tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81982899539817118302024-03-13T10:43:37.915-04:00Daniel's Big TripThe story of a wounded combat Veteran turned medical student's road trip around the country to see the land he dedicated eleven and half years of his life to and meet his fellow Americans.Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-2265648202498306892008-12-14T21:38:00.003-05:002010-05-14T13:56:00.969-04:00A sample question from my finals...<div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SUXDyN9UbHI/AAAAAAAAApM/HWkpdmqGsK0/s1600-h/micro.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279841405669502066" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SUXDyN9UbHI/AAAAAAAAApM/HWkpdmqGsK0/s400/micro.JPG" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 235px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 237px;" /></a>Taking them this week, so I figured I'd post a "sample" of the kinds of questions we seem to get, and a pic of my response...</div><br />
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<div>A middle-aged National Guard veteran and part time pig farmer in the San Joaquin Valley, recently back from serving in the middle east, decides he's going to take his children, pet cats, and his ol' beagle on a raspberry picking trip in Guatamala. He leaves one morning after a night of heavy drinking with just some old bread and rare steak to tide him over. He shoos off some pigeons waves goodbye to his prize rosebushes as he gets in his DeLorean and heads to the daycare to get his kids. After taking off his nice shoes he retreives his children from the sandbox and they head to the airport. After landing, he quenches his thirst at a local water fountain and they head out to the Berry farm, which is next to a large forest that's being harvested. Sadly, because of the dust in the air, he is forced to whip up some contact solution using local water so that he can see. Being the troopers they are, they spend the night in the bush, sleeping deepest between 10 and 2, wearing only in shorts because of the heat. Finally, they have a breakfast of crab and watercress before heading back to the USA. Along the way they visit their uncle JB in the Appalacians where they have a tasty meal of fresh bear. After returning home, they each sneeze once. What color do I think his car is? Choose the answer that BEST fits the information above: </div><br />
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<div>A) Grey </div><br />
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<div>B) Gray </div><br />
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<div>C) Silver </div><br />
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<div>D) Metallic </div><br />
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<div>E) Light Smoke</div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-38955364049962876132008-11-11T12:37:00.005-05:002010-05-14T13:56:00.975-04:00Some say freedom was won....<div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SRnNVbdn-7I/AAAAAAAAApE/G_D1toUIVfc/s1600-h/036a.bmp"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267467007219465138" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SRnNVbdn-7I/AAAAAAAAApE/G_D1toUIVfc/s400/036a.bmp" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 208px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 400px;" /></a>In basic training way back when I was just a wee little private, we used to sing cadences. Most of them centered around our women, and how some guy named Jody was having the time of his life. The rest were usually about blood, guts, glory, and hips big as battleships. One that I particularly had the refrain of:</div><br />
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<div><em>"Some say freedom is free, but I tend to disagree. Some say freedom is won, through the barrel of a gun."</em></div><br />
<div></div><div>Now, I realize a number of people in these United States completely disagree with this idea, and as much as I'd love to think the world is sunshine, gummi-bears, and rosebushes, I know it's not. The sad fact is the Gummi-bears have gone on strike after decades of being offered only in basic colors. The sun is angry for being blamed for skin cancer, drought, famine, global warming, polar bear depopulation, and generally just being a hotheaded kinda guy. And finally rosebushes are protesting that early February massacre they are forced to endure every year. Point being, the world is not perfect as it is.</div><div></div><br />
<div>Today we take a moment to remember why we live the way we do. As this past week has shown, like it or not, people will have their say. People who may never contribute one iota to society have just as much of a say as those who gave all. This is because someone came before you, and made sure it was so. Centuries ago, when the British ruled the colonies, somebody was willing to step forward and say "I will go." Less than a century ago as the world watched in Europe, somebody else came forward and proclaimed "I will go." Again at mid century an American stood up and said "send me." Through Korea and Southeast asia, American's stood up and said "I too will go." Now at the beginning of another century, Americans are still standing up and saying "I'm ready." In almost every case, the enemy was not at the gates, yet still we went.</div><br />
<div></div><div>These men and women who stood ready, who stand ready, and who wait their turn all do it for their own reasons. Be they noble, monetary, or patriotic, still they stand. They go when asked, whether they agree or not. When they return, they may or may not even know why they went. They may not return. The price paid to them for following this call? It might be glory, it might be money, it might be a wheelchair, it may never be paid. The purchase made? That goes to us all.</div><div></div><br />
<div>The purchase was your right to continue living the way you do. Some people may feel we shouldn't be involved wherever we are. They may be right, they may be wrong. Because our military IS involved, we will never know "what would have been." We will never know if maybe a small nuclear attack was thwarted in some desolate cave in Afghanistan. We'll never know if some key player in a major biological warfare lab was taken down in Iraq. All we'll know is what we see now, and what we think it means. I often tell people to remember, we don't have all the information. CNN and Fox news don't have all the information. Whether we deploy or not is a decision made by people who DO have all the information, or at least have as much as they can get at the time. The sad fact is, those who deploy are the ones who bear the burden of circumstance. We can only hope they were used to further the greater good.</div><div></div><br />
<div>As most of you know, I'm a 2nd year medical student missing an arm and a whole lot of other stuff wrong you can't see. What many people don't know was that I COULD have not gone. I could have stayed here, joined the med school class that's now ahead of me, and maybe be better off for it. At the least, I'd still have a hand provided something else didn't happen. I'd still be in the military, working towards being a doc, and I doubt anyone would have faulted me for it. However, when the call came, I didn't. I stood up and said "I can go."</div><br />
<div></div><div>Today, take a moment just to say thank you to some vet. Whether they went or not, say thanks. Even if you despise the military, remember that it is their willingness to go that allows you to keep on despising them. Also remember, today is just the day we "officially" remember our vets. Remember that their job is not one day a year.</div><br />
<div></div><div>Finally.... to ETSU's NPR radio station 89.5 WETS, who decided at 12:07 today to play some good anti-military music, I'd appreciate it if you return my calls. While I do not expect you to play nationalistic music or anything, have a little respect.</div><br />
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<div><strong><em><span style="font-size: 130%;">"We sleep safe in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm.”</span></em></strong></div><div><strong><em><span style="font-size: 130%;"></span></em></strong></div><br />
<div><span style="font-size: 130%;">-George Orwell</span></div><br />
<div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-18834977469212591902008-09-17T14:50:00.004-04:002008-09-17T19:01:03.871-04:00Why I'll be headed to Lowe's...While on my trip this summer I had the opportunity to use some friend’s front loading washer and dryer to clean my stuff. Aside from looking ultra spiffy in their laundry room, these things performed miracles upon my clothing. My clothes were all noticeably softer, and my socks felt downright new. I was so amazed I kept a pair and a shirt separate just so I could check when I got home. We’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ve</span> all seen the commercial with the little bear talking about softness right? Well that bear <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ain</span>’t got anything on this softness. These things were like laundry crack. Everything else felt like sandpaper after that. I was hooked. I knew I needed them. Prone to irrationality, poor decision making, and impulse buys, I headed down to that place where everybody knows my name; Home Depot.<br /><br />At the Depot, I headed straight for the washer/dryer section. I knew where this was as I practically lived there last summer whilst pretending to be Bob Villa and destroying, I mean remodeling, my humble abode. At least this time there was no risk of screwing me to something, an event responsible for numerous holes in my old prosthetic arm. Yes I really did drill into it. Several times. Anyhow, I quickly narrowed down my choices by utilizing the tried and true “what’s cheap and on sale?” method and pestered the salesman with 9048673256 questions about the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">amazingness</span> of the chosen appliances. A few minutes later I was the proud new owner of the miracle worker front loaders, water into wine option still unavailable. I opted to have the Depot install them as it was cheap, and given that I could screw up making ice in Antarctica, it seemed like the safest bet. I mean, what could go wrong? Really… This is the story of what could go wrong, in the form of my angry letter to the Depot.<br /><br />On 28 August 2008 two guys from Home Depot (Chris and an unnamed employee) came out to stack my washer and dryer after Jim from the appliance section forgot to install the stack kit. Approximately six hours after they had left, I came downstairs to find my garage/basement flooded. Assuming that the lines were improperly hooked up I mopped up the water and checked all the fittings, congratulating myself on a job well done. The next morning I found even more water on the ground and no evidence of leaky fittings. I called Home Depot about 9 a.m. to inform them that the sewage line out of my house was now leaking adjacent to the washer and dryer. I was assured someone would immediately get out to fix it. Finally at about 3 p.m. Chris and another employee came out to fix the issue. So much for immediately. Unable to resolve the problem, they tried a quick fix on the sewage pipe and informed me that no plumbers were available since it was Labor Day weekend. Apparently I was going to enjoy raw sewage throughout my garage for my labor day. I was assured that a plumber would be there on Wednesday at the latest, but most likely on Tuesday. I spent the weekend mopping 6-7 times a day…<br /><br />Wednesday came and I stayed home to make sure I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">didn</span>’t miss the plumber. Finally at 4pm I called <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">HD</span> again to talk to Chris and was informed that he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">didn</span>’t remember saying that they’d be there by Wednesday but in any event they would DEFINITELY be there Thursday. I spent Thursday at home enjoying my sewage pool and waiting on the plumber. Again late that afternoon I called Chris and was told that there had been “a water heater emergency and that it took priority.” Apparently raw sewage <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">isn</span>’t nearly as bad as cold water. Strange that in my training here in medical school we learn the bugs like C. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">difficile</span> and E. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">coli</span> can be bad for you. Let’s not even think about Black Mold. Anyhow, I was assured that no matter what, it WOULD be fixed by Friday. Now remember, this is over a week after the leak started. The sewage leak. As in feces, urine etc. sewage. Well finally Friday came around and I excitedly anticipated the arrival of the plumber. I’m sure you can guess what happened next. Friday afternoon I called back to Home Depot and talked to the “manager on duty.” She promised that she would get this resolved as fast as possible. I gleefully continued to mop fetid water out of my garage…<br />Amazingly, within an hour, a real live plumber called me. Apparently he had just been called by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">HD</span> about this. Yes, eight days later and after numerous promises, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">HD</span> finally called the plumber. Now this seems a little odd since he supposedly has known about this for a week now. Well he again informed me that there was no way possible he could make it on the weekend, but he promised to be here between nine and eleven on Monday. Finally, the sewage crisis was going to be fixed. Oddly enough, I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">ve</span> now developed a chronic headache and sores on the inside of my nose. I wonder if it has anything to do with the stagnant water in my house? Well I must also say that the one upside is that detritus has filled some of the leak by now, so I don’t have to mop as often…<br /><br />Well Monday, twelve days after the first leak, arrives and I get up early to make sure I don’t miss the plumber. I check the leak, which is now relatively small, but still present. I then park my rear on the couch and watch the clock. At precisely 10:58 the phone rings… It’s the plumber… He tells me he probably won’t make it out. I remind him he SWORE he would be here before eleven, and explain that this is the third day of school I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">ve</span> missed. He somehow has forgotten he ever promised to be here before eleven, so I ask my roommate if he remembers this. He does. Finally the plumber professes that he can be here no later than five p.m. and we’ll have it fixed tonight, no matter what. By this time I pretty much understand this to mean “you’ll not see me at all today, and probably not tomorrow, either.” Therefore I’m hardly surprised when five rolls by with nary a phone call. Finally, at 6:01 p.m. I collect my mold spore addled senses enough to call the Home Depot corporate line. I explain to Mr. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Ceary</span> my predicament with the sewage, and also mention that I spent over $30,000 last year at Home Depot. Yes, I used the last of my insurance money from losing my arm to renovate my house, purchasing nearly all my supplies through <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">HD</span>. While I realize that to Home Depot 30K <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">isn</span>’t much, to me it represented and arm and a leg… Well at least an arm. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Ceary</span> puts me on hold a few times while attempting to remedy the situation. Finally he comes back and explains that the people who handle these matters are gone for the day. He tells me he will continue to work on it and swears to have it resolved in 24-48 hours. At this point he might as well promise to get it done using pipes manufactured by leprechauns and hauled to my house on unicorns, as I would believe that just as much as 24-48 hours. Sadly, my house now has a distinct “fecal smell” which I think might have something to do with the pipe in my basement. I also think this will be the last time I EVER shop at Home Depot. To me thirteen days of sewage leaking while vehemently promising its’ repair does not constitute customer service no matter how you stretch it. I guess tomorrow I will contact my insurance company and a lawyer to see what can be done about this. Until then, I’ll make do mopping up the putrid water, minimal as it may be, still leaking into my basement.<br /><br />Well after a couple more days of waiting and never hearing back from the elusive “Mr. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Ceary</span>” I decide that yet again I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">ve</span> been bamboozled, and head down to the Depot. Now I’m angry. While I may have but one arm, the other one end in stainless steel hook, attached to a formidable sized torso. You don’t want to see me angry. You won’t like me… when… I’m… <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">annggggry</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">GRRRRRR</span>!!!! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Ok</span> so maybe I’m not quite the Incredible Hulk, but I’m damned sure the One Armed Man. Well at the depot, I proceed to inform the managers there of just how much they suck, and how much it’s about to suck more if I don’t get this fixed NOW. They quickly call the plumber who lies and says he’s TRIED to call me with no luck. I offer to show them my phone call list for the last week. They decline. Finally they say he can be there the next day at four p.m. I agree to this, replying with something like “so help me God, if he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">isn</span>’t there by 4:00:00000000000001, I will unleash Hell. Gangs of your pipe wielding leprechauns and unicorns with whistle tips (woo woo) will be no match for the destruction I will cause. You will need to build another home Depot next door just to supply the building materials to rebuild this one by the time my anger has subsided!” At least that’s how I remember it…<br /><br />Well the next day the plumber actually arrives, and I nearly go into cardiac arrest. A mere two weeks later and this is gonna get fixed. He then tells me he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">didn</span>’t bring the right part. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">GRRRRRRR</span>…. I think the expression on my face inspired him to go get the right part, as he quickly left and returned with what he needed. Ultimately he managed to fix it, which pleased me to no end. He also got quite the scare when <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">BTD</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">RTD</span> managed to push a cinder block out of a seven foot high window frame so they could see into the garage. Sometimes, justice is small but welcome. Even if it is in the form of exploding bricks.Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-91531913464895887422008-09-07T18:46:00.007-04:002008-09-07T21:25:48.949-04:00Meet 'Bella the Demanding<div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SMR-4ZLpRYI/AAAAAAAAAiY/p0TXEA7nEnI/s1600-h/069.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243455373463602562" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SMR-4ZLpRYI/AAAAAAAAAiY/p0TXEA7nEnI/s400/069.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well I've finished the first couple of tests of medical school and I now have a good seventeen seconds or so with which to type a new story. Unfortunately for those who've anxiously awaited news about Alaska, that's not what it's gonna be about. Nooooo not at all... See here at Casa de Daniel life moves at a pace somewhere just faster than gossip out of Hollywood, and Alaska is far from my mind. What is close to my mind, other than school of course, is the new addition to the household. At the end of the summer that consisted of five members. There was: me the high strung and overly excitable peabrained amputee. Stu, my beer making, low strung, uber-mellow yet still a medical student roomate. The ever lovable yet not so bright and somewhat confused Hyperdog Rocky, and finally the diabolical and evil incarnate ferrets, Samson and Snatch. Now the number crunchers out there will immediately notice that all the pets are mine, and my roomie has nothing. Well that was all to change... This is the story of that change.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>When I first got back from my trip this summer I had heard that my roommate wanted to get a dog. While I had no problem with that I knew that two dogs in the house all day would be a bad idea. Fortunately this is easily solved by putting them all outside. Unfortunately the only thing that was outside was the dog run for Rocky. I figured putting two dogs on one dog run would be a horrible idea. Visions of doggy bondage danced in my head... After talking to my roommate we decided that we would split and the cost of a fence. This didn't seem like to big of a problem, but you also have to realize that we live in the Johnson City area. Let me take a moment to explain what I mean...</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SMR-ViUZFFI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/zz0eQTEaNWQ/s1600-h/067.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243454774620787794" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SMR-ViUZFFI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/zz0eQTEaNWQ/s400/067.JPG" border="0" /></a>See, here in Johnson City there is an attitude that prevails 99.9999% of the time when dealig with any sort of subcontractor. The attitude is along the lines of "I'll do it when I FEEL like doing it and you'll be good and glad that I FELT like doing it." This can be slightly annoying, but apparently business here is so booming that there is little one can do to thwart it. Anyhow, I called the fence guys and they agreed to come out the next day and give me an estimate. By next day, they mean "sometime in the future, but definitely NOT tomorrow." I was hardly surprised when three days later they showed up to get the estimate. While they were here I shamelessly mentioned the whole disabled veteran thing in the hopes I might get a little discount... I think I did, though I prefer to look at it as more of a "lower on the priority list" sale. That all said, we agreed on the price and they promised to get started on it no later than the end of the week.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Well since we knew that we'd have a fence in a matter of days, Stu went out and found his new dog. While I myself wasn't a part of the selection process, I can imagine it went something along the lines of "yeah, I'll take her..." Well with his selection made and the Rocky dry hump of approval stampesd on her back, Stuart and his new charge came home. Stuart was now the proud new owner of a mixed breed bundle of energy.... She was about six months old, golden in color and short in hair. She was loveable as can be, and smart in all the ways that counted. She was wrongly named. Apparently somehow Stuart decided she looked or acted a lot like an "Isabella" might. Apparently he settled on this name because the National Hurricane Center already had dibs on "Katrina" which was much more suited to her personality. Either which way, she was home, and home was enjoying its' last moments before hurricane Isabella rolled into town...</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Now I must admit that 'Bella, as she has become known, is a decent dog. The decency all ends, however, the moment you allow her out of your sight. For now though, let's focus on when she IS in sight. Firstly, I've taken to referring to 'Bella as"I WANT!" This is in reference to the fact that no matter what the case, whatever RTD has, she wants. If he has a bone, she wants the bone. Not A bone, THAT bone. Initially she would trot on over and bark at Rocky until he dropped it. Rocky, being the genius he is, caught on to that after about the 84678983th time she did it. Once I WANT! figured out that merely barking no longer worked, she quickly came up with a new ploy. She now will go and grab one of RTD's favorite toys and carry it to him to play with. Rocky, a kid at heart (and brain) will then drop said bone to play with Bella. Bella then takes the bone, leaving a bewildered RTD in her wake. Sadly, he has yet to catch on to this trick, and it doesn't look like he will soon. This also works for any other toy, stick, ball, etc that Rocky might have taken a liking to.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SMR-4lpSrUI/AAAAAAAAAig/JtJ4fQpE2C4/s1600-h/071.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243455376809176386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SMR-4lpSrUI/AAAAAAAAAig/JtJ4fQpE2C4/s400/071.JPG" border="0" /></a>Now when Bella isn't stealing Rocky's wares, she's usually playing with him directly. This he loves. They will play chase for hours. Rockstar will chase Bella until Bella collapses, and then he'll bug her until she plays some more. Never in my LIFE have I seen an adult dog wear out a puppy before this. Another past time is 'rasslin' which sadly has become the most entertaining thing in out household. Rocky's general approach to this it to lie on his back and allow Bella to jump all over him. We've noticed that RTD oftentimes will be lying on a toy while wrestling Bella, and we've decided that he has managed to achieve doggy nirvana by simultaneously playing with Bella and scratching his back. Maybe RTD isn't as dumb as he looks... Ok that may be stretching it.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Well back to hurricane Bella... When she gets out of sight, nothing is safe. Well nothing except a chew toy, which seem to be immune to her destructive fury. She so far has destroyed enough hi-liters to raise their stock price, ripped apart several boxes, gnawed on a few shoes, and turned my expensive and well-taken care of Ray-Bans into a gnarled mess. I should also mention she passed on several Wal-mart brand pairs of glasses to get these off the table. Not only is she destructive, she's a snob. the only thing Bella has found so far that she didn't enjoy chewing on were the ferrets. When she finally attempted to get a mouthful of tasty mustelid, she ended up becoming just another chew toy on the ferret menu. Sometimes size doesn't help...