We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Program...

I promise to pull this down as soon as I get more tractor pics (or model #'s FT - hint hint) but y'all gotta check this out. I didn't know these were available, and it's even the correct color!

Biker Chick

Nate, get one for Jeb or I will, to refrains of, "Oh yeah?! Who bought him his first motorcycle?? All you did was feed, house, clothe, educate, and raise him. I had to buy him his first bike. "

JACIII's First Motorcycle

This is not actually the bike I owned but this is the model. Self mixing two stroke with oil in a seperate tank.

There's a story behind this:
I wanted a riding lawnmower for my birthday when I was about 10 yrs. old. Go figure. Well, Dad saw an opportunity to get himself a rider and me a birthday present at the same time. Clever, yes? No.
Some time while I was in middleschool I decided a dirt bike was just the thing for me and traded my (Dad's) riding lawnmower to some grungy dudes around the corner for a non-running DT175.
Let that be a lesson to you: Don't bullshit the kids too much, it could bite you on the ass.

The Good Ol' USA has Plenty of Crappy Roads to Ride. You Don't Have to Go to Columbia.

From StrikingViking.net


Take particular note of the "Kalifornia" attitude toward the warnings he has been given.

ON THE ROAD IN SOUTH AMERICA

November 6, 2001 Bogotá, Colombia What was amazing this morning was how everything began so normal. Departing Bogotá was like riding out of any major Latin American metropolitan area. There were smooth intersecting multi-lane freeways, modern restaurants and toll plazas with armed guards crouched behind sandbag bunkers. Even though I have received assurances the road ahead is safe, I am still uneasy over the upcoming ride to Medellin.

Under the friendly surface, Colombia is still locked in a culture of violence. Once o¬n the road, my anxiety subsides somewhat. I observe military convoys of dull green eight wheeler trucks packed with machine gun bearing, grim faced young soldiers dutifully eying traffic crisscrossing around them. This is a relief. I feel safe. This is like cruising California o¬nly with jungle terrain and much steeper mountains in the distance. Although it’s o¬nly two hundred miles to Medellin, because of the steep windy road, driving time is 8 hours if o¬ne keeps moving, which I do. I don’t want to get caught out in the no-man’s-land countryside after dark.

It’s been reaffirmed numerous times that a truce has been signed between the government and the dreaded FARC rebels declaring a temporary end to hostilities. Authorities in Bogotá stated the road northwest to Medellin is now patrolled by the army. Although still apprehensive, I convince myself that the threat, along with others so far, is overrated. The highway south, leading to Ecuador via Cali is my final destination out of Colombia. But this is directly through territory seceded to the rebels a few years ago by the government in an effort to jump start peace negotiations.

The rebel’s tactic of taking hostages for ransom has supposedly ended but I want to wait a few weeks and ride around the secure zones to build my confidence before attempting that route. I don’t want to become part of a terrorist fund raising drive yet it’s questionable how valid the danger claim really is. After all, there have been warnings about every country since leaving California.

After four pleasant and uneventful hours into o¬ne of the most spectacular jungle rides yet, my self-confidence grows and I wonder--“What’s all the fuss about anyway?” Soon the two lane curvy road narrows with long stretches of missing pavement and fewer structures or signs of normal activity. After riding over several breathtaking seven to eight thousand foot mountain passes, a few small broken down o¬ne-room houses called casitas pop into view.

They are selling gas from 50 gallon barrels alongside the road every mile or so. I topped off my six gallon tank thirty miles outside of Bogotá and my bike has a two hundred twenty mile fuel range. Running dry isn’t a worry yet since they’re selling out of drums indicates there are no stations. This means there are fewer people around, a concern that is soon verified by an empty crumbling roadway. After a short while more, there are no other vehicles in either direction. The environment abruptly transforms into the stillness of a graveyard.

Before long, it’s alarmingly evident—I am alone. For the first time since leaving Bogotá, I experience the bowel burning notion something is about to go wrong and I consider turning around in a frantic flee to the safety of a city. I keep going, slowing o¬nly to navigate the precipitous climbs and ever-sharper turns.

The vibrant green jungle turns eerie, lifeless landscape, pumping shivers up my spine like fluttering electrical current. I’m a man who doesn’t scare easily but am now in the grip of a powerful, unmistakable fear. There is death in the air.

After clearing the last hairpin curve, I come upon a two-ton truck with a canvas-covered bed being waved o¬n after apparently stopped and searched by armed men in dark clothing. It’s here, o¬n a late, warm, sunny afternoon, in the spooky silence of a towering encroaching jungle, where events occur that will alter the course of my life.

I am five thousand miles from the safety of my home, o¬n a desolate stretch of the Colombian Autopista, o¬nly two hours from the safety of Medellin, when stopped at a military-style roadblock by about thirty, heavily armed young men in their late twenties. They’re dressed in black sweat pants and black long sleeved Tee-Shirts with nylon ammunition vests bearing AK-47 assault rifles. A few of the clean shaven, short haired men step out from behind the truck, while others line the shoulder in front and behind. They wave me over with their rifles in firing position, aimed directly at me.

This is my first encounter with rebel forces. I had imagined guerrillas would be attired in camouflaged uniforms with some type of military look to them. I’m still uncertain who they are. It’s possible they’re o¬nly bandits. My mind races to a pulsating red alert and for a moment, I consider making a run for it. The jungle o¬n either side is an impenetrable wall of tangled green, shooting straight up the mountain o¬n the right, and dropping off perilously o¬n the left. There are o¬nly two choices, forward or backward o¬n the road.

I deliberate revving my motor and running o¬n through until noting tall shiny antennas glinting in the air connected to radios in hand. I assume they’re talking to lookouts in both directions. It’s unlikely I can safely elude a barrage of machine gun fire from the surrounding troops. Even if I do, more gunmen up the road are certain to have better luck.

Before I can collect my thoughts, the men shout commands in an unfamiliar campesino slang that doesn’t register in my mental dictionary of California, second semester, college-learned, Mexican Spanish. Gesturing by jerking their guns to o¬ne side and ordering me off the bike, several of the men jam gun barrels in my ribs as I dismount. I scan the scene, trying to stay calm as the reality of this dreadful circumstance sinks in.

A moment I had feared has arrived with no escape and it hits me--it’s likely I may die here today. As I step away from my bike, several of the men in a wild frenzy rip the electronic equipment off the handlebars. Others feverishly ransack the contents of my saddlebags, tossing clothing into the road. They are shouting, Ropa Ropa (clothes, clothes). I’m not sure what they want, and still don’t know who they are.

I hope maybe because they are stuffing my clothes in a sack, I’m just being robbed. Then an older, light skinned man in his mid-thirties, appearing to be the leader because he gives orders to the others, yells, Vamos! Let’s go! Thinking he means for me to get o¬n my bike and leave, I start to do so. This enrages him more and it’s back to the gun barrels in the ribs. What he means is, we are leaving together. Other stern faced men motion with their weapons for me to accompany them behind some dilapidated deserted shacks half buried in the jungle.

My mind races for a way out -- there is none. I have never felt heart-thundering, cottonmouth fear like this before. I now believe with absolute certainty that this is execution time. They want me behind those structures for fun and games before blowing my head off.

Positive my life is about to end, I’m determined not to die alone in the jungle and never be found. My o¬nly option is to stonewall and try to take it in the street, where a bus had been stopped next to us. Let the terrified passengers be the witnesses to my murder. At least then my loved o¬nes might hear what happened and get my body back. I would have a say in where I spend my final moments.

No quiero ir! I respond, shaking my head while trying to conceal the fear in my quivering hands. I don't want to go!

The men angrily shout back -- Vamos!

The force of the rifle-jabbing increases. Yo no voy!, I yell, I'm not going!

The situation is exploding out of control with everyone shouting louder and louder in languages neither understands. Then the leader levels his machine gun at my face. Convinced death is imminent and terrified to perish undiscovered, I provoke him to action screaming, Chinga tu madre puto, hazlo aqui! Fuck your mother punk, do it here!

Gritting his teeth with a look of vicious determination he lowers his rifle and yanks a 9mm pistol from a shoulder holster, chambers a round, and points it at my forehead from ten feet.

Andele pues puto!, I yell, Get o¬n with it punk! I clench my eyes and hear a deafening crack. For a few moments I am uncertain if I’m dead or alive. Nothing registers in my brain. My body freezes. He cleared my head intentionally. But as I open my eyes he takes careful aim at my upper arm.

