Helicopter Air-To-Air Combat!

The MAIN mission for Army Helicopter Gunship pilots is to provide Close Air Support to the guys doing the dirty, actual work in Viet Nam; the "grunts". If they encountered serious resistance, they could shout for us. We'd come out and identify where they were, and where the resistance was coming from, and try to help them move on with their mission by eliminating that resistance.
To help them more efficiently accomplish their mission we'd frequently move a team of gunships to a safe harbor somewhat close to where they were doing their job so we could more quickly react to their needs.

One of the "safe" places we frequently re-positioned to was a little artillery base called "Polei Kleng".
This base was located about halfway between the city of Kontum, Viet Nam, and the border with Cambodia. It was VERY mountainous territory. In the valleys, the "elephant grass" grew so tall that when we inserted infantry troops into it they were simply swallowed whole... and I always wondered how in the world we'd ever be able to come back and recover them if that was necessary.

It was a scary place to fly. Our old "Charley Model" Hueys would not hover when we filled them with fuel and ordnance to do our mission. Our takeoffs were always done like airplanes...
Scooting along the ground until we were going fast enough for the rotor to reach out into the "clean" air necessary to lift all that weight. This was called a "running takeoff".
But we had a job to do, so we did it.

One day we got a call from an Air Traffic Controller-
"Almost nightly we've been watching a "primary" target come across the border from Cambodia and land just West of you. It's GOT to be a helicopter! Would you be interested in trying to shoot it down?"

Wait.
WHAT?
WOULD WE BE INTERESTED IN TRYING TO SHOOT IT DOWN?!!
ARE YOU KIDDING?
Imagine the headlines.
Imagine the textbooks:
"First Air-to-Air helicopter combat in history!"
Were we excited? Were we all smiling?
Our faces HURT in anticipation.

So here was the plan-
ATC would call us when the "suspect" target appeared on their screen flying Eastbound. We would launch as quickly as possible on a Westerly heading. They would then guide us to the location of the "enemy" aircraft and as it reappeared on their radar after takeoff we would turn it into a ball of flames.
It would be... EPIC.

So we waited at Polei Kleng until the call came from ATC, right at dusk.
We launched in three minutes and headed West as fast as we could go.
From ATC: "He's just landing, about 10 miles West of you".
We couldn't see him, but knew we were eating up the miles between us as he offloaded whatever it was he was carrying into Viet Nam.

Again, from ATC: "Okay, he's back airborne, about two miles from your flight path."
And we're thinking, "We've got this S.O.B.!"
We still couldn't see him. It's getting dark, and of course he's "lights out" to prevent anyone from seeing him.
From ATC: "He's on your nose, about three miles distant."

ATC: "He's 12 O'Clock, four miles."

ATC "He's 12 O'Clock, six miles."
And we are pulling the GUTS out of our old Hueys trying to make them do things they were never designed to do.

We never did see him.
Our wager later was that he probably was in a French "Gazelle" helicopter, capable of about 30-40 knots faster airspeed than our old Charleys.

So we never did make history.
But it's a good story, and a fun memory.

Lt. Bacon

St. Patty's Day rolls around and I'm always reminded of the guy that taught me to fly the Bell UH-1 "Huey". His name was Bacon, a 1st Lieutenant.
He was a Viet Nam Veteran, a great guy, and a Southern gentleman with an accent to match.
He told me this story-

"I had a set of students, both of 'em had been airline pilots prior to starting flight school. Both learned VERY quickly and were so good at performing new tasks, I had to search hard for things to downgrade them on when I filled out their daily report slips.
One day we were flying in particularly rough weather and both had difficulty maintaining assigned heading and altitudes. During the debriefing, when I showed them the 'less than perfect' grade slips, one of them commented, 'SIR! It was really rough out there!'
To which Lt. Bacon replied, 'Well guys... when this happens you should just say something like-
Sir, I think I have something in my eye. Can you take the controls for a minute?
That way I'll take the controls and see how difficult the conditions are, and I'll take that into consideration when filling out your grade slips!'

That night was St. Patrick's Day, and I went to the Officer's Club to partake of some green beer.
I partook of a LOT of green beer!
And the next day, while flying with these two excellent students, my gastrointestinal tract was acting up a little...
Correct that... my G.I. tract was acting up a LOT.
I could not help filling the cockpit of that Huey with an aroma so strong I was surprised it didn't peel the paint off the instrument panel!
After about my third 'volley', real SCORCHERS, over the intercom I heard-
'Sir, can you take the controls? I think I have something in my NOSE!"

I think of Lt. Bacon every time 17March rolls around and wish there was a way I could contact him. I can't even remember his first name.
But he taught me well, and I OWE the man a lot.
Including the ability to retell this story!

Logic = Common Sense?

I started flying a helicopter ambulance in 1986.
An old ARMY aviator I respected that had been doing the job a couple years gave me the best advice I ever received:
"Ground ambulances were doing this job long before helicopters started doing it. Don't kill yourself, your crew, AND the patient by flying in weather you shouldn't be flying in!"
In other words, there are times where "Just say NO!" saves lives.

Here in Arizona we frequently see reports of someone who has gone out hiking in the mountains and gets hurt, forcing an emergency crew to risk their lives to save the injured.

Right now we're watching "The Perfect Storm" on AMC and the Air Force Blackhawk has been dispatched to fly in unflyable weather to attempt a rescue of the sailing vessel "Mistral".

Even after being warned not to put myself and everyone else in the aircraft at risk, I still sometimes ended up flying in situations where I used ALL of my skills, (and then some) to get everyone back to safety. And I learned from those situations.

If you-
Don't wear your seatbelts.
Ride a motorcycle and don't wear protective gear.
Smoke.
Drive after consuming alcohol.
You are putting yourself AND OTHERS at risk.
And I resent that.

Don't be stupid.
Live to fight through another day, and don't force others to take risks to save you.
And don't cause heartbreak for friends and family.

Beauty, In the Eye of the Beholder-

Helicopters were NOT naturally beautifully machines.
When we speak of beautiful machines I think of the Jaguar XKE; the Gulfstream Jet; Raymond Loewy's Greyhound Scenicruiser. (Yes, the big bus!)
While I was in ARMY Primary Flight School I lusted after the Bell UH-1 Huey. Not because I thought it was beautiful, but because I knew I'd likely be flying that aircraft while getting shot at.

At Ft. Wolters, Texas, one evening I went to the Post theater and saw a movie called "The President's Analyst" starring James Coburn.
Near the end of the movie one of the characters comes onto the scene by landing in an aircraft similar to the one pictured above- A Bell JetRanger model 206.
I'd never seen one before. It took my breath away.

I couldn't have imagined at that time that I'd end up getting nearly 1600 hours total time in that model aircraft.
Other helicopters in the "nearly beautiful" category?
The AH-1G Cobra.
The Bell 222, (like the machine in "Airwolf".)
And the Sikorsky S-76.

Beautiful?
Well... in MY eye they are!

Virulent Virus

I'm inwardly shaking my head.
Now we can't shake hands?
Yep... don't wanta spread germs ya know!
And I wish I had some time ago bought stock in the company that produces hand sanitizer.

The cruise ships have been out in front of this stuff for a long time. When you show up to eat there you'll be met by a welcoming crewmember, smiling, and insuring you use the hand sanitizer before you enter the dining room.
NONE of the crew aboard the ship will shake your hand. The preferred method of contact is the fist-bump.
Cruise lines, knowing the spread of disease is their achilles' heel, have been VERY proactive trying to control it.
And they've failed.
We humans are bacteria-laden, nasty animals. So you use the hand sanitizer and get into the buffet line. While there you reach up and scratch whatever that irritating thing making your nose itch out of it's den of irritation. Then you grab the serving tongs. And the next person in line receives your hidden gift!

Some time back I was in a buffet restaurant. I had finished my entree and was ready for some of that wonderful looking banana pudding I had seen at the dessert station.
On my way to serve myself there, a young boy of about six ran ahead of me and got to the big bowl of pudding first. He grabbed the serving spoon, plopped a healthy serving onto his plate, licked the spoon with a very satisfied look, and returned the spoon to the bowl.
I decided the carrot cake looked wonderful.

We humans are social critters... wonderful and efficient at sharing stuff.

Wash your hands. Often.
And try to keep yourself otherwise in good shape.
You need every advantage you can gather.

At the Dentist.

Some time back I broke a crown on one of my molars.
I immediately went to the Doc to have it checked out.
"The basic tooth is intact... it was just the crown that cracked. The tooth is fine. Can you stand the feel of it?"
Interesting question. The remnants of the crown WERE jagged.
Ever try to keep your tongue from going over there to cop a feel?
I got used to my tongue's flirtations with it.
And I put off the fix, knowing I'd be here in AZ soon.

My son turned us on to this (his) Dentist.
When we first moved him here to the PHX area, he lived in a nice apartment complex that was located in a... kind of questionable neighborhood. We first realized it was "iffy" when we saw the signs:
"Bait cars in use."
He never had any problems there, thank goodness, and has since upgraded his living quarters.
But one of the neat things that came out of the experience was his finding a new Dentist that serves this underprivileged neighborhood and serves it WELL. He loves it and recommended it to us.
They take digital X-Rays. They take them for FREE. Those pics are available instantly, and have cut the cost of our dentist bills DRAMATICALLY.

Dentistry has come a long way. I now have a new crown back there.
My tongue is no longer interested in that corner of my mouth.
And that's great.