</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>So now here we are two weeks later.... The fence has finally been finished a mere fourteen days later than promised, and Bella's reign of terror over the tasty objects of the house has come to an end. I wish I could get some video of her and RTD kickin' butt all over the house, but everytime the camera comes out Bella comes over to see if it is a tasty treat... Until next time! </div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-36832384525616582632008-08-01T22:22:00.005-04:002008-08-07T17:23:04.132-04:00Alaska, Part 1....<div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SJtnHLvyXeI/AAAAAAAAAhI/3IvvHCkFtYI/s1600-h/DSCF6114.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231888765230931426" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SJtnHLvyXeI/AAAAAAAAAhI/3IvvHCkFtYI/s400/DSCF6114.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well my summer has sadly drawn to an end and my last hurrah has come! It's my trip to Alaska, land of big bears, big fish, and snow. In July... Each year for the last three years, the Wounded Warrior Project has offered a trip to the lovely little city of Kodiak, Alaska. I got the opportunity to go last year, and managed the opportunity to go again this year, thereby missing the first day of school again. Hey at least I'm consistent!<br /><br /><br /><br />The trip to Alaska is a week long, and consists mostly of fishing and eating, two things I both enjoy doing. I spent the week before attempting to landscape my tiny little house up a bit to maybe improve the resale when that day comes, or at least make it look a little better while I'm here. This consisted mostly of my digging a few holes. About a hundred to be more accurate. Needless to say I managed to break my prosthetic in the process, proving that some things haven't really changed over the course of my summer.... I'm still hard headed and insist on doing what I want to. Anyhow, a hundred <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">liriope</span>, a couple azaleas, and a lot of mulch later, Rocky effectively had a new salad bar and it was time to get ready for Alaska. As for Rocky, he spent most of his time attempting to eat the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">newfound</span> greenery while avoiding the shovel handle swung his way to interrupt his dining experience.<br /><br />Packing for Alaska was handled much the way I handle my packing. Wait until the last possible moment to wash and fold a bunch of clothing, then toss it all in a big suitcase and hope I got it all. Toss in a few prosthetic thingamajigs and a shave kit and call it a day. This time consuming process tends to take about five minutes leaving me with ample time to wander the house aimlessly trying to figure out what I'm leaving behind. At the very least this method makes unpacking an experience akin to Christmas as I discover just what it is that I'm gonna have for the week. Oddly enough I forgot nothing, though there was a brief <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">heartpounding</span> moment where my future looked decidedly "commando" if ya know what I mean (think underwear). Anyhow, an early wake up and short jaunt to the airport and my last great adventure was underway!<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SJtnXc8ttQI/AAAAAAAAAhY/LO9gerEUAIg/s1600-h/DSCF6124.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231889044726461698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SJtnXc8ttQI/AAAAAAAAAhY/LO9gerEUAIg/s400/DSCF6124.JPG" border="0" /></a>My flight was set to depart from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Tri</span>-cities regional in East TN and end up in Kodiak, AK via a long day of the exciting and fun filled aviation experience that we have come to know and love here in the US. Of course, this trip must begin with the ubiquitous "full body cavity <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">superterrorist</span> search" that all military disabled get to enjoy. This entails me standing around while my ID is given a thorough inspection followed by the "physical search." This search is usually conducted by a guy who looks like he's having <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">more</span> fun that me... It starts with the customary "will you take off your shoes?" request that I never comply with. Tying shoes is a big enough chore with a hook that I don't feel like doing it <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">unnecessarily</span> in the interest of "safety." I've learned I still get the free "you might be a terrorist if" check anyhow, so why bother.<br /><br />After we argue about the shoes, I then get the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">wanding</span>. Of course this thing beeps anywhere there is metal associated with my prosthetic, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">and</span> this earns me the "full <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">patdown</span> prize!" A few minutes of groping usually still fails to turn my frown upside down, though a few times the groper seems to have really enjoyed it. This makes me more nervous. Once my molestation has been doled out appropriately the final fun starts... In order to ensure that we as a nation are ensuring that our wounded combat veterans aren't a threat to national security, we get the final <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">wanding</span> where my prosthetic get swiped and swabbed in ad <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">nauseum</span> to ensure there are no bombs hidden in my hook. My favorite part is where my fellow travelers get to gawk at the guy with the hook getting the spa treatment behind the big glass partition. I'm not sure but I think the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">TSA</span> might charge for this free show. Anyhow, once my story of "innocent amputee traveler" has been confirmed by the Thousands Standing Around (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">TSA</span>) I'm finally freed from my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Gitmoesque</span> holding cell to rejoin the general population of weary travelers. At this point I'd like to extend a special thank you to Homeland "Security" for their unwavering and infallible execution of ensuring that the nation remains safe from those sworn to defend it. Good job guys!<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SJtnHWiRPLI/AAAAAAAAAhQ/r_Qk1VBmt5k/s1600-h/DSCF6125.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231888768127024306" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SJtnHWiRPLI/AAAAAAAAAhQ/r_Qk1VBmt5k/s400/DSCF6125.JPG" border="0" /></a>Once through security, I get to actually get on the plane and make my way north! This process is usually a little more worrisome for me given my aviation track record and knowledge of the "incidents" that tend to happen... I usually try to keep all this to myself so as not to scare other passengers. People tend to get a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">weird</span> look in their eye when they find out that you lost a body part in an aviation related crash. For people who are particularly obnoxious however, the gleeful delivery of this statement "At least I crashed after flying an hour! Most crashes happen within the first 60 seconds after takeoff... Hope we beat that again this flight, too!" ends all said obnoxiousness... If only there were some way to end that "middle seat elbow fight" as easily.<br /><br />Well sixteen hours later I arrived to the welcome of the shining sun of Kodiak. Did I mention it was about ten at night? I met with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">WWP</span> representative and went and got checked into the hotel in anticipation of a fun filled week. This was gonna be fun, and my biggest hope was to see a bear. That was about the only thing I didn't get to do last year. Before I get too much farther, let me take a moment to explain this whole trip...<br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SJtnXpijs-I/AAAAAAAAAhg/aSfRelDSC6Q/s1600-h/DSCF6129.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231889048106415074" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SJtnXpijs-I/AAAAAAAAAhg/aSfRelDSC6Q/s400/DSCF6129.JPG" border="0" /></a>Three years ago a small group of wounded were invited to come fishing for a week in Kodiak, and enough fun was had by all for this to become an annual event. Last year I made it up for the trip and had so much fun I jumped at the opportunity to go again. The trip revolves around days of fishing for salmon, halibut, and a variety of other fish. The nights are then dedicated to amazing dinners sponsored by local groups who are helping out with the entire trip. After that most guys have a few tasty beverages at a local establishment and then retreat to hotel to get a few hours of shuteye and ready themselves to do it all again the next day. On the outside, it appears to be just another "guys (women too if they want!) week fishing" but the reality is there is a lot more to it. The trip offers a chance for wounded <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">service members</span> an opportunity to just "get away." There are no agendas, no <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">health care</span> professionals, no "higher-ups". Just a week of hanging out and having fun. This year even saw a few changes that IMO made it even better. To the guy on the trip the therapy of being around a bunch of guys having fun, the chance to talk about whatever, is worth a lot more than hours spent on a therapists couch. In addition to the mental decompression that occurs, the physical fun and challenge of learning how to fish for BIG fish, as well as learning the associated skills of open sea fishing is worth more to most guys than any dollar amount can reflect. Anyhow, this wouldn't be possible without the overwhelming support of the people of Kodiak who open up their schedules and time to help raise money and support to make this all happen. I'm sure the logistics alone are mind boggling! For this, I salute you!<br /><br />Anyhow, I'm gonna break up this trip into a couple stories over the next few weeks. For now I'll leave it at my arrival there, and pick it up with the fun of fishing so stay tuned!! Pics should be up tomorrow too, I hope!</div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-38173756693233861832008-07-29T22:16:00.000-04:002008-07-29T22:17:18.842-04:00Into the wildWell everybody, I've made it to Alaska, more to follow!!Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-3525144881879431112008-07-19T17:02:00.005-04:002008-07-19T19:32:03.722-04:00The Follow-Up!<div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SIJ2zwmNaTI/AAAAAAAAAhA/j0_CGEG5TKY/s1600-h/IMG_0279.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224869149293766962" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SIJ2zwmNaTI/AAAAAAAAAhA/j0_CGEG5TKY/s400/IMG_0279.JPG" border="0" /></a>Hi everybody.... I've not just fallen off the face of the earth, I've just been really busy trying to recover my house from my trip...</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>When I finally arrived home from my trip, all was relatively well at the Daniel household. The lawn was a little overgrown, and it was really hard to get the environmentalists to stop protesting my destruction of the wildlife reserve that it appeared to be when I finally mowed it down, but otherwise it was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ok</span></span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Rockstar</span></span> was thrilled to get to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">frolic</span> through the weeds and pee on his favorite schnauzer next door. This is a pretty ritualistic thing for them. He goes outside, the schnauzer runs to the fence to squeal, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">RTD</span></span> calmly pees on him. Repeat as <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">necessary</span>. The only real difference now is that there's a second schnauzer. Fortunately for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">RTD</span></span>, they stand close together...</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Once in the house it was evident that no one had broken in to clean my place up, and I was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">slightly</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">disenheartened</span></span> at this. The only issue presented itself when I waded into my garage. Yeah... waded. Unfortunately, Johnson City <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">apparently</span> had been the victim of heavy rains and animals marching two by to, and my garage apparently served as the reservoir for the water that came with it. The good side of all of this would be that I don't really have much of value in my garage so there was no real "damage" done. It took a few days to mop and evaporate it all out, but now it's back to being the dank place that I know and love. That all said, I spent the rest of the week attempting to landscape my yard a little bit. I'm not sure if anyone here has ever attempted to operate a shovel with one hand, but let me suggest that you pass on it if that was in your weekend plans. I planted a lot of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">liriope</span></span> and put in some cheesy walkway lights since whomever designed the stairway on my front walk was obviously a fan of M.C. Escher... After digging roughly 100 small holes and planting a metric <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">arseload</span></span> of vegetation, my good friend called to inform me how I did it all wrong, so who knows if it will take. Even if it does, I have to keep and eye on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">RTD</span></span> as he is excited at the prospect of this new and intriguing <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">smorgasbord</span> that I have given him. He's already managed to ravage a couple of plants...</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>So now on to lessons learned. First off, this is what I feel I've learned. I don't necessarily AGREE with it all. Saying this, I'm sure I'll still get a little hate mail from someone who didn't catch that.... These are based on my discussions with people, as well as the thousands of e-mails I've gotten and the comments on the blog. So onto the lesson!</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>The best thing I think that most surprised me would be American people's desire to help people. I am not even going to limit that to "vets, wounded, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">bloggers</span></span>" or such, because so many people were willing to help for reasons that had nothing to do with my service. While many people were voiced their pleasure at getting to help a vet, a number of people readily admitted that they weren't too concerned about my service at all. Some people even just wanted to see <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Rockstar</span></span>... The sheer number of offers I had to stay with complete strangers was simply overwhelming. People who had nothing to offer other than a meal and a floor were still vying for the chance to help. Had I been able to stay one day with every person who offered, this trip would have lasted into the "years" category. I had offers from all walks of society, too. I met people who obviously were liberal, conservative and other. There <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">were</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">those</span> who were well to do, and those who were scratching to make ends meet. In all honesty, I feel that the "economically poor" were probably more willing to help than any other group. Don't confuse me here, I'm not passing judgement or looking down my nose. I am simply awestruck that those who themselves are worse off than me still want to help. I met and corresponded with people throughout the USA, as well as the rest of the world. I had e-mail bidding me well from around the world, from people who've never set eyes on my country, and will likely never meet me. I met people who were nearly speechless as they tried to convey their feelings about my trip to me in a thickly accented <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">English</span>, underlining their immigrant background and their pride to be here now. All in all, I'm that much more proud to be a citizen of these United States, and above that a member of this worldwide society.</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Conversely, if there is a "negative" to this outpouring that I've been able to detect it is this. While I think the majority of Americans WANT to help, I think we suffer from a few problems. The biggest one I would venture to say would be a nationwide sort of "bystander effect" and "crowd psychology." The analogy is this: If you were standing alone and saw a little old lady fall down, you would MOST LIKELY offer help. However, if you were standing around with twenty strangers and saw this, MOST LIKELY everyone would stand there and ignore it, silently wondering what to do while actually doing nothing, just like the rest of the crowd. This phenomena has been demonstrated many times over, and I feel it exists in this context, too. While most <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">American's</span></span> are aware of combat wounded coming home, we don't know "what to do" about them. We want to help, but we look to our left and our right, to our neighbors and friends, and we see that they are doing just as we are. They are doing nothing. So <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">there</span> we stand, awkwardly wishing we could do something, perhaps even voicing that something should be done, yet never taking the initiative to do it. We don't do this because we're bad people, we do it because we ARE people. I think people were so willing to help me because they saw in my trip an outlet for their desire to help. I appealed to the masses on my blog, though those who read it were largely "alone" at the moment. Quietly you sat at your computers, reading my adventures, seeing the "little old lady fall down" and alone you decided to help. In my blog, there was no crowd to look at, no one else to draw an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">initiative</span> from. There was simply me and you, thousands of people all standing alone, ready to help. For all of this I thank you. So now here is what I hope to see. I would love to see people find an outlet for their desire to help. I'm going to leave my blog up and even update it where I can for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">everyone's</span></span> entertainment. I'm also going to leave my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">paypal</span></span> link up for donations, every penny of which will now go to The Wounded Warrior Project. I also may try to link a few other worthy organizations to this blog in order to present other opportunities to help to those who want to. I know some people only have time to donate, and maybe this will give an outlet for that. </div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>A few other things I'd like to mention... I received quite a bit of mail from my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Pisgah</span></span> trip, both good and bad. Some people were glad I "told it like it was" while others were discouraged that I was so "shallow and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">sophmoric</span></span>, and won't make a good doctor" because of it. That said allow me to expound a bit on my beliefs as well as probably anger more people... I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">mentioned</span> the obesity thing for a few reasons. It's a problem. Period. There is no other way around it, it is an issue that is only getting worse. At 18 years old I had a 38 inch waistline and did what most everyone else I know did. I blamed everybody BUT myself for the problem. That and I downed no less than three bags of peanut M&M's a day along with 4-6 20 oz <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">pepsis</span></span>. Even after I got in the Army I was still "overweight" by standard, and barely passed the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">bodyfat</span></span> test. Then one day I had an epiphany. Maybe if I ate less food and worked harder, I'd be in better shape. No more blaming Mickey-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Dees</span></span> for serving me that burger. No more cursing "my genetics" for being "big-boned" (which actually I'm not... I have the bone structure of a small woman... stupid genetics!) I again faced this issue when I lost my hand. I was in amazing shape at the time of the accident, and I dropped from 215lbs of solid muscle to 168 lbs of not so solid muscle. Then I started the climb back up to 215 lbs of no muscle. I got chubby enough that my underwear band rolled over on itself... I realized that many amputees simple gave up on working out, and accepted that they would no longer be in shape. Not all, but many. Especially upper extremities. Eventually I found out that there was a prosthetic made for weightlifting, and after a bit of self-pity, back to the gym I went. Now I'm back to 195 pounds, can bench press well over 300lbs, and can knock out 25 pull ups and 90 push ups on a good day. I still suck at running, but now it's more to do with my legs going numb from my spinal issues.... Why am I saying all this? To qualify the rest.</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>I realize that not everyone will or wants to look like a magazine model. However, I also realize that people are allowing themselves to go down a bad road with obesity. When I see children that are maybe ten years old, and they are my weight, SOMETHING is WRONG. Some people will cite genetics, but sadly that is not the case most of the time. The reality is VERY FEW people are genetically unable to maintain a healthy body. Most people just follow that path I was on and blame everything but themselves for it. Anyhow, some people felt that I lacked empathy for voicing my thoughts on this, and poking fun at it. To that I say I must disagree... I am quite empathetic and I try to do all I can to help anyone I know to get themselves to where they want to be. Ask any of my friends and they'll roll their eyes at just how <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">much</span> I try to help. However, as an aspiring physician, while I think empathy is indeed important, I also feel that the ability to be frank about situations is also needed. Too many <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">healthcare</span></span> professionals turn a blind eye to issues like this out of fear of "offending someone". I come from a family of nurses who can all tell stories of parents who become angry if they or the doctor even hints that junior or themselves might be... oh my word... FAT. While it is a touchy subject, happily it is a CURABLE subject! Some will have to work harder than others, and most would have to make sacrifices, but all can attain the results! Very few other "diseases" can offer that. Finally, as for the "penguin" comment... this IS just a blog, which I have been writing for entertainment value as well as to tell my story. Sometimes something just seems funny, and I go with it. Would I walk up to someone, or even list them by name or <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">picture</span> on here with such a crude comment? No. No, even I am not that mean spirited of a person...</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>This all brings me to a last point of learning that I can take away from this. I've written a lot, covered a lot of ground, and touched on a lot of subjects. One thing I have certainly learned is that the maxim "you can't make everyone happy" hold true. Some people e-mailed telling me I didn't deserve t call myself a Christian because my stories and my blog didn't bring enough credit to God or His word. On the same day I'd receive <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">mail</span> from people attacking me for mentioning religion, chiding me for "shoving it down their throats." The same held true many of the subjects I mentioned. In the end I responded minimally to any of this because I am not here to argue viewpoints on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">Internet</span>. I merely took away for myself the viewpoints of others, both good and bad. Here at the end I offer my view on life. Live it and let it go. If I read something I disagree with, something "offensive", something "ignorant", I take a moment to try to view it from the other side, then I let it go. I don't let it eat at me, and I try not to let it color my view of the issue. Entirely too many people get up in arms over non-issues which simply serve to empower the issue. If you laugh at the "offensive statement", you take away it's power to offend. When you consider the "other sides" position rather than just discrediting it because it disagrees with yours, you make yourself more <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">knowledgeable</span> on your issue. Anyhow, these are just my thoughts, laugh at them if you want...</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Well that sums it up for today.... I definitely have more topics I plan to discuss here so no worries, the blog is not yet dead! Alaska merely days away so I hope to provide more entertainment and life experience for your reading enjoyment. Also, still looking into the calendars, so please keep a watch there!!</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Finally, The Book. Sadly, I don't think anyone is interested in publishing this, so who knows. I had a number of contacts initially, but most have fallen away, and the few who have responded to me basically voiced that the story "didn't hold the emotion they were hoping for." Loosely translated as far as I can tell, happy stories don't sell like a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">tragedy</span> does. If you need any more proof of that, buy a newspaper or just turn on the news and see how many "tragedy stories" there are compared to "feel good" stories. That or maybe this thing just kinda sucks.... <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">hehe</span></span></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Anyhow... stay tuned for more!!