Believing In Our Own Message !

I have nothing to add to this.
Bill Whittle says it all. My only question?
Will the country still exist in four years so we can begin to repair the damage? 

We Can Fly!

I worried about Fats Domino for a while.
I was a little angry with him too. Folks in New Orleans had plenty of warning and plenty of time to evacuate. The thought of older folks like Fats staying behind was cause for wonder and concern...
Did he have no family? Was no one looking out for the old man?
Eventually the news broke that he had been found. He was safe. Still, there were some thousands of folks dead down there...
People who chose to ignore the warnings and paid the price for their stupidity.
But I didn't know any of 'em...
Until tonight.
Oh, I didn't know him personally. But he's another of those that made my life better. He's another of those I would have liked to meet and thank for sharing his hard work and talent.
I bought the record album. I bet I played it several hundred times. I still have it.
His whole family was talented. They could ALL sing, and many played some sort of musical instrument. The bunch of 'em were the basis for the hit TV show "The Partridge Family". As a matter of fact, the family had actually been approached to star in the show themselves, but the deal fell apart when Hollywood insisted Shirley Jones would play the Mother instead of the real Mom, Barbara.

Digging tonight to find what had happened to this talented bunch I learned that one of 'em, Barry, had apparently drowned during Hurricane Katrina. It's odd how sad that makes me.
He and sister Susan both lived in New Orleans. She had the good sense to get while the getting was good, (although she lost her home and everything in it.) 
He, for whatever reason, didn't evacuate. He had drug issues. (Why do so many of these performers have drug issues?) Maybe that was part of the reason he didn't leave when he should have.
But now he's gone. 
Mom Barb is gone too, as is another brother, Bill, who also had drug problems.

But they were wonderful while they were all together making music.
They could FLY!

Two-Wheeling In Destin

Whirlwind. Treadmill. Call it what you want.
We just returned from 11 days in Florida and I need a vacation.

A little review:
I've worked it out so my last few months at work will be spent on a 14-day on, 14-day off schedule.
We'll spend the 14-off part watching dolphins swim by in front of our balcony.
I wanted to take the 'Wing South so we could ride when the weather permits there... pretty much the only time I'd be riding here at home during these Winter months would be to exercise the machines and keep batteries reasonably charged. I can foresee riding more than half the days in Destin, even if it's just short hops to the grocery for a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread.

I bought the Ram Diesel partly to transport motorcycles. It's an extended cab/long bed, so the bed can haul stuff that doesn't need to be protected from the weather, while the back seat area can be filled with non-weatherproof items.
About a week before our departure I started brainstorming how I was gonna load the 'Wing into the truck. I had purchased a tri-fold ramp, similar to the one in the video (but wider). These types of ramps come in varying lengths and widths, obviously the longer and wider ones generally are more expensive. The problem with loading a bike onto a pickup is the height of the bed...
Longer ramps make the approach angle to the bed less acute and lessen the chance of having some part of the bike "high center" as it transitions from ramp to bed, but if they're not wide enough so you can stand alongside the bike as you're loading it, they make that last few feet of getting the bike in the back of the truck perilous. No matter the length or width, balance is critical...
More hands to support the weight is better.
But when time came to load the 820 pound 'Wing, I found myself in the same position as the guy in the video... all my neighbors were at work. It fell upon me to do it myself.

Unlike the guy in the video, I have a little common sense. Our driveway is elevated, so I backed the truck sideways against the (two feet higher) driveway to lessen that approach angle, then positioned and secured the ramp.
I'll save ya the suspense... I got it in there. But also like the guy in the video, once I got started I was terrified and learned something from the experience: I'll NEVER do it alone again. That's just stupid.

