Tag: monsoons

Marco! Polo!

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments
The monsoon was late to the party, but man, is it ever dancing up a storm now.

“Check this strange beverage that falls out from the sky.” — Tom Waits, “Til the Money Runs Out.”

Fenders and a rain jacket will not do the trick today. Maybe a wetsuit and flippers.

As of 6 a.m. Duck! City time our weather widget had recorded 0.43 inch of rain since midnight, 0.66 inch in the past 48 hours, and an astounding 3.78 inches for the month.

And it ain’t over yet. We have a flood watch that extends through late tonight for all of northern and central New Mexico.

Fine sleeping weather. I’d hop right back in the sack if I didn’t have two cups of strong black coffee in me. I’d just lie there with my eyes out on stalks, buzzing like an electric blanket with a short in it. Better maybe to chase the java with a steaming bowl of oatmeal and a tall mug of Irish tea with honey.

Herself has fishtailed off to work and I hope she hasn’t had to use her Honda’s air bags as flotation devices. I did insist that she take a second pair of shoes in case she had to hopscotch through a few puddles on her way into the Sanctum Sanctorum.

If I can squeeze in a short run in my mud shoes I’ll do it. But at the moment the only Miles I’m logging is of the Davis variety. As in “Kind of Blue.”

Aqua, man

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 26 Comments
Glass don’t be even half full, yo.

There seems to be a theme to the news this morning.

A drought-stricken Colorado river is drying up.

The water in Cañon City and northern El Paso County tastes foul.

And the future of the Colorado River? Well … we’re probably gonna have to wear shades, but it ain’t exactly looking bright.

No wonder the bears are coming down from the mountain to kick ass.

“All y’all are fuckin’ this shit up,” says Yogi.

“We’d eat you, if we thought it would help, but you don’t even taste good anymore,” adds Boo Boo. “Like cheap industrial lager and soda pop.”

“And B.O.,” says Yogi. “You using any of this water to take showers, or are you just soaking the lawn and washing the Suburban?”

Here in the Land of Entrapment the monsoon has been more of a non-soon, and when asked when we might expect some relief the answer is “Not soon.”

The administration’s drought map shows that 3% of New Mexico is in “severe drought,” namely Albuquerque, Santa Fe and parts of the northeastern corner of the state. About one-third of the state, predominantly in northern New Mexico, is suffering from “extreme drought,” the map shows. 

The outlook notes that conditions are unlikely to improve over the next two weeks, with all but the northern and western edges of New Mexico facing 100% probabilities of above-average temperatures. 

Meanwhile, my old stomping grounds around Española remain on fire.

I’d love to claim the moral high ground here. But I’m down here in the sandbox with the rest of the dummies. Part of the problem.

We have a lawn. Smaller than the one we got when we bought the house, at the northern edge of the Chihuahuan Desert. But still.

I drink two cups of coffee and one tall mug of tea every morning, plus a bottle or two of water on my bike rides, and more after I get home. There’s that daily shower too. Sometimes it’s jailhouse style, but occasionally I go full Hollywood.

I let God wash the car, when She’s of a mind to. Lately She’s not in the mood. Keeps sending us bears.

Monsoon Weekend

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 13 Comments

The Paseo del Bosque was lush and green, even humid.

That’d be a good name for a band, hey? “Monsoon Weekend.” What kind of music, do you think? Blues? Shoegaze? Emo?

We’ve had a bit of a tuneup for what is supposed to be a dampish Saturday and Sunday, so when I rolled down to the bosque yesterday for the first time in quite a while I was aboard the Soma Saga disc, which still wears its fenders.

Good call. I had to surf a few puddles. And the extra weight of themoplastic mudguards, rear rack, and dynamo hub made it good training for … for … for what, exactly? I have no idea. I am neither racing nor touring. Just riding.

Taking a break in the Elena Gallegos Open Space

It was a nice change from my usual loops through the foothills, though. It’s easy to build a 20-mile circuit with 1,500 to 2,000 feet of vertical out here, but you know what they say about familiarity and contempt.

To disrupt the monotony I’ve been switching bikes — Soma Saga disc, Saga canti, New Albion Privateer, Nobilette, Co-Motion Divide Rohloff, even the Bianchi Zurigo Disc, the only alloy-and-carbon steed in the stable — but sometimes an old cowboy needs a new trail.

Speaking of which, I was doing a casual road ride with a couple other guys today. For no particular reason I was on a Steelman Eurocross, and it goes without saying that pretty much whenever a dirty alternative to asphalt presented itself I was on it like a dog on a bone.

I never jumped off and ran, though. That would’ve been rude.

Desert crapshoot

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments

We’re a little light on shade out here in the foothills.

“It’s been a pretty sad monsoon season across New Mexico,” says weather wizard Daniel Porter over to the Albuquerque Journal.

Truer words, etc. Water use has risen in one of the driest summers in a decade. And the phrase “hot as balls” gets used almost daily at El Rancho Pendejo, because somebody around here has a predilection for coarse language.

A sudden deluge has a go at pounding down the dust.

I wore a big-ass Carhartt boonie hat and plenty of sunscreen for my five-mile hike yesterday, well above the haze drifting along the Rio Grande. I’ll pay attention to an air-quality alert when I can’t see my shoes through the smoke and my shorts are on fire.

Still, it was as hot as balls out there. I forgot a handkerchief and had to lift my lid periodically to drag a paw across my soggy noggin.

Come evening the universe decided we deserved a break. Out of nowhere it suddenly rained good and hard, if only for a short while, and we threw open the windows and doors to let the cool breeze blast through the joint.

Nothing is likely to cool the fevered lowbrows at the GOP ‘s Nuremberg rally, alas. Short of putting the lot of ’em in the deep freeze for a few dozen campaign cycles, that is. Don’t look for links. They’re all missing. Badaboom, badabing.

Fender amped

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 44 Comments

It was cloudy around the Crest, but the real action was behind me down below, as I found out when I headed for the barn.

The monsoons have draped themselves over us like a soggy cotton shirt.

It would be nice if the Universe would rearrange its watering schedule. A little bit here and a little bit there instead of all at once, like emptying a thundermug out of a second-story window onto a warbling drunkard.

But nobody in his right mind snivels about rain in the high desert. Not when rivers are drier than a popcorn fart and even the cacti are panting.

I’ve switched bikes — from the Soma Saga (canti) to the Soma Saga (disc) — because the latter still has fenders. I pulled the mudguards and racks off the rim-brake model to make it more of a daily driver than a touring machine.

But the daily driving is different now, so, yeah. I got rained on today. Fenders are your friend.