Paulette And Katy

Sara Jean and I play a game- "Brad Pitt is IN THE HOUSE!"
When we see someone who looks like a celebrity or a friend, one of us will announce it to the other. And we almost always see things similarly.
This morning, while searching one of my favorite sites, Imdb.com, I was searching for trivia and pics of an actress that always made my heart go "pitter-pat".
A "nagging" started in the back of my noggin.
Here's my heart-throb, Paulette:




My nagging thoughts continued until I figured out why.
See if you agree that "Paulette is IN THE HOUSE!":

That's Katy Perry.
I tried to find a good black and white photo of Katy for an "apples to apples" comparison, but failed.
Sara Jean and I agree on this one.
They could be sisters.
What do you think?

Our Nation, Post-Racial

Conceited.
Arrogant.
Over-confident.
I've been called these, and worse.
I understand.
If we disagree, I'm a hard guy to like. I'll make you defend your position, and if you can't, you may find yourself wishing we hadn't met.
This attitude has cost me friendships. It has strained relationships with loved ones.
I used to think that was a bad thing.
Not any more.

Some time back a loved one said something to the effect, "I'm not gonna play that game." It wasn't intended to be profound at the time, but it had a dramatic effect on me.
I was, more and more, wondering how we could possibly be making the choices we were making as a nation. I started paying closer attention to what those around me were saying about the course they wanted to see the Nation taking.
I was amazed.
Some people are lazy.
Some people don't know history... it's harsh to call them stupid, but it's SO hard not to embarrass them when they get into Neville Chamberlain territory.

So I'm now into "I no longer play that game" territory.
Don't like me? That's okay.
Don't agree with me? That's okay too. I don't care.
I don't want you in my life.
I don't even want you dabbling around the edges of my life.

We're in trouble.
I'm pedalling as fast as I can to protect me and those I love.
If you give a flip about who fathered Kim Kardashian's baby,
I won't bother to discuss the time of day with you.
I no longer play that game.

Post-racial?
(Spit.)
Angry? You bet.
Why aren't you?

Life Requires Responsibility

If you're paying "Attention to detail, candidate!", you already know some of my past.
If you haven't been curious enough to dig on your own, lemme tell ya-
I was once a Dog Catcher. (Became HEAD Dog Catcher of the fastest-growing county in the United States at the time with 28 Animal Control Officers working under my supervision.)
Ever watch Cesar Milan? He talks about "helping dogs and TRAINING OWNERS."
That's so true it hurts.
Lemme relate a story-

The gal came into the office and said she had a Momma and puppies she "needed us to find owners for."
I followed her back to her car to find the back seat completely covered by a Doberman bitch and eight pups. The female Dobie had found a way to expose her backside to a pureblooded Black Labrador retriever, and the pups were all black except for the tiny brown markings over their eyebrows.
Absolutely beautiful animals.

"You want us to find owners for these pups? Have you tried to find owners for them yourself?"

"Yes, Momma AND pups. But no one wants them."

"Well, sadly, let me tell you what will most likely happen here. We MUST keep them for five days. IF someone comes in looking for an adoption, they'll get to look at your Mom and pups.
BUT, we have VERY FEW folks coming by these days. So it is VERY likely that in five days I'll be putting your dogs into our nitrogen chamber to euthanize them."

It was like I had slapped her in the face. (And I was happy to see that reaction.)
We had a few more minutes of chat about how terrible the animal control situation was. She then got back into her car and drove home with Momma Dobie and her pups in the back seat.

A week or so later I was dismayed when I recognized her car as it pulled into our drive.
She got out of the car crying. I walked out and met her wordlessly.
I got a box for the puppies. She lead Mom to the kennel on a leash.
Momma Doberman and her beautiful pups were our guests in the same cage...
For five days.

When times get tough, money gets tight.
When money gets tight, that 50-pound bag of dog food begins to look expensive; like a spot where you could be saving a few $$$$. And a BIG dog can go through 50 pounds of expensive food in a hurry.
It's one thing to have one big dog.
It's another altogether to have NINE of 'em.
(And they make human-sized Poo-Poo too!)

Another of those jobs we need to be thinking about when we thank those who do jobs we don't want to do/CANNOT do, is animal control.
Putting those beautiful animals down was another thing that "brought on the rain".
But turning them loose to be hit on the road or otherwise neglected/mistreated was unthinkable.