</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>With pictures!</div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-86415912568945058712008-07-19T16:58:00.001-04:002008-07-19T17:01:58.126-04:00What has happened to our hero??? *cough*RTD*cough*Biff!! Booom!! Poww! Tune in soon to find out!Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-58670793084864843692008-07-13T23:39:00.000-04:002008-07-13T23:39:00.995-04:00The long road home!<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHq9RvKYrtI/AAAAAAAAAgY/FRHE9jeLJ2w/s1600-h/010.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222694830304964306" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHq9RvKYrtI/AAAAAAAAAgY/FRHE9jeLJ2w/s400/010.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well I've been delinquent in posting for a bit because of weather reasons. When I last posted, I was in Jacksonville, Florida and about to head home. I left out and went up the east coast a ways before heading on up towards North Carolina. Well unfortunately for me storms moved in and I had to make the decision to either sit in my truck and watch the rain for a few days, or press on in to Johnson City, and then return to NC a day later. Well obviously steaming in the Bean with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">RTD</span> making sweet doggy love to my ear as he tried to get me to let him out didn't sound too appealing, so I opted to go home for the night. This also allowed me to clean up the Bean a bit and have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">a good</span> nights rest in my own bed! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Mmmmmmmm</span> bed... Anyhow, I decided Saturday would be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Pisgah</span> Day, and early <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Saturday</span> morning I headed on down there.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHrJzdTqLUI/AAAAAAAAAgw/1algYJNevzs/s1600-h/IMG_0108.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222708603767106882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHrJzdTqLUI/AAAAAAAAAgw/1algYJNevzs/s400/IMG_0108.JPG" border="0" /></a>Pisgah</span> is a relatively large National Forest that surrounds <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Asheville</span>, NC and takes up a good portion of the western tip of NC. I opted to head to the area West of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Asheville</span> because of an article I'd found in a magazine I'd "borrowed" from a barber shop in Vegas. It detailed several natural water slides, and the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Pisgah</span> had one. I've already mentioned how much I like water, but I also enjoy jumping into it, and sliding through it, too. Waterfalls to jump from are easily found. Natural slides are not. What <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Pisgah</span> offers is a 60 foot solid rock slide that has been worn smooth by eons of water coursing over it. This was bound to be fun!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The road leading up to Sliding Rock is typical of what you'll find in this area of the Appalachian south. Lush green trees overhang a narrow winding road that courses it's way up and down the various mountain valleys, seemingly lost within itself as it slowly leads you to your destination. Alongside the road runs that meandering river that is also almost as lost as the route you're on. Cell phones, satellite radio, and the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">garminator</span> are all pretty much useless here from the green canopy that perpetually shades the road. After about ten or so miles of this, I arrived at Sliding Rock. Or should I say I arrived at the line to get into SR. After a bit, I finally made it to the front of the line where I paid my $1 admission fee to the redneck riviera. After watering <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Rockstar</span> I headed down to gaze upon this great rocky wonder. While it's nothing in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">comparison</span> with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Schlitterbahn</span> or other man made wonders, the fact that it's a natural <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">waterslide</span> is still amazing.<br /><br /><br /><br />I made my way down to where the line began and got my place and began to observe the waterlogged obesity epidemic that surrounded me. I'm not gonna say much because this is a topic that infuriates me, but out of about 200 people there, maybe twenty, MAYBE I say, weren't overweight. Call it whatever you want, fluffy, pudgy, big boned, whatever, but in the end it boils down to "eats too much, does too little." Before the hate mail comes in, let me say that I work my tail off to stay in shape. I have one arm, and still manage! Trust me, I know the effort that's required. Anyhow, back to the line. Basically you stand in line for about twenty-thirty minutes depending on the crowd to slide for ten seconds into a mountain stream. Worth it? Oh yeah.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHq9RCpw8MI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/xWyiKNFzIHQ/s1600-h/008.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222694818356981954" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHq9RCpw8MI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/xWyiKNFzIHQ/s400/008.JPG" border="0" /></a>After a bit of time in line, I'd made my way to the top. On the way I'd witnessed all manner of technique for navigating the slide. I'd also nearly burst an eardrum as a redheaded teenager screamed her whole way down the slide. I think someone had just told her the NC had just enacted a lawn banning <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">twinkies</span>, but I'm not sure. Once at the top, I decided to just go for the standard right down the middle slide. I sat down and pushed off with my one arm and slowly slid a ways. Apparently my swimsuit material was made of sandpaper or something else the kept slowing me down. Finally I hit a steeper pitch which simultaneously allowed me to gain speed and attempt to reverse feed myself my swimsuit. At the end I hit the little drop off into the pool of water where I learned the other secret of mountain water. Despite being shallow in nature, and the air temp hovering somewhere around "spontaneous combustion", the water temperature maintains a balmy 48 degrees. As my toes entered the water, time slowed down as my brain began to prepare for the imminent future that was to come. Quickly my legs went in and my brain began to warn me of polar bears. As my wait and chest went in and the wedgie came out a bit, relief was nowhere to be found as my lungs had apparently gone on strike. About five hours later I was up to my nose and relatively certain the fat little girl across the pool from me was actually a penguin. Finally I was completely submerged where the mammalian dive reflex was in full force allowing me to survive for the hours it seemed to take for me to reach the surface. One at the surface I began my violent thrash for the shore just twenty feet away. Forgetting I was an amputee I found myself swimming in a circle. Again. Correcting my drift got me safely to shore where I renounced all that was warm, and got back in line. Yup, I was going again, atomic wedgie, cold water and all!<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHrJAXFiTpI/AAAAAAAAAgg/UpR5YUJkOH4/s1600-h/IMG_0148.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222707725923929746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHrJAXFiTpI/AAAAAAAAAgg/UpR5YUJkOH4/s400/IMG_0148.JPG" border="0" /></a>My second run down was a bit better. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">This</span> time I'd studied the curvature of the rock and decided on an off line run. I went left of the well worn path to a slightly bumpier but more moss covered lane and pulled my trunks as far up as I could in a friction saving self induced wedgie. I then took a bit of a sliding start and went down the icy lane to the depths below at a much better clip. The polar bear club experience was once again waiting for me at the bottom, and once again I entered the water full of regret at the error of my ways. Again I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">semicircled</span> my way to shore gasping for breath and shivering violently. I again forgot all about how cold it was as I got in line for a third trip down. Yup.... dull spoon here!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Once finished there I toured on up and down the road at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Pisgah</span> a bit more, scoping out areas to see the next day. I camped at the park campground where beer and hot dogs were consumed, along with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">smores</span> and other tasty <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">camp foods</span>. Then I laid down for one last night in the Bean. Sadly my bad choice of foods led to a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">restless</span> night of nightmares as my gut repaid my brain in kind for the evils that I'd laid upon it at dinner. Oh well... gotta have fun, right!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHrJBV1pSDI/AAAAAAAAAgo/dSfgJpQT1R8/s1600-h/IMG_0160.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222707742768711730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHrJBV1pSDI/AAAAAAAAAgo/dSfgJpQT1R8/s400/IMG_0160.JPG" border="0" /></a>Today I went to a place called Looking Glass Falls where again I swam around in the frigid water. I brought <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">RTD</span> out and threw his toy for him. I beamed with pride as he ran straight into the water to get his toy. No longer does he timidly dance around at the edge before slowly going out after his toy. Unfortunately I threw his toy into the waterfall where it was sucked under and is now probably still on spin cycle at the base of the falls. Fortunately <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Rockstar</span> was smart enough not to go in after it, so we ended up leaving sans toy. The rest of the drive home was spent on those same mountain <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">roads</span>, overlooking the wonderful views that are just a part of living in the Appalachians. If I had to sum it all up in a word, I know of one that covers it all. Beautiful!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHrJz_25igI/AAAAAAAAAg4/ZLSYpelL1jk/s1600-h/IMG_0164.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222708613041719810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHrJz_25igI/AAAAAAAAAg4/ZLSYpelL1jk/s400/IMG_0164.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well everybody, this more or less concludes my trip. The Alaska trip will be from the 28<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">th</span> of July to the 4<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">th</span> of August, and will be made with the Wounded Warrior Project. This is a yearly fishing trip they offer so it will be done by air to Kodiak, Alaska, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">RTD</span> will be back here in TN. Last year there were lots of stories from it, so I'm assuming this year will be no different! That said, Daniel's Big Trip will continue, even if in a different vein! Between then and now I will post a few "lessons learned" blogs so keep checking back for those! Also, a calendar SHOULD be coming together so please keep an eye out for that! Until then!!Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-15234624544938231402008-07-10T13:08:00.011-04:002008-07-10T15:15:33.027-04:00The Project<div><div><div><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZcA0MkgKI/AAAAAAAAAfY/4wCZpB5fns0/s1600-h/005.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221461987063791778" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZcA0MkgKI/AAAAAAAAAfY/4wCZpB5fns0/s400/005.JPG" border="0" /></a>To the few of you who've managed to struggle through reading all of my rambling posts, you've heard me mention a time or ten <a href="http://www.woundedwarriorproject.org/"><span style="color:#3366ff;">The Wounded Warrior Project</span></a>. Well my trip has culminated with my visiting their headquarters... As one would expect, things went well, I was happy, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Rockstar</span> got into stuff. This is that story...</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZeX1-L8gI/AAAAAAAAAgI/_44_oflwAQQ/s1600-h/017.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221464581700579842" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZeX1-L8gI/AAAAAAAAAgI/_44_oflwAQQ/s400/017.JPG" border="0" /></a>I stayed the night with my hookah loving buddies in Hudson, FL (NOTE: lots of people questioned just WHAT was IN the hookah. No worries, it was cherry tobacco. Even I'm not so dumb as to post about drugs or anything, and that's not really "my thing" (or theirs) anyhow...) I got up the next morning and readied myself for my trip to Jacksonville. My friend was busily adding to his blog, something he'd never even HEARD of the day before. We ran out and got lunch in his brothers brand new GT 500 Shelby Mustang which he is storing for him. Just to let everyone know, I did massive smoky burnouts, lots of donuts, got it up on two wheels, and knocked out a few "Dukes of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Hazzard</span>" style bridge jumps in this cherry new car. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ok</span> not really, but mostly because Logan was wise enough not to give me the keys, but it's coming, mark my words... After pounding down some steak and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeet</span> tea, I headed to Jacksonville and the Wounded Warrior Project.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZcAru8yzI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/tk4niGjwp_g/s1600-h/003.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221461984792070962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZcAru8yzI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/tk4niGjwp_g/s400/003.JPG" border="0" /></a>The drive up to Jacksonville took me back across the landlocked central Florida area, where the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Spanish</span> moss grows in abundance, and teeth apparently don't. There were quite a few large thoroughbred horse farms which brought back memories of my horseback riding adventures... If it's possible to crash a horse, I'm your guy... My g/f in undergrad had a huge Tennessee Walker, and horses were her life. She tried relentlessly to get me to ride, and finally I agreed and she taught me how. Now I've ridden horses a lot in the past, but this was different. They ride bareback. She kept her horse with this old pork barrel like mare that had been living the good life sitting out in a field and eating grass for the last several years, generally avoiding morons like me. This was about to change. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>Now I'd ridden a few other horses with her before so I generally had the hang of the bareback thing, but that was always on old broken down nags. I have to say that my first few jaunts were scary since there was no real way to "hold on". Once one becomes accustomed to riding bareback however, saddles become even scarier. Well this horse I was riding, Gunner, was a bit more spirited than the others and was also my most regular mount. We generally did well on our long trail rides as long as Gunner could follow her walker, Wyatt. The problems would arise when they got separated or Gunner couldn't see Wyatt. Gunner would become nervous and unresponsive to me, and I would mostly sit there stupidly and wonder what to do next. My seventeen minutes of experience didn't give me much to fall back on... Well one day my friend decided she'd had enough of this and it was time to break Gunner of this little issue. She decided I would ride her monster horse Wyatt back to the barn, and she would ride Gunner a different way home to break the separation anxiety. Did I mention NO ONE rode Wyatt except her? Did I mention he was HUGE? Was it mentioned that I had more time on the nickel horse in front of the drugstore than I did on real horses? Yes, this didn't go well.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZeXg-Br6I/AAAAAAAAAgA/LlMIHJAE3tE/s1600-h/016.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221464576062762914" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZeXg-Br6I/AAAAAAAAAgA/LlMIHJAE3tE/s400/016.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well as we changed mounts she reminded me just to be firm and relax and there was nothing to worry about. Easy for her to say, she wasn't sitting on top of a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">friggin</span> Warhorse. Well Wyatt and I set off for the barn just a few miles away, and things went somewhat smoothly. Wyatt was a little agitated and kept looking back for the other two, but continued to follow my commands, and I started congratulating myself on my mastery of the beasts. We made it to the home stretch where the biggest danger still lay ahead. The Goat Farm. Now for the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">equestrian</span> challenged like myself, let me explain something. Horses are giant musclebound thundering beasts that are scared of absolutely nothing. Well nothing except dangerous stuff. Things like werewolves, nuclear warheads, goats, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">paper bags</span>, their own shadow, lawnmowers, gnat farts, windblown leaves and most everything else that would strike fear in the hearts of anything. The big test for me was to get Wyatt past the goat farm without him entering into a blind panic. I'm sure you think you know where this is going... Well you're wrong! In a demonstration of my horsemanship skills, I navigated Wyatt past the goat farm without incident, in spite of numerous bleats from the predatory goats, and a few attempts to get away made by Wyatt. With the big danger behind us and myself preening atop my steed, we made our way down the last little way to the barn which I could already see above the corn. This last strip was a six foot wide grass strip with a cornfield on the left, and a big ditch and road on the right. Well as we entered the last hundred yard strip a riding lawnmower was being piloted along at the near end. Recognizing the danger I tightened the lead and navigated a nervous Wyatt along past it and onto the path. Then across the road another riding lawnmower came around the side of a house and started circling the lawn like the carnivore it obviously was. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Wyattt</span> began to get more nervous and started dancing a little bit. I started getting more nervous and began trying not to soil my shorts. I kept Nervous Nellie pointed towards the end of the strip and the safety of the barn while gently coaxing him home. Then a third lawnmower appeared, this time on a trailer on the back of a huge truck. It was at the end of the path. This was not a good thing. Apparently using their pack hunting skills, the feral mowers had manged to encircle us on the narrow path. Wyatt just stopped. Then the truck with the mower in back turned towards us. Wyatt was done. Realizing that his life was in obvious danger as the rabid and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">blood crazed</span> lawnmowers descended on us for the kill, Wyatt did a quick calculation and decided he could run faster if he could drop a quick 200 pounds. He started bucking to get me off, and I started trying to hold on and get him back under control. When that didn't work, he whirled around in a circle and tried to stop fast to roll me off. My adrenaline filled legs held on as I screamed "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">WHOOOOOOA</span>" in a prepubescent pitch. Seeing the the frenzied lawnmowers were nearly upon us, Wyatt started bucking and spinning at the same time. With this he managed to throw me high up onto his neck, but also ended up with himself toeing the ditch and slightly off balance. As I reigned rearwards and screamed "BACK", Wyatt rolled one wild eye up to look at me. Noting my unapproved seating position on his neck and sensing freedom was near, Wyatt executed one last little forward buck, and off I went. Now however, Wyatt was a little too far forward over the ditch and nowhere to go but down. Knowing that would allow the mowers to descend upon him for the killing blow, he jumped out into the road where he saw the mower laden truck descending in for the kill. Scrambling hard to get traction and whirl away, he lost all balance and fell on his left side just as I heard the sickening "THUMP" of my friends most favorite possession getting hit by a truck.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZctBzQw8I/AAAAAAAAAfg/XDM7IhRrkOE/s1600-h/006.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221462746629981122" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZctBzQw8I/AAAAAAAAAfg/XDM7IhRrkOE/s400/006.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well the truck hit Wyatt gull on in the back as he was lying on his side, and he spun a full 360 before coming to a stop. I sat there stupidly trying to figure out how I was gonna explain why she was now the proud owner of a half ton of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">dog food</span>. Well upon completing his pirouette, Wyatt leaped to all fours and scrambled towards the barn. I was relieved. Then Wyatt remembered Gunner and company weren't AT the barn. Then Wyatt went the other way. At a high rate of speed. Why me... Well I apologized to the guy looking at his dented bumper and took off running after the horse, passing the now silent lawnmowers as their riders just sat and watched the spectacle continue to unfold in front of them. I'd chased Wyatt a good mile when I finally saw Gunner and my friend come running up from behind with her screaming at me. Apparently the only thing she'd been told was "yeah that idiot on that other horse just got it hit by a truck. They went <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">thatta</span> way..." Finally she managed to find Wyatt running in huge circles in the field which we'd departed earlier, still wild eyed and avoiding me. Once she got him under control we managed to assess the damage. Amazingly, Wyatt had a few minor scrapes on his flank, but was otherwise unscathed. Fate smiled on us all when Wyatt fell on his side, allowing his precious legs to avoid contact with the bumper while absorbing the energy of the hit on his massive hind end. I was relieved. Wyatt was happy to be back with the herd. My friend was still ticked. It was a long silent walk home...</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZctkdWQRI/AAAAAAAAAfo/xXPiNbjwoN8/s1600-h/008.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221462755933307154" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZctkdWQRI/AAAAAAAAAfo/xXPiNbjwoN8/s400/008.JPG" border="0" /></a>Anyhow, enough of my equestrian inability, back to Florida. As I mentioned, central Florida is mostly poor rural farmland like so much of the south. As I neared the Atlantic coast, the urban sprawl of Jacksonville replaced the falling in trailers and moss covered oaks of the inland. Once in Jacksonville proper I managed to make my way through the spaghetti like organization of the inner city interstate system to the manicured corporate park that housed the Wounded Warrior Project. I was excited to see the headquarters of the organization that's done so much for me. As I pulled the Bean into the parking lot, they waved me in to the right door as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">RTD</span> and I dismounted and headed in.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>Inside, the entire staff applauded Rocky as he triumphantly entered the hallowed halls of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">WWP</span>. I think a few people noticed I was there too. Rocky was his usual timid self as he ran to and fro, jamming his nose into <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">everyone's</span> crotch. Finally he settled down a bit and I was able to let him off the leash while everyone welcomed us. The staff was so kind as to give <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">RTD</span> and I a plaque with the Wounded Warrior logo on it, which I must admit I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">was</span> proud to get. I'd seen them before at events they'd hosted and always wanted one for myself. After introductions were made, the staff was dismissed back to more important matters of running the organization as I was given a tour of the facility. Rocky still jut ran in circles accepting all manner of attention from anyone willing to give it to him.</div><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZdmu9T7DI/AAAAAAAAAf4/Ds-15zutBUw/s1600-h/013.