The Day Approaches

The brothers "C" are preparing for their first day on a real honest to goodness racetrack. Poor old Big Red (GPz1100 @ 35000 miles)has oil leaks at the shifter shaft and countershaft seals which must be dealt with, Welldigger's YZF1000R is in the shop now getting prep done, and I don't know what Nate's gonna do for that poor garage queen CBR1000F. I'm gonna run on my Avon street tires since the edges are needing evening up to that flat spot down the center, anyway. Carbs could use a synch job, but I'm too lazy. There's plenty of smooth pull from 1500RPM anyway, and she howls like a demon above 5000.

Brakes - check
tires - check
body secure - check
chain - check
controls - check
boots and leathers - check
oil - check
fuel - check
masking tape to cover lights and gauges - check
shop manual - check
tools - check and doublecheck
The balls to give Big Red her head and see where the limit really is - Oh, Baby!


So, oil leaks will be remedied tomorrow, swap out the ethylene-glycol for water, a thorough onceover before tiein' her to the trailer, spike the fuel with some octane booster and then head out. That's the plan, though I'm sure Digger will be bitchin' Big Red isn't clean enough and she'll get another detailed goin' over.

Hope the weather holds nice for the weekend or mother nature could shoot all our hard made coordination and travel plans.

PS - Joy, BrandX posted some good advice under "The Desired Effect" post concerning your new Ninja.

Gettin' There Alive

Everyone has a particular part of riding that scares the bejesus out of them. Me? I hate intersections. I hate everything about 'em. Those left turning nincumpoops have got bullseyes painted on me, I can feel it. So, whenever possible I use another vehicle for "cover" as I pass through an intersection. If I spot a left turn signal I'll try to pass through the intersection on the right of a car or, preferably, truck crossing the intersection too. If the light has just changed as I approach I'll try to let a truck or car go through ahead of me to sorta "wake up" any motorists who might have been thinking of running that red light.

Got any good tips? Dish 'em.

The Desired Effect

Went ridin' today with some buddies. The usual crew plus two new guys. One of the new guys rides an FJR1300. WHOOWEEE! That thang is sweet I'm tellin' ya'. Sounds like an electric motor at idle. The other new guy had a ZX6R that is the old model but still does serious business past about 8000 RPM to the tune of about 98HP. There was the usual assortment of cruisers to wait on, also. Frank, Rainman, Timmy (hereinafter refered to as "Runaway"), and Pappy all made like flatulant elephants goin' down the road.

After a hearty breakfast at Cracker Barrel (does that hash brown casserole rock or what!?) we set out for parts unknown on HWY 25N. The ride was pretty much uneventful except for dinner in Erlanger, Ky. I make it a practice to periodically zoom the cruisers; always in the other lane and never crowding them. If I start a car length behind 'em, drop a gear and hammer it I usually will past the one directly in front of me with about a 25 MPH speed differential. Thosde farther up the line will get passed with as high as a 70 or 80 MPH differential. I do it cause I can't stand to poke along behind 'em any longer, but they think I do it to irritate 'em. Suits me. Typically I'll ride ahead about 3 minutes and then end up waiting 5 minutes or so on 'em, they give me the middle finger salute as they "blat" by. Great fun for all.

Runaway is a competitive type of guy and it just kills him for somebody to get in front of him, do better than him, finish ahead of him. You know the type. Well at dinner he was complainin' about me "thump"ing past him and must have forgotten himself, because he said,

"I kept watchin' for him to pass, and just as soon as I get to thinkin' he's not gonna, BAM!, there he goes! It scares the shit outta ya'! There nothing you can do! I always shake a few times, I can't help it."

That, my friends, is The Desired Effect.

My Favorite Motorcycle Story

I have read this in several places. Don't know, but it rings true from my perspective, anyway. The fella is riding an ST1100 a sport-touring bike with an emphasis on touring. It's big, heavy, and fast.
Enjoy

Date: Wed, 30 May 2001


The Story:

See why I HATE these fucking deer so much?

So there I was, riding to Gerlach and the infamous MASS GOLD endurance event. I had departed well after midnight, cruising down HWY 395, one of THE FINEST motorcycle roads to be found anywhere. I was just coming down a hill to an incredibly flat valley that stretched perhaps 1-2 miles before the next series of hills. This valley was flat, Flat, FLAT, with nothing but sagebrush that was only 12-18" high. I looked long and hard for any range cattle or other furry critters that could cause problems. Nope, not a thing on this prairie but sagebrush. I relaxed and descended into the valley floor.