Another celebrity, Bob Barker, had it right...
This was, and IS, a much bigger problem than most realize:
"Spay or neuter".

It minimizes the tears that are shed by owners,
AND by animal control officers.

How Do Da Weather Know?

It takes all kinds of fruits and nuts to make a good salad, right?
Some like cold weather. (I think they're NUTS, but tolerate them for the sake of entertainment.)
Our decision to Winter in Destin came because the Florida panhandle DOES experience a change of seasons. Last night for instance, the temperature there dropped into the mid-30's. If the wind is blowing as it normally does when temps drop that low, you had better have a warm jacket handy.
And then there's the rain. It has rained a LOT the past month. The poor GoldWing has been sitting in the parking lot like some poor critter trying to find shelter, and there ain't none to be found. Mist off the Gulf is full of salt, which is taking its toll on all the chrome pieces. I haven't had much ability to knock the chrome monster down because of all the rain. I'm resigned to the fact that the poor bike will maybe need some "Kentucky chrome" added to those parts that are now brownish-orange.

Of course we watch the weather a lot, both to see IF tomorrow will be good for riding, and to see what the weather is doing elsewhere.
We've been surprised at how mild the Winter has been so far back home in the Midwest. But "mild" still means it normally is at least 20 degrees colder at home than in Destin. Cold is what I wanted to avoid.
I'll take the rain, providing it stays warmer than back home.

We came home last week to check on our house, grab the mail, renew license tags, and run errands.
We're headed back South tomorrow, provided I get the oil and filter changed in the Ram/Cummins Diesel. We've been watching the Destin weather since we got here... It's been sunny and mid 60's there every day.
Here at home? Clouds. Rain. SNOW! Down to 32 or less most every evening.
How do it know?

The panhandle forecast for our return looks like two-wheeling weather so far.
Let's see if that changes once we are back in residence overlooking the emerald waters.

Tuber Shooter

It was one of those "Hey, watch this!" moments.
He shoved a potato(e?) into the end of the barrel and rammed it home with a stick.
He then unscrewed a cap beneath the barrel, sprayed a three-second spritz of hair spray into that compartment, then replaced the cap.
He shouldered the contraption, pulled the trigger, and sent the spud hurtling more than a football field's distance.
I was stunned.
I couldn't help myself... uncontrolled laughing followed.
We then proceeded to use up a $2 can of hairspray and send a $5 bag of potato(e?)s downrange in less than 10 minutes, giggling all the while.

Not really a toy, the potato slug leaves the barrel at a rate that would probably kill a nearby person struck in the chest by the projectile.
Ever fire one? It's a hoot. I recommend it.
I bet it puts a smile on your face.
But as with most anything that fires a projectile, be careful!
Detailed construction plans for one type here.

Headed South, (But It's STILL Gonna Be Cold!)

I had little chance...
My Dad was a pilot.
Virtually all my (paternal-side, three of 'em) Uncles were pilots.
When I applied for flight school I asked to become a fixed-wing pilot.
The ARMY ignored that request, thank GOD. (BOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRIINNNNG!)

Today we depart Destin for Hernando Florida.
The reason for our travel is to attend a fly-in Memorial for my Dad's brother. VERY active in the Experimental Aircraft Association, he built an airplane similar to the one shown above. (Many other airplanes too.)
God willing, we'll be meeting Little Lotta, Joe, (and maybe Beau!) tonight for dinner.
Pray that we DO NOT catch whatever gallopin' gump she's carrying!

Stay tuned.
And watch the Police blotter.

Perceiving The World

She goes with us nearly everywhere.
When we're driving home there is a point where we say nothing, but knowingly look at one another.
Lucy sleeps on Sara Jean's lap when we're in the car. She's a great traveller, sleeps continually until we stop for a potty break. At those stops I don't even have to leash her; she prances behind me to the designated spot, squats, does the typical useless scratching at the ground to "cover up" what she's done, then follows me back to the car.
No dog is more efficient.

So after Sara Jean and I glance at one another we start watching her.
There is a point about two blocks from home where Lucy will awaken, sniff the air, and cross over to my lap to look out the driver's-side window.
She knows we're home. And it happens at almost exactly the same spot EVERY TIME.