Why I Hate Dogs-

Heartbreakers.
If you're here regularly you know my title is a lie.
Mostly.
But our Lucy will be 14 people years old in June. She's had some sort of funky psoriasis-like stuff on her belly since she first adopted us.
She's been under the Vet surgeon's knife three times... two of those to remove cancerous growths.
Now we're finding a weird flap of tissue on her belly again.
Could she survive another major surgery? Do we want to spend beaucoup bucks to have another surgery on a dog that's over 90 dog years old? And with her history, how long would it be before we had to make this decision again?

We've decided to let this play out.
It's tough, because our family agrees- this is the smartest dog we've ever owned.
You know... she's family.
And we know we'll lose her soon.

That's why I hate dogs.

THE "Assault Rifle" !

"Wait... you DON'T own an AR?" he exclaimed.
And I understand why he's surprised. I own many different pieces, in many different calibers, figuring it would be better to have a variety so that maybe some sort of ammo would be available when needed.
I own an M-1 Carbine. The round, to me, looks similar to the 5.56 round used in the AR.
But I'm no ballistics expert.

I have a chance to buy a Ruger "Mini-14" on sale at a GREAT price.
The sale ends soon, so I need advice from my expert friends-
Should I pull the trigger on the Ruger, or wait for a great deal and buy an AR?

"Stick it to the man!"

Taking my family to lunch here in AZ we passed a VERY large apartment complex under construction. The amount of lumber being used to cover nearly a city block motivated Sara Jean to exclaim:
"Think of the MILLIONS of dollars spent there on wood alone!"

To which I responded:
"Yeah, and the people who move into those apartments will likely vote for a man more than willing to punitively tax the folks that risked millions of their money to build that complex to house those residents."

That comment motivated my 36-yr old son to say about the left:
"It's not so much that they support the poor as it is that they hate the rich."

My son's intelligence often surprises me.

MADNESS!

On my walk last night I was thinking how crazy the politics of our country are today.
We somehow think failed policies from the past will work today, if we just squeeze our "lucky penny" hard enough.

And I thought of the academy award winning movie, "Bridge on the River Kwai".
There's a climactic scene at the end of the movie where the Japanese train is approaching the bridge.
A team of commandos has rigged the bridge with explosives. The Allied Colonel in charge of bridge construction notices the wiring attached to the explosives and tries to stop the detonation.
He finally realizes he's been complicit in aiding the enemy and at the end of the movie asks,
"What have I done?"

Will left-leaning voters see their mistake before, or after our country is destroyed and come to the realization they've aided and abetted our enemy?

Proud Papa

Dateline: An Officer's Club in Chu Lai, Viet Nam. January 1969.

I had been transferred from Pleiku, Viet Nam to Chu Lai, and was awaiting orders to my assigned unit there. There was NOTHING to do until I got orders so I could get to work. I spent the day reading and listening to "AFVN Radio", and after evening chow
I entertained myself by having a few scotch and waters at the nearby O'Club.

I was on my first drink when a young Warrant Officer swaggered into the club with his buddy in tow, loudly announcing-
"My wife just had twins. Drinks for the house on me!" He and his buddy assumed position at the bar on three-foot-tall barstools. And he ordered a double martini for himself. When the six or so of us in the club had our drinks, the young Warrant Officer tilted his martini back and chugged it.

"ANOTHER ROUND FOR EVERYONE, AND ANOTHER DOUBLE FOR ME!"
Again, when everyone else had been served, the young pilot downed his drink in one throwback.

"ONE MORE TIME FOR EVERYONE!" At this point I had three untouched scotch and waters on my table. The young Warrant picked up his double martini, tilted it back, and toppled backward off his barstool like a giant Sequoia being felled by a lumberjack.
His young buddy helped him to his feet, smiled and waved to all watching, announced "Good night everyone!", and escorted his friend back to his unit and bed.

Those twins would be over 50 today.
I'd love to be able to tell them this story.

Supporting The Arts-

Retired.
We have time, although I'm amazed at how "the vacuum" got filled with activities once I left full-time work.
We are blessed to have a little discretionary income.
When things fall into place, we've been going to concerts and shows we have an interest in.

Over a month ago I bought tickets for the "Ladysmith Black Mambazo" concert here at a wonderful facility, the "Chandler Arts Center" in Chandler, Arizona. For a month we looked forward to attending.
And then we got sick.

I was first...
Hot scratchy throat. Then came the coughing and snotty nose.
Sara Jean followed suit a couple days later. Historically she always stays sick longer than me.
When concert day rolled around I was well enough to attend. SJ was not.
I know a few people in the area and offered her seat to them to no avail.
So Big Bubba and I attended the concert sitting next to an empty seat.

Wonderful harmonies.
These guys are known for their amazing "above their heads" kicks and movement around the stage.
They didn't disappoint.

Now we hear that the group's founder, Joseph Shabalala has passed.
(He was not at the concert, but three of his sons were in the group.)
What a legacy he has left!
We left the L.B.M. concert smiling, with a warm feeling of oneness with the world.

It's sad that Joseph is gone.
But his music will continue to impact our world.

The Great Equalizer

For the better part of three years I flew for a VERY large construction company. My job included moving parts, personnel, mail, V.I.P.'s
and, on payday, employee paychecks. I got to be close acquaintances with the woman in charge of payroll. While waiting for all the checks to be gathered up for delivery one day, we got into a discussion about firearms and the 2nd Amendment. She was "scared of guns".

I shared my opinion that I felt guns, and particularly handguns, were a woman's best friend...
A properly trained woman with a handgun is suddenly equal to any man. She shook her head, unconvinced.

At a later payday...
"GB, can I chat with you?"
She shared that she lived in a ground-floor apartment. She heard screams coming from next door and called Police. By the time they arrived on scene, the perpetrator had escaped after raping her neighbor.
"What handgun do you recommend?"

I gave her the address of a gun store/shooting range nearby and advised her to go there and shoot several guns, then select the largest caliber pistol she felt comfortable shooting.
The next time I met her we talked about the 9mm Glock she had purchased.

She felt safer. She was actually enjoying shooting at the range.
I felt I had done her and her neighbors a good deed.

Next time you talk with someone fearful of firearms, invite 'em to shoot with you. You'll be doing them, and the neighborhood as a whole, a favor!

The Kobe Crash

It happens infrequently, thank God.
A helicopter crashes with a politician or other celebrity aboard and the event garners national attention. And with today's wonderful technology, it almost always turns out that people are dead because someone did something stupid.
This Kobe Bryant crash is no different. The investigation continues and it's possible, but unlikely, we'll hear something electronic or mechanical failed. And even if that's the case, we know stuff is gonna fail and train for that eventuality. It's called "EMERGENCY PROCEDURES" for a reason.

I started training people to fly helicopters in 1969. At first I was teaching people not only to fly safely, but to survive flying a machine while folks on the ground were trying to shoot your machine out of the air. It was an important job, and I took it VERY seriously.

I became a civilian "Certified Flight Instructor". I was glad I no longer had to worry about someone on the ground trying to kill my students and the folks aboard their helicopter. But I knew there were still great dangers lurking for them... their worst enemy continued to be their decision-making processes.

Helicopters are amazing, wonderful machines. I have always argued they're safer than airplanes.
Ask anyone who has a decent amount of time in both, (like me), and they'll agree. When things begin to vibrate and make a funny sound, airplane guys get a map out or punch the "closest airport" button on their GPS.
Helicopter pilots look right beneath their aircraft for an open area about the size of a tennis court.
"We're landing there to check this out!"

All pilots know the term "Get-home-itis".
It describes the pressure a pilot feels to press on and complete the mission, even when their GUT is telling them doing so is dangerous.
Accident investigations are rife with fatal accidents caused by the phenomenon.

It's still possible something failed on Kobe Bryant's helicopter. As a helicopter pilot and instructor, I actually hope it turns out Kobe's pilot didn't make a stupid decision and kill himself and all aboard that gorgeous Sikorsky S-76. It's sad and odd, hoping it was some sort of mechanical/electronic failure. But I always told my students, "If your gut is telling you that you should be on the ground, listen to it!"
All it takes is a tennis court-size open area.
More than forty people are walking around today with licenses to fly helicopters in their pocket because I recommended them to the FAA. None have killed themselves so far, thank God.

It's gonna take a LONG time for the final results of the cause of this accident to be revealed.
But no matter what, it probably was an unnecessary tragedy.

"Old Rockin' Chair's, (Um, Recliner's!) Got Me..."

Yesterday was my Birthday. It's my 73rd trip around ol' Sol.
Today marks the 7th year since I retired from my EMS piloting job.
That... absolutely seems impossible.

I'm still enjoying NOT having to set an alarm EVER.
But I am NOT enjoying the fact that I haven't flown a helicopter in almost a year. I'm losing my skills.

I'm also bored.
That's CAPITAL B.O.R.E.D. !
Surely there is a job out there for a guy that will show up for work on time; is willing to do most anything; and knows how to read and spell.

But where?

Cutty Sark

Long-term readers know I had a "frequently strained" relationship with my Dad.
But I loved and respected him and knew the feeling was mutual. Whenever I could do something nice for either of my parents and it was feasible, I did it.
Dad was good with his hands. Among the many things he did well was assembling something useful out of a bunch of pieces.