I was so worried about unloading the bike in Destin, we left it secured in the bed until the last day we were there. (This meant we hauled it around in the bed during two trips to Pensacola and our trip South to Cocoa Beach, a total of maybe 1,000 miles.)
Seventy-degrees and Sunny, on the morning of our last day I asked a neighbor for help and found a spot to unload similar to my loading situation up North... a two-foot raised area on which to situate my ramp.
Having another set of hands there made all the difference...
A part of the engine snagged on the frame at a critical moment, and if my neighbor had not been there to help me I'd have been in a fix... can't go down OR up. He held the bike while I man-handled it and got it unsnagged.
Whew!

So now the 'Wing is in Destin, awaiting our return.
And that makes the idea of heading back South in two weeks even more inviting.
 

I Want One.

I'll take mine with the 948cc engine, please.

Dateline: Cocoa Beach, Florida

I NEVER met him.
He found me through "Pitchpull", and started commenting. I reciprocated at his blog.
We found we had MUCH in common. Our relationship grew over several years.
Then he got sick.
VERY sick. For a while, he fell off the earth.
I called to provide a way to vent, and to provide necessary support.
We had long conversations about where we'd been... where we were going.

He got better for a while, then his disease came back, with reinforcements.
He fought like the soldier he had been.
But this disease is one of those that breaks your heart, spirit, and finally, your will to live.

I woke today in the wee hours and went outside to see "God's thumbnail"... a sliver moon, with Venus flying in close formation. It's a GORGEOUS day.
We'll be spreading his ashes on the beach this morning. Those in attendance will then get together to share their memories of him.

I think you'd be pleased wth the way this is unfolding Dave.
I only wish we had been able to face-to-face.

Godspeed brother.

Which Kowalski Did You Vote For?

Bein' wide awake at 0300 sucks.
Ya lay in bed with your mind goin' 100 miles an hour, hoping you can get back to sleep but knowin' that's probably gonna be impossible. So, in my case, I lay quietly, hoping I can at least get some rest, and I don't want to wake Sara Jean.
And then the crazy thinking starts and it hit me like a ton o' bricks-
Last week we had a choice between two KOWALSKI'S.
We chose poorly. Lemme flesh it out:
First, there's "empty chair" Walt Kowalski. Walt drives this car:

He's owned it since new and wants it to last forever.
He keeps it in his garage, frequently changes the oil, and loves to pull it out now and then to wash and wax it.
He LOVES the car. When he dies, he hopes whoever ends up with it will love and care for it just like he does.

Then there's the OTHER Kowalski.
He drives this car:

He's a "Choom" sorta guy...
Cool. Laid back. Fast.
And let me emphasize FAST.
He's in a hurry. He doesn't much care for the car... It's just a tool.
He abuses it. Drives it like he stole it, wide open. Oil changes? Wash and wax? HA! No time for such things!
No terrain can stop him...
Desert, highway medians, gaps where bridges are ALMOST completed? No problem for this Kowalski.
Just give him a handful of illicit drugs and let him be on the way to his destination.
And the car? Who CARES about the car? He's only gonna be using it temporarily 'cause he's got important stuff to do.

On November 6, 2012, we had a choice:
"Gran Torino" Kowalski, or,
"Vanishing Point" Kowalski.

I think the ending of these movies is a good analogy for our troubled times.
Don't you wish I'd keep my 3 A.M. thoughts to myself?!!

Analogy- 7 November 2012

You're a drug user...
(Choose whichever drug you want: Heroin, Meth, Angel dust.)
At times you are rational enough to realize you're killing yourself:
"Yes, I know I need to stop. I HAVE to stop."
But as soon as you try to quit, withdrawal symptoms set in...
"I need a hit. PLEASE gimme a hit!"
And so it goes.

So here we are.
Four more years.
And oddly, I'm glad.
Glad, because I think it's inevitable.

The story for hard drug users unfolds one of two ways-
They hit bottom, and realize they HAVE to quit, or...
They hit bottom, can't quit, and die.
And there's my comparison-
We have lots and lots of folks who LOVE government cheese.
And so far, Uncle Sugar has been able to supply lots of government cheese.
But the supply of cheese is not unlimited.
It is dependent on trust that the U.S. Government can pay its debts.
And there's the rub...
Our government is bankrupt.

