We've been walking a lot here.
We first noticed it at the "Wendy's" we walked to-
"Help wanted. All positions."
The next day we walked to "Del Taco". On the front door was a sign- "Now Hiring".
A little later we ate at "Golden Corral".
Wait... don't get ahead of me now!
But you're right.
And it's not just the fast food joints.
The Home Depot just down the block is also begging for help.
So guess how we handle the "Homeless. Two kids. Will work for food." folks standing on the corner near the "San Tan Village" mall?
We ignore them. Then we wonder if it would do any good to inform them of the MANY employment opportunities available if they'd just open their eyes.
No. Of course not.
They're too happy getting the equivalent of $61,000 in government benefits while adding to that any money they can mooch while standing on the corner with a sign.
What have we become?
16 March 2015
14 March 2015
Walkees!
We've now been in Phoenix three months.
We were concerned we'd hate it. Ya can't really get a sense of a place until you've spent more than a couple weeks there. Three months gives ya a pretty good taste.
The fact that we're already talking about coming back in the Fall says everything you need to know.
Communities like Yuma, Quartzite, and Gila Bend have populations that DOUBLE during Winter months. It's hard to put into words how PERFECT Winter weather is here. Couple that with views of magenta sunsets behind majestic rocks and you can understand why these towns explode in the Winter.
We'll be back.
We've been taking time to exercise. Out the door, South to Ray Street and return, the gps indicates a distance of EXACTLY two miles. The streets are wide and nicely landscaped. We walk this distance twice daily... once in the morning before it's too hot for Lucy, and again during and after sunset, also to avoid superheated pavement while enjoying the above-mentioned pastel colors in the West.
The morning walk takes 40 minutes. (By my calculations that's 3 miles per hour, folks.) The same walk in the evening can take a lot more time because lots of other folks are out walking their furbabies and we always have to stop, scratch under a muzzle, and "ooh and ahh" about the beauty or charm of someone else's critter. (Golden and Labra Doodles are all the rage here like everywhere else, but there ARE a few pure-blooded Standard Poodles in the mix that make me melancholy for my old pal.)
Midway during our walk, about a month ago we started smelling the most intoxicating fragrance. It was so reminiscent of Honeysuckle it made us homesick. We'd look around trying to figure out where the scent was coming from... to no avail.
Two weeks ago I was standing in a line of folks ten deep at "Harbor Freight Tools", chatting. When asked where I was from I made mention of the fact that one of the things that still knocks me out is to be on the bike at a stop and look left or right and see citrus trees full of beautiful, ripe fruit. The guy behind me replied, "Yeah, and right now the Orange Blossoms are REALLY doing their thing."
And there it was. Next time we were reminded of Honeysuckle we looked and sure enough... there was an Orange tree.
Wonderful.
A couple pet peeves...
This whole area is governed by HOA's... Homeowners Associations. On our walks we are constantly picking up sandwich wrappers, plastic water bottles, soda cans, broken glass, etc..
We then frequently walk more than half a mile to dispose of stuff others have thrown out their car windows.
HOA's please... more trashcans along the route.
And... there are bike paths EVERYWHERE here!
Nice, smooth, two-foot wide pavement reserved by a white line alongside the roadway. Sometimes it even has the caricature of a bicycle rider painted in the lane to indicate what it's for.
Why is it then that we, as pedestrians, have to move out of the way to avoid being T-boned by bicyclists riding on the sidewalks?
Vote me "King of the World".
I'll straighten this place out!!
We were concerned we'd hate it. Ya can't really get a sense of a place until you've spent more than a couple weeks there. Three months gives ya a pretty good taste.
The fact that we're already talking about coming back in the Fall says everything you need to know.
Communities like Yuma, Quartzite, and Gila Bend have populations that DOUBLE during Winter months. It's hard to put into words how PERFECT Winter weather is here. Couple that with views of magenta sunsets behind majestic rocks and you can understand why these towns explode in the Winter.
We'll be back.
We've been taking time to exercise. Out the door, South to Ray Street and return, the gps indicates a distance of EXACTLY two miles. The streets are wide and nicely landscaped. We walk this distance twice daily... once in the morning before it's too hot for Lucy, and again during and after sunset, also to avoid superheated pavement while enjoying the above-mentioned pastel colors in the West.
The morning walk takes 40 minutes. (By my calculations that's 3 miles per hour, folks.) The same walk in the evening can take a lot more time because lots of other folks are out walking their furbabies and we always have to stop, scratch under a muzzle, and "ooh and ahh" about the beauty or charm of someone else's critter. (Golden and Labra Doodles are all the rage here like everywhere else, but there ARE a few pure-blooded Standard Poodles in the mix that make me melancholy for my old pal.)
Midway during our walk, about a month ago we started smelling the most intoxicating fragrance. It was so reminiscent of Honeysuckle it made us homesick. We'd look around trying to figure out where the scent was coming from... to no avail.
Two weeks ago I was standing in a line of folks ten deep at "Harbor Freight Tools", chatting. When asked where I was from I made mention of the fact that one of the things that still knocks me out is to be on the bike at a stop and look left or right and see citrus trees full of beautiful, ripe fruit. The guy behind me replied, "Yeah, and right now the Orange Blossoms are REALLY doing their thing."
And there it was. Next time we were reminded of Honeysuckle we looked and sure enough... there was an Orange tree.
Wonderful.
A couple pet peeves...
This whole area is governed by HOA's... Homeowners Associations. On our walks we are constantly picking up sandwich wrappers, plastic water bottles, soda cans, broken glass, etc..
We then frequently walk more than half a mile to dispose of stuff others have thrown out their car windows.
HOA's please... more trashcans along the route.
And... there are bike paths EVERYWHERE here!
Nice, smooth, two-foot wide pavement reserved by a white line alongside the roadway. Sometimes it even has the caricature of a bicycle rider painted in the lane to indicate what it's for.
Why is it then that we, as pedestrians, have to move out of the way to avoid being T-boned by bicyclists riding on the sidewalks?
Vote me "King of the World".
I'll straighten this place out!!
13 March 2015
Friday the 13th Patriot Guard Ride
Retired. We no longer set the alarm.
No matter when I get horizontal, I normally wake about 0730...
As I did this morning.
Into our "sitting room" with my cuppa to check my email and not bother Sara Jean, I prided myself on being considerate for about four minutes. She and Lucy were upandat'em too. I may as well have gotten SJ's coffee when I poured mine.
Gathering time for the ride was 0900. Kickstands up time was "TBD"... to be determined.
I knew it was a fairly short ride to the mustering point, but I wanted to refuel prior to be sure I wouldn't embarrass myself. So I was out the door at 0815.
What a day!
Absolutely clear blue sky... the temp was about 65 degrees.
I decided to locate the gathering point, then get fuel. An added bonus!
I found fuel for 12 cents per gallon cheaper than I could have bought it near home and saved 48 cents!
Tank full, I still made it to our starting point by 0845.
Mine was the seventh signature on the sign-in sheet. That meant this would be a fairly well attended ride... several others would show up before our departure.
Ride Captain Bob blew his whistle and briefed us all on the mission.
We'd be escorting a Viet Nam Vet just a few years my senior.
We always start our ride by playing and singing along with Lee Greenwood's "God Bless The USA".
This morning, about 20 members of the Veteran's family came over, joined hands with our members, and sang along with us.
Touching? You bet.
As always, we then had a prayer for troops still at risk, their families, for a safe ride, and thanks for our MANY blessings.
We departed about 1000 hours. Our route started out on arterial streets, then joined limited-access highway, then back on arterials, then back to limited access, until we exited on the street leading to the National Cemetery here.
The mountains seem almost touchable from the cemetery...
It is a LOVELY, quiet, sacred place.
There were 21 flag-bearers in our flag line at the cemetery. By this time if there had been a thermometer to read, it probably would have indicated 85 degrees or so. That's not all that bad. But we were in full sun with our flags, standing at a modified position of attention. The preacher honoring this Vet and his family liked the sound of his own voice a LOT.
He spoke for 45 minutes.
Then the eldest son got up to eulogize his Dad and the first thing out of his mouth?
"We thank the Patriot Guard for this WONDERFUL showing of support!"
Did I say anything about the heat?
Fuggitabouthat!
No matter when I get horizontal, I normally wake about 0730...
As I did this morning.
Into our "sitting room" with my cuppa to check my email and not bother Sara Jean, I prided myself on being considerate for about four minutes. She and Lucy were upandat'em too. I may as well have gotten SJ's coffee when I poured mine.
Gathering time for the ride was 0900. Kickstands up time was "TBD"... to be determined.
I knew it was a fairly short ride to the mustering point, but I wanted to refuel prior to be sure I wouldn't embarrass myself. So I was out the door at 0815.
What a day!
Absolutely clear blue sky... the temp was about 65 degrees.
I decided to locate the gathering point, then get fuel. An added bonus!
I found fuel for 12 cents per gallon cheaper than I could have bought it near home and saved 48 cents!
Tank full, I still made it to our starting point by 0845.
Mine was the seventh signature on the sign-in sheet. That meant this would be a fairly well attended ride... several others would show up before our departure.
Ride Captain Bob blew his whistle and briefed us all on the mission.
We'd be escorting a Viet Nam Vet just a few years my senior.
We always start our ride by playing and singing along with Lee Greenwood's "God Bless The USA".
This morning, about 20 members of the Veteran's family came over, joined hands with our members, and sang along with us.
Touching? You bet.
As always, we then had a prayer for troops still at risk, their families, for a safe ride, and thanks for our MANY blessings.
We departed about 1000 hours. Our route started out on arterial streets, then joined limited-access highway, then back on arterials, then back to limited access, until we exited on the street leading to the National Cemetery here.
The mountains seem almost touchable from the cemetery...
It is a LOVELY, quiet, sacred place.
There were 21 flag-bearers in our flag line at the cemetery. By this time if there had been a thermometer to read, it probably would have indicated 85 degrees or so. That's not all that bad. But we were in full sun with our flags, standing at a modified position of attention. The preacher honoring this Vet and his family liked the sound of his own voice a LOT.
He spoke for 45 minutes.
Then the eldest son got up to eulogize his Dad and the first thing out of his mouth?
"We thank the Patriot Guard for this WONDERFUL showing of support!"
Did I say anything about the heat?
Fuggitabouthat!
11 March 2015
Svengoolie II
On the 16th of January I wrote a post bemoaning the fact that here in Phoenix I could no longer watch my campy, stupid horror show, hosted by Chicago's "Soupy Sales" imitator "Svengoolie".
None of you came to my aid.
What's up with you guys?
A few weeks ago Sara Jean was complaining she had no TV in the kitchen to watch as she was preparing the feast for yours truly. As is the norm for us men, the first order of business for us is to keep the woman happy during the time she is preparing the feast we have worked so hard to procure and intend to savor.
Therefore, I purchased an antenna called the "Terk" HD antenna, so my beloved could stay entertained while she prepared the sumptuous feast for her provider.
Amazingly, here in Phoenix this antenna sucks in about 50 channels for her to view. Some of them are broadcast in languages we don't understand, but that's irrelevant...
Even the ones broadcast in Spanish focus on pretty girls with pretty curves.
You can leave the sound off. With these curves... I'm a fan.
But here's the question at hand for now-
Growing up in Indianapolis, Indiana, I remember three channels:
Channel 4 was an independent channel.
Channel 6 was NBC.
Channel 8 was CBS.
Later on, we added channel 13, an ABC affiliate. Then to make things complicated, channels 6 and 13 swapped positions on the dial and confused everyone.
Channels DID NOT HAVE FRACTIONS.
Now? They DO.
Saturday night I was pokin' around the dial with our new "Terk". Guess what I found that you guys didn't help me with?!!!!
Channel "7.2" is "MeTV".
Guess who I found?!!
Yep.
My Svengoolie was hosting an "Invisible Man" movie.
I'm now excited.
Guess where my fat derriere will be next Saturday night?
But... Channel 7.2?
What the heck is that?
I'm sure a 5-yr old understands it.
This 68-year old is still trying to sort it out!
None of you came to my aid.
What's up with you guys?
A few weeks ago Sara Jean was complaining she had no TV in the kitchen to watch as she was preparing the feast for yours truly. As is the norm for us men, the first order of business for us is to keep the woman happy during the time she is preparing the feast we have worked so hard to procure and intend to savor.
Therefore, I purchased an antenna called the "Terk" HD antenna, so my beloved could stay entertained while she prepared the sumptuous feast for her provider.
Amazingly, here in Phoenix this antenna sucks in about 50 channels for her to view. Some of them are broadcast in languages we don't understand, but that's irrelevant...
Even the ones broadcast in Spanish focus on pretty girls with pretty curves.
You can leave the sound off. With these curves... I'm a fan.
But here's the question at hand for now-
Growing up in Indianapolis, Indiana, I remember three channels:
Channel 4 was an independent channel.
Channel 6 was NBC.
Channel 8 was CBS.
Later on, we added channel 13, an ABC affiliate. Then to make things complicated, channels 6 and 13 swapped positions on the dial and confused everyone.
Channels DID NOT HAVE FRACTIONS.
Now? They DO.
Saturday night I was pokin' around the dial with our new "Terk". Guess what I found that you guys didn't help me with?!!!!
Channel "7.2" is "MeTV".
Guess who I found?!!
Yep.
My Svengoolie was hosting an "Invisible Man" movie.
I'm now excited.
Guess where my fat derriere will be next Saturday night?
But... Channel 7.2?
What the heck is that?
I'm sure a 5-yr old understands it.
This 68-year old is still trying to sort it out!
19 February 2015
Hillary Vs. Jeb in '16?
Is this the best we can do?
It's no wonder we're all angry with one another.
If, in 2016, I have a choice between Hillary and Jeb, I'm voting for Hillary. Seriously!
(Given the choice between being beheaded and being shot while attempting escape, I'll choose the latter.)
What a mess.
I really hope Elizabeth Warren jumps into the fray, and chooses Ward Churchill as her running mate.
The idea of having another team of liars in the White House REALLY excites me.
(Vomits forcefully across the room.)
It's no wonder we're all angry with one another.
If, in 2016, I have a choice between Hillary and Jeb, I'm voting for Hillary. Seriously!
(Given the choice between being beheaded and being shot while attempting escape, I'll choose the latter.)
What a mess.
I really hope Elizabeth Warren jumps into the fray, and chooses Ward Churchill as her running mate.
The idea of having another team of liars in the White House REALLY excites me.
(Vomits forcefully across the room.)
15 February 2015
While You're Alive, Why Not LIVE ! ?
I am frequently saddened by how many people have "given up".
The world has gone crazy and they feel overwhelmed.
You can cajole, argue, shout...
If they've given up, for the most part, it's a waste of time.
Then I see a video like this and realize there ARE folks out there with SPIRIT.
Folks who won't quit; WON'T give up no matter what.
And my cup is refilled.
Life is good, isn't it?
So LIVE IT!
14 February 2015
The "Super Ten"-
So... how do I like the new bike?
I'm surprised.
I had REAL concerns.
One of my main fears about this bike was vibrations. I've owned and ridden Harley-Davidsons and the vibration levels on those machines cracked the license plate OFF due to metal fatigue.
