Having safely negotiated the exit we headed off down some very nice back roads. The apparent temperature dropped immediately and we welcomed the cooler air. We commenced winding our way South at a steady minimum pucker factor pace (we brought the women, OK?!). As a group these guys are pretty fast cruiser riders and most cruiser riders with less than many thousand miles of asphalt under their tires find it unnerving to try and keep up. I generally ride my GPz and run off and leave ‘em without trying, but this day I had my hands full on the ½-ton Mothership negotiating switchbacks with these grizzled graying proto-squids.
We came to a stop sign and Rainman made it clear he was going to need fuel soon. All concurred and we pulled into the nearest store with pumps, a grocery/hardware store/fuel stop.
Two things should have set off alarm bells.
1) The clerk was having major trouble operating the computer/cash register/ scanner machine. He was getting it done, but man he was slow. Not halting but SLOW like he was overloaded.
2) There was a tanker truck in the lot. NEVER, EVER, EVER buy fuel when there is a fuel delivery being made. At best the fuel in the bottom of the tank is old and dirty, at worst the new stuff has kicked up all the sediment from the bottom and you just pumped it into your tank.
3) I was thinking, “Man the ol’ Mothership sure is runnin’ great!”
We all partook of refreshments inside, Sundrop!, and saddled up. The road got really twisty from here on and 180 degree switchbacks with 10 foot elevation changes were the order of the day. While merrily negotiating some of these the Mothership backfires, clears and goes on. Hmmmmm. A few miles later and the same thing occurs but this time it slowly sputtered to a halt. Shit!
I noticed I had extremely dim indicator lights on the dash. No power. Frank came back and borrowed Jumper cables from a nearby house and hooked ‘em to his RoadStar which was starting to backfire from bad gas. We got the Mothership running and I took off for a gas station the fellas had spotted up ahead. While I was running for the station before it died again my jacket fell off the back. No biggie the rest are right behind me, they’ll get it.
I made it to the station and when they pulled in behind there was no sign of the jacket. I commented it was odd someone would be that quick driving by snatching something like that. Apparently not. As my wife and I were waiting for the tow truck we saw a boat being hauled by when a cushion fell out. Immediately the car next car slowed and the driver snatched it off the pavement without even stopping. Must be the local income generating activity. Next to ‘earning’ disability that is.
We had taken a wrong turn, well…. Rainman had, and ended up northeast of Knoxville in Maynardville, TN. Folks I am not exaggerating when I tell ya’ the menfolk looked like OakRidge had dumped nuclear waste in the area. They all had a blank, tilted look, at least one limb twisted or held oddly, gimped in some way, and plenty of tattoos. They were scaring my wife, so I reminded her I had eight .45s in each magazine and one in the pipe with which to play zombie killer if the opportunity presented itself. No such luck.
The other riders in our group deserted us like the heartless bastards I know them to be. (Actually, I had a hell of a time gettin’ ‘em to leave. I think Frank just wanted to see the .45 again.). People in Maynardville talk like they live 50 miles out of Knoxville, them what talks that is. We found we were about 10miles out if that. We completed our three hour wait for the incompetent tow truck driver and grabbed a motel in Knoxville. Next day we got a rental car and came home to get the trailer to bring the Mothership home.
I have to say I have yet to see a more dim, unfriendly, put off, bunch of ‘tards as what occupies east Tennessee in all my born days. Welldigger spoke thusly of these folk in the past and I discounted it as disgust with a particular person or small group colouring his perception, I was wrong. I know a lot of country folk, hell I AM country folk! I know a lot of hill folk, too, and most would give the shirt off their backs to help someone in need and most are a fair hand mechanically. But these sons of bitches just look at ya’ with those “no one’s home” glass eyes. I don’t sense they got much more than plant level awareness going on. If I ever happen there again I‘ll shoot the first hobblin' cocksucker looks at me that way and figure a ride by shootin’ and a drive by thievin’ makes us even.
The rest of the group had a good, though wet ride. I don’t suppose I can get any of ‘em to write their travelin’ up as they don’t go in for such highbrow doin’s.
Everything above is gospel and you'll go to hell for disputin' it.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Ride Report : The Dragon that Wasn't
The Mothership is up for sale and old men are beatin' my door down for it so I thought I would take it out w/ the wife one last time. That's what it's for after all.