So again let me give you news you don't want to hear-
It's gonna happen.
It's just a question of "when?"
When does the shooting start?

I wish I knew.
I don't.
But you and I are ahead of most, because we're preparing...
Preparing for the shooting to start.

You ARE preparing, aren't you?

Our "News Media" Is a Disgrace.

Go and read this and be educated.

John's "Jedi Mind Control".

I asked for advice, and you gave it.
Good advice too, I might add.
And now the safe you see above is in place in my home, kinda in spite of your advice. Lemme tell ya how that happens-
We're going South for the Winter. The idea of leaving our "armory" behind, (even for short stints now), was uncomfortable. We knew we had to buy a safe so we wouldn't be constantly worried about coming home to find the door jimmied and our valuables gone. I had done some research on my own, but hearing from folks I respect confirmed my own thoughts... For the money, the "Liberty" safe was probably the best way to resolve our problem.
So I called my gun dealer, (a fellow pilot that's now become a personal friend).

"John, I need a gun safe. Do you handle 'Liberty' safes?"

"Nope. I handle 'Browning' safes." (And in the background I hear the sound of pages being shuffled.)

"That's a shame, 'cause I'm ready to buy a 'Liberty', YESTERDAY!"

"What are you looking for in a safe?"

"The advice I'm hearing from those I respect is to buy a 'Liberty' and to buy a bigger safe than I think I'll need."

"Do you care if it's scratched?"

"John, it's gonna be in my garage and it'll get scratched within a week anyway. Why?"

"I can sell you the biggest safe 'Browning' makes today for half price. It's a 'second'... it has a scratch on it somewhere. And it's RED."

"Half price? How much is half price?"
And the price he quoted was only a slightly higher than the MUCH smaller "Liberty" I had decided to buy.

"What's the fire rating on this safe?"

"Ninety minutes."

Pause.
Think. Question:
"If you'll deliver and help me put it in place for that price, order and get it on the way."

"I'll do that, but on top of the price you'll have to buy me and my delivery guys a case of beer."
It weighs almost 1400 pounds and took FOUR of us to moose it into place. A case of beer for that labor was CHEAP. (Thank you John!)

So the "RED" safe you see pictured above now resides in my garage. It's big enough that Sara Jean and I literally could get in and use it as a storm shelter. I cannot imagine we'll ever be able to use all the available space.
It ain't a "Liberty", but it's beautiful. It was priced RIGHT. And it gives us the peace of mind we need when we leave home.
I thank you for your good advice, and I'm a little embarrassed to admit I didn't use it.
Now, would you have made the same decision?

Live, 'Til Ya Die.

An Expert At Every Turn

Late-fifties male.
Head bleed.
The flight to get him help will be 45 minutes in duration.

We put headphones on all our conscious patients so we can keep them informed about the progress of the flight, and get input from them on what they are feeling.
Initially, he seems like a nice guy. He's anxious... making jokes. His blood pressure is high, bad for a head bleed, but it's not so high as to cause panic and my crew is chatting with him, trying to get him to relax.
And then my opinion of him changes. Over the intercom I hear him say, "That's a problem."

My paramedic responds, "What's that?"

"See that? See that vibration? That's a problem. This helicopter either has a bearing going bad, or one of the blades is out of balance."

Paramedic- "It's a smooth night. I feel nothing out of the ordinary. Relax."

"Well, I'll tell you more about this flight when we land, but you've got a problem with this machine."

I bite my tongue and quash the impulse to ask our patient "How many hours do YOU have in the BK117?"

We soon get his number nailed though...
"My sister is a nurse at (the hospital we are taking him to)."

My flight crew... "Oh really? Which department does she work in?"

"I'm not sure. I think she's a flight nurse."
(This is possible because the receiving hospital DOES have a flight program.)
But he later confides, "You'll be surprised when you meet my sister. She's the opposite of me... weighs 300 pounds!"