I was fortunate the first time it happened to hear the plate skitter down the road behind me. I stopped, went back, retrieved it, then mounted it upside-down on the bike via the remaining undamaged mounting holes.
The second time it happened, I didn't hear it depart. When I got the replacement plate I mounted it on a blanket of rubber and that "Band-Aid" resolved my "escape artist" license plate problem.
The "Super Tenere" is a parallel two-cylinder motorcycle. This engine configuration USED to be renowned for having serious vibe problems. No more.
This 1200cc powerplant is counterbalanced. On a scale of 1 to 10, I'd rate the vibe level at about a 2 or three.
No, it's not a GoldWing. You can hear AND feel the engine running, but it's not distracting or irritating.
I wouldn't be afraid to take off tomorrow on a coast-to-coast trip on it, and I'd expect to arrive with a smile on my face.
It's a fairly large motorcycle...
When I'm on it solo I can put the balls of my feet on the ground, but NOT my heels.
If Sara Jean is on behind me, the suspension squats enough that I can "flat foot" at stops.
But it nevertheless weighs 586 pounds with no fuel. On a couple occasions I have put my feet down on gravel or sand as I came to a stop and ALMOST had my foot slip out from under me. Only by luck did I not end up looking like Arte Johnson on his tricycle in the old "Rowan and Martin's Laugh In" show.
It's just a matter of time until it happens. I'll be buying a set of crash bars to eliminate, or at least mitigate the damage when I make a fool of myself.
Anytime you operate a "new to you" machine, you go through a period of time trying to learn its quirks to get comfortable with it.
On the "Super Ten", that adjustment period took about 10 seconds.
Let me qualify that... this machine has electronic gadgets on it that may prohibit me from EVER actually being able to get it to do everything it can do. But so far as basic operation?
It's the easiest bike to ride I ever swung a leg over.
Below 55 mph Sara Jean even enjoys it. Above that speed, the wind buffets her helmet around and she pines for the GoldWing.
Me?
Reviewing the six bikes in my stable...
I have a new favorite motorcycle
I'm surprised.
I had REAL concerns.
One of my main fears about this bike was vibrations. I've owned and ridden Harley-Davidsons and the vibration levels on those machines cracked the license plate OFF due to metal fatigue.
I was fortunate the first time it happened to hear the plate skitter down the road behind me. I stopped, went back, retrieved it, then mounted it upside-down on the bike via the remaining undamaged mounting holes.
The second time it happened, I didn't hear it depart. When I got the replacement plate I mounted it on a blanket of rubber and that "Band-Aid" resolved my "escape artist" license plate problem.
The "Super Tenere" is a parallel two-cylinder motorcycle. This engine configuration USED to be renowned for having serious vibe problems. No more.
This 1200cc powerplant is counterbalanced. On a scale of 1 to 10, I'd rate the vibe level at about a 2 or three.
No, it's not a GoldWing. You can hear AND feel the engine running, but it's not distracting or irritating.
I wouldn't be afraid to take off tomorrow on a coast-to-coast trip on it, and I'd expect to arrive with a smile on my face.
It's a fairly large motorcycle...
When I'm on it solo I can put the balls of my feet on the ground, but NOT my heels.
If Sara Jean is on behind me, the suspension squats enough that I can "flat foot" at stops.
But it nevertheless weighs 586 pounds with no fuel. On a couple occasions I have put my feet down on gravel or sand as I came to a stop and ALMOST had my foot slip out from under me. Only by luck did I not end up looking like Arte Johnson on his tricycle in the old "Rowan and Martin's Laugh In" show.
It's just a matter of time until it happens. I'll be buying a set of crash bars to eliminate, or at least mitigate the damage when I make a fool of myself.
Anytime you operate a "new to you" machine, you go through a period of time trying to learn its quirks to get comfortable with it.
On the "Super Ten", that adjustment period took about 10 seconds.
Let me qualify that... this machine has electronic gadgets on it that may prohibit me from EVER actually being able to get it to do everything it can do. But so far as basic operation?
It's the easiest bike to ride I ever swung a leg over.
Below 55 mph Sara Jean even enjoys it. Above that speed, the wind buffets her helmet around and she pines for the GoldWing.
Me?
Reviewing the six bikes in my stable...
I have a new favorite motorcycle
11 February 2015
Artsy-Fartsy
When I heard he died last week I was transported back to Summer, 1968.
I was learning to fly, getting ready to deploy to an area where I knew there were angry people who would like nothing more than to make small (or maybe NOT so small !) holes in my slow-moving helicopter.
I knew they'd also be ecstatic if one of those hole-makers happened to encounter flesh or bone along the way on its journey.
Knowing you'll be facing that environment in a few months will focus your attention; make you try to squeeze every wonderful drop of life out of every moment.
I have no idea where or how I first heard this tune. I was probably in exactly the right melancholy mood for it to have maximum impact... maybe I'd had an adult beverage or two.
All I know is that I went almost immediately and bought the record, and have it still.
When you listen, you'll need to be in the proper state of mind to fully enjoy it. Maybe you'll want to hold off until later?
You made my life better during a difficult time, Mr. McKuen.
I hope you know that.
10 February 2015
Murphy's Law- GPS Chapter
I wanted Sara Jean to see "The Riverwalk" in San Antonio. The plan was to spend one night in Dallas with loved ones, then head further South from there.
From "Alamo Town" we'd then continue West on I-10 to Phoenix.
I estimated the entire trip would add 2000 miles to the odometer on the new SHO, and I really didn't want to do that. There was also another problem-
The community our son lives in does not allow cars to be parked on the street overnight. With his car and two motorcycles already residing there, there would be no room in the garage for any vehicle we brought.
Renting a car was the obvious solution.
After comparison shopping, the Hertz deal seemed unbelievable-
Mid-size "whatever"... one week... unlimited mileage... $248.
Sign us up!
The car waiting at the rental agency turned out to be a Chevy Malibu equipped with all the stuff you'd normally expect AND Sirius XM radio.
It DID NOT have a GPS receiver. No sweat... we have two portables.
I grabbed one, plugged it into the power port to insure it still worked, and figured we were ready for our adventure. Only after starting out did I realize I had grabbed the older of our two Garmin GPS units. Oh well, what could go wrong?
South to Dallas and at the start of our hop to San Antonio, all went well.
About an hour North of San Antonio we stopped for a bite to eat. Starting the car for our last leg to the "La Quinta Inn", the GPS failed to come up.
Cycle off/on... Nothin'.
Urgently... cycle off/on... Nothin'.
Desperately... unplug the unit, then plug it back in... Nothin'.
... Curse to myself for not using our AAA membership and having them send "Triptiks" for the entire trip to Phoenix.
Pull out the fuze to see if it's obviously frazzled. It's getting dark and I can barely see the fuze, much less tell if there's a gap in the filament.
Oh well.
I drive into town, spot the first La Quinta Inn we can see, and go in to get directions to where we have reservations.
All is good.
Next day I get on the computer and find a Radio Shack. I take the unit with me and me and the friendly clerk replace the inline fuze... Nothin'.
Uh-oh.
Heck with it. The rest of this sojourn is just a matter of insuring we stay on I-10. Who needs "Carmen the Garmin" anyway?
Gotta be the battery, right? The unit is old. Lithium-Ion batteries don't last forever.
Safely settled in our Winter quarters I take a closer look at the unit. I'm fearful of trying to replace the battery myself... there's no obvious place the unit pops apart to remove it.
So I get on the computer and find a "Batteries Plus" store nearby and call 'em...
"Do you replace GPS batteries?"
"Yes sir we do."
Great.
At the store I hand him the unit and he asks, "It's gonna be $35. Would you like me to give you the battery to replace it, or do you want me to do it for you?" I'm pleased the cost isn't MUCH more.
I tell him I'm scared I'm gonna break the thing trying to replace the battery. He smiles, shrugs, and says "No problem. I'll do it. Can you come back tomorrow to pick it up?"
"Sure."
Next day I go back and he hands me my GPS. I turn it on and the display lights up like a CHAMP.
YAY!
But after it acquires the satellites I try to program it for "Home" and it won't respond to touch.
We cycle it off/on.
No dice. I hand it back to him.
He says "Let me have a look and I'll give you a call."
Two days later, the phone rings...
"Greybeard, I somehow tore a ribbon-conductor in your unit when I replaced the battery. Getting that part would cost more than buying you a new GPS.
So we're getting you a new unit. It'll be here in four days."
Wow.
A NEW GPS unit for the cost of the battery replacement!
Isn't it nice to know there are still honorable business people around?
Guess where I'll be buying my batteries from now on?
From "Alamo Town" we'd then continue West on I-10 to Phoenix.
I estimated the entire trip would add 2000 miles to the odometer on the new SHO, and I really didn't want to do that. There was also another problem-
The community our son lives in does not allow cars to be parked on the street overnight. With his car and two motorcycles already residing there, there would be no room in the garage for any vehicle we brought.
Renting a car was the obvious solution.
After comparison shopping, the Hertz deal seemed unbelievable-
Mid-size "whatever"... one week... unlimited mileage... $248.
Sign us up!
The car waiting at the rental agency turned out to be a Chevy Malibu equipped with all the stuff you'd normally expect AND Sirius XM radio.
It DID NOT have a GPS receiver. No sweat... we have two portables.
I grabbed one, plugged it into the power port to insure it still worked, and figured we were ready for our adventure. Only after starting out did I realize I had grabbed the older of our two Garmin GPS units. Oh well, what could go wrong?
South to Dallas and at the start of our hop to San Antonio, all went well.
About an hour North of San Antonio we stopped for a bite to eat. Starting the car for our last leg to the "La Quinta Inn", the GPS failed to come up.
Cycle off/on... Nothin'.
Urgently... cycle off/on... Nothin'.
Desperately... unplug the unit, then plug it back in... Nothin'.
... Curse to myself for not using our AAA membership and having them send "Triptiks" for the entire trip to Phoenix.
Pull out the fuze to see if it's obviously frazzled. It's getting dark and I can barely see the fuze, much less tell if there's a gap in the filament.
Oh well.
I drive into town, spot the first La Quinta Inn we can see, and go in to get directions to where we have reservations.
All is good.
Next day I get on the computer and find a Radio Shack. I take the unit with me and me and the friendly clerk replace the inline fuze... Nothin'.
Uh-oh.
Heck with it. The rest of this sojourn is just a matter of insuring we stay on I-10. Who needs "Carmen the Garmin" anyway?
Gotta be the battery, right? The unit is old. Lithium-Ion batteries don't last forever.
Safely settled in our Winter quarters I take a closer look at the unit. I'm fearful of trying to replace the battery myself... there's no obvious place the unit pops apart to remove it.
So I get on the computer and find a "Batteries Plus" store nearby and call 'em...
"Do you replace GPS batteries?"
"Yes sir we do."
Great.
At the store I hand him the unit and he asks, "It's gonna be $35. Would you like me to give you the battery to replace it, or do you want me to do it for you?" I'm pleased the cost isn't MUCH more.
I tell him I'm scared I'm gonna break the thing trying to replace the battery. He smiles, shrugs, and says "No problem. I'll do it. Can you come back tomorrow to pick it up?"
"Sure."
Next day I go back and he hands me my GPS. I turn it on and the display lights up like a CHAMP.
YAY!
But after it acquires the satellites I try to program it for "Home" and it won't respond to touch.
We cycle it off/on.
No dice. I hand it back to him.
He says "Let me have a look and I'll give you a call."
Two days later, the phone rings...
"Greybeard, I somehow tore a ribbon-conductor in your unit when I replaced the battery. Getting that part would cost more than buying you a new GPS.
So we're getting you a new unit. It'll be here in four days."
Wow.
A NEW GPS unit for the cost of the battery replacement!
Isn't it nice to know there are still honorable business people around?
Guess where I'll be buying my batteries from now on?
07 February 2015
"That Ain't A Harley You're Ridin', Is It Boy?!", Continued.
The body had not yet been embalmed.
The mission was to assemble at Phoenix International Airport and from there, escort the remains an hour South to a Mortuary outside Casa Grande, AZ for embalming and internment.
I was a little concerned I'd get the same reception from this group as I had gotten during my last "Patriot Guard" event.
Fearing traffic around the airport I arrived almost an hour early.
Interesting- three bikes were there already... another GoldWing and two "Harley Clones", a Yamaha and a Suzuki "Boulevard" Trike. Not surprisingly, I sensed no "Attitude" about my choice of conveyance.
Over the next hour 30 or so bikes made their way to the assembly area. Of that number, I counted five Harley-Davidsons.
I have NO idea whether or not the group composition had anything to do with the atmosphere, but from the beginning this ride was different. Everyone was friendly. Everyone seemed to be focused on the fact we were there to escort this hero to his final resting place.
We were FAMILY.
We saluted as the body was loaded into the hearse, then lined the bikes behind it to tackle what was now Phoenix "Rush hour" traffic for the start of our ride South on Interstate 10.
Can you imagine the difficulty? Try throwing a hearse and 30 bikes onto a slow-moving, six-lane highway!
It was exhilarating.
The Arizona "Patriot Guard" works with local Law Enforcement authorities and trains and equips "Road Guards" to go "Code 3"... lights and sirens to move and block traffic.
And folks on the road cooperated magnificently.
We moved through the cars like a knife through... well, ALMOST like butter!
Clear of traffic South of Phoenix we SAILED.
Have you ever been relatively at the end of a line of 30 bikes in staggered-left echelon going 70 mph on an Interstate Highway?
I now have.
And lemme tell ya... IT'S A THRILL.
At the facility in Casa Grande we were met by the widow, standing next to the drive as we filed by, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Folks, if that don't make you cry, you ain't human.
The mission was to assemble at Phoenix International Airport and from there, escort the remains an hour South to a Mortuary outside Casa Grande, AZ for embalming and internment.
I was a little concerned I'd get the same reception from this group as I had gotten during my last "Patriot Guard" event.
Fearing traffic around the airport I arrived almost an hour early.
Interesting- three bikes were there already... another GoldWing and two "Harley Clones", a Yamaha and a Suzuki "Boulevard" Trike. Not surprisingly, I sensed no "Attitude" about my choice of conveyance.
Over the next hour 30 or so bikes made their way to the assembly area. Of that number, I counted five Harley-Davidsons.
I have NO idea whether or not the group composition had anything to do with the atmosphere, but from the beginning this ride was different. Everyone was friendly. Everyone seemed to be focused on the fact we were there to escort this hero to his final resting place.
We were FAMILY.
We saluted as the body was loaded into the hearse, then lined the bikes behind it to tackle what was now Phoenix "Rush hour" traffic for the start of our ride South on Interstate 10.
Can you imagine the difficulty? Try throwing a hearse and 30 bikes onto a slow-moving, six-lane highway!
It was exhilarating.
The Arizona "Patriot Guard" works with local Law Enforcement authorities and trains and equips "Road Guards" to go "Code 3"... lights and sirens to move and block traffic.
And folks on the road cooperated magnificently.
We moved through the cars like a knife through... well, ALMOST like butter!
Clear of traffic South of Phoenix we SAILED.
Have you ever been relatively at the end of a line of 30 bikes in staggered-left echelon going 70 mph on an Interstate Highway?