Just home from Viet Nam, I was in the Post Exchange and saw a nice, big model of the beautiful British "Clipper ship", the "Cutty Sark".
You've seen images of her... trim, fast looking, (and she WAS fast).  I knew Dad would enjoy building the kit, so I bought the model and made a present of it to him when I was home on leave.
Months later on my next trip home I had no doubt he'd have the kit assembled. And of course, he did.
Beautiful. It sat prominently and proudly displayed on top of the TV in my family's living room.
It sat there for several years, (gathering dust :>) )

Some years later I came home in Spring and Cutty Sark was no longer on top of the TV.
"Hey Dad... what happened to the Cutty Sark?"
"We had the windows open to let the warm Spring breeze through the house. Cutty Sark sailed off the edge of the earth!"

Fitting, I think.
She was a thing of beauty, designed to catch the wind.
And she died doing what she loved.

Management Material ?

My son had an acquaintance that lived nearby.
I didn't like him much. He just gave me a "negative vibe".
Unemployed for an extended period of time, when I asked him what was goin' on with his job search he replied, "I'm management material. I won't take a job just flippin' burgers".
His Mother died. The family sued the Doctor and got a multi-million$ settlement. The money is in a trust.
Management? Indeed.

So then, as I frequently do these days, I started comparing my life to the life of kids today.
I became a "manager" at age 20 when I graduated OCS.
I certainly thought I was "management material". Obviously, lots of other folks thought so too.
How much managerial knowledge can a 20-year old kid have?
Upon reflection... in my defense, I DO think I was a better candidate to manage others than my son's friend would have been. And I think I MOSTLY made decisions based on common sense. I have no horrible memories related to poor decisions I made.
Thank God.

In 2008 we elected a Junior Senator from Illinois with virtually NO management experience to the highest, most important post in the world, simply because of his skin color.
Many heroes are dead because of his poor decision making.
I wonder if he has nightmares about them?

Woman in Gold

^ That's the title of the movie I watched last night. I recommend it.
 Here are the details if you're interested. (I LOVE Helen Mirren!)

Based mostly on a true story, at the end of the movie there's a statement that over 100,000 priceless art objects stolen by the Nazis have not been returned to their rightful owners.
Heartbreaking.

I read a book some years back about what happened to the Japanese when (Democrat!) FDR forced them into concentration camps.
They too, for the most part, lost all their worldly goods.
Is there a "Restitution" movement ongoing for the Japanese too?

Is That All There Is?

My title is an old Peggy Lee song. Haven't heard it? Go look it up.

Retirement is... okay.
I loved my job and hated to leave it. But there comes a point (more than once in my case) where regulations have ruined things in my life, and I had to move on.
When you begin to feel like someone is constantly looking over your shoulder waiting for you to make a mistake so they can terminate you from the workplace, it's time to move on.
Luckily, "moving on" in my case meant I could REALLY move on.
I retired in 2013.

But I loved the old job and loved the satisfaction I felt from doing what I thought was "God's work" and receiving a paycheck for it.
I'm not certain I'm over it yet. But my dreams of work happen less and less during the night now, (and they were always stressful anyway so I'm glad!) And I finally realized sitting in a chair with the remote all my waking hours was going to add so many pounds to my frame it would kill me, so Sara Jean and I share a couple hours a day
walking/talking/listening to "Oldies Radio" to keep "Mr. Cardiovascular Problem" as far away as possible. (We recommend it.)

Three years now we've spent the Winter in the Phoenix area. It's obvious to us now why many come here as "Snowbirds". Once in a great while the temperature will reach 39 degrees F. But even then the temp will rise to the mid 50's during the day.
Rain? In the three+ months we were here last year it rained three days. And those days were not bitterly cold.
It's wonderful here during the Winter. But I am BORED STIFF. You can only ingest so much irritating news before either going crazy, or relieving stress by SHOUTING AT THE TV!
I've done a lot of shouting at the TV.

There was a "Jiffy Lube" coupon in the Sunday paper last year offering a semi-synthetic oil and filter change, up to five quarts, for $19.99. We "do-it-yourselfers" know that's a darned good deal.
So I took our son's truck and had the Jiffy Lube people do the job. While in the waiting room we noticed the "Help Wanted" sign on the front door, and I asked the manager, "Could I, as a Snowbird, apply"?
And he quickly said "Sure!"

So I stopped by that store last week, got a job application, filled it out, and turned it in the next day.
I hope for a response tomorrow.
How much work will they offer? How much will the job pay?
I don't really care.
I just want to do something... anything... that needs doin' and will put a smile on my face.

Wish me luck.

Music's Impact

I'm in a melancholy mood. A family emergency is unfolding.
My Bride and Son are in Chicago, providing comfort and support to my extended family.
I'm left alone in Arizona caring and supporting our aged pup, Lucy.

At times like these my mind thinks of songs that fit my mood.
Today, this piece by Elton John is one of those.
I had never researched the situation that motivated him to write it.
If you are interested, the story is HERE.

I got home from Viet Nam late in 1969.
At some point soon afterwards I saw these guys sing this song at a club in my hometown of Indy.
I'm a free speech kinda guy. I think you ought to be able to say whatever you want, however you want, so long as speechifyin' is all you do.
I'm not positive what these guys are trying to say. I suspect in 1969 they were trying to convey some sort of anti-war sentiment. But the tune has stuck with me all these years to the point that when I'm in a club with a good bluegrass/country band and they ask for requests, I ask them to sing "Two Hangmen".
Most bands know of it.
Most of 'em won't do it, claiming it has "Too many words!"

For some reason it's been on my mind all day. So I thought I'd share it with you to see if I can get it out of my head.
Hope you enjoy it.

Pearl Harbor and Dad, Redux

I almost never repeat an old post.
Today I'll make an exception; I first published this in 2005:

My Dad was born on 7 December 1921.
So had he lived, he would have been 84 today. Dad started smoking when he was 13 or so, and succumbed to lung cancer two years ago.
He was truly a part of what we now call "The Greatest Generation."
Dad had joined the Indiana National Guard when he was 19. When the news came on his 20th birthday that Pearl Harbor had been bombed, I wonder what he thought about this surprise birthday present?
At 20, I suspect he was frightened, but like most of his generation, knew there was a job that needed doin' and was ready to get to work.
My Dad was typical of many Dads of that era. He didn't talk a lot about what happened to him during the war, but in the jewelry box I had found the Purple Heart and knew my old man was special. He was like that about life too.
He didn't brag. He was not formally educated, but he was the type of guy the neighbors would bring their broken appliances to because they knew if Greybeard's Dad couldn't fix it, it was genuine junk!
He was a carpenter, mechanic, bricklayer, roofer, electrician, concrete finisher... you name it, he could do it, and he could do it better than average.
I was proud of him for a thousand reasons.
When I reached manhood, I started hugging him and telling him THE WORDS.
You know "THE WORDS" don't you?
He was uncomfortable saying them, as were all the macho guys of his generation. And because he was uncomfortable, I was too... at first.
But over the years, the hugs and the words came more easily, 'til finally he was the hugger, and I was the huggee...
and he freely said THE WORDS...
"I love you."
I was glad I had made him uncomfortable for a little while.
So now you know, for our family this day is important for more than bombs and battleships, although we had family directly under the bombs on the West Virginia at Pearl, too.
I'd like you to share the importance of this day and honor my Dad by being the hugger.
Give all those you love a hug for me today, please, and say THE WORDS.
I know my old man would like that.
Happy Birthday Dad.
I love you.

"Smart" TV's

"In America you watch TV. In Russia, TV watches us!"

Now our cell phones, TV's, and Alexa watch (and listen intently) to us.
And we gladly subsidize it.

Names.

We are in Destin, Florida.
If you've never visited here, you should put it on your "list". The beaches are the color of driven snow, and the water changes color with the angle of the sun or coverage by clouds, but is almost always some spectacular shade of green.

Destin is located about midway 'twixt Pensacola and Panama City, Florida.
U.S. Highway 98 connects the three.
Forecast temperature today was 75 and mostly sunny. I had an errand I needed to do in Pensacola for a friend, and decided it'd be a great day to get the Piaggio MP3 out and exercise its legs.

I took 98 West to the beach town of Navarre, then dropped South a little and picked up the coastal road that skirts the Gulf all the way to Pensacola. That road takes you through the "Gulf Islands National Seashore". It runs through dunes, with now-and-then glimpses of the Gulf, and is a reminder of what this area must have looked like before man started building houses and condos everywhere near the water. Again... spectacular.

Navarre is 30 miles from where we're staying in Destin. The ride was as our weathergirl had predicted... mid-70's temps and mostly sunny.
And then my lifelong irritation with weather prognosticators struck again. Fairly thick clouds that had formed over the water Southwest of me moved overhead, and started spitting at me. The wind got chilly. Stupid me... I didn't bring coat OR rain gear. I hunkered down behind the windscreen and soldiered on.

I rode through Pensacola Beach. The rain stopped. As I made my way further North- inland, the temperature rose and my ride became comfortable again.
I completed my errand for my friend.

Pensacola has a park dedicated to Veterans on property within sight of the Gulf, just Southeast of the old part of the city. It's a quiet, beautiful setting.
One of the memorials there has a Marine "Cobra" helicopter on a pedestal, overlooking a miniature version of the Viet Nam Wall, complete with all the names inscribed on it. I've passed this park many times while visiting the area, but never stopped.
Today, I remedied that.

