Dead State Walking

California is toast.

The Governor now knows it and is sending out "hints", but J.Q. Public 
STILL  ain't payin' attention.

California is Greece, and the folks in Greece started pounding on the doors of their banks yesterday.
Their banks can't help 'em.

The E.U. WON'T help 'em.

From here on out, Europe will be interesting to watch.

When they realize the severity of their problem, folks in California will expect the rest of us to bail them out...

"Too big to fail !", ya know.

But it won't happen.

Their problems are too big to deal with.

I'm talking here to those of you who don't think I'm a Grade A kook...

Go here and read the words of a guy that knows economics FAR better than most of us.

Then act accordingly.

California is toast.
Illinois is in the toaster, cookin'.

We're all gonna suffer.
But the good Scouts among us will survive.

" I wrote to SU Carburettors asking if they had any pictures of Tilly's Orifice, and explained it was because my Beaver was running badly. "

Fascinating. I just happened upon this blog and will be spending some time reviewing old posts there!

Old Machines- The Good, and Ugly.

 "They paid five figures for it."

 I've been watching eBay for one just like it. Kawasaki triples there are either too ratty, or,  like this one they are prohibitively $$,$$$. But somewhere from the far recesses of my skull I hear the shout, "You paid a little over a grand for yours when you bought it new in 1972!" 

She hates most of the shows, (except for "American Chopper, Senior vs. Junior"), so I mostly watch 'em when Sara Jean's out. But I am in awe of guys on those shows who can walk over to some expensive machine with a chunk of metal and fabricate, seemingly out of thin air, an exhaust system or a set of handlebars. Those guys would have no fear whatsoever of buying a "project" bike like the worn out old Kawasakis I could actually afford on eBay. Then they'd just start slowly-but-surely waking the thing from the dead and after weeks/months/years of work have a bike they could sell for "five figures" upon completion. 

But still, is it worth the total cost? When they're finished, they still have an old bike with old technology, and the "sweat equity" they'd expended is almost incalculable. Seems to me it's better to just watch/read and enjoy the shows and magazine articles about these craftsmen and the machines they complete, almost certainly selling them to some collector who hopes to sell them to a "greater fool" at some point in the future.

I had a revelation of my own this week. Winds were a little gusty when I left work on my '89 GoldWing Saturday morning, but temperatures have been comfortable behind the 'Wing's big windshield. The sun was shining, I had the two-lane State highway all to myself, and life was great.
I felt it more than heard it...
It was just sort of a "whuff"...
Not a big deal, but enough of a sensation that I actually ducked a little, then wondered what had happened. The bike didn't stutter so I slowed but didn't stop, assessing the situation. There was no "drama".
The six-cylinder engine continued to hum like a sewing machine. After thinking about it a few seconds I attributed the phenomenon to my helmet visor...
Behind the windshield on the GoldWing I ride with my visor up and I figured a gust of wind had made it move slightly with a resulting noise in my helmet.
At home I grabbed my stuff out of the trunk, then went into the house and opened the garage door to put the bike under roof. It was then I noticed I could see the battery, the reservoir for the rear disc brake, and other mechanical stuff on the right side of the bike. All that stuff is normally hidden by a big plastic side-cover with a fancy Gold "GoldWing GL1500" piece of trim on it.
Gone.
My mind raced, trying to remember exactly where I had the "whuff" sensation so I could find the cover on my next trip. I could remember I was on a straight stretch, so I started thinking about where to search on my next trip home.
But what if I couldn't find it? This bike is now 23 years old and I'm sure Honda no longer supplies the part. That means I'd have to find it used, either on eBay or through some motorcycle salvage company and there was the possibility it wouldn't even be available there, meaning I might be riding around with my battery exposed until I could finally find a replacement cover.
What if I found my cover and it was damaged? Then I'd either have to repair or replace it.
That night, just to get an idea what I might be in for, I searched eBay for the part.
I found this cover priced at $230, but to make it look right I'd have to also find the gold "GL 1500" trim piece and add it myself.
$230!
It took my breath away.

Sunday morning again dawned sunny and mild. I reached the point where I thought the cover might have come off, slowed the bike to a near walking speed, turned my emergency flashers on, and started searching for the wayward cover. This road runs through farmland. In some spots, the farmers have trimmed the brush back ten or so feet from the roadway. In others the brush is three feet tall and thick. If it came off and flew into that brush, the only way I'd see it is if I was walking along the road. It was then I made up my mind if I didn't find it I would do just that... Walk this 8-mile stretch of road and find that expensive piece of plastic. I reached the end of the road where my "mind's eye" felt it had come off... No luck. My shoulders dropped an inch or so, I turned off the emergency flashers and accelerated toward home. Six minutes later I glance down and there it was... Just a few inches off the pavement in the foot or so of gravel before the brush starts, at least two miles from where I thought it had departed. I jam on the brakes and turn around... It appears undamaged. Amazing.

At home, further inspection of the adventuresome side cover reveals one of the fingers that goes through a grommet on the bike is broken off.
This is something that surprises me about Honda... it's really a poor piece of engineering. Vibration causes the fingers to wear. The grommets also wear. The resulting looseness almost guarantees these covers will get loose and depart the motorcycle.

I went out to the bike and found the broken finger still lodged in the grommet. So I can repair it myself, but I have to try to figure a way to keep this from happening again.

But I've dodged a bullet this time.
And learned a lesson...
Old bikes are neat, but the simple ones like the old BMWs, Triumphs, and yes... Harleys don't have so many fancy gee-gaws to fall off and cause you heartache.
I'll remember that from now on.

A Shared(?) Language

At work, I share the helicopter with a guy who talks funny.
He was born in Bristol, England, then spent some time gallivanting around the world...
South Africa, Botswana, Rhodesia (when there still was such a thing.)

He mutters.
Coupled with the fact his accent makes him difficult to understand, his utterances are sometimes unintelligible. (Sara Jean thinks he does this on purpose to draw attention to himself.)
I understand him better than most because I've gotten accustomed to his cadence, and I have learned the meaning of many of the words:
Lorry. Torch. Lift. Zed. Bonnet/Boot. Petrol. And what's this "Aluminium" thingy?
Still, there ARE times when I have to scold him...
"Say that again in American, please!"
(He's lived/trained/worked here for almost thirty years for heaven's sake!)