We planned a ride with the womenfolk leaving Friday morning for Deal's Gap so we met up on I75 and turned South on HWY25. Two lanes are generally more fun even on the Mothership.
We stopped in Corbin at TriCounty Cycles to look at the Iron Horse bikes there and that buttugly Honda Rune. Actually, The rest of 'em went inside while I stayed with the bikes repairing the intercom cable my wife chewed in two. OK, she didn't actually CHEW it. Near as I can tell she closed her helmet hinge on it. Got it working, though, with the donation of some electrical tape from a salesman. Trip Saved!
Back on the road we hit stoplight hell and bailed to the interstate. Ahhh! The open road. I put her on 90 and the rest of the group sorta kept up with the newest rider, Dave, doing nicely on my six. As we neared Knoxville I slowed to close ranks and let Rainman, who professed to know a better way to Gatlinburg, lead. Rainman immediately wedged himself into trafic. Now, I've ridden a lot with him and know his habits so I stayed just behind the cluster of cars/trucks he had wedged himself into preparing to exit.
This is an art so pay attention:
Wait for it.... wait..wait.... There he goes! Rainman dove across two lanes of traffic for the exit with me on his taillight. Dave and Frank were out in the cold, but managed via a death defying maneuver in front of an 18 wheeler to make the exit.
The ulimate payoff didn't materialise with cellphone calls and ridicule to the lost wandering exit missers as they try to find the rest of the group. However, Dave and Frank definately had the BUGEYES (see image) as we came to a stop at the end of the exit ramp!
More to follow. I have to clue folks in on the freaks Digger warned me about in east Tennessee.
We planned a ride with the womenfolk leaving Friday morning for Deal's Gap so we met up on I75 and turned South on HWY25. Two lanes are generally more fun even on the Mothership.
We stopped in Corbin at TriCounty Cycles to look at the Iron Horse bikes there and that buttugly Honda Rune. Actually, The rest of 'em went inside while I stayed with the bikes repairing the intercom cable my wife chewed in two. OK, she didn't actually CHEW it. Near as I can tell she closed her helmet hinge on it. Got it working, though, with the donation of some electrical tape from a salesman. Trip Saved!
Back on the road we hit stoplight hell and bailed to the interstate. Ahhh! The open road. I put her on 90 and the rest of the group sorta kept up with the newest rider, Dave, doing nicely on my six. As we neared Knoxville I slowed to close ranks and let Rainman, who professed to know a better way to Gatlinburg, lead. Rainman immediately wedged himself into trafic. Now, I've ridden a lot with him and know his habits so I stayed just behind the cluster of cars/trucks he had wedged himself into preparing to exit.
This is an art so pay attention:
The object of the game is to not be so close to the leader that you miss the exit, too, but close enough that some of the other's miss it as they struggle to close ranks through traffic.
Wait for it.... wait..wait.... There he goes! Rainman dove across two lanes of traffic for the exit with me on his taillight. Dave and Frank were out in the cold, but managed via a death defying maneuver in front of an 18 wheeler to make the exit.
The ulimate payoff didn't materialise with cellphone calls and ridicule to the lost wandering exit missers as they try to find the rest of the group. However, Dave and Frank definately had the BUGEYES (see image) as we came to a stop at the end of the exit ramp!More to follow. I have to clue folks in on the freaks Digger warned me about in east Tennessee.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Thoughts to Fall Back On
Things aren't going good. You've come so far, but Problems are Multiplying. No ready solution presents itself. Frustration Mounts. Brain cascades into the blue screen of death and you slide into the Psychotic State of trying the Same Thing over and over and over with the same Bad Result. Been there done that?
Sometimes you just gotta hit the RESET button. All people have is belly buttons so instead of staring at yours in despair take a step back, get yer head up, bum a Marlboro or a chaw, look around and RESTART from some basic truths to unlock yer conundrum.
Additions and revisions:
Sometimes you just gotta hit the RESET button. All people have is belly buttons so instead of staring at yours in despair take a step back, get yer head up, bum a Marlboro or a chaw, look around and RESTART from some basic truths to unlock yer conundrum.
Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.
