Rizzo and the Philadelphia Police League for Retarded Children.” Yeah, I know, not exactly politically correct but funnier than shit.

Dinner at the Beaver Street Brewery & Whistle Stop Cafe was decent, but not spectacular. The clientele seemed decidedly geezerish, so it would appear that my Hip-O-Meter© is on the fritz as usual. God only knows where the cool kidz chill in this burg, and I ain’t askin’ Him, ’cause I’m in a hurry to get to Interbike and look at some toys.

Meanwhile, keeping watch over Elly Mae’s critters has apparently ruined me for sleeping in. I was up long before sunrise and they don’t even break out the java in this dump until 6:30.

Next stop: Sin City.

The Big Yellow Ball has company in the sky today. A little rain would definitely lubricate the final push through the desert.

Sin City, here we come

September 14, 2015 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments

Dire woof

September 12, 2015 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments

I dreamed the other night that I was racing cyclo-cross, and doing pretty well at it, too, which was how I could tell it was a dream.

Sleep has been in short supply lately, with Herself off visiting friends in England. The menagerie is used to her schedule, not mine, and if you can sleep through reveille as sounded by Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment), I regret to inform you that you died during the night.

Thus, instead of dozing until 6 a.m. I’ve been up and at ’em around 4:30, not least because Mister Boo has been suffering the usual separation anxiety, which manifests itself in peeing in the house and bouts of diarrhea alternating with constipation.

Also, and too, sniveling. Nobody snivels like The Boo. He wants that lady who gives him things, and I’m sure he suspects that I have finally driven her away for good, perhaps to some other, younger Chin with two good eyes and no incontinence issues.

Once everyone’s gotten fed and watered, I’ve been logging in at Live Update Guy with about half the voices in my head still clearing their respective throats. This annoys my colleague Charles Pelkey, who like me enjoys a quiet hour to himself in the morning and has come to expect me and my diagnoses to arrive 7-ish.

After a few hours of Vuelta bloggery I’ve lost interest in other blood sports, like politics, though it’s impossible not to notice that Hillary seems hellbent on topping Fritz Mondale, Michael Dukakis, Al Gore and John Kerry in the Worst Democratic Candidate for President In My Lifetime Sweepstakes. I’ve rarely seen a coronation go so horribly sideways, and I’ve watched all five seasons of “Game of Thrones.”

Speaking of the White Walkers, Interbike starts next week, which probably explains why I woke up no fewer than three times last night, the final time with the Son House version of “John the Revelator” playing in my head, which, surprisingly, remained attached to my neck.

I should be in tip-top shape by the time I hit the show floor in King’s Landing with the Adventure Cyclist mob. Hey, those aren’t bags under my eyes, pal. Those are panniers.