I was approximately halfway across the valley when I went into another instrument scan. I checked the tachometer, looked up at the Sigma, then down to the temp gauge, then looked up to see the 75-lb doe looking right at me, standing directly in front of the bike, about 50 feet from impact.

The Sigma revealed I was traveling at 61 mph, which means I had about a half a second to do something. However, there was nothing to be done. I knew I was going to strike the deer, and even the deer looked like she knew she was about to die. As my brain realized that an accident was imminent, the classic perception of "time slowing down" kicked in, allowing all the following to happen prior to impact:

The first thing I did was silently scream at the deer, "Now, just where in the FUCK did you come from?!" This was just too unbelievable.... it's not like this deer emerged from a forest, and it's not like it had any place to hide!! [Note: surveying the crash scene afterward, I saw a somewhat more sizeable sage brush that the doe was (obviously) sleeping/hiding behind; it was about 24" high, immediately next to the point of impact]

I began an attempt to swerve behind the doe, started to push the right grip downward when (again, given that perception of "slow time") I realized it wasn't going to do any good, and I had better not be leaning when we struck, so I stood the bike up so I would have a "clean" impact. By now I was about 10 feet from the doe, and looked right into her eyes. Two thoughts flashed "Man, is my bride ever going to be pissed at me if I die like this...." and a second thought: "well, it's lookin' like there will be one less rider at MASS GOLD...".

I tore into her body at 61 mph.

The doe had decided to take another step before I hit her, so the front wheel split her body roughly mid-section, such that the forward 2/3's of the deer fell along the left side of the bike, the rear 1/3 of the carcass went down the right side. It was like you could feel and hear the sounds of cartilage, bone and sinew being snapped and torn asunder. My right lower leg was smashed with the rear hindquarters of the severed doe.

But what got to me was the shit. Literally. Shit! Deer shit.... lot's and LOT'S of deer shit!

The ENTIRE RIGHT HALF of the forward fuselage area was no longer Honda red.... it was brown and green!!! DEER SHIT!!!! I could not believe my eyes! Not only was there a massive amount of deer shit on the road, but my bike front and right side were AWASH in deer shit!! How can a creature hold this much shit in their bodies AND STILL BE ALIVE?!!! What, do these deer have to "shit on demand" for a living, or something?! There was an UNBELIEVEABLE amount of intestinal matter in every single crevice of the bike. Lovely aroma......

Since I had begun a right swerve, I was pointing slightly right when we struck, and after severing the animal, the bike was now pointed to the far right, and into the ditch beyond. I stabbed both brakes and start leaving fresh Dunlop and Metzeler on the road. My speed starts to bleed off, but I see with crystal clarity that I am fast approaching the edge of the road..... and snow-melt sand is *inside* the edge of the white line! "Guess I'm done bleeding off speed", I think to myself. Just before I reach the sand, I release the brakes as I look at the Sigma. It says 53 mph as the ST1100 leaves the road, and flies airborne into the ditch.

As we leave the road, I get up on the footpegs and assume my best Jeremy McGrath riding stance. The front tire slams down into the ditch and the rear end bounces up to try to pop me off the bike, but I'm ready for it, and hang on somehow. I bounce and hop all over the ditch, which is roughly 7 feet wide and three feet deep. I keep looking for the drainage ditch that will end my off-road adventure (and probably my young life) in an instant, the very same way Jack Baird got his serious injuries. First order of business, however, is to avoid the telephone pole that is fast approaching on the left. I manage to sneak past the pole, even though it knocked off my left mirror housing (amazingly enough, the post-accident inspection revealed not a single mark on the mirror housing... go figure!)

By now I am down to 30 mph, and I'm beginning to believe I might live if no Jack Baird drainage-ditch surprises me. About that time, I realize, hey, I'd better do something about getting the bike out of the ditch while I am still moving, or I'll be in this ditch a long time.