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221463738004270130" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZdmu9T7DI/AAAAAAAAAf4/Ds-15zutBUw/s400/013.JPG" border="0" /></a>When you first walk in, you're greeted with a foyer containing the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">wall sized</span> logo, the mission statement, and some pictures of our wounded. Off to the left is the exhibit portion of the Sacrifice Center, the name bestowed upon the headquarters building. The first wall you see stretches down to your right and contains stories about some of the stories of the soldiers that the project that the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">WWP</span> has helped. Also is the current focal injury that the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">WWP</span> has highlighted, currently the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Traumatic</span> Brain Injury. Rounding the corner of that wall to the left stretches the sponsor wall where notable celebrities pictures and stories are displayed for all to read. All of these placards are interchangeable so current stories can always be rotated in. Another left turn brings you to the inside "room" of those first two walls where the core values of the project are listed. Each of these values is listed along with a picture of a wounded warrior who can be heard describing what these values mean to them on the video that's displayed there. These wrap around to your right in a rotunda like fashion, as well as a couple silhouettes outfitted with prosthetics which have been donated by actual <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">service members</span> after they are no longer usable. The centerpiece of the rotunda are a couple of mannequins outfitted in the latest gear being used to help keep warriors OUT of the project. One must remember that the best situation would be no injuries. To the right of the rotunda, the names of sponsoring companies are proudly displayed for all to see. Crossing across the rotunda brings you to the hall to the exit on your left, and the offices on the right. Displayed prominently on this wall are stories of "Alive Days" and the pictures of the injured they belong to. Finally as you make your way back to the entrance foyer there is a wall of letters on your right containing letters written by the wounded and their families, detailing their appreciation for the project. There are lots of them, all unsolicited. This comprises the "tour" part of the Project. Also in the same area is the TRACK center which will be used to help educate our fallen to get them ready to go back into the world and rejoin the society the gave so much for. While I was there several members of <a href="http://www.aaronrents.com/"><span style="color:#3366ff;">Aaron Rental's</span> </a>headquarters touring while debating on helping sponsor the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">WWP</span>. I mention this to draw attention to the fact that this is all privately funded. This isn't some governmental right/left wing organization wasting your tax dollars on $4683 toilet seats. These are real guys, many of whom are also <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">wounded</span>, doing their best to ensure our nation's wounded aren't forgotten. <a href="http://www.woundedwarriorproject.org/"><span style="color:#3366ff;">Take a moment to check out the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">WWP</span> site and see what I'm so enthused about.</span></a></div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZdmBOMh9I/AAAAAAAAAfw/3WqKVCI5_sU/s1600-h/010.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221463725727057874" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHZdmBOMh9I/AAAAAAAAAfw/3WqKVCI5_sU/s400/010.JPG" border="0" /></a>Anyhow, as my tour drew to a close, I heard <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">RTD's</span> diesel engine growl emanating down the hall, and moved quickly to see what he was into. I showed up to see Rocky with a cornered staff member. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">RTD</span> was snarling and growling at the largest guy he could find, who was a looking a bit worried at the moment. He said <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">RTD</span> initially noticed he he prosthetic legs poking out from his shorts, and then started in on the growl when he reached down to pet him. What I noticed was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">RTD's</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">stumpy</span> tail wagging at 97 mph. I grabbed Rocky and immediately launched him into a vicious sounding <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">playfight</span> there in the foyer, much to the horror/amusement of all who saw and heard this. It sounded like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">RTD</span> was out for blood... Once everyone saw <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">RTD</span> was just wanting to "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">playfight</span>" tensions were eased, and Rocky was able to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">turn</span> back to his first "victim" who now eagerly smacked <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">RTD</span> around. Turns out Rocky's "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">Cujo</span>" moments are just his mentally challenged attempts at initiating a bout of playing with anyone he thinks will be game for it.</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><div>Finally my time at the headquarters drew to a close and a few of us headed out for dinner. We ate at Dave and Buster's, a first for me, and traded stories about med school, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">WWP</span>, and other trips we'd been on. Afterwards we split ways and I headed to my friends place there in Jacksonville for the night. The trip is sadly drawing to a close and I'm not looking forward to its' end. Fortunately for you, the loyal readers, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">WWP</span> is sending me to Alaska in a couple weeks, so my trip isn't over yet! While <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">RTD</span> won't be there, I'm sure there will be adventures to write about so don't delete my sight just yet! Until then I've still got a bit more to go, so keep checking back! Homeward bound in the near future!!...</div></div></div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-10308641165191801172008-07-07T23:10:00.011-04:002008-07-08T10:04:32.995-04:00Guns and Hookahs!!<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNwitaj0BI/AAAAAAAAAfA/LASmWHiiEvk/s1600-h/003.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220640134661394450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNwitaj0BI/AAAAAAAAAfA/LASmWHiiEvk/s400/003.JPG" border="0" /></a>Hello all! I write this from my buddies place here in Hudson, Florida. I headed up here just north of Tampa from the mangrove swamps of Cape Coral as soon as my head stopped pounding. As usual I swore off alcohol at sun up, yet had partaken of tasty beverages by sundown. Don't get me wrong, my idea of "hard drinking" is pretty tame, and I average about two drinks a week, but sometimes ya gotta have fun! The trip back north was uneventful, but I did have a bit of time to reflect on a few things. I've been thrilled to go on this trip, and proud to be "sponsored" by so many people who've never met me. I'm not sure what the final tally will be, but I'm sure that it will go a bit into offsetting the cost of this adventure. In the end though, I think back to what the medicine man told me; money isn't that important, it's what you learn from it that is. I've received a number of e-mails from people <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">thanking</span> me for lessons they've drawn from me, and no they aren't referring to dumb dog ownership! here's one in particular though that sticks out, as I've had it both in person and in e-mail.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNw4KMxSyI/AAAAAAAAAfI/n6EyatKnlxk/s1600-h/006.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220640503165438754" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNw4KMxSyI/AAAAAAAAAfI/n6EyatKnlxk/s400/006.JPG" border="0" /></a>Apparently people feel somewhat inspired by what I've done. One thing people continually note is "how much I've accomplished in spite of my injury." Well here's my take on that... First, one thing I always say is that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">everyone's</span> injury is grave to them. People make the mistake of thinking "oh I could never go on if that happened to me", or conversely "how are they letting THAT slow them down." Within reason, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">everybody's</span> injuries are important and serve as obstacles to overcome. One thing that I do know is everyone has the capacity to go on and do great things, regardless of their injury. Be it a sprained back, a missing arm, or a wheelchair for life, the life you lead afterwards is a reflection on your inner self. I have friends and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">acquaintances</span> who've had relatively minor injuries who simply give up, sit down, and do no more. I also have friends who have injuries that make mine look like a bad <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">paper cut</span>, and yet they go on to lead productive lives. Why? Because they chose to! These people knew that they'd never be happy lying in a bed being fussed over. they constantly sought the next challenge. Sometimes that challenge was walking, sometimes it was as simple as eating. In the end they did the most they could, and were all the better for it. I'm sure I could sit at home and draw a little VA pension, tell anyone who'd listen about my tales of woe, and many people would say I was well within my rights to do that. I don't. Instead I go tax my tiny brain trying to learn the art of medicine so that someday I'll be a decent doctor. Before that I taught myself how to frame, do plumbing, lay tile, hang drywall, lay concrete, and a host of other activities all while trying to renovate my little place. I do all this because I choose to. Every time I get down, I just think about the "do nothing option" and I press on. Ultimately, while I am thrilled that people look at me as an inspiration, I try to let everyone know that everything I've done, they too are capable. It all comes down to you and your choice. Me? I choose to live.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNvHlXRUFI/AAAAAAAAAeg/uw3rjBAIqAY/s1600-h/012.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220638569132019794" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNvHlXRUFI/AAAAAAAAAeg/uw3rjBAIqAY/s320/012.JPG" border="0" /></a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Ok</span> enough of the rant, back to beer and hookahs... I made it here to Hudson in time to shoot the breeze a bit with my friends here. They recently found out they will be the proud parents of triplets, so there was lots of talking to do! I also showed them the wonders of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">blogosphere</span> and they have now set up their <a href="http://www.havingtriplets.blogspot.com/"><span style="color:#3366ff;">own blog</span></a> to tell the tale of three kiddies and the life of being a cop, and ask advice from those who are in the know about <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">young'uns</span>. Hopefully it all goes well! After trading tails of in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">vitro</span> fertilization versus life on the road, we settled down for some good steaks and water. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Ok</span> maybe not so much on the water... Logan's parents (of the couch/urine story) came<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNvH_aJswI/AAAAAAAAAeo/OdOZc8lx0pU/s1600-h/014.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220638576123425538" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNvH_aJswI/AAAAAAAAAeo/OdOZc8lx0pU/s320/014.JPG" border="0" /></a> in for dinner too, so the conversation was never dull. Finally, bellies full, we settled in for post dinner drinks and whatnot. This is when Logan busted out Ye <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Olde</span> Hookah. Having never messed with one, I was intrigued. I myself am a staunch non smoker, but he assured me it didn't smell like an ashtray in Hell, and fired it up. I must say that the smell was in fact quite fragrant, which was even more intriguing. Finally I got up the courage (read: had enough to drink) to take a puff, and was amazed that it wasn't bad at all. Apparently the tobacco is flavored, and it also takes on the flavor of whatever liquid you bubble it through, i.e. wine, beer, bleach or what not. All<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNvj4ZgzgI/AAAAAAAAAew/XMu2Tx_5zQc/s1600-h/017.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220639055278034434" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNvj4ZgzgI/AAAAAAAAAew/XMu2Tx_5zQc/s320/017.JPG" border="0" /></a> in all, it's a lot like a cigar, where the goal is to enjoy the flavor (which cigars lack IMO) and not really so much about inhaling all the smoke. Well the hookah brought up tales of the middle east where we both have been, and it wasn't long thereafter before the topic of guns floated by, too. So here we are, two ex-infantry buffoons puffing on a hookah, talking politics and guns. While drinking. Then the cameras came out. First it was a picture with the hookah, then the brandy... I'll let the pics themselves tell the tale of the rest of it. Remember, you can click the pics for bigger versions... Hopefully at least a few people might be offended and will send me hate mail, which I will then find immensely entertaining.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNvkX3lNnI/AAAAAAAAAe4/sZc48sADlf8/s1600-h/019.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220639063725651570" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHNvkX3lNnI/AAAAAAAAAe4/sZc48sADlf8/s320/019.JPG" border="0" /></a>After everything was put away and order was restored, the parents took this as an excellent opportunity to leave before things got too out of hand. We were then sitting around debating what to get into next when we heard the booms. Someone was shooting fireworks. We were out the door before the next set was off. We headed down the road to where his neighbors were firing mortars off as fast as they could. We brought along Logan's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">rinky</span> dink black cat bottle rockets and quickly joined the fray. It went a lot like this... BOOM! BOOM! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">phhhtpop</span> BOOM! I was reminded of the "Harlem Nights" scene where everyone had big guns and the one guy had a tiny pistol. It didn't take long before one guy was tying fuses together and other guys were lighting them. Two people bent over the mortar tubes, giggling with glee as they try to get all the fuses to light at the same time, then sprinting away before anyone took a round to the face! As this went on, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">neighbors</span> began to gather to enjoy the free show that had manifested outside their doors. I think a number might have been betting on who got "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">blowed</span> up" first. Probably didn't help that one guy out there was running around with one arm... The saving grace was that several of those involved were cops, and therefore viewed as professionals who knew what they were doing, and not as giggling half-lit man-kids with lighters and explosives. Anyhow, the night ended with no big incidents as I'd left <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">RTD</span> inside. I figured it would take him about three seconds before he started trying to go catch the fireworks...</div><div><br /><br /></div><div>Well today I'm headed to Jacksonville for a day or two, and then on back to TN. Like I said, I'll try to post for a bit longer about whatever I remember that I missed on the trip. Also, I must clarify, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">RTD</span> is in fact housebroken, he only has issues if another dog has been there and peed first!! Hope everyone is still enjoying this! </div><div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-38542459070869986492008-07-07T11:23:00.007-04:002008-07-07T12:36:52.361-04:00Ernie and his balls...<div><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJE_CJRdsI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/AYw2tzKLjp0/s1600-h/004.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220310767774037698" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJE_CJRdsI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/AYw2tzKLjp0/s400/004.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well the end of my trip draws near, but it's not done yet! Today I'm hanging out in <a href="http://www.ehowa.com/"><span style="color:#3366ff;">The House of Whoop A$$</span></a> which was so gracious as to host me. I made my way here from Pensacola along I-10 which is pretty desolate up in the norther climes of the panhandle. An interesting thing there are the rows upon rows of pines growing in the sandy Florida soil. Obviously they are tree farms, but it's just odd that everywhere they are in long straight lines like giants arranged in phalanxes, ready to do battle with nothing more than the Florida weather which is a formidable adversary in and of itself. Once I made it through Tallahassee I headed down south on HWY 19 which is supposedly a faster way to Tampa according to that great dashboard deceiver, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Garminator</span>. What the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Garminator</span> never tells you is that there *might* be 145767923 stoplights to slow ya down.... Not that I cared but don't you be fooled! </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJE_uiIqMI/AAAAAAAAAeY/hqNKg8oNBZ4/s1600-h/007.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220310779689478338" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJE_uiIqMI/AAAAAAAAAeY/hqNKg8oNBZ4/s400/007.JPG" border="0" /></a>Sadly, one thing I noticed was that Florida away from the coast is kind of poverty stricken. A lot of trailers with cars up on blocks in the front yard, kinda like my place. I felt right at home. Where there aren't trailers there are huge groves of trees covered in the hanging shrouds of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Spanish</span> moss, reminiscent of portraits of the civil war era. That or Forrest <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Gump</span>... Once I got close to Tampa I came into the strip mall and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">powersports</span> dealer nirvana that is the Gulf Coast economy, and palm trees and other <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Florichic</span> vegetation and architecture reminded me of the money that is still in Florida.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJE0_QJQkI/AAAAAAAAAeI/3LsN8RU3O5A/s1600-h/017.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220310595198861890" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJE0_QJQkI/AAAAAAAAAeI/3LsN8RU3O5A/s400/017.JPG" border="0" /></a>In Tampa, I made my way over to my buddy from flight school's parents place where they'd agreed to host Rocky and I. This is an agreement they probably regret now. See <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">RTD</span> has never seen certain things, like screened in porches. As soon as I let him out the back door, he ran headfirst at full speed into the screened in porch, and thankfully was rebuffed. Then he ran around and tried to figure out how to get out. I mean, the grass and trees are RIGHT there! There MUST be a way to get to them! When he was again confounded, he finally gave up and decided just to pee on stuff through the screen. With all that out of the way he was able to turn his attention to Oreo, their <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">maltese</span>/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">shitzu</span> mix. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Oreo</span> was busily running around and trying to sniff <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">RTD</span>, and then humping his leg. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">RTD</span> just looked at me with a confused look... He's never interacted with a fog this small and was unsure how he was supposed to go about humping <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Oreo's</span> rear. Finally he gave up and just peed on Oreo, which nobody found amusing except me. After all that, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">RTD</span> finally let go with the coup <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">d'grace</span> and dropped large Rocky Bombs on the cement next to the pool. I guess he figured if he was outside, that's good enough. After dinner we all settled in and hit the sack, where Rocky then decided to go do a little marking on the white furniture. Now he's NEVER done this before unless it's somewhere another dog marked, so I think <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">RTD</span> might have been trying to cover a little Oreo milk. I was dispatched to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">petsmart</span> to get cleaner shortly thereafter...</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>After Tampa I made my way down south to the Ft. Myers area to meet Ernie who, had offered food and beer both of which I could not refuse. If there ever was a need for a "North American Guy" call, it would bellow "Steak and beer over here!!!" when activated. It would work well. Here we hit the local pub and downed beverages before heading home to pl<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">ay</span> in the pool, which had already been the source of amusement today. Can you guess how? If you said "Rocky The Destroyer" you would be correct.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJEzxeB3GI/AAAAAAAAAdw/hwqSMdDxjHs/s1600-h/013.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220310574319131746" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJEzxeB3GI/AAAAAAAAAdw/hwqSMdDxjHs/s400/013.JPG" border="0" /></a>As I've learned, Rocky fancies the pool. Well his pool is different than any others I've seen in that it just overflows over an edge into a "well" about four feet below it that acts as a skimmer/trap. Well after a while of playing with the ball, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">RTD</span> decided to try to play with two. This worked for a bit, but eventually one managed to fall over the edge into the well. Well <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">RTD</span> then swam over and peered over the edge ad the orphaned toy and contemplated his next move. While he did this I screamed "Rocky NO!" which roughly translates to him as "Y<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">ou</span> better hurry up and do whatever it is you're planning!!!" Upon hearing this Rocky crawled up on the thin edge of the pool wall and teetered precariously while eyeing his ball. I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">unassed</span> my seat and yelled at him "you better not! No!" Which again roughly translates to "Now or never!" Rocky opted for "now" and into the well he went. Once in there he realized that there was no way out and began thrashing around as I laughed at him. I finally got down and was able to grab his handy dandy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Rockstar</span> Carrying Handle that I make him wear at all times and pulled him out. Well as soon as he was out, he realized that while he was out, the ball wasn't. Luckily I was able to catch him midair as he jumped right back into the well. We had to restrain him until Ernie could fish both of his balls out with a skimmer. (How's that for a sentence to take out of context....) Finally Ernie took his balls away from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">RTD</span> so we could dry him off. But the fun wasn't over yet...</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJE0OVx5OI/AAAAAAAAAd4/oN4Cy-aidLs/s1600-h/014.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220310582069159138" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJE0OVx5OI/AAAAAAAAAd4/oN4Cy-aidLs/s400/014.JPG" border="0" /></a>With Rocky now dried and ball-less, he soon became bored. This was right about the time the pool was back to smooth waters, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">RTD</span> was able to see something he hadn't seen before. Where the jets blow water out just below the surface, it creates a ripple in the water. Rocky was intrigued. He sat there and watched it for a bit, debating on what to do. His first action was to try to paw at it. He managed to lean over and balance enough to paw, but he kept coming back <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">emptyhanded</span>. Odd... the ripples are still RIGHT there! Next he got on his belly and sniffed at it before jamming his head underwater to try to get a closer look. Still nothing. He then sat back and watched some more before choosing his final course of action. I looked over in time to see him on his haunches wiggling trying to judge how to jump onto it. I yelled another "Rocky NO!" which we all already know means "Do it! Do It Now! Get to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Choppah</span>!" <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">RTD</span> immediately jumped in and once again came up empty mouthed, but alas, this time he could FEEL whatever it was making the ripple. Sensing that the prey was close, Rocky made his way over to the jet and then did his best to drown himself attacking the underwater jet. Once again the Patent Pended Rocky Carrying Handle was used to haul him back out of the water for some more drying off. At least Ernie was happy that this time his balls were safe and dry.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJEzliEiDI/AAAAAAAAAdo/1wksS5Xs4GU/s1600-h/011.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220310571114858546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJEzliEiDI/AAAAAAAAAdo/1wksS5Xs4GU/s400/011.JPG" border="0" /></a>After all that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">RTD</span> was put back inside and we headed out for the steaks and beverages. After dinner we headed to a little outside pub where I regaled all within earshot with my tales from the road and whatever else came to mind. As mentioned before, nothing <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">makes me</span> happier than an audience. Eventually, no doubt sensing I was nearing the point of no return as the area was starting to get more crowded, Ernie wisely hauled us back to the house where we were able to hang out and drink with the Captain, though the Doctor couldn't make it. Those who know me know what I mean (think Morgan and Pepper). Ultimately the night wound down and everyone headed to their places of rest where <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">tragedy</span> struck. apparently sometime during the night, a band of bat wielding thugs broke in and popped us all on the head. At least that what I think happened. that's what my head keeps telling me... </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJE0nHGj2I/AAAAAAAAAeA/dSduwuYFOnI/s1600-h/015.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220310588718485346" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SHJE0nHGj2I/AAAAAAAAAeA/dSduwuYFOnI/s400/015.