That must be some POWERFUL helicopter at that program!
We've all met guys like this. I know he was probably scared to death, talking just to vent his fears.
But why are some folks compelled to stretch the truth beyond belief, trying to make themselves look like experts in everything they discuss?
I meet WAY TOO MANY of 'em in my life-journey.

A Day's Ride

Flat.
From Indianapolis North to the State line, Indiana, with a few exceptions, is nearly flat as a billiard table.
South of Indy the geography starts gradually changing. At first the terrain starts to undulate, but elevation changes aren't so great as to require the roads to go around hills.
Then the hills get bigger and the roads begin to resemble snakes. Just North of the Ohio river, elevation changes get pretty dramatic and the roads are heaven for motorcyclists.
I grew up just South of Indianapolis. I didn't have to venture very far to find "interesting" roads to ride on my 250cc Harley-Davidson "Sprint".

Since bikers attract bikers, it wasn't difficult to find yourself in the middle of a group of four or five guys, all headed South to find some curves. One summer day in 1963 my little Harley was surrounded by a group of friends riding a Honda, a Triumph, and an Allstate-Puch. South on Indiana Highway 135, we found ourselves carving curves in Brown County State Park. Roads in the park are smooth, wide, and traffic is relatively light. Soon we were challenging one another to see who could negotiate curves faster.

It wasn't long before we attracted the attention of Park Rangers. Stopped as a group, we surrendered our Driver's licenses and were instructed to "follow me, boys!" We soon found ourselves at the office of a local Justice of the Peace, paid a $35 fine, and were told to be on our way and "SLOW DOWN!"
The balloon had been popped and the fun of the day was gone.
We headed North for home.

About three miles from home, back on relatively flat ground, looking out ahead to the next intersection, we saw a State Police car on the right berm, lights flashing. Having just been chastised by law enforcement, we slowed down to a snail's pace. Abeam the trooper's cruiser, off the road about 30 feet, we saw a mangled Honda 50cc "Cub" just in the corn field in front of a big four-door sedan. We stopped, dismounted, and walked back toward the trooper investigating the accident.
"What happened?"

"Two sets of identical twins. Two Honda 50's. The older set of twins had their driver's licenses so one each was driving the bikes. Each of the younger set of twins was riding as passenger. The first bike was about half a mile ahead of the second, so in order to try to catch up the boys on the second bike ignored the stop sign and were T-boned by the car."
"How are the boys?"
He sighed, paused... "I think they're gone."
Even today it makes me sad to think about it.
Think of the chaos and emotion at that scene...
Two boys frantically trying to get help for their identical twin brothers.
A Summer joy ride turned into a horror because of a mistake at a blind intersection.

Life is a risk.
If you break the rules or make a mistake, you're asking for pain.
But we're human and we know we'll sometimes break the rules or make mistakes.
That's when wearing your seatbelt or wearing a helmet and gear may be the difference between livin' and dyin'.

Buckle up.
Put that ugly, uncomfortable thing on your head. 

1978

 
About me:
It's 1978. I'm a Major in the Army Reserve, going to school in Ft. Bliss, Texas to learn about the wonders of Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical warfare. The school is two weeks long and I'm a LONG way from home. Daytime temps are running about 106 degrees. I'm not a happy camper.

The school is a little challenging. Learning non-standard radiation decay rates is driving me a little crazy. I want to ACE this school, and I'm not gettin' this non-standard decay rate business. I know there will be at least one problem on the test to solve, and I'm honestly fearful I'll screw it up.

I'm lonely.
I'm the ranking officer in the class and haven't been able to connect with anyone to spend time with after hours. I'm still feeling the effects of my ugly divorce a little over a year ago. I have a "significant other" back at home who without question saved my sanity, and may in fact have kept me from becoming an alcoholic, thereby possibly saving my life. But I know in my heart-of-hearts that my relationship with her is going nowhere long-term, and I wonder what the future holds.
Far from home, exposed to these extreme temperatures, I may as well be on Venus.