My brain re-engages. I realize that they want me alive, and that I will be accompanying them, with or without a bullet in the arm. This is no bluff. I look over at the bus. Some of the passengers are crouching, some are crying, and some look away pretending not to see. I plead with my eyes--- tell someone what you have seen here.

Several men flag the bus o¬n. And as it slowly chugs away in a cloud of black sooty smoke, I manage a stiff-legged walk toward the edge of a menacing jungle where a dozen more armed men with weapons pointed at me are waiting. Two other guerrillas are busy hiding my bike in the abandoned casita in an effort to conceal what has occurred. I become acutely aware -- I’m about to vanish into a nightmare I may never awake from.

Once swallowed by the thick, gloomy countryside, the trail becomes a weather eroded gully, steep and narrow, forming a deep V shape. It starts ten-feet wide, eight-feet up and narrows to ten inches across at the bottom - just enough for a heel to toe step o¬n the wet slippery red clay. Although this maneuver appears to be a well coordinated ambush for locals, there’s no mistaking the excitement and shouts of bravado among the victorious marauders.

We descend rapidly for fifteen minutes with twenty or thirty men strung out ahead and behind, trudging steadily downhill until they halt for a quick radio check conversing in coded phrases. Somehow I know the word was put out, the ultimate prize is in hand, an American has been captured. I still don’t know who these men are or why they have taken me prisoner.

When they finish o¬n the radio I ask, Quien es ustedes? Who are you? The leader thrusts out his chest and responds, Eh Eleh Enee! I don’t understand that this is the Spanish pronunciation of the abbreviation ELN at first, and give him a puzzled look. Offended by my ignorance, he places his beard stubbled face close to mine and screams through stinking, rotting teeth, Erjecito de Liberacion Nacional! The National Liberation Army. Fidel Castro’s favorite Marxist thugs, who have financed a 40-year leftist rebellion against the Colombian government by kidnapping civilians for ransom and assassinating those who fail to support them.

These rebels have a brutal track record of murdering civilians and holding and torturing hostages for years while ransom fees are negotiated with tormented families. Along with several other groups including the right wing Paramilitare, they have recently made US Secretary of State, Colin Powell’s list of most aggressive world terrorist organizations.

I dig deeply into my mind searching for a way out, an escape plan, words of advice from my long dead father, something in my martial arts background or years of meditation training.

I come up empty, drawing o¬ne blank after another. Until now, I had always believed there was a solution to every problem if I searched hard enough. Today is different. The hostile expressions o¬n the faces of these terrorists tell me they are anxious for me to try something stupid, for the honor of slaying a Gringo, a Yankee Imperialista--an enemy of the people. For the first time in my life, I feel I have no chance…

Epiphany.

I'm Gonna Give Y'all the Fever Yet.

When Nate ad I were makin' our liesurely way back from our ICBM (That's Intra Continental Ballistic Missle) impersonation through Tennesse, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Texas year before last we plotted our return encompassing the Natchez Trace. On it, we sheltered from a horrendous thunderstorm in a little town in Mississippi under the awning of a country store/fuel station. The only soul minding the store was a cordial black fella. Within' ten minutes of our arrival a strange thing happened.

About vehicles suddenly began pulling up to the store from all directions. It happened so fast we didn't pay much mind to it as we were mainly concerned with when the rain would let up and where we could score some RainX for our face-shields. One must also remember that being the only white folk in an all black rural Mississippi town is not like being the only white folk in the ghetto.

Eventually, even more cars/trucks/vans pulled up and some of the brothers looked to be from the 'hood when it suddenly dawned on me that more were showin' up, noone was leavin' and this might not be a coincidence. It probably was, or we may just have been the only white folks they had seen in awhile.
"Hey, Y'all gotta come see these ignur'nt white folks what's ridin' motorcycles in the rain!"

So, being the type of CCW permit holder I am I decided I'd hate to have to shoot any racially insensitive black folks, clued Nate in, said our fare-thee-wells and scooted on out. In the driving rain.

I stumbled upon this pic at BigDogAdventures.com of a store in Mississippi that sure looks familiar....

Just Thought I'd "Pass" This On

I raced a Harley today and after some really hard riding I managed to
PASS the guy. I was riding on one of those really, really twisting
sections of canyon road with no straight sections to speak of and where
most of the curves have warning signs that say "15 MPH".

I knew if I was going to pass one of those monsters with those
big-cubic-inch motors, it would have to be a place like this where
handling and rider skill are more important than horsepower alone.

I saw the guy up ahead as I exited one of the turns and knew I could
catch him, but it wouldn't be easy. I concentrated on my braking and
cornering. three corners later, I was on his fender. Catching him was
one thing; passing him would prove to be another.

Two corners later, I pulled up next to him as we sailed down the
mountain. I think he was shocked to see me next to him, as I nearly got
by him before he could recover. Next corner, same thing. I'd manage to
pull up next to him as we started to enter the corners but when we came
out he'd get on the throttle and outpower me. His horsepower was almost
too much to overcome, but this only made me more determined than ever.

My only hope was to outbrake him. I held off squeezing the lever until
the last instant. I kept my nerve while he lost his. In an instant I
was by him. Corner after corner, I could hear the roar of his engine as
he struggled to keep up. Three more miles to go before the road
straightens out and he would pass me for good.

But now I was in the lead and he would no longer hold me back. I
stretched out my lead and by the time we reached the bottom of the
canyon, he was more than a full corner behind. I could no longer see
him in my rear-view mirror.

Once the road did straighten out, it seemed like it took miles before
he passed me, but it was probably just a few hundred yards. I was no
match for that kind of horsepower, but it was done. In the tightest
section of road, where bravery and skill count for more than horspower
and deep pockets, I had passed him. though it was not easy, I had won
the race to the bottom of the canyon and I had preserved the proud
tradition of another of America's best bikes.

I will always remember that moment. I don't think I've ever pedaled so
hard in my life. And some of the credit must go to Schwinn, as well.

Be it known: No pedal pushing, tight-wearin' sissy is gonna get around BrandX on his Harley.

I Give You The "Swamp Thing" Kawasaki KLR650

Message dates Jan 1, 2006

hi fellas,

I pulled into Ushuaia, Argentina (the world's southernmost town you can drive to, in Tierra del Fuego) last night just in time to celebrate new year's with about 25 other bikers who have all worked their way down through the Americas.

I am the only KLR rider and all these other guys (mostly europeans) are on BMWs, KTMs, a few Africa Twins. The KLR gets a lot of respect when they find out it cost only 5 grand and it made it all the way down from Oregon (about 20,000 miles zig-zagging and on some of the worst roads on the planet), with zero problems... most of the KTMs and BMWs didn't fare so well. Apart from being a crappy long-distance highway cruiser (i.e. all day on pavement), the bike has treated me very well even after the horrible abuse I've put it through on the dirt roads and trails down here.

*snip* solicits advice on whether to replace chain and sprockets after his 20,000 mile trip before heading home.*snip*

Any insight/advice on this topic will be appreciated.

happy 2006 from cape horn

steven

The picture above is from another rider who also treked to the southernmost driving point of the hemisphere. Don't it look great dirty?

North to Alaska

Let's see 240 miles to the nearest fuel, I've got 6 gallons in the tank @ 50mpg or better.... Yeah I'd bring the extra gallon, too.

Name that bike!

Wistful Winter Wonderings on Winchesters .270

That damn Gregg and his dead piggie pictures has drawn me from my obsession with a certain whore-fingernail-red 1100 thrill missle back into the sleepy world of calibre consideration. That's OK though, 'cause it's cold outside, the wind is bendin' the trees, and I may not come out of my flannel 'jammies all day.


So let's talk about the .270, shall we? What started out as a flat shootin' barn burnin' speed demon has become.... ya' thought I was gonna say somethin' like "slowpoke", didn't ya'. Nope. It's still right on the tail of those hot-shit cartridges we all read about in the glossies. How can that be?!

For years the .270 Winchester factory load launched a 130 grain bullet at a muzzle velocity of 3140fps while the *New* *Improved* .270 WSM (Winchester Short Magnum, SB) is listed at 3275fps. Hmmm... I don't think I'm gonna buy a new rifle for a 135fps improvement. It seems factory loads have changed a bit in the last few years as the *New* .270 Winchester load is a mere 3060fps. Whether lawyers, sales of new magnum cartridges, or better engineering measurement methods are the impetus behind it I don't know, but the fact remains the books have been cooked.