So I gently apply a little countersteering, and amazingly, the ST "walks up" the side of the ditch, trading speed for elevation. I am almost to the top of the ditch, and am only going 5 mph!! I finally come out of the ditch, and roll onto the paved shoulder just as I came to a gentle stop!!!! I slowly put the kickstand down. I stepped off the bike and immediately ran around to looked at the front end damage.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


The front fairings are all smashed. The fender is barely hanging on. The lower gray fairing has major holes torn all through it.... and there is a hoof in one of the holes!! The left middle fairing is cracked from top to bottom. The inner middle fair is..... gone!! COMPLETELY GONE!!! The right middle fairing is severely damaged with razor-sharp jagged edges that did most of the deer-slicing, along with the right tip-over guard. The force of the impact buckled and cracked the right (lockable) fairing pocket. Both side maintenance panels took impact damage. The right FIAMM electric clamshell horn is flattened and looks like a frisbee. The other FIAMM horn looks worse. The radiator has a sizeable dent in the right side, but appears intact. I expected to have radiator fluid everywhere, but the cooling system remained intact.

My Night Train was hit hard.... but still serviceable.

As I surveyed the damage, the adrenaline from the near-accident started to wear off, and was being replaced by a seething, raging anger. That fucking deer..... just LOOK at the mess it has made! Then, the final straw..... I discovered that the deer had cause me to lose the PIAA 910s! When I discovered this...... all my attention turn to the deer, still 250 feet back. Shaking with rage, I reached for the Browning, pulled back the slide, chambered a round, and started walking back to the carcass.

As I slowly walked back to the point of impact, I looked over to the left to see the deep, long furrow the ST1100 had made as it ran through the ditch and back up onto the highway. I walked past by the telephone pole that knocked off my mirror housing. As I approach the deer, I have to step around various organs and deer splatter to make my way around to the front 2/3 of the carcass. I lean over the head of the deer and look into her soft, brown eyes. I gently whisper "Fuck you", then empty the clip into her.

There's nothing like the sound of brass casings tingling on asphalt. Oh, yeah.

With the post-accident mental therapy complete, I reloaded the Browning and put it away. I walked back to the bike. Jesus, what a mess! I could not - could NOT - get rid of the stench of deer shit.... and no wonder, IT WAS EVERYWHERE!!! I dig into the Ventura bag for my Polaroid, and almost retch as I noticed that the entire right side of the bag is also encrusted with deer shit. I turned back and face the carcass, "HOW MUCH SHIT CAN YOU DEER *POSSIBLY* CARRY?!!!!!!! I was just stunned at the amount of deer feces distributed about the bike. When I get to the Polaroid, I see that it has no film. Damn, I REALLY wanted to get a few pictures of the carcass, but it was not to be.

I got back on the bike, and slowly made the 30-ish miles to Burns. It was completely un-nerving to look down through the opening of the triple-tree area (normally covered by the inner middle fairing) and see asphalt whirling by! And, DAMN, the smell emerging off the exhaust lines was INCREDIBLE!!! Upon reaching Burns, I rolled into a Texaco and dashed inside to buy one of those disposable cameras. I shot about a dozen pictures of the bike at various angles, then rolled over to the car wash area and borrowed their hose. I scrubbed and scrubbed for 45 minutes, and STILL couldn't get rid of the deer shit stench that came from the engine bay. I walked 200 feet away from the bike, and could STILL smell that deer shit! DAMN, that's some lingering aroma... or so I thought.

Later on that morning, I stopped in Lakeview, Oregon for some gas. Went to the restroom, and as I washed my hands, I took a brief look in the mirror. There, in my moustache, under the right nostril, was a nice dollop of green deer shit, all crusty and hard.

Fucking deer......

- Warchild '00 CBR1100XX '97 ST1100

Practical Shop Chemistry Essentials

I think I'll keep Bill around.....

WaterBoy - "What's an 'acetylene tank'?" (being a smartass.)

Gregg - "It's some kinda red round looking thing." (Also, being a smartass. Surprise!)

Ha! That's pretty funny Gregg! (as an aside for those of you that don't know tank color codes, red means something is not flammable, such as carbon dioxide. Acetylene tanks are yellow and about as flammable as it gets)

Waterboy,
Methane and acetylene are very different things.

Acetylene is a man-made gas used in welding (oxy-acetylene welding or "gas" welding) or metal cutting. Acetylene is produced either by combining methane with oxygen, or (99% of the time these days) it's produced by mixing calcium carbide with water. In addition to being used for welding acetylene is also used for hardening steel and for various kinds of chemical synthesis (for some reason acetylene is a particularly reactive hydrocarbon). Acetylene's chemical composition is two carbon atoms and two hydrogen atoms - C2H2.