You only need three tools: WD-40, Duct Tape, and a Hammer. If it shouldn't move and does, use the duct tape. If it doesn't move and should, use the WD-40. If the WD-40 doesn't work apply Hammer liberally.
If it sticks out and it shouldn't, bend it. If it still sticks out apply Hammer liberally. If it doesn't stick out enough straighten it.
If it misbehaves, whack it. If it still misbehaves apply Hammer liberally.
If you woke up breathing, congratulations! You get another chance.
Be really nice to your family and friends; you never
know when you might need them to empty your bedpan.
Never pass up an opportunity to go to the bathroom.
Additions and revisions:
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Friday, August 05, 2005
Mario the Matador
I get a lot of farrier calls to rehabilitate miniature horses, miniature donkeys, adopted BLM jacks, and ponies. It seems these are in the catagory of "pets" and a lot of folks buy them without researching proper care.
I would like to introduce one such criter. His name is Mario and he is a miniature donkey. Never heard of such? Well, picture a donkey whose back is only as high as the desk at which you are now sitting but with full sized donkey ears. They are adorable, with very open, eager, expressive personalities. They do, however, have a "dark side".
When I was called upon to treat Mario his present owner had found him running the highway with feet horribly overgrown, twisted, and misshapen. The little fella was in a lot of pain and uncomfortable at all times. I was impressed my Mario's willingness to tolerate this discomfort stoicly as I worked on him; at one point he just sat back on his haunches and presented his front hooves for me to work on. Needless to say the little trooper stole my heart and I have endeavored to bring him back to 100% soundness since that day. I am happy to report Mario is about 90% sound as of today and I expect by fall he will be 100% if there is no permanent soft tissue damage.
I commented to the owner , Bobbi, the first day I saw Mario that he had a great personality. She looked at me strangely and said, "There's more to Mario than what he's showing you."
JACIII - "Really? This little fella?"
B - "Oh, yeah, he's quite a little demon when he wants to be."
JACII - "Mario, have you been misbehaving?" No respone from Mario.... "What's he been gettin' into?"
B - "Well, we didn't have a seperate pasture for him when we found him so we put him out with the cows. I just couldn't imagine him having trouble with them. You should have seen him! I wish I had video! He attacked the cows!"
JACII - "No. He didn't. Did he get hurt?"
B - "Huh! He ran everone of them into the pond and wouldn't let them out. I just left him in there. I thought surely by morning he would get tired of harassing the cows, but when I got up he still had 'em in there and would charge any that tried to get out!"
JACII - "What did you have to do?"
B - "I thought, 'I'll fix you, Mario', turned the bull out, went to work and didn't think anything else of it."
JACIII - "Oh, well he looks like he came out OK."
B - "Well.. You're not gonna believe this, but Jimmy (her husband) saw it, too. When I came home I went to check on Mario. He was hanging on the bulls neck. He bit that bull on the neck on was just dangling there!"
JACII - "No. Mario? Mario bit The Bull. Like a bulldog."
B - "Yes!, I was afraid he was going to KILL it. I had to go out there and pull him off that bull! I literally had to DRAG him out of that field, he fought me the whole way! I had to tie him behind the house where he couldn't see them before he would calm down."
I looked at Mario, a bit more wary than when we first met. I haven't seen any sign of Mario's megalomaniacal episode resufacing, but I damn sure don't let his mouth anywhere near my neck.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Highbrow Poetry.....
I'm not one to wilfully raise the level of discourse above potty jokes, but I came across these on the Kawasaki GPZ (one of the motorcycles in my stable) email list. To put it gentley, the population of posters on this list is a bit long in the tooth, though technically astute, accomplished riders who have logged a lot of miles.
I hope no one is unduly traumatized by the realization there are people like this on our public roads.
The following is by '1KPerDay' whose handle refers to the IronButt ride Nate and I have bragged incessantly about.
This is a celebration of non-rosy cheeks. You can imagine the ribbing this guy takes for 'riding' sheepskin. It's even funnier when you realize there is damn near an entire hide laid across his tank and seat!
Gregg, I thought of you when I read the first one.
I hope no one is unduly traumatized by the realization there are people like this on our public roads.
The following is by '1KPerDay' whose handle refers to the IronButt ride Nate and I have bragged incessantly about.