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well today it's back to Tampa to see my friends who recently found out that they are about to be parents. Times three. After that I'm headed <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">to</span> Jacksonville to see the Wounded Warrior Project people and a few more friends and then it's back to TN. I still have several stories to post so keep coming back to see what's new!! </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Also if anyone here happens to work with a book publisher, feel free to lie and tell them this is the best thing you've seen since chocolate was invented and see if they're interested in helping me publish any of it! </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-29325054612964304652008-07-05T12:35:00.003-04:002008-07-05T12:43:37.161-04:00The camera....Hey everyone! I've had a lot of people ask what kind of camera setup I use, and then they tell me all about theirs. I'm kind of ashamed to admit it, but I have no clue when it comes to photography... I am using a cheap Fuji Finepix 8.0 I bought at Best Buy about a week into the trip when my older cheaper camera died... Sorry there's no great digital SLR supercamera with "adjustable F-stops" and "variable lenses" etc etc etc...<br /><br />That said, I've had a fair amount of interest in a calendar and or glossies of some of the pics. If you are interested, PLEASE take a minute to click the poll on the right side here. You can choose more than one option so pick accordingly. I'm trying to gauge interest here to decide if it's worth the time to get some professional calendars made to sell here for probably around $20. Thanks gor taking the time to take the poll!! DanielDanielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-9811682545637456532008-07-05T11:04:00.009-04:002008-07-05T12:34:38.016-04:00Born on a Bayou...<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG-gMSBDwJI/AAAAAAAAAdg/2v55uqrDMUs/s1600-h/017a.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219566626000846994" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG-gMSBDwJI/AAAAAAAAAdg/2v55uqrDMUs/s400/017a.jpg" border="0" /></a>After my last post (from Katy) I headed on over to the local Autozone to get a new compressor for my A/C system. I think I should have invested in autozone before I started this trip... I wonder if they'll name a store after me after all the business the Bean has brought them in the last six months... I bought the compressor and asked if I could use their store toolbox to put it on. They asked what tools I needed and I explained I didn't know yet, but adamantly promised I wouldn't steal the box of broken and mismatched tools they loaned me. Finally the relented and turned the box of tools over, and I went outside to work. I quickly set about pulling the compressor with all the wrong tools. Finally I got it off with a large blast of freon to the face and finally got the instructions out to read. Step 1: drain freon from system. Ooops... Eventually I'll learn.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />As I started getting the new part ready to go in, one of the employees stepped out and asked me how I planned to get the freon BACK in.<br /><br /><br /><br />"In? I was just gonna hook up this can here..."<br /><br /><br />"That won't work. You need to have something to suck it in."<br /><br /><br />"Wait, what? Do you have that here at the store?"<br /><br /><br />"Uh no, not really."<br /><br /><br />"Uh oh..."<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG-d7czOUkI/AAAAAAAAAc4/VSDIOJ-JVZ0/s1600-h/001a.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219564137814577730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG-d7czOUkI/AAAAAAAAAc4/VSDIOJ-JVZ0/s400/001a.jpg" border="0" /></a>Years of experience allowed the Autozone guy to recognize imcompetence when he saw it, and he suggested I take it across the street to the mechanic there and have them charge it. I told him that was a bit too pricy for me and I was gonna try it myself somehow. Recognizing that dangerous combination of incompetence coupled with ignorance, he took it upon himself to call the shop himself and explain that he had a customer who was systematically destroying an ugly truck in their parking lot and asked if they could fix it before meltdown occured. The instructions lying crumpled on the ground nearby probably helped my case, too... Fortunately they agreed and I took the truck across the street for a professional attempt at repair.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG-eloIcY3I/AAAAAAAAAdA/lnPcuJ2tWbs/s1600-h/003a.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219564862410875762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG-eloIcY3I/AAAAAAAAAdA/lnPcuJ2tWbs/s400/003a.jpg" border="0" /></a>At Katy foriegn and domestic auto repair, the mechanic, Tink, assured me he could get the Bean recharged and I'd be set. After a bit he asked if I'd changed the filter, too. Filter? There's a filter? Well Tink the uncharged the system and checked the filter, which contained all sorts of parts of the old compressor. Not good. After seing this, he decided maybe the whole system should be flushed, too. Several bottles of flush later, 24 years of crud was removed and he set about hooking it all back up. Finally, several hours later and a lot more work completed than what they initially agreed to, the Bean was blowing 48 degree air and I was ready to get back on the road. I have to thank Tink and the rest of them there for being so kind as to work late into the afternoon before the 4th to get the Bean back to arctic goodness!</div><br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><div>Back on the road I decided I'd drive late to make up time. I then promptly got stuck in the parking lot that is I-10 in Houston at late rush hour. Eventually everyone remembered they were supposed to be driving and traffic started moving and I headed out. I managed to get to Lake Charles, LA around 9:30 and looked for a camp. Jellystone was the only option, so off I went in search of Yogi and crew. Once there I was laughingly informed that if I didn't have a reservation there was no way they were taking me in. Dang. I then went to the local Econolodge, which happened to be on MLK drive there. I hate to make broad statements, but in my life, I've NEVER been on a MLK drive that gave me a good feeling and the fact that the Garminator was beelining me there wasn't reassuring.</div><br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG-eliadCMI/AAAAAAAAAdI/GPeg-vcq8wE/s1600-h/017a.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219564860875802818" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG-eliadCMI/AAAAAAAAAdI/GPeg-vcq8wE/s400/017a.jpg" border="0" /></a>At the hotel waiting to check in, I got my first clue when the clerk told security that there was someone on the second floor going door to door asking for drugs or money. Nonplussed, I bravely checked in anyhow and pulled around to my room. I hadn't even got the bean in park before there was a guy at my door. I got RTD and my knife ready and opened the door. he immediately asked if I could come across the street with him for a little help. I looked at the dark grove of trees he was pointing towards and followed my gut instinct and tasered the guy. Ok I didn't taser him, but at the sight of Rocky he lost interest and ran off. Still undeterred I headed up the stairs to my hovel... The room itself was disgustipating. The carpet was hideous and the smell was worse. I looked at the two beds and bravely pulled back the comforter. Blue sheets. Not good. For the hotel unitiated, colored sheets are ALWAYS a bad thing. Colored sheets indicate bleach is not a part of the washing process. I looked closely at the sheets and was impressed at the number of stains on the first bed. The second bed looked a little better, but then when I touched it, the bed was wet. I briefly considered getting the air mattress before realizing I'd PAID for this. Angry, I finally headed back to the desk where I stood around for about twenty minutes while the clerk did everything but unlock the lobby to let me in. My only solace was in scaring off potential customers with my tales of nastiness and funk in the hotel. Finally I was given a refund and I made my way on down the road to a Ho-Jo that was much nicer.</div><br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG-e3UxxzwI/AAAAAAAAAdY/W5tLxp0---0/s1600-h/019a.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219565166453182210" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG-e3UxxzwI/AAAAAAAAAdY/W5tLxp0---0/s400/019a.jpg" border="0" /></a>The next morning I set off for Pensacola to see the fireworks at the beach there. Along the way I crossed all manner of woodlands and bayou. Pines and hardwoods would yield to the cypress and other undergrowth of the wetlands. Herons and other waterbirds hovered just off the highway, taking advantage of the updraft off the water to hold them steady as if painted into the sky. Every time I got ready to pull over to take a picture, a local law enforcement officer would appear next to a "no parking ever" sign. Eventually I crossed into Florida where the wetlands gave way to the sandy soil of the Florida guld coast. Pines and dark undergrowth again became the masters of the land as I pulled into the RV park which was kind enough to let me park there. They were the only place that wasn't booked full, or so greedy they hadn't jacked the prices way into the hundreds. I watched the fireworks from the Outback there, and then headed back to campground for a humid nights sleep. I must say 75 degrees still sucks when you can swim through the air to get to the bathroom... Today I'm headed to Tampa for a day or three, and finally on to either Orlando or Jacksonville before making my way back north. </div><br /><div><br /><br />BTW, Ernie of <a href="http://www.ehowa.com/">http://www.ehowa.com/</a>, get ahold of me! </div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-83758665486151904662008-07-04T13:18:00.005-04:002008-07-04T23:29:06.700-04:00Independence Day<div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG7qdXN4oVI/AAAAAAAAAcw/MO-LztVs-tA/s1600-h/4th+freedom.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219366808338342226" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG7qdXN4oVI/AAAAAAAAAcw/MO-LztVs-tA/s400/4th+freedom.jpg" border="0" /></a>Today is the day we all celebrate our independence as a nation. This is a day that is uniquely special to the United States, yet sadly has become more commercialized in the last several years. One day in the future it may become "Happy Fireworks Day" once some organization protests <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">that they</span> are offended by our Declaration or some such nonsense. It seems unlikely now but look at all the other "Holidays" that have changed over time. One never knows.... Today though it is still Independence Day, and it's a day I'm proud to get to see. Sadly, it also marks the two year date of the day I found out my friend CW3 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Flanigan</span> was killed in Afghanistan fighting for the freedoms we hold so dear, yet take for granted.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>Over the last several weeks I've had an excellent opportunity to witness just how much freedom we have. I've received e-mails from people who think otherwise, and even talked to one (conspiracy theorist) but I myself remain confident in our freedom. People point out that we are restricted from owning automatic weapons, and scream that our freedoms are gone. The truth is though, we are free to own them provided we follow the rules to GET them. Not all countries have this, and I personally agree that there needs to be a checks system in place for such stuff anyhow. The Supreme Court, in a rare moment of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">enlightenment</span>, even upheld <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">everyone's</span> right to own a handgun, provided you meet the requirements which essentially mean you aren't a felon. Seems pretty free to me! If you want to go buy a few hundred gallons of diesel fuel and fertilizer, you can! Don't be surprised if someone questions WHY you just bought the ingredients for a bomb, but if you don't have ill intent, their yours for the taking. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>In a few more months we'll all head to the voting booths to make our selections for the future leaders of this country. In that little booth you'll have several choices to make about this future. Some people might argue that candidate A is just like candidate B, and there may even be some truth to that, but in the end there is still an A and a B. Some countries don't have that. Look at Zimbabwe which recently held their "election". It was a really easy process, you vote for the only name on the ticket, Robert Mugabe, and you go home. I can promise you this, Robert Mugabe of last week will be just like Robert Mugabe of next week, which is a lot more similar than McCain and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Obama</span>. What you won't have there is someone with a gun assisting making sure you have no trouble choosing the "right" candidate. More freedom in my book.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>Perhaps some of you are heading out across country today to celebrate with relatives. As you cross easily from state to state, think about the places where you can't do that. There are no guards asking why you feel like heading over to Georgia for your afternoon. Not every country can say that. While you tool down the highway on your trip, you have no worries of being pulled over merely because you aren't from the local "tribe" which runs the show there. No officer will be holding out his hand expecting your license and a hundred dollar bill to avoid a little "talking to" courtesy of a nightstick. Still sounding pretty good to me...</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>Some of you might be enjoying your summer, anxiously awaiting the start of school where you hope to go on to be a doctor, a lawyer, a politician, or maybe a humanitarian worker. All options are open and your performance will be your key to these dreams. What you won't encounter is some <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">bureaucracy</span> that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">tells</span> you that you can't chase these dreams because you didn't score well enough in school, or you are from the wrong caste, or you just aren't the right race or gender. I myself came from a background where I nearly failed out of high school and came from a poor family yet here I am, a student in medical school. These are all freedoms which we enjoy that people in other countries don't</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>One of the things to remember is that this independence didn't come for naught. The price paid was heavy, and even today the debt is still being settled. Tonight while you enjoy your steak and beer, remember that somewhere in the world, an American is suffering so that you won't have to. This is a person who did this of their own accord, be it for school, a sense of patriotism, or just a way out. No letter arrived in the mail directing them to report for duty. No truck full of armed men came and whisked them away to a new life of danger. This citizen willfully stepped forward and said "I will go" when so many others sat back and criticized or listed the reasons why it just wasn't convenient for them to go. Tonight while you watch the beautiful displays of fireworks bursting overhead, know that somewhere else in the world an American is seeing the same bursts, hearing the same booms, and wishing they weren't there. This person will see no beauty in the rockets red glare, only danger unknown to those who've not been there. When the embers fall on you as you try to dance out of the way, remember that for a neighbor of yours these embers are shrapnel, embers that injure far more gravely. Lastly, remember that in the morning when you awaken, head pounding from the nights festivities, a friend you've never met will never reawaken from their last nights journey.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I myself will be in the Pensacola area provided all goes well. I'll likely be sleeping at a truck stop as all the campgrounds are booked and I lacked the ability to reserve one far enough in advance. I'll enjoy my night in the Bean because tonight of all nights, hotels apparently don't offer a military discount because of the opportunity to make more money. Thankfully though, regardless of where I enjoy my night, tomorrow I will awaken though just two years ago I came so close to not, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">so many</span> of my brothers in arms never will.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Remember, freedom is not free. As soon as I get better internet access, I'll <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">repost</span> one of my favorite pictures because I feel it says it all.</div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-5685814780865984452008-07-03T08:02:00.011-04:002008-07-03T14:18:32.811-04:00No country for dumb dogs<div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0VDqJ-GpI/AAAAAAAAAb4/9Yy_VTf1z_Y/s1600-h/071.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218850695792171666" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0VDqJ-GpI/AAAAAAAAAb4/9Yy_VTf1z_Y/s400/071.JPG" border="0" /></a>The other day <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">RTD</span> and I made the trip through Big Bend National Park over in the far reaches of Southwest Texas. The trip the from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Las</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Cruces</span> was boring, and I must admit the desert gets a bit monotonous as I've mentioned before. One can only spend so much time thinking "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Yay</span>! Sand!" before wanting to fill ones eyes with cactus spines and starting dreaming of unnamed horses. At least that's my feeling. Desert dwellers probably feel that green trees and rolling mountains <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">get a</span> little old... Well this was my first trip to Big Bend in spite of my years of living in Texas. I took a route through <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Marfa</span>, TX so I could see the area where <em>No Country for Old Men was filmed. </em>If you've not seen this movie, go rent it now and watch it. Twice. The first time will leave you feeling <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">unfulfilled</span> and confused, like that first morning after prom. The second time brings it all together a bit better since you kind of know what's going on. I was surprised at how "artsy" this tiny west TX town was, but after considering that it is a popular destination for Hollywood Western types, it made more sense. Alas, there was still no Starbucks.</div><div> </div><div><br /> </div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0V9O8YryI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/npsQ-z6nL6g/s1600-h/RR.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218851684919848738" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0V9O8YryI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/npsQ-z6nL6g/s400/RR.jpg" border="0" /></a>As I continued on towards the park, the desert continued to be about as exciting as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">RTD</span> on Valium. I did see some <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Javelinas</span> which was another first for me in TX. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Javelinas</span> are a time of swine that get up to about 60-80 lbs, and have a perpetually bad day. Running into a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">javelina</span> is bad. Running into a pack is worse. Running into a pack with piglets after a meal of bacon and pork chops is probably catastrophic. Luckily <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">RTD</span> didn't run into any at all. We also saw more wild turkey and buzzards which always hold Rocky's rapt attention. Other than that we mostly drove and I cursed the thunderstorms that were prevailing, and swore that if the park was just more scrubby desert I'd start searching for books of matches...</div><div> </div><div><br /><br /> </div><div>I was not let down. The contrast between the park and the surrounding nothingness is huge. The park is filled with jagged peaks and valleys, colors across the spectrum, and varieties of fun filled wildlife to keep the nights interesting. I entered from the west entrance and made my way through. The same showers I'd been cursing made for amazing pictures, so of which I've already posted. The elevation change is amazing, and at the highest points in the park the weather is almost cool. Well, for <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Texas</span> at least. I tooled along taking pictures and stopping to admire the contrasts of the oranges and reds of the rocks and sunsets against the angry blacks and greys of the summer storms. I finally descended into the Rio <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Grande</span> valley where the heat and humidity were in direct competition with each other to see which could be listed under "cause" on your death certificate. I made it to the campsite where I got out of the Bean for about thirty seconds before deciding to head back up the hill to the Basin campsite. I'd suggest this to anyone who isn't "camping" in Van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Halen's</span> old tour bus. </div><div><br /><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0XHtRI3cI/AAAAAAAAAcY/6CDDs8jM4_s/s1600-h/017.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218852964370275778" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0XHtRI3cI/AAAAAAAAAcY/6CDDs8jM4_s/s400/017.JPG" border="0" /></a>We <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">overnighted</span> at the infamous Skunk Stomping Grounds where <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">tragedy</span> was narrowly avoided, and I was pretty much miserable. My air mattress picked that night to spring a leak, and after two refills I just settled for misery on the cold floor of the Bean while Rocky looked at me in a mocking fashion. The next morning brought on more rain and massive fog until we made it back into the lowlands. The trip out of the park was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">ok</span>, but the best scenery is in the west of the park, and the rains do nothing but to enhance it though that might only work in the evenings. After the park I went through yet another Alien Checkpoint where the Bean was scrutinized in detail to see if I was running illegals through there. I guess the fact I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">could</span> easily fir thirty or forty brings a little attention to me. After that it was back to desert boredom until I noticed a little something.</div><div> </div><div><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0XID_PHqI/AAAAAAAAAcg/sX1T2t6K9ts/s1600-h/022.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218852970469203618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0XID_PHqI/AAAAAAAAAcg/sX1T2t6K9ts/s400/022.JPG" border="0" /></a>In was driving about thirty miles south of Fort Stockton when I notice a large black hunk of rubber on the side of the road. You know, the ones that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">occasionally</span> depart a truckers tire and sail directly into your windshield, too small to do damage but big enough to require and underwear change after it hits. Well these hand sized chunks are not unusual, except this one moved when I got closer. This piqued my interest, and the Bean was eventually doing a 27 point U-turn to get back to see what it was. When I got back to where it had been, it was gone! I turned around again and slowly cruised up the highway to see if I could find it. It wasn't long before I saw the "rubber" walking through the woods. The "rubber" was actually a "Tarantula". I was impressed, another first for Texas and I! I immediately stopped the truck and got out for a closer look. I left <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">RTD</span> there in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">the</span> truck since I wasn't sure how poisonous these things might be. Anyhow, one thing that fascinates me are spiders, and here was a big one. I drew deep from the wellspring of knowledge gleaned from years of watch such great shows as The Crocodile Hunter and other <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Discovery</span> Channel wonders, and tried to decide what to do next. It didn't take long for the answer to come to me.... Poke it with a stick. I've learned that when all else fails when dealing with wild animals, especially those with large fangs, stick poking is a given. I rounded up a twig and tried to remember if tarantulas were capable of long jumps. My gut said "no" so the poking began.</div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0XI4jzYhI/AAAAAAAAAco/hyt_q9zRNKQ/s1600-h/024.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218852984581218834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0XI4jzYhI/AAAAAAAAAco/hyt_q9zRNKQ/s400/024.JPG" border="0" /></a>My first couple of pokes did not produce the desired effect, so I went with another time tested method of wild arachnid wrangling, and tossed a few pebbles at it. I was rewarded with some movement to and fro, but not much else. Now I got a bit of testicular fortitude up and started alternately poking, pebbling, and picturing as close as I could. Finally it wandered into the road and stopped. Foiled, I increased my stick poking, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">attempting</span> to poke about the head and neck area. I was having fun! I was five years old again! I was standing in the middle of a highway with a semi truck headed my way. Finally with one last deft maneuver I poked away and garnered the desired pose. The spider rared back on its' hind legs and displayed the fangs. Success!! I snapped a picture and retreated to the side of the road as the truck passed by, blowing the tarantula around a bit. Finally, bewildered at what had just happened, it made it's way back off into the brush in search of that eternal motivator of males, females, and I continued on to the Hill Country of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Fredericksburg</span>, TX.