Now we've been in Destin off and on for a little over two months. Lucy goes with us nearly everywhere here too... she waits in the car when we go out to eat, go grocery shopping, etc..
And SJ and I now have a new place where we quietly glance at one another, then start watching her out of the corner of our eye.

How do they know?
It's GOT to be sense of smell, to awaken her from sleep.
I would love to know what goes through her mind,
but I'm not at all sure I'd like my sense of smell to be that acute! 

Reality Show

From our balcony overlooking the Gulf of Mexico we can see all the traffic entering and exiting the condo complex.
Our interest is piqued anytime the vehicle entering the complex has a light bar on top. Two days ago we raced from the front balcony to the rear when a Sheriff's Deputy pulled into the drive. The female officer parked across the lot from our unit and a female neighbor I recognized but have not had close contact with, got out of her car and met the Officer.
The neighbor is a tall, slight, tired and gaunt looking individual. She is civil anytime I greet her, but obviously wants no further conversation; sort of "Hi. Now leave me alone, thank you."
It's a cool, breezy night and she is dressed in pants and a blouse with an afghan draped around her shoulders.
Our own personal episode of "COPS" is unfolding before our eyes.

Not wanting to appear obvious in our curiosity (and because of the temperature), we stood inside our sliding-glass door and watched gestures and demeanor. The neighbor wasn't crying. She talked with the deputy several minutes, then the deputy turned her head to talk into the speaker-microphone attached to her left epaulet.

Soon another deputy quietly arrived, male this time. He chatted with the lady officer, then walked to the corner of the line of condos to our rear, carefully peaked around the corner down the line, then walked all the way down the line of condos, emerging at the other end and returning.
More talk all around.

Another deputy arrives.
The maintenance man arrives carrying passkeys. More talk.
A Fire Truck goes by and parks in the lot of a nearby restaurant about two blocks away. (We have "Public Service Officers" here, so these guys are all paramedics.)
Two Sheriff's Department pickup trucks arrive, adding two more uniformed deputies to the mix.

"What do you think is going on?" Sara Jean asks.
"I think it's a domestic dispute" I respond. "These things can turn really ugly in a flash and it's one of the jobs our Law Enforcement Officers hate most."

Everyone huddles. One of the deputies is on a cell phone... talking with the guy inside the condo?
He hangs up. More huddling. The female neighbor gestures in a way that I decipher as "Up the stairs and to the right"...
That's where the bedrooms are in those units. She then gestures with two fingers and an upward movement, then one finger down...
Two bathrooms upstairs, one down?

One of the Deputies gets the keys from our maintenance guy, walks to the front door and enters.
I pray I don't hear gunfire.
I don't.

He soon emerges with our male neighbor with hands behind his back, handcuffed. He's barefoot, dressed in a bathrobe. He shouts something at her. She responds, but her level of response carries about half the emotion. He's loaded in the back of squad car number two and transported away.
Some talk with the female neighbor follows to insure she is well, then our public servants all vacate the premises.
"Handcuff's" significant other enters the condo, comes out with a box of stuff, and drives away.

Next morning dawns with more of the same... cool, rainy, breezy. I'm surfing the 'net when I notice her drive up and get out of her (their?) car. She goes back into the condo and comes out with an armload of clothing on hangers. She returns to the condo and comes out with two boxes filled with the stuff of life. One more trip yields another box full.
She then drives away.

Late in the afternoon I notice a taxi pull into the lot. From it emerges the male neighbor, sans handcuffs.
He enters the condo, spends about an hour there, then leaves.
We've seen neither of them since.

When I'm safe, warm, belly full, sharing time with a woman I love, I force myself to remember...
Others are not so lucky.
For whatever reason, many are living day-to-day, surviving one difficult event after another.
Most of us are blessed.

If that describes you, say a prayer of thanks.
And remind yourself to commit an act of kindness next time you can. It may mean more than you imagine to someone you don't even know.

Re-Tired

Is it necessary to have been tired in order to be "re"tired?
Well I wasn't, so I guess technically I ain't.

My folks used to Winter in Key West. Back in those days I'd start my shift at work by doing a thorough check of the weather I'd be dealing with, then I'd check the weather they were experiencing.
It always put a smile on my face, knowing they'd be walking around in T-shirt, shorts, and a pair of sandals in mid-70 degree weather while I was dealing with cold, (sometimes below zero), freezing precip, frozen precip, and often cloudy and depressing weather.