"Oh, blast," I once sighed, steaming mad,
"My tire's flat! I can't ride! This is bad!"
But I gathered my strength,
Filled my lungs their full length,
And then pumped up the tire with my nads.
:D
Utah Jeff
'96 SheePz1100
This is a celebration of non-rosy cheeks. You can imagine the ribbing this guy takes for 'riding' sheepskin. It's even funnier when you realize there is damn near an entire hide laid across his tank and seat!
A sheep, though not warm as a yeti,
Offers more than just lamb with spaghetti,
For the skin, not the meat,
When applied to my seat,
Keeps my buttocks from getting all sweaty. :D
-- Utah Jeff '96 SheePz1100
Gregg, I thought of you when I read the first one.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
There's no money in this
but it's fun anyway.
This is a Courting Candle. It is used as a timer for when one's daughter has a gentleman caller. After one's daughter and the gentleman caller are seated in the parlor, a candle is placed within the spiral and the wooden dowel is used to elevate or lower the candle above the top winding. When the candle burns down to the top winding it is time for the gentleman to depart. A father must periodically check on the candle thereby keeping an eye on the two and preventing any sparking.
No, it is not a spring, nor was it ever a spring. I decorated it as a vine complete with a leaf on the end to serve as a base. This piece is made from a length of straight 3/8" steel rod, forge fire, hammer, and anvil.
This is a modified design of a Celtic Cross. This piece is made from a length of 3/8" square bar stock. There is no welding, drilling, or drifting used in making this cross even though it has an open center. It is one piece of steel. Women love them.
This is a Courting Candle. It is used as a timer for when one's daughter has a gentleman caller. After one's daughter and the gentleman caller are seated in the parlor, a candle is placed within the spiral and the wooden dowel is used to elevate or lower the candle above the top winding. When the candle burns down to the top winding it is time for the gentleman to depart. A father must periodically check on the candle thereby keeping an eye on the two and preventing any sparking.
No, it is not a spring, nor was it ever a spring. I decorated it as a vine complete with a leaf on the end to serve as a base. This piece is made from a length of straight 3/8" steel rod, forge fire, hammer, and anvil.
This is a modified design of a Celtic Cross. This piece is made from a length of 3/8" square bar stock. There is no welding, drilling, or drifting used in making this cross even though it has an open center. It is one piece of steel. Women love them.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Nothing like a good strokin'
I'm talkin' about ego here. Put your filthy minds in neutral.
Miss Sarah is one of my most faithful clients. She has had anywhere from 2 to 5 horses at any given time, alway bakes me cookies, pays in cash, is from North Carolina, attractive for a middleaged woman, and just as sweet as can be.
She has always had one horse named "Bucky" who is good for the most part, but has been known to cut a shine on occasion. Well, last time I was out there Bucky was cuttin' one. I bore down and held on and he settled down, but I knew he wasn't through. He started up again and I still managed to keep his foot. Then, just to let him know I didn't appreciate his attitude I shoved him bodily against the fence (I was under a front leg).
Miss Sarah: "See there, Bucky? Better straigten up, you're messin' with 'real' cowboy!"
I ain't exactly ridin' bulls, but I'll take it. I promise not to lord the fact that I have been declared a 'real' cowboy over my brothers.
I'll just have to make sure I don't let an ARRGH! slip while I'm at Miss Sarah's.
I wonder what I have to do to be declared a 'real' pirate? I've got the wench ravishing down pretty good.....
Miss Sarah is one of my most faithful clients. She has had anywhere from 2 to 5 horses at any given time, alway bakes me cookies, pays in cash, is from North Carolina, attractive for a middleaged woman, and just as sweet as can be.
She has always had one horse named "Bucky" who is good for the most part, but has been known to cut a shine on occasion. Well, last time I was out there Bucky was cuttin' one. I bore down and held on and he settled down, but I knew he wasn't through. He started up again and I still managed to keep his foot. Then, just to let him know I didn't appreciate his attitude I shoved him bodily against the fence (I was under a front leg).
Miss Sarah: "See there, Bucky? Better straigten up, you're messin' with 'real' cowboy!"
I ain't exactly ridin' bulls, but I'll take it. I promise not to lord the fact that I have been declared a 'real' cowboy over my brothers.