Methane is a naturally occurring gas, which can also be made by heating sodium acetate with sodium hydroxide or by the reaction of aluminum carbide with water. Methane is usually used as a heating fuel and is not nearly as reactive as acetylene. Methane's chemical composition is one carbon atom and four hydrogen atoms - CH4
Bill | Email | Homepage | 10.14.05 - 5:12 pm

"reaction of aluminum carbide with water"
Remember those "headlamps" the coal miners used to use? They used calcium carbide under the same principal.

Why I Love Big Red

Notice the balled up rubber at the edge of the tread. This is due to cornering forces and thrust against pavement combining to such a degree that Big Red is actually 'sliding' past the apex of a corner under heavy application of throttle. What fun!

Caption Contest

Did Y'all hear about this?

The AP and UPI reported that the French government announced that it had raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide." The only two higher levels in France are, "Surrender" and "Collaborate." The raise was precipitated by a recent fire which destroyed France's white flag factory, effectively disabling their military.

Beware Synthetic Oil !

After hearing wives tales from old codgers about this for years, I have found the final, definitive word.


The Dangers of Synthetic Motor oil

Beware of synthetic oil! It can do terrible things to you and your beloved GPz1100. It will not only leak out of your engine faster than you can put it in, but it will also cause your oil filter to clog and implode, dumping debris and dirt into your lubrication system. It also will make every part of your bike permanently slippery because of its linear molecular chain dispersion action. Then it will leak onto your kickstand causing it to retract automatically, dropping your bike on the ground! But that's not all... Synthetic oil will round off your gears and spin your bearings. It will also splatter onto your seat causing your girlfriend to fall off in the apex of a turn and she'll never ride with you again. Synthetic oil coats your sight window with a whitish pro-mulsification additive that is both non-removable and highly corrosive.

Synthetic oil will completely leak onto the ground overnight and your dog will drink it and die. Synthetic oil will wear out your tires and make your battery leak. It will give you the desperate need to urinate after you put your full leathers on and then jam your zippers shut. It will contaminate your gasoline causing your bike to stall on railroad tracks and accelerate uncontrollably near police cars. It will make it rain during rallies and on weekends. It will lubricate your timing chain causing it to jump teeth and break your valves to bits. Synthetic oil chemically weakens valves and causes the clearances to change every six miles. Then it melts the black soles of your riding boots night before you walk across your new carpeting.
While riding past groups of attractive women it will cause both of your handlebar grips to slip off at the same time so you smash your windscreen with the bridge of your nose.

It also causes your swing arm to crack, your studs to break, and your rotors to warp, and then it voids your warranty by changing your odometer reading to 66,666. It also dries out your wet clutch and wets your dry clutch. It makes your clutch slave cylinder seal fail in the heaviest traffic on the hottest day of the year while putting an angry wasp in your helmet for good measure. Synthetic oil hides your 12mm socket and puts superglue on your earplugs. Synthetic oil will scratch your face shield and make your gloves shrink two sizes night before track day. Synthetic oil stole your neutral and sold it to the Chinese for $1.25. Synthetic oil will make you grow a tail. Synthetic oil will write long crazy e-mails to your Internet friends and then sign your name at the bottom! It will also cause you to post long and stupid oil threads to the GPz List!

God loves the GPz1100 e-mail list as he has populated it with some of the most entertaining characters in motorcycledom and sometimes they are too good to not share. The about was sent out by a fella named Art L. and is one of the crazy coots who ride a bike that'll hit 60mph in 2.8 seconds.

Birthday Boy

Well,
Little Brother is 32 years old. Dr. Who got him a remote controlled model airplane.

When I talked to him yesterday he was playin' with his new R/C airplane. I don't know how he could be any geekier.

What's next? Orthodontic headgear? An acne relapse? Parachute pants? Leg warmers? Moon Boots? A "Perm"?

Help me out here.....

Now, That's What I'm Talkin' About !

Farmer Tom is serious about his tractors and, no doubt, knowledgable. I knew these things, but what I didn't know was how well he could write. Of course, it helps to write of something you are passionate about.....

