Hm. Looks like rain.
It’s a gloomy day here, and not just because we have an Ivy League theocracy legislating from the bench.
The monsoon has settled in like a jurist with a lifetime gig, and while the moisture is more than welcome, it is something of a wet blanket as regards the old training program.
Exactly what I’m training for remains a mystery. But still.
Yesterday, with the forests having reopened, I took a quick ride between rains to La Cueva Picnic Site. It’s a nice, steady, milelong climb that reminds me of the road to our old hillside hacienda outside Weirdcliffe, only the La Cueva road is paved, kinda, sorta.
It’s a great road for hill repeats, though the coarse chip-seal makes for some bumpy going, especially on the descent.
But yesterday was a one-and-done, because I wanted to get back to El Rancho Pendejo before Thor started limbering up his pitching arm. Fenders are nice, but they won’t keep the lightning off your Lycra.
Anyway, I’m stopped at a red light with the clouds circling round and this motorcycle dude thunders to a stop next to me. He looks like Dennis Hopper from “Easy Rider,” only without the hat, astraddle this low-slung hog.
I give him the old head-wave, and he does likewise, then says with a grin, “We ain’t got rained on yet.”
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