I'll just have to make sure I don't let an ARRGH! slip while I'm at Miss Sarah's.
I wonder what I have to do to be declared a 'real' pirate? I've got the wench ravishing down pretty good.....
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
So here I am, minding my own business....
sort of, and SpaceBunny comes along and whacks me upside the head:
I'm just getting in touch with my inner scoundrel. Is that so wrong?
On this subject: a bit of synchronicity. I have been watching all my favorite 'sea' movies since I started sailing and 'Pirates of the Caribbean' was up Sunday night. The last line of the last scene is applicable here. I'm not postin' it. It's a fun movie - watch it again, bearing in mind that "blacksmith" is a common reference to a farrier.
Stand up there, ye scurvy pony, or I'll feed ya' to the sharks!
ARRGH!
Does anyone else find the idea of a farrier Pirate amusing or is it just me?
Spacebunny | 07.27.05 - 7:49 am
I'm just getting in touch with my inner scoundrel. Is that so wrong?
On this subject: a bit of synchronicity. I have been watching all my favorite 'sea' movies since I started sailing and 'Pirates of the Caribbean' was up Sunday night. The last line of the last scene is applicable here. I'm not postin' it. It's a fun movie - watch it again, bearing in mind that "blacksmith" is a common reference to a farrier.
Stand up there, ye scurvy pony, or I'll feed ya' to the sharks!
ARRGH!
Must be a Record
This must be the busiest "old" post I have ever seen. There are periods of three posts per minute!
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Man Down!
I went ridin' today. Got Big Red out on the road with with a group of 4 cruisers and a V-Max. Yes, I tried it. Yes, I can take it.
The Vmax rider and I rundoft and left the cruiserboys so we had to stop periodically and wait on 'em. We stopped at one point and waited, and waited, and waited... Hmmmmmmmmmm. Better go back.
Sure enough. Man down. An older Gent who rides with us from time to time and is a very good rider went down on a curve and had intimate relations with the guard rail. We got him up, got the bike up and headed down the road, and went on our way. He's shook up a bit, and it could have been much worse had he not been wearing PROTECTIVE GEAR. Granted he only had on a helmet, gloves, and boots, but those cover the places where he had no injury. Not even a scratch. Take away the helmet and he talks funny and shits himself
the rest of his life.
Two of the other cruiser guys had not worn helmets. They expressed that they felt naked after watching someone go down.
There are two kinds of riders: Those who have been down, and those who are gonna go down.
Dress for the fall, not the ride. They are trying to kill ya'.
ARRGH!
The Vmax rider and I rundoft and left the cruiserboys so we had to stop periodically and wait on 'em. We stopped at one point and waited, and waited, and waited... Hmmmmmmmmmm. Better go back.
Sure enough. Man down. An older Gent who rides with us from time to time and is a very good rider went down on a curve and had intimate relations with the guard rail. We got him up, got the bike up and headed down the road, and went on our way. He's shook up a bit, and it could have been much worse had he not been wearing PROTECTIVE GEAR. Granted he only had on a helmet, gloves, and boots, but those cover the places where he had no injury. Not even a scratch. Take away the helmet and he talks funny and shits himself
the rest of his life.
Two of the other cruiser guys had not worn helmets. They expressed that they felt naked after watching someone go down.
There are two kinds of riders: Those who have been down, and those who are gonna go down.
Dress for the fall, not the ride. They are trying to kill ya'.
ARRGH!
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Felony Z01
Anbody can tell me what a Z01 or Z52 is gets a popsicle.
12 years ago.....
Bad day at work. I'm pissed, I'm frustrated, I'm ready to rip somebodies head off. Phuk it! I'm goin' out for dinner. I step out into the cool evening and spot my Corvette waiting all alone in bumphuq as if the mercuries, fords, and plymouths are taking no chances. It's graceful, it's gorgeous, and it's brutal. The targa is stowed away letting it's curvaceous form look crouched, set, coiled. That's just my game in this frame of mind.
I open the long door and slide down into the white leather seat, grip the thick white leather wheel, depress the clutch, and guide the stick into neutral. Of course it's a stick; what am I a secretary? I take a deep breath as it rumbles to life. I ease down the parking lot since it is bad form to leave black stripes on company property, and so as to not cause someone to mention such a thing for I would surely execute them on the spot.
