Stand and deliver

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ Leave a comment
Nothing says Halloween like a plug-in plastic punkin.

Anybody else having trouble getting a boner (har de har har) for Halloween?

I mean, masked strangers in scary costumes pounding on your door at dark-thirty? They don’t save that shit for Oct. 31 anymore, yo. It’s been ages since anyone demanded my papers. Shit, these days I don’t even own a pipe.

Anyway, yesterday I finally started making my All Hallows’ Eve preparations. The weatherbeaten strings of lights that we leave up year round, as the late, great Jinx’s Place in Bibleburg did with its Christmas ornaments, have finally achieved critical bulb shortage. So I took them down and as we speak I’m cobbling together a minimalist arrangement that involves less pine sap (fingers) and ladder usage (lower back and knees).

It’s always a crapshoot here at the bottom of the cul-de-sac, trying to predict how heavy a lift Halloween is going to be. Some years we get throngs; others, twos and fews.

Tell you what, though. If it turns out we draw nothing but ICEholes this time around there will be a lot of candy left over. We won’t give the sonsabitches shit other than name, rank and serial number.

Long hard road

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 21 Comments
Actually, that’s not a road at all … it’s a long hard wash. Especially if you’re riding it uphill.

Holy hell — here we are, on the last Hump Day before Election Day, when we should get some idea about who’s going to get humped for the next two years, how, and by whom.

Doomscrolling is never a great idea, even in the best of times, which these are not. I do it anyway, of course, because once I was a journalist of sorts, kinda-sorta, and old habits — especially those of old scribes — die hard. This is particularly so when there’s a blog to feed.

Anyway.

In my wanderings around the nation’s main streets and back alleys I find a great deal of optimism about the midterms. Lots of celebration with time on the clock and yards between here and the goal line.

Keep hope alive, y’all. But let’s get to that end zone before we start dancing in it.

Consider this an open thread. Give us your hopes, dreams, and fears. But first — vote.

A mountain man

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 1 Comment
Leaving the light on.

I have something of a reputation as an obituary writer.

Whether it’s deserved or not, I have no idea. What I do know is that it’s a hard pull on rough ground, uphill and into the gale, especially when the dearly departed truly is — an old friend turned dust in the wind.

But I’ve never tried to write an obit while the subject was still around to read it.

That’s what my man Hal Walter is doing as we speak — writing “a life review” of his old comrade Clint Roberts, who has been ailing for some time now and has had quite enough of it. The fabled mountain athlete has one last effort in him, and it will be to hit that Door running.

Writes Hal:

Instead of an obituary, I embraced the notion of a Life Review for Clint, a short biography of sorts. He agreed to participate during his final days from his home in Oregon. It’s lengthy, and time is short, so I have decided to present it here in a series. At this writing I am unsure whether I will complete this before he is actually gone but at least he will be able to read some of it along with many people who have been inspired by him, and those who are yet to know him through this story.

Hal is posting Clint’s story at his Substack, Hardscrabble Times. Give it a read, and consider supporting his work, which includes an upcoming book collecting his play-by-play report on how he and son Harrison navigated the mysteries of Colorado Mountain College and what came after.

A bog less trotted

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 20 Comments
Sunscreen would seem to be optional this morning.

We had a storm sweep through last night, bitch-slapping leaves off the backyard maple while spraying a half-inch of water around and about.

No complaints here. San Juan County took a beating, though. People stranded on rooftops were getting choppered to shelters and here I sit in my office, warm, dry and full of breakfast, thinking I should’ve ridden yesterday because today looks like more of a running opportunity.

With another round of thunderstorms, hail, and strong winds in the forecast, riders tackling the Day of the Tread‘s Bosque Boneshaker are liable to be shivering in their skeleton costumes and getting their plastic gravel gobblers all gooey.

Caution: Dog Crossing. Cyclocross in Fort Fun, sometime in the Nineties.

There was a time when I relished that sort of outing in October, driving hundreds of miles and paying dozens of dollars to get my muddy arse handed to me, tidying up afterward pumping quarters into a car wash.

But that was when I was a man, instead of whatever it is that I am now. If I get caught out in this sort of weather I will deal with it, but I’m less inclined to seek it out just ’cause.

Instead I may trot another class of bog altogether. The revelations about PHP, A.I. skulduggery, and what some coneheads are dubbing Black October have me thinking I should relocate my old blog’s archives from their bus-station locker in the Twilight Zone to WordPress, which is — or at least should be — better equipped than Your Humble Narrator to deal with the fallout.

We’re not talking the Book of Kells, the Magna Carta, or the Code of Hammurabi here. But some of this prehistoric blather still packs a few yuks, if only for me, and I’d hate to see it sucked through the Black Mirror into the Phantom Zone because I built it using stone knives and bear skins.

And if it all goes kablooey anyway, taking my digital dogma with it? Well, shit happens, as Hammurabi has taught us. There’s always Old Reliable, the 4×8-inch Ampad Reporter’s Notebook. Scribble a “post” in ballpoint, tear out the page, and staple it to a power pole somewhere in the ’hood.

Just call me the Analog Dog: “Our Motto: ’Zine, not Herd.”

Your Friday Hall of Fame

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments
Jonathan Edwards performs a Joe Dulce classic live.

My old comrade and colleague Steve Frothingham pinged me over coffee this morning, double-checking another velo-bro’s contact info (the one and only Charles Pelkey, star of stage, screen, and TV).

Seems the U.S. Bicycling Hall of Fame is assembling a fresh conclave to vote on potential inductees and thought of tugging on the Live Update Guy’s coat.

Now, I happen to think that Charles would make an even better inductee than voter. I mean, the man has been there and done that, wearing more hats than the performers at the annual Country Music Association Awards.

Asking CP to vote on HoF candidates seems kinda like ringing up Les Claypool and asking, “Hey, you know anybody who rocks?”

But what the hell do I know? I guess some of us are just destined to roam that old back 40.