I'm gonna stick with the old timers and run Sierra 130grain spitzer boattails of 60 grains of H4831. Well, not exactly, I think I'll use H4831SC since it works better in my powder feeder, but you get the picture. And if you don't take a look at these from Gregg's program Ballistic Pro:

Control of Canadian Thistle

From a site on "mint" production

Biological Control

Ceutorhynchus litura (crown/root weevil)
Distribution within host range: limited sites
Infestation of host: light (>10%)
Control ability on seeds and/or plant density: Good
Availability for redistribution: Limited

Larinus planus (seed head weevil)
Distribution within host range: limited sites
Infestation of host: heavy (> 70%)
Control ability on seeds and/or plant density: fair
Availability for redistribution: mass collections

Rhinocyllus conicus (seed head weevil)
Distribution within host range: widespread
Infestation of host: heavy (> 70%)
Control ability on seeds and/or plant density: fair
Availability for redistribution: mass collections

Urophora cardui (stem gall fly)
Distribution within host range: widespread
Infestation of host: heavy (> 70%)
Control ability on seeds and/or plant density: fair
Availability for redistribution: mass collections

It seems all you can really do is till frequently (no good for pasture), spray in the spring when the shoots are young and try to spot spray through the growing season to starve the creeping root.

WB Needs Help with Critical Reading

BTW, this study refutes the assertion that "SUVs are safer", as it pertains to children.
WaterBoy | Email | Homepage | 01.03.06 - 3:56 pm |

Anytime I see an article headlined about the evils of SUV's I know it is a good opportunity to show my daughters how journalists, "scientists", and commie-rat-bastards will lie in sneaky ways to affect your opinion on a matter.

First : The Headline
Study: SUVs no safer for kids

Right away this fails the common sense test; So, if I run my suburban with my younguns in it into a camry with your younguns in it mine will get hurt and yours won't? Hmmm.

Second: this statement;

rollover crashes occurred twice as frequently in SUVs as in passenger cars and children were three times more likely to be injured in a rollover crash than in a non-rollover accident

Let's give 'em the higher frequency of rollovers and look at the sneaky way the part about children being three times more likely to be injured got slid in there. Children probably ARE three times more likely to be injured in a rollover, but that does not address rollovers specifically in a SUV. A cute bit of slight of hand reminiscent of the clinton era.

Here are the questions to ask :
What percentage of crashes are rollovers? Sorta like the vitamin that decreases your risk of "X" disease by three times when you only had a 1 in 10,000,000 chance of gettin' it in the first place.
Are rollovers more often reported as opposed to idiots running into inanimate objects or high energy fender benders? The "study" looked at crashes reported to StateFarm so obviously somebody had to have full coverage, or be liable for someone else's damage, it had to be reported to the insurance company, and they must have insurance (With StateFarm) for it to make the sample. If you don't see a lot of trouble in those sample qualifications, I can't help you. Go away.

Third:

"The study looked at crashes reported to State Farm involving 3,933 child occupants"

How often are crashes reported with information concerning child occupants where the child did NOT get hurt, or where noone got hurt in the SUV? I'd wager: none or close to it. We've all been involved in a traffic accident; did the cop want to know who was in the car that wasn't injured?

There is a disclaimer of sorts at the end of the article:

heavier vehicles are generally safer than lighter vehicles within their own class. That is, a big car is safer than a small car and a large SUV is safer than a smaller one.

Data, and common sense has also shown that large SUV's are safer than large and small cars, and minivans/small trucks, and damn near everything is safer than a small (that means REALLY small like the kia sportage or the little suzuki) SUV or a mitsubishi montero (? - I don't know what the story is with this mitsubishi but it's there in the "Deaths per Million Produced")

That's enough to give you the idea, keep lookin' at it and you'll see a lot more in there. The point is the average Waterboy will read the headline and maybe a little of the first paragraph and come to the conclusion that "they" say SUV's are dangerous.

WB, I know I hung you out to dry here, but I suspect you only threw that link up 'cause Bill was hard on ya' about rear wheel drive versus front wheel drive. If so, it was a good tactic but poor strategy, at least here in JACIII's House of Large Cars.

The Leisure-Suit of the 90's

Can you see this fella on his 45 horsepower tassled hippo checkin' himself out in the storefront glass downtown? Maybe at Hooter's big-tippin' little girls so they won't act creeped out around him?
~
~
~
~

Ick.

I thought after the campaign to normalize pedophilia beastiality would be peddled as commonplace, but I must admit to being surprised by this.

MR: "Excuse me I feel the need to go french kiss a tree."

WaterBoy: "Man, I miss that about Michigan. Frenching the maples in March."

MR: "Ah, true but for me the real maple syrup still comes from VT."

I can hear MR's wife now -

MRsMR -"Just what the hell do you think you are doing?"
MR - It's not sex if you don't have intercourse.
MRsMR - Whap!Whap!Whap!Whap!Whap!
MR - OW! Stopit, Honey! She doesn't mean anything to me! Really OW! It's just for the syrup! I don't even really like michigan maples! You know I prefer vermonts! OW!
MRsMR - Whap!Whap!Whap!Whap!Whap! My mother told me there was something wrong with you. I should *Whap!* have listened.
MR - Waterboy does it, too!
MrsMR - If Waterboy jumped off a cliff...Whap!Whap!Whap!Whap!Whap!

MR wants to drive through Mexico with the family

Y'all think that's a good idea?

I would have to do a lot of research before I went with other adults, much less children. I get the impression mexico is a lot like Jamaica - you need to stay in the resort areas to survive.

The Family Truckster

Now that's family transportation! Just look at the ass on those things. And can you beat rear facing thirdrow seats for the fun factor?

For the Record

SB is right.

*and she's a prety good troll spotter, too*

MiniVan Madness

I see 'em all the time. Minivans darting in and out of traffic, passing at the speed of sound on the interstate. Always some henpecked frustrated wimp behind the wheel.
I ask you, really, what kind of man drives a minivan? And past that; What kind of man drives a Minivan fast?

People didn't drive stationwagons this way. I miss stationwagons.

Anatomy of a Business Call

Phone rings. I see it's a local number I don't recognize. Shit. Somebody probably with a nag that can't walk and hasn't been trimmed in a year, and won't get trimmed again for another year. I let voicemail get it and answer the third call the next day.

JACIII - Yeah. (No sense in encouragin' 'em)
Y - Um, I have some horses that need trimming and one in front shoes that needs to be reset.

JACII - Okay, How many need trimming?
Y - Let's see.... 14. And the one in front shoes.

JACIII - What are they?
Y - What are they??? Uh, they're broodmares. Oh, and a weanling, and a yearling. And two stallions.
JACIII - OK, what are they? (She'll catch on in a minute)
Y - Oh, quarterhorses.

JACIII - When were they trimmed last?
Y - Well, they're three weeks overdue.
JACIII - (Deep calming breath) When were they trimmed last?
Y - Oh, we had 'em on an eight week schedule but, like I said they are three weeks overdue, so... eleven weeks.

JACIII - Got it. Why do you have one in shoes. (It's crippled...)
Y - Oh, that's my baby. I've had her since she was a foal. She's eighteen and I just want her to be comfortable. She has some calcium deposits on her knee and the vet in Wisconsin put special shoes on her. I have them if you want to see them. (These turned out to be cheap caulked shoes someone had beaten the toe square one. Not a bad plan except for the caulks)
JACIII - The vet put shoes on her? (oh, shit, a yankee know-it-all with a yankee know-it-all vet.) What happened to her knee?
Y - It's an old injury. The vet didn't actually put the shoes on, my old blacksnith Larry did. I have them if you want to see them. I don't care what it costs I just want her comfortable.
JACIII - (Get's out the old schedule book) Let's see...
Y - What do you charge?