When I visited the Wall in Washington, D.C., I was surprised at my reaction-
I couldn't stop myself... started to cry.
Today, alone, under clouds and the threat of rain, my personal rain began again.
I don't know how anyone can look at 58,000 names etched into that black edifice and remain dry eyed.

Heroes.
All.

"Can You Hear Me NOW?"

We continually hear our cell phones have "some order of magnitude" more computing power than was available on Apollo 11.
Watching my son use his Apple device, I know that to be true.
I want my phone to make and receive calls...
How much "computing power" do I need?

"The Times, They Are A'Changin' "

My mind is going off in six different directions.
In the mid-80's, I was surprised by the reporting of an acquaintance that Yassir Arafat preferred boys to women for his sexual fulfillment:
"Women are for breeding. Boys are for enjoyment."
No expert on Muslim men, I have no idea if this is as big a deal in the Islamic world as my friend suggested it was.

Segue to today's political world-
Sara Jean and I discussing democrat candidates for president...
Me: "Can you imagine fundamental followers of the Quran  having to discuss world issues with homosexual Pete Buttigieg?"
And then I wondered about where those same Islamic leaders might have put their genital probes.

I'm really confused about the world we live in today.

Hippies?

While we were in New York in May we went to see The Temptations "Ain't Too Proud" just off-Broadway. Our 36-yr old son sat alongside his parents and knew all the words to the songs.
And I remembered:
He grew up buckled into his seat in the rear in our car listening to "Oldies" or "Classic Rock" radio.
And we liked it LOUD.
On a road trip when he was about 13 or so he asked, "Mom, were you and Dad Hippies?"
And we LOL'd.

During the day I wore OD Green.
But after hours I wore Bell-bottom pants with flowers embroidered around the cuffs, and gave the "peace sign" to every motorcyclist I passed on the highway.

I'm glad to have lived that life.
I'd also bet he's glad he knows all the words to "Ain't Too Proud To Beg".

Tazio Nuvolari

Doesn't it happen to everyone?
But it seems to be happening to me more often now.
Aging? I dunno.

We have one of those alarm clocks that projects the time onto the ceiling so you can learn the time without lifting your head from the pillow.
3:37 it said.
And I'm wide awake.
"Tazio Nuvolari" says my brain.
Okay... maybe I was NOT QUITE awake!
Mulling it over, I was pretty sure Tazio was another of those superhuman race car drivers from the past, like Juan Manuel Fangio. But I wasn't absolutely sure.
"I'll have to look Tazio up after a couple cups in the morning", I said to myself.

"Leopold and Loeb", shouts my brain."
"Why are you doing this to me?"  I ask.
3:38 says the ceiling.
I KNOW who Leopold and Loeb are. I read a fictionalized account of their story while I was in High School.
It obviously made a pretty big impact on me.

"Sacco and Vanzetti"! 
ARRGH!
3:40.
"This is REALLY irritating!"
I force myself to roll over and think boring stuff.
And I refuse to look at the ceiling.

Blackface

Several of our political leaders are, and have been in trouble because of blackface. "Cultural appropriation"?
Watching old movies, I sometimes find myself cringing at what was deemed "normal" behavior and attitude toward "people of color", most often negroes.
That was then. That's history. The fact it makes me, (and I hope others) uncomfortable? That's a good thing.

Canadian PM Justin Trudeau now finds himself in hot water.
He was attending an "Arabian Nights" costume party in full regalia... clothing AND darkened face, neck, and hands to fit the occasion.
Photos have emerged, and he's under political pressure from some.
And I'm questioning "WHY?"

I've long been an admirer of "Pastor, Civil Rights leader, and (now notorious) philanderer," Martin Luther King Jr, and I wonder...
If I was invited to a costume party celebrating the life and accomplishments of MLK Jr,
would I be chastised for getting out the brown shoe polish and time correct clothing?
I think in today's world, that answer is a given. And that's a shame.
I'd be honoring a great man. I fear we no longer have a sense of proportion... or a sense of humor.

And this is the reason I have fewer friends today than yesterday.

Tattoos

Yep.
I am "of a certain age".
And I try, always, to remember that.

We LOVE to watch the black and white movies from the late 30's through the 40's. And the thing we notice most about them now, (in addition to wondering if there really WERE that many coupe automobiles running around on the streets back then), is that EVERYONE... and I mean all the really cool folks... smoked.
If you wanted to be like the cool people, the only question you had to answer was whether you'd smoke Chesterfields or Camels.
My Mom and Dad both smoked. Back then cigarettes weren't almost prohibitively expensive, so I can't throw stones at them for hurting our family financially.
But my Father died of lung CA and I will always wonder how long he'd have lived if he had not allowed the fad... the desire to "be like Humphrey Bogart... (remind me how he died?), to influence him.

Fads.
They come and go.
One of 'em that irritates me now is this craze to permanently scar your own body.
Sara Jean and I walk four miles or so every evening. The other night, from about a football field's distance, I saw an attractive woman in short-shorts unloading groceries from her car.
Long-legged, I hoped she had more groceries to unload when we got closer. She did, and when we got close enough to say "Hello" I could she her legs were completely covered with tattoos.
I admit being disappointed. God gave her a wonderful gift. And in my opinion, she had willingly defaced God's artwork.

I know...
We have no indication (yet) of long-term unintended health consequences from defacing your body this way.
But it once was fact that you couldn't give blood within a certain time-frame after receiving one because of the possibility of infection.
So there's that.

I once heard a story of a Marine Enlisted Father advising his son not to get a tattoo because "you'll never be considered Officer material if you get one."
That Marine Dad was obviously "of a certain age" too.

Yeah, fads come and go.
I'll be happy when this one is gone.
(And I hope to live that long.)

The Man With No Name

I've never smoked.
Well, unless I was mocked and given a dare.
But, as a child, I was offended by and resented the air my parents forced my baby sister and I to breathe during Winters in our old automobiles. And I promised myself I would NEVER do that to my own children.
But I must admit to being tempted.

Images of Clint Eastwood with his Cheroots...
WOW! Was he cool or what?
And on the screen, when he slowly removed that cigar from his lips, the indentation was still there!
I wanted to be Clint.
I bought a pack of "HavaTampa Jewels".  And hated the taste.

A few friends smoked pipes...
Pipe smokers in the movies were smooth dudes... intellectual. Smart. Upper crust.
I wanted to be intellectual, smart, and maybe, "upper crust"... eventually.
I bought a pipe. I bought some tobacco I had smelled others smoking. Their "second hand" smoke smelled wonderful.
I hated the taste.

Now, "electronic cigarettes" are in the news.
I'm WAY BEYOND being influenced into trying them by movies and TV, but I fully understand how cool it looks to kids and folks wanting to be "in".
And I'm surprised at how many folks I see "vaping" around me.
It ain't cheap. The screen doors on your home are in disrepair.
How can you afford "strawberries and bananas with cream"  E-Juice?
(Yes, I see that it's cheaper than cigarettes, and agree it's probably not so unhealthy as smoking them.)

I can't help thinking, at some point in the future, thinking people will look back at things we've done to ourselves in wonder.
"Doctor, it hurts when I do THIS."

-"Don't do THAT!"

Bit By Bit

It's August.
It's HOT in Middle America.
It's EASY to sit in the Air Conditioning and push buttons on the remote control-
Made easier by the fact nothing I need to do around our property must be done NOW.

My neighbor across the street suggested-
"I get out early, while it's still cool, and do ONE constructive thing every day. That way I don't feel so guilty."
Good advice.
Today I trimmed a couple trees with the pole saw.

Now?
It's five O'Clock somewhere, right?

Heroes

He was in line behind me, wearing a ball cap that said "Viet Nam Veteran, 25th Infantry Division".
"25th, huh?" I asked. "Where was that?"
"Pleiku", was his response.
"Oh really? I was there too, at Camp Enari", says I.
He got a strange look on his face...
"Where was that?"
And at that point I knew I was dealing with a pretender.

A few other questions yielded "Facts"-
He was a LRRP, (a member of a Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol).
His unit was absorbed by the 4th Infantry Division, (yet he's unaware of Camp Enari, the 4th's HUGE main base?)

I wish there was a fast and easy way to punish these liars.
I'm sure he, like me, gets the "Thank you for your service" comments, and maybe even discounts on meals, etc..

I hope my dead fellow Veterans haunt him.

As Time Marches On-

In this political environment I normally say, "I'm glad I'm old".  But...

Last week we watched archeologists exploring the caves around the Dead Sea, trying to find more scrolls in jars. Only 10% of those caves have been investigated. Now they have new technology that gives them ways to read the scrolls without opening and damaging them.

As death approaches, political me will say, "good riddance!"

Curious me will say, "WAIT... what's next?"

"By The Time We Got To Woodstock..."

"We were half a million strong!"

Like Apollo 11, we're approaching another 50th anniversary.
And just like Apollo 11, I viewed the event from half a world away in Viet Nam.
Enroute to Sydney, Australia for my R&R, I picked up the most recent "TIME" magazine in Cam Ranh Bay and saw the photo of the crowd.
WOW! What in the world was I missing back home?

We're watching a PBS produced documentary devoted to the event.
It is, at times, unintentional comedy.
"Peace. Love. And Music."
A HUGE crowd living in peace, doing what they wanted without interference.
Taking care of themselves.
(?)