I now have.
And lemme tell ya... IT'S A THRILL.
At the facility in Casa Grande we were met by the widow, standing next to the drive as we filed by, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Folks, if that don't make you cry, you ain't human.
02 February 2015
"That Ain't A Harley You're Ridin', Is It Boy?!"
The plan for today is to depart home base around 1300 hours in order to arrive at Phoenix Intl. Airport by 1400. I'll be on the GoldWing.
My purpose today is to meet up with several other members of the PGR... "Patriot Guard Riders", to escort the remains of a Navy Veteran from PHX to Casa Grande, AZ, where his services will be held.
Weather is nearly perfect and I look forward to the experience with one exception:
The last time Sara Jean and I participated in a PGR ride, we felt excluded from the group.
I've written before about the "Club", and how some bikers only associate with other bikers who ride a certain American-made motorcycle. I'm sure MOST of the bikes in today's procession from PHX to Casa Grande will fall into this category. Mine won't.
Sara Jean was so angry after our last ride, she won't be accompanying me today. The rest of the group today will obviously be worse for not having had the chance to meet her.
I've decided I'm not gonna allow "attitude" to deter me...
I'm NOT riding because I want to suck up to anyone. I'm riding to honor the memory of a Vet... someone that felt compelled to sign "the blank check".
I hope my experience today is different than our earlier ride.
But with my personal history, I DO NOT yearn to be part of the aforementioned "Club".
More later.
My purpose today is to meet up with several other members of the PGR... "Patriot Guard Riders", to escort the remains of a Navy Veteran from PHX to Casa Grande, AZ, where his services will be held.
Weather is nearly perfect and I look forward to the experience with one exception:
The last time Sara Jean and I participated in a PGR ride, we felt excluded from the group.
I've written before about the "Club", and how some bikers only associate with other bikers who ride a certain American-made motorcycle. I'm sure MOST of the bikes in today's procession from PHX to Casa Grande will fall into this category. Mine won't.
Sara Jean was so angry after our last ride, she won't be accompanying me today. The rest of the group today will obviously be worse for not having had the chance to meet her.
I've decided I'm not gonna allow "attitude" to deter me...
I'm NOT riding because I want to suck up to anyone. I'm riding to honor the memory of a Vet... someone that felt compelled to sign "the blank check".
I hope my experience today is different than our earlier ride.
But with my personal history, I DO NOT yearn to be part of the aforementioned "Club".
More later.
01 February 2015
PLEASE, Take My Money!
Okay- First, an embarrassing admission:
I just bought another bike. That now makes seven, here, and there. Minus the tank bag and the bag on the pillion, it looks like that bike up there^.
Just over a year ago I brought the Suzuki SV650s to Phoenix and left it for me to use while here, and my son to use to commute to/from work. He has used "Roswell" MUCH more than I expected.
When we arrived this trip and I took Roswell out for a spin, it scared me.
My son IS NOT mechanically minded. The chain had obviously NOT been adjusted for quite some time. It was SO loose, I actually feared for my well-being.
And his. He admitted he wasn't comfortable with the mechanics of keeping the chain properly adjusted.
Oh boy.
I like shaft-driven bikes.
He NEEDS a shaft-driven bike.
He and I have both dropped Roswell on its right side due to "enthusiastic" use of the VERY powerful front brake at walking speed.
We BOTH could use a bike with a good anti-lock brake system. Long time readers know I've been looking at the Yamaha as a candidate.
The local dealer had a NEW 2014 Super Tenere ES on the showroom floor. We've been nibbling at one another now for two weeks about the sale price on the bike. They came down over 3 grand. The hard bags and topcase on the bike cost over 2 grand by themselves.
I agreed to buy it.
I called and told them I wanted to send them a personal check from my online checking account and that I was willing to wait until those funds were safely in their account and had cleared before coming to pick the bike up.
"No can do!" was the response.
"We can only accept a Cashier's check, a 'Certified' check, or CASH as payment!"
Uhhhh..... WHAT?
"Let me repeat, to make sure you heard what I said" I replied...
"I'm willing to wait until you are certain that the check has cleared before I come get the bike."
And they repeated the above statement.
A cashier's check costs me $40.
My bank DOES NOT issue a "Certified" check. They issue what they call an "Official" check. It costs me $5, but takes a week to arrive at the dealership.
The dealer agreed to that arrangement.
So the question comes to mind:
What's the difference between receiving my personal check via mail, then waiting for the funds to clear? Reluctance to accept my personal check ALMOST made me walk away from this deal!
I pick the bike up in two days.
And now the sales pitch:
For sale-
One 1984 BMW R80RT in "Fair" condition.
One 1989 Honda GoldWing GL1500 Interstate in "Good" condition.
And one 1999 Honda Valkyrie Interstate in "Excellent" condition.
Call me. My number is BR549.
30 January 2015
"American Sniper"- My Thoughts.
I watched it through Taya Kyle's eyes.
I watched it through my Wife's eyes.
I watched it through my Son's eyes.
And I watched it through the eyes of an old aviator/warrior whose job once was to provide lethal protection for our troops from above.
It's a great PRO warrior movie.
It's a great ANTI-WAR movie.
I think it may be the most powerful movie I've seen.
I recommend it
I watched it through my Wife's eyes.
I watched it through my Son's eyes.
And I watched it through the eyes of an old aviator/warrior whose job once was to provide lethal protection for our troops from above.
It's a great PRO warrior movie.
It's a great ANTI-WAR movie.
I think it may be the most powerful movie I've seen.
I recommend it
28 January 2015
I SHOULD NOT Have Shown Her This:
Back home we have Wasps, Hornets, Bumblebees, Mosquitoes, and the occasional Brown Recluse spider.
We don't like 'em, but we're accustomed to 'em and have learned how to exist while dealing with them.
This is a new wrinkle. Our son found one like this in the kitchen a couple weeks ago, (sans all the babies being carried on the back), and made the mistake of showing it to his Mother. She immediately dispatched him to buy a Black Light, (Scorpions are "fluorescent"... they glow in the dark when illuminated with black light), so she could recon the area she intended to trod while walking around after sunset.
I find spiders fascinating. I'm beginning to have similar feelings about Scorpions.
Notice I said "beginning".
Right now I'm still mildly creeped out by them.
And a Momma with her back completely covered by babies?
(Shudder.)
21 January 2015
Are These "The Good Old Days"?
Three days ago we bought steaks at our local Albertson's Super Market.
They were nothing short of wonderful. Seasoned by the butcher before packaging, you could smell the garlic and pepper before you opened the plastic protective wrap.
They were so tasty I went back to the store's meat department and asked-
"Do you sell that seasoning?"
"Yes. It's called 'McCormick California-Style Garlic Pepper' and you'll find it in our spice area for $11.90".
I found it. It was in a 12-ounce container. My mental calculator said the price makes it just shy of a dollar an ounce.
Ouch.
I decided to shop around.
At home I turned on the computer and went to Amazon.com, where we are "Prime" members.
McCormick's "California-Style Garlic Pepper" was being offered in the 22-ounce container at a cost of $14.21.
Prime membership means we pay NO shipping costs.
I ordered it... pay close attention now... at 1930 hours. (That's 7:30 P.M. for those of you who've never been in the military.)
At Noon today the doorbell rang. Lucy let us know SOMETHING'S HAPPENING OUT THERE!
A view through the peephole indicated whoever had rung the bell was gone. I opened the door, and there on the front porch was a package marked "Amazon Fulfillment".
Inside the box?
A 22-ounce container of McCormick's "California-Style Garlic Pepper"!
Unbelievable.
Free shipping.
GREAT PRICE.
And it took a little over 12 hours to get here.
How in the world do they do that?
How can anyone compete with that?
They were nothing short of wonderful. Seasoned by the butcher before packaging, you could smell the garlic and pepper before you opened the plastic protective wrap.
They were so tasty I went back to the store's meat department and asked-
"Do you sell that seasoning?"
"Yes. It's called 'McCormick California-Style Garlic Pepper' and you'll find it in our spice area for $11.90".
I found it. It was in a 12-ounce container. My mental calculator said the price makes it just shy of a dollar an ounce.
Ouch.
I decided to shop around.
At home I turned on the computer and went to Amazon.com, where we are "Prime" members.
McCormick's "California-Style Garlic Pepper" was being offered in the 22-ounce container at a cost of $14.21.
Prime membership means we pay NO shipping costs.
I ordered it... pay close attention now... at 1930 hours. (That's 7:30 P.M. for those of you who've never been in the military.)
At Noon today the doorbell rang. Lucy let us know SOMETHING'S HAPPENING OUT THERE!
A view through the peephole indicated whoever had rung the bell was gone. I opened the door, and there on the front porch was a package marked "Amazon Fulfillment".
Inside the box?
A 22-ounce container of McCormick's "California-Style Garlic Pepper"!
Unbelievable.
Free shipping.
GREAT PRICE.
And it took a little over 12 hours to get here.
How in the world do they do that?
How can anyone compete with that?
19 January 2015
Harley Davidson, Vs. The World-
Gorgeous weather here...
Mid-70's temps and no cloud to be seen, anywhere.
It was a perfect day to exercise the "new-to-us" GoldWing.
It was Sara Jean's first chance to ride the bike farther than to Wally World for milk and bread, so I didn't want to reach out too far. But I did want to give her the chance to determine if she liked the bike, and if not, what did I need to do to make it better for her?
(I already LOVE the thing! I'm MUCH more comfortable on it than either the older GL1500 'Wing, or the '99 Valkyrie I bought last year.)
We rode North to U.S. Highway 60, then East on 60 to just past Superior, AZ. At that point I realized I had once again pulled a boneheaded stunt...
I started the jaunt with half a tank of fuel.
Just past Superior, AZ. the mountains start to get serious, and the view is... breathtaking. There's a 1/8th mile tunnel through one of the hills with a "scenic vista" turnoff just beyond it. I pulled into the viewpoint and we dismounted for gawking and to take a few photos.
From that point we did a 180-degree turn and headed back into Superior for "insurance" fuel to give me the option to continue exploring, or to at least insure I could easily make it back to Gilbert, AZ where I knew fuel was less $$$$$.
We pulled into a gas station where three nice Harleys were already parked at the pumps getting fuel. I maneuvered the bike past them to an empty pump, shut our bike down, dismounted, and then commented to the guy on the H-D parked at the pump just behind us...
"Man! What a beautiful paint job on your bike!"
"Yeah, when I saw it I was stricken and immediately bought it", he responded.
And that was the only communication we had with this group of five people.
None of the rest would even make eye contact with us.
Sara Jean was PISSED...
"What is it with these people? What's their problem?"
I told her it's the situation I've known about for ages...
Harley riders belong to a "Club". Buying the Harley, they pay a TON of money to become a member, then pay a TON of money to maintain their membership.
If you don't own a Harley, you're not a member. Lots of Harley riders don't associate with non "Members".
It's slowly changing. Believe it or not, I actually have several friends who ride H-D's who are normal, wonderful human beings. They even talk to me.
But there's still that small segment out there that either-
1. Thinks they're actually still riding "American" iron and doesn't want to associate with guys riding "furrin" machinery, or-
2. Has an insecurity complex, knowing they paid a lot of money for a wonderful machine that nevertheless has a MUCH greater chance of leaving them stranded on a long ride.
Sara Jean is mad.
I just think it's sad.
We two-wheelers all ride for pretty much the same reason.
And I'd like to think, if any of us is in trouble, we'd ALL stop to help one another.
But... maybe I'm wrong.
By the way...
Sara Jean wants a set of armrests. Other than that, we're good to GO!
Mid-70's temps and no cloud to be seen, anywhere.
It was a perfect day to exercise the "new-to-us" GoldWing.
It was Sara Jean's first chance to ride the bike farther than to Wally World for milk and bread, so I didn't want to reach out too far. But I did want to give her the chance to determine if she liked the bike, and if not, what did I need to do to make it better for her?
(I already LOVE the thing! I'm MUCH more comfortable on it than either the older GL1500 'Wing, or the '99 Valkyrie I bought last year.)
We rode North to U.S. Highway 60, then East on 60 to just past Superior, AZ. At that point I realized I had once again pulled a boneheaded stunt...
I started the jaunt with half a tank of fuel.
Just past Superior, AZ. the mountains start to get serious, and the view is... breathtaking. There's a 1/8th mile tunnel through one of the hills with a "scenic vista" turnoff just beyond it. I pulled into the viewpoint and we dismounted for gawking and to take a few photos.
From that point we did a 180-degree turn and headed back into Superior for "insurance" fuel to give me the option to continue exploring, or to at least insure I could easily make it back to Gilbert, AZ where I knew fuel was less $$$$$.
We pulled into a gas station where three nice Harleys were already parked at the pumps getting fuel. I maneuvered the bike past them to an empty pump, shut our bike down, dismounted, and then commented to the guy on the H-D parked at the pump just behind us...
"Man! What a beautiful paint job on your bike!"
"Yeah, when I saw it I was stricken and immediately bought it", he responded.
And that was the only communication we had with this group of five people.
None of the rest would even make eye contact with us.
Sara Jean was PISSED...
"What is it with these people? What's their problem?"
I told her it's the situation I've known about for ages...
Harley riders belong to a "Club". Buying the Harley, they pay a TON of money to become a member, then pay a TON of money to maintain their membership.
If you don't own a Harley, you're not a member. Lots of Harley riders don't associate with non "Members".
It's slowly changing. Believe it or not, I actually have several friends who ride H-D's who are normal, wonderful human beings. They even talk to me.
But there's still that small segment out there that either-
1. Thinks they're actually still riding "American" iron and doesn't want to associate with guys riding "furrin" machinery, or-
2. Has an insecurity complex, knowing they paid a lot of money for a wonderful machine that nevertheless has a MUCH greater chance of leaving them stranded on a long ride.
Sara Jean is mad.
I just think it's sad.
We two-wheelers all ride for pretty much the same reason.
And I'd like to think, if any of us is in trouble, we'd ALL stop to help one another.
But... maybe I'm wrong.
By the way...
Sara Jean wants a set of armrests. Other than that, we're good to GO!
18 January 2015
I Love Phoenix... (In The Winter!)
Sunday: 74 and Partly Cloudy.
Monday: 75 and Mostly Sunny.
Tuesday: 76 and Partly Cloudy.
Wednesday: 74 and Partly Cloudy.
Thursday: 75 and Sunny.
Friday: 73 and Sunny.
Saturday: 75 and Sunny.
July 4th: 123 and... WHY THE HECK ARE YOU HERE?
Monday: 75 and Mostly Sunny.
Tuesday: 76 and Partly Cloudy.
Wednesday: 74 and Partly Cloudy.
Thursday: 75 and Sunny.
Friday: 73 and Sunny.
Saturday: 75 and Sunny.
July 4th: 123 and... WHY THE HECK ARE YOU HERE?
16 January 2015
Svengoolie
Black and White TV...
Since it was the only thing available, my generation didn't feel shortchanged at all.
And... we had THREE CHANNELS! (Some of us had the "Dumont Network" and actually had FOUR.) With that fantastic diversity of entertainment there was ALWAYS something of interest to watch!