This Lady's horses were extremely well behaved, had long enough legs to get under them (rare for modern dachshund-like Q-horses), was appreciative of the work, but unappreciative of the bill. Hey! That's a lot of horses! And one of the shoes on the old mare is a twenty dollar (my cost) shoe by it's self. She'd have shit if one of the $400.00 (my cost) shoes had been required.
Note the last question was not the first question she asked as is often the case and tells a farrier where the priorities are in their horses care. She is not your typical quarterhorse owner that wants her horse trimmed in such a manner that it will win a show but become unsound down the road. (No, I don't do that. There are plenty of jack-legs out there who will.) She does, however, think they do it better in Wisconson (yankee - can't help it) where everyone is smarter and knows quite alot about horses, so we shall see how this one goes. After I saw her reaction to the bill, I didn't reschedule her but told her to call in a couple weeks to reschedule . That will give her an out (by not calling) and time to find a cheaper farrier so she wouldn't have to lie were I to call to confirm seven weeks from now.

Such is the life of a horseshoer.

Y'all have a great Christmas !

Don't know how much I'll be around this and next week. The grils are off to Grandma's and as soon as I trim 14 horses and shoe one (That takes care of the Christmas bills!) this afternoon I will be following on the Mothership. I am hoping to ride to the Keys next week weather permitting.

Audioblogger is history, so I can't send ride reports, but there's always Nate's Peep Paradise, or EP's new pad, and Vox is picking on girls again. Pick your poison.

I know, I didn't get everyone's links up here, so do what I do and look through the comments for links to Roci and whosyourhuckleberry and the rest. Good readin' all around.

- Update -
Horses done ($400.00 for 2 1/2 hours work!!!!), bike warmed up, showered (Yes, I washed behind my ears), shaved, clean underwear (in case I'm in an accident). See y'all!

Damn Gregg!

Thanks for the video/pics! That's one bigassed tornado!

Tonight's Movie

Unforgiven

Favorite line:
"You just use ya' hand?"

Go See

EP's New Blog and try not to notice that JACIII is listed above Nate's Peep Paradise in the Links frame.

Bow Down

I finally got in a ride under 20F. Went all of 26 miles, speeds up to 95mph @ 19degreesF (That's -7C). My fingertips were a bit frosty even with the heated grips, but the rest of me was toasty due to my new homemade electric jacket/liner under my Harley FXRG riding suit.

Only problem is the grip heaters seem to be getting too hot on the throttle tube and making it stick. I'm callin' the dealer tonight, but anyone with experience with the Kimpex/Dualstar grip heaters feel free to expound. I ran 'em on the low setting and they really didn't seem very warm, but the throttle tube is NOT happy.

Ride Safe, Ride Fast, Ride Far.

It's Always a Good Idea to Be Prepared

Chuck Hawks website has some practical advise on motorcycle safety:

Motorcycle Firearms

By Christopher Lee

With the growing popularity of personal firearms carry among motorcyclists, it's important to find the weapon that best meets our rather specific self defense needs. On occasion, a drunk driver or a car driver experiencing road rage will purposefully ram a motorcycle, which never works out well for the motorcyclist.

Use your superior agility and acceleration to evade the car if you can. However, because the driver is attacking the motorcyclist with a deadly weapon (the car), the motorcyclist is legally entitled to defend him or her self with lethal force, probably a firearm. Will you ever be in this situation? Let's hope not. But should you be, here are some suggestions that might just keep you alive:

1. When selecting a firearm for motorcycle carry, opt for one that has a ported barrel, especially if your choice is a lightweight gun in a magnum caliber. Ported barrels are a relatively new technology, and they significantly reduce the recoil of the firearm. That means that when you are firing from a moving motorcycle, the shot will be less likely to disrupt your balance.

Note: I must add here it is never wrong or even a bad idea to carry a .45 - JACIII

2. Additionally, choose a high velocity medium bore cartridge (.357 Magnum, .38 Super, .357 Sig, or 9mm Luger+P). When you are firing at a moving vehicle, remember that the bullet must penetrate safety glass and still stay on target. .357/9mm high velocity or +P rounds are smaller in diameter than the big bore calibers, but pack a big punch; this translates into more penetration power. I use a Taurus Total Titanium Tracker, which is a very accurate seven shot .357 Magnum revolver.




3. For the same reason, keep relatively heavy weight (for example 158 grain in .357 Magnum) full metal jacket or jacketed soft point ammo in the firearm when on the road. Especially avoid hollow point bullets, which provide less penetration than standard cast lead bullets.


4. Practice firing the weapon from your motorcycle. For this, you need a large, privately owned, sparsely populated property area where you know ahead of time there will be no people wandering around. Start with dry fire practice. Pick a specific target (like a tree) as you are moving and track it, dry firing the gun 3-6 times at the target. Once you are comfortable taking your eyes off the road for the time it takes to fire 3-6 rounds, load the firearm and practice firing one round at a time at a paper target (so you can see where your bullets hit) in front of a safe backstop. Start with a smaller caliber if you have one available. (Another reason I like a .357 Magnum revolver is that you can use the same gun to fire the lighter .38 Special round.) Work your way up until you can empty all the chambers comfortably and accurately with full power ammunition.


5. If you decide to fire, FIRE AT THE DRIVER, NOT THE CAR. Obvious in retrospect, make sure you decide to fire at the driver before you engage to avoid time-consuming, and therefore dangerous, mistakes.


6. Once you hit the driver, get away from the car! The car could go ANYWHERE at that point, and the farther you move away from it, the less likely it is to accidentally hit you.

If you are ever in a situation where you are being attacked with lethal force on the road, it goes without saying that you should try to escape by any means possible that does not endanger your life or the life of innocent bystanders. Evade if you possibly can, resorting to lethal counter-force only as a last resort.

Christopher Lee is a Doctor of Psychology and has been a personal self defense instructor for over twelve years.

I would also like to advocate the use of a left handed crossdraw shoulder rig. All neccessary motorcycle controls are on the right hand. You can up and down shift w/o the clutch with minimal practice so with a left handed draw you retain control of the acceleration and braking functions of you motorcycle while engaging the soon to be remorseful driver with your left hand. I don't believe you will be able to acquire a sight picture so just walk the impacts toward the driver and fire for effect.

Heads Up

This country has gone really bad on two occasions in it's history and with it has gone the hope of the world for free men and free societies.

Things were tickin' along pretty well up until 1861 when the colder and more subservient half of the country (bootlickin' yankee scum; beady-eyed cocksuckers all) became enthusiastic willing cannon fodder for those in power with imperial urges. The better half of he country was raped and pillaged and an attempt was made to remake these occupied territories in the image of the land of beady-eyed cocksucker's . It didn't work, even some of the beady-eyed cocksuckers began to realize their mistake, but the foundation of overreaching federal power was laid.

The second time things really went to shit: FDR, the great depression, the emergency powers act, confiscation of gold, the federal reserve. That finished it. No way back from that. We've been fucked ever since, just by varying degrees.

Lecture over. I'll hear no more surprised indignation from anyone proclaiming their rights violated. The only time said 'rights' are retained or defended is when someone is able to shine the light of truth through the illusion of freedom those runnin' the place hide behind. Even then they only genuflect toward the constitution until the light moves on at which time they creep out from the holes the crawfished into and carry on. Business as usual. 'nuff said.

Quit bitchin'. Hoarde ammo.

DOH!

A friend of mine suffered from horrible back pain that would come and go but after a while seemed to just never go away. So he went to the doctor and went throught the whole nine yards, proctologist, MRI EVERYTHING. His doctor finally broke the news to him that his condition was chronic and that the only relief he might hope to find was through a radical surgery that involved removal of some tissue including his testicles.

Back pain ain't so bad.
But after a while the constant misery and pain or the alternative of a drug induced stupor was just too much to bear, so my friend bit the bullet and opted for the surgery.

Whew!

What a difference! After the surgery he felt like a new... errr... man without balls. But his back pain disappeared.!

Still he was depressed. No balls, who wouldn't e depressed? he was so depressed that his doctor picked up on it. No psychologist, yet a caring empathic kinda man, the doc suggested to my friend that he might feel better after buying some sharp new clothes, a new suit even.

My friend being the obedient type decided to give that a try.
So my friend stops by at JoS Banke. As soon as he walks in one of the salesmen says to my friend "42 long!"

Darned if that isn't his jacket size, and being surprised by the astute young salesman, my friend responds, hey that's right! How'd you know my jacket size?

The salesman replies "that is my job sir. Will you be needing a new jacket and some pants, 34 waist, 36 inseam?"

Again my friend is surprised at the correct estimation of his pants size he replies, "hey that's right! How'd you know my pants size?"

Same response from the salesman, "that's my job sir."

