I Hope They Have Their Cinco De Mayo Some Day

Today is Cinco de Mayo.  

One day, I hope Ukranians will have a similar holiday:  They are fighting off an invasion attempt, just as the Mexicans did--successfully-- 160 years ago. 

The funny thing about this day, and other Mexican holidays like Dia de Muertos, are more likely to be celebrated by Americans who see it as an excuse to party.

I plan to ride and, yes, eat Mexican food.  I'm told that what they serve  at Los Portales, around the corner from my apartment, is authentic.  I suspect it is:  I see Mexicans eating there.  All I know is that it's good, as I've eaten there, and ordered take-out from them, any number of times.

How I've Stayed Ahead Of Them

After my family moved to New Jersey, I started delivering The Asbury Park Press on my bicycle.  Every once in a while, I'd be chased by a dog.  But none ever caught me.  

Years later, I realized it had been a long time since I'd been been the object of a canine pursuit.  Even when I rode through the countrysides of France, Italy, Vermont, Pennsylvania, western New Jersey, upstate New York, California and Nevada--all places where various shepherds and terriers and such roam free--I didn't have to outrun anyone's pooch.  

"Well, that's because they've given up on you.  You're too fast."  That, from Greg, an old riding partner, is one of the best compliments I ever received, even if it was, shall we say, somewhat exaggerated.

Now I realize why I haven't been pursued:  

Now you know what is meant by "a dog's life":  one without a bicycle!

The Wall

The other day, Donald Trump met with Mexican President Jorge Pena Nieto.  When I really wanted to know what they talked about.  I mean, I'm not a violent person, but if I were in Senor Pena Nieto's zapatos, I'm not sure I could be as civil as he was to someone who so publicly and viciously insulted his country and people.

El Donaldo claims they talked about The Wall:  You know, the one that the erstwhile casino mogul wants to build along the border between the two countries, and make the country that supplies, directly or indirectly, his restaurant and domestic help (and, probably, a good part of the rest of his workforce) pay for it.  After all, those folks south of the border have gotten so rich from all the money the fellow who made his taco bowl sent home that they can easily afford to foot the bill for keeping the country where the man makes his money safe.  Right?

Caballero Jorge very politely, but in a very manly sort of way, denied that his country is going to pay for any such structure.  Donald, trying to out-do him in the machismo department, reiterated his promise that not only will the wall be built, but that "they are going to pay for the wall, 100%.  They don't know it yet."

OK, Donald, I won't let out the Big Secret.  But please tell me: How thick will that wall be?  And more important:  How high?

I ask because no one really knows just how much is necessary to keep those thundering herds of taco trucks from rumbling across the border.  But even if Your Wall could keep out those hordes of enchilada chefs yearning to make a living, it can't deter another group of intrepid souls:

Cycling Humor

I've been under the weather lately.  It's not the flu, even though I haven't had a flu shot in several years.  (The last time I got one, I got the flu anyway.)  Rather, it's a respiratory infection.  My lungs and airways are clearer than they were a week ago, but I've still been very tired.  What that's meant is that, beyond commuting and some errands, I   haven't been riding.

Needless to say, I'm not happy about it.  But, in researching something else entirely, I stumbled over this webpage: "Cycling Humor".


This particular post really made me laugh:

"A Concerned Cyclist"

Dear Abby,

I’ve never written to you before, but I really need your advice. I have suspected for some time now that my wife is cheating on me. I see the usual signals; the phone rings and when I answer, the caller hangs up. My wife has been going out with ‘the girls’ a lot lately, although when I ask for their names she says, “just some friends from work, you don’t know them.” I try to stay awake to see when she comes home, but I always fall asleep. I think deep down, I just didn’t want to know the truth.

Last night she went out again and I decided to really check on her.  Around midnight, I decided to hide in the garage behind my road and mountain bikes so I could get a good view of the street when she arrived home from her night out with ‘the girls’.  When she got out of the car, she was buttoning up her blouse, which was open. She took her panties out of her purse and slipped them on. It was at that very moment, crouching behind my bike, I noticed a slight crack in the downtube, two inches behind the headset. Is this something I can fix myself, or should I take it back to the bike shop?

– Concerned Cyclist


Now, if writing a letter like that isn't a sign of a bike geek, I don't know what is!