My generation grew up turning on the set in the morning, watching the "Test Pattern" and waiting for the regular programming to start.
I know... like trying to figure out how a rotary phone works, today's generations cannot imagine what that was like.
But I'm not at all sure today's situation is an improvement, overall. (TMI).
When I was about 10 or so, we were entertained by a locally produced program in Indy, hosted by a guy whose stage name was "Sammy Terry". Sammy wore makeup making him look somewhat like Bela Lugosi as "Dracula". He had a "schtick"... a way of speaking; campy jokes. But every Saturday night he would introduce some old 30's or 40's horror "B" movie.
I'd be stuck in front of the set, watching. Sometimes we'd have get-togethers and three or four friends would watch, making comments like later generations have heard on "Mystery Science Theater 3000". Dracula. The Abominable Snowman. Frankenstein's Monster. Werewolves. Some thing from another world.
It was a hoot and I remember those times fondly.
So fondly in fact that I was quietly overjoyed while we were in Destin to find "Svengoolie".
Svengoolie is a locally produced program from BERWYN!, IL that has proven to be popular enough with the audience that it's been syndicated and is shown in several areas across the country. I started watching Sven while we were still home in the Midwest. I was delighted to find him on a local station while we were in Destin.
Now I'm suffering from "Sven withdrawal".
He's nowhere to be found here in Phoenix.
Sad.
"Who ya gonna call"?
Since it was the only thing available, my generation didn't feel shortchanged at all.
And... we had THREE CHANNELS! (Some of us had the "Dumont Network" and actually had FOUR.) With that fantastic diversity of entertainment there was ALWAYS something of interest to watch!
My generation grew up turning on the set in the morning, watching the "Test Pattern" and waiting for the regular programming to start.
I know... like trying to figure out how a rotary phone works, today's generations cannot imagine what that was like.
But I'm not at all sure today's situation is an improvement, overall. (TMI).
When I was about 10 or so, we were entertained by a locally produced program in Indy, hosted by a guy whose stage name was "Sammy Terry". Sammy wore makeup making him look somewhat like Bela Lugosi as "Dracula". He had a "schtick"... a way of speaking; campy jokes. But every Saturday night he would introduce some old 30's or 40's horror "B" movie.
I'd be stuck in front of the set, watching. Sometimes we'd have get-togethers and three or four friends would watch, making comments like later generations have heard on "Mystery Science Theater 3000". Dracula. The Abominable Snowman. Frankenstein's Monster. Werewolves. Some thing from another world.
It was a hoot and I remember those times fondly.
So fondly in fact that I was quietly overjoyed while we were in Destin to find "Svengoolie".
Svengoolie is a locally produced program from BERWYN!, IL that has proven to be popular enough with the audience that it's been syndicated and is shown in several areas across the country. I started watching Sven while we were still home in the Midwest. I was delighted to find him on a local station while we were in Destin.
Now I'm suffering from "Sven withdrawal".
He's nowhere to be found here in Phoenix.
Sad.
"Who ya gonna call"?
14 January 2015
Crossbows?
I'm in the market for a quality crossbow, powerful enough to use hunting deer.
Any advice about quality/price/power would be appreciated.
Any advice about quality/price/power would be appreciated.
13 January 2015
Yuma, AZ, Part II
My "guesstimator" about time to travel a certain distance has been somewhat off lately, and I don't know why.
I looked at the map and saw Yuma was located on the Colorado river then screwed up the calculation by thinking, "Well, it takes about six hours to get to L.A. from here, and Yuma is about halfway, so it should take two-and-a-half hours or so, right?"
Why I paid NO attention to the fact the distance was 220 miles is beyond me.
When I turned the corner from I-10 to head West on I-8 and saw the remaining distance was almost 190 miles, I mentally kicked myself.
Oh well. A friend once said, "The difference between a disaster and an adventure is ATTITUDE."
Let's make this an adventure!
It all started when I did something I knew better than to do:
I slipped over to eBay "just to check it out".
"Let's see what's available in GoldWing land! Ooh, there's a beautiful black one. NO RESERVE. Let's click over to Kelly Blue Book and check values there."
I show the photos to Sara Jean. She LOVES it. The starting bid is MORE than reasonable. I click and put the 'Wing in my "Watch list" then think, "What the heck... why not put my foot in the door by starting the bidding? I can then sit back as bidding proceeds and decide if I really want the bike!"
So I submit the minimum bid. "You're the high bidder!", eBay informs me.
Two days pass. I'm still the high (Only!) bidder.
Oh well, there are still three days left in the auction. No sweat.
And then I get an "eBay message" from the seller:
"I've had problems with guys winning my auctions, then not bein' able to come up with the funds. I'd like to sell you this bike... what's your best offer?"
I thank him for his attention and tell him I'd like for the auction to proceed normally. I don't want him to be shortchanged, (and I already have five motorcycles. I'm still doubtful if I want it. When I placed the bid I was pretty sure my bid would be wasted.)
I give him a little information about me and tell him I WON'T drop the ball on him if I win the auction.
He writes back. He's also retired military. He's a Christian man. He likes what he hears. He too is buying another bike.
He wants me to have this 'Wing. He's closing the auction. I own it.
I'm stunned, but Wow!
It's BEAUTIFUL. The price I'm paying is unbelievably low.
It's physically not real far away, so shipping isn't a problem. More back-and-forth notes with the seller and I find I REALLY like the guy.
We drove down two days ago and I rode the bike back to Phoenix with Sara Jean in trail.
I'm knocked out by it. When I bought the '89 'Wing my friend BZ said something to the effect, "I wish I had known you were truly interested. I'd have suggested you buy a later model 'Wing", and he listed several reasons why I'd like the newer model better.
And now I know why-
The only thing similar about these two bikes is the appearance of the flat-six engine.
The new bike handles better, looks better, is more efficient in a dozen ways, and is faster to boot.
But now I MUST do something I hate to do:
I gotta sell a couple motorcycles!
I'll let ya know how that goes.
When I turned the corner from I-10 to head West on I-8 and saw the remaining distance was almost 190 miles, I mentally kicked myself.
Oh well. A friend once said, "The difference between a disaster and an adventure is ATTITUDE."
Let's make this an adventure!
It all started when I did something I knew better than to do:
I slipped over to eBay "just to check it out".
"Let's see what's available in GoldWing land! Ooh, there's a beautiful black one. NO RESERVE. Let's click over to Kelly Blue Book and check values there."
I show the photos to Sara Jean. She LOVES it. The starting bid is MORE than reasonable. I click and put the 'Wing in my "Watch list" then think, "What the heck... why not put my foot in the door by starting the bidding? I can then sit back as bidding proceeds and decide if I really want the bike!"
So I submit the minimum bid. "You're the high bidder!", eBay informs me.
Two days pass. I'm still the high (Only!) bidder.
Oh well, there are still three days left in the auction. No sweat.
And then I get an "eBay message" from the seller:
"I've had problems with guys winning my auctions, then not bein' able to come up with the funds. I'd like to sell you this bike... what's your best offer?"
I thank him for his attention and tell him I'd like for the auction to proceed normally. I don't want him to be shortchanged, (and I already have five motorcycles. I'm still doubtful if I want it. When I placed the bid I was pretty sure my bid would be wasted.)
I give him a little information about me and tell him I WON'T drop the ball on him if I win the auction.
He writes back. He's also retired military. He's a Christian man. He likes what he hears. He too is buying another bike.
He wants me to have this 'Wing. He's closing the auction. I own it.
I'm stunned, but Wow!
It's BEAUTIFUL. The price I'm paying is unbelievably low.
It's physically not real far away, so shipping isn't a problem. More back-and-forth notes with the seller and I find I REALLY like the guy.
We drove down two days ago and I rode the bike back to Phoenix with Sara Jean in trail.
I'm knocked out by it. When I bought the '89 'Wing my friend BZ said something to the effect, "I wish I had known you were truly interested. I'd have suggested you buy a later model 'Wing", and he listed several reasons why I'd like the newer model better.
And now I know why-
The only thing similar about these two bikes is the appearance of the flat-six engine.
The new bike handles better, looks better, is more efficient in a dozen ways, and is faster to boot.
But now I MUST do something I hate to do:
I gotta sell a couple motorcycles!
I'll let ya know how that goes.
11 January 2015
Yuma, Arizona
Ever see a magazine called "Arizona Highways?"
I used to see one every now and then in Doctor's offices and places like that.
Published by the Arizona Department of Transportation, it is propaganda, pure and simple. It's also GORGEOUS, and a great method for the State of Arizona to attract tourist dollars to their State.
Nowhere in the mag do you see how horribly littered MOST of the actual highways are here.
NOTHING decomposes in the desert. And since there is no vegetation to speak of to grow and cover it up, it's a certainty the Styrofoam drink cup our neighbor throws out his window while driving down Interstate 10 just South of Casa Grande will stay there for over a thousand years unless someone picks it up and properly disposes of it.
Like the Continental U.S.-sized pile of plastic now floating in the Pacific Ocean, we're literally "littering ourselves into oblivion" with our laziness.
WHY NOT USE THE CLOSEST TRASH CONTAINER, FOLKS?
But here's the deal:
From a distance, you cannot see the trash accumulation.
The mountains are distant, and ignorant litterers are too lazy to trash those beautiful hills.
So if you squint your eyes and ignore the nearby roadsides, the distant scenery still looks like the photographs that appear in Arizona's propaganda mag.
Yesterday Sara Jean and I had cause to drive down to Yuma, AZ and back.
(I'm ashamed to tell you why, but will reveal that in my next post.)
During the drive, we were continuously squinting, looking at the BREATHTAKING VIEW off in the distance.
If you've never been to this part of the country, you owe it to yourself to add that experience to your "Bucket List" and then check it off.
There's just NOTHING like Arizona.
I wish the lazy people realized it and cared more for their surroundings.
I used to see one every now and then in Doctor's offices and places like that.
Published by the Arizona Department of Transportation, it is propaganda, pure and simple. It's also GORGEOUS, and a great method for the State of Arizona to attract tourist dollars to their State.
Nowhere in the mag do you see how horribly littered MOST of the actual highways are here.
NOTHING decomposes in the desert. And since there is no vegetation to speak of to grow and cover it up, it's a certainty the Styrofoam drink cup our neighbor throws out his window while driving down Interstate 10 just South of Casa Grande will stay there for over a thousand years unless someone picks it up and properly disposes of it.
Like the Continental U.S.-sized pile of plastic now floating in the Pacific Ocean, we're literally "littering ourselves into oblivion" with our laziness.
WHY NOT USE THE CLOSEST TRASH CONTAINER, FOLKS?
But here's the deal:
From a distance, you cannot see the trash accumulation.
The mountains are distant, and ignorant litterers are too lazy to trash those beautiful hills.
So if you squint your eyes and ignore the nearby roadsides, the distant scenery still looks like the photographs that appear in Arizona's propaganda mag.
Yesterday Sara Jean and I had cause to drive down to Yuma, AZ and back.
(I'm ashamed to tell you why, but will reveal that in my next post.)
During the drive, we were continuously squinting, looking at the BREATHTAKING VIEW off in the distance.
If you've never been to this part of the country, you owe it to yourself to add that experience to your "Bucket List" and then check it off.
There's just NOTHING like Arizona.
I wish the lazy people realized it and cared more for their surroundings.
09 January 2015
BURKHA
I had business in the U.S. Post Office yesterday.
In line behind me about two folks back was a young, brown-skinned woman in dark-colored Muslim dress.
In light of current events, I bit my tongue.
My impulse was to ask her about "The religion of peace".
My friends have succeeded in calming me. I now constantly try to remember and practice "What Would Jesus Do?" in these situations.
So I didn't confront her.
But I'm also sure, in this situation at some point in the future, a skinhead WON'T be so tolerant. There will be blood.
And when turbulence is happening all around us, I'll be comforted by "The thing that goes BOOM" that I now constantly carry with me EVERYWHERE.
Do you also own such a tool?
If not... WHY NOT?
In line behind me about two folks back was a young, brown-skinned woman in dark-colored Muslim dress.
In light of current events, I bit my tongue.
My impulse was to ask her about "The religion of peace".
My friends have succeeded in calming me. I now constantly try to remember and practice "What Would Jesus Do?" in these situations.
So I didn't confront her.
But I'm also sure, in this situation at some point in the future, a skinhead WON'T be so tolerant. There will be blood.
And when turbulence is happening all around us, I'll be comforted by "The thing that goes BOOM" that I now constantly carry with me EVERYWHERE.
Do you also own such a tool?
If not... WHY NOT?
06 January 2015
"Homeless Vet, Please Help."
Here in Phoenix the schools sell a book of coupons offering discounts on meals at restaurants, oil changes, miniature golf and other things, as fundraisers.
My son bought two of 'em, and that means we could almost literally go out to eat EVERY night and still not use all the available coupons.
So far we've eaten at "Taco Bell", "Wendy's", "Denny's", "Golden Corral", and "Del Taco".
Besides accepting our discount coupons, what do you suppose all these eateries might have in common?
EVERY ONE OF 'EM has a "Help Wanted" sign at their front door.
"Wendy's" sign says "Help Wanted, ALL positions".
We no longer give anything to panhandlers here.
If they wanted to work, there are hundreds of places they could get a job, (and probably get a meal or two as part of their benefits package.)
What has happened to my country?
My son bought two of 'em, and that means we could almost literally go out to eat EVERY night and still not use all the available coupons.
So far we've eaten at "Taco Bell", "Wendy's", "Denny's", "Golden Corral", and "Del Taco".
Besides accepting our discount coupons, what do you suppose all these eateries might have in common?
EVERY ONE OF 'EM has a "Help Wanted" sign at their front door.
"Wendy's" sign says "Help Wanted, ALL positions".
We no longer give anything to panhandlers here.
If they wanted to work, there are hundreds of places they could get a job, (and probably get a meal or two as part of their benefits package.)
What has happened to my country?
04 January 2015
God Gave Us Amazing Digits!
I normally wake here about 0730 hours.
I try to get out of bed quietly as possible. But Lucy normally has spent most of the night 'neath the covers snuggled in my crotch, so when I get out of bed she's ready to "Go outside?" and do her business. She emerges from her warm spot beneath the blankets, shakes her ears furiously, and that sound pretty much announces to anyone within 30 feet or so that she's awake.
Sara Jean just turns over and goes back to sleep.
I go downstairs and let Lucy out, then use the index finger of my left hand to push the "brew" button on the coffeemaker.
Lucy back in the house and rewarded for bein' a "GOOD GIRL!!", I make my way back upstairs, recline in my chair, grab the remote, and with a few finger-punches find it's gonna be 63 and sunny today here in Gilbert, AZ,- 35 with a partly cloudy sky back home.
I smile.
Then I grab the laptop and check my email, surf my favorite blogs for news, and review Facebook to see what my "friends" are doing, all by punching the proper keys with the proper digits.
We live in amazing times, don't we?
Now, if we could just figure out how to make the crazy people realize it and stop trying to ruin it!