I almost escaped when this young fella comes running out of the building waving his arms. I drove by, but I saw his early twenties crestfallen giulless face in the mirror and felt bad about it so I stopped. He ran up, "Where you goin'?" I mumbled a resturant name and he got in.
I listened tolerantly as he told me it was his first ride in a Corvette. We exited the parking lot. I came to a stop sign at the intersection just outside the automatic gate, when he asked, "Is this thing supposed to be fast? I think my bother's trans am is faster...." That brought a smile to my face. Not the happy kind, no, the "Boy, you just fucked up!" kind.
I immediately executed a clean gate turn onto the side street in a cloud of tire smoke, focused on the street ahead and let 'er wail. I grabbed second gear while the tires were still spinning, the vette was still sideways, and pinned the accelerator to the floor figuring we were set for 85 mph and held on. I scanned for children as we rocketed down the lane and chose a spot on the curve near the end of the street to shift. The kid stopped breathing. He grabbed the dash. I made the mark and hit that magic button (Z52 hint)that jumps three gears and continued accelerating. As soon as I saw the kid go white at the sight of the intersection approaching at over 100mph I hit that magic button again and stomped the brakes until all four tires were trying the antilock system. Hauled 'er down about three feet past the stop sign. Not bad; if I do say so myself.
I'll never forget what the kid said as I selected first and eased through the intersection.
"Hey, man! Are you OK? Is something the matter?"
"No, Why?" I asked offhandedly.
"'Cause I'd like to have kids before I die!"
I see that fella around sometimes. He thinks I'm crazy. I can't imagine why.
ARRGH!
12 years ago.....
Bad day at work. I'm pissed, I'm frustrated, I'm ready to rip somebodies head off. Phuk it! I'm goin' out for dinner. I step out into the cool evening and spot my Corvette waiting all alone in bumphuq as if the mercuries, fords, and plymouths are taking no chances. It's graceful, it's gorgeous, and it's brutal. The targa is stowed away letting it's curvaceous form look crouched, set, coiled. That's just my game in this frame of mind.
I open the long door and slide down into the white leather seat, grip the thick white leather wheel, depress the clutch, and guide the stick into neutral. Of course it's a stick; what am I a secretary? I take a deep breath as it rumbles to life. I ease down the parking lot since it is bad form to leave black stripes on company property, and so as to not cause someone to mention such a thing for I would surely execute them on the spot.
I almost escaped when this young fella comes running out of the building waving his arms. I drove by, but I saw his early twenties crestfallen giulless face in the mirror and felt bad about it so I stopped. He ran up, "Where you goin'?" I mumbled a resturant name and he got in.
I listened tolerantly as he told me it was his first ride in a Corvette. We exited the parking lot. I came to a stop sign at the intersection just outside the automatic gate, when he asked, "Is this thing supposed to be fast? I think my bother's trans am is faster...." That brought a smile to my face. Not the happy kind, no, the "Boy, you just fucked up!" kind.
I immediately executed a clean gate turn onto the side street in a cloud of tire smoke, focused on the street ahead and let 'er wail. I grabbed second gear while the tires were still spinning, the vette was still sideways, and pinned the accelerator to the floor figuring we were set for 85 mph and held on. I scanned for children as we rocketed down the lane and chose a spot on the curve near the end of the street to shift. The kid stopped breathing. He grabbed the dash. I made the mark and hit that magic button (Z52 hint)that jumps three gears and continued accelerating. As soon as I saw the kid go white at the sight of the intersection approaching at over 100mph I hit that magic button again and stomped the brakes until all four tires were trying the antilock system. Hauled 'er down about three feet past the stop sign. Not bad; if I do say so myself.
I'll never forget what the kid said as I selected first and eased through the intersection.
"Hey, man! Are you OK? Is something the matter?"
"No, Why?" I asked offhandedly.
"'Cause I'd like to have kids before I die!"
I see that fella around sometimes. He thinks I'm crazy. I can't imagine why.
ARRGH!
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Our New Maritime Address
We have been trying out area lakes for their suitability for sailing this summer. I have sailed Cave Run , Cumberland, and this weekend Green River Lake. Happily the closest, most pictureque, and least utilized of the three has the best wind, so barring a trip to Kentucky Lake or Lake Barkley we will be spending boat time at Green River Lake.