So now our lives have CHANGED and we're at the other end.
How odd to be here in Destin looking at a clear blue sky, turquoise water lapping at snow white sand, while wearing a pair of shorts and (today) a sweatshirt in 65 degree temps, while watching video of the Northeast getting blown away with two feet of snow piled wall-high by near-hurricane force winds.
Now I'm smiling for us!

It's been three weeks since we said goodbye to beloved co-workers. 
Back in the great white North we shut down our mail, coordinated with our neighbors to keep an eye on our home and do a now-and-then walk through to insure pipes hadn't burst, pointed the car South, and waved bye-bye.
We've actually been in residence in the condo two weeks.
And we're both beginning to get a little itchy.
We walk at least two miles a day. Sara Jean sunbathes. We watch as the sun sinks into the Gulf when clouds permit. I drove to Pensacola last week and brought Mother to visit with us four days.
All that is wonderful.
But I've always thought that maybe I'd get tired of being retired, and those thoughts are now being realized...
For both of us, hangin' around watching movies, eating popcorn, and sucking down adult beverages is only cool when we're doing it to relax after having done something fulfilling.
And just cleaning and doing touchup work in the condo ain't fulfilling. A trip to WalMart for necessities isn't enough stimulation. There's gotta be something else added to our lives to keep us happy.

There's a guy down here flying an R44 up and down the beach, obviously doin' tours.
I went to the airport last week and asked if they needed a backup pilot. The pilot on duty gave me a phone number to call to inquire, and when I called the guy he asked the obvious question...
"What kind of experience do you have?"
I think he was stunned by my response. (And if I was him, my "B.S." meter would have pegged.)
But we have an acquaintance in common, and I suggested he should call him to verify my credentials.
I hope he does.
I hope by next month it will be me flying tours up and down the beach, part-time.
I need to be busy, and the idea of watching for sharks and getting a different perspective of my neighborhood is kinda exciting.

I'll let ya know if this poor unemployed soul gets work.
Stay tuned.

Meet The Blogger!

Ya start reading blogs, and from the words, try to imagine what the authors would be like.
Read the words long enough and you can't help but have a good idea whether or not you'd like to have a personal relationship with the writer.
But is it wise to actually meet?
Or is it better to continue imagining?

I have pulled the trigger on meeting several of the folks who stop by and leave comments here.
Cary, Larry, Helen, Rita, Mark... others I may be disremembering. (Not intentionally).
So far, "Meet the Blogger(s)" has been quite the pleasant experience. And I also think meeting someone and having the ability to put a face to the words has enhanced the experience of reading those blogs.

This month (fingers crossed) I'll be adding another face to my reading experience, providing she doesn't die beforehand. We're going to a memorial fly-in for an uncle, and that event just happens to be unfolding in a town where a favorite blogger lives. When she found we'd be in her neighborhood she suggested dinner one evening.
I think the meeting will be a hoot, provided she has recovered from what she is calling "New Moan-ya".

And if she's fully healthy, we may even start planning something nefarious.
I'll let ya know.

House of Cards

An economist I trust is now saying our "actual" deficit for the last fiscal year will turn out to be somewhere in the neighborhood of 6.9 TRILLION dollars. And, as if that wasn't extraordinary enough, our national "leaders" are doing nothing to get the situation under control...
On the contrary, they're pouring gasoline on the fire.

People, it's just a question of time until this untenable situation becomes obvious even to the most ardent Obama supporter. And I fear that time is just around the corner.
Do what you can to protect yourself and your family.

Or don't.

And Then There Was One.

It's my birthday.
I am 66 years of age today, and eligible for full Social Security benefits.
Coincidentally, tonight happens to be my last night at a job I have been doing for over 26 years.
I have always loved this job because I feel God has used my talents to help others.
I love the flying.
I love the professionals I work with.
But the entire medicine-related industry is changing, and I fear it will change dramatically over the next months. And on the "pluses and minuses scale", those changes are making the job less and less satisfying.

And then there is that undeniable "66 years old" detail, (and the 45 years of being subjected to a VERY noisy environment thing)...
Two years ago I got tired of not being able to read tower frequencies off my charts at night and succumbed to wearing glasses all the time.
I drive my fellow employees nuts with the volume on the aircraft's radios and the community TV because I'm more and more deaf.
So it's time to hang it up.