I hit the sack, study non-standard half-lives until I can't take it anymore, turn the light off and radio on, and roll over to go to sleep.
And from the box comes this tune.
It doesn't help my mood, but there's no denying it is an extraordinary piece of music.

About Gerry Rafferty:
I didn't know his name before "Baker Street" came out.
But most of us are familiar with "Stuck in The Middle With You" by "Stealer's Wheel", and I've since found he played with that group before going solo.

I heard "Baker Street" on my way to work two nights ago and remembered Ft. Bliss.
I remembered the loneliness, and how that loneliness was somehow made greater by "Baker Street".
I also knew that Gerry had died a while back, so I decided to check on him and learn more.

Gerry was a troubled soul.
His Wikipedia entry is here. If you've enjoyed his work and don't know anything about him, check it out. Then listen once again to "Baker Street" and see if you'll ever listen to it the same as you have in the past.

I won't.

Don't Steal My Stuff, Bro !

I need advice, and I'm hopin' there are some expert readers to give it.
I'm pulling the plug. I'll be 66 in January, eligible for full Soc. Sec. benefits. There's enough irritation at work now, even though I still LOVE helping folks when they need the help, it seems a good time to leave the job to someone with better eyes, ears, and a higher tolerance for management's Bravo Sierra.

We want to travel.
We want the luxury to be able to act on an impulse "to go see 'such and such'... let's start tomorrow morning!"

The photo I chose to head this posts hints at my concerns...
For the last couple years we have been preparing for troubles. The house is now jammed with resources we MAY need if the dominoes begin to fall. If we take off on an extended vacation, I'd like that stuff to still be under my roof when we return. To help insure those things are there when we need 'em, I know we'll need to make it tough on scoundrels who would take advantage...
We need a home security system, and we need a good gun safe. I've been doing online research on both, and I have to admit to being just as confused now as when I started reading.

I've been warned to buy a bigger gun safe than I think I need. That sounds like good advice, but of course means lots of $$$$ for a quality safe.
I have NO IDEA what details I should be looking for in a home security system.

HELP!

Near Miss

"Greenstreak 8, you're cleared to enter left base for runway 24... Landing at the ramp will be at your own risk, that area is not visible from the tower." 
"Greenstreak 8, Roger". 
So I set myself up on a close-in left base, looking to the right down the runway centerline I was about to cross to insure no landing fixed-wing was trying to occupy the same airspace I was using. Seeing no traffic, I started my left turn to final and my eyes focused on something through the left greenhouse of the AStar 350D I was flying... 
It looked familiar... 
As it SHOULD, because I was looking at the bolts attaching the skids to the right front crosstube of a Bell 47, an aircraft similar to one I have flown about 1100 hours. 
 Instantly I lowered the collective ALL THE WAY, then rolled the AStar violently to the right, gritting my teeth as I expected to hear metal-to-metal contact. 
Thankfully my actions, and the actions of the guy flying the 47, allowed enough space for my composite rotorblades to not slice his aircraft to pieces. 

My heart was pounding. I couldn't talk, so there was no reason to key the mic and say anything. I landed, shut the aircraft down on the rolling platform, and told the refueler how much fuel I needed. 

Paperwork finished, I drove to the County police office and walked in. 
There, the police pilot was also finishing up his paperwork. 
When he looked up I asked, "Was that as close as I thought it was?" 
"Closer than I ever want to be to another aircraft", he replied. 

 He was cleared to land before I even entered the traffic pattern and we weren't warned about one another... 
Human error by the controller. 
 I shook his hand, smiled, took a deep breath, and walked out of the office, vowing to do a better job of keeping my "head on a swivel" in the future. 

Thank you Lord. 

Good In '64. Still Good Today:

(Co-written by Sonny Bono.)

My Dad's "Super Cruiser".

I cannot remember the first time I flew.
I'm told I actually first flew when I was still a bump in Mom's belly.

But my Dad was a pilot, and I can remember standing on our property watching in wonder as Dad flew by in one aircraft or another.
It was neat knowing my Old Man was at the controls. I was proud.