</div><div> </div><div><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0VClKvuAI/AAAAAAAAAbw/_nvQwqdYTRU/s1600-h/038.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218850677273376770" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0VClKvuAI/AAAAAAAAAbw/_nvQwqdYTRU/s400/038.JPG" border="0" /></a>Now I realize Texans love Texas and everything, but most of my memories of Texas aren't very fond, therefore my opinion may be a bit jaded. That decree made, I have to say the Hill Country is a pretty nice area of the world. The temperatures here tend to be about ten degrees cooler than the rest of Texas, so Satan isn't nearly as often spotted in this corner of Hades. The hills are a golden rolling carpet spotted with live oaks and mesquites, and that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">everpresent</span> destroyer of cars, that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">oversized</span> rodent, that walking eating <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">machine</span>, the White Tailed Deer. Throughout the hill country are numerous wineries and ranches, and my personal favorite, several winding rivers. The rivers are where one can engage in that great <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Tejas</span> Past Time of tubing. This is where you and a few friends rent inner tubes with plastic bottoms, toss in a cooler of tasty brew (cans only) and float lazily along the green hued <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">limeladen</span> rivers with hundreds of your new friends. On a weekend it is nearly impossible to not end up drinking, regardless of whether you brought any beer or not. The multitudes of sun seekers floating along on the donut shaped caravan will surely bequeath unto you more alcohol that you care to have. While Texans might be hogs of the highways, they certainly aren't stingy with the beer.</div><div><br /><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0V86TZDyI/AAAAAAAAAcI/TTSNanwgxNE/s1600-h/001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218851679379197730" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0V86TZDyI/AAAAAAAAAcI/TTSNanwgxNE/s400/001.JPG" border="0" /></a>After a lazy frozen <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">rainfilled</span> afternoon of floating the river, we headed to my other favorite destination of the Hill Country; <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Gruene</span>, TX. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">Gruene</span> is an old German town that's since been revamped for tourism. It's just touristy enough to be a tourist town, yet not so overdone you expect a large mouse with gloves to pop out from behind every corner. My favorite <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">restaurant</span> there is The Gristmill, and one would be selling themselves short to miss out on it! No meal on the menu will run more than $20, and most are half that. The place is in an old mill, so the old walls, timber, and water tower are all still there, along with terraced seating, and the oldest dance hall in Texas just a stones throw away. If all of this sounds like a shameless plug for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">Gruene</span>, it's because it is! If you ever end up near San Antonio, scratch the River Walk off your list and drive the half hour north to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">Gruene</span> and mail me your "thank you" notes later!</div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div><div><br /><br /> </div><div>Speaking of Texas dance halls, I also got the opportunity to here a couple of Texas musicians play. Sadly it wasn't at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">Luckenbach</span>, though I've heard <a href="http://www.thomasmichaelriley.com/"><span style="color:#3366ff;">Thomas Michael Riley</span></a> (whose place I was staying at this time) play there and ya can't pass that up, either. Matt and I ended up in Marble City Falls to hear <a href="http://www.mikeblakely.com/"><span style="color:#3366ff;">Mike <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">Blakely</span></span></a> play along with a few other fellows, and good times were had by all. I was getting a bit worn down by this point but I was still quite happy to have the opportunity! Finally with all that out of the way I visited a few more friends in San Antonio before getting ready to head out to New Orleans. One of my classmates is spending his summer playing Army in the summer heat of Texas so he can be an Army doc, so I had to bring him and some of his other downtrodden buddies some Rudy's so that they'd know what real brisket was like. Hope ya enjoyed it, old man...</div><div><br /></div><div></div></div><div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0VD2aRfFI/AAAAAAAAAcA/UYUo-4-3eoA/s1600-h/089.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218850699081776210" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SG0VD2aRfFI/AAAAAAAAAcA/UYUo-4-3eoA/s400/089.JPG" border="0" /></a>As for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">SATX</span>, I don't have much to say, that's where I did my rehab, and I may write about that tonight for the 4<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">th</span>. I don't know yet, I'll have to look in my soul and see if there is a story that wants to get out. If so, you'll see it. That brings me to where I am now; Katy, TX. I stopped here because my air conditioner stopped about ten miles back so I'm about to suck it up and go buy a new compressor. The sound you heard this afternoon was the wail I unleashed after seeing the price of keeping the Bean (and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">Rockstar</span>) cool.... Anyhow I hope to get to around <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">N'Awlins</span> tonight, and then who knows from there. My buddies at Fort <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">Rucker</span> have all headed out for the Fourth so I may just sleep on a beach in Florida somewhere, who knows. At least the bikinis will be out in abundance!! Until then...</div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-41542769766853063112008-06-30T23:37:00.006-04:002008-06-30T23:50:47.441-04:00The Solo Flight...<div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmotb722MI/AAAAAAAAAbo/PlXZeVJKxGA/s1600-h/N5427J.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217887141831825602" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmotb722MI/AAAAAAAAAbo/PlXZeVJKxGA/s400/N5427J.jpg" border="0" /></a>A few of you may already know, but for those who don’t, I’m a man of many talents. Most of them are useless, such as being able to remember completely irrelevant facts, and some are at least fun. One of those talents is my ability to fly. Not with my underwear outside my blue jeans and a cape, but in large hunks of aluminum known as aircraft. Ok the underwear thing may have been attempted after enough tasty adult beverages, but that’s not what this story is about. See not only do I fly helicopters; I also hold a fixed wing rating, which means I’m cleared to terrorize the friendly skies in Cessnas. I attained this rating while hanging out at the hospital in Texas. At the time I had the idea that I would pay to get my own airplane license to keep up my aviation skills, that way when the Army was ready to let me fly again, I’d still be sharp. Great idea, bad results… Anyhow this is my “solo story”.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmoCOAnEgI/AAAAAAAAAbI/B2hFN7Iby-c/s1600-h/077.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217886399359291906" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmoCOAnEgI/AAAAAAAAAbI/B2hFN7Iby-c/s400/077.JPG" border="0" /></a>Almost every pilot has a “solo story”. Generally this is a story about how they executed some amazing feat that pilots far beyond their skill level can barely manage. Ok actually it’s usually a story about how they nearly killed themselves due to incompetence. Mine is one of those. Before I get too far in, allow me to clarify a few things. Flying an airplane is everything that flying a helicopter isn’t. In a word; easy. An airplane WANTS to fly, to soar gracefully through the skies, to mingle with the great eagles which man has always desired to be. An airplane pilot is a happy guy, confident that his bird will not fail him, that she will always deliver him gently to the ground, gliding in like the raptor of which she was modeled. The helicopter, on the other hand, does not want to fly. Most airplane pilots are relatively certain that the helicopter violates one or more laws of physics merely by existing. I’ve best heard it described as “a million parts all working in opposition to each other, doing their best to fail at the most inopportune moment.” There is nothing graceful about the helicopter. Left to its’ own devices it will immediately plummet to the earth as a ball of angrily whirling wreckage. The helicopter pilot is a neurotic man, constantly wondering if the noise he just heard was a crucial part failing, ceaselessly scanning the ground for the softest place to crash when the helicopter realizes it is in fact incapable of flight. I say all this to convey the point that airplanes are easy to fly. I’m sure that the airplane pilots will attempt to disagree with all this. They’ll cite that the Chair Force likes for their pilots to have advanced mathematical degrees, yet the Army trains high school grads to fly helicopters. They’ll surely mention that senior airline pilots make six figures, whilst senior helo pilots are lucky to pay the bills on one job alone. The reason for this? Image. What looks better? The happy go lucky airline pilot, cap tilted jauntily, maybe a scarf and a big smile as he programs the auto pilot to do the entire flight, or the half crazed chain smoking manic depressive helicopter pilot who spends most of his time mumbling something about “Murphy’s Law” and continuously asking “where are we going to land when the engine fails?” Right. The airline pilot. The reality though, there’s a reason NASA used chimps in the space program…. Trust me, I’ve flown both, and crashed one. So onto the story…<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmolxROoWI/AAAAAAAAAbg/dACw56zCi-g/s1600-h/025.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217887010119655778" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmolxROoWI/AAAAAAAAAbg/dACw56zCi-g/s400/025.JPG" border="0" /></a>My flight training was pretty easy, especially compared to rotary wing flight. My very first takeoff and landing were accomplished with the instructor pilot talking me through it, never touching the controls. In a helicopter this would have been catastrophic. Sure some of it was likely his recognizing my amazing aviator skills and trusting in me to safely take off and alight unhelped. More likely it’s because one must try hard to crash a Cessna. Not impossible to do, but hard. I waited until solo day to give it my best shot. When you solo, you have to do a certain number of hours of local and cross country flight to meet the FAA minimums. The point is to build confidence that the instructor pilot is not a necessary item for a successful flight. This is done by allowing the fledgling student to go out and attempt to fly, finally returning with much more bravado and confidence. This is initiated when the IP feels the student can fly “safely” without doing irreparable damage to the aircraft. During this process most students begin to feel confident, and then get themselves into a minor predicament which they safely overcome, and everyone drinks a beer at the end of the day, that much wiser. Usually.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmoB8aObZI/AAAAAAAAAbA/UvEh39ipbkw/s1600-h/058.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217886394634890642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmoB8aObZI/AAAAAAAAAbA/UvEh39ipbkw/s400/058.JPG" border="0" /></a>On the day of my cross country solo flight, the weather was what is known in the field as “crappy.” This is a highly technical term used to describe cloudy, windy, and rainy days where one would be much better off sitting in ops and drinking coffee. Instead I was outside preflighting and watching the IFR beacon to see if it was turned off. Turning off the beacon indicates that the minimum weather to fly has been achieved. That doesn’t mean you SHOULD be flying, but I paid no heed to this, I was gonna get some air time. Now don’t get me wrong, I’d checked the enroute and forecast weather, and it was all supposed to be improving, at least according to the guy who was sitting at a radar screen and drinking coffee in BFE. Well with minimum and improving weather, I felt confident in my abilities, and fired up the little Cessna 172 and called tower. They gave me permission for a southern departure with a westward turn out to Uvalde, the airport I’d planned on going out and practicing at some seventy miles away.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmolT_hvPI/AAAAAAAAAbY/oWBMAkwhg-A/s1600-h/013.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217887002260782322" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmolT_hvPI/AAAAAAAAAbY/oWBMAkwhg-A/s400/013.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well I took off and immediately things started rolling downhill. Apparently Murphy was on this flight, too. As I was climbing to altitude I looked inside the cockpit to check my heading and instruments, and then looked back out into the great white nothing that is the inner workings of a cloud. I was at 800 feet. The clouds were supposed to be at 2000. Thanks weather guy. Well I then did what most pilots do in this situation, a maneuver commonly known as “the wrong thing to do.” I tried to get back UNDER the clouds. This can be fatal if the clouds happen to become “ground fog”. I quickly weighed trying to fly instruments (hard when planned… REAAAALY hard when unplanned) to get back to San Antonio versus diving and decided I’d be safer that way. Luckily I was able to get back under them, and leveled out at 700 feet. Legally I’m supposed to be at 500 feet below the clouds, but that would have me driving down the highway in morning traffic. I advised tower of the situation and they told me they were unable to get me back in at that time, and to continue flying south. Finally they came back and cleared me to Uvalde with assurances of better weather that direction.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmoBac4c7I/AAAAAAAAAaw/pDaZE_Ek6e4/s1600-h/028.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217886385519227826" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmoBac4c7I/AAAAAAAAAaw/pDaZE_Ek6e4/s400/028.JPG" border="0" /></a>Again, the weather sucked, and I flew out to Uvalde at about 1000 feet where the air was nice and bumpy. The bumpiness was due to a straight 15 knot headwind. Finally Uvalde came into sight, and I called the traffic there to let them know my intentions. Had I been wise I simply would have said “Skyhawk 27J Solo inbound from the east for attempted landing to the south, resulting in probable crash and burn, ready the fire trucks”. I finally turned base and lined up with the runway and tried to ready myself to land. This was made hard by the strong right crosswind blowing me everywhere but in line with the runway. Now here’s an excellent time to clarify a few more differences between helicopters and airplanes. At low speeds, airplanes require big inputs to get the control you want. This is because the wing relies on the wind speed across it to work. In a helicopter, it’s the opposite. The slower you go the less input you put in. This caused me the most problems in the airplane transition because as I slowed down I never wanted to make big inputs out of fear of that whole “crashing” thing. Read the hover story for more…. The other major difference is in the helicopter you “neutralize” the controls at touchdown to alleviate stress on the system. This is accomplished by centering the cyclic and listening to the accolades of the admiring public about your amazing pilot abilities. In an airplane you continue to “fly” all the way until you shut down the engines. You’ll see why soon…<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmolNhWevI/AAAAAAAAAbQ/Gbc-Cko09Vk/s1600-h/008.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217887000523602674" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmolNhWevI/AAAAAAAAAbQ/Gbc-Cko09Vk/s400/008.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well as I was on final I was trying hard to stay in line with the runway, and the wind was trying harder to get me back to San Antonio. This is done by lowering the wing in the direction of the wind and turning the nose into it until you are flying straight. Essentially I looked a lot like a drunkard on a DUI stop. Finally I touched the wheels of the little Cessna down and waited for the nose to touch. As soon as the nose touched I did my typical helicopter move and centered the controls and silently congratulated myself on my sheer amazingness since there was no public present aside from one man mowing the lawn adjacent to the strip. What happened next was the wind got up under the right wing and blew me up onto the left wheel. I was now about .00005 seconds away from a ground loop. This is when the airplane spins on one wheel. At about 45 mph. The results are not pretty, and usually results in damage to the plane and cool points being spilled all over the runway. Well as the right wing continued upwards and I had visions of crashing yet another vehicle, I realized I needed to act. I “steered” the wing into the wind and got the wheel back down. The only big problem left was I was now pointed towards the edge of the runway and still rolling too fast to stop. At this point the man mowing the lawn had stopped to watch the winged tragedy finish out. The only option I saw now was to go full throttle and try to take back off.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmoBngnx_I/AAAAAAAAAa4/U0Sqqe9MS80/s1600-h/102.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217886389024573426" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGmoBngnx_I/AAAAAAAAAa4/U0Sqqe9MS80/s400/102.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well I pushed the throttle full forward and started praying. I needed about 55 knots (60.5 mph) to be able to take off, and I wasn’t sure I was gonna make it. If you try to take off too early, you’ll break ground, stall, and crash on the nose. This is generally known as “bad.” As the ground loomed closer and the airspeed needle seemed to hang at 50, I was trying to figure out how I was going to explain crashing on the side of the runway. Finally I was up to about 53 knots or so and the wheel were about to go off the edge, I opted to pull up and take off. I managed to get about two feet off the ground and level off at about two feet high to build more speed as I dragged the wheels through the grass that hadn’t been mowed yet. The man on the mower could only sit and stare. Finally I had enough speed to take off and off I went. At this point I ignored all rules about taking off and pointed my nose straight for San Antonio. I made my final call to Uvalde and said “27J Solo is departing at this time and will not be returning.” As far as I was concerned if I was going to crash and burn, I was gonna do it at an airport that was close to a hospital! Ultimately the rest of the flight was uneventful except for a fair amount of cussing. By the time I reached San Antonio the weather was beautiful, and I executed a textbook landing. Upon touchdown I congratulated myself on my amazing abilities for being the skillful aviator I was, and called it a day. Some people never learn….<br /><br /><br />Well I hope you have enjoyed this story. Next post should cover Big Bend and Central Texas. I’m hoping that now that I’ll e out of the desert there will be more to write about! The pics I’m including here are just some random pics I like that I’ve posted for your viewing pleasure. On Wednesday I’m heading towards New Orleans, so stay posted for more updates!</div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-25081163165630207432008-06-29T18:55:00.006-04:002008-07-01T14:17:12.380-04:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGgTfMdfxMI/AAAAAAAAAaI/gKUIZLckMLM/s1600-h/037.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217441594950534338" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGgTfMdfxMI/AAAAAAAAAaI/gKUIZLckMLM/s320/037.JPG" border="0" /></a>My posts fall further behind but this time it’s not my fault! I finally got into my site tonight and started getting the truck ready for the night. This took a few minutes because of the way RTD chooses to eat his food. Unlike a normal dog and eating his food out of the bowl, he instead takes a mouthful and spits it out on the floor and munches the kibbles one at a time. Well tonight I set his food out as always, clipped him up, and threw all the kibbles out of the back of the truck. After that I gathered up the garbage and took Rockstar on a walk to the dumpster to toss out my detritus. After figuring how to work the apparently bearproof and hookproof door on the dumpster, RTD and I headed back to the truck. As we rounded the back of the truck, the night took a turn that I hadn’t anticipated.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGgUOjt9D5I/AAAAAAAAAaY/GAvyAsZdjmw/s1600-h/119.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217442408647430034" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGgUOjt9D5I/AAAAAAAAAaY/GAvyAsZdjmw/s400/119.JPG" border="0" /></a>See, I use a headlamp to see what I’m doing after sundown, so I can only see about four feet ahead of my feet. Fortunately I have RTD to warn me of any danger that may be out ahead of this. As long as this danger is a cat. Or bird. Apparently RTD’s keen senses aren’t tuned to the frequency of harder to detect animals such as lizards, tiny rodents, and oh yeah, skunks. Yup, less than four feet from RTD and I was Pepe Le Pew himself, in all his white striped glory. Apparently a skunk found RTD’s food in the 42 seconds it took us to toss the garbage. Anyhow I spotted the skunk before RTD and acted accordingly. Years of military training had prepared me for just such an event. I reached deep down inside, planted my feet and screamed like a little girl. RTD still had not noticed the gas bag that was busily turning around to bring his weapon to bear, and I was envisioning anal gland goodness the likes of which I’d never experienced. Finally I managed to utter the magic words that unfroze my body and slowed time enough to make a get away. Basically, I yelled “OH S**T! SKUUUUUUUUNK!!” As I furiously backpedaled away and tried to drag RTD away from the now discovered skunk. Luckily my force in the reverse direction was stronger than RTD’s in the skunk’s direction, and we got away. Unfortunately that just left Pepe to munch on RTD’s food. Eventually I managed to scare him off the food long enough to scoop up the food. What I forgotten however, was the food I’d thrown behind the truck. Because of this we spent the next hour or so standing a safe distance away as Pepe had his way with the Bean. RTD tried hard to get away, angry that I was withholding him from playing with such an obviously fun filled friend. My explanations did no good… Oh well, on the upside, no animals or vehicles were sprayed in the making of this story!<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGgUNjQk27I/AAAAAAAAAaQ/Is-zmGfEU8U/s1600-h/064.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217442391344339890" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGgUNjQk27I/AAAAAAAAAaQ/Is-zmGfEU8U/s400/064.JPG" border="0" /></a>Anyhow, how did I come to be where I was? Well… lots of driving! Like I’d said before, I’d made it to Las Cruzes, NM from Phoenix without incident, though I did drive through a number of huge sandstorms. I also paid a visit to the Pima Air Museum which is a few hundred acres of airplane fun. While there RTD managed to rub up against as many cacti as possible, and my fingers paid the price! We wandered the grounds of the museum looking at planes and a few helicopters. I reflected back on my experience in the fixed wing world that I used to kill time while I was at Fort Sam Houston waiting for the Army to decide what they were going to do. Finally RTD and I headed back out on the open road to NM, where the duststorms were the order of the day! The desert pretty much looks the same from Nevada on out thru Texas, though the farther east you go, the greener it becomes. The biggest difference were the cacti… In Arizona large Saguaro cacti are present everywhere but are all but gone by the time you get to New Mexico.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGgUmU0-VXI/AAAAAAAAAag/v7hGkSaOCo0/s1600-h/012.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217442816967202162" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGgUmU0-VXI/AAAAAAAAAag/v7hGkSaOCo0/s400/012.JPG" border="0" /></a>After the night in Las Cruces we headed up to White Sands National Monument at the suggestion of some of the readers. We got there relatively early and the brightness of the sand dunes was striking in contrast to the bleak brown of the surrounding desert. When you first enter the park the dunes have a lot of vegetation poking through, but once you get to the heart of the dunes, they stand as unblemished white waves as far as the eye can see. RTD and I got out to play here, which made for a bit of fun. I threw Rocky’s Frisbee ring several times, and before long he had a frothy/sandy white beard hanging off of his face. I gave him water, and the we just repeated the game… After that we headed to Texas where I found the best barbecue ever!<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://rudysbbq.com/"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217442818710928082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGgUmbUtetI/AAAAAAAAAao/rkpjBH_VTfY/s400/017.JPG" border="0" /><span style="color:#3366ff;">Rudy’s</span></a>. If you are EVER in Texas, this is a requirement. I had just crossed into El Paso when I saw the sign for Rudy’s. I nearly crashed the Bean making the exit. Amazing barbecue was only a few minutes away. Rudy’s started out in San Antonio, and it violates all my rules for good barbecue. My experience has taught me that truly good barbecue must have these elements: Non-vinegar based sauce. Pork, pulled or shredded, not sliced. Made and served by a large black man, preferably in a really dingy building in the heart of a ghetto. I’m not saying this sarcastically! Truly the best BBQ I manage to find almost always comes from joints where most people are double checking their door locks as they speed by. Rudy’s on the other hand specializes in beef brisket. When you order it, you actually see the guy pull it off a fire and saw off charred slices that crumble when touched with your fork. Barbecue nirvana is to be found here. The most amazing part is it’s a CHAIN!! If you have money to buy into a franchise, buy Rudy’s and I promise you’ll die rich! Mmmmmmmm Rudy’s….