He brings tabloids and magazines to work with him and I enjoy flipping through them to compare our two cultures. In context, many of the words and phrases can be added to my list of usable, shared terms.
Today I sorted out a couple more of 'em and can share them with you:
BODGED, as in "It was bodged together from two separate machines."
And SPANNER... "Be careful when trying to decide if you want to spanner your own vintage motorcycle."

If, before I go completely deaf, I can get the man to speak in a normal tone of voice, we may begin truly communicating just about the time I retire.

Your Love Keeps Lifting Me...

I LOVE this tune.
But no one compares to Jackie.

Check his version out when you've finished hearing this stage-full of talent do it.

Motorized Unicycle

Crank the throttle in first and second gear and the sucker would hike its front wheel toward the stars:

Why I'm A "Paranoid Right-Winger"- Bumped.

I'm bumping this post to the top because of a comment I find incredulous. Read the comments and see if the top of your head blows off as mine did.
(Are our founding documents only important to military Veterans these days?)

The Constitution?
That SILLY, OBSOLETE OLD THING?

Europe Watch

France has elected a Socialist leader.
Apparently the french have decided work is too much of a hassle...
Don't worry, be happy.
This is going to be SO entertaining, but cannot end well.
It's time to turn our eyes to the East and watch...
Greece.
Spain.
Italy.
France.
How long will Germany support the "bums"?
And for me the big question is, will our own Socialists be able to put 2 and 2 together?
(With a degree in Liberal Arts, Math is mighty difficult for most of 'em.)

We apparently don't have the discipline to do "austerity" here either.
So watch France... see our future.

Strength Comes In Many Forms

She was dying of Cancer.
My friend the Paramedic was watching his Mother slowly, painfully, slip away.
She said, "I need some more pain medicine".
He said, "Mom, if I give you more it will stop your heart".
She was so exhausted she didn't verbally respond, but gave him a "look".
He gave her the morphine and watched her peacefully slip away.

I don't know that I would have that kind of strength.
Would you?

Parking Wars- Updated

It was irritating... mighty irritating.
We lived in an apartment complex. There were enough parking spaces for everyone, and most could park close to their door. You could park with no one close if you didn't mind walking half a block or so.

The guy raising my ire had a beautiful new truck with a complex, custom paint job similar to the one above. (His truck had normal suspension.) When we came home his truck was parked diagonally across two spaces, right in front our our apartment. I took pen and paper in hand and wrote what I considered a reasonable note-
"You have a beautiful truck. If you feel the need to protect it, instead of inconveniencing others, please park out in the 'Back-forty'."
At 5 A.M. we heard an engine start, then REV-REV-REV-REV followed by a long blast of the horn before the vehicle drove away. Apparently he didn't think my request was reasonable.

The next night it happened again.
With pen and paper I escalated.
Once again we got the 5 A.M. "treatment".
But the truck never returned.

What would you have done?
Can you guess what I wrote that may have convinced the guy to park his truck elsewhere?
I'll update later.

Update-
I wrote, "It sure would be a shame if someone got angry enough to pour a can of paint remover across that gorgeous hood!"
I would never have done it, but he'd spent enough on that paint job he couldn't take that chance.

Almost A Motorcycle

Trikes.
THREE WHEELS.
Some, like the one in the pic, have two wheels in front, one in back.
Others, like the ONLY trike I've ever ridden, have one 'way out front and two in the rear.
That machine belonged to one of my former students. He drove up for a lesson with it and I was immediately knocked out...
It was a BIG V-8 with an automatic tranny... had obviously been a front-wheel drive system before becoming a trike.
"Guess what it is and I'll let you drive it", he said. The valve covers told me nothin'...
"Well, it's either a Cadillac Eldorado or an Oldsmobile Toronado engine, but I can't tell which."
"Close enough" he says. "It's a 455 Olds."
Four-Hundred Fifty-Five cubic inches powering a machine that probably weighed less than 1500 pounds! He gave me the keys, then jumped on my Yamaha XS1100 to give chase. That trike was so powerful, to change lanes on the Interstate all you had to do was twist the throttle hard...
The front tire would leave the pavement and torque would move the bike one lane to the right, (controllably!)
It was a neat thing... everyone on the road pointed and waved.
It got 15 m.p.g., and since the seat back was attached to the radiator it wasn't comfortable to ride it long distances, even if you COULD afford the gas bill.

The trike in the photo above is a "Can-Am Spyder".
It's a neat concept. There's a dealer about 30 minutes away from us doing a pretty decent job of sellin' 'em.
It's obviously NOT a motorcycle.
I have a question I'd really like answered-
They get about 23 miles per gallon of fuel and take up almost as much room as a car...
Other than the fact that it's different, or unless you have some disability preventing you from riding two-wheels, why would anyone buy one?
Why not just buy a motorcycle with a sidecar rig?

On the other hand, if someone comes out with something like this I'll REALLY be interested!

We're Getting There Fast... Where Are We Going?

Beautiful...
This fly-by was seen, maybe by millions.
I wonder if those onlookers thought about what it truly means?

We used to lead.
What other country has set foot on the moon?
Now, to get into space we have to thumb a ride with folks who don't even like us.

I grew up in an era of true "Hope and Change".
Our kids now can't even find a job and are "thumbing a ride" from others just to put food in their bellies.

Looking forward to retirement, this is NOT the world I expected to live in.
And the scariest thing?
I don't see a leader out there willing to stop this runaway train.

Be prepared.

Hallelujah!

Friend Cary guided me to this video and now, unfortunately, he cannot hear it himself. 
It's REALLY GOOD Cary. 
Hope you can enjoy it soon!

Like A Death In The Family-Updated

This is a piece of my life I haven't fully shared.
And this "piece" has been such a big chunk of our lives, it's felt odd not blogging on the subject.
Thirteen years ago, friends gave us a week in their condo here in Destin, Florida. Destin was a different place then... the condo was way out on the East end of town, and when the sun went down things got really quiet. We arrived in the wee hours, went out on the balcony with adult beverages, and all we could hear was the sound of small waves lapping against the shore... darkness prevented us from seeing the beach/water. When we awoke the next morning we were gobsmacked...
Sugar-white sand. Emerald green water. And all of it literally just across old highway 98 from us!
We stayed four days and considered the information our benefactors had shared with us about condo ownership. At the end of our stay I went to the on-site manager and, thinking it would be YEARS before we'd need to act told her we'd be interested in owning property in the complex should a unit become available. Two months later she called-
"The unit next to the one you stayed in is for sale. We need some new, younger blood down here. I'll help you as much as I can with the purchase."