So the salesman gets my friend all set up with new pants, jacket, shirt (yeah he got the size right on the shirt too), tie, even socks. Then while the salesman was ringing up the order my friend stopped him saying "hey, I need some new briefs too, would you add a half dozen size 34 briefs to my order?"

At which the salesman stops cold and says forcefully "NO SIR!" You need a size 36 brief!

My friend a bit taken aback retorted with a hesitant chuckle "sorry you are wrong on that one; I've always worn size 34 briefs."

Looking very serious now, the salesman puts his hand on my friend's shoulder seeming as if to communicate an exceptional graveness of some horrible issue about to befall the world. The salesman then, staring earnestly into my friend's eyes says "oh no sir, if you were to wear size 34 briefs for a prolonged time, they would bind your testicles and cause you to suffer unbearable back pain."

Shout out to Gregg!

This months Motorcyclist has and editorial column where the author raves about the DRZ-400 he's ridin'. Three pages of gushin' over what fun it is. For y'all who don't know this is Gregg's primary mode of transportation and he is justifiably proud of his mount.

The DRZ 400 is in a class of road going semi-serious trail bikes. The class includes the KLR650 (affectionately known as the Swamp Thing - Mine was blue and I called her Blue Yonder), the Honda XR 400 and XR650, Yamaha is curiously absent from the lineup except for the WR400 with is pretty dirt focused.



Now Gregg has the Suzuki and loves it, I've had the Kaw and can either sing it's praises or cuss its foibles by turns. Surely one of y'all has ridden the Honda, yes?

Gary Sticks His Head Up.

There's his shadow right over there. G'night, Gary.

Seriously, Gary has been a busy beaver.... groundhog. Alright consider that analogy stretched. Check out his New Rules for 2006 for a hoot.

My favorite:

New Rule: Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn't make you spiritual. It's right above the crack of your ass. And it translates to "beef with broccoli." The last time you did anything spiritual, you were hoping to goodness you weren't pregnant. You're not spiritual. You're just high.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

From the man who has seen EVERY Leonardo DiCaprio movie:

"Titanic was nothing to be sneezed at. You didn't like it?"

You're right. It was nothing to sneeze at. It's better described as something to wipe your butt with.

Worst.

Movie.

Ever.
Nate | Homepage | 12.11.05 - 2:38 pm | #

Take the Guns Away, Crime goes Through the Roof.... Then What?

Britain confiscated its subjects firearms and became a shining example of the deadly effect of this on the average person. Assault, robbery, burglary, all rose to unprecedented levels. The principle of disarmament was even carried to the logical next step of outlawing self defense. What does the socialist government do next? Once again Britain is setting the example.

The choice was stark; either we accepted that nothing could be done, that we would allow the rights of victims routinely to be trampled on, or we granted new powers to local authorities and the police. This was, and is, the rationale for all the so-called summary powers that we have introduced.

Right!, you institute summary powers for your police. The courts are broken down with those messy trial things, what with all those 'rights' her majesty's subjects want to cling to. Of course the police won't abuse their new powers; there is an appeal process after all!

I Am a Token Gentile

This is the "ACLU for the 2nd Amendment". After reading about them and looking over their no compromise approach to defense of the second amendment several years ago I joined their organization. I sent in my $20.00 with a note asking if they accepted gentiles. Mr Zelman responded stating that gentile dollars spent the same as Jew dollars and I was welcome.

Take a look around the site. You will be impressed by the passion of their commitment to your right to keep and bear arms.

Bwaahaaahaaahaa!

Lifted from Vox's

"It's even further irrelevant because feminist guys like me are not submissive nor weak. It's just that pansy ass guys like you can't stand how we bag all the hot bi chicks, so you need names to call. :-)
jhkim | Homepage | 12.08.05 - 3:59 pm|#"


Thanks for informing us of that imposing reality. Now, go put on your makeup, grab your manpurse and get ready to go be really sensitive at the rally, Mary.


I just love the sissy boys who act tough on a computer. "bag all the hot bi chicks".... please. You could probably stroll through a whorehouse with a roll of thousands strapped to your neck and still not get action.
Scintan | 12.08.05 - 4:22 pm

Bill - Down With the Witch Thang or I love it When Folks Go Off

Obviously the English language is a derivation of the Pagan tongue. This points at America's roots as a pagan nation that was co-opted by Christians who then adopted all the pagan holidays and symbols in an effort to win over the vast majority of the population that was pagan at that time. All historic American documents (Declaration of Independence, US Constitution, etc) were all actually derived, often in large directly transcribed sections, from ancient druidic writings that were originally written on oak bark using the blood of goats mixed with the pee of the last remaining unicorn.
Bill Edit comment Delete comment | Email | Homepage | 12.07.05 - 10:53 am |

And that was just the preface!

I would put that into 'Theban' (An ancient tongue, the origins of which are lost in the mists of time! Really. No, it really is ancient. really, I'm serious. Seriously; serious!) but I can't seem to find my secret decoder ring. Help me out, Res.
How come no witches have shown up to turn us all into newts? (I got better) Must I put 'wiccan' in a header? I don't think I can do it.
**************************N O T I C E*******************************

This is off-topic I know, but JamieR was mentioning a trip to the US. I know of a certain river (now a lake) in Georgia where we could give him a real "downhome" welcome to our (red)neck of the woods. Y'all know what I'm talkin' about and those who don't haven't seen Deliverence.

Lost : West Virginia Witch

Hey, Nate I think I found your ex-neighbor! She's down in Florida doing battle with other witches and reading and writing in ancient tongues.

Who wants to bet the "ancient tongue" is a derivative of pig-latin?

Addendum******

Go here for the "Theban" alphabet. "It's origins are lost in the mists of time", but it corresponds directly to the English alphabet. Hmmm

Goodbye Fancy

My youngest daughter is grieving the loss of her most faithful friend.


Remember Me

When you hear the thunder
remember me
for those are my hoofbeats
upon your heart
deep in the night.

Do not fear the lightning
and remember me
for my hooves strike sparks
so you may see
in your darkest hour.

And when the rain falls
remember me
for those are my tears of joy
as I run with the sky herd
free of rein and pain and heavy burden.

Look up and remember me
for you will see the shape of my
fiery head thrown high
among the clouds,
warmed by sun but even more
because you remember me.

Ethnocentricity

Take notice. It’s a bad thing. In fact this is what’s got us ass deep into raghead shit. For those of you who don’t know; ethnocentricity is the instinct to think others are like ourselves in values, beliefs, goals, morals. This applies even in the face of obvious evidence to the contrary.
An example of this alluded to above is the fact that Americans seem unable to fathom the brutality and sensless violence the raghead culture is steeped in and the reality that the culture is centered around obescience to those with the will to make brutal application of force. This has also happened to us in the past with the Soviets and Vietnamese peoples. A large segment of the population still goes glassy-eyed when the horrors of life under Stalin and Co and the millions of dead are recalled. They try to put communism in the context of they’re own experience and their experience doesn’t allow for the realities of federal mass murder. They have no experience with those who would gladly die to kill a few folks they know are no threat to them.

The murderbombers and their ilk also look at us through the lens of ethnocentricity and believe we will respect the greater brutality and murderousness, as they would, of their culture. We won’t, nor will we see past our own ethnocentric blinders and exercise the level of ruthless domination ragheads respect in those they hold up in authority over themselves.

One would think after killin millions of them on the battle field with the comparative effort of fly-swatting the idea would sink in Perhaps we are not letting enough return to their excuse for civilization maimed, starved, broken, and burned to tell the tale. Maybe instead of corralling them, feeding them, fixing them medically, and suckin’ up to them before releasing them we should chase their sorry draggin’ asses all the way home taking potshots at ‘em along the way. Think it would help? I do.

So I've Been Watching Monty Python.....

Waterboy: We were in the nick of time. You were in great peril.
Res: I don't think I was.
Waterboy: Yes, you were. You were in terrible peril.
Res: Look, let me go back in there and face the peril.
Waterboy: No, it's too perilous.
Res: Look, it's my duty as a knight to sample as much peril as I can.
Waterboy: No, we've got to find the Holy Grail. Come on.
Res: Oh, let me have just a little bit of peril?
Waterboy: No. It's unhealthy.
Res: I bet you're gay.
Waterboy: Am not.