I try to get out of bed quietly as possible. But Lucy normally has spent most of the night 'neath the covers snuggled in my crotch, so when I get out of bed she's ready to "Go outside?" and do her business. She emerges from her warm spot beneath the blankets, shakes her ears furiously, and that sound pretty much announces to anyone within 30 feet or so that she's awake.
Sara Jean just turns over and goes back to sleep.
I go downstairs and let Lucy out, then use the index finger of my left hand to push the "brew" button on the coffeemaker.
Lucy back in the house and rewarded for bein' a "GOOD GIRL!!", I make my way back upstairs, recline in my chair, grab the remote, and with a few finger-punches find it's gonna be 63 and sunny today here in Gilbert, AZ,- 35 with a partly cloudy sky back home.
I smile.
Then I grab the laptop and check my email, surf my favorite blogs for news, and review Facebook to see what my "friends" are doing, all by punching the proper keys with the proper digits.
We live in amazing times, don't we?
Now, if we could just figure out how to make the crazy people realize it and stop trying to ruin it!
01 January 2015
And Then I Bought...
I was maybe 10 years old.
An old guy in the neighborhood gave me a ride home from a Cub Scout meeting on his 74-inch Harley Davidson.
The sensation was like riding a bicycle VERY fast, effortlessly, with the additional sound of that wonderful 45-degree V-Twin emanating from just behind us and the powerful feel of that motor beneath us.
At that very moment I started calculating how I could get "Up on two wheels" myself.
Regular readers know "The Rest of The Story"...
Cushman motor scooter. Harley Davidson Sprint. Access to my friend's H-D Sportster any time I wanted to use it.
My post-Viet Nam purchase of my first Japanese bike, which was also my first dalliance with a two-stroke powered bike... the ferocious Kawasaki 500cc triple that I traded for another, then upgraded to the Kaw 750 when it came out. (Check the prices of those things now... out of sight!)
In those years it was important for me to own the hardest accelerating bike being sold to the public, so when the Yamaha XS1100SF came out, I bought one. FAST. Smooth running. Disc brakes front and rear. Alloy wheels. Drive shaft final drive.
It's one of the few early bikes I wish I still owned.
But something happened.
About the time Big Bubba was born, Spring rolled around and I didn't get the itch to ride.
The big Yamaha sat in the garage and gathered dust. Months passed. When I did finally go out to start it the battery was dead. And by "dead" I don't mean it had no charge. I mean it was D-E-A-D as in needing a replacement.
And I didn't replace it.
I pretty much gave the bike to a friend who said he'd make it run and ride it.
To my dismay, he let the bike sit until the engine was stuck, then he sold it for scrap.
Even when I didn't ride I ALWAYS had an interest in motorcycles. Now and then I'd pick up a magazine and read about the latest, greatest new stuff. I watched as the bikes I had purchased because they were "scary fast" became pedestrian due to new engine technology and huge horsepower increases. Six hundred cubic centimeter bikes got fast enough to blow that 1100cc Yamaha into the ditch. Motorcycles seemed to be on the leading edge of automotive technology... much of what was being done to bikes ended up also in our cars. Think of it... almost ANY car on the road today will exceed 100 miles per hour. That was NOT the case when I learned to drive!
Big Bubba finished college, got a job far away, and left us with an extra bedroom.
And my interest in riding began to grow.
Sara Jean likes to ride. We'd be driving somewhere and a group of bikes would pass us and I'd hear her say, "Ooooooh! Look at that one!"
Make note here- I SHOULD have paid better attention to which bikes she was enthralled with!
I started pokin' around on eBay, looking at various bikes for sale. As you know, you name it and it's pretty much for sale on eBay if you have the $$$$$$.
But the bike I focused on was an Italian machine that pleased my eye-
The Moto Guzzi I now call "Pizza Bike". I bought it and drove to Pennsylvania to pick it up.
But when Sara Jean rode pillion, I could tell she wasn't thrilled.
"I want a backrest so I have no fear of falling off the back of the bike."
Only then did I start thinking about the bikes that made her say "Ooooooooh" as they passed by-
Dresser Harleys and Honda GoldWings.
So I bought a GoldWing.
We liked it. So we traded it on another. We liked that one better, but she still commented on different cruiser-style bikes we'd see. "They look like REAL motorcycles."
Back to eBay. We both liked the looks of this thing, so I bought it. In the garage next to the 'Wing, the two big Hondas take up every bit as much room as a car.
I like the Valkyrie. I like it A LOT.
She doesn't. She literally snuggles in and goes to sleep on the 'Wing. She doesn't feel secure on the Valk and is fearful the whole time we ride it. It's a dilemma... do I keep it just to ride it alone? (To be continued.)
In four years now I've dabbled, buying a selling several bikes...
Two BMW Boxers. A Suzuki SV650 which now resides in Arizona for use as a commuter for my son. A Yamaha VStar Classic. The whole experience has been very educational. We know what we like. We know what we want.
And what we want is a nice new(er), GoldWing.
Back to eBay.
Right now I think I'd like one that's lemon YELLOW.
An old guy in the neighborhood gave me a ride home from a Cub Scout meeting on his 74-inch Harley Davidson.
The sensation was like riding a bicycle VERY fast, effortlessly, with the additional sound of that wonderful 45-degree V-Twin emanating from just behind us and the powerful feel of that motor beneath us.
At that very moment I started calculating how I could get "Up on two wheels" myself.
Regular readers know "The Rest of The Story"...
Cushman motor scooter. Harley Davidson Sprint. Access to my friend's H-D Sportster any time I wanted to use it.
My post-Viet Nam purchase of my first Japanese bike, which was also my first dalliance with a two-stroke powered bike... the ferocious Kawasaki 500cc triple that I traded for another, then upgraded to the Kaw 750 when it came out. (Check the prices of those things now... out of sight!)
In those years it was important for me to own the hardest accelerating bike being sold to the public, so when the Yamaha XS1100SF came out, I bought one. FAST. Smooth running. Disc brakes front and rear. Alloy wheels. Drive shaft final drive.
It's one of the few early bikes I wish I still owned.
But something happened.
About the time Big Bubba was born, Spring rolled around and I didn't get the itch to ride.
The big Yamaha sat in the garage and gathered dust. Months passed. When I did finally go out to start it the battery was dead. And by "dead" I don't mean it had no charge. I mean it was D-E-A-D as in needing a replacement.
And I didn't replace it.
I pretty much gave the bike to a friend who said he'd make it run and ride it.
To my dismay, he let the bike sit until the engine was stuck, then he sold it for scrap.
Even when I didn't ride I ALWAYS had an interest in motorcycles. Now and then I'd pick up a magazine and read about the latest, greatest new stuff. I watched as the bikes I had purchased because they were "scary fast" became pedestrian due to new engine technology and huge horsepower increases. Six hundred cubic centimeter bikes got fast enough to blow that 1100cc Yamaha into the ditch. Motorcycles seemed to be on the leading edge of automotive technology... much of what was being done to bikes ended up also in our cars. Think of it... almost ANY car on the road today will exceed 100 miles per hour. That was NOT the case when I learned to drive!
Big Bubba finished college, got a job far away, and left us with an extra bedroom.
And my interest in riding began to grow.
Sara Jean likes to ride. We'd be driving somewhere and a group of bikes would pass us and I'd hear her say, "Ooooooh! Look at that one!"
Make note here- I SHOULD have paid better attention to which bikes she was enthralled with!
I started pokin' around on eBay, looking at various bikes for sale. As you know, you name it and it's pretty much for sale on eBay if you have the $$$$$$.
But the bike I focused on was an Italian machine that pleased my eye-
The Moto Guzzi I now call "Pizza Bike". I bought it and drove to Pennsylvania to pick it up.
But when Sara Jean rode pillion, I could tell she wasn't thrilled.
"I want a backrest so I have no fear of falling off the back of the bike."
Only then did I start thinking about the bikes that made her say "Ooooooooh" as they passed by-
Dresser Harleys and Honda GoldWings.
So I bought a GoldWing.
We liked it. So we traded it on another. We liked that one better, but she still commented on different cruiser-style bikes we'd see. "They look like REAL motorcycles."
Back to eBay. We both liked the looks of this thing, so I bought it. In the garage next to the 'Wing, the two big Hondas take up every bit as much room as a car.
I like the Valkyrie. I like it A LOT.
She doesn't. She literally snuggles in and goes to sleep on the 'Wing. She doesn't feel secure on the Valk and is fearful the whole time we ride it. It's a dilemma... do I keep it just to ride it alone? (To be continued.)
In four years now I've dabbled, buying a selling several bikes...
Two BMW Boxers. A Suzuki SV650 which now resides in Arizona for use as a commuter for my son. A Yamaha VStar Classic. The whole experience has been very educational. We know what we like. We know what we want.
And what we want is a nice new(er), GoldWing.
Back to eBay.
Right now I think I'd like one that's lemon YELLOW.
31 December 2014
Happy Anniversary Baby, Got You On My Mind!
It's raining in Phoenix...
A nice, steady, easy rain. The ground here, (they cover most of their yards here with pea-gravel) seems to be smiling as it slowly sips what the sky is offering. We've now been here over a week and this overcast sky has the first clouds we've seen since our arrival. (While I'm writing this the sun is attempting to take control again.)
My son calls weather here "Ground Hog Day"...
Sixty-ish degree days followed by 40-ish degree nights. Several nights this week have dipped below the freezing level, but with 15% humidity and virtually no wind and proper preparation, motorcycle riding is still reasonably comfortable. We intended to ride today. Mom Nature and liquid sunshine changed our minds.
Sunday's forecast is 64 degrees and sunny, so we're takin' a raincheck.
New paragraph, new thought:
On December 31, 1980, I was invited by a friend to accompany him to a New Year's Eve party.
We were met and welcomed at the door by one of the most stunning females I had ever seen.
We've been together since.
Thirty-four years. Life has put obstacles in our path but we both know how to do the "Ask Abby" analysis-
"Is your life better WITH him/her, or WITHOUT them?"
The answer to that question makes it easy-
I cannot imagine life without her.
I think I'll keep her so long as her "Ask Abby" result is the same as mine.
Our son is home from Manila, Philippines where he has been mentoring others to do their jobs more efficiently.
He's leaving Friday morning to return for three months, leaving us here in this nice home to deal with the "Ground Hog Day" weather.
We intend to make the most of it, spending as much time on two wheels as we can.
Bring your bike. We have room in the house AND the garage!
Happy New Year to you all.
Be well.
Ride safely.
A nice, steady, easy rain. The ground here, (they cover most of their yards here with pea-gravel) seems to be smiling as it slowly sips what the sky is offering. We've now been here over a week and this overcast sky has the first clouds we've seen since our arrival. (While I'm writing this the sun is attempting to take control again.)
My son calls weather here "Ground Hog Day"...
Sixty-ish degree days followed by 40-ish degree nights. Several nights this week have dipped below the freezing level, but with 15% humidity and virtually no wind and proper preparation, motorcycle riding is still reasonably comfortable. We intended to ride today. Mom Nature and liquid sunshine changed our minds.
Sunday's forecast is 64 degrees and sunny, so we're takin' a raincheck.
New paragraph, new thought:
On December 31, 1980, I was invited by a friend to accompany him to a New Year's Eve party.
We were met and welcomed at the door by one of the most stunning females I had ever seen.
We've been together since.
Thirty-four years. Life has put obstacles in our path but we both know how to do the "Ask Abby" analysis-
"Is your life better WITH him/her, or WITHOUT them?"
The answer to that question makes it easy-
I cannot imagine life without her.
I think I'll keep her so long as her "Ask Abby" result is the same as mine.
Our son is home from Manila, Philippines where he has been mentoring others to do their jobs more efficiently.
He's leaving Friday morning to return for three months, leaving us here in this nice home to deal with the "Ground Hog Day" weather.
We intend to make the most of it, spending as much time on two wheels as we can.
Bring your bike. We have room in the house AND the garage!
Happy New Year to you all.
Be well.
Ride safely.
30 December 2014
"Cruisin'... On A Sunday Afternoon". (And Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc. Too.)
I've never been on a Cruise Ship.
Sara Jean and Big Bubba took a Caribbean cruise last year and came back raving about the experience. I'm not at all sure I'm interested in cruising to Haiti. I know damn well I'm not interested in cruising to anywhere in MEXICO since our Marine Sgt was maltreated there.
So I've set my sights on a couple cruises I know I'll enjoy, while bein' educated and entertained at the same time: Alaska's inland passage, and locking through the Panama Canal.
I just got off the telephone with an agent. We're interested in a "Princess Cruise Lines" tour to Alaska. We've heard their food is GREAT. We want a room with a balcony. Beyond that, I'm Sgt Schultz-
"I KNOW NOTHING!"
Room. Board. Entertainment. Gorgeous scenery. Exotic locales. Exotic boat.
Ya gotta add it all up to understand how the total cost comes into play.
Suggestions?
Warnings?
Comments?
I'd appreciate your input.
Sara Jean and Big Bubba took a Caribbean cruise last year and came back raving about the experience. I'm not at all sure I'm interested in cruising to Haiti. I know damn well I'm not interested in cruising to anywhere in MEXICO since our Marine Sgt was maltreated there.
So I've set my sights on a couple cruises I know I'll enjoy, while bein' educated and entertained at the same time: Alaska's inland passage, and locking through the Panama Canal.
I just got off the telephone with an agent. We're interested in a "Princess Cruise Lines" tour to Alaska. We've heard their food is GREAT. We want a room with a balcony. Beyond that, I'm Sgt Schultz-
"I KNOW NOTHING!"
Room. Board. Entertainment. Gorgeous scenery. Exotic locales. Exotic boat.
Ya gotta add it all up to understand how the total cost comes into play.
Suggestions?
Warnings?
Comments?
I'd appreciate your input.
29 December 2014
Signing The "Blank Check"
Your child comes to you and says, "I want to join the ARMY".
What would be your reaction?
I think the answer to that question for me would be an initial knot in my stomach accompanied by a sense of pride.
Fear, at the thought of the possibility of losing my child in defense of the country.
Pride, that my child would feel the tug of responsibility that he/she needed to don the uniform like Dad and Granddad did to "support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America".
Now let me tweak the scenario a little bit to get your reaction after one minor change:
Your child comes to you and says, "I want to be a Law Enforcement Officer".
Would you get a knot in your stomach-
Or would you, like me, immediately run to the commode to throw up there?
Hope and Change?
I don't think those words mean what he thought they mean.
How do we find ourselves in this MESS?
What would be your reaction?
I think the answer to that question for me would be an initial knot in my stomach accompanied by a sense of pride.
Fear, at the thought of the possibility of losing my child in defense of the country.
Pride, that my child would feel the tug of responsibility that he/she needed to don the uniform like Dad and Granddad did to "support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America".
Now let me tweak the scenario a little bit to get your reaction after one minor change:
Your child comes to you and says, "I want to be a Law Enforcement Officer".
Would you get a knot in your stomach-
Or would you, like me, immediately run to the commode to throw up there?
Hope and Change?
I don't think those words mean what he thought they mean.
How do we find ourselves in this MESS?
10 December 2014
Pokin' The Hornet's Nest:
I know history.
I know how our "Greatest Generation" Allies gathered information to save the lives of men storming the beaches at "Juno", "Omaha", "Sword", "Utah", and "Gold".