I have vivid memories of driving with my folks to (now closed) Sky Harbor airport in Indianapolis, leaving the car in the parking lot and going through the gate with the sign saying "Pilots and passengers only beyond this point."
What a great feeling...
Unlike the others sitting in that lot watching airplanes come and go,
I was "authorized"! Soon they'd be watching us!

When I was in my early teens my Dad bought an airplane similar to the one pictured above. It's a Piper "Super Cruiser".
Just a little bigger and more powerful than the "Cub", it would seat three...
Pilot in front, two (smallish) passengers in back. Many of my friends took their first airplane ride in that aircraft and talked fondly about it when Dad died.

It was also the first aircraft I actually flew. A set of controls in the back, Dad turned around and said "You wanta fly it?"
"YES!"
And so I did. I slipped and skidded. I couldn't maintain a set altitude.
But I noticed with amazement something everyone realizes when they first fly...
I could see for miles and miles and miles!

Small changes in ground elevation are flattened out at altitude, so it took a while to find familiar landmarks and know where I was above my old stompin' grounds.
But...
Look at how close our home is to White River!
And look how the familiar creek winds its way to join it!

What a thrill.
That was over fifty years ago.
I didn't realize it at the time, but the seed was planted.

Thanks Dad.
Thanks Mr. Piper.

Olympic Pandora's Box?

Apples and oranges-
Something just didn't feel right when Pistorius ran against able-bodied runners.
Now he's complaining that artificial limbs CAN give an advantage?
If the Olympics are to survive, the decision-making folks will have to insure folks like me have a desire to watch.
And for me, that means apples to apples.
Case in point:

We're SO Nice, We're TOTALLY SCREWED.

She left the road and struck a tree.
Emergency responders could not help but notice she was VERY pregnant.

When they tried to talk with her during the extrication, she No Habla Ingles.
So first responders notified the ER she'd need a translator.

The ER Doc was rightfully concerned...
She's obviously high-risk, due to have her baby any day.
Her widened mediastinum means her aorta may possibly be damaged/torn.
He wants her out of his ER ASAP and calls for helicopter transport.

After her $**,***.**  helicopter ride, the Trauma Center immediately takes her to the Operating Room where they take the baby via C-section and explore the possible aortic tear.
She is then taken to the ICU for care for a few days, then through a step-down unit for observation.
Total cost of her care?
I'm told it will run WELL into the hundred-thousands of dollars.

She's an illegal alien.
She has no medical insurance.
She may have no car insurance.
What she DOES have now is an anchor baby that will insure she gets to stay in the U.S. and enjoy our hospitality and superb benefits for the underprivileged.
So in the future you'll either be picking up the tab on her expenses through higher insurance premiums or higher taxes, or both.
Aren't you NICE?
I see nearly this same story unfold several times a month. How often it happens across the U.S. each month is anyone's guess. But I know this...
We're broke.
We cannot afford it.
And nice people who can't say "NO!" are gonna destroy our country.

Then we'll ALL get healthcare like poor folks in Mexico.

Clinger

Paul Ryan says, "I am happy to be clinging to my guns and my religion".
Well, good for him.

But he then says he is a hunter, inferring the second amendment is there to insure we can put meat on the table ourselves if we want, apparently.
Scary.

I recently had a discussion with a loved one about the subject.
She is a "prey animal"... slight and one of the most non-threatening people you'd ever want to meet.
Her comment, actually a question, was, "Why does anyone need an "assault weapon?"
She was referring to weapons like the AK-47.

I responded by asking her if she knew the reason the Founding Fathers insured the 2nd amendment was part of the Bill of Rights. When she didn't respond, I wrote back, "You're right. We might not need an AK-47. If our government launches M1 'Abrams' tanks against our populace, an AK-47 would be ineffective. At that point, what citizens really need is a supply of Light Anti-tank Weapons."

It's my hope Congressman Ryan moves on and begins to educate us all about our Constitutional rights, (and history!).