<br /><br /><br />Anyhow my next installment will take me through the park at Big Bend an on to Fredericksburg, TX. Hopefully I’ll get that solo story there, too… Until then!Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-89019762179193300082008-06-28T00:15:00.004-04:002008-06-28T00:57:24.420-04:00Out of the ashes....<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGXC6xiOjnI/AAAAAAAAAZo/FPCexhmZQew/s1600-h/005.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216790058363686514" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGXC6xiOjnI/AAAAAAAAAZo/FPCexhmZQew/s400/005.JPG" border="0" /></a>I learned a new thing yesterday... <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">RTD</span> is actually a duck in a boxer body. The family who hosted me in Phoenix had a pool and a bunch of dogs, and given that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">RTD</span> was cranky from munching on corncobs the night before, I was a bit worried about going over <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">there</span>. Don't get me wrong, I didn't FEED him the cobs. he took it upon himself to dig the out of the trash and make a quick meal of them. Unfortunately for him, he lacks the four stomachs of a cow and subsequently couldn't digest them. This caused him to have an upset stomach, and with that came the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Rockstar</span> patented bad attitude. Fortunately by the time I got to the hosts' house he was in better spirits and ready for an afternoon of water and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Butthumper</span>! <div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGXEM0mOR4I/AAAAAAAAAZ4/-O5aa3E0n8o/s1600-h/019.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216791467935025026" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGXEM0mOR4I/AAAAAAAAAZ4/-O5aa3E0n8o/s400/019.JPG" border="0" /></a>Once we were there and all the introductions were made, we got down to the pool and I went in for a dip. I tried to get <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">RTD</span> in the pool, but he wasn't really feeling it. I then went and got his favorite toy, and his feeling it level began to increase. I tried throwing it in the pool and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">RTD</span> just ran circles around the pool and whined. Finally I got into the pool and tried to entice him in. No dice. When that failed I gave him his toy and began playing tug. It only took one good pull and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">RTD</span> was in the water! Success! Which came at the price of claw marks all over my chest. </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGXC7MOC2CI/AAAAAAAAAZw/7ERjP54JByk/s1600-h/012.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216790065526790178" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGXC7MOC2CI/AAAAAAAAAZw/7ERjP54JByk/s400/012.JPG" border="0" /></a>Back out of the water I gave <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">RTD</span> the toy again and started the tug game. This time he wised up a bit and let go before I could pull him in. This went on for several tries and still <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">RTD</span> managed to keep all four brain cells focused on not getting pulled in. Rebuked, I hopped out of the pool and threw his toy in again. More circles. More whining. Finally I grabbed him by his handy dandy blue all purpose <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">RTD</span> carrying handle and tossed him in.... Surprise!!! He swam out and got his toy, then swam around confused as to how to get out. Eventually he found the submerged ledge and got out. I threw the toy back in, and threw him in shortly after. This was fun! Finally <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">RTD</span> got the hint that he could jump in the pool, and the fun went on for quite a while. That was until <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">RTD's</span> hormone level began to escalate and he decided he was gonna mount the retriever come h*ll or high water. Well being the Phoenix was hot, and he was in a deep pool, the stars seemed aligned and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">RTD</span> went for broke. The only problem was she wouldn't stop swimming long enough for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">PePe</span> La Rocky to make his advance. So he tried to mount her. While swimming. At this point one of the other dogs succumbed to eating rocks and became lethargic and just <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">layed</span> on her side. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">RTD</span> went over and licked and nuzzled her. We were amazed at his sensitivity to her plight. Then he went for the mount. No <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">one</span> ever saw him slip <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">her</span> the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">roofie</span>, but he <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">musta</span> got it in somehow. That's my dog, the drunken frat boy trying to get a little no matter how bad off she is... After we dragged him off and the other dog went to the vet, he went back to attempting the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">watermount</span>, which never really worked out for him.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGXENBXNJaI/AAAAAAAAAaA/BJ_voqcJWN8/s1600-h/114.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216791471361697186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGXENBXNJaI/AAAAAAAAAaA/BJ_voqcJWN8/s400/114.JPG" border="0" /></a>Today I awoke to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">RTD's</span> whines to go play with the other dogs. I let him out and began getting ready when Rocky decided he was gonna try to be the Alpha dog, and it all fell apart from there. We managed to keep the peace with a few choke slams to get <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">RTD's</span> attention, so luckily no blood was shed. After a bit I had the Bean loaded, and we set out for parts unknown. I was supposed to stop and pick up a bunch of Wounded Warrior stuff, but my tiny brain forgot all about it and I rolled out of Phoenix <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">empty handed</span>... Sorry about that! From there we made our way to Tucson and the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Pima</span> Air museum which was well worth the stop! Tomorrow I'm gonna write up what that was like and whatnot, but for now I need to get to bed... </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Today I'm in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Las</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Cruces</span>, NM and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">will</span> be heading into TX tomorrow. I'll be in central TX sometime after that and will actually spend a few days there! Stay tuned for more adventures, and another funny story about a solo flight I took where I attempted my best to crash, and luckily failed!</div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-442089868311344032008-06-26T16:17:00.004-04:002008-06-26T18:37:05.695-04:00Has anyone seen a coyote with an anvil? He just ran this way...<div><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQUCZQceGI/AAAAAAAAAY4/DYwWKYNufb0/s1600-h/139.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216316299774031970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQUCZQceGI/AAAAAAAAAY4/DYwWKYNufb0/s400/139.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div>Well I made it through the Grand Canyon yesterday and I must say it was quite the experience. This is not just some ditch in thr ground, it's a BIG ditch! Some might even call it Grand... I legt out of my hole in the woods early, and passed several other weary travelers who'd chosen to just drive off into the woods and sleep. Either that or I have discovered where people go when they go missing. I drove up to the canyon, and too HWY 64 east along the south rim. About every three miles or so there are pull offs so everyone can stop and gawk at the greatness that is the canyon. The first one I pulled into gave a limited view of the canyon, and I was mildly impressed. The next one I went to gave a better view of the canyon and I was more impressed. I believe it was at about the third stop that I found a little placard that pointed out how far away the various peaks and mesas were and I got a lot more impressed. As I mentioned I was on the south rim, and the north rim was clearly visible across the valley. I estimated it to be about 1-2 <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQZSp2rQ0I/AAAAAAAAAZY/T4i3bDr9Y2E/s1600-h/173.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216322076665398082" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="241" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQZSp2rQ0I/AAAAAAAAAZY/T4i3bDr9Y2E/s400/173.JPG" width="332" border="0" /></a>miles across, and consulted the placard to see how close I was. Apparently my aviator senses were on full disconnect when I'm standing on the ground, as the canyon is nearly TEN MILES across. To put this into scale, on a clear day on flat land you can see about 6-7 miles away. At the canyon you can see just short of forever.<br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQZR7okb5I/AAAAAAAAAZQ/OrqMCb3uAqk/s1600-h/164.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216322064258199442" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQZR7okb5I/AAAAAAAAAZQ/OrqMCb3uAqk/s400/164.JPG" border="0" /></a>From the rim that canyon isn't quite like what you see in the movies. You wouldn't just fall straight to the bottom as in the movies. The walls steeply stairstep down to a large flat valley, which is then further cut by another canyon known as the inner gorge, which i swhere the lower half of the canyon lies. The inner gorge finally ends at the Colorado river which flows both quietly and violently depending on whereupon the river you are. From the top to bottom, the canyon is over a mile deep, though without anything to give you a sense of scale, one has a hard time determining this. The walls of the canyon themselves appear as many <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQZTauvI5I/AAAAAAAAAZg/Svu12TL_WfM/s1600-h/177.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216322089785435026" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="191" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQZTauvI5I/AAAAAAAAAZg/Svu12TL_WfM/s400/177.JPG" width="309" border="0" /></a>layers of a book, representing different eras of geologic time of the last several million or several thousand years, depending on which side of the "where we come from" fence you fall on. The different layers are clearly seen as various reds, oranges and browns, accented with grays of all shades. The river provides a wonderful light green contrast and anchors the bottom of the canyon. Scrub trees and cedar poke out where ever they can find room, but for the most part there is very little green in the canyon itself. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQUDaULeLI/AAAAAAAAAZI/C2zfW4w4Eqc/s1600-h/149.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216316317237999794" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQUDaULeLI/AAAAAAAAAZI/C2zfW4w4Eqc/s400/149.JPG" border="0" /></a>Back from the edge, the rim hosts all manner of small cedars and desert wildlife. Most prominent are the huge crows which managed to hold RTD's rapt attention for longer than most any toy I've ever given him. I fully expected he'd chase one right off the cliff in an attempt to drool on yet another animal if I gave him the chance, so I made sure to keep his leash short. I also saw signs warning of large cats but never came across any. If the size of the crows is any indication, one had better bring fancy feast in five gallon drums if they don't want to be dinner themselves. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQUCz2zNbI/AAAAAAAAAZA/sGFyyy7B6ec/s1600-h/145.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216316306914227634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGQUCz2zNbI/AAAAAAAAAZA/sGFyyy7B6ec/s400/145.JPG" border="0" /></a>After my trip to the canyon, I headed down to Phoenix to visit my extended family there, and tour the Apache factory. It was great to get to see where the bird I flew is made, and meet the people who turn the wrenches to make it happen. I muse express my gratitude that they build such a survivable aircraft because that death thing really would have slowed me down a bit. Unfortunately due to all the secret squirrel stuff the goes on there, I couldn't take any pictures but it was still cool as can be! Now I'm getting ready to head East tomorrow, so stay tuned for more stories from the road!! </div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-32848331972899841022008-06-26T02:00:00.006-04:002008-06-26T03:35:25.521-04:00Leaaaaaaaaaaaavin' Las Vegas!<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGNFH3LXRvI/AAAAAAAAAYI/nAr-gkTl018/s1600-h/006.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216088794798180082" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGNFH3LXRvI/AAAAAAAAAYI/nAr-gkTl018/s400/006.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Well I've been out in the cell phone <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">netherlands</span> so I've had no cell access so I'm a day or two behind. Last I blogged I'd just made it to Vegas and had yet to do much. Well after that I headed for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">KOA</span> down at Circus Circus, but first detoured to In-N-Out Burger. For those not familiar, here's my description. Tasty goodness meets paradise all while in dreamland. Seriously the burgers there could be no better if cows came from fields of gold. $100.00 Kobe beef burgers would fall faster than France to a Girl Scout invasion if they went up against these burgers. The menu is simple enough even <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">RTD</span> could figure it out if he had to. Your options are Burger, Burger w/ cheese, Double Double, fries, drink. No <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">yardbird</span>, no fake <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">mexican</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Enchiladoriburritas</span>, no gimmicky burger the size of a book of matches, just pure amazement. Personally I went for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">DoubleDouble</span> which is two patties and two real cheese slices. The only other name this burger could have is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">tastebud</span> crack. If you ever go to Cali/Nevada, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">forgo</span> the Bunny Ranch and spend that money at In-N-Out. Your <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">tastebuds</span> and VD report will thank you!<br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGNFH1ZvDKI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/5vQw0MrKBZk/s1600-h/009.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216088794321587362" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGNFH1ZvDKI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/5vQw0MrKBZk/s400/009.JPG" border="0" /></a>Satiated, I continued on to Dante's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">KOA</span>. Let me <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">dispell</span> a little myth for you real quick. The desert does NOT get cold at night. All those stories of 115 degree days and 30 degree nights were obviously propagated by the Bureau of Tourism somewhere. I checked in at 9:30 pm and it was a balmy 96 degrees. I grabbed a cold shower and met up with a kind lady named Shannon who took me out to see the lights of Vegas and then drink frosty beverages. Finally I headed back to the 7<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">th</span> level of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">heKOAll</span> and tried to turn in for the night. I ended up leaving the fan running all night and still slept fitfully thanks to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">RTD</span>. Super Retarded Dog started the night breathing heavily enough that I started to wonder if HE made it to the bunny ranch. Finally sometime around 2 am I awaken because I'm getting kicked in the face. See, I sleep on a twin size mattress in the back of the Bean. Well there's about a 10-12 inch gap between the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">matress</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">tirewell</span> when I'm back there. Apparently Rocky The Destroyer managed to somehow roll over onto his back and then inch his way up into that gap. And get stuck. His answer was to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">occasionally</span> kick me in the face, and the snore some more. I responded by smacking his ribcage which caused occasional gyrating, more face kicking, and no progress whatsoever. Finally I grabbed <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">his doggy</span> harness and tossed him back into his spot in the Bean. Aside from a grunt or two, I don't think <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">RTD</span> ever stirred.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>The next morning I woke up to a beautiful day on the surface of the sun. I went ahead and packed the sleeping bag away in the storage bin, and rolled up the mat etc to get ready to go. I then headed to a local Firestone to get the Bean fixed. Once there they explained that they weren't affiliated with that other Firestone, so my "nationwide warranty" was no good there. I asked where the nearest one was that I could use, and apparently it was the one I'd recently left. Great. Anyhow I had them check it out and they found the other place had put the brake springs in backwards, and forgot to tighten the trim cap on the wheel. Thanks Firestone of Sacramento, glad I'm not dead now! Well I paid them for their services and started my trip to Phoenix. Fortuitously, I thought to call ahead to my family here, who inquired as to why I was skipping the Grand Canyon. I then ended my trip to Phoenix and rerouted to canyon country.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGNFjzioNeI/AAAAAAAAAYY/4t_9wvH-caE/s1600-h/027.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216089274858354146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGNFjzioNeI/AAAAAAAAAYY/4t_9wvH-caE/s400/027.JPG" border="0" /></a>The only place I hit along the way was Hoover Dam, which was different than expected. The water level is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">waaaaaaaaaaaay</span> lower than in the pictures <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">I've</span> seen, so it looked much taller on the lake side. I couldn't get to much of it b/c apparently dogs aren't allowed there for whatever reasons. Probably homeland security. I'll have to remember not to let <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">RTD</span> wear his turban and sandals next time. The drive out of the dam follows the rolling dry hills of the Lake Mead area, and the view is still pretty spectacular. All variety of craggy hills and mountains come and go, never relinquishing their reign to trees or other <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">foliage</span>. Only after you've driven a few hundred miles and gone up a few thousand feet do the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">scrubby</span> little pines make their debut.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>As I continued on, I decided to run the A/C for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">RTD's</span> benefit, and enjoy the musical selection of NPR talk radio. Yes, that's right, I'm a talk radio nerd. I'm really glad my phone doesn't have the letters on the keypad for me to be able to dial the 1-800 NPR number, or I'd quickly become that Talk Radio Ranter we all hate so much. I can only angrily yell at my radio . For now... After a bit I went to roll down the window to check the outside temp, and it didn't budge. I looked at the voltmeter, which was redder than the desert I was in, and I knew I was in trouble. I asked the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Garminator</span> where there nearest <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Autozone</span> was, and it let me know it was conveniently only 32 miles away. I mean OUT of the way... Of course... I knew that the alternator had gone bad, b/c it was about the only thing I hadn't yet replaced. I'd hoped to save a few hundred bucks... <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">C'est</span> la vi... I called ahead to make sure the zone had the part, and then limped there. I've learned that if you don't call ahead, they are required by unwritten law to not have the part you need.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGNFkN5oZoI/AAAAAAAAAYg/GhVrJlbwiQ4/s1600-h/030.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216089281934157442" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGNFkN5oZoI/AAAAAAAAAYg/GhVrJlbwiQ4/s400/030.JPG" border="0" /></a>Amazingly, the alternator was an easy fix, which is a rarity in the breakdown world. I just barely had made it to Chino, as the battery was too dead to even crank the Bean when it was finally fixed! While I was there I had an interesting chat with an Apache medicine man. We talked about my journey, and how in the end it's a journey to find myself. He told me to think less with my head and more with my heart, and to be nicer to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">RTD</span>. Before I left he gave me a few dollars for fuel which I tried to refuse. The advice was donation enough, and on top of that he gave me a well worn stone he had in his pocket. He explained that whenever I needed direction or was worried, to rub the stone and think with my heart, and I'd find my answer and solace. Humbling, to say the least. A man who told me he sold scrap metal to make ends meet willing to part with a few hard earned dollars to help what is essentially a college kid on break get around. I only hope that my journeys bring credit to men like this.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>With a new alternator in the Bean, I hauled arse up towards Grand Canyon to camp for the night. There was no one at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">KOA</span> office when I got there, so I pulled out and headed closer to the park. After a bit I realized I was in a national forest, and I could camp for free! Not wanting to waste money, I immediately pulled off and into the wilderness. Once I was a good distance away I set up shop and tried to stop sweating. Stupid desert. After I realized my phones <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">wasn't</span> gonna connect to the net, I went ahead and hit the hay. I opted to leave the tailgate down as it was so hot... </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGNFkCBkcGI/AAAAAAAAAYo/v1ebS70pbIU/s1600-h/034.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216089278746226786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGNFkCBkcGI/AAAAAAAAAYo/v1ebS70pbIU/s400/034.JPG" border="0" /></a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">Ok</span> so maybe the desert DOES get cold at night! Apparently this is in the higher elevations only, though! About 1:30 I awoke to a chilling sound on a chilly night! All around the Bean, within a 1/2 mile or so were coyotes calling to each other. Every so often one group would do their increasing yip-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">yiiippp</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">yiiiiiiiippppppppp</span> to the other, and I'd nervously wonder if leaving the tailgate down was a great idea. I occasionally looked over at my fearless companion, who was twitching one paw as he chased some rabbit or Pimp Hand Strong off in dreamland. This is the same animal who goes <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">rabid</span> at the sight of a crow hopping by. The same dog who explodes at the sound of a mouse fart. Great protection ya got their, Lou. Anyhow, finally the coyotes found their Acme box or whatever and calmed down. I then broke down and fumbled the sleeping bag BACK out of the storage box where I'd banished it only that morning, and managed to get some decent sleep for a change.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Next, The Grand Canyon!</div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-61044806949912923152008-06-24T14:08:00.003-04:002008-06-24T14:25:49.160-04:00The Nickel Ride...<div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGE7-IJQz9I/AAAAAAAAAYA/uHliEP17MEM/s1600-h/oh58.