July 6, 2014
I think I’ve figured out how the
Limeys Yorkies have managed to turn out these insane crowds for the Tour.
Prime Minister David Cameron conspired with industry to simultaneously lay everybody off and evict them from their flats, then gave each of the poor sods a free pint and told them, “Right, you lot, now go stand over there and yell at the nice cycle fellows, and we’ll give you another.”
The smart money in today’s nine-climb quad-snapper was on Peter Sagan, but he was unwilling to chase down his pal Vincenzo Nibali in the finale, and thus we have Nibbles in The Big Shirt and his buddy Wolverine in the green, and also the white.
Charles Pelkey and I were at it again over to Live Update Guy, but I wasn’t able to chime in often, having other chores and not being much of a multitasker.
I did, however, contribute a couple bits of trivia: Mr. F.G. Superman, a.k.a. Bicycle Repairman, a.k.a. Michael Palin of Monty Python, is a native of Sheffield, where today’s stage concluded. Also, the comedy “The Full Monty” was about a clot of idle steelworkers turned stripper in that very same town.
Tomorrow brings a 155km stage from Cambridge to London that looks like one for the sprinters. And on Tuesday, the Tour finally gets round to visiting France for stage 4, a 163.5km leg from Le Touquet-Paris-Plage to Lille Métropole with a couple of category-4 climbs.
Wednesday is crunch day. Nine sectors of cobbles along the 155.5km road from Ypres to Arenberg-Porte du Hainaut will separate the sheep from the goats. Everybody must get stoned.
July 5, 2014
I was never a sprinter, for a variety of reasons, the foremost of which we saw today in stage 1 of the Tour de France.
Thundering into a gap that didn’t exist, Mark Cavendish lost his chance to win one in front of the home folks and don the yellow jersey to boot. He tangled with Simon Gerrans, both men went down (as did others), and it was just a helluva mess, a really bad way to end what otherwise had been a fine start to the Tour.
To his credit, Cav’ took the rap, saying via press release: “It was my fault. I’ll personally apologize to Simon Gerrans as soon as I get the chance. In reality, I tried to find a gap that wasn’t really there.” Gerrans, for his part, was circumspect, declining to assign blame as he limped off with his kit in tatters. And Marcel Kittel was grinning from ear to ear, because he finished with the rubber side down and took the first stage win and yellow jersey.
Charles Pelkey and I called the race as per usual over at Live Update Guy, and it was big fun until suddenly it wasn’t. It seemed most of the regulars were on hand, and we engaged in the usual digressions — doggerel, cat photos, Monty Python, literature, cartoons, rock ‘n’ roll, beggary, history, pix from the Man On the Scene (MOTS), medium-heavy libel, you name it.
We’ll be doing it again tomorrow. Y’all come.
July 2, 2014
OK, so it’s not exactly a Monty Python reunion, but Charles Pelkey and I are getting the band back together to provide live updates of the Tour de France starting Saturday.
Yes, that’s right, Live Update Guy rides again! There will be snark, limericks, cheap shots, haiku, bad manners, references to obscure skits from The Firesign Theatre and the aforementioned Pythons, ad hominem attacks that fall just millimeters short of actual libel, cameo appearances by The Fat Guy singing his hit single “It’s Over,” heavily moderated comments from our heavily medicated audience, and occasional bits about the actual bike race.
Counselor Pelkey will get the ball rolling at stupid-thirty every morning, and I’ll pop around 7-ish to get things wrong, make fart noises and otherwise contribute to lowering his intellectual property values.
If they allow you computer access in your particular state-run institution of license-plate manufacture and/or Edison-medicine application, surf on by and say howdy. How bad could it be?
June 29, 2014
Georgia Gould attacks a fast section of multipurpose path on the north side of Pulpit Rock.
During a break in my paying chores yesterday I rolled over to Pulpit Rock to watch a bit of the women’s cross-country race at the US Cup. Man, was that ever one thin crowd, and I ain’t talking body weight here. I have more voices in my own head, f’chrissakes.
The men’s race I watched via streaming video, and while there seemed to be a few more spectators for that contest, the crowd was still pretty sparse, about what one might expect for a Marilyn Manson concert in St. Peter’s Square or a meeting of the Louie Gohmert Fan Club.
Not being a big mountain-bike guy — I quit racing in the mid-1990s after a guy deliberately crashed me at Rage in the Sage, and haven’t covered a race since the final Cactus Cup in Arizona — I have no idea whether this is SOP for the discipline these days or some class of an aberration specific to Bibleburg, which has been hosting the Pikes Peak International Hill Climb all week long.
Any mountain bikers out there in the audience? Is this the way things are now? Or are we here in Bibleburg just “special,” as we are in so many other regrettable ways?
June 27, 2014
Pulpit Rock is one of the lesser-known venues for riding the old bikey bike in Bibleburg. That will change, starting tomorrow.
I almost forgot — we actually have us a spot of bicycle racing taking place in scenic metropolitan Bibleburg this weekend.
Round four of the US Cup Pro Series presented by the Sho-Air Cycling Group takes place Saturday and Sunday at Pulpit Rock Park, which is just a hop, skip and a jump from Chez Dog.