I know I WOULD NOT have been comfortable with the tactics used to get that information.
I also know those tactics saved millions...
Let me emphasize that: MILLIONS of lives.
The gathering of intelligence is a nasty business.
When intelligence agencies fail at their work, thousands can die either jumping from burning buildings or being crushed in the collapse of those structures.
Our intelligence agencies must be STRONG, and must be able to do things that make most of us uncomfortable.
Regular readers know I'm dismayed with the direction our country is taking.
I blame it on Dianne Feinstein.
I blame it on Nancy Pelosi.
And I question whether or not Harry Reid has enough testosterone to qualify as an actual male.
There is a term, The "Pussification of America".
Al Qaeda does not give a DAMN what Dianne Feinstein thinks.
And until we realize that, we're screwed.
Where is OUR Margaret Thatcher?
I know how our "Greatest Generation" Allies gathered information to save the lives of men storming the beaches at "Juno", "Omaha", "Sword", "Utah", and "Gold".
I know I WOULD NOT have been comfortable with the tactics used to get that information.
I also know those tactics saved millions...
Let me emphasize that: MILLIONS of lives.
The gathering of intelligence is a nasty business.
When intelligence agencies fail at their work, thousands can die either jumping from burning buildings or being crushed in the collapse of those structures.
Our intelligence agencies must be STRONG, and must be able to do things that make most of us uncomfortable.
Regular readers know I'm dismayed with the direction our country is taking.
I blame it on Dianne Feinstein.
I blame it on Nancy Pelosi.
And I question whether or not Harry Reid has enough testosterone to qualify as an actual male.
There is a term, The "Pussification of America".
Al Qaeda does not give a DAMN what Dianne Feinstein thinks.
And until we realize that, we're screwed.
Where is OUR Margaret Thatcher?
09 December 2014
Schwinn
In 1958 my parents bought me a (made in Chicago, IL) Schwinn bicycle to use while delivering "The Indianapolis News".
I know it was financially stressful for them to buy the bike... I heard Mom and Dad talking about it.
It cost $70.
Yesterday Sara Jean and I went shopping for a bicycle to give as a Christmas/Birthday gift for one of our neighbor's kids.
We ended up purchasing her a Schwinn. I was surprised at the low price. I was also surprised at the "Made in China" label.
No bike in the store was made in the U.S..
Progress?
I know it was financially stressful for them to buy the bike... I heard Mom and Dad talking about it.
It cost $70.
Yesterday Sara Jean and I went shopping for a bicycle to give as a Christmas/Birthday gift for one of our neighbor's kids.
We ended up purchasing her a Schwinn. I was surprised at the low price. I was also surprised at the "Made in China" label.
No bike in the store was made in the U.S..
Progress?
29 October 2014
"Fender Stratocaster"
The title of my post is the title of a program I recorded that was on "Palladia" channel, thinking my friend and guitar nut Phil would enjoy watching with me if he stopped by to spend the night last week. I had no idea what to expect from it, except that it initially aired in 2005 and was recorded in London.
Phil didn't make it through to visit, so I fired the sucker up yesterday just to see what I had recorded.
It turned out to be something different than I had hoped. I hoped it would be Joe Walsh, Eric Clapton, or some other guitar genius talking about their talent and how "Fender" had motivated them to excellence. Instead, it's just three hours of folks on stage doing various Rock hits, most of which include someone doin' something with a guitar at some point.
"The Crickets". Hank Marvin. Some unidentified guy with fingers moving across the strings faster than should be allowed by law. Neat stuff.
I turned on the Bose sound system, cranked it up, and went upstairs to do a few chores while listening.
Wait.
Who's that?
She sounds familiar.
Singing a jazz number, I don't really care for the tune, but she's got a good voice...
Wonder what she looks like?
I go to the railing and look down to check.
Brunette. Voluptuous. Eyes like Sophia Loren. Meat in the right places on her bones.
Beautiful.
Amy Winehouse.
2005.
Tragic.
Phil didn't make it through to visit, so I fired the sucker up yesterday just to see what I had recorded.
It turned out to be something different than I had hoped. I hoped it would be Joe Walsh, Eric Clapton, or some other guitar genius talking about their talent and how "Fender" had motivated them to excellence. Instead, it's just three hours of folks on stage doing various Rock hits, most of which include someone doin' something with a guitar at some point.
"The Crickets". Hank Marvin. Some unidentified guy with fingers moving across the strings faster than should be allowed by law. Neat stuff.
I turned on the Bose sound system, cranked it up, and went upstairs to do a few chores while listening.
Wait.
Who's that?
She sounds familiar.
Singing a jazz number, I don't really care for the tune, but she's got a good voice...
Wonder what she looks like?
I go to the railing and look down to check.
Brunette. Voluptuous. Eyes like Sophia Loren. Meat in the right places on her bones.
Beautiful.
Amy Winehouse.
2005.
Tragic.
27 October 2014
Buggy Whips
If the title of my post confuses you, let me explain.
Until the early 1900's, when you wanted to deliver milk, move across country, or simply take your sleigh "over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house", you probably used a vehicle powered by oats and hay. Some of those powerplants did their jobs without an octane booster. Some needed a little extra help. That little bit of help might have been supplied by a device that looked like a stick with a length of leather shoelace attached to it.
When engines of one sort or another replaced horses as powerplants, many workers toiling in factories designed to produce Buggy Whips suddenly found themselves unemployed.
I still have the Buggy Whip's cousin in my home. It's called a "landline" or "hard wired" telephone.
If you know my name, you can still look me up... I'm "in the book".
And that's the reason I've continued paying the bill to keep the landline. For years, while I had my own little helicopter business, it was a valuable tool:
"Hey, let's call Greybeard and sign little Jimmy up for helicopter flight lessons."
And they did.
To this landline we added an answering machine and a copier/printer/fax machine.
Convenient.
Over the last two weeks that phone has rung approximately four times a day.
We screen ALL our calls on that line through the answering machine. Here's the way these calls have sounded:
First, there's dead silence for three seconds. Then we hear, "Hello! We're calling all conservative republicans to action to defeat 'Blah blah politician or policy' in the upcoming election."
Here's what's irritating-
Those are the ONLY calls we get for the money we're throwing at that "Buggy Whip".
We're getting ready to spend several months away from the Great White North.
Funds we spend on that device could take me and my bride out to a nice dinner a couple times a month.
Much as I hate to no longer be listed in "The Book", I think it's time to de-Luddite, don't you?
Discussion?
Until the early 1900's, when you wanted to deliver milk, move across country, or simply take your sleigh "over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house", you probably used a vehicle powered by oats and hay. Some of those powerplants did their jobs without an octane booster. Some needed a little extra help. That little bit of help might have been supplied by a device that looked like a stick with a length of leather shoelace attached to it.
When engines of one sort or another replaced horses as powerplants, many workers toiling in factories designed to produce Buggy Whips suddenly found themselves unemployed.
I still have the Buggy Whip's cousin in my home. It's called a "landline" or "hard wired" telephone.
If you know my name, you can still look me up... I'm "in the book".
And that's the reason I've continued paying the bill to keep the landline. For years, while I had my own little helicopter business, it was a valuable tool:
"Hey, let's call Greybeard and sign little Jimmy up for helicopter flight lessons."
And they did.
To this landline we added an answering machine and a copier/printer/fax machine.
Convenient.
Over the last two weeks that phone has rung approximately four times a day.
We screen ALL our calls on that line through the answering machine. Here's the way these calls have sounded:
First, there's dead silence for three seconds. Then we hear, "Hello! We're calling all conservative republicans to action to defeat 'Blah blah politician or policy' in the upcoming election."
Here's what's irritating-
Those are the ONLY calls we get for the money we're throwing at that "Buggy Whip".
We're getting ready to spend several months away from the Great White North.
Funds we spend on that device could take me and my bride out to a nice dinner a couple times a month.
Much as I hate to no longer be listed in "The Book", I think it's time to de-Luddite, don't you?
Discussion?
24 October 2014
"I Wish..."
More and more I realize how fortunate I was.
Though my Father and me weren't really close during my formative years, he was THERE.
And by "There", I mean he came home from work, read the Indianapolis Times and Indianapolis News, and waited for Mom to put dinner on the table. At that time he, Mom, my sister and me all sat around that table, ate the meal, and TALKED.
The meal? It was never fancy. Sometimes it was cornmeal mush and beans.
But in all my growing-up years I was NEVER hungry.
Dad was there.
Way too many kids these days cannot make that statement.
Conversation around that table was what you'd expect...
Dad's job as a lineman for the Indianapolis Power and Light Company was not without risk. Sometimes we'd hear stories about someone being hurt. Once it was about how difficult it was to lower an acquaintance's body from the utility pole.
We may not have been close, but Dad was THERE, and I knew, because of his WWII experience, and the fact his coworkers had died doing the same job he did, he was a willing to take risks others would not take... a hero.
He was someone who deserved my attention.
Dad was THERE putting beans and biscuits on that table, and I listened not only to what he said but what he didn't say.
I heard him say, "If I had stayed in the ARMY I'd be retiring now."
And from that I inferred, "I wish I had looked farther into the future and had taken a smarter course."
Wow.
How many kids today could benefit from that lesson?
How many adults today would have better lives if their Fathers had been sitting across from them at the dinner table?
Dad was there. Mom was there.
And their relationship, though FAR from perfect, reminds me of the Foster Parent ads we're seeing and hearing on our media today...
"You don't need to be perfect to be a perfect parent."
Amen.
We didn't have much, but we had MORE than enough.
How long before we realize kids need PARENTS...(that's PLURAL folks), to be THERE for kids?
Our train is off the track.
Let's get back to the basics and get back on the right course.
Though my Father and me weren't really close during my formative years, he was THERE.
And by "There", I mean he came home from work, read the Indianapolis Times and Indianapolis News, and waited for Mom to put dinner on the table. At that time he, Mom, my sister and me all sat around that table, ate the meal, and TALKED.
The meal? It was never fancy. Sometimes it was cornmeal mush and beans.
But in all my growing-up years I was NEVER hungry.
Dad was there.
Way too many kids these days cannot make that statement.
Conversation around that table was what you'd expect...
Dad's job as a lineman for the Indianapolis Power and Light Company was not without risk. Sometimes we'd hear stories about someone being hurt. Once it was about how difficult it was to lower an acquaintance's body from the utility pole.
We may not have been close, but Dad was THERE, and I knew, because of his WWII experience, and the fact his coworkers had died doing the same job he did, he was a willing to take risks others would not take... a hero.
He was someone who deserved my attention.
Dad was THERE putting beans and biscuits on that table, and I listened not only to what he said but what he didn't say.
I heard him say, "If I had stayed in the ARMY I'd be retiring now."
And from that I inferred, "I wish I had looked farther into the future and had taken a smarter course."
Wow.
How many kids today could benefit from that lesson?
How many adults today would have better lives if their Fathers had been sitting across from them at the dinner table?
Dad was there. Mom was there.
And their relationship, though FAR from perfect, reminds me of the Foster Parent ads we're seeing and hearing on our media today...
"You don't need to be perfect to be a perfect parent."
Amen.
We didn't have much, but we had MORE than enough.
How long before we realize kids need PARENTS...(that's PLURAL folks), to be THERE for kids?
Our train is off the track.
Let's get back to the basics and get back on the right course.
23 October 2014
Car and Driver
I'm what "Car and Driver" magazine would call an "Enthusiast"...
I pretty much love all cars. I LUST after cars I'd like to own, and at least tolerate and try to understand vehicles like drastically lowered pickup trucks that make me scratch my head in wonder why anyone would do that.
I cherish the memory of my '68 Oldsmobile 442 and the good times I had in it, driving in such ways that I have no right to still be among the living.
That 442, a "muscle car", heavily influenced my thoughts toward our latest new car purchase-
A Ford Taurus SHO.
Seven-hundred horsepower Dodge Challengers and 500+ horsepower Camaros tempted me, but they eat premium fuel by the boxcar load and their rear seats are pretty much useless for entertaining guests you'd like to keep as friends.
We needed a new car. We needed something practical. But I wanted something with cojones.
The SHO fills that bill nicely.
There are 353 horses lurking beneath that hood.
It prefers premium but will run just fine on 87-Octane... just expect lower performance when the engine control computer realizes you've put it on a low-carb diet.
It gets 25-or-so miles per gallon.
And it has a back seat that can't be considered cruel and unusual punishment.
We're still trying to figure out how to use many of the gadgets this car has that can do "stuff" for us. One of the first things we sorted out was the SHO's ability to parallel park itself-
Push the button designated for this purpose. Turn on the turn signal to signify where the car should be searching for a parking spot, right or left side. When the car finds a spot it likes it will signal you to STOP on the center Nav/Phone/Climate/Entertainment display. It will then tell you to engage reverse and slowly depress the accelerator. Keep your hands OFF the steering wheel so you don't cause the system to cancel the parking process. Sit back and watch as the car's sensors back the car perfectly into the available space.
It's freaky to experience.
Now, as an "enthusiast" I'm thinking of the future...
Google already has self-driving cars operating in California, I've heard. Watching our car park itself has made me realize we're just a few steps from that technology (and more) being used widely around the world.
What happens to those of us that enjoy driving our cars?
How long before human mistakes cause accidents that will legally be considered negligence on our part?
I miss my old Olds 442.
But more and more, I'm the old FART that pines for the "Good Old Days".
Sigh.
I pretty much love all cars. I LUST after cars I'd like to own, and at least tolerate and try to understand vehicles like drastically lowered pickup trucks that make me scratch my head in wonder why anyone would do that.
I cherish the memory of my '68 Oldsmobile 442 and the good times I had in it, driving in such ways that I have no right to still be among the living.
That 442, a "muscle car", heavily influenced my thoughts toward our latest new car purchase-
A Ford Taurus SHO.
Seven-hundred horsepower Dodge Challengers and 500+ horsepower Camaros tempted me, but they eat premium fuel by the boxcar load and their rear seats are pretty much useless for entertaining guests you'd like to keep as friends.
We needed a new car. We needed something practical. But I wanted something with cojones.
The SHO fills that bill nicely.
There are 353 horses lurking beneath that hood.
It prefers premium but will run just fine on 87-Octane... just expect lower performance when the engine control computer realizes you've put it on a low-carb diet.
It gets 25-or-so miles per gallon.
And it has a back seat that can't be considered cruel and unusual punishment.
We're still trying to figure out how to use many of the gadgets this car has that can do "stuff" for us. One of the first things we sorted out was the SHO's ability to parallel park itself-
Push the button designated for this purpose. Turn on the turn signal to signify where the car should be searching for a parking spot, right or left side. When the car finds a spot it likes it will signal you to STOP on the center Nav/Phone/Climate/Entertainment display. It will then tell you to engage reverse and slowly depress the accelerator. Keep your hands OFF the steering wheel so you don't cause the system to cancel the parking process. Sit back and watch as the car's sensors back the car perfectly into the available space.
It's freaky to experience.
Now, as an "enthusiast" I'm thinking of the future...
Google already has self-driving cars operating in California, I've heard. Watching our car park itself has made me realize we're just a few steps from that technology (and more) being used widely around the world.