We were unprepared for that sort of financial outlay at that point. I crunched the numbers East and West, Up and Down, and there simply was no way we could afford the place without it becoming a financial strain on our lives. We called the folks who kindly shared their condo with us and told them about the availability of this unit, just in case they were interested.
Their response was, "Would you consider owning HALF of it?"
And that comment put me right in the middle of my financial comfort zone.


The unit was a disaster. With partners and several friends we worked a solid week from dawn until dusk painting, wallpapering, more painting, buying furniture, buying and installing appliances, buying all the little things that make a house a home so the unit could be added to the rental program at this complex.
The finished product, (mostly under the direction of Sara Jean), was a showplace. It has been our now-and-again home on the beach for twelve years now.


But from the outset there was friction.
We are, shall we say, strong-willed. From the start, the partnership came under considerable strain. For twelve years we have juggled and danced, trying to keep things civil. And then I announced I'd be retiring and that we intended to spend the Winter in "our" condo.
Straw. Camel.
You know the rest.


I'm looking at a dozen factors that indicate I don't want to be a full-owner of this property in Florida right now. Apparently our partners feel the same way. We listed the property last week, and had a firm offer for it in two days. We drove down Wednesday to empty out "Owner's closets".


It's a "homey" place. There are twelve years of memories attached to EVERY SINGLE THING about this place, from the color of the paint to the elbow grease I applied to fix the drier vent when it got clogged. We've felt like we're attending the visitation for a dead loved one for three days now.
I am NOT looking forward to shutting the door, putting the key in the ignition, and driving away!


BUT...
I now have a "capital gain" to deal with, and in my vision of what is happening in the world, that's a welcome tool. The only question is, what's the best way to protect ourselves from the coming Civil War?
And if you think the idea of a Civil War is crazy, you're not watching the same news programs as me.

Update-
The deal fell apart and the property is back on the market.
What an emotional rollercoaster.

The Business "List"

Newly added: Bank of America
My original "List" was devoted to the entertanment industry. Folks trying to force their political views on us when we're paying to be entertained, not harangued, need to know we'd like them to "shut up and sing".

But the hypocrisy is finally making my head feel like it's gonna burst.
It's okay to use metaphors to make your point, unless you're Sarah Palin.
Bill Maher can be vile and despicable, but Rush Limbaugh needs to be fired.
It's time we take a stand.
It's time for a new list... a list of businesses we need to boycott to show our displeasure.

This post, like my original "The List", will be periodically updated. New names will be added and, if possible, subtracted, as businesses see the light and change their path.

Hereupon I'll list business I know to be anti-U.S., or at least strong supporters of the "Socialist" way. As before, please feel free to share experiences you may have or news you hear about businesses conservatives need to avoid rewarding.
Here's my "Business List". Spend your dollars elsewhere:
AARP
Arby's
Bank of America
Citgo
Coca Cola
GE, and all it's subsidiaries
Home Depot
Men's Wearhouse
Pepsi Cola
Progressive Insurance
Time Magazine

A Tough Week

Yeah, I know...
One of my old friends wrote to make sure nothing was wrong.
(Thank you SMS!)

This week has been a stressful one.
Six days ago while I was working my night shift, Sara Jean was "Grandma-sitting" for a friend at their home. She had both dogs with her, had gotten up in the morning and gone to the bathroom prior to taking the dogs out to tend to their business. She heard a heavy "thump", and when she went to investigate she found Desi the mini-dachshund sitting on the floor with his rear legs splayed out at an odd angle. She gathered him up and brought him home, and when I walked in the door she said, "There's something wrong with Desi" and told me what had happened.
I checked him out and said, "This is REALLY not good." She took him to the Vet and he, unfortunately, didn't want to give us the terrible truth...
"He may have just pinched the nerves in his back. He may improve."
She came home with pain medicine to give him and for two days we watched him suffer and slowly deteriorate.
I came to the decision before she did and, before I went to work 18 hours after the incident, suggested we should take him and alleviate his pain permanently. SJ still had hope...
Didn't want to bring herself to that realization. But at 11 P.M. she called me frantic and in tears-
"You were right! He's suffering and I can't help him!"
I got home as early as possible the next morning and we met the Vet as he opened his door for business. In less than 10 minutes, Desi was no longer in pain.
SJ went to work. Lucy and I buried him back near the pond with the rest of our departed pets.

We bring dogs, cats, and most of our pets into our lives knowing they'll live ten to twenty years, depending on breed and other factors. So we know from the outset that at some point we're likely to be in tears, grieving and missing them.
But to lose this little guy, only 7 years old and apparently healthy, just because he's a dachshund and that breed has problems with those short legs and long back? The situation took the wind out of my sail for days. (I'm crying again as I write this.)

Thank God for Lucy. I don't know what we'd do if we didn't have her to greet us ecstatically as we open the door.
She LOVED her Desi. We figured she'd mourn him for days. But she investigated his body when I laid it in the shallow grave and watched as I covered him with earth.
She has adjusted.
I wish I could say the same for Desi's humans.
Time heals. We're getting better.
And I have learned one lesson...
I'll never own another dachshund.

Mom was admitted to the hospital this week with respiratory trouble.
He heart is weak. They watched her for two days, then released her to my (nurse) Sister's care. Thank you Sis!
Mom's slowly getting better.

For various reasons, I choose not to share everything that is happening in my life with you.
Part of that is because I don't want to bore you. Part of it is because I don't want you to know ALL the little details of my life. But there is another transaction going on in my (our) lives that is also providing a little stress for SJ and me.
It's mostly a good thing, but will also require some adjustment in both our lives. No big deal.
But it's just another thing added to the rest that makes me glad we can see "No news is good news" on the horizon.

I also know things could be much, MUCH worse.
Thank you Lord for not giving us more than we can handle.

