Ski Baja Arizona!

Just a quick post to share this picture of last Sunday's night's snow clinging to one of the many wild-growing Engelmann's prickly pears (Opuntia engelmannii Salm-Dyck) in our yard. There ended up being about an inch of it when it was all said and done.

Today couldn't have been more different - clear and bordering on warm - and this was despite the fact that snow was falling in the Sky Islands and Chihuahuan high desert east of the Old Pueblo as recently as this morning. Southeast Arizona is, if nothing else, a land of contrasts in both space and time.

One dark night

Yesterday, BeanSS and I said goodbye to someone we hadn't even known, an anonymous dog we posthumously named "Bully". We came upon Bully laying on his side in the middle of Ironwood Hill Road at about 9pm. He'd just been hit by a car. He was alive, but was paralyzed from his midsection back. Other evidence suggested he also had some serious internal injuries.

We figured him as a long-term stray: no collar, a head covered in fighting scars, cactus thorns in his muzzle, and a somewhat thin build. There was only one humane thing we could think to do. With the help of two kind strangers, we loaded Bully gently into our pickup, took him to the veterinary ER, and surrendered him. Given the extent of his injuries and the fact that he wasn't microchipped, I can only assume that his pain came to an end soon thereafter.

I had to fill out some "Good Samaritan" paperwork. The first line was for the date, and as I wrote "January 11, 2007", I remembered that it had been six months, to the day, since we lost our dear sweet Barnaby to a spinal injury. He too had visited the very same ER we were now in. Up to that moment, I hadn't given the commemoration of Barnaby's loss a whole lot of thought. I usually try to focus on remembering the utter brilliance of his too-short life rather than to dwell on the darkness that accompanied his last few days.

I suspect Bully had been a stray for some time, and being hit by a car seems to be the cruel fate of many street dogs. Sure, he was as scary-looking a pit bull terrier as you're going to find and perhaps he was a neighborhood menace, but I firmly believe that he, like every other dog, deserved something better in this world.

As an aside, and on the topic of what individuals deserve in life, words like "inhuman" and "heartless" cannot convey the contempt I feel for the person who first hit Bully and evidently didn't want to stick around and help. How did they know he wasn't a beloved family pet or a guide dog or something? And what does it matter that he wasn't? He was still a living thing, deserving of some compassion. And my blood absolutely boils when I think of the soulless bastard that, even after having been waved off, hit Bully again and drove right off while the four of us were standing there, figuring out how best to help.

At any rate, I take some small comfort in knowing that the abandonment, discomfort, and fear that are likely to have defined much of Bully's life have now come to a merciful end. I also hope that while he stoically faced death, he was at least aware of the fact that someone finally cared about him.

Needless to say, our new boy Clayton got some extra attention when we finally got back home.

4, 3, 2, 1...0

After many attempts at guilt and shame, Veelz has officially pulled the plug on any sort of GnomeBrew or QQQQ representation in this year's 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo. In breaking his ribs, he managed to concoct the best excuse of any of us. Boys and girls, with our little revolving cast of co-ed Clydesdale onespeeders all the way out, the competition for DFL in the 4-person SS class is WFO.

Oh, and yeah, we're in for a coupla' days of rain here at FBAZHQ. Come on El Niño, let's see what you can do for us.

The Original Singlespeeder

I made mention of this photo in a past post, but I finally got around to photographing it this morning. This is my father on his Monark Silver King in the Hyde Park area of Chicago, Illinois, on April 13th, 1936. Notice the battery on the down tube powering the lamp on the front fender - he's rigged for night riding. That bike was ahead of its time in that it had an aluminum frame, though that feature was likely to have resulted in it being donated as scrap to assist the war effort once WWII began. My father also joined the war effort, as he was drafted into the U.S. Army and served in the Pacific Theater.

My dad is still kicking up in Glendale, and just last year, he was asking me how much a nice, simple bicycle would cost. Unfortunately, a broken hip intervened, putting the kibosh on his bike plans. Nevertheless, I'm pretty impressed that he was still itching to ride at 81 (and a half) years of age.