What happens to those of us that enjoy driving our cars?
How long before human mistakes cause accidents that will legally be considered negligence on our part?
I miss my old Olds 442.
But more and more, I'm the old FART that pines for the "Good Old Days".
Sigh.
22 October 2014
Hillary in '16
So, what's goin' on?
We've got the accelerator on the floor and we're headed for a crash, THAT'S what's goin' on!
Like you, (I hope), I watch a lot of stuff on TV to educate myself.
Unlike so many of my fellow citizens, I DON'T think Jon Stewart is a good source for current events.
The other day I watched an interview of Peter Thiel, who was instrumental in creating Facebook and actually founded PayPal.
Peter is obviously a brilliant dude. I like it when I find that geniuses agree with my thoughts.
Peter thinks we're headed for BIG trouble.
In the interview, Peter also made a comment that I've been thinking about for some time now...
Basically, he wants democrats to sleep in their own feces.
For those not so quick on the uptake, here's what that means:
The economy WILL collapse. Progressives are the reason the economy WILL collapse. Virtually all democrats are progressives.
It WILL happen.
Let's try to insure that a progressive is in office when the world goes to Hell, so the history books, (written mostly by progressives), will have to do the wildest tap-dance we've ever seen in order to put lipstick on this pig.
It took a "Village" to get us into this mess.
Let's make Hillary the Mayor of the village so she can try to fix it when the chaos starts.
Vote HILLARY in '16!
We've got the accelerator on the floor and we're headed for a crash, THAT'S what's goin' on!
Like you, (I hope), I watch a lot of stuff on TV to educate myself.
Unlike so many of my fellow citizens, I DON'T think Jon Stewart is a good source for current events.
The other day I watched an interview of Peter Thiel, who was instrumental in creating Facebook and actually founded PayPal.
Peter is obviously a brilliant dude. I like it when I find that geniuses agree with my thoughts.
Peter thinks we're headed for BIG trouble.
In the interview, Peter also made a comment that I've been thinking about for some time now...
Basically, he wants democrats to sleep in their own feces.
For those not so quick on the uptake, here's what that means:
The economy WILL collapse. Progressives are the reason the economy WILL collapse. Virtually all democrats are progressives.
It WILL happen.
Let's try to insure that a progressive is in office when the world goes to Hell, so the history books, (written mostly by progressives), will have to do the wildest tap-dance we've ever seen in order to put lipstick on this pig.
It took a "Village" to get us into this mess.
Let's make Hillary the Mayor of the village so she can try to fix it when the chaos starts.
Vote HILLARY in '16!
22 August 2014
In The Toilet
"You've not updated your Blog in quite a while", my friend said.
Yeah. Obviously.
In many ways it's been a tough year+ for the Old Man.
I retired January of 2013.
My business partner of 26 years died Spring of 2013. His wife had no interest at all in picking up his work, so we sold the business.
My Mother died a couple months later.
I was Trustee of her Estate and had to fight a battle with an insurance company to get what we deserved. Then I had to fight with my own family about spending money that belonged to others.
When a parent dies and there's suddenly "found money", families that have never been really close can be destroyed. 'Nuf said about that.
This Spring we sold the Condo we've owned in Destin since 2000.
So, there have been MAJOR changes in our life.
I LOVED my work.
I HATED what was happening in my industry.
Government regs intended to make things safer/better... WON'T do any such thing.
Lawyers are making it tougher to do the job well while covering their own asses.
It was time to quit.
We've been traveling.
We bought a new car. I may Blog about that soon. (Ever own a car that can park itself? We now have one.)
Oddly, the biggest reason I haven't written here is because I'm dismayed at my fellow citizens.
I rant and rave about what is going on politically, but I'm finding many of my neighbors are Marxist/Socialists/Communists and are happy with this "Fundamental Transformation".
I'm watching as many of those I respect in the military are "Getting their fill" of the B.S. and are getting out. At the same time, the Obama administration seems to be purging the ranks of military leaders who don't agree with his "Fundamental Transformations".
Question:
If you want to destroy this Nation, how would you do it?
How does that differ from what this leadership is doing?
I'm feeling beaten right now my friends.
And frustrated. And dismayed.
I love this country.
I love my like-minded friends and will defend them to the death.
But more and more, it looks like I may have to do just that.
"No Justice! No Peace!"
God be with us.
I hope I'm WRONG.
Yeah. Obviously.
In many ways it's been a tough year+ for the Old Man.
I retired January of 2013.
My business partner of 26 years died Spring of 2013. His wife had no interest at all in picking up his work, so we sold the business.
My Mother died a couple months later.
I was Trustee of her Estate and had to fight a battle with an insurance company to get what we deserved. Then I had to fight with my own family about spending money that belonged to others.
When a parent dies and there's suddenly "found money", families that have never been really close can be destroyed. 'Nuf said about that.
This Spring we sold the Condo we've owned in Destin since 2000.
So, there have been MAJOR changes in our life.
I LOVED my work.
I HATED what was happening in my industry.
Government regs intended to make things safer/better... WON'T do any such thing.
Lawyers are making it tougher to do the job well while covering their own asses.
It was time to quit.
We've been traveling.
We bought a new car. I may Blog about that soon. (Ever own a car that can park itself? We now have one.)
Oddly, the biggest reason I haven't written here is because I'm dismayed at my fellow citizens.
I rant and rave about what is going on politically, but I'm finding many of my neighbors are Marxist/Socialists/Communists and are happy with this "Fundamental Transformation".
I'm watching as many of those I respect in the military are "Getting their fill" of the B.S. and are getting out. At the same time, the Obama administration seems to be purging the ranks of military leaders who don't agree with his "Fundamental Transformations".
Question:
If you want to destroy this Nation, how would you do it?
How does that differ from what this leadership is doing?
I'm feeling beaten right now my friends.
And frustrated. And dismayed.
I love this country.
I love my like-minded friends and will defend them to the death.
But more and more, it looks like I may have to do just that.
"No Justice! No Peace!"
God be with us.
I hope I'm WRONG.
24 May 2014
Ignorance, Or The Presence of Evil?
Long-term readers are aware of my frequently-updated post "The List".
There, I ask WHY entertainers are willing to alienate fully HALF the folks that might be interested in buying their produce by openly expressing their political views.
Do they have the right to do it? Certainly.
I, and millions before and after me have put our lives on the line for these misguided souls' right to openly illustrate their views (which, if allowed to come to fruition, would quickly put a stop to their ability to openly express political views).
The post immediately before this one is an example.
On "AXS TV" I watched a show called "The Big Interview", hosted by Dan Rather. The evil Mr. Rather was interviewing members of the band "Crosby, Stills, and Nash" individually and as a group.
During the individual David Crosby interview, Mr. Crosby profusely thanked Rather for his courage (HA!), in continuing to promote the truth. (!!!!)
Rather nodded and tried to act humble.
One of the very first things I did when I got home from Viet Nam was buy CS&N's first album. I played it on my new (bought while I was in Viet Nam) stereo system as loud as I could without incurring the wrath of neighbors.
I LOVE CS&N!!!
But they'll not get another dime of my hard-earned cash.
How did we get here?
There, I ask WHY entertainers are willing to alienate fully HALF the folks that might be interested in buying their produce by openly expressing their political views.
Do they have the right to do it? Certainly.
I, and millions before and after me have put our lives on the line for these misguided souls' right to openly illustrate their views (which, if allowed to come to fruition, would quickly put a stop to their ability to openly express political views).
The post immediately before this one is an example.
On "AXS TV" I watched a show called "The Big Interview", hosted by Dan Rather. The evil Mr. Rather was interviewing members of the band "Crosby, Stills, and Nash" individually and as a group.
During the individual David Crosby interview, Mr. Crosby profusely thanked Rather for his courage (HA!), in continuing to promote the truth. (!!!!)
Rather nodded and tried to act humble.
One of the very first things I did when I got home from Viet Nam was buy CS&N's first album. I played it on my new (bought while I was in Viet Nam) stereo system as loud as I could without incurring the wrath of neighbors.
I LOVE CS&N!!!
But they'll not get another dime of my hard-earned cash.
How did we get here?
18 May 2014
"Low T"
We men are told beyond a certain age we lose some percentage of our "Man Juice" yearly.
I have no doubt that's true, because I see both physical, and emotional evidence of it almost on a daily basis.
I'm not physically as strong as I once was.
I don't have the stamina I once had.
My physical attributes are changing. (We won't dwelve into that anytime soon.)
And the thing I, and those closest to me, see most readily is the change in my emotions.
I cry at some of the most ordinary, beautiful things in life.
Present me with something MORE than mundane, and I may be impacted to the point of speechlessness. (Giving up my POW/MIA bracelet bein' a prime example.)
I just watched Crosby, Stills, and Nash on "The Big Interview" with Dan Rather (Gag!) on AXS Tv.
Rather asked Nash about how he was motivated to write songs and he told THIS STORY in his own words.
I'm glad you weren't near.
I'd have been embarrassed.
I have no doubt that's true, because I see both physical, and emotional evidence of it almost on a daily basis.
I'm not physically as strong as I once was.
I don't have the stamina I once had.
My physical attributes are changing. (We won't dwelve into that anytime soon.)
And the thing I, and those closest to me, see most readily is the change in my emotions.
I cry at some of the most ordinary, beautiful things in life.
Present me with something MORE than mundane, and I may be impacted to the point of speechlessness. (Giving up my POW/MIA bracelet bein' a prime example.)
I just watched Crosby, Stills, and Nash on "The Big Interview" with Dan Rather (Gag!) on AXS Tv.
Rather asked Nash about how he was motivated to write songs and he told THIS STORY in his own words.
I'm glad you weren't near.
I'd have been embarrassed.
16 May 2014
"But It's A Dry Heat"
We're now in a Phoenix suburb called Gilbert, Arizona.
We're indoors in air-conditioned comfort, watching "The Five" on television.
Ambient temperature outside is 105 degrees Fahrenheit.
People familiar with this area will try to convince you this heat is bearable because the humidity is so low...
"But it's a DRY heat."
Yeah, it is. Humidity is 8%!
But an oven is also dry.
If you are outside in this "dry" heat, you literally feel like you are cooking.
How did anyone ever live here before the invention of Air Conditioning?
We're indoors in air-conditioned comfort, watching "The Five" on television.
Ambient temperature outside is 105 degrees Fahrenheit.
People familiar with this area will try to convince you this heat is bearable because the humidity is so low...
"But it's a DRY heat."
Yeah, it is. Humidity is 8%!
But an oven is also dry.
If you are outside in this "dry" heat, you literally feel like you are cooking.
How did anyone ever live here before the invention of Air Conditioning?
11 May 2014
May 2014- On The Road Again.
We loaded the truck.
Now that our son is FULLY settled in his own home, (which also happens to be newer, bigger, and nicer than ours), we decided to make room for more STUFF at our house by taking all his STUFF to him. Where will he put it all? That's HIS problem, not ours!
Old Tonka toys. A container of "transformer" toys that probably cost as much as a month's groceries.
Books. Videotapes. The bed of the truck contains 20 years of memories. It'll be interesting to see what ends up for sale on eBay.
"Preflight" the truck for the trip:
Changed the oil- It takes 10 quarts and two containers of STP!
Check the tires- Air pressure and general condition. The rears are only a few months old. The fronts are gonna be a concern... they still have good tread on 'em, but the previous owner lived in Palm Desert, California and the heat there has taken its toll on the sidewalls;
Weather cracked, I hope they give me the same amount of warning the rears did before I changed 'em. I'm bettin' they'll make this trip and last through the summer so I can buy new in the Fall.
Coolant level is good.
Windshield washer reservoir is full.
Headlights, wipers, turn signals and brake lights all okay.
GPS and Sirius XM on board.
Let's light this fire and get on the road!
Headed West at 0930, that's actually early for us. We always have good intentions but ALWAYS seem to find last minute things we forgot that MUST be attended to before departing.
We checked the weather and it looks like smooth sailing all the way.
A full tank of diesel, a cup of hot coffee in each cupholder and Lucy navigating, (that's a joke! She sleeps ALL the way...) we're on our way.
Two hours into our journey, Sara Jean asks, "Is that a siren I hear?"
"I don't think so", I respond. "I think that's alternator noise in the radio."
And it was. A few minutes later the "GEN" warning light came on.
Battery voltage still reading 13 volts, I shut down all the unnecessary power users and took the next exit off the Interstate.
At these times your mind races...
"What's the best way to handle this?"
I considered my options-
If the alternator is shot, I could do what I've done in the past- stop at an auto parts store like "AutoZone", and buy an alternator. Purchase the parts there and they'll loan the tools to do the job.
We're on a busy arterial street, there SHOULD be an AutoZone here somewhere.
Instead, a Guardian Angel intervened-
Just ahead on the right I see a big sign indicating there's a "Chrysler, Dodge, Jeep" dealership, and their Service Center is in the rear. We pull up and I go inside. This is a BIG, BUSY place...
There are FOUR service writers!
I approach the closest one and he asks, "How can I help you sir?"
"We have a minor emergency. We have motel reservations in Amarillo, Texas for tonight and we have an electrical problem in our truck."
He says, "Wow. Well, we'll get to you as soon as we can, but that may be an hour and a half or so."
"Beggars can't be choosy", I respond.
I go back out to the truck and try to start it, thinking if it'll start I may still act on my "AutoZone" option. Nothing.
And I mean when I try to start the truck I get NOTHING...
No click. Nothing.
It's only then I notice when I open the door the dome light doesn't come on. This truck has two batteries... can they both be THAT dead? I pop the hood, start poking around, and find a loose cable to the primary battery. I have Sara Jean hold that cable tight to the terminal and open the door...
The dome light works! I turn the key and the Cummins roars to life.
After 30 minutes the "technician" comes out and I show him what I have discovered, and ask him if he can also hook up a multi-meter to the system to insure the alternator is still working.
He drives our truck into the service bay and raises the hood. In twenty minutes he's finished.
Ninety minutes and $89.96 later, we're back on the road.
When I review how this unfolded I realize, IF we had first encountered an AutoZone, I'd almost certainly have bought a new alternator- $$$$$$$, and that would not have solved our problem.
We arrived at the Amarillo "La Quinta Inn" at 0030 hours, tired, but happy to have more than half our trip behind us.
Do you believe in Guardian Angels?
When I review my life experiences believe me...
I have ABSOLUTELY NO DOUBT they exist, and mine sometimes works overtime!
Now that our son is FULLY settled in his own home, (which also happens to be newer, bigger, and nicer than ours), we decided to make room for more STUFF at our house by taking all his STUFF to him. Where will he put it all? That's HIS problem, not ours!
Old Tonka toys. A container of "transformer" toys that probably cost as much as a month's groceries.
Books. Videotapes. The bed of the truck contains 20 years of memories. It'll be interesting to see what ends up for sale on eBay.
"Preflight" the truck for the trip:
Changed the oil- It takes 10 quarts and two containers of STP!
Check the tires- Air pressure and general condition. The rears are only a few months old. The fronts are gonna be a concern... they still have good tread on 'em, but the previous owner lived in Palm Desert, California and the heat there has taken its toll on the sidewalls;
Weather cracked, I hope they give me the same amount of warning the rears did before I changed 'em. I'm bettin' they'll make this trip and last through the summer so I can buy new in the Fall.