I have LOVED THIS JOB so, and walking out the door Saturday morning will be one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I want to leave while my med-crews are sad to see me go.
It's time.
Turn the page.

"Escapism"

Escapism from barry munsterteiger on Vimeo.
Some videos come VERY close to conveying the feeling of riding!

Inger

Pretty?
Undeniably.
But not "Drop dead gorgeous"... just "girl-next-door" pretty.
For me there was something about her. A good actress,  
I "believed" her in all her roles.
There was something else though...
I fell in love with her. 

We often hear others say similar things describing Norma Jeane... a vulnerability that motivates men to protect a frightened gal. But Marilyn had blockbuster relationships with Joe DiMaggio, then Arthur Miller. 
I knew NOTHING of Inger Stevens personal life. But there was something about her that gave off the "prey animal" vibe. 
Maybe it was the fact that she was sick during much of her early years. Maybe her parents' divorce when she was nine tore a hole in her heart.
 
When I learned of her death in 1970, I was surprised how sad I felt.
Do we all go through the "If only I could have known her personally and shown her how much others really care about her" feelings?
Well, I did.
And when I look at her images or see her onscreen, large or small, my "protect" instincts are still stirred.

Inger...
I wish I could have known you.
But I was just a kid.

Surviving?

If you've not already read the post below, read it now to understand my comments here.

Some time ago a female blogger started coming by here, leaving an intelligent comment now and then. I started reading her blog and we became "blogfriends". But it quickly became obvious there was a huge difference in our attitudes and outlook on life, particularly when the subject came to guns, and defending our families.
I tried to play the "Mama Grizzly" game with her...
"If your family was threatened, you'd come out with nails and fangs bared!"
But her response was that if the world sank to that level, she'd sooner be dead than use a firearm to kill another person, even a murderer.

I think most can imagine, IF we have a national emergency, society will break down. If there is no money to pay or otherwise reward them, I would think most Law Enforcement Officers would walk away from their posts to go home to protect their own families. (And if our machines break down or fuel is not available for them, those farther from work than walking distance will not make it to their jobs no matter what.)

But what about prisons?
What happens to the Jeffrey Dahmers, the Hannibal Lecters, the John Wayne Gacys of the world? Will prison officials summarily execute these people rather than turn them loose on the populace?
Maybe. Maybe not.
But some of them will be amongst us, preying on the weak and infirm.
And some of them will group together for mutual support.

Food and water, for those who have not prepared, will be a problem.
Food and water, for those of us who HAVE prepared, will be a problem.
To keep it, we'll have to defend it. We may THINK we can do that...
But what if we are faced with overwhelming numbers?
Then we might all feel my blogfriend had the right idea... we'd be better off just putting our own gun to our head.

And then there is the long-term scenario...
When there is NO food left, what happens then?
Donner Pass? The Andes Survivors?
Does desperation stoop to the level of hunting others simply for their caloric value?
We shudder.
But is it better to have thought about such things, to at least try to figure a way to surmount them?
Or do we just say, "I'd rather be dead"?

I still want to fight 'til my last breath.
But my last breath might come in a different way than I had originally thought.

Kooks Like Me

I'm about halfway through reading it.
The idea that all our machines will be rendered inoperative by an Electromagnetic Pulse set me to wondering...
What would I have to do to my Dodge/Cummins diesel truck to make it EMP-proof?
Researching that lead me to a couple sites that think the possibility of our cars and trucks being disabled is a bunch of hooey. I'm gonna do further research... maybe one of you has good advice?

But the book is an interesting read. EMP, massive Hurricane, New Madrid fault shake, major epidemic, or economic collapse, the book helped me think of things I want to stock up on that I hadn't considered...
Soap, both bath and laundry.
Bleach.
Alcohol, rubbing and drinking. (I DID already know that booze and cigarettes will be in high demand and will be great for barter, as will surplus ammo, but hadn't considered rubbing alcohol for wound cleaning and other uses.)
Aspirin, Ibuprofen, Neosporin.
I'm sure there will be other revelations, and I'll share them when I'm finished with it.

In the meantime, if you, like me, are a Prepper-kook, grab yourself a copy...
At the very least it will remind you how wonderful it is to flip a light switch or push "start" on a microwave!