Kenny Roberts and the Indy Mile

This incident is the stuff of folklore among those of us that follow flat-track racing.
In 1975, "King Kenny" Roberts rode an evil-handling, ungodly fast two-stroke 750cc Yamaha to a win at the Indy mile.
The video tells the tale:

If He's Re-elected, We'll Be Shooting At One Another.

Approach Quietly. Depart With A Bang.

Motorcycle Riding is Dangerous

I lost a brother I didn't know, in Atlanta.
You can mitigate the risks...
Wear proper gear. Drive responsibly. Avoid certain areas at certain times.
But there's no way to eliminate ALL risks.
Then again, no one gets out of this alive.
LIVE while you're livin'.

Karma Truly IS a B****!!

Think this display of stupidity might now be affecting decision making in a certain VERY important group? :>)

She's Seven Years Old.

Thanks for the tip Suzan.

Stressin'

"Your flight is a go. It's in the vicinity of ******town. Your patient is a 31 year old male, victim of a rollover accident. He's trapped beneath the vehicle. Heading of 182 degrees for 39 miles."
In my favor...
It's a clear, starlit night and we can see forever. Little towns along the way stand out like beacons in the dark.

But there ARE factors makin' my life difficult...
Our normal aircraft is bein' used elsewhere and the loaner we have is an older, less powerful machine with older radios, not the same as in our primary aircraft.
The GPS in this machine is located on the right-lower side of the panel, making it difficult to see/use, and requiring me to take my right hand off the cyclic and fly the aircraft with my left hand while programming it. It's an aggravation.

We lift and I point the nose in the general direction we need to go.
"Your ground contact is ******* and your coordinates are...."
Reaching cruise, I take the cyclic in my left hand, input the coordinates, and push "enter".

Initially all looked and felt okay. But about ten minutes into the flight I began to question:
" ******town SHOULD be right over there, about 20 degrees off the nose."
We're seein' nothin' but black beneath and around us.
I call dispatch... "Read me those coordinates again, please."
No change, so we continue.

But soon the GPS says we're close enough we should be seeing flashing lights, and we're still in the middle of nowhere.
"Dispatch, call and see how far and in what direction they are from ******town, please."
Now I'm tense. Our patient may be slowly circling the drain and here we are floundering around in the air, not sure which direction we should be headed.
"They say they are about 15 miles Northwest of ******town."

I know there's an airport at ******town. I quickly set the GPS to go there, then point my nose to arrive Northwest of where the instrument wants to take me. Soon we're seeing lots of red and white flashing lights. We get LZ and obstacle information from the scene commander, then land safely.

The first thing I do when I land at a scene is copy the landing coordinates. The GPS can only take you to the correct location if you plug in the correct numbers. Comparing the correct numbers with the initial numbers we were given, I notice one of the coordinates was supposed to be "93", but was read to our dispatchers and relayed to me as "39". Realizing early on that we were headed in the wrong direction kept a circuitous flight to the scene from being a total screw-up.

We cover miles and miles of geography.
Once in a while it helps that I've been flying this area for over 37 years and know my A.O. well.

Savannah, Georgia

How I LOVE Savannah!
Rather than go to (Mother) Ft. Rucker, Alabama like any normal Army Aviator, I volunteered to take my advanced helicopter training at Hunter Army Airfield in Savannah.
My friend Ole Prairie Dog had found us a neat place to live... a 200 year old Town House on Jones Street, not far from the famous Savannah town "squares".
We were there four months PARTYING and learning to fly Hueys, just before leaving for our all-expenses-paid year-long vacation in beautiful Southeast Asia.

While in Viet Nam I filled out my "Dream sheet"...
The form you fill out that tells the ARMY what you'd like to do and where you'd like to go in the future. I found out pretty quickly that if your request mates up with something the ARMY actually wants you to do, you stand a better-than-even chance of having your "dream sheet" wishes come true.
I asked to return to Savannah as a Flight Instructor and got my wish. I lived in Savannah almost three years, from November of '69 until August of 1972.

I bought a motorcycle almost immediately. With a warm jacket you can ride all year long in Savannah. Winter temps will drop down into the 20's briefly now and then, but will then rebound quickly back into the 60's in a day or two.

One of my fondest memories of Savannah is hard to describe. With my favorite gal riding behind I could leave my home, set off for "Victory Drive", and follow it to the end of the world...
The end of the world on the motorcycle, anyway. I would drive my Kawasaki, generally with my friend Joe alongside on his new CB750 Honda, until we came to the parking lot at Savannah Beach where you couldn't go any farther without getting your wheels wet in the Atlantic Ocean.
There we'd stop, put the bikes on center stands, look out at that endless water, chat, and absorb as much life as we could.
Being unable to go any farther was calming.
You HAD to accept it.
We always hated to start the bikes and leave.

I love Savannah.
My new "Dream Sheet" includes going back and driving Victory Drive 'til I can't drive no mo'...
On a bike.

Quiet Sunday

Names.
Sometimes they help us. But sometimes our parents saddle us with labels we have to deal with all our lives. (A Boy Named Sue!)

In first grade I sat across the table from a kid named "William William Williams".
We called him William. I wonder if, as a teenager, he picked up a nickname, (Sue, for instance.)

I went through OCS with a guy named "Land Grant".
I once met a gal named "Female"... (pronounced "Feh-mah-lee"). While trying to decide on a name for her, her Mother noticed the tag on her nursery container...
Female Boyd. Her Mother decided she liked the name if she could pronounce it the way she wanted.

I'd like to talk with "Moon Unit" Zappa to hear if she thinks her name has been a plus or a minus in her life.

And then there's the guy in the photo above, Placido Domingo.
I don't know Italian, but my limited Spanish fluency hints his name probably means "quiet Sunday", or "peaceful Sunday".
You're holding your new son in your arms...
Could you name him "quiet Sunday"?

I went to basic infantry training with a guy named "Danny Deer-in-water" and think Native Americans have the right idea. Holding a newborn baby, the temptation would be great to name them something like "Screams Like Banshee", or "Smells potent".

And folks you meet would have difficulty forgetting your name.

They Still Fly 'Em in Deutchsland!

