Tag: Waldo Canyon

Flying Dog, or from fire to flood

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments

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.

Fab and not so fab

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

Mr. Fab is back, taking the V in today’s Tour prologue ahead of a massively focused Bradley Wiggins, who nearly stole the show.

Not so fab is the word that scumbags have been burgling and/or trashing the homes and vehicles of evacuees from the Waldo Canyon fire.

Now, call me intolerant, but I find that intolerable. It’s not bad enough that Hell comes to town and rousts you out of your bed, sets you on the road with whatever you can stuff into a bag before it catches fire? Nope, we must have a little human deviltry to give it some edge.

I can’t think of an epithet vile enough for such people. Grave robbers seem positively civilized by comparison. At least their victims are beyond any need for TVs, toasters and whatnot.

It makes one yearn for the sort of rude Western justice often meted out in horse operas. Unfortunately, the fire has left us short of trees for hangings.

This blows

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

We’ve had a break in the heat but little respite from the winds, and the Waldo Canyon firefighters would really appreciate a bit of the latter.

Said incident commander Rich Harvey: “I’d like to start by saying, I hate wind. I wish it would go away.”

Also, rain, please, and plenty of it. Thanks in advance.

Meanwhile, no fear here at Chez Dog. Today Herself volunteered for an extra shift at the Humane Society of the Pikes Peak Region, which is boarding critters in the crisis. And I banged out a little word count on some area bicycle folks who’ve lost individual pursuits to the blaze. The worst of it around our little pied-à-terrier is smoke and ash.

A couple friends have lost their houses, and others are couch-surfing while they await word. One local official taken on a tour of the area hit hardest said entire blocks are gone.

So, yeah, what’s a little smoke and ash? I’ve seen worse at Interbike.

More as it happens.

Don’t freak out …

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments

… we’re OK, but a lot of folks aren’t. A burst of 65-mph winds drove the fire downhill into northwest Bibleburg and it set about gobbling up houses like a stoner does potato chips.

There’s a mandatory evacuation in place for basically everything north of I-25/Garden of the Gods, which is about 15 minutes by bike from Chez Dog. But it seems as though the winds have abated. I’m trying to confirm with Satan that he’s not foreclosing on that mortgage he holds on my soul, but I keep getting voice mail.

I’ll keep you posted while we try to figure out what we can’t live without, just in case.

Smoke gets in your eyes

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 3 Comments
The Squeaker of the House
Ordinarily Mr. Boo would be fetching that orange squeaky toy from room to room, demanding playtime (squeaka squeaka squeaka), but it’s too damned hot to play Squeaker of the House today.

Deadlines have been eating up my mornings and record temperatures and smoke have been smothering my afternoons. I had to close all the windows for much of yesterday as a waterless thunderstorm up around Peckerwoodland Park shoved the plume from the Waldo Canyon fire right through downtown Bibleburg.

This morning all the varmints are stretched out on various bits of floor, trying to stay cool. It’s already 82 inside the house, so this is pretty much a lost cause.

Buddy (a.k.a. Mr. Boo) is not amused. Of our three critters he is the one most affected by heat. Turkish just flattens out until he looks like a big white throw rug with blue eyes, turning himself into a radiator. Miss Mia Sopaipilla simply naps more. But Mr. Boo insists on conducting business as usual and it always ends badly.

For example, this morning he was eager for a walk. And for about 30 seconds he even enjoyed it. After that it was just like walking a dog, only in slow motion. I’m going to buy a skateboard and henceforth shall tow him behind me like a hairy, bug-eyed little trailer.