JACIII, I understand that it is your birthday and that you are now among the aged. This probably explains your inability to comprehend the fact the red tractors are for limp ----, spineless, commie, pinko, sons of perdition, who think that it's a crime to hunt and eat red meat. They suck off of the government tit so they can buy their underpowered, overweight, butt ugly, outdated, inefficent, smoke belching, gear grinding pieces of crap that the company tries to pass off as tractors.

People who drive red tractors require Viagria to get anything done.

Since I believe in absolute truth, I believe the Bible is God's written word to mankind, and it contains absolute truth, I give as my authoritative source, the very Word of God. And I quote, "TRACTORS ARE GREEN"
I Hesitations 40:20
farmer Tom | 09.30.05 - 2:12 pm

SB - "Hesitations 40:20" is a reference to JD's most popular model and its crappy, jerky hydaulics. At one time EVERYBODY had a 4020. That is, everbody who wasn't smart enough to have purchased an International 20 years before. '

Cause they were still using them!

I will be printing this out to show around to the fellas I know who are tractor afficianados. I'm not even gonna mention Ford/NewHolland. oops!

Post Bad Things About Nate Here:

Nate, Welldigger, and I grew up around men who show their affection and respect for one another through artful, thoughtful, expressions of disdain. It's a subtle way of saying, "You're a sorry pillow bitin' brain-damaged pole smoker.", but I love ya' anyway.


And just to get things started:

Nate used to have red hair. Yep. Carrot top. I came to my attention years ago that some women don't like the looks of redheaded men and make no bones about it. Nothing about a carrot top guy can ameliorate their disdain, despite all women's claims about how personality, sense of humour, etc are the most important things. One lady, Jodi, really dislikes 'em and I use this on Little Bro' all the time.

"Red on the head like a dick on a dog."

One of my favorites, by the way.

BrainBox or What's the Matter With Your Grey Matter

From Nate's Peep Paradise:

Of course the reason they are talking about it so much is the same reason they talk openly about all of the planned (and some carried out) ways to remove your rights. The more the masses hear about it and how good it is the more complacent they are. After all, they're only doing it so they can help us right? It's a good thing and you are a very bad man for thinking they might possibly abuse all this power we've given them.
Spacebunny | 09.26.05 - 2:52 pm

And I agree with you SB, nothing like continually hearing something night after night on the news to get it drilled into people's heads that it is for their own good.
MR | 09.27.05 - 3:37 am

Whew! I was beginning to think I was the only one thinking the 'nightly news' and the daily paper were counterproductive to personal liberty and security. That damn box will phuck up anybodies though processes given enough time. Folks doin' a lot of time in front of one have a seriously pessimistic outlook toward their futures and see government as the only bulwark between them an literal starvation. They'll argue about it with you. Try 'em!
Next time you run across a fella discussing what happened on an episode of "x" sitcom like it was reality and 'news' or something involving friends/acquaintances find an occassion to bring up something like Katrina, oil prices, imports, free enterprise, hell, go for the ring! "Global Warming"! See what they have to say. You'll find yourself wanting to duct-tape a tinfoil hat to 'em.

Can City Folk EVER be Prepared?

No.

And Houston proves it. They had two days to evacuate, five north bound lanes, and for the most part personal transportation. Phucked is what these people were. I submit they were as prepared and organized as any metropolis can be and didn't stand a chance of dealing with a pending natural disaster.

Take the current scenario, unplug the hurricane and plug in a slowly spreading biological attack with no warning. There would be as many casualties from the panic as from the attack.

Look at your nearest city or, God forbid, your city; what method of egress would you use? Is it the same one everyone would use? I'm thinkin' private aircaft of some sort would be one's only sure hope. Maybe an two-seat ultralight in the garage?

Where it's happenin'

So you wanna live in a big city, eh?! I see five lanes of northbound traffic at a standstill running? from a Cat4 hurricane. Unimpressive.
You live in a city, you give up a lot of freedom just from being there and you are forced to rely on politicians to organise services and in emergencies.

No thanks.

Update:*****

Skinner, accompanied by her 6-year-old grandson, Dageneral Bellard, would settle for a bus.
"They got them for the outlying areas, for the Gulf and Galveston, but they ain't made no preparations for us in the city, for the poor people here. There ain't no (evacuation) buses here. I got nowhere to go."

