BIBLEBURG, Colo. (MDM) — I have a wealth of bad habits, and one of them is taking pix while I drive. It’s probably at least as wrong-headed as texting, but nobody has outlawed it yet (as far as I know), so I keep on doing it out of mileage-induced boredom. And thus we have this small pile from my just-completed 2,138-mile round trip from Bibleburg to Sin City and back via Albuquerque. I redeemed myself somewhat by getting out of the car to snap the shot of the linear park. What the hell, The Boo had to pee.
FLAGSTAFF, Ariz. (MDM) — Another Tour de Interbike is nearly in the books. The penultimate stage is today (Flagstaff to Albuquerque) with the finale tomorrow (Albuquerque to Colorado Springs).
It was the usual nutty cluster of fuck on the show floor, and thus my best-laid plans for bloggery gang aft agley. My cell at the Luxor was as far away from the action at Mandalay Bay as one could be and still be in Las Vegas, so my dogs were barking so loudly by the time I got “home” that I just tumbled into bed. Mornings were spent over at LiveUpdateGuy.com helping Sir Charles wrangle the Vuelta.
I did another round of that this morning from my sunny suite at the Hampton Inn in Flag’ — a mighty improvement from the Luxor it was, too — and now I’m fixin’ to head east at high speed for Duke City. Mister Boo is not the only critter in the house with a bed now, thanks to Herself. ‘Oorah, etc., et al., and so on and so forth.
Tomorrow I’ll be taking that left turn at Albuquerque that Bugs was always missing. I wonder what the cats have in store for me? Best not to think about it, the way Bugs never worried much about Elmer.
ALBUQUERQUE, N.M. (MDM) — It is done. Money has changed hands, and Quicken Loans has graciously allowed us to add a third property to our collection.
The Detroit-based outfit is said to be the third biggest mortgage lender in the country. How they got there by granting 30-year fixed-rate home loans to 60-year-old freelancers remains a mystery.
Yet grant it they have, and we’re good to go pending bankruptcy or death, whichever comes first. In the meantime, they let us live in the place for a small monthly consideration. We get to pay the taxes, handle the upkeep, and whatnot, too. It’s a lot like house-sitting, only more expensive.
But do I get to live there right now? I do not. What I get to do is drive at high speed to Las Vegas for Interbike. Torrential rains are forecast along the route. Good times. Do Subaru Foresters float like VW Beetles? We’re about to find out. Stay tuned.
ALBUQUERQUE, N.M. (MDM) — It was about 9:30, and I wanted to hit the Whole Paycheck for a late dinner before it closed for the night, but after the long drive from Bibleburg Mister Boo was having some difficulty locating his inner turd in the largely greenery-free zone surrounding our hotel.
We’re here to close on Chez Dog South, a process that has been … interesting. Especially if you’re trying to do it from a distance, with Herself on a junket to Maryland, while holding down four part-time jobs. The deal is to be done this afternoon, but I will believe when I’m standing in the title company’s office with a key in one hand and my pants around my ankles.
Speaking of incoming and outgoing, I finally located a small patch of grass and steered The Boo toward it.
“Go ahead, man,” I told him. “It’s a mortgage company’s lawn. Knock yourself out.”
One of the downsides of bidding adieu to scenic theocratic Bibleburg is that I won’t be able to enjoy the new bits of bikey infrastructure the city has been laying down.
I managed to slip out for a short ride today and found that the stretch of Templeton Gap Trail that takes cyclists from the Pikes Peak Greenway to Palmer Park has a new layer of concrete (it used to be beat-to-shit asphalt and dirt).
Also, Templeton Gap Road has a fresh coating of shiny blacktop and a nifty new bike lane. It has yet to be stenciled as such, but hey, it’s a holiday weekend, right?