Coolant level is good.
Windshield washer reservoir is full.
Headlights, wipers, turn signals and brake lights all okay.
GPS and Sirius XM on board.
Let's light this fire and get on the road!
Headed West at 0930, that's actually early for us. We always have good intentions but ALWAYS seem to find last minute things we forgot that MUST be attended to before departing.
We checked the weather and it looks like smooth sailing all the way.
A full tank of diesel, a cup of hot coffee in each cupholder and Lucy navigating, (that's a joke! She sleeps ALL the way...) we're on our way.
Two hours into our journey, Sara Jean asks, "Is that a siren I hear?"
"I don't think so", I respond. "I think that's alternator noise in the radio."
And it was. A few minutes later the "GEN" warning light came on.
Battery voltage still reading 13 volts, I shut down all the unnecessary power users and took the next exit off the Interstate.
At these times your mind races...
"What's the best way to handle this?"
I considered my options-
If the alternator is shot, I could do what I've done in the past- stop at an auto parts store like "AutoZone", and buy an alternator. Purchase the parts there and they'll loan the tools to do the job.
We're on a busy arterial street, there SHOULD be an AutoZone here somewhere.
Instead, a Guardian Angel intervened-
Just ahead on the right I see a big sign indicating there's a "Chrysler, Dodge, Jeep" dealership, and their Service Center is in the rear. We pull up and I go inside. This is a BIG, BUSY place...
There are FOUR service writers!
I approach the closest one and he asks, "How can I help you sir?"
"We have a minor emergency. We have motel reservations in Amarillo, Texas for tonight and we have an electrical problem in our truck."
He says, "Wow. Well, we'll get to you as soon as we can, but that may be an hour and a half or so."
"Beggars can't be choosy", I respond.
I go back out to the truck and try to start it, thinking if it'll start I may still act on my "AutoZone" option. Nothing.
And I mean when I try to start the truck I get NOTHING...
No click. Nothing.
It's only then I notice when I open the door the dome light doesn't come on. This truck has two batteries... can they both be THAT dead? I pop the hood, start poking around, and find a loose cable to the primary battery. I have Sara Jean hold that cable tight to the terminal and open the door...
The dome light works! I turn the key and the Cummins roars to life.
After 30 minutes the "technician" comes out and I show him what I have discovered, and ask him if he can also hook up a multi-meter to the system to insure the alternator is still working.
He drives our truck into the service bay and raises the hood. In twenty minutes he's finished.
Ninety minutes and $89.96 later, we're back on the road.
When I review how this unfolded I realize, IF we had first encountered an AutoZone, I'd almost certainly have bought a new alternator- $$$$$$$, and that would not have solved our problem.
We arrived at the Amarillo "La Quinta Inn" at 0030 hours, tired, but happy to have more than half our trip behind us.
Do you believe in Guardian Angels?
When I review my life experiences believe me...
I have ABSOLUTELY NO DOUBT they exist, and mine sometimes works overtime!
30 April 2014
I Feel Naked
She was the Lifeguard at the Officer's Club swimming pool.
I was the Officer's Club manager.
She was almost 5' 2" tall, weighed 104 pounds, and looked good in a two-piece bathing suit.
We talked.
Spending the summer with her folks in Savannah, her full-time job was teaching kids at a school in Alpharetta, Georgia. She was smart, funny, and cute as a newborn pup.
I asked her out. She allowed as to how that might be fun.
It was June of 1972.
For it or against it, most everyone in the country had decided the way we were prosecuting the war in Viet Nam sucked, and wanted our troops to come home, including several hundred Prisoners of War.
I had noticed an outfit called "Viva" was offering bracelets with the names of P.O.W.'s and M.I.A.'s designed to bring attention to their plight. I mentioned this to the Lifeguard, the gal that would later become my 1st wife, and she replied, "Let's get two of the same name to wear!"
So I put a check in the mail for two, requesting they have the same name on both.
Two weeks later they arrived. I put hers on her wrist, she put the second bracelet on mine.
We both vowed we would not take them off until our guy's status was determined.
Keeping the bracelet on my wrist was sometimes a struggle;
At my annual flight physical with the ARMY, the technician giving me the EKG would invariably say, "Take that off", pointing to the bracelet. And after I explained that wasn't gonna happen, most of them would acquiesce and wrap the bracelet in tape, then continue with the procedure. There was never a problem.
One summer day in 1982 I was mowing a lawn for a friend. The temp that day was in the 90's and the humidity was almost that high. Finished mowing, I was hot, sweaty, and covered in dust and grass clippings. To rinse off I dived into our pond.
Instantly I realized the bracelet wasn't on my wrist. Under those circumstances the bracelet would have held a little residual heat, but this time my wrist felt instantly cool.
I panicked, retraced my steps and couldn't find it. I gave up the search and started to walk away, but something in my head said, "Take another look".
I walked straight to a Honeysuckle bush attached to a fence in the rear of the yard and there it was...
The bush had reached out and grabbed my bracelet!
I put it back on, and in 42 years that was the ONLY time it was ever off my wrist.
Now and then I'd do an internet search to see if I could find any news about my guy.
It always ended up the same; they had found bones/DNA from his navigator, but nothing on him.
This week I searched again.
They've officially declared him K.I.A.. I was shocked to see one site even reporting they had found his DNA at the crash site. More importantly, that site had comments from his nephew, including a home town. Another search netted me a phone number, I called and left a message.
The nephew called the next morning. We talked for half an hour about his Uncle, the war in Viet Nam, and my experiences there. I told him of my intent to not remove the bracelet until his Uncle's status was determined, then to send it to a family member. He told me the report they had found DNA was not true. Still, he's been officially declared dead.
The nephew was excited to hear I'd send the bracelet.and gave me his full address.
I removed the bracelet yesterday and boxed it up for its journey.
It's like a part of my body is gone. Washing my hands, I always bump-bumped against the bracelet to remind me it was there.
Now every time I wash my hands I'm reminded.
Forty-two years.
Well over half my life.
A spot on my wrist needs a tan.
I can only hope this brings peace and closure to this hero's family.
I was the Officer's Club manager.
She was almost 5' 2" tall, weighed 104 pounds, and looked good in a two-piece bathing suit.
We talked.
Spending the summer with her folks in Savannah, her full-time job was teaching kids at a school in Alpharetta, Georgia. She was smart, funny, and cute as a newborn pup.
I asked her out. She allowed as to how that might be fun.
It was June of 1972.
For it or against it, most everyone in the country had decided the way we were prosecuting the war in Viet Nam sucked, and wanted our troops to come home, including several hundred Prisoners of War.
I had noticed an outfit called "Viva" was offering bracelets with the names of P.O.W.'s and M.I.A.'s designed to bring attention to their plight. I mentioned this to the Lifeguard, the gal that would later become my 1st wife, and she replied, "Let's get two of the same name to wear!"
So I put a check in the mail for two, requesting they have the same name on both.
Two weeks later they arrived. I put hers on her wrist, she put the second bracelet on mine.
We both vowed we would not take them off until our guy's status was determined.
Keeping the bracelet on my wrist was sometimes a struggle;
At my annual flight physical with the ARMY, the technician giving me the EKG would invariably say, "Take that off", pointing to the bracelet. And after I explained that wasn't gonna happen, most of them would acquiesce and wrap the bracelet in tape, then continue with the procedure. There was never a problem.
One summer day in 1982 I was mowing a lawn for a friend. The temp that day was in the 90's and the humidity was almost that high. Finished mowing, I was hot, sweaty, and covered in dust and grass clippings. To rinse off I dived into our pond.
Instantly I realized the bracelet wasn't on my wrist. Under those circumstances the bracelet would have held a little residual heat, but this time my wrist felt instantly cool.
I panicked, retraced my steps and couldn't find it. I gave up the search and started to walk away, but something in my head said, "Take another look".
I walked straight to a Honeysuckle bush attached to a fence in the rear of the yard and there it was...
The bush had reached out and grabbed my bracelet!
I put it back on, and in 42 years that was the ONLY time it was ever off my wrist.
Now and then I'd do an internet search to see if I could find any news about my guy.
It always ended up the same; they had found bones/DNA from his navigator, but nothing on him.
This week I searched again.
They've officially declared him K.I.A.. I was shocked to see one site even reporting they had found his DNA at the crash site. More importantly, that site had comments from his nephew, including a home town. Another search netted me a phone number, I called and left a message.
The nephew called the next morning. We talked for half an hour about his Uncle, the war in Viet Nam, and my experiences there. I told him of my intent to not remove the bracelet until his Uncle's status was determined, then to send it to a family member. He told me the report they had found DNA was not true. Still, he's been officially declared dead.
The nephew was excited to hear I'd send the bracelet.and gave me his full address.
I removed the bracelet yesterday and boxed it up for its journey.
It's like a part of my body is gone. Washing my hands, I always bump-bumped against the bracelet to remind me it was there.
Now every time I wash my hands I'm reminded.
Forty-two years.
Well over half my life.
A spot on my wrist needs a tan.
I can only hope this brings peace and closure to this hero's family.
25 April 2014
Selling. Reluctantly.
"You guys are welcome to stay a few days in our condo."
We left home late, and arrived Destin at about 2 A.M..
We grabbed an adult beverage and went out on the balcony. Overcast... no light at all, we couldn't see much. BUT...
We could hear the murmuring of water hitting the beach and could smell the sea.
We finished our drinks and, worn out, retired to bed.
In the morning we returned to the balcony and our jaws dropped...
We were separated from the beach by old highway 98, but the view was absolutely breathtaking!
Sugar white sand. The water ranged from deep emerald green to aqua in color.
Where can we sign up for more of this?
So we went to the manager and asked, "Do you have a list of people who would like to buy when units become available?"
She answered, "Yes, and I'd love to see some new, YOUNGER faces around here." She recorded our phone number. I expected a call in a year, maybe two.
Three months later I answered the phone and heard, "The unit next door to the one you stayed in is for sale. I've talked with the owner and the price is reasonable. Act NOW!"
But "reasonable"?
Try as hard as I might, crunching the numbers didn't make me comfortable with the purchase.
So, knowing they had the money and might be interested in a second unit, we called our friend that had generously allowed us to stay in their unit those months earlier...
"We can't afford it. If you want the condo, here's the number to call."
"Would you be interested in owning half of it?" they asked.
And the answer to that question put me smack in the middle of my comfort zone.
That was April of 2000. Together we bought the condo with the gorgeous view of the Gulf, put a solid week of sweat equity into painting, wallpapering, repairing, replacing old appliances;
All intended to make the place attractive to add to a rental program so others would pay the bills.
At least that's how it was supposed to work.
In 14 years, the place has never fully paid for itself.
Oh, don't take me wrong...
We've LOVED owning it.
We've loved the idea that at some point in "the future", we'd be able to come spend Winters here, away from sub-zero temps and snow plows running up and down the road.
But every time we came down to spend time here we've had to bring a hammer, screwdriver, and a paint brush. The blinds inevitably have been screwed up by renters. The carpeting ALWAYS needs minor or major cleaning.
In 2005, if our crystal ball had been working, we could have sold the property for three times what we paid.
But our crystal ball at that point was just an interesting piece of glass. The market pretty much collapsed and the value of the condo returned to just about what we paid.
But it has slowly, surely, been going up since.
And then came the anxiety.
Our country is changing. Our economy is changing. Seemingly EVERYTHING is changing.
I don't like what I see.
As much as I love being here looking at that gorgeous beach, I think having money in hand to buy things we might need in case of "trouble" might be more important than owning a piece of property most of a day's drive distant.
We burned the mortgage two months ago.
We have what appears to be a solid contract for the condo.
The sale won't make us rich, but will put some money in the bank and, almost as important, will take the worry/expense of always having to fix something renters have broken off our shoulders.
This week we're spending what may be our last week in this second home as "owners"...
The table where I wrote the first post for "Pitchpull" in April of 2005 will no longer belong to us.
Bittersweet.
Our sadness is somewhat tempered by the fact that money in the bank will allow us to come rent here most anytime, anyplace we want.
And we DO still LOVE Destin.
We'll be back.
We left home late, and arrived Destin at about 2 A.M..
We grabbed an adult beverage and went out on the balcony. Overcast... no light at all, we couldn't see much. BUT...
We could hear the murmuring of water hitting the beach and could smell the sea.
We finished our drinks and, worn out, retired to bed.
In the morning we returned to the balcony and our jaws dropped...
We were separated from the beach by old highway 98, but the view was absolutely breathtaking!
Sugar white sand. The water ranged from deep emerald green to aqua in color.
Where can we sign up for more of this?
So we went to the manager and asked, "Do you have a list of people who would like to buy when units become available?"
She answered, "Yes, and I'd love to see some new, YOUNGER faces around here." She recorded our phone number. I expected a call in a year, maybe two.
Three months later I answered the phone and heard, "The unit next door to the one you stayed in is for sale. I've talked with the owner and the price is reasonable. Act NOW!"
But "reasonable"?
Try as hard as I might, crunching the numbers didn't make me comfortable with the purchase.
So, knowing they had the money and might be interested in a second unit, we called our friend that had generously allowed us to stay in their unit those months earlier...
"We can't afford it. If you want the condo, here's the number to call."
"Would you be interested in owning half of it?" they asked.
And the answer to that question put me smack in the middle of my comfort zone.
That was April of 2000. Together we bought the condo with the gorgeous view of the Gulf, put a solid week of sweat equity into painting, wallpapering, repairing, replacing old appliances;
All intended to make the place attractive to add to a rental program so others would pay the bills.
At least that's how it was supposed to work.
In 14 years, the place has never fully paid for itself.
Oh, don't take me wrong...
We've LOVED owning it.
We've loved the idea that at some point in "the future", we'd be able to come spend Winters here, away from sub-zero temps and snow plows running up and down the road.
But every time we came down to spend time here we've had to bring a hammer, screwdriver, and a paint brush. The blinds inevitably have been screwed up by renters. The carpeting ALWAYS needs minor or major cleaning.
In 2005, if our crystal ball had been working, we could have sold the property for three times what we paid.
But our crystal ball at that point was just an interesting piece of glass. The market pretty much collapsed and the value of the condo returned to just about what we paid.
But it has slowly, surely, been going up since.
And then came the anxiety.
Our country is changing. Our economy is changing. Seemingly EVERYTHING is changing.
I don't like what I see.
As much as I love being here looking at that gorgeous beach, I think having money in hand to buy things we might need in case of "trouble" might be more important than owning a piece of property most of a day's drive distant.
We burned the mortgage two months ago.
We have what appears to be a solid contract for the condo.
The sale won't make us rich, but will put some money in the bank and, almost as important, will take the worry/expense of always having to fix something renters have broken off our shoulders.
This week we're spending what may be our last week in this second home as "owners"...
The table where I wrote the first post for "Pitchpull" in April of 2005 will no longer belong to us.
Bittersweet.
Our sadness is somewhat tempered by the fact that money in the bank will allow us to come rent here most anytime, anyplace we want.
And we DO still LOVE Destin.
We'll be back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)