Posts Tagged ‘Maryland’

Welcome to the working week

June 12, 2017

I see my birth state, Maryland, is joining with the District of Columbia in suing Don Clementino for making money off a presidency he considers an impediment to his golf game.

The lawsuit, a signed copy of which [was] provided to The Washington Post on Sunday night, alleges “unprecedented constitutional violations” by Trump.

Nice to see the old home crowd standing tall while the Congress scurries about, trying to give the banana to our Republic.

Deep doodoo

January 24, 2016
Nope, no snow up there.

Nope, no snow up there.

Thirty-six inches: That’s the final tally from Maryland, where the digging out has commenced.

"It snowed how much? Where? Let's never go there."

“It snowed how much? Where? Let’s never go there.”

Adding insult to inundation, the gut rumble that started working its way through the kinfolk beginning with the brother-in-law has so far claimed 75 percent of the clan, with only Herself spared (so far).

Meanwhile, the mom-in-law’s flight back to Tennessee got croaked by the storm, so Herself the Elder is enjoying a little extra recovery time before clambering into an aluminum tube full of fresh viruses for the trip home.

This whole clusterfuck was intended to give her the chance to inspect a couple of properties with an eye toward relocating somewhere down the road.

I bet the trip made Albuquerque look like the Garden of Eden. The place has its warts like any other, but the snow rarely arrives three feet at a time and the only time anyone ever shits themselves is at the thought of living in Maryland.

"'Maryland,' you say? Sounds like Hell to me."

“‘Maryland,’ you say? Sounds like Hell to me.”

Chile, hold the snow

January 22, 2016
You can still find some snow around here, but nobody is duking it out at the grocery over the last can of Spaghetti-Os.

You can still find some snow around here, but nobody is duking it out at the grocery over the last can of Spaghetti-Os.

I bitch a fair amount (OK, so I bitch a lot, maybe even a whole shitload), but I’m having a hard time complaining about my lot in life today.

For starters, I am not in Maryland, where Herself is going toe to toe with Snowmageddon, various blood relatives and in-laws, and a vile case of gastroenteritis that has already felled 50 percent of her party.

The Four Corners Elite isn't your grandpappy's steel touring bike, nosirree. Now get off my lawn.

The Four Corners Elite isn’t your grandpappy’s steel touring bike, nosirree. Now get off my lawn.

No, I am right here in the Duke City, where today it was a balmy fiddy-sumpin’ and strictly blue skies as I rode the Marin Four Corners Elite around and about for a blissful 90 minutes, inspecting a bit of bike path with which I was unfamiliar.

The sonofabitch takes more inexplicable twists and turns than a Caribou Barbie speech, but the Domingo Baca eventually gets you there, “there” being the North Diversion Channel Trail, a major north-south backbone of the local trail network.

Once safely on the main stem I took my usual route back to El Rancho Pendejo, heading over I-25 and along Osuna to the John Roberts Dam, where Walter White caught his getaway ride in the extractor’s red Toyota Previa, and then riding the dirt trails behind the dam to the Tramway bike path and home.

I arrived back at the ranch just in time to receive a generous compliment on one of my videos for Adventure Cyclist — just call me Quentin Ferrentino — and now I’m cooking up a green chile stew by way of refreshment and celebration.

Tomorrow looks even better. And I won’t even have to cook the stew when I get home.

 

Flying Dog, or from fire to flood

July 2, 2012

Took a break from Le Tour today, mostly, though I did lend a hand to Charles “Live Update Guy” Pelkey over at Red Kite Prayer as he followed the stage for fun and profit. You already know what happened: Turns out Cav’ don’ need no steenkeeng choo-choo to win stages.

But first I had to shuttle Herself to the Greater Bibleburg Interdimensional Airport once again. This time she’s trading fire for flood, jetting to Maryland to visit family … kinfolks who only just yesterday got their power back on. So, yeah. Good times, is what. She’ll be sampling some Flying Dog ale straight from the source — who knew the outfit was based in Frederick, Md.? — and will report back to us.

Here’s hoping she won’t need an Igloo and a sack of cubes to keep it cold. I bet they’re running short of that sort of thing in my home state.