Gregg: Who goes there?
Nate: It is I, Nate, son of Peep Peepdragon, from the castle of Peepalot. King of the Peeps, defeater of the Saxons, Sovereign of all Peeps!
Gregg: Pull the other one!
Nate: I am, and this is my trusty servant Peepsy. We have ridden the length and breadth of the land in search of peeps who will join me in my court at Peepalot. I must speak with your lord and master.
Gregg: What? Ridden on a horse?
Nate: Yes!
Gregg: You're using coconuts!
Nate: What?
Gregg: You've got two empty halves of coconut and you're bangin' 'em together.
Nate: So? We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land, through the kingdom of Mercia, through...
Gregg: Where'd you get the coconuts?
Nate: We found them.
Gregg: Found them? In Mercia? The coconut's tropical!
Nate: What do you mean?
Gregg: Well, this is a temperate zone
Nate: The swallow may fly south with the sun or the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land?
Gregg: Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?
Nate: Not at all. They could be carried.
Gregg: What? A swallow carrying a coconut?
Nate: It could grip it by the husk!
Bill: It's not a question of where he grips it! It's a simple question of weight ratios! A five ounce bird could not carry a one pound coconut.
Nate: Well, it doesn't matter. Will you go and tell your master that Nate from the Court of Peepalot is here?
Bill: Listen. In order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wings forty-three times every second, right?
Nate: Please!
Bill: Am I right?



JACIII: There she is!
Welldigger: Where?
JACIII: There!
Welldigger: What? Behind the Spacebunny?
JACIII: It *is* the Spacebunny!
Welldigger: You silly sod!
JACIII: What?
Welldigger: You got us all worked up!
JACIII: Well, that's no ordinary Spacebunny.
Welldigger: Ohh.
JACIII: That's the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered female you ever set eyes on!
JamieR: You tit! I soiled my kilt I was so scared!
JACIII: Look, that Spacebunny's got a vicious streak a mile wide! It's a killer!
Whosyourhuckleberry: Get stuffed!
JACIII: She'll do you up a treat, mate.
Whosyourhuckleberry: Oh, yeah?
JamieR: You mangy Scots git!
JACIII: I'm warning you!
JamieR: What's she do? Nibble your arse?
JACIII: She's got huge, sharp... er... She can leap about. Look at the BONES!
Welldigger: Go on, BrandX. Chop his head off!
BrandX: Right! Silly little bleeder. One Spacebunny stew comin' right up!
[after BrandX is killed by the Spacebunny]
JACIII: I *warned* you, but did you listen to me? Oh, no, you *knew*, didn't you? Oh, it's just a harmless little *bunny*, isn't it?

Doom: DarlinJoy!
DrWho: No, I am DarlinJoy's identical twin sister, DrWho.
[He tried to get past her]
DrWho: Where are you going?
Doom: I seek the Grail! I have seen it, here in this castle!
DrWho: No, oh no! Bad, bad DarlinJoy!
Doom: What is it?
DrWho: She has been setting a light to our beacon, which, I've just remembered, is Grail shaped. It's not the first time we've had this problem.
Doom: It's not the real Grail?
DrWho: Oh, wicked, bad, naughty evil DarlinJoy! Oh, she is a bad person, and she must pay the penalty!
Blondage: You must spank her well, and after you are done with her, you may deal with her as you like... and then... spank me.
Nate: And me. And me too. And me.
Blondage: Yes. Yes, you must give us all a good spanking.

Special request for Waterboy ----->

The Lizard Queen: Old woman.
Vox: Man.
The Lizard Queen: Man, sorry. What knight lives in that castle over there?
Vox: I'm 37.
The Lizard Queen: What?
Vox: I'm 37. I'm not old.
The Lizard Queen: Well I can't just call you "man".
Vox: Well you could say "Vox".
The Lizard Queen: I didn't know you were called Vox.
Vox: Well you didn't bother to find out did you?
The Lizard Queen: I did say sorry about the "old woman", but from behind you looked... [discreetly replaces artificial appendage behind mail]
Vox: What I object to is you automatically treat me like an inferior.
The Lizard Queen: Well I am queen.
Vox: Oh, queen eh? Very nice. And how'd you get that, eh? By exploiting the workers. By hanging on to outdated imperialist dogma which perpetuates the economic and social differences in our society.
The Lizard Queen: I am your queen.
Astrosmith: Well I didn't vote for you.
The Lizard Queen: You don't vote for queens.
Astrosmith: Well how'd you become queen then?
[Angelic music plays... ]
The Lizard Queen: The Lady Under the Desk, her clad in the purest blue dress held forth Excalibur from her bosom, signifying by divine providence that I, The Lizard Queen, was to carry Excalibur. THAT is why I am your queen.
Vox: [interrupting] Listen, strange women kneelin' under desks distributin', ahem, “swords” is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical erotic ceremony.

Mr. Obvious

However in training you only set yourself back by letting body parts get removed because of stubborness.
Mutly

Now, that's funny. Don't ask me why.

Quote of the Day or Wisdom Where You Find It

I was working with a group in mixed company the other day when an acquaintance of us all was brought up for some lighthearted criticism. One of the older fellas says, "Oh, leave Randy alone; he's a good boy".
One of the women we were with pushed her hat down as she was turning to leave and said, almost to herself, " 'Not much call for good boys".

Nepostism

Even stipulating that little brothers are nothing more than what their elder siblings made of them sometimes the boy is just ON.

Check it out

Is There Anything Dumber Than Coed Wrestling?

My niece (not by blood) is involved in coed wrestling. Her father is normally a pretty level headed fella, but I think he has gone off his rocker completely here.

Let me get this straight. You transport your 14 year old daughter to practice and matches and encourage her to be pawed (excuse me grappled) by boys and encourage her to paw them in turn. I suspect there is no one tellin' the boys they may not use boobs for leverage and must not reach between the legs to turn their female opponent.

In the data turned up from the Google search there is always an aside about a girl "wrestler" being excited when a boy wrestler asks her out. Well, DUH! They just dryhumped themselves into a lather for six minutes.

Did they take the word "impropriety" out of the dictionary?

Comment of the Day

Re: Nate's Ridin' Suit

Boys are weird. Girls just don't do stuff like this..

Spacebunny

Riders Go Here

Nate, Welldigger, Gregg, BrandX, Bill and the rest of y'all (no one left out on purpose) go read the collected wisdom and foolishness of the Rounders.

Favorite cold weather riding tip - "There are gloves with fur on the index finger for the specific purpose of wiping your nose. After the snot freezes you just chip it off the fur and you have a fresh clean wiper again."

Let's see.....

Heated grips - check
barndoor fairing - check
one piece insulated riding suit - check
balaclava - check
toasty snot removal gloves - well....
Now, where did I put the rest of that teflon coated heater wire....

I thought I was a bad-ass rider but I only get a "Three Quarts" Rounder qualification.

Nate's Ridin' Suit

I was lookin' through my old pictures the other day and found this one from a few years back. We got caught out ridin' in worse than inclimate weather and improvised this for the poor boy so he could get to the next stop w/o expiring. Have duct tape will travel.

Off Target or Where does one find these imbeciles?

I was reading about the boycott of Target stores today because the word Christmas is banished from the place. So, I thought I would do a little web snooping to see if it was much ado about nothing or really some politically correct nazi rendering of the "holiday" pseudonym that is focus group friendly to not offend.

Check out their corporate "Philosophy".
Click here to play spot the fag on their "diversity" page.

Corporate lemmings. The folks running Target are paid good money to come up with this bullshit? Do they ever get out of NewYork or California, or wherever the hell they are holed (sorry) up in insular asskissing sessions?

What is with the "holiday" pseudonym? Can these people not do math? Hmm.... We don't want to offend the 354 wiccan women's studies professors so we'll piss off the 250 million Christians to keep from doing it. Smart! Give that man a raise. Oops! Diversity is one of Target's core values; make that "give that ethnic person a raise".

I See

One of these in Bill's future...

Just lookin' at the news...

Can the world get any more fucked up? Folks in power are passin' out favors and suckin' up to their commie rat bastard socalled competition like there is a fire sale goin' on. Folks wanting back in power are making it quite clear they'd as soon tear the whole place down if we don't give them their ball back so they can make the rules again.

It is amazing to me to watch filthy rich folks acting empathetic with the unwashed masses and the masses falling for it. A fella the other day remarked to me that he didn't understand why politicians did not seem nearly concerned as they should be about $3/gallon gas and record fuel prices. I told him because those pols were of a different class than him to such an extent that a $3/gal tank of gas was a trifling sum to them on the order of the change in the bottom of his pocket. He blinked as if awaking and said, "Yeah, I guess you're right." And then, I could tell, went promptly back to la-la land. Democrat, of course.