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215515781996007378" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGE7-IJQz9I/AAAAAAAAAYA/uHliEP17MEM/s400/oh58.jpg" border="0" /></a>Almost everyone has the same sort of experience on their first flight while learning to fly a helicopter. This is mine… A few things before we get started, just to remove a few questions. Every helicopter has three basic flight controls. They are: the cyclic- the stick between your legs, responsible for going in the direction you want to go, at least once you learn how to fly. The collective- the stick on your left side the controls going up or down, or adding power for forward flight. The pedals- seemingly the most simple, yet your bitter enemy to the end. At a hover they are responsible for spinning the helicopter left or right. In forward flight they are used to keep the helicopter straight by pointing the nose in such a way to compensate for the wind (crabbing). The only other control available, and one I didn’t have to worry about in the kinds of helicopters I flew, is the throttle. For us it was “set it and forget it.” Finally the last issue; size. Size matters. The smaller the helicopter, the slower it is and the harder it is to fly. We learn on relatively small ones…</div><br /><div><br />The first flight you take in flight school is commonly known as the “Nickel Flight”. This is because it is ungraded, reminiscent of the little nickel rides in front of a grocery store, and a way for underpaid instructor pilots to make a little money on the side. That first day we met our instructor pilots, mostly a crusty bunch of ex-Vietnam guys who have more time preflighting than I had years on earth. My guy however was a mid thirties former Blackhawk pilot named Jim (we used his last name, but I’m leaving that out.) Jim was a laid back guy with a good healthy perverted sense of humor, and I knew we’d get along just fine. Also along was my “stick buddy” who is the person you learn to fly with. The helicopter we learned on was the TH-67 Bell Jet ranger, painted in bright orange colors to let all who gaze upon you know that you are a danger in the skies, and to avoid you at all costs.</div><br /><div><br />The day starts with some classroom time, and Jim takes a bit to ask us some questions about the helicopter and its’ emergency procedures. We’d spent the last two weeks learning all there was to know about the working of this bird and I knew there was nothing I could be caught off guard about. The one thing they didn’t teach me that I quickly mastered was “the blank stare” which I gave a lot those first few days. Apparently there was a lot I didn’t know or remember… After a while Jim got tired of asking Amy and I random questions about such complicated things as “how does the helicopter fly” only to be greeted with said blank stare, so we headed out to the flight line. The helicopters are parked all over the airfield in nice neat lines, and the most junior pilots get the ones farthest away, so we got the keys and logs and headed to our steed.</div><br /><div><br />Once at the helicopter, we bumbled through our preflight that we learned, and Jim followed us around to play “point and tell”, a game where he pointed at various things and we were supposed to tell what it was. More blank stares ensue, and our tiny sponge like brains tried to absorb what they could. The reality was we were so psyched at finally getting to fly we wouldn’t have properly identified our names if they were painted on the side of the helicopter. After a few more of this we donned our helmets and hopped in. I drew the short straw and ended up in back and had to fly second. Jim wisely didn’t let us start the helicopter, and after a bit we were airborne enroute to the stage field where I’d be dropped off whilst Amy went to soar with the eagles. There at the field we were supposed to study and prep for flight, but mostly we stood around and bragged about how we were gonna have this sucker licked in a day. Type A personalities at their best…</div><br /><div><br />After an hour passed, Jim and Amy returned and I made my way out to the bird. I briefly noted that Amy looked a bit flustered, but whatever, we can’t all get it right for the first time. I hopped in, kicking the cyclic as I did, and started the flight with a stern lecture about not letting my big clodhoppers hit the cyclic no matter what. Finally Jim took off and we climbed to a safe altitude for teaching young students how to fly, also known as “low earth orbit.” Now when you learn, you don’t just get all the controls at once, you get eased into it. At altitude you really only need the cyclic to keep going, and the goal was go in a straight line and stay at the same altitude. I immediately began porpoising up and down above the altitude but eventually settled down to a nice level height. Jim then took a moment to point out we were now going 90 degrees away from where we started. Oops. Next I made a series of “S-turns” which are supposed to look like a huge S if viewed from above. A more apt term would have been scribble turns, but after a bit I managed to do something that resembled more of the English alphabet and less of the Chinese alphabet. Finally Jim took the controls and took us back to the field to learn to hover. Finally, some slow flight, at least this will be easier…</div><br /><div><br />Once at the field, Jim came to a hover about 15 feet above the ground and pointed the nose at a huge tree off in the distance, and explained that hovering required coordinated use of all three controls at once, but in reality was really easy. I watched with envy as he took one hand off the collective, and used just his finger on the cyclic to hold us at a perfect hover. I knew this was going to be easy. Next Jim gave me control of the pedals and told me to keep the nose pointed at the tree. No problem… The nose tried to wander a bit, but I used my fancy footwork to keep it expertly pointed at the tree. I wondered if the other students could see me demonstrating how it was done. I noticed out of the corner of my eye other helicopters in all sorts of unusual attitudes (attitude being the relative position of the helicopter relative to the ground.) Whatever. Amateurs. Obviously they had not yet tapped into their birdlike instinct to fly like I had. I silently thanked the Creator for making me naturally so great. Next Jim gave me the collective, too…</div><br /><div><br />Now things began to get a bit more interesting. The nose wandered a little, and I expertly corrected, but now the helicopter sank a little when I did. I added a little power via the collective and brought the helicopter back to the height I started and looked back out at the tree which had now somehow moved to the left side of the helicopter. I corrected again as a single bead of sweat ran down my nose. My instincts were apparently a little rusty but I wasn’t worried. I knew I’d have this licked as soon as I got ahold of the cyclic. Finally I managed some semblance of holding the aircraft in one spot, and immediately started talking smack to Jim about my amazing abilities. Jim looked oddly unimpressed. Jim then gave me the cyclic. Jim then wished he’d taken out more life insurance.</div><br /><div><br />About the first five seconds of hovering went really well, and I started congratulating myself on my shear awesomeness, but then it started to drift left. I added a little right cyclic but was confounded when it kept going left. I added more right cyclic and it started to come back, but now the nose was turning. I went ahead and pushed the pedal to get the nose back as the helicopter went sailing past the starting spot as it drifted a hard right, and began to go backwards a bit, too. More sweat down my nose, and a little at each temple. Still unworried, I worked at taming the beast. Jim just sat and stared at me with a little smirk.</div><br /><div><br />Now I added left forward cyclic, and was again confused as the helicopter kept going back and right. And down. Figuring more is better I added more left forward cyclic and the helicopter began to respond. At this point I’d pretty much given up on the pedals and was trying to make the bird stay in one spot. I now realized that obviously there was obviously something wrong with the flight controls, and voiced this to Jim, who continued just to sit and stare. Well now the helicopter had begun to balloon up and pick up some left forward speed. Knowing this would result in taking off, I went ahead and corrected by adding a hefty dose of aft cyclic to get the bird back in control, and made a feeble attempt to use the pedals to get the nose straight again. At this point the helicopter made and abrupt change in direction as a result of my aft cyclic maneuver. I found myself about forty feet up, nose pointed precariously downwards as I attempted to touch the moon with the tail. I looked over at Jim and he simply responded with “well, fix it”. Apparently he wasn’t aware of the problem with the flight controls and I continued trying to tell him until he finally took the controls and I sat back to await the imminent crash as he was gonna have to wrestle it to the ground.</div><br /><div><br />Five seconds later Jim was again hovering with one finger, and I was wringing out my shirt and trying to figure out how a hose got lose in a sealed cockpit. Jim then went on to explain to me what the problem was. See, helicopters are subject to a lot of important sounding technical terms like “gyroscopic precession” and “phase lag” as well as a bunch of others. Essentially this means that flying a helicopter is an exercise in forecasting the future by about three seconds. The input you put in doesn’t immediately take effect. You have to put in the input, then neutralize the controls and it will come back on its’ own. In theory. Also, helicopters naturally want to spin to the right because the main rotor goes left. As you add power, it increases this tendency to spin, and also will climb if you don’t add pedal. The final straw is the tendency of the helicopter to naturally drift in the direction the tail rotor thrusts. This all equates to a handful for the fledgling pilot. Apparently the questions we’d been asked that morning were to test our knowledge of this stuff, which was making a lot more sense now. I realized that they were all lies, and flying was actually impossible except for the select few who’d been blessed with the ability. I left the helicopter that day humbled, and wondering how much it would cost to break my lease when I was sent home after failing miserably at flight school. What could I say, it’s for the birds.</div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-32495130376128421402008-06-23T21:11:00.008-04:002008-06-23T22:36:17.950-04:00Vegas baby yeah!<div><div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBahSA95XI/AAAAAAAAAXI/2-_ykSgkjFI/s1600-h/008.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215267896313111922" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBahSA95XI/AAAAAAAAAXI/2-_ykSgkjFI/s400/008.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well the Bean lives on another day.... Last time I blogged I was limping the bean to Sacramento. Well I made it there and treated myself to a hotel, mostly to end a frustrating day on a high note. While there I managed to attract an audience willing to listen to me go on and on about the fuel situation, so I was happy. If there's one thing I love, it's people willing to listen to me rant and appear interested at the same time. After the pool/podium I headed to the shower for a refreshing few minutes. While in there the phone started ringing, and I jumped out all panicked and managed to answer it. I could see on my cell I'd just missed a call from Brittany so now I was really worried. Upon answering the front desk says "Hi, is everything all right?" Great... now I'm really panicked and RTD is trying to lick water off my legs... I tell them everythings great and ask what the problem is while trying to kick Rocky who was deftly staying out of range. They tell me everythings fine they were just checking, and my heart rate drops back down to normal and I hang up. I had barely finished towelling off when there is a pounding at the door. I look at and see a hotel clerk. Seriously, did they not beliebe the phone call?? Well I open it and she asks if I have time to talk, and I briefly contemplated walking outside in my nekkid glory before deciding against it and telling her to give me a few to get dressed.</div><div><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBYOV1ZX7I/AAAAAAAAAWw/v_y7o72mUmo/s1600-h/055.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215265371897552818" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBYOV1ZX7I/AAAAAAAAAWw/v_y7o72mUmo/s400/055.JPG" border="0" /></a>Once dressed I stepped outside and confront her and another guest. It turned out that he was an old vet who had paid for my room and just wanted to talk for a few so I didn't mind trhe interuptions, but I had started to wonder if maybe the hotel had taken checking on their guests just a little too far. Finally all was settled and I plopped down to watch TV before drifting off to sleep...</div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBahqB501I/AAAAAAAAAXQ/uAX1q3lE2vc/s1600-h/011.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215267902759490386" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBahqB501I/AAAAAAAAAXQ/uAX1q3lE2vc/s400/011.JPG" border="0" /></a>Sunday morning found me heading to the Firestone dealer to get the brakes checked. Once in there they got the Bean in relatively quick and RTD and I sat in the waiting room awaiting the verdict. After a bit they told me there was just a minor adjustment issue and the drums were a bit warped and needed to be fixed. I gave them the go-ahead and sat back to wait. After a bit another customer came in, and RTD immediately set about making friends. Then he layed down on the guys feet and looked at me like a stranger. After about three hours I'd started to wonder if maybe there was a strike or if perhaps there was some sort of tiddlywinks tournament preventing any work from getting done. The shop finally told me the Bean was A-ok and I picked Benedict Arnold up off the poor guys feet and we got a move on to the cabin in the hills.</div><div><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBcGxUWJBI/AAAAAAAAAXo/dkRdNPoQFGE/s1600-h/026.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215269639882679314" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBcGxUWJBI/AAAAAAAAAXo/dkRdNPoQFGE/s400/026.JPG" border="0" /></a>Once off the interstate and heading back up into the smoke filled and golden hills of middle California I realized the Bean was now worse than it began. Apparently my $120 in repairs netted me absolutely nothing... I stoppesd to look the Bean over and take some pics, too. The valleys here are all wine and fruit country. The fierce heat gives way as you pass the huge orchards, but picks right back up as the vineyards dominate again. As I approached the Sierra Nevada mountains, the smoke gave way to reveal the dry strawcolored hills punctuated with blotches of green that were the small scrub trees. I saw quite a few deer, dodged a number of suicidal ground squirrels, and even saw a large bobcat running through the grass. I tried to watch the wildlife while keeping an eye on the temp gauge of the Bean, as it seemed to rise just like hills which I was clombing. Every time I thought I'd have to pull over I'd hit a downhill stretch and trhe temps would drop. Finally I made it up to the cabin so graciously offered by one of the readers here, and RTD and I got set for the night.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBYOCW0sXI/AAAAAAAAAWg/QzVzTRhUEFg/s1600-h/044.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215265366669046130" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBYOCW0sXI/AAAAAAAAAWg/QzVzTRhUEFg/s400/044.JPG" border="0" /></a>The cabin was up over 600o ft, so the air was nice and cool, and RTD was loving being in the forest without a leash for the first time in his life. Allen explained to me about the local wildlife, so I tried to keep Rocky in sight as he furiously tried to mark all the trees out in the darkness. In the morning I was able to see the fruits of his labor... more on that in a moment. Anyhow, we settled in and had steaks and beer, and finally knocked off for the night. Overall, a decent end to a long day...</div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBYNwdhZVI/AAAAAAAAAWY/lUF554wonEM/s1600-h/036.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215265361865303378" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBYNwdhZVI/AAAAAAAAAWY/lUF554wonEM/s400/036.JPG" border="0" /></a>This morning I finally dragged myself out of bed about 9 or so, and debated if I was going to stay another day or not. The lack on internet crack convinced me I should press on, so I got to work. I decided to pull the thermostat out of the Bean so it would run cooler as I crossed the Death Valley today. I wisely had packed a set of tools, so I got them out and tried to figure out which tool was missing since I knew it would be the one I needed. Amazingly, I had all I needed, so I set to work. Meanwhile RTD continued his marking... I drained the antifreeze and got it out of RTD's way because the stuff tastes like deadly Kool-Aid. Then I pulled the thermostat and started breaking stuff. I think it is physically impossible for me to work on a vehicle with breaking SOMETHING. Just makes it more fun! This time it was some plastic vacuum lines, which I capped off and now the Bean runs a little funny... Adds character! I then reassembled everything sans thermostat and sat back to see if it would actually work. Surprisingly it did! Who knew.... Still, never trust the one armed mechanic. I then turned to see the minefield Rocky was busily making. See, RTD recently has learned how to scratch the ground to mark his spots. now he does it furiously. Tornados in Kansas lack the ferocity with which RTD plows the earth. He uses both front and rear legs all at once, and looks a lot like a four wheel drive truck trying to do a burnout in the dust. All through the forest about every five feet were tore up areas of dirt where RTD had marked them as his own. Somewhere today a mountain lion is probably roaming that area, confused as to what monster passed that way...</div><div><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBcHGOeRyI/AAAAAAAAAXw/iBxHq-CUuEs/s1600-h/027.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215269645495191330" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBcHGOeRyI/AAAAAAAAAXw/iBxHq-CUuEs/s400/027.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well today we headed out across the aptly named Death Valley enroute to Vegas. As far as the eye could see, the largest growing thing one could see were Joshua Trees. I would have run a few down but apparently it's illegal to harm a U2 album in the state of California... Pity. I must admit that the browns and reds of the desert do have a beauty of their own, but it is one enjoyed for a few minutes, and then it gets a little old. The farther into the valley we went the hotter it became, and the more I worried about the Bean. Eventually we had to climb out of the first valley, and the Bean wasn't liking it. The temp gauge finally pegged in the red just as we crested the hill, and it slowly came back down, but not without an odd smell. Fortunately I ignored the smell long enough and it went away, so it must not have been a big problem. We reached the bottom of the valley, and the temperature approached that of the sun. I stuck my hand out the window and the wind felt like jetblast as it blistered my hand. Rocky paced the back, panting furiously so I pulled over often for him to get water. A few times I soaked him, but he didn't much care for that... </div><div><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBYOAAev4I/AAAAAAAAAWo/-SgEK9y4K9M/s1600-h/052.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215265366038462338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBYOAAev4I/AAAAAAAAAWo/-SgEK9y4K9M/s400/052.JPG" border="0" /></a>We finally made it out of the valley, and I rolled up the windows and turned on the A/C so RTD didn't lose his tiny little mind and start trying to do something stypid, like play Butthumper with the back of my head. The downside to this was the gas mileage dropped to about 14-15 mpg from the usual 18-20. I guess I better get used to this to keep the hero back there cool and happy! We kept the A/C going as I continued the trip to Vegas, and RTD eventually stopped sounding like a freight train. Now we are in Vegas where I intend to do no gambling... I may post why tomorrow, but it's not that entertaining. I may stay in Vegas if anyone here has any ideas as to what to do, or can show RTD and I around. From here we're heading to Phoenix where I will definitely be for a day or three. I've been offered a lot in Phoenix, so I may try to organize a meet and greet, so keep a watch here to see!! </div><div><br /> </div><div>Now for something a little bit different....</div><div><br /> </div></div><div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBcZj-9b4I/AAAAAAAAAX4/7zgsueSFdj8/s1600-h/016.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215269962720833410" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SGBcZj-9b4I/AAAAAAAAAX4/7zgsueSFdj8/s400/016.JPG" border="0" /></a>I fear my writing might be becoming boring, but it's so hard for me to tell. Having "lived it" it never seems as good to write it as it was to do it, but here's an attempt. I wrote this about my first day in basic, so I'll post it here for everyones critique. Please take a minute to read it and let me know what ya think. Next up I am gonna try to write about my first flight in the Army, which might be a bit more entertaining!! So without further ado, Basic.</div><div><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div><div><br /><br /><br /></div><div>I enlisted in the Infantry, and started basic/inprocessing on Oct 03 1995. I arrived at Fort<a href="mailto:pers-728255484@craigslist.org?subject=I%20masturbate%20to%20much....%20wanna%20help:)%3f%20%20-%20w4m%20-%2043%20(.)"></a> Benning just after the passage of a hurricane which had made the flight in more like a ride on the Vomit Comet than a passenger plane. My first few days were spent at inprocessing with no power, and a bunch of bored drill sergeants trying not to have too much fun with us. Each day a group would be taken and given all their immunizations and shots and also would get their initial issue of uniforms. Upon their return to the building, they would immediately put on their uniforms and transition into Viet Nam veterans. The groups would then split into uniformed and non-uniformed, with the former trying to pass on their expertise to the new guys, who’d been in the Army about six minutes less than them. All in all it wasn’t too bad, and just a few push-ups were doled out at any one time. I knew I was gonna like this whole Basic Training thing. Then came the day we actually went to our training units…<br />The units were known as “Starships” for their huge layout and this was where the “real training” would commence. We sat anxiously on our duffle bags at the replacement unit, waiting to get loaded on the cattle cars and sent off to the starships. Finally my turn came and off I went, a little saddened that I was riding on a bus instead of the cooler looking cattle cars. Finally we stopped in front of our new home, and unlike the movies, the gentleman who stepped onto the bus wasn’t yelling at all. He was the unit’s executive officer, and he gave us some encouraging words about the training we were going to face, and then explained that soon we’d get to meet the cadre of Drill Sergeants where we’d all be formally introduced and the training could begin. This wasn’t bad at all! I sat there on the bus wondering if maybe there’d be some snacks at this formal introduction, and barely noticed the less friendly looking man who had now stepped onto the bus. After getting our attention he informed us we had no longer than 30 seconds to unass the bus, then stood there in the middle of the doorway counting. Now how were we supposed to get off the bus if he was in the way? Maybe he didn’t understand our plight, as he just stood there calmly counting. At the end of the thirty seconds, he expressed his displeasure at our inability to listen very well, and now things started to go downhill.<br />The DS stepped off the bus, and out of thin air about twenty more materialized. I think maybe they’d been hiding in the bushes, or perhaps they utilized some Army magic we’d not yet learned to appear to us, but either way they were here and not happy. They jerked open the back door of the bus and started jerking privates out of the bus. Finally I made it off the bus unscathed and took my bag and beelined for the assembly area. DS’s were grabbing guys left and right and assisting them with carrying their bags in all kinds of new and interesting ways. Personally I couldn’t understand how crawling on your hand and knees with two duffle bags on your back was an easier way, yet this seemed to be choice method. I, being me, continued hand carrying my bags trying to ignore the advice of the kind gentlemen surrounding me and instructing me otherwise. Finally one suggested I just stop and start doing push-ups to help clear my hearing, so I dropped down and happily obliged. Eventually we all made it to the formation area and lined up in a ragtag attempt at a platoon formation, then continued with all manner of physical fitness maneuvers designed to distress your mind and refocus that stress around one’s body. A particular favorite was “The Mule Kick.” This involved locking your fingers behind your head, putting both feet together, then jumping as high as you can while attempting to kick your own rear end with your heels. I guess if they couldn’t do it to us, they could help us to do it for them. Autoarsekicking at its’ finest!<br />After a few hours of this, I was beginning to think maybe there wasn’t going to be much in the way of refreshments at this meet-and-greet. After we were done with the greeting we headed upstairs to our platoon bays where we would be assigned our battle buddy, as well as learn the art and science of making a bed and setting up a wall locker. How hard could it be? This was when we met the first non-screaming DS who then sat us down and calmly walked us through the steps to properly make our bunks. 45 degree corners on all four sides, and the dustcover over the pillow is ¼ the length of the bed. How bad could that be? Well he left us alone with ten minutes to get all our bunks squared away, and we all set about busily measuring and folding. This was when I learned another very important lesson. Apparently Drill Sergeants have trouble telling time. He specifically told us we had ten minutes, yet he was back in only four and very displeased at our lack of bed making progress. I knew he wasn’t happy because I found myself doing push-ups with my legs elevated on the bunk I’d worked in vain to make. Finally he told us to get up and remake the bunks and he’d be back in ten minutes to see our progress.<br />Three minutes later I found myself learning a new maneuver called the “over and under”. We’d crawl under one bunk and over the next as we made laps around the bay. I was seriously beginning to question if we’d ever get to finish anything given the propensity for the DS to arrive and undo all of our hard work. We ended up repeating this game for several more cycles before we were deemed unfixable and we just left our bunks sloppily made (which I must admit looked a lot like the way they were the whole time I was in basic, but hey this was day 