What you are seeing in and around Houston and formerly in New Orleans are lessons that intelligent people learn. Those that don't, well, I guess there may be something to natural selection after all.

From Dog Turds to Pissing on Electric Fences in Five Comments or Less

Bill gets down to brass tacks; exactly how hard will a predator rated electric fence shock you if you piss on it?

How do they measure fences? Volts, amps, joules? What sort of typical voltages do they run? It felt like anywhere from about 100 VAC for the garden variety fences up to maybe 150-200 VAC for the really hot fences. But if you're talking a 2" spark, that's gotta be up in the kilo-volt range, so I guess the current is in the micro-amps.
Bill | Email | Homepage | 09.20.05 - 8:59 am | #


They are capacitor discharge about once per second. They go 'thunk' every time the fence is charged in a short pulse.
The output is measured in joules.
JACIII | Email | Homepage | 09.20.05 - 5:56 pm | #

9000 volts at 1.4 joules, Bill.
JACIII | Email | Homepage | 09.20.05 - 6:33 pm | #

1.4 joules is 1.4 watt-seconds, or enough energy to lift an apple about 4 feet. But since at 9Kv it's easily enough to overcome your bodies resistance, it's gonna feel like it could lift YOU up about four feet. Fortunately, the amperage is almost too small to measure, so it's not gonna kill you unless you happen to have a heart attack from the jolt.

9000 volts, that WILL get your attention!
Bill | Email | Homepage | 09.20.05 - 7:52 pm | #

Of Beer and Dog Turds

From Vox's:

I like some dark and amber beers, but not in the yard, and not when the juice from the dog turd I'm picking up resembles the beer.
-Bane

This got me to thinkin'; some folks do actually go around picking up dog turds. Really. No shit! That's a singularly disturbing concept. Some humans, top of the food chain, serve as poopy police for canines.

Pretty silly when you look at it objectively. The entire world functions to provide food for the beasts and plants that are on it and reuse the wastes they produce to nourish those things which, again, provide food. And here some folks are runnin' around poop in hand interruptin' this cycle of life we all depend upon. Cityfolk.

Fer cryin' out loud....

I Want One!

It's Big! It's Bad! It's The King, Baby!


Kawasaki ZX14R : 200HP and 200MPH. It comes in red, of course.






Nate wants one optioned out in black, and it's Baa-aa-aahd!
MS Paint photo props to Utah Jeff (The Utard) from the GPz list






Note to riders of slower bikes; if you happen to catch someone on a faster bike than you napping the best thing to do is roar past him and then get off the throttle immediately so when/if he roars by it'll take some of the fun out of it for him. The above advice does not apply to Hardley riders, instead you should pull over immediately after passing and pretend to work on something, or actually work on something as necessary. If you see the ZX14R in your mirrors just get off the road or prepare to feel the Thump!

What did y'all do with Spacebunny?`

Anybody seen hide or 'hare' of her lately?

World's Best Baked Potato

I was smokin' a shoulder roast today and got to thinkin' a fella could throw a few bakin' potatos in there, too. I'm happy to report it works like a charm!!

* 8 baking potatoes (Yukon gold's are good for this)
* 1 cup bacon grease, softened, not melted
* HERB MIX:
* 2 tablespoons ground sage
* 2 tablespoons granulated garlic
* 2 tablespoons dried parsley
* 2 tablespoons salt
* 2 tablespoons coarsely ground black pepper
* 2 tablespoons sugar
* 2 tablespoons paprika

PREPARATION:
Wash and dry potatoes. Rub warm, soft bacon grease into the skin of each potato, covering completely. Mix the herbs together; roll each potato in herb mixture, making sure to cover completely. Puncture each potato several times. Place on hot grill in a smoker, and smoke for 1 hour at 250 deg, turning once. Remove potato and wrap each in double layer of heavy duty aluminum foil. Seal the foil and place back in smoker for another 1 to 1 1/2 hours or until soft when poked.

Now, I didn't do all that. I took seven medium sized 'taters, washed and dried, rubbed 'em with vegetable oil, and rolled 'em in some off-the-shelf bar-b-que spice I had layin' around, then followed the smokin' directions. That part about wrappin' 'em in foil is real important. The first hour gets the smoke flavor in, and the rest cooks the tater. I was surprised the whole thing tasted smoky into the center. And talk about tender - melts in your mouth.