Look! A Convert! In the Minnesota Territory!

GPB, is the revisionist history their mother teaching them any worse or more dangerous than the lies that are taught about Lincoln and the Civil war? Why or why not?
Spacebunny | 11.14.05 - 2:31 pm |

******* Statement that SB was a Florida girl (I guess I was thinking Beach Bunny) redacted by author*******


This is from a discussion at SB's hubby's blog about his most recent column on the indoctrinal purposes of government school. I agree with the premise, but the last time I went to an 'assembley" at our local government elementary school they were singing hymns.
I guess the exception proves the rule? But I have to wonder that with home schooling prevalent in this area perhaps the local schools are influenced by many taking the decision to remove their children from them. Free market ya'll!

Skill

skill (skĭl)
n.

1. Proficiency, facility, or dexterity that is acquired or developed through training or experience. See synonyms at ability.
2.
1. An art, trade, or technique, particularly one requiring use of the hands or body.
2. A developed talent or ability: writing skills.

Isn't That Nice.....

All this from a comment that holy "diversity" was being used to mainstream deviance:

I tried my best but I can keep quiet no longer. I am
tired of being assaulted by the kind of racist,
insulting diatribe that has reached its nadir in
recent days on this list.
If diversity is "deviance" Don then I am a "deviant".
I am BLACK and proud of it!
And I will tell you what diversity brings to a nation.
It brings greatness and richness of the type that the
US achieved. The US stands as living proof of what a
nation that is willing to give shelter and
opportunities to all who are willing to work hard
towards a common goal, no matter what their origins,
no matter what their culture or race, can achieve.
Conversely, that is why France is a wimp.
May I remind you that WE ARE ALL IMMIGRANTS, ALL
FOREIGNERS.
The only authenitic Americans are the Native Americans
whose land our founding fathers stole and grabbed,
much as the war in Iraq is about grabbing resources
that belong to others.
May I remind you that our superiority in space
exploration and science during the fifties resulted in
large part from our diversifying by grabbing the
Werner von Brauns and other surplus scientists that
were spirited out of Nazi Germany; that we are barely
maintaining our edge in modern technology thanks to
the thousands of Asians, Africans, Latinos, etc., who
are some of the best brains of their natiive
countries, and who initially came as foreign grad
students and have settled and integrated into our
society .... because we were smart enough to open our
arms to them. France marginalized her contingent.
As for her problems, France is just reaping the fruits
of her centuries of colonial exploitation and
depredations, when she ravaged and plundered a good
third of the surface of the globe.
As for Veterans Day, we Blacks remember many things:
the Buffalo Soldiers, the Black Regiments who fought
with valor and distinction both during the Great War
and in all theatres from Anzio to Berlin during WWII,
the Tuskeegee Airmen, etc
Do you know what all the above shared in common?
Besides willlingness to pay the ultimate price for our
freedoms? for our country?
They were all abused because of their race, some were
spat upon on their return from their wars and beaten
EVEN WHILE IN UNIFORM riding back down to their homes
in the South in segregated rail cars. Our fathers
tell of German POWs being treated better than Black US
soldiers.
And I, personally, on Veterans Day, think about my
nephew who has just completed a tour in Iraq and who
through the "Back Door Draft" has to do another in
Afghanistan, and I pray for him and all our young
brave soldiers who are dying and being IEDed into
mangled flesh in a war into which this nation was
cynically conned by a totally ruthless band of
arrogant men who abused the great patriotism of the
kind displayed on this list and exploited the strong
religious fervor of the kind that Dondiego has in his
heart, (I don't agree with your views, Don, but I
respect your right to hold them, and even admire your
certitude) while Dick Cheney and Halliburton and
Bush's Big Oil bretheren laugh all the way to the
bank.
This may be my last communication to this list because
I fully expect to be kicked off it!
If so, it was great knowing you guys.

I and others have had remarkably sane discourse with this person in the past. Who new Louis Farrakahn was so close to the surface?

Why Harley Guys Don't Wave

Another victim of The Dragon at Deal's Gap.

What a Man Can Do

What I saw a man do made me question the professed causes and benefits of the industrial revolution, the wholesale replacement of skilled craftsmen with autonomic machines. Many of you are familiar with todays industrial robots, metalworking machinery, the synthesis of the two, and their inherent precision capabilities. Consider how really specialized those devices are and how limited in what each can produce relative to programming and setup time. Now, consider this:

Y'all know I am a practicianer of the manly arts of Horseshoeing and Blacksmithing and if you are like I was, you're pretty sure the old ways of fashioning metal are fairly crude and imprecise. One of the tasks I was given to perform at horseshoeing school was to fashion a punch that would impress the exact precise shape of a certain type (there are many) of horseshoe nail head into an piece of red hot steel. I chose to make an "E" head punch for a #5 nail. An "E" head nail has roughly the shape listed as 'countersunk'.

I took measurements of angles, dimensions, used a caliper to measure the cross section of the shank, drew it up and roughed it out with hammer, fire, and anvil, then went to the grinder with my drawings and calipers and protractor to finish it up. Two hours later I was not satisfied. Disgusted I went to the head instructor and proprietor of the school and expressed my frustration.
- Let me see that.
I presented my work. He glanced at my handful of tools and drawings, smirked, arose from his desk and without a word went to the workshop to my anvil, started the forge and placed my work into it.

- What's this supposed to be.
JACIII - "E" five.
- OK. Watch.
He opened the forge door and removed the glowing steel. Placing it on the anvil at an angle, he spat into his palm, hefted my hammer and obliterated what I had so painstakingly wrought in three "Thor"-like blows. I stood in shock! Two hours of work gone, and this ham handed SOB squashed it in three blows and 5 seconds. Then...
He rotated the piece, so... WHAM! (full on hammer-stroke brought from above his head).. WHAM!WHAM!. Rotated it again, WHAM!.. WHAM!WHAM! .... eyballed it WHAM! fliped it over, spat. tap-tap-tap..tap, eyballed it rotated itWHAM!.... WHAM!

- See?

And departed the workshop. Total working time elapsed - less than 15 seconds.
I thought 'Bullshit!' and got out my measuring instruments. No bullshit. I tried the punch on a piece of steel and dropped a #5 E-head into it resulting cavity. perfect.

P E R F E C T

Not close, not good enough. perfect. As if you had used the nail itself to make a mold into playdoh and dropped the nail back into it.
"How can he do that?", you ask.
Answer - Because he is a master and student of an old-world craft and, most importantly, because nobody ever told him he couldn't. He has no formal education in modern methods of machining and is largely ignorant of and precision machinery beyond a common drill press.

The Monolithic Dome

I've always had a problem with these and Bill points to a valid concern about expansion causing cracks, but the stress that concerns me is from the temperature gradient from the outside surface to the inside surface of the concrete structure.

This is the primary mode of natural failure of most crystaline ware and it should also apply here. As the outside surface is warmed it wants to expand but the inside surface, being cooler resists that expansion. This places the outer surface in compression and the inner surface into tension. This is not a bad thing as it toughens the outer shell, but when the sun goes down the outside will be under tension which means it's lookin' for a flaw, stress riser, or any other excuse to crack. Given the thickness of the typical wall these forces could become quite large.

First Hand Report from France

Alex from the GPz e-mail list provided an unsolicited european account of the 'troubles' in france.

Here's the link for Alex' blog.

In case anybody of you is wondering about the ongoings in France: It's a
mess.

Two youths died after - presumably - fleeing the Police in Paris, for an
identity control. Now you can argue whether random identity controls are
abusive and wrong, but at least they are not worth to die for not being
subject to them.

This took place in the "village before the village", which is called
"banlieu" in French, for which "banned place" is the literal
translation. The inhabitants of those villages are to a part citizens
who came from the former French colonies or "areas of power". They are
legally French citizens, they speak the language, but for the last
decades (since ever they came over) they have been subject to discreet
and sometimes not-so-discreet negative discrimination. It's hard to find
a job if you live in the wrong area, have the wrong name and the wrong
look. The bit of that which I can feel is that you'd better prepare for
a control if you have a dark complexion and cross the borders. I see
this happening in front of me often enough.