They ran out of medical supplies the second day of the event.
New York's National Guard TO THE RESCUE in UH-1 Hueys. The Guard Hueys brought in supplies AND Doctors to take care of the drug overdoses, babies being born, and normal minor injuries that happen in a city of about 500,000 people.

The third day of peace, love, and music they ran out of food for the crowd.
People from the two nearest towns heard of the trouble and decided they had to do "the Christian thing" and feed the multitude. They raided their pantries, refrigerators, and freezers. Farmers donated what they could... one of 'em boiled thousands of eggs and had them transported, by civilian helicopter this time, to feed the, now mud covered, crowd.
"FREE FOOD!"

I can't help but laugh.
Good, responsible people are such wonderful suckers.
We never learn, do we?

To my readers:
Peace! LOVE! Happiness to you.

My Compound Ankle Fracture-

It has now been a little over a year since I watched my right ankle bone make a special appearance in Santorini, Greece. (Help! Part Two-, Pitchpull, 22May18. Look it up.)
I'd like to share my "healing" thoughts.

First, I knew the instant upon seeing the bone erupt that I was in real trouble.
We were halfway down the steps of a vertical cliff on a tiny island, in a non English speaking country, 2500 miles(?) from home. I stood up to see if I could hobble my way to the boat landing at the end of the steps; tried to put weight on my right foot. The ankle acted like a mechanic's "universal joint", and wobbled freely in all directions. Walking would be impossible. I was no longer in control of my own life.
I HAD to depend on the help of others. 
I am a control freak. I HATE being in that position.

You can read at my original May of 2018 posts how "others" came to our rescue...  our perilous donkey ride to the bottom of the cliff at Santorini; and the rest of our journey home.
But I want to share my thoughts from just over a year later:

There are wonderful people everywhere. When we were desperate, an American couple got off their donkeys, mounted Sara Jean and me, (her FIRST ride on a four-legged animal!) and walked alongside us to get us down that hill, asking me all along the way if I was "faint".
We don't know their names, but to us they certainly are heroes. I wish there was someway I could express my gratitude to them.

My Greek surgeon, when he came to visit me post-surgery, bragged about having attended a refresher course at Loyola University, and asked if we had ever been to Chicago. The U.S. Ortho expert that looked at his work when we got home expressed amazement at the wonderful job he had done.
When you hear some idiot Congresscritter from Minnesota put our country down, remember this:
People from EVERYWHERE in the world flock to the U.S. to suck up the BEST, because we are the BEST. And I thank God that Doctor Giannanopolis came to our country and paid attention to the training he received.

If this injury had happened to me 100 years ago, I'd have spent the rest of my life as an invalid. I'd have been a burden to my family. (See my out of control comment above.) I'd have been miserable, walking with a cane or crutch, and might have died early, with a bad attitude.
As it is, I am back to about 95% complete recovery. My beautiful bride and I walk 3-5 miles every evening. I don't limp. I feel a twinge of pain now and then, but I attribute that to the fact that I have a 72 year old model body that I'm trying to push in a way it does not like being pushed. My 72 year old belly looks better because of it. The 72-yr old belly and my 72 yr-old heart tell the 72-yr old ankle to kiss their 72-yr old hindquarters!


Being escorted via wheelchair through the airports in Athens, Rome, Copenhagen, Reykjavik, Boston, and here at home was wonderful... and terrible:
Going to the head of the line to get tickets, board the plane, and get baggage was great. Receiving the looks from those standing in line was uncomfortable. (Again, see "control" comment above".)  
During the trip home I COULD have fended for myself with the crutches I had been given. But again, I'd have been a burden to others.

Every day, we all get a day older.
For most of us, TODAY is the healthiest we are ever gonna be in our lives. Health-wise it probably won't get better than today.
We should be aware of that, and enjoy it to the fullest.
I have a newfound respect for old people, and people recovering from terrible injuries... some MUCH worse than mine. When you see them wheeled to the front of the line at the airport, be glad it ain't you, and don't resent them.

And take notice when our elected officials denigrate our wonderful country.
When you get to the ballot box, REMEMBER.
Who is leaving the country for somewhere better?
How many are risking their lives to come here?

Thank you for the reminder Lord.
I know how blessed I am.

Al Franken-

I despise Al Franken's politics, and I'm glad he's no longer a Senator, but...
As an affirmed "Boob LOVER", if I had a nickel for every time I wanted to act out the action he expressed in the photo that cost him his job?..
I could have retired a VERY young man.

Tough Decisons-

Our "Schnoodle" Lucy was 13 in June. If the 7-yr rule applies, she gets around mighty good for a 91 yr-old female... begs to go with us on our nightly 3-4 mile walks. We DO have to help her with tasks requiring the ability to jump... getting up on the bed or sofa. We happily help her to do that.
But she has begun to have some of the other "old dog" problems: Growths inside and outside her body.

Our Vet has identified two "squamous-cell carcinomas" on her chest. She also has MANY warts beginning to form on her body that the Vet says is normal for poodles. And she now has a fatty growth starting to expand on her flank that could be benign or malignant. At this point, I don't even want to know which.

Is it sane to spend a fortune on an old dog to correct problems like these? (We're by no means wealthy.) And if you do try to intervene to help, how long before a similar problem recurs?



This is a smart dog. She's the lowest-maintenance dog I've ever owned, and I've owned some mighty good dogs. We've often made trips in our car rather than fly just because we wanted to comfortably bring her along.

We're now realizing at some point in the not-too-distant future we'll have to make a horrible decision.
When does her quality of life degrade to the point where she'd want us to let her go?

Again, we all take on the responsibility of pet ownership knowing, in 10-15 years, (if we're lucky), we'll face a heartbreaking loss. And the loss is more crushing when you have to say, "Yes, let her go".

We're almost there.
And even the thought of it brings tears to my eyes.

Second Verse... Same As The First !

The new Taurus SHO is in our garage. It looks EXACTLY like the old one, except the new one has a moonroof.
It's weird. Turning the old car "out to pasture" after five years of faithful service actually made me sad. And there are just enough niggling little differences between the old and new to keep us on our toes for a little while.

It smells new.
What's that worth? :)

Electromotive?

The "24 Hours of LeMans" has just come to completion.
The fastest cars on the circuit were hybrids... Toyotas with gasoline engines supplemented with electric motors. They added electric power to their internal combustion engine to total about 1000 horsepower.

There is now a racing series similar to "Formula One" that features electric cars. The cars are VERY fast, but WOW is it weird to hear them race around the circuit, hearing almost no noise but drivetrain whine!
Completing the "Formula E" race requires the use of TWO cars. When battery power on car #1 is depleted, the driver switches over to car #2 to finish the course. And that's the problem STILL with total-electric cars isn't it? Range.
And it's why we see a predominance of hybrids in the electric realm.

But boy, they are really pushing the idea of hybrids during this race. And like "anthropomorphic climate change", I still have my doubts.

I've heard horror stories about the waste left behind in the process of manufacturing these lithium batteries. And when the batteries reach the end of their lifespan, will the cost of replacing them make the overall cost of owning a hybrid (or electric) car cheaper than owning a car powered with only an internal combustion engine?
Only time will tell. We'll get there eventually, I'm sure.

Pardon me while I look around for the cheapest price on gasoline.

Signs?

Long ago I promised myself I'd never be so comfortable that I'd pass up a penny on the ground.
In New York on the way to the subway to visit the 9-11 memorial, in light rain, I saw a penny on the wet sidewalk. I stooped and pocketed it.
Only later when I took a look did I see the date...
1947. The year of my birth.
It's a keeper.

And I'll share a ditty one of my former helo students shared with me...
"See a penny? Pick it up. All day long-
You'll have a penny!" 
:)

Before They Became Toasters...

Officer's Candidate School was hard.
I learned the secret early on. (And that knowledge also illuminated many of the secrets of life!)
Refuse to quit.
When someone tries to piss you off, smile and ask for more.
So I made it. I graduated and pinned on my "butter bars".

I promised myself early in the OCS program that if I graduated and started getting a regular, "almost livable" paycheck, I'd treat myself to a new car.
So in November of 1967 when I went shopping for a car, what did that 20-yr. old have to choose from?
400+ Cubic-inch engines in virtually any manufacturer's line...
426 Hemis in various Chrysler products.
427 Monsters in Chevrolets and Fords.
400's in Oldsmobiles, Pontiacs, and Buicks.
MUSCLE CARS. Cars with individual personalities.

I had long lusted for an Oldsmobile 442 owned by a friend in High School.
But when the new 1968 442's came out in November of '67, they had changed the body style from the squared-off, boxy '66 that I loved.
But I didn't HATE the way the new car looked, so I plunked down the cash, and took delivery of the car a month after ordering it.

I owned that car for 6 years and put 96,000 miles on the odometer.
During that time I replaced the water pump and the front wheel bearings.
That's all.
And I LOVED every moment of driving that car.

How things have changed.
In 1970 you could walk through a parking lot and identify EVERY make and model car by looking at its ass.
Try doing that today.
Gas mileage rules. And mileage is ruled by aerodynamics and the wind tunnel.
And that makes all these four-wheeled pieces of crap look like members of the same, inbred family!

Our Taurus SHO is faster, more comfortable, more luxurious, more reliable, and quieter than anything made back when I promised myself a new automobile.
It gets better gas mileage (on regular unleaded fuel) too.