Well, for some people, anyway. What with the Vuelta a España and live blogging thereof, the pending move to Duke City, guests in and out of The House Back East™, visiting newsie pals, goggle-eyed dogs requiring doctoring, chats with roofers, landscapers, gutter guys, real-estate types, bankers and mortgage-loan officers, Herself in the first month of a new job six hours to the south, and rain rain rain every god damn day, downtime has been a rare bird around these parts, buckaroo.
That said, I have not been shot dead by the laws and left to lie in the street for hours. Nor am I beheaded by ISIS, invaded by Russians, or infected with the Ebola virus.
I do have to go to Interbike, though. I’m not certain which horseman of the apocalypse that is.
Oye, vatos, primos y cuates, Charles Pelkey is cranking up the Live Update Guy machinery once again for the final grand tour of 2014, the Vuelta a España, and some loudmouth Irish-American will be hanging around the shop, making inappropriate comments, getting in the way, and generally lowering property values. Stop on by and say ¿Que pasa?
The Race of Many Silly Names (Not the Tour of Colorado) came to Bibleburg yesterday, and though I thought it was by far the best course of the three we’ve had, the spectator turnout was about what one might expect for a one-car funeral, a Hillary Clinton pole dance, or a goat fuck on the lawn at Focus on the Family.
I rode the townie down to Colorado College for a bit of casual observation with friends and neighbors and the “crowd” was mostly not. Checking out the final lap online via Tour Tracker it seemed that most of what few spectators there were had decided to congregate in Bibleburg’s fabled Drinkin’ & Fightin’ District, a three-block stretch of South Tejon that includes a string of grog shops, alehouses and taverns, one U.S. Olympic Committee headquarters, and a bunch of small shops selling shit nobody needs*, including the “local” newspaper, The Anschutz Gazette.
Ah, well. School is already back in session, it was a workday, and the homeless, while numerous, just aren’t that interested in cycling as entertainment; to them, it’s transportation.
And anyway, I had a good time watching the circus come to town, especially because I wasn’t one of the poor saps who had to clean up after the elephants. It made for a nice break from negotiating with lenders, renters, Realtors®, roofers, landscapers and inspectors.
Oh, happy day. Mister Boo loves himself an auto trip, and if it takes him anywhere near Herself, well, so much the better.
The vet has given the Boo the all clear, though the one-eyed little stinkbug still has some meds to finish up. I passed the doctoring off to Herself and got back to paying work between forays into the Realty Jungle.
It helps to remember to fetch a mouse and SD-card reader along on these little junkets, which of course I did not, and if I have to keep working a trackpad and uploading photos via telepathy for much longer I will require a trip to the vet myself.
The good news — well, besides the Boo’s eye injury being healed and his reunion with Herself — is that we have finally made an offer on a place after examining eleventy-seven of the sonsabitches and are awaiting further reports from the front. More as we learn it.
There should be a law against really funny people doing themselves in.
I’m talking the harshest possible punishment here: Bring them back to life and make them be funny some more.
That’ll teach ‘em.
One of the drawbacks to having eyes that bug out like VW headlights is that one gets cracked from time to time.
Mister Boo, who suffers from a lens luxation in the right eye, from time to time manages to exacerbate the problem by bumping into something. Author-poet Jim Harrison, who is likewise blind on one side, has mentioned having similar navigational issues.
Anyway, the poor little guy (Boo, not Jim) did it again on Wednesday, and his eye specialist has prescribed a fresh round of medications. So until next Wednesday at least he gets:
• One drop of dorzolamide in both eyes twice daily.
• One capsule of minocycline daily.
• A half tab of carprofen twice daily.
• One drop of ofloxacin in the right eye thrice daily.
• And one drop of NaCl solution in the right eye thrice daily.
Mind you, this is in addition to the walks (administered twice daily); meals (twice daily); and treats (as needed, which is to say every 15 minutes until he’s full, and then every 30 minutes thereafter). Plus, I anticipate that on his next visit to the eyeball doc the Boo will be prescribed a patch, a peg leg and a parrot. Then we’ll have to call him Cap’n Boo. Arrr.
There has to be some way to blame Obama for this.