Out of frustration some kids (we speak of youths, 11..15) started to put
cars to fire in Clichy in the night after the death of the two youths
and this was obviously a big show - since then, mostly kids all over the
country think that it's really big fun to set cars on fire and play hide
and seek with the Police. There is no coordination, no leader, no real
motivation except the "fun" of making riots happen - and apparently it's
very funny to even burn the very schools and kindergardens which
actually are in those areas, thus limiting chances for education and
integration even further.

Not to speak of the people whose cars were burning - these are not the
places where they sell a lot of all-risks-included insurances.

But politics are not sleeping and the French interior minister had
nothing better to do than to insult the people, thus pushing the riots
even further. And to announce that the police will act with "full
force". They do not, and it's a wise decision - any further dead people
on any side would start an avalanche.

In the meantime, local leaders and religious leaders, the parents of the
kids who died in the beginning, asked everyone to let things calm down.

This night, the first curfews are in place.

I'm living pretty much on the countryside, around 30 min away from the
next cities - there have been some events, but at least a few days ago
the Gendarmes (MP) were not upset. I'll see one of them tomorrow and
will know more (or not ;)).

cheers
Alex

Thanks for the heads up Alex. You stay safe in the countryside and shoot all trespassers like we do here.


It's a different world over there and Alex's view is going to be a bit different than ours. No flames toward Alex, please, as he has done us the favor of providing a firsthand account.

You gotta love the frogs:

"Fire and blood in France -- at least that's what some foreign media claim is going on," Le Parisien wrote. "Paris is burning, civil war, war zone, race riots -- the headlines, especially on TV, often have no nuance."

Nuance he says! You can't make shit like that up.They are running wild burning the place down and he's upset about the lack of nuance in headlines. Ha!

Tornado Defense

Photo credit to http://www.karinya.com

Bill asks:

What would it take to build a tornado proof house? I'm guessing the roof would be the tough part, but folks make houses that can take a cat 5 hurricane, why not tornado proof? As I type, I'm thinking that with a wind load of a few hundred pounds per square yard, and having to put up with airborne cows and such,

I have heard of aerated-concrete dome houses that are supposed to be able to take massive wind loads, but there is no telling where a load spike might locate on a structure or how massive the spike might be since we really don't seem to know that much about how the darned things function.

"Were you prepared for this?"

This was the question the CNN reporter asked the deputy fire chief in Newburg, Indiana. Like they had three days to prepare? Ditzy bitch. The Emergency Broadcast System failed as did the 911 system prior to the tornado. The government will take care of you. Don't you fret.

I reckon y'all have heard about this tornado in Southern Indiana and North-Western KY Saturday night. We put in a quick call to the inlaws this morning as MrsJAC has an aunt with a farm next to Ellis Park (the horse track that got hit. Bless 'em, their all OK. This country lets a twister run wild, as you can see.

Don on the GPz list just checked in and he's worried that he hasn't heard from his baby sister who lives in one of the areas hit. Prayers are appreciated on his behalf, and all those injured or suffering a loss.

Some of you boys out west may think the country in the linked pics looks familiar; It just goes on forever so flat a teaspoon of water will cover an acre. I miss it still and these rolling hills in central Kentucky make me feel plumb claustrophobic.


The work of one ugly critter.

I Miss My X-Car

For those of you not in the clique, an X-Car is common parlance among owners of the Ford Excursion. Just as fuel prices started to rise I ditched the Excursion in favor of the most fuel efficient 4x4 with 5000lb+ towing capacity I could find. We got a Jeep Liberty smoker (that's a diesel ladies - SB already knew that) and it is big fun, reliable, and cheap to keep. It's no Excursion, though.

I firmly believe there is no luxury greater than space. That being said, our old Excursion is probably the most luxurious vehicle I have ever been in, and it was quite reasonably priced for what it was. 8000 lbs of steel, 425 Hp and 400 ftlbs of torque, four wheel drive like an old power wagon, a foot of ground clearence, four cows worth of leather interior, drove like a big Mercedes, an undercarriage that brings to mind a cement truck.

I have had a sneaking suspicion that the fact that it and other SUV's offered unparalleled luxury and capapbility to the masses is the primary reason for the 'anti-SUV' vehemence in society. Who do you hear gripin' about 'em?! Beady-eyed-cocksuckers with enough money to buy 1000 of 'em. It's just no fun being a bigshot if when stopped in traffic the view from your limo is the polished hub of a 4x4 wheel on Suzy Homemaker's Suburban which happens to have features and amenities your limo doesn't. That won't do. Can't have folks who work for a livin' havin' it too good, can we?

The other SUV haters are commiesratbastards and can't abide having the benefits of the free market displayed before their unbelieving eyes.

Alas, what the beady-eye-cocksuckers and the commie-rat-bastards couldn't do fuel prices have. The X-Car was nice, but I couldn't see spendin' $300.00 a week to have the wife livin' large.

JACmail

Props to Res!

Y'all remember the story of Mario the Matador? Well Res sent this to me the other day. It seems a husband and wife were out riding when they spotted a cougar. The cougar decided it wanted to try some canine cuisine which made the mule wonder what pussy tasted like. Enjoy!

I Found It !

"The paranoid spokesman sees the fate of conspiracy in apocalyptic terms -- he traffics in the birth and death of whole worlds, whole political orders, whole systems of human values. He is always manning the barricades of civilization."
- Hofstadter


When I read Vox or other libertarian blogs, I always think, "Chicken Little - The sky is falling! The sky is Falling!", not because Vox an Co. are paranoid or nuts or way out in left field on issues concerning liberty and the results of the lack thereof, but because they are often jumping the gun on them. It's seems true to me that most of what the government does is leading us to destruction and misery, but these fellas seem to think it's "just around the corner" or "any minute", often making predictions of immediacy. Whether it's economic disaster, martial law, or the instant extinction of mankind they see it pending post-haste.

I have always attributed this to a sort of short circuit of intuition. As I understand it intuition is the brain subconsciously assimilating seemingly random and unrelated data into a sudden conclusion or solution, and I think being around others of libertarian mindset increases the relative frequency of occurrence of ideas related to eventual catastrophic failure of social/economic systems. This frequency adds urgency to the equation and the result is eminent dire predictions.

And you thought they were just paranoid.....

Drat and Double Drat

Track day canceled. Here I sit in TN with bike fully prepped and the track day was cancelled due to ????. Nobody knows, but the brothers "C" are pissed, except for Nate who wasn't allowed to go anyway.

I saw y'all got into an "oil prices" discussion. Thread stealers. Just kiddin', the whole thing blows my mind, but I have to disagree with the assertion that folks charging more for fuel that they already had in their tanks than they originally paid for it is gouging. Small operators have to anticipate big hikes in their costs so they don't get pinched in a shortage. We have to pay them to buy fuel, store it, dispense it, and to provide the service of maintaining that convenient (to us) supply.

It will be interesting to see what oil company executives have to say in the upcoming congressional hearings. They did a piss poor job of dealing with the fallout from reporting record profits in times of shortage. Regardless of the economic reality most folks have a low level of understanding of economic principles and the way our markets function which leads them to pressure their representatives for action against oil companies. The executives of oil companies are well paid and should be sacked summarily after the things that got into the press concerning reactions to the latest quarterly reports.

This and the fact that there is no way to over-estimate the impact energy prices have on the economy have folks in an uproar. I couldn't help but notice that shortly after Bill Frist announced hearings into the matter fuel prices slid dramatically. CYA anyone?

Bill, I use the ballpein method of staking master links. Sometimes well developed hammer control comes in handy.

Zen and the Art

Damn! Is anything simple with these things? And just who the hell decided motorcycle chains had to be riveted at the masterlink? Oh, sure, it's reassuring to know there isn't a clip to fly off at 140 MPH, but that doesn't help SQUAT when the shop manual says, "Remove Chain".

I got the transmission cover off anyway and replaced the countershaft seal and the shifter shaft seal. I'm reassembling it tomorrow and putting it on the trailer. I am very excited about Sunday, though I do feel a bit twilight-zone realizing I am 40, riding around on a red motorcycle, and going to a race track for the first time.

I would concede a midlife crisis were it not that I have pretty much been a child for the entire previous 39 years and I assume one must have an adult year or two in there somewhere to qualify for regression.

On a lighter note: Nothing like a few pending indictments to send GW and Co. scurrying back to suck up to us neandrathal conservatives for support is there?!

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.