Radio Free Dogpatch

Patrick O'Grady used to wheelsuck the bike magazines to spring break in Arizona or California. Then the biz wised up and he had to stick his own snoot into the breeze. Until last year, when like many of us, he enjoyed all the travel of a rigid aluminum fork. And now, in Year Two of the Plague, he's stuck — because he hasn't been stuck.

When Texas sank back into the Ice Age, Patrick O'Grady was reminded of the good old days on a wind-scoured rockpile outside Weirdcliffe, Colorado, where the power shut off whenever it was most inconvenient, the candle lanterns and Coleman two-burner were close at hand, and a Lopi fireplace insert and a tall woodpile kept the toilets from exploding like a bottle of beer left overlong in the freezer.

Trucks with beds and friends with couches saw Patrick O'Grady through his rambling, gambling years, as he rolled the dice with one newspaper after another. He eventually came up winners by leaving the business altogether. Marrying well didn't hurt, either. The citizens of "Nomadland" have traveled a rougher road.  And they're still on it. This stray dog was struck by Jessica Bruder's book, and he can't wait to see Chloé Zhao's film.

There's something about February that's guaranteed to set a Mad Dog to howling. This time it's Impeachy the Clown as the opening act for our local bozos and their buses. Did everyone forget to lock their wigs before their moment of simulated exhilaration, or what?

Lockup got you down? Fortress of Solitude starting to smell like feet, fast food, and farts? Well, Clark, turn off that Zoom cam, take off the glasses, and see if you can still clear your top tube in a single bound.

Being on lockdown is like watching a bad movie. Sure, it sucks, but if you bail early, you might miss something. Or catch something. Why not just lean back, put your feet up, and enjoy (hating) the show? The credits will roll soon enough. And we know who's not getting a best-director Oscar for this hot mess. Say, is it just me, or does this soda taste like bleach?

Patience, like yeast, beans, and toilet paper, is just one more thing that people are running short of as the lockdown drags on. Patrick O'Grady tapped his supply to get through eight weeks with a broken ankle, but thinks he has a little bit left over to deal with The Bug.

It's tough to take baby steps with 66-year-old feet. Especially when one of ’em doesn't work all that well. But jolly old Doc O'Grady feels it's prudent to hobble out to check society's temperature now and then, especially when cabin fever is starting to feel as deadly as any other bug.

Staying at home, social distancing — these practices aren't jailin', but they're not exactly living' large, either. Sure, your cell is a little bigger, the guards a little less present, the food better. It's just that you'd rather be on the streets. But listen to an old con — let that time do itself.

Anyone who says "three's a crowd" didn't see the antisocially undistant hordes infesting some Duke City's trailheads on Sunday, a day before New Mexico's governor went on TV to holler, "Don't make me stop this state and come back there!" As a consequence we must endure Potrick calling various kettles black.

Working from home isn't for everyone. But weirdos like Patrick O'Grady wouldn't be remotely employable if they couldn't be employed remotely. Sure, he takes a lot of really loud meetings with the voices in his head. But they never complain to HR, so it's all good.

The Plague is upon us, we're quaking under the comforter, and someone is bringing us a plastic bowl of industrial soup and some dried-up old white crackers. Say, who is that wearing Mom's apron, anyway?

Nursing a broken ankle and crazed on antihistamines, Patrick O'Grady tries to make sense of Super Tuesday a day late and a peso short, and as usual, fails utterly. Lo siento mucho.

Patrick O'Grady has a bad habit of rolling ... ankles. He gave up rolling the other stuff ages ago. Which is too bad, really, because if he'd been rolling a blunt last Friday morning he wouldn't have been rolling an ankle during a trail run. And some other poor sap would have gotten this low-tech pair of crutches, and this podcast wouldn't be two days late and more than a dollar short. Just say no, kids.

You got your AM, and over here, you also got your FM. And over there, you got your fat boys wanting to take it away from you. Longtime listener-member Patrick O'Grady deejays a brief, one-man pledge drive for NPR.

A discussion at maddogmedia.com about distraction-packed land yachts causes Patrick O'Grady to recall (and resurrect) a 2014 Bicycle Retailer and Industry News column about the auto industry's drive to make cars smarter than their drivers.

Republicans want a king. Democrats want a messiah. And Patrick O'Grady just wants to get through his 30th podcast without being struck by lightning (or Lee Trevino).

Riding trails when they're muddy, like encountering an unguided SUV drifting into the bike lane, is gonna leave a mark. Just ask Patrick O'Grady, who will tell you all about it even if you don't ask.

"Comparisons are odorous," as Dogberry declares in "Much Ado About Nothing." Small wonder, then, that a Mad Dog is stinking up the Innertubes with his comparisons of Il Douche's impeachment trial to a Christmas gone wrong, school "pep" assemblies, and the nuance- and nutrition-free nothingburgers pitched at us by Mickey D and Mickey M.

For a cyclist, fixing a flat is part of the price of admission to the game. And a garrulous potato-eater like Patrick O'Grady occasionally finds a tale in the travail. Or a podcast. ...