But it's an appliance.
It's not exciting.
And I guess, for this old man, that's a GOOD thing, huh?
:)

Then I Saw Her Face...

Now I'm a believer.

How many times have you been in love?
One of the great things about becoming an old man is that I now know that seeing a beautiful face;
Loving what I see...
Will lead nowhere.
So I've learned to just enjoy God's artwork.

I've been in love several times in my life
And when you know it cannnot lead to a "happily ever after" ending, that's a special kind of pain.
But the saying "It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all" is true.
I'm glad to have experienced that pain.

Come sail away with me...

We are in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean as I write this, halfway 'twixt Hamilton, Bermuda and Horta, Azores. With the help of some amazing technology, we still have a decent (not perfect) internet connection and can watch "Fox News" on TV in our Stateroom. Our disembarkation point is Lisbon, Portugal. There, we pickup our rental car to drive to Gibraltar. "The Rock" has always been one of my must-see's. I've reserved quarters for two nights at Moron Air Base. With that name, we just hope our reservations there come off without complication!

Yes, it's been a while since I've blogged. I've discussed before how Facebook has made a dent in the urge many former avid bloggers have had to share their feelings on their blogs. But I do have an audience here that I don't have at FB, and I feel guilty when considerable time has passed since I've shared my doings and thoughts with you here.
(Some of you should be grateful you're not on my "Friends" list. 
I DO rant.)


This is Sara Jean's fifth cruise; my fourth. We're on the same ship we were kicked off when I compound-fractured my ankle in Santorini, Greece last year. We like the boat. It's big enough to provide lots of diversions. Alcohol is free, unless "top shelf" is a must for you. And with a capacity of 760 or so "guests", it's not so huge that it inundates small town ports when the ship docks.
And we're now taking a look at a cruise next October that sails out of Venice, Italy for 11 nights and includes many Mediterranean stops, including Santorini, and finishes at Athens, Greece. I want to go back so I can have GOOD memories of lovely Santorini!
If you'd be interested in cruising with us, let me know. I'll forward information to ya.

We are blessed. My family is healthy. I've got good neighbors taking care of our property back home, including one wonderful guy who picks up our mail daily and will mow our grass once while we're gone. Lucy is the guest of two wonderful people that love her as much as we do, and would kidnap her if they could figure out how to erase our memory of her.
Life is good, folks. When I can figure out how to painlessly burn these calories, life will be perfect.

Be safe and well everyone.

Ambition/Motivation

For almost thirty years I held down two full-time jobs.
For almost twenty of those years I worked two full-time and one part-time job.
I was exhausted much of the time. But I LOVED the work.
Yeah, my family time suffered somewhat. But my family is now reaping the benefit of my past efforts.

I know there is always a "Back in my day..." factor, but I don't see many young people striving to succeed as I did.
In Arizona, "Help Wanted" signs were EVERYWHERE, while many intersections were occupied by folks with "Homeless and hungry" placards.

I know... I'm a dinosaur.
But I'm a very confused dinosaur.
Have we simply lost the ability to derive Joy from work?

New Vehicle?

We've had a couple interesting encounters this week, both driven by our experience with our 2014 Yamaha Super Tenere.
If you come here often you know we had a problem with the bike. Just before we arrived here in Gilbert, Arizona, our son reported the bike wouldn't start. On 27 December we had the bike towed to the dealership/Service Center where we bought it. Staring New Year's Day in the face, we figured it might take a while for them to get around to fixing it. But after two weeks, when we still hadn't heard from them, we gave them a call.
"You need to come and see this."
(Our experience there is described in an earlier post here. See below.)
The intake valves had carbon caked onto their stems.

They were confused as to how to proceed.
Their confusion sent me scrambling online to do some research.
I don't much like what I've found.Turns out, all gasoline direct-fuel injected engines are susceptible to this problem.
That includes our car... a 2014 Taurus SHO.

The Yamaha has 30,000 miles on it. This is the earliest stage most people report beginning to have a problem with intake valves coking up with carbon.
Our Taurus has 30K miles on it. (VERY low mileage for a '14 model year car.) But the fix for intake valve problems on the Taurus?
Remove and replace the cylinder heads... obviously NOT under warranty.
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$.

So I thought, "Why not trade it for a new Taurus SHO?"
Ford, in their infinite wisdom, has decided to focus on SUV's and will not make the Taurus in '20 so if we want one, we MUST buy it now.
There's a car nearly like ours at a local dealership. We went to try to negotiate a deal.

They want $46,000 for the new car. They want to give us $18,000 for our (like new) '14 model.
I won't repeat what I told them they could do with their offer.

I used to be able to fix most things ailing my car.
No longer.
Cars and motorcycles are now computers with engines and wheels.
And some of this technology is gonna bite us in the butt and require BIG BUCKS to fix when things go wrong.

We got the Yamaha back yesterday.
They STILL didn't fix everything that ails the bike, but it runs fine and we simply wanted to get it out from under their roof.
Total bill? $4200.00.
But they gave us a break on the parts and I paid $2400.00 to drive it away.
I'm angry, frustrated, and confused about the future.
How do we avoid this happening again in 30K miles?

Hyundai and Kia's 100,000 mile warranty looks mighty attractive right now!

Typing Paper

"Grab that restaurant coupon for me son",  I said.
"Where is it?", was his response.
"It's on that sheet of typing paper" I replied, pointing to it.

He had no idea what I was talking about.
I forgot... they call it "keyboarding" now, don't they?
Is it now "keyboarding paper"?

The Playboy Bunny

I learned early on the truth that "Faint heart ne'er won Fair Lady". 
She lived in my apartment complex. I had seen her coming and going from the parking lot. I heard she had formerly worked as a "Bunny" at the local Playboy Club.
She was petite, blonde, shapely, and confident.
I asked her out. She accepted.

On our way to dinner I asked, "My boss wants me to drop by the (Dog) Pound to verify he locked the kennel. Do you mind if we stop by?"
"No, not at all" was her response.

I parked in the lot, left the car running, and checked the lock... it was secure. But while I was there I figured I might as well walk around the kennel to check on the dogs and insure everything was okay. Doing so took me out of sight of the car. Walking down one side of the cages, then around the backside of the building I came to the gate that lead back to the parking lot. This gate was made of wood slats and was abeam where I had parked my car.
I peaked between the slats to surreptitiously get a glimpse of this gorgeous woman-
And got a glimpse of this beauty with the index finger of her right hand buried almost to the second knuckle up her right nostril.
Shocked, I waited to see what she would do with what she found there. I have this "thing" about booger eaters... had she stuck her finger in her mouth I would have feigned illness and taken her home. She picked up her purse, removed a tissue, and wiped her finger thoroughly.
Beauty. Confidence. Class.
And decent hygiene.

As I recall we had a fine, enjoyable dinner.

It's Girl Scout Cookie Time!

I began to hear better when my hearing aids were two rooms away on my bedroom nightstand. So I took 'em to the VA Clinic here in Gilbert, AZ to have the technician take a look.
As I walked through the entrance to the clinic I was confronted by a group of girls, maybe 15 in all with three adult supervisors, excitedly asking, "Would you like some cookies?"
As you may know, I've been on a diet and have lost 36 pounds in just under a year. I want to keep that fat off.
So my initial thought was "How do I say 'no thank you' to these beautiful faces?" 
And then they said, "They're FREE!"

I asked one of the chaperones, "How do you expect to make enough money to go on excursions if you give your cookies away?"
She answered, "Someone already bought all these and donated them to be given away here at the VA."
Wow.

I took two boxes.
And I gave the chaperone $10 with instructions to buy some more cookies to give to Veterans.

In a world that appears to be coming apart at the seams, sometimes there are events that nearly bring me to tears.
Nearly.

"New And Improved", When It Ain't:

I've had an education.
You might need one too. This post is about internal combustion.
If you have no interest about what gets you to work or the grocery, skip this one.

Review:
Our Yamaha Super Tenere has now been at the dealership for repair almost two months.
One morning it would not start. We had it transported to the dealership where we bought it new and told them to "make it run".
We've love the bike. We've had a good relationship with the service the dealer has provided, (routine stuff like tire replacement, although the cost of same has been $omewhat eye-opening.)
But this event has been nothing short of extraordinary. 
I really feel at this point that they're searching for a needle in a haystack.
They can't get the bike to run.

The intake valves had obvious, SERIOUS carbon deposits. After breaking the engine down they got after those deposits like a Dentist attacking plaque on your teeth and removed them. They re-assembled the engine.
It still wouldn't start.

Much head scratching followed.
They actually had commented how clean the engine internals looked. We've paid "religious" attention to changing the oil and filter.
Only the valves look funky.

This is a "direct injection" gasoline engine, meaning the fuel is introduced directly into the combustion chamber. Fuel DOES NOT pass by the intake valves on the way to being burned.
So no amount of "Sea Foam" or "Chevron Techron" or "BG44" will improve this situation because none of that stuff will touch the intake valves. It CANNOT clean them. In the pursuit of improved fuel efficiency we may now be facing ugly "unintended consequences"...
Carbon buildup on intake valves, starting at about the 30,000 mile mark.

I'm now worried about our Taurus SHO, the engine in which has a similar design to the Yamaha, and seems to suffer a similar fate according to forums on that "Ecoboost" engine.
(And adding chemicals to the fuel to attempt to remedy the problem there overheats the turbochargers causing them to fail... $$$$$.)