Here are my girls hamming it up after we anchored the boat off a nice pea-gravel shore conveniently located at the campground where our trusty motorhome awaited.
It's a pirate's life for me. Arrgh!
Here are my girls hamming it up after we anchored the boat off a nice pea-gravel shore conveniently located at the campground where our trusty motorhome awaited.
It's a pirate's life for me. Arrgh!
Pirate Flag Spotted by Bill
Is it just me or does that look like a reticle alignment aid to anyone else?
ARRGH!
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Monday, July 11, 2005
Now THAT'S Sailin'!
For those who know: Note the Main is reefed and there is still no hull touching water. She's completely on plane!
A sailing hydrofoil. Whooda thunk?!
ARRGH! and Double ARRGH!
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Just so you don't think the assheads haven't been tryin'....
There is a sailing site I check into often that deals primarily with racing, but everything else gets thrown in, too. It's a hoot and the folks there are at least as odd as the 'C-triad'.
This is from the forum there concerning conversations overheard on the marine radio (That'll be VHF fer ye landlubbers, ARRRGH!) by a sailor who shall remain anonymous:
Ya' just don't know what kinda shit these sumbitches are up to everyday. We're just mushrooms. They keep us in the dark and feed us shit all day. But every now and then a little light gets through....
This is from the forum there concerning conversations overheard on the marine radio (That'll be VHF fer ye landlubbers, ARRRGH!) by a sailor who shall remain anonymous:
This was a few years ago, just after 911. A Canadian warship burst in calling for a ship to identify itself. The Canadian crewperson, a young woman , proceeded with a litany of questions for the ship which the radio person answered in strange, almost too perfect, English, beginning each transmission with a nervous ?yes yes??
The the ship was a 600 ton oil-tanker due into New York in two days, registry port of Kingston, Jamaica. After the questions, the Canadian warship signaled its intention to board the vessel and asked the tanker to slow to 8 knots. No answer and dead air for a couple of minutes. The young woman on the Candian warship again announced its intention to board and requested the ship slow to 8 knots, through a rope ladder over the starboard side, have papers ready, and have all crew identification ready. The tanker finally replied and the man with the automated English voice said that the ship would not slow down and would not comly. He claimed they had to make their June 20 delivery date in New York and since they had boarded recently, they didn't need to be boarded again. Silence.
Once again the young female navy voice requested that the oil tanker slow to 8 knots and again was met with silence. After a couple more times, the automated voice from the tanker asked what authority the Canadian warship had to board? The warship responded citing a US Canadian Treaty, this time with a much sterner more mature female voice. After another request was met with silence, the stern female declared that if the tanker did not comply, the warship would be forced to file 50 mm warning shots across its bow, but hoped it would not come to that. More silence.
This time the captain of the warship made the request. This time, another, more frantic voice with a noticeable accent answered from the tanker stating that the ship would not comply. After a lot of back and forth, the warship captain started a 2 minute countdown that ended in 10-9-8-7....3-2-1 fire!. Silence.
This time the stern woman's voice made the boarding request and again was met with silence. This time she indicated that the warship would fire 500 yards across the bow. "Clear your decks of all personnel," she said. This time, as the countdown progressed, the mic was left keyed and we could plainly hear the sounds of guns over the radio.
The tanker quickly broke radio silence. They yelled that they were on the phone with their agent in London and that they would lodge a complaint with the International Shipping Organization. They also told the warship to shoot all they wanted, as they were videotaping this for CNN.
The warship responded that it would start firing over top of the tanker if it didn't slow to 8 knots and prepare to be boarded. "Clear your personnel from your top decks." This prompted a similar response from the tanker who now claimed that they had been boarded four times in the last three days and they would not slow down.
As the warship started its countdown, the tanker quickly interrupted and claimed it was slowing to 8 knots, not because it was about to comply, but because it was having "engineering problems." At this point, however, the transmission was starting to fade and get garbled with static and within minutes we lost the transmission.
This long-winded account comes from my log at the time.
Ya' just don't know what kinda shit these sumbitches are up to everyday. We're just mushrooms. They keep us in the dark and feed us shit all day. But every now and then a little light gets through....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)