My Music and the Hard Lesson Learned

"We're having a party. Can I borrow some of your records?" my friend asked.
"No."
"Aw c'mon man! I PROMISE to take great care of them!"

So after showing him how I wanted him to handle my vinyl, I relented.
And you know the rest of the story...
Alcohol flowed. He wasn't the only one handling my records. Most came back with scratches.
This one didn't come back at all-



When CD's first came out, it was my first purchase.
No, you cannot borrow it!

Richard C. Schoenberg

His name came to me in another of those "wee hour revelations" as I was more asleep than awake...
Richard C. Schoenberg.

We were not supposed to lie, cheat, steal, or quibble.
This is the Officer Candidate's Creed.
But here I was, faced with a dilemma...
One of my "additional duties" as a candidate was to act as "Fire Marshal". The only thing about this duty that amounted to a hill of beans was that I had to do a monthly check of all the fire extinguishers in our company and insure their inspections were current and the CO2 extinguishers were properly pressurized. (Some of the extinguishers were of the old, water-filled type you had to pump.) Playing around, Richard was accompanying me on my rounds and had pulled one of these water-pump type extinguishers off the wall and had hosed me down with it.
It was inopportune that almost immediately after soaking me our Tac Officers called us to a company formation.

So here I am standing next to Richard, front and center of the platoon, looking like a drowned rat. The Tac Officer approached me and asked, "Who did this to you?"
And I lied...
"I don't know, sir."
Raised eyebrow... stern look...
"I'll ask one more time Candidate. Who did this to you?"
To myself I think, "Heck, here I am ALMOST finished with this torture and I'm gonna be forced out for lying over something so stupid?!!!"
"I'm not sure, sir."

Loyalty counts for something. This Tac was a good guy and realized he had backed me into a corner where I would have to rat on a fellow candidate. I fully expected him to ask me one more time, then tell me to pack my bags.
But he didn't.
He turned and walked away. I couldn't believe it.
Both Richard and I breathed a sigh of relief.

This is the memory that came floating back to me at about 0430 hours a few mornings ago.
And the name was clear... Richard Schoenberg.
I remember Richard SO well. He had been a (volunteer?) firefighter before joining the ARMY. He had a '61 Oldsmobile Starfire that he loved. He was amazed at the power of the American LaFrance fire truck he had gotten the chance to drive.
Odd memories of a guy I hadn't seen or talked to since 1967.

So I googled his name.
Sadly, this is what I found.

Karma!

The ELECTRIC Fisker Karma-

Gorgeous, right? A real work of art.
(And of course, subsidized with U.S. tax dollars, thanks to the Obama administration.)
You want one, right?
Well actually... NO, you don't!
Unless you're lookin' to pretty much display a "still life" in your living room.

"Radical" Islam

For openers, I know next to nothing about Islam. I hope my fears are for nothing.
But in previous discussions with Islamic followers I have found there are certain questions that bring dialogue to a halt...
-Is it true the Koran commands Muslims to either enslave, convert, or KILL non-Muslims?
-Is it true "taqiyah" condones lying to non-Muslims if it benefits the expansion of Islam?
-Is it true the later, more militant sections of the Koran supercede the earlier, kinder, gentler verses?

We continue to hear we are at war with "radical" Islam.
If the questions above are all answered in the affirmative then Islam, at its very core, is radical and we are at war with the basic "religion"...
A rapidly growing cancer that it seems we're ignoring at our peril.

USAA

This post is a test.
Part rant/therapy, part request for input, part experiment to find who actually is reading "Pitchpull" when certain subjects are addressed.

I first insured with USAA while I was still an Officer-Candidate at The Armor School at Ft. Knox, KY in 1967. With one small (stupid) break, I've insured cars, home, life, and motorcycles with them since. It's an interesting company with a devoted following...
It used to be that to insure with them you had to be a military officer. Customers were MEMBERS, and shared in the company's profit experience. If the company had a good casualty experience, a check to share in that good fortune was added to the member's "subscriber savings account". (That part still applies.)
Rates are more than competitive, and service has always been exemplary.

But the company is expanding. Some time ago they started insuring enlisted military personnel.
Shortly thereafter they opened their doors to dependents. (My son is now also insured through USAA General.) If you've had your eyes and ears open over the last year or so you've no doubt seen the TV ad where a guy is slogging through a Viet Nam rice paddie with an M16 and matures so that he looks frighteningly like me at the end of the commercial... gray hair, glasses and all.
I have no heartburn with any of this, except that the little boutique operation that once was USAA, where I could literally call and voice my complaint personally to the President of the company, IS NO MORE. It's still a great company and for the most part I recommend it. But it's now a BIG, and getting bigger enterprise.

Two years ago when I bought the Pizza Bike I called USAA to insure it.
WHO ELSE WOULD I CALL?!!
When they heard I wanted to insure a motorcycle I was told to standby, they were transferrring my call. The next voice I heard was from a "Progressive Insurance" agent, acting on behalf of USAA.
Progressive Insurance is a good name for this company. It's a well-known fact the "progressive" management of the company donated heavily to the Obama campaign, and is now partly responsible for the hate and division we are experiencing in our political world.
I don't like being a part of that. I've told USAA that on more than one occasion. I took the policy with them, but immediately called USAA and told them I was unhappy.

So today I did something I haven't done in three decades...
I shopped other companies for motorcycle insurance coverage. Guess what I found? "Dairyland Cycle Insurance" provides the same coverage I now have at a lower premium.

I just emailed USAA to express my dissatisfaction with Progressive one last time. They've always been good about responding to communications promptly, so I expect an answer from them soon. (I once had a problem with one of these "subcontractor" companies and complained to them about the service I had received. I got a personal note from USAA's President telling me others had complained, and soon they stopped doing business with that company.) It's my hope something similar will happen here, because in a month I'll have three bikes to insure and I WILL NOT insure them with Progressive Insurance.

Stand by for further.
(Updated: The "Dairyland" link doesn't seem to work.
Their phone # is 1 866-324-7952.)

Freedom

Freedom is wonderful, right?
Everyone wants freedom!

Except when it comes to planning for retirement. Then the government should take care of us.
Or when it comes to health care coverage. We're just too stupid to plan for those contingencies.
Or buying our own contraceptives...
That might cramp my lifestyle!