This situation has a lot of people baffled.
And it makes carburetors look like wonderful, "Old Faithful" devices.

Any helpful comments would be GREATLY appreciated!
I'm sure experts would be grateful.

Chunky-

I was about 13. One of my friend's Fathers, comparing me to one of his friends,  said I was "Chunky", like that guy.
He may as well have slapped me upside the head with a 2X4.
Chunky?!
But just as we are sometimes surprised when looking at a candid photograph, it made me take a close look at myself.
My Mother was 5'2" tall. During my early teen years she weighed 190 lbs.. At that point she saw a photograph I had taken of her and had her own "2X4" moment.
But she continually had problems with her weight because she had virtually NO discipline. She always seemed to be on the "see food" diet.
She was also diabetic.

From my Mother I inherited my lifelong battle with "chunkiness". I have never been "sloppy fat", but that too is a problem. My body stores fat in my trunk and that fat does not feel like sponge.
It feels solid. And research I have done indicates that's the most dangerous kind. Solid fat is stored around vital organs and can lead to infarction, stroke, and other interesting health difficulties.
At my annual VA checkup in April I weighed in at 235 pounds. My A1C indicated I was diabetic. My eye check was a relief; no damage SO FAR. I'd like to continue to pass eye exams and flight physicals, so I realized it was time to get serious.

We've been here in Gilbert, AZ two months, and have been walking from 3 to 6 miles daily depending on mood.
The dog enjoys it. Us? Ehh... At times it's hard to get in the mood.
But this is no longer a game.
This morning I got on my scale.
It read 199.

And my blood glucose reading is back in the normal range.
I feel great. My stomach has flattened. Sara Jean is pleased.
But WOW... I want pizza, ice cream, mashed potatoes, wine/beer!

My intent is for my scale to say 185.
When I get there I'll have to take a hard look at a maintenance diet.

Life ain't fair, is it?
And as you've no doubt heard, getting old(er) sux.

Radio Ga-Ga

I come from the age of vacuum operated windshield wipers, balloon-tire bicycles, and TV Repairmen.
Our family had one TV. I'm afraid my memory is faulty, but I remember the set was so small it had a handle on top so it could be carried from one room to another... (12-inch?).
It had vacuum tubes. 
You'd turn the thing on and initially there'd be a tiny dot appear on the center of the screen. Then when the tubes warmed up, which took about 30 seconds, the black and white(!) picture would appear.
The integral speaker was probably five inches or so in diameter.
We knew nothing different. We thought it was great.
I LOVED "The Steve Allen Show"!

Vacuum tubes wore out.
Local hardware and drug stores had machines that could test 'em, and had replacement tubes for sale.
When the set failed you'd remove all the tubes and carry them in a brown paper sack for testing.
If the tubes all tested "normal" your heart sank 'cause there was one recourse-
You called the TV Repairman.

This guy was always covered up with work. It would inevitably take him DAYS to work on your set.
We knew nothing different...
Grit your teeth and tolerate the denial of stimulation.
And resort to the next-best-thing-
The radio.
AM radio.

In my adolescence, Soap Operas were still being played during mid-day.
I can remember my babysitter listening to "Guiding Light" at Noon.
Mornings were devoted to Ruth Lyon's breakfast show broadcast out of Cincinnati.
Evenings, DJ's would spin records.
During summertime we listened to the broadcast of White Sox games out of Chicago.
With no TV, we accepted what was broadcast and were glad to have it.

It's very odd now how the memories of those "No TV" periods are some of my fondest.
I think of 'em every time I hear-
"G'night John-Boy.
G'night Grandpa!"

Give Me Sanctuary!

Analogy-

Mom and Dad owned lakefront property.
A breeding pair of Canada Geese started feeding on their land. Mom and Dad, (wildlife lovers), thought they were beautiful, and bought a 
50-lb bag of cracked corn to entice the geese to stick around. It worked. The breeding pair hatched a brood of 8 goslings and Mom and Dad enjoyed watching the family thrive and grow.
Winter came, and all the geese flew to warmer climes.

Next Spring, Mama and Papa goose came back. The eight goslings also returned, bringing their mates with them... eighteen birds in total.
Mom and Dad bought more cracked corn. By mid-summer they, retired and on a limited budget, became pretty vocal about the cost of feeding their adopted, feathered friends.
Mama and Papa goose and all the other gooses had broods of 6-8 goslings. Dad watched as an adult from one family attacked and drowned one of the little ones from another family.
What uncivilized behavior! This, and the fact that their waterfront was now covered in goose excrement, began to give them concern.
Winter came. Geese departed. Spring returned.
And so did ALL the geese.
It was impossible to count them all.
Mom and Dad called the State Department of Natural Resources.
No one knows how they did it or what they did, but the geese disappeared.
And Mom and Dad's retirement funds were no longer spent on cracked corn.

Psychology and Sociology 101:
You get MORE of what you reward.
We must insure that we reward behavior that makes the world a better place.

Our Carbon Footprint

Five years ago I bought a Yamaha "Super Tenere" adventure bike to leave behind here in Phoenix for my son to use, and for us to use while we're here during Winter. Until now the bike has given us 30,00 trouble-free miles and has been a pleasure to ride.
When our son went out to ride just before Christmas, the bike failed to start. The starter would spin the motor and the bike would cough as if a cylinder was firing now and then, but that was as close as it would come to running. Holidays approaching, we postponed taking the bike to the shop thinking they'd probably be working with a skeleton crew 'til after New Year's. Still, we delivered the bike to them on the 30th of December.

Nearly two weeks later we hadn't heard from them. We called.
"We'd like you to come see this!"
Uh-Oh.

In the shop, the bike looks like a bomb hit it...
Side covers off. Gas tank off. Air cleaner system off. Radiators (two of 'em) detached and laid off and out of the way. Both throttle bodies- ditto.
It looks sad.

But all this work exposes the intake system, and allows us to look at the intake valves.
And they are a MESS. There's a half inch of carbon caked around the stem, extending outward almost a quarter inch. An accumulation of gunk like this HAD to have had an effect on the gas/fuel mixture entering the bike's combustion chamber!
What would cause such a phenomenon?

"How do you ride this bike?"

My son has used to bike mostly to commute to/from work. He rides city streets 10 minutes to the freeway, then spends another 20 minutes riding 65+- mph there. At this speed the bike is turning about 2,000 RPM.
And there, apparently, is the problem-
He should be putting more stress on this engine!

Our parents used to talk about "blowing the engine out" now and then by taking the car onto the open road and "opening her up".
Turns out that's true.

And this is why it was a good idea for Granny to take her "Brand-new, shiny red, Super Stock Dodge" to the drags. (Thanks, Jan and Dean!)

And our behavior on the bike will have to change.

A Baby Is Born!

I've always been one to listen to lyrics. If you suffer from this same affliction and, like me, enjoy a "seasonal boost", I hope you enjoy this one as much as I did: 

Shade-Tree Mechanics, R.I.P.

Points. Plugs. Condensor.
Change the oil and filter.
I grew up twisting wrenches on my own car and these were tasks I did myself, with SOME frequency.
Now?
I lift the hood on our Ford Taurus and the entire engine is covered with a big piece of plastic.
You cannot SEE the engine. (And even if ya could, there are no points and condensor... They've been replaced by electronic ignition.)
There is no carburetor to adjust...
Instead, fuel injection feeds the engine and the whole shebang is controlled by something called the "Engine Control Module".
There ARE still sparkplugs buried under that cover somewhere... 
and I DO mean buried, with their own individual "coils"... another thing that once sat on top of the engine in plain sight and also needed changing "back when", if only once in a Blue Moon.

The Yamaha Super Tenere I left here in Phoenix for my son to ride now has 25,000+ miles on its bones. Last week it failed to start when called upon. We were three days away from arriving in Phoenix for Winter, so I advised him I'd have a look when I got here.
Like the Taurus, the bike is fuel-injected and has electronic ignition. So I knew there'd be precious little I could check in hopes of making it spring to life.
But I did figure maybe the spark plugs were the problem, and since it only has a two-cylinder engine how hard could it possibly be to remove and replace the spark plugs on the beast?

Ha.
First, you must remove the plastic covers that inevitably hide all the workings of all machines these days.
Having done that, I found you CANNOT see the spark plugs. 
So I resorted to "YouTube" for an education.
Remove the plastics. Remove the 6-gallon gas tank and the big air cleaner it covers. Then, there beneath lots of wiring and plumbing reside the plugs, (FOUR of 'em!)  with their special whats-it attachments (?) on top, (and don't those 'cause they're VERY expensive.)

I surrendered.
The bike is at the Yamaha dealership for repair.
Of course, since I can't do it myself, the bill will be $$$$$$$$$$.

Entertainment Overload

Growing up in the mesozoic era we were forced to adjust the "Rabbit Ears" antenna to receive channels 4, 6, 8, and 13. 
I can remember turning on the TV early in the morning when the only signal being broadcast was a "test pattern". If we weren't particularly interested in programming being offered at a certain time we'd watch anyway... something was better than nothing, right?

Fast forward to today.
Here in our Winter quarters we have "Dish Network" satellite TV.
We get 40 or so channels snatched from the air via our attached  "Terk" antenna, (although about 18 of 'em speak in a tongue I no habla.)
Via our Roku, we get Hulu, Sling, Newsmax, CRTV, Blaze TV, (those last two have merged now), Netflix, Prime Video, and a number of others.
It's overwhelming.

