Manitou Springs got cleared out last night and early this morning, and the Air Force is weighing in with a couple of C-130s that can drop 3,000 gallons of fire retardant in less than five seconds, according to The Denver Post. Two more are inbound from Wyoming.
Down here in the flats it’s oddly quiet. Lots of folks are watching the fire the way a bird eyes a snake, taking cellphone pix and muttering to themselves.
We’ve gotten a few calls from friends and family who wonder if we’ve been forced out onto the open road with only a few simple possessions and the menagerie enjoying a Romney ride atop the Subaru.
Nope. Herself is still at large in Mouse Country, I’m stuck in an un-air-conditioned office wrangling word count and the critters are trying to find cool spots to stretch out. Good luck with that. It’s not exactly fur-coat weather, is what I’m saying.
Still, there are worse things. We know a few folks who’ve been chased out of their homes by this bloody fire, and a few of them are staying next door until things cool off a bit. They may be waiting a while — there’s nothing but sun, heat and wind in the forecast for the next 10 days. Y’all start doing your rain dances now, please. And thank you.
The Front Strange as observed from the saddle of a Voodoo Nakisi MonsterCrosser® in Palmer Park, just above the intersection of Union Boulevard and Austin Bluffs Parkway.
That meteorological puta, La Niña, is having her way with our winter here in Bibleburg.
Strictly speaking, it’s not actually winter — the solstice doesn’t arrive until the 22nd — but I mark the arrival of winter not by the calendar, but by when I start wearing long pants both indoors and out. Thus it’s winter here and has been for some time now.
We’ve had next to no snow and only a few wickedly cold days, just one of which forced me aboard the stationary trainer. Yesterday I went for a short trail ride in Palmer Park, and today I took a whack at Sondermann Park, which is a little closer and a lot less crowded on a sunny December day.
In both cases I was aboard my trusty Voodoo Nakisi MonsterCrosser®. But I spent more time in its saddle in Palmer Park than in Sondermann. That sonofabitch has some steep climbs, too steep for even the Nakisi’s triple-chainring setup.
I nearly came to grief on one gravelly stairway to Heaven after the rear wheel came unhitched in its dropouts and jammed against the left chainstay while I was in the lowest of the low gears, my nose practically touching the stem. That I did not go ass-backwards down the hill was pure luck.
Either that or Heaven is full and Hell is afraid I’ll take over.
• Late update: Meanwhile, if you require further proof that it is already winter, I made this Spanish vegetable soup the other day and we’re about to get our third meal out of it. There may be a fourth. Talk about your bang for the buck, even considering that all the ingredients are organic. …
I couldn’t stay long, and I didn’t see much. Frankly, it didn’t look like there was much going on for an event that supposedly attracted more than 200 riders. But it is a 13.5-mile course with a shitload of technical bits, and I suppose folks could get spread out a bit. I’ve certainly found myself spread out more than once while riding Palmer Park.
I took a couple of snaps of riders descending a nice rocky bit near Austin Bluffs Parkway and Union Boulevard, but decided to spare one weary-looking woman the paparazzo treatment after she dismounted to gingerly walk the descent, saw me and my camera, and moaned: “Oh, man, don’t take a picture of me walking my bike. That’s just cruel.”
I'da got off and run the sumbitch but I didn't want to stuff my water bottle into my armpit. Yeah, right.
As hard as it is to believe, we’ve nearly completed another lap around the sun. Didn’t we just do the whole New Year’s Eve thing?
Colleagues are writing up the usual best-of, top-10 and “a look back” pieces, but as a perpetual juvenile and occasional Zen student I remain caught up in the moment.
For example, work is particularly vexing lately for reasons that aren’t worth delving into. “At least you have work,” I remind myself, but it doesn’t help. I have something that pisses me off, is what.
Happily, the biggest upside of my gig — besides the monthly paychecks, that is — is its part-time nature. When I find myself composing a vitriolic NastyGram®, the cursor twitching over the “Send” button, I can put the iMac to sleep, grab a bike and go for a ride.
I’ve been riding the Voodoo Nakisi lately, because I plan to write a review for Adventure Cyclist magazine, but yesterday I thought I’d break out my custom Nobilette, which has been idle for a spell due to a rear-brake issue I didn’t feel like troubleshooting.
Problem solved with a little more daylight between pads and rim, I rolled off toward Palmer Park, my go-to spot for flushing out the headgear. Its 730 acres comprise more than 25 miles of trails, from tame to terrifying, and during a dry winter like this one it’s a great place for staying out of the wind and refuting entropy.
Palmer gets quite a bit of use — hikers, cyclists, joggers, dog-walkers and equestrians — and as a consequence many of its trails have deteriorated alongside Bibleburg’s crumbling finances. I had been sticking to the west side of the park because a main eastern trail had been more or less destroyed, but yesterday I thought I’d do a little recon, see what things looked like over there.
The initial idea was to try to ride some moderately technical, steep single-track, replete with switchbacks and water bars, but my legs exercised their veto power. So I rolled over to the playground at Maizeland and Academy and then looped back around to scope out that eastern trail, which parallels the paved road that winds through the park.
Imagine my surprise: Someone, either the parks department, the Guardians of Palmer Park or benefactors unknown had performed a serious feat of engineering on the worst section of trail, a short, steep ascent that takes you to a bend in the road from which several trails fan out. What had been a rocky, rutted mess had been smoothed out, with new water bars installed and the ruts filled in.
Lacking compaction by rain or snow, though, the soft dirt used for the trail’s new surface grabbed my 700×30 Maxxis tires like a troll reaching up from underneath a bridge, and off I came. Bugger. Pushed the bike to the top like a big sissy and took a picture while catching my breath.
Maybe I’ll go back over there today aboard the Voodoo, with its 700×45 tractor tires and 22-tooth granny. Teach that trail a lesson.
I could send it a NastyGram®, but some issues are better raised face to face.
No mud at today’s Belgian ’cross. Booooo, hissss. Klaas Vantornout treated the crowd to a really spectacular get-off at the start, though, and the race was run at just short of the speed of light, so my morning did not lack for human suffering.
You have to have stones to ride these rocks.
Sven Nys worked his ass off only to get punk’d as Kevin Pauwels jumped him and Zdenek Stybar going onto a flyover and then left both of them behind in the final sand pit.
More of the same on tap for tomorrow’s Superprestige, according to VeloNews‘ Brian Holcombe, who has crossed the water to chat with Stybar and catch a little racing action while he’s at it.
As for me, after logging a few billable hours, I hopped on the mountain bike for an hour of playtime in Palmer Park. Lord, do I suck. Worst. Mountain biker. Ever. Maybe if I swap the old Easton stem for something a little shorter and steeper?
Naw. I’ll still suck. I’ll just be sitting more upright while I stink up the trails.
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