I popped round today to say howdy to my man Andy Bohlmann, who is lending a hand with the heavy lifting as the circus comes to town, and I’m going to strive mightily to spectate a bit between chores (yes, I have deadlines and Herself is road-tripping again, leaving me in charge of quarters).
If you’re in town, swing on by. And if you’re not, you can watch via streaming video.
June 26, 2014
Ride To Work Day is to the serious cyclist as St. Patrick’s Day or New Year’s Eve is to the serious drinker — amateur hour, a grim reminder that bars aren’t for everyone.
I generally pick an obscure route and an off-peak time for my cycling on this particular day, but I was both lazy and pressed for time yesterday, and used part of a heavily used bike path to get from point A to B and back again.
As I was on my way home from a pleasant outing in the hills I nearly centerpunched a noob riding on the wrong side of the path in a blind corner just past a clusterfuck of an intersection that’s already plenty dangerous for anyone who’s actually paying attention.
No harm, no foul, but still, damn. It’s nice to see new folks on bikes, but it sure would be nice if they saw us grizzled old veterans, too.
June 21, 2014
The Turk’ enjoyed some backyard time while I cleaned a bike in honor of the summer solstice.
Summertime, and the livin’ is easy. Just ask the Turk’, who enjoyed a little outside time in the Mad Dog Media Botanical Gardens, a.k.a. “Weedpatch,” as I washed a bike in honor of the solstice.
Shortly thereafter it began raining off and on, with thunder for flavor, and the feline outings, bicycle riding and Old North End Garage Sale took back seats to working and earning.
Speaking of which, I can see I’ve been going about the latter activities all wrong. Clarity is so 15 minutes ago. If a guy could only learn to deploy with a straight face semantically null phrases such as “further leverage,” “cultural and creative assets,” “place of choice,” “launching new ideas” and “preserving our rich cultural heritage,” why, People of Money would write us fat checks for doing absolutely nothing beyond talking authoritatively and incomprehensibly out of our asses.
Toward that end I’m pleased to announce the formation of the Caramillo Street Collective for Creative Obfuscation, whose sole purpose it shall be to talk shit for money. I know, that sounds an awful lot like what I already do, but trust me, this is a radical departure from business as usual at Chez Dog. It’s a means of further leveraging my cultural and creative assets from my place of choice to launch new ideas that preserve my rich cultural heritage.
Somebody owes me $20K now.
• Speaking of talking shit: Here’s Timothy Noah on the ethics of dog-crap disposal.
June 18, 2014
A Subaru Impreza that’s belching cigarette smoke from the driver’s window is hardly a “Partial Zero Emissions Vehicle,” which is marketing bullshit anyway. It’s either a zero-emissions vehicle or it isn’t.
PZEV sounds like the sort of stealth fart we used to call a “one-cheek sneak.” Elevate half the butt slightly above the plastic chair and let fly as the teacher pauses in mid-lecture to take a breath.
I found myself stuck behind this PZEV shit (that’s an audio pun, son!) while riding my Vespa over to the scooter shop for its annual maintenance and a minor repair. Interesting how the de rigueur carry for a lit cig’ these days is out the window. As much as the fuckers cost you’d think the addicts would want to keep all those expensive carcinogens inside the car where they can get full value out of each nicotine stick.
But what do I know? I shed that particular vice three decades ago, when a carton of Marlboros cost less than a Subaru.
Still, if ever there was a bad week to quit smoking, this was it. Smack in the shitter goes Iraq, with all the usual suspects slithering out from under their rocks to flicker their forked tongues for fun and profit — including Dickless Cheney and his carpetbagger kid, who’s so overfed and under-taught that she couldn’t even queer a Wyoming election properly. Some 4,500 Americans dead in her daddy’s imperial fantasies and yet the cyborg sonofabitch walks the earth unfettered.
Plus Herself has been road-tripping again, leaving me in charge of quarters. The Augean Stables is what that is. Bowls to fill, litter boxes to empty, Boos to walk twice daily — did you know you have to pick up the dog shit now?
Well, here, anyway. In DC they put it on the Sunday shows and on the op-ed page of The Wall Street Journal.
• Extra Credit Bonus Shit That Pisses Me Off: Eagle, another anonymous stop along the Interstate 70 Industrial Tourism Sacrifice Zone, is creating fun stuff for visitors to do. Bibleburg is angling for gilded turds in the old five-ringed toilet, hoping to display same for ham-and-eggers shuttling between Six Flags Over Bethlehem and the American Opinion Bookstore.
June 13, 2014
Jesus H. Christ, how does Sen. Babbleyap McCrankypants (R-Off My Lawn) keep getting on TV? You’d get a smarter interview from a plastic plant at a nursing home. Or a sack of hair outside a barbershop that caters to the feeble-minded. Or a bag of Chinese hammers at Walmart.
You get the idea.
This bellicose plastic sack of wet war dreams never met a meat grinder he didn’t want to stuff someone else’s kid into. You could scrape enough stupid off his dumb ass to make a six-pack of Louie Gohmerts with enough left over for two Scientologists, a Fox News anchor and the DMV of your choice.
And I would like nothing better than to see some deceased grunt’s mom give him a roundhouse dick-punch with a roll of Kennedy half-dollars in her fist, just plain pop him like the pimple he is. Arizona and the nation would be better served by a Magic 8-Ball full of old Pat Buchanan columns.