And the most ironic thing of all?
Sometimes I flip through all of it and can't find anything I'm really interested in watching.
So I read a book or magazine.

Obama Legacy

Losing the Black Panther polling place case by default.
World apology tour.
"The cops acted stupidly."
IRS/Lois Lerner scandal.
Using govt. assets to pursue the Associated Press and James Rosen.
Withdrawing troops from Iraq against the advice of military leadership, then having to return.
"If I had a son, he'd look like Trayvon Martin."
"Al Qaeda is dead."
"ISIS is the Junior Varsity."
Ft. Hood massacre- "Workplace violence", not terrorism.
The idea of a "Calliphate" coming to fruition is ridiculous.
"Our Southern border is more secure than it has ever been."
"Russia is no threat."
"Tell Vladimir I'll have more flexibility after the election."
"You didn't build that!"

I'm sure my list is incomplete.
Can you add to it?

The Jaguar

It was so beautiful, I was thunderstruck the first time I saw one...
The Jaguar XKE.
Compared to this rolling work of art, everything else looked like a cardboard box.
Of course, I couldn't afford it.

Years pass.
In early 1968 I'm in primary flight school at Ft. Wolters, TX. One of my classmates owns a '66 Corvette convertible. He likes his car but itches for a change. That's when, in a parking lot, we saw the '64 Jaguar XKE.
Then we saw the owner...
A cute secretary working on the base. The Jag gave him a perfect way to approach her.
"How do you like your Jag?"

She liked the car just fine, but the maintenance and parts situation for the car were a constant hassle.
"I own a Corvette. Would you be interested in working a trade?"
She was. They did.
During the negotiations he started dating her.
Before we departed Ft. Wolters, they married.
And he got his 'Vette back.

Have you looked at the price of XKE's lately?
WOW!

Pick-em-ups

In my mid-teens my best friend's Dad had a '53 Ford F-100 pickup truck. It was all black and had a 239 cubic inch Flathead V-8 engine and a "three on the tree" standard transmission. It was simple and sorta elegantly classic.
I lusted after it.

We are in Destin. A couple we have met here for several years showed up again last week in their new Chevy Silverado pickup. It's beautiful. It's all bling and chrome.
It is NOT simple, or elegantly classic. What it IS, is HUGE.

My mind went back to friend Steve's Dad's sweet '53 F-100...
Parked next to this Silverado it would look like a compact.
And, I think, in most circumstances it would draw more admirers.
Is bigger ALWAYS better?

Email

Several months back I made the mistake of completely resetting my computer.
In doing so, I lost many of the tools I use because I didn't record passwords. I was able to recover many of them, but my old Juno email account wanted $$$$ to send me my password, and I had been toying with the idea of letting that account die anyway because they charged an annual fee.
IF you were someone I used to correspond with via email, I have lost your address.
Please establish a new pathway with me by emailing me at Olddad65athotmail.com.
I'll delete this post after a short period of time.

Getting Home, 2018

We boarded the taxi at Ciampino airport to make our way to our evening quarters near the "Leonardo Da Vinci" airport without first insuring the driver accepted credit cards. She had informed us the ride would take about 45 minutes and would cost us about 80 Euros (!).
Ten minutes into the ride we realized we should first have asked about the payment options.
She wanted cash. We had 20 Euros between us.
"I can take you to an ATM" she said. Sara Jean had never used an ATM. And ME? That's me sitting just behind the driver, pained look on my face, with the cast on my right leg and crutches at my side.
I was proud of my wife when she emerged from the strange location with enough cash in hand to get us to our destination.

The Bed and Breakfast was clean, more than adequate, and the lady running it was wonderful. We paused for a moment to drink a bottle of water, then Big Bubba wanted to show us a place he had eaten at before during an earlier visit to Rome. He called an Uber and we soon found ourselves eating REAL Italian food in the shadow of the Coliseum. We returned to the B&B tired to the bone, chatted for a few minutes, then went to bed knowing we had to be up and headed to the airport by 0400.

Having a broken ankle when flying is amazing.
They bring you a wheelchair. You go to the head of the line for boarding passes; to go through security, and then they load you onto a "lift truck" to get you aboard the airplane.
We felt like Royalty... with a broken leg.
Rome to Copenhagen... Copenhagen to Reykavik.
A three hour layover for our flight home gave us time to get a bite and be entertained, watching Icelanders and tourists scurry around. From Iceland we flew with "WOW" Airlines... never heard of 'em, but the flight was comfortable and the crew was attentive to my special needs. The flight on WOW got us home in 7 hours... exhausted again.

So, wrapping up, what can we share with ya?
When we booked the cruise I was hesitant to buy the travel insurance. $532 seemed pretty steep for something I'd probably not need. My agent cautioned me... "You'll be a long way from home, dealing with many things you can't imagine." I told her to add it to the bill. That 5 hundred dollar expenditure has now saved us almost $25,000. Buy the insurance!

Greece is exotic. The food and people are wonderful. But in Athens, there is graffiti on every available surface. In places there is graffiti on graffiti.
There are almost as many mopeds, scooters, and motorcycles as there are cars. Traffic can be heart-stopping.
When I fell in Santorini and realized I'd need medical care I was naturally concerned. I should not have been... my care there was "top drawer". Only after I thought about it a while did I remember that Hippocrates was Greek.

We want to go back.
But I hate the idea of being trapped on a piece of pipe with attached wings for more than five hours.
We may take a boat next time.
And I'll not hesitate to buy the travel insurance.

When in Rome-

Rehash-
Our cruise of the Greek islands was interrupted when I compound-fractured my right ankle.
Because of this, I spent a week in a hospital in Athens, and got WONDERFUL care there. But we were instantly kicked off the cruise ship when I was injured, halfway through the planned cruise.
Our son, once the dust settled and he realized I was gonna be okay, figured, "I'm in Europe. I'm gonna go see some stuff I've always wanted to see here." So off he went to Malta, then to Zurich where he rented a car and toured the Alps.
Before I broke my ankle our plan was to disembark the boat in Rome, spend a few days in Italy, then fly home from there. My hospital stay used up all the time Sara Jean and I had hoped to spend in Northern Italy. But we still needed to get to Rome to use the flight reservations we had made to use after the cruise ended.

We landed at Rome's Ciampino airport two hours before our son's pending arrival, so with me still hobbling awkwardly on crutches when I wasn't being pushed around in an airport wheelchair, we went to the restaurant to get a bite to eat while we waited on his arrival.

When Big Bubba called to say he had arrived we gave him instructions to meet us in the restaurant and waited. And waited. And waited.
He called again to make sure he had gotten correct directions.
And we waited to see him. And waited.

It turns out, Rome has TWO airports...
Ciampino and Leonardo Da Vinci.
We were separated by an hour's drive.

While we hired a taxi to meet him, Big Bubba went to the Bed and Breakfast he had reserved for us near the Leonardo Da Vinci airport.

And I found out being on crutches makes ALL movement a pain in the butt.

Dr. George

My Greek Surgeon's name was George Papagiandopolous.
Dr. George was proud of his skills. He asked where we were from, then related that he comes to the U.S. every two years to attend Ortho refresher courses.
"I've been to San Diego, San Antonio, and Chicago", he said proudly.

We were sorta in a pinch. In order to use the reservations we had originally made for getting home from our cruise we needed to depart Athens for Rome on Thursday. Dr. George was concerned about flying with my fresh injury.
His worry was that I'd form an air bubble that would travel through my bloodstream and cause problems. With my EMS experience I knew this to be a valid fear...
Anytime we had embolism patients on board my helicopter, we tried to transport the patient at the lowest safe altitude. 
Doc George came into our room and said he'd allow the flight, but he wanted to be sure we were aware of the risks. He discussed what we should do if I had serious breathing problems in flight, then gave us warfarin (blood thinner) tablets, and four syringes of blood thinning liquid in case the worst happened. To Sara Jean he said in Greek accented but perfectly understandable English-
"If he begins to have difficulty breathing, inject him with one of the syringes and call me IMMEDIATELY, no matter what!"
Then he said "Let's take a group photo!", and gave his camera to one of the technicians to take a photo of he, Sara Jean, one of my Nurses, and me. 
I now wish I had asked him for a copy of that photo!

 The gal from Accounts Receivable came in to discuss payment of our bill.
"You cannot be discharged until your bill is paid in FULL."
Wow. Could I be held prisoner in this Athens hospital?
"How much do we owe?"
"22,000 Euros" she said with a smile.

Zowie.
I called my Credit Card issuer and checked on my available credit. I explained the situation and said, "I need to extend that if possible".
And, thank Goodness, we could.

Thursday morning I was wheeled to the front door. We hailed a cab and I awkwardly "crutched" my way into it. We then drove to the hotel Sara Jean had been staying in while I was recovering. We ate a great meal at the rooftop restaurant which also had a view of the Acropolis, and watched as a Thunderstorm crackled its way over the city dumping quite a bit of rain. The motorscooters and cycles continued to ply the streets as if weather was fine.

The flight Thursday morn to Rome was uneventful, except I was moved everywhere in a wheelchair by an airport employee and we went to the head of the line for everything... tickets, security, and after the flight, baggage claim. I'll have more to say about this in a later post.

We landed at Rome's Ciampino airport two hours before our son's scheduled arrival, so we went to the airport restaurant for lunch while we waited.
And at this point, we begin another adventure.