Camp Enari

My first post in Viet Nam was with the 4th Infantry Division's general support aviation battalion at "Camp Enari", Pleiku. I've often wondered how the camp got its name, and was never in a position to research it when the question came to mind.
This afternoon, on my two-mile walk, I determined I would find the answer when I returned to the computer.
The answer to my question is interesting enough to share with you, my blog-friends.

Heroes, ALL.

Forest/Trees

The wind was VERY high when I landed to refuel at our base...
So high I didn't want to try to turn my tail into it in order to position the aircraft on the pad normally.
Nose pointed into the wind I landed, secured the aircraft, got out to see how much room I still had between hangar and tail-feathers, then buckled myself back into the aircraft to move it backwards another three feet so the fuel hose would be able to reach my fuel tank.
I then got out of the helicopter again and started to take the shortest route to the fuel pump...
Through the (nearly invisible) tail rotor.
Encounters with a helicopter tail rotor are violent, bloody, and almost universally fatal.
I was within two feet of being sliced and diced when I stopped short and realized my familiarity with this complex machine had almost ended in disaster.

Virtually everyone I know is fascinated by helicopters. I've now been flying them for 45 years, yet when I hear the sound of one approaching I will, if possible, drop what I'm doing and race outside to identify the machine and watch it pass... fascinated.
Just doing what they normally do, they are amazing.
And we who use them all the time are as familiar and comfortable with them as you are with your car.

Forty-five years of flying helicopters...
More than 26 of those years have been spent flying in the EMS role.
I spend more time with a cyclic in my right hand than I do with a steering wheel in both.
So you may understand how easy it is for me to say I've never considered my job really dangerous.
I've done it almost half my life now.
I do it well.
I take the inherent dangers in stride and accept them as part of the job.

And then LIFE slaps you in the face, and you get reminded that being more than a few feet off the ground isn't normal.
Moving across that firmament at 150 miles per hour isn't something humans were designed to do.
Flying high above the ground at 150 miles per hour, in the dark of night, with uncertain weather outside that complex aircraft can begin to be overwhelming.
So, now and then, aircraft and terra-firma come together violently.
And the rest of us in aviation take note, try to learn why, and continue to do the job.
But...

When it hits close to home, it's SO HARD.
When you hear they are all gone and realize you have shaken that hand, seen that smile, shared a story or two about mutual acquaintances, it's SO HARD.

We lost two aircraft this week.
Thankfully one of the accidents, although serious, wasn't fatal.
But the other took the lives of three good people... three folks taking what they felt were acceptable risks necessary to help others.
And they're all gone.
One of 'em, the pilot, was someone I had smiled with, shared stories with, knew to be a good guy.
Losing anyone in one of these accidents is tragic.
But knowing you will never again see that smile is an emotional blow that's like losing family.

They died trying to help others.
They knew being high above the ground going 150 miles per hour entailed risk.
And one of my hopes is, when we learn what happened here, the rest of us will be able to walk out, start the helicopter, and do the job more safely, remembering these wonderful, caring people.

Rest in peace, Med-Trans.
I'm glad I can remember the smiles.

Video Killed The Radio Star

The election took the wind outta my sails. 
Up until the results were compiled, I still had hope that my fears were just that... 
Unnecessary worrying on my part. 
But it is now obvious to anyone watching that the country truly has been "fundamentally transformed"... 
There is a very large contingent of our brethren who think "sticking it to the man" is exactly what is needed to level the playing field and make our country a better place, conveniently ignoring the BILLIONS of dollars this administration has funneled to "the man"...
Failed and failing business like Solyndra and General Motors. 
We're in huge trouble. 
Prepare. 

It takes time to blog. It also takes a little thought to do it and not make a fool of myself. 
The time, inclination, and inspiration all have to meet at the same place for it to happen. On the other hand, you can throw a quick comment or rant up on your Facebook page in seconds. If you decide it was the wrong thing to do, you can delete the comment in an instant.
Two or three people who stop by here and comment are also FB friends. They also seem to have blogging doldrums, for whatever reason. I haven't discussed the phenomenon with them... 
It'll be interesting to see if they agree or disagree with my thoughts. 

No one seems to care. 
Our country's finances are a mess. 
The rule of law and our Constitution no longer matter. 
The Senate is supposed to pass an annual budget and hasn't done it since Bozo took office. 
We're supplying weapons to our enemies, local, and far away. 
The whole world seems to be going berzerko. 
But no one cares. 
 We're in "Don't let a good crisis go to waste" mode. We certainly don't want to let a crisis get by without doing SOMETHING to make us feel good... 
Decisions made while we're in a highly emotional state are always the best, well-thought out decisions aren't they? And we've certainly had more than our fair share of emotional, chaotic crises lately. 
But I've been shouting from the rooftops at Facebook, trying to get someone into a discussion that would convince me I'm way out in left field, thinking as I do. 
And no one, (except many that also comment here and are an echo chamber) will respond. 
No one cares. 

One of my last FB comments followed the old "All that is necessary for evil to succeed..." quote. 
Few responded. NO ONE argued the point. It's my impression that LOTS of folks feel they are helpless to make changes in the chaos happening around them, even though many don't like what they see. 

So they do nothing. 
And EVIL will succeed.
 
So start getting ready for it.

And for FB "friends" that keep bugging me...
I have NO INTEREST in playing "Bubble Safari", "Mafia Wars", "Farmville", or "Zynga Bingo".
I'm now spending more time trying to come up with worthwhile blogs.

On Two Wheels, Part 5+

It would be nearly impossible now...
If you wanted the "fastest" motorcycle made, you'd be buying a different bike every few months.
But for a few years, when I first got home from Viet Nam, that was my goal. In 1970, that meant buying a Kawasaki triple.
There really wasn't anything faster than those two-stroke Kaws for several years. They were noisy, smoky, inefficient, and evil handling when you tried to persuade them to do anything but go straight.
But they were WICKED fast, and I loved the "light switch" way in which the engines produced power...
Twist the throttle and that Kawasaki would accelerate, sorta, until you got to 4,000 RPM.
Then ZOWIE...
At 4K the engine would shriek and all the horsepower it could produce would be transmitted to the rear wheel, causing the front tire to try to reach for the sun.
I loved mine. I now wish I had kept it, 'cause like everything else from "back in the day", decent versions of those bikes are now selling for ten times what they brought when new.

But I didn't keep it.
And the reason I didn't keep it is shown here:



That's a Yamaha "XS1100SF".
And reviews said it was faster than my Kaw.
It also had some things I had come to realize would improve my life on two wheels:
Two disc brakes up front. A disc brake at the rear wheel. Alloy wheels (so I wouldn't have to continually polish individual spokes.)
And it was shaft driven... no chain.
If you don't remember why "no chain" is important on a bike you intend to use to cover MANY miles with, you need to refresh your memory here.

The switch from the 750 Kaw to the big Yamaha was a learning experience.
The 1100 WAS fast.
But it was also quiet. It didn't smoke like a mosquito sprayer. The engine produced usable power at almost any RPM, so I didn't constantly have to downshift to pass. It didn't vibrate.
I bought a "Windjammer" full-fairing and a backrest/luggage rack for it, and proceeded to ride the thing 19,000 miles in three years.

But I missed the quirkiness of the two-stroke.
For years I had heard others sing the praises of the little Yamaha RD350/400.
Reviews said they had many of the characteristics I loved in my Kawasakis, but also handled well in the twisties.
So I added another bike to my stable. It looked like this:

























And I was disappointed in it. Yeah, it handled well.
But it didn't have the characteristics I loved about the "evil" Kawasakis.
I lent it to a buddy, who promptly seized the engine.
He then started to do the right thing and dismantled the engine, but then moved away and left me with a "basket case".
Some friend, huh?
I gave the pile of parts to another friend.

Sometime around 1984 Spring came, and I had no desire to ride.
That was weird because up to that time, every year the temperature would rise above 40 degrees, I'd bundle up and get on two wheels (and be miserable due to lack of proper cold-weather gear).
I sold the 1100.
And went without a motorcycle for over twenty years.
And then, for some reason, Spring came and I wanted to ride.
Bikes today are faster. Actually, "faster" doesn't begin to describe the power of today's motorcycles...
They truly are "stupid fast".
And I have no desire to scare myself anymore.
I want to be comfortable. I want to get great fuel mileage. I want my wife to ride along and enjoy the experience as much as I do.
So that brings us to why I've bought six very different motorcycles in three years.
More on all this later.

We Didn't/Don't See Eye-To-Eye.

Dads see things through older eyes and through the lens of experience.
Sons MAY know things have changed, and need to help Dads to understand.
Some can do it... some can't.
I'm glad my Dad knew how much I loved and respected him BEFORE he died.
I hope my (already good) relationship with my son gets better and better through the years.

How's your relationship with Dad?
If it ain't good, FIX IT.

Where Do We Find Such Men?

When this song first hit the airwaves I was in flight school and thought "Well, that's kinda schlocky."

Listen to the words.
Attitude adjustment time...
Ask me how I feel now.

"It's Shaping Up Like Treason..."

I heard the man on the radio, said, "My son is gone and what's to show?"
Defending who knows what for who knows why.
Half a world away they watched for real, they saw the soul of a Navy Seal
"Who gave the order to let my son die?"
Evil men telling evil lies Just to win a vote you let them die
While that drone would only hover.
Finger pointing. They're on the run. Investigations have all begun.
How much more will they uncover?
I'm goin' High on a mountaintop. That's the only place where I can stop this crying
Goin' High on a mountaintop. Closer to God and farther from this lying.
You know it stands to reason, and it's shaping up like treason, this we know.

He didn't even have to venture in, but when his brothers, they all needed him, He was on the spot...
Not flying to Vegas.
Real leaders lead when they are called, Never thinking that they'll drop the ball
But drop to their knees for Him who has made us
9-11, baby, you should have known Al Qaeda coming and they're all alone
Where is the outrage for THIS story?
Laser target, in his sight 60 to one, yea the odds looked right.
You'll never understand their glory
We're goin' HOAM. That's the only place I can go to stop this hurting.
HOAM Justice will come one day, I know for certain.
I know I cannot runaway, but give us just a single day.
These heroes live forever but a coward dies a thousand times.
Yeah you know it stands to reason but it's shaping up like treason, this I know.

Half a world away they watched for real, they saw the soul of a Navy Seal
"Who gave the order to let his son die?"

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!).

But What If I'm Right?

Just an average guy, not a lot different than my neighbors, I still think we're getting close to trouble.

I'd be delighted to be wrong... to just continue riding my motorcycles into the dawn, imagining what decent restaurant will serve the best Western Omelet.

But I can hear thunder in the distance, and I'm preparing for a storm.

If it passes and causes no damage, what have I lost?

I'm not smart enough to predict how this will all come to pass.

But the writer of this article IS.
Be prepared, or be a victim.
You choose.

You MAY Be Surprised:

Then Came Bronson

To say I was excited when this show first aired would be understatement...
I actually blocked off the time to watch it every week.
Although entertaining, it ended up being a disappointment...
Route 66 rehashed with a motorcycle standing in for the Corvette.

But it was nothing short of amazing watching "Bronson" expertly using that Harley Sportster for things it was never intended to do-
Motocross, for instance.
For years, all helicopters sounded EXACTLY like the Bell 47s we saw on M.A.S.H.. 
I guess that was the only helicopter sound they had on file, so every onscreen whirlybird HAD to sound like that. And a motorcycle is a motorcycle, right? (Look closely at the bike "Bronson" is riding on the beach in the video.)
A Sportster can do ANYTHING, so long as Bronson is aboard.
The show ended up being a joke.

Want to watch a more realistic story with a motorcycle theme?
I recommend this one.

What's Important?

I LUV the Olympics.
Contestants prepare for YEARS.
Preparing is HELL.
And there's no guarantee their preparations will amount to anything.
Slip, like Mckayla Maroney did, and it all goes up in smoke.
Poof!
But they believe their work will make a difference.

I have lived a good life.
I work at a stressful job I love because I truly feel God is working with me...
I'm good at what I do and every now and then what I do has a good outcome.
I'm now 65 years old, and find myself looking around me analyzing...

Have I made a difference?

I went to Viet Nam and made myself a target in a slow-moving aircraft to protect a guy in a scout helicopter, thinking my work would make the world a better place.
Did that make a difference?

I fly at night.
I land a helicopter in the middle of a wire-surrounded intersection in darkness, hoping my skills may improve the lives of others.
Does that change anything?

And then I get into a discussion on Facebook that makes me realize I'm an idiot.
I'm taking risks others are unwilling to take.
I'm underpaid for the risks I'm taking.
And my values are stupid... others chuckle because I think "law" and "rules" are important.

I WILL retire in January.
And the only question is, "How many of my contemporaries will I still respect?" when I hang up my wings?
How many others honestly feel "principles" are important?

Sigh.