I'm more and more convinced the only way to rebuild this broken Nation is to allow it to completely collapse, then start over.
And for a while, that will be anarchy.

The Ducks are Walkin' !

It's called "pea soup".
I'll have to look up the origin of the term. Our room is on the fourth floor with a decent view of Pensacola Bay and for the third time in the last four days we cannot see the water, about two blocks distant.
Our original intent this trip was to spend four days here. Four of my first cousins are in town having a reunion of their own and they chose to come here partly to visit their Aunt, my Mother.
They wrote and asked if there was any chance I might also be able to come. I was delighted with the idea. So we planned for what I felt would be a comfortable visit... four days here, then we planned to head East to Savannah where for three years I taught Vietnamese Air Cadets the art of flying the UH-1 "Huey" helicopter.
Plans get changed.
Mom was sick the day we arrived.
Still down slightly with symptoms of a cold the next day she felt well enough to visit, and together we all laughed, reminisced, and played table games.
She was sicker the following day. I called Savannah and canceled our lodging.
So last night was our sixth night in lovely Pensacola. With plans to Winter in Destin next year we've been watching the weather anxiously, making note of the type of clothing we'll need to be comfortable this time next year...
If this stint is a good indicator we'll need umbrellas, ponchos, and yellow hunter's glasses to brighten up ugly days. The temps have been fine...
Sixty-ish most days, it actually reached 75 yesterday. But we have had SOME fog almost every day, and when I say fog I mean fog like the thickest you've seen in your life... the kind that drips from the trees.
"The ducks are afraid to take flight, so they're walkin' down the sidewalks."
Of course we are right on the water so conditions may be considerably better inland a little. But we'll be on the water in Destin too, so I think what we see is what we'll get.
We can deal with it.

Meanwhile...
Last Saturday my son received the 800cc BMW I sent out to him. He went Monday and titled/licensed it in his name. It's been WINDY in Phoenix the last several days so he didn't ride to work... just puttered around the neighborhood. Last night he rode to work for the first time. The trip TO work was uneventful. The trip home was not. When the phone woke us from deep sleep I looked at the clock... 0244 hours.
"HOW OLD IS THIS BATTERY?!!"
"I have no idea son, why?"
"Because I'm five minutes from work, 25 minutes from home, I stalled it and it won't start."
He gives me an audio presentation by pressing the starter button and I hear the sound of the solenoid working but the bendix not engaging to turn the engine.
"You'll have to bump start it."
"WHAT?"
"You'll have to bump start it. Make sure the ignition is on and the bike is in neutral. Push the bike as fast as you can, hop on, pull the clutch in, kick it into second gear, then release the clutch lever. If you're lucky, it will start."
I hear him make two or three unsuccessful attempts at this, knowing he's not done it before...
probably never even SEEN it done before. Now back on the phone, breathless, he's frustrated and angry. I'm equally frustrated on my end, knowing he's broken down on the road 2,000 miles away and all I can do is give him advice he may or may not understand over the phone.
He hangs up, angry.
At this end WE'RE BOTH wide awake at 3 A.M..
Sara Jean says "Now you know how I feel. He does this to me all the time."
Fifteen minutes later we call him back. He has called a towing company to haul him and the bike home. It's gonna be interesting to see his attitude toward enjoying "classic" motorcycle riding when we call later today!

So...
We've seen so little of the sun we applaud his intermittent appearance.
My Mother is sick.
My beginner motorcycle-riding kid is unhappy with the bike I loved.
And our side-trip to Savannah is off.

How's YOUR week goin'?

Back On Base

For 21 years I walked with nothing in my right hand, knowing I might have to use it.
Then in 1988 that concern pretty much went away.
Lately I've been using that right hand again... not a lot... but enough to remind me of the days when I kept it unburdened, all the time.

As we approached the gate at the Pensacola Naval Air Station I insured my headlights were dimmed, leaned forward, removed my wallet from my back pocket, and pulled out my ID card.
The guard at the gate looked at the card, handed it back, then saluted and said, "Have a good evening Major."

What a comfortable feeling.
Like being back with family.

The Isle of Man TT

One hundred fifty miles per hour equals 220 feet per second.
The guys in the video are hitting 170 mph at times. To call the race-course unforgiving would be understatement...
Measured in fractions of an inch OR seconds, death is near.

Beautiful slow motion shots in the first half, the second half of the video is in real time and gives you an idea what unbelievable skills these riders possess:

Amazing Facts You Need To Know !

From the "I'm sure I would have remembered that if someone told me" department:
What did Senator Ted Kennedy name his dog?
The answer is here.
What an wonderful sense of humor that man had! (Vomit.)

Power Off Landing In The Huey-

No, it doesn't "drop like a rock".
Compare this to an airplane landing at 60 m.p.h. (or more)!

Givin' Up The Favorite

First, if you haven't read the post immediately below this one, do so now.

This internet thing continues to amaze. A commenter in response to my son's problem finding a "reasonably priced shipper" left a link to contact "U-Ship".
My son did, then called me.
"Dad, I found a shipper that will move the bike for $425, and he has nothing but favorable reviews."
"That's GREAT son! I can't imagine you'll do any better than that. Hire him."
"There's one problem Dad... To get that rate the bike has to be ready to go TOMORROW."
(Here he pauses to gauge my reaction.)
"Sigh. Well I suppose we could make it work. What time will he be there to pick up the bike?"
"I'll have him call you."

And so it unfolded that my favorite ride, that old 800cc BMW, is now on its first leg to Arizona.
The guy called and we agreed he would meet me at 0830 hours. The gas tank had to be empty, but there were no other restrictions. I got home to find a big Dually GMC truck with an absolutely HUMUNGOUS trailer behind it parked in front of our house with two guys sleeping in the cab.
I drained the tank on the BMW, opened the garage door, and the guy called...
"Is that you I see milling around in there?"

Nice guy. He took great care to load the bike securely to avoid damage, then waved goodbye and drove off. He will unload the bike, fill the trailer with furniture from a 3-bedroom home, then reload the bike at the end of the trailer...
L.I.F.O..
Big Bubba should be lookin' at the old airhead this weekend.
Strange... I'm happy and sad at the same time. I'll miss the bike, but know he's gonna love it as much as I did.

I'm already looking for another old Beemer.

Zen, And Motorcycle Repair

It was pretty exciting at first...
My son was chatting with friends about his Dad getting back into motorcycling.
That conversation evolved into how much money he might save if he learned to ride, then bought a bike to use on his commute to work rather than drive his truck.
His friend said, "I have a bike I'll give you... it's a 400cc Yamaha."
Not much skin off his nose really... the bike hadn't run in years and was covered with "stuff" in the back of his garage. They uncovered the bike, pushed it out into the sunlight, and sent me a photo of my son sitting on it. Like the bike in the above picture, it didn't LOOK bad.

The gas tank needed to be flushed. The carburetors would obviously need a cleaning.
But having done that, it was our hope the bike, with a fresh oil change, would spring to life and my son could cut his fuel bill in half (or more).

Problems started when they tried to flush the gas tank...
The fuel shutoff (petcock) leaked. Badly. Knowing the carburetors would also need a chemical bath, they took the bike to the local shop and asked them to do both jobs. In the meantime, my son took and passed the Motorcycle Safety Foundation's Basic Rider Course. He was READY TO RIDE!

A week passed and the shop hadn't turned a wrench on the bike.
Another week passed... still nothing. The weather was perfect and my son was champing at the bit.
I told him, "Ask your friends at the MSF course to recommend a repair shop and take the bike there. These folks are jerking you around."
He loaded the bike up and took it to the shop they recommended.
And again it sat, and sat.

Then it hit me like a bolt from the blue-
My friend Stuart lived close and his vocation for decades has been... MOTORCYCLE MECHANIC!
"Go get the bike. Take it to Stu. I trust him."

But Stu's advice was disappointing. Over the phone to me he said, "GB, it may take $1500 or more to make this bike safe and dependable. It's been sitting a LONG time. The fuel system... fork seals, tires, chain, all need work, and that's just the start. What about the transmission and the electrics? It would be better to spend that money on a bike that's running."
So the bike is once again in the back of my son's friend's garage. And my son has no two-wheeled mount to use to cut his fuel bill in half.

So I volunteered the services of my old BMW. It's an easy bike to ride... comfortable as an old shoe and not much more difficult than the 400cc Yamaha would have been.
My son is ecstatic and is now trying to find a shipper that can move the bike to the Phoenix area at a reasonable cost.

The biggest downside? I LOVE riding that bike, so now I have to start looking for another!
eBay/craigslist, here we go again.

Let Your Voice Be Heard

I asked, "We used to be told a telephone call was ignored. In order to get someone's attention you had to actually write a letter. What about email? Do our elected officials pay any attention to those?"

Elizabeth Letchworth responded, "You have to be careful to email via a site they'll pay attention to, like mine."

So I will.
Emailing your elected representatives via Elizabeth's site requires you to register, taking only a few seconds.
I'm certain that leaving a message for your Senator or Congressman there HAS to be more effective than screaming deleted expletives at your TV screen as I have done repeatedly, lately.

Go.
Register.
Let 'em know you're mad as hell and you're not gonna take it anymore.

Sign of Intelligence?

In my experience, dogs that exhibit this "head twisting" while listening to their human are easy to train. I bet this shepherd could make breakfast if he/she had thumbs:

Why We're Probably Screwed, No Matter What.

Incompetence.

The last couple days have been mighty amusing for conservatives, watching the tone deaf Bozama administration trying to retrace and cover their tracks after fumbling this "Freedom of religion" issue so badly. Of course it would be even funnier if it wasn't another indication that the country is being lead by total idiots. This is not "Freedonia", so we can't just wait for the movie to end, the credits to roll and relax, knowing the adults really are in charge.

THE ECONOMY IS IMPROVING!

The administration and our lefty media are shouting it from the rooftops. It's my belief we'll soon see these already tepid January jobs numbers revised downward, and when those corrected numbers are made public the news will be whispered, or printed on page 42 in small print.
As I write this, major media is trumpeting the polls, many of which show the President(?) ahead of all Republican contenders. Isn't he wonderful?

But know this. He isn't wonderful. Soon that will be apparent, and we are all gonna suffer for it.

Consider-

Congress is still fighting over details as to the handling of the extension of the Payroll tax holiday.

Included in those negotiations are the extension of unemployment benefits, and the patch for Doctors who were being shortchanged if they treated medicare patients.
The same old question comes to the fore-
Will we increase taxes at a time when the economy is already weakened, or will we have the political strength to start cutting government spending? Either way, it's gonna be painful.

Then also consider-
Over the next few months, (during an election year!), Congress will also have to debate:
-The extension of the Bush tax cuts.
-The fix for the "alternative minimum tax".
In the present political environment, these discussions will be NASTY. And honestly, I don't think there's an adult in the room. So I don't hold a lot of hope for much to be done.

What's all this mean?
I think it means we are Greece.
Or 1970's Brazil or Argentina.
Which means we will default on our debt.
And then life will get VERY interesting!

Buy ammunition.
Start talking with your neighbors about how you'll defend one another when the "Occupy" folks come to take what is "rightfully theirs".

The (Unfortunate) Truth:

Instapundit pointed me to the video.
Another pointed video here.

Testosterone Overdose

Maori Haka:

BMW Cafe-

I'd like to see how he shot this:



More bike pics and videos here.

Eligibility!

Constitutional eligibility for the House of Representatives:
"No Person shall be a Representative who shall not have attained to the age of twenty five Years, and been seven Years a Citizen of the United States, and who shall not, when elected, be an Inhabitant of that State in which he shall be chosen. "

Constitutional eligibility for the Senate:
"No Person shall be a Senator who shall not have attained to the Age of thirty Years, and been nine Years a Citizen of the United States and who shall not, when elected, be an Inhabitant of that State for which he shall be chosen."

Constitutional eligibility for President of the United States:
"No Person except a natural born Citizen, or a Citizen of the United States, at the time of the Adoption of this Constitution, shall be eligible to the Office of President; neither shall any Person be eligible to that Office who shall not have attained to the Age of thirty five Years, and been fourteen Years a Resident within the United States."

You know how slow I am mentally, so I once again need your help!
Why does it say "Citizen" when it defines the eligibility requirements for Representative and Senator, but "natural born Citizen" for President?

Nothing to see here folks... we have things under control.
Move along!

Breaking Perfectly Good Rules

Pavement Pizza.
That's what one of my peers called some of the folks we pick up at scenes.
He made the mistake of using the term over the radio on the way to the hospital. Folks in EMS sometimes use VERY dark humor to keep some of our transports from driving us insane, but it's best to keep those jokes within the EMS family...
His company promptly fired him.

Scene flights are exciting. As I've said before, I think they are the closest thing to combat flying you can do as a civilian pilot. Time is critical. Landing at night in an unfamiliar, virtually unprepared LZ can get your juices flowing. Sometimes we arrive before our patient has been extracted from the wreckage and steam, smoke, and broken glass are everywhere. And obviously, if you cannot stand the sight of blood, this is not the job for you.

Motorcycle accidents can be ugly. One of the States we cover is a "No helmet required" State, and many of our clients think their head covered by a "Doo-rag" is perfectly satisfactory as protective gear.
Which brings to mind another of those phrases I frequently use:
"In EMS we know why they call it 'Gray Matter'. We see it up-close and personal. It's called that because it is gray!"

Now that I'm back on two wheels, knowing I'm older (but wiser) and my reflexes ain't what they once was, I've set rules for myself to try to avoid exposing my gray matter. One of the rules I set for myself was because of the literal explosion of White-tail deer in our area-
I promised myself I wouldn't ride after dark in rural areas.
It's a fine rule.

But Global warming has descended on our area with a vengeance. The last three days have been as nearly perfect as our Good Lord can make 'em. I had to fly with a student in BigTown a couple days ago and when I checked my thermometer it registered 63 degrees. I looked up-
Not a cloud in the sky. Checking the radar and satellite showed there wasn't a cloud within 500 miles. But riding in to fly with this student meant I'd be riding home in the dark...
Through some areas with LOTS of deer.

Rules were meant to be broken.
Actually, I just bent this one. I rode, and had an ear-to-ear smile on my face the entire trip.
(On my way in I noticed several OLD cemeteries along the road that I want to investigate later. I LOVE old cemeteries. I've passed these by for 30 years in a car and had never noticed them. Think your "seeing" is better when you're on a bike?!!)
But to the degree I could I stayed on 4-lane roads where heavy traffic was more likely to spook deer to stay away. When I was finally forced to take two-laners, I slowed in those areas where woods came close to both sides of the road and deer might cross from one side to another. And you know what? Forty miles per hour on a bike is still more pleasant than driving the speed limit in a steel box!
Temps were above 60 again today. I rode the older 'Wing to work tonight and used the same technique. The ride was GRAND.

The oil is draining out of the bike as I type this. New oil and filter will be in place before I head for home in the morning. Forecast temps for tomorrow?
60+
Can you read my mind?

That First Step-

On the phone Wednesday I made the arrangements...
We will Winter in Destin, Florida this year. The plans now are to arrive in November and stay there until the end of February.
It's a huge step... so huge, Sara Jean cried all day stressed with the thought of such change in our lives. We've since had long discussions about how this will work and she has settled to the idea.
Me? I'm just disappointed the old rule is true that "the plan will work perfectly until contact with the enemy is made"...
My retirement plan went all to pieces over the last two years.

It was never my plan to quit work completely. Sara Jean's work is physical, so I wanted her to be able to quit completely if she wanted. But I always figured I'd continue to work at least part-time until my body assumes ambient temperature...
Flight/Ground instruction.
Buying and selling used aircraft.
Scavenging aluminum cans from the roadside.
Being "Greeter" at the WalMart.
I like work and feel no work is beneath me. We'll be fine so long as there is enough money.
But there is the rub we all face...
How much is "enough"?

Most of us are facing the same scenario...
Our 401K's have become 200.5K's.
Until two years ago I felt phat...
We'd have had more income in retirement than while preparing for it. The market downturn means my years of preparation will provide just enough income to continue our present standard of living. Supplementing retirement funds with part-time work will put gravy on the mashed potatoes and will also provide a second benefit... I'll be out of Sara Jean's hair much of the time.

Now the "elephant in the room" question...
When do I actually retire? I still love my job. I respect most of my co-workers. It's the petty politics and the attitude of a few people that irritate me and keep my job from being perfect.
And that's my burr beneath the saddle...
I've never been good about keeping my mouth shut when I get irritated, and it gets harder as I get older.

So I'm working to pay off our debts. I'm shuffling money around to conserve it.
And as we realize we'll be fine, we're adjusting to the idea of spending next Winter on the balcony overlooking the Gulf of Mexico with an adult beverage close at hand.

"Welcome to WalMart. Enjoy your shopping experience!"

Newt?

Bob Dole says a Newt nomination would be disastrous.
John McCain has endorsed Mitt Romney.
Yeah...
That certainly helps make up my mind.

January 25, SR-71

I don't remember the incident.
Perhaps it was because I simply wasn't paying attention.
Or maybe it slipped by unnoticed in all my birthday celebrating. But until recently I was unaware we had ever lost one of these fabulous machines.
Ejecting at mach 3.8?
Unbelievable.
More here.

I prefer to think of them in "faster than a speeding bullet" mode.

Forty-six years later we still appreciate your sacrifice, Jim Zwayer.
Rest in peace.

Wherever You Are-

Thanks Arlene and Clarke!

General Spruance

In the early '70's I had the privilege of seeing this man in person with 300 or so of my peers at a safety seminar at Hunter Army Airfield in Savannah, Georgia.
At the time he was what we affectionately called a "Crispy Critter"...
No hair. No ears.No eyebrows. His burns looked MUCH worse then. Oddly, I think his warnings had more impact when he looked less like a human being.

I've looked for this video for a while...
His talk had a dramatic impact on me then, and if/when you watch it, it will have an impact on you. (Got kids? His auto accident tips are worthwhile so you may want teens and older to watch too.)
The video is almost 90 minutes long, so you'll need to set aside the time to watch it at some point in the future.
Take the time. You may, like me, find yourself remembering some pieces of it at the oddest times. And at those times you'll be glad you are human and have the ability to learn from the mistakes of others so you don't become a "Crispy Critter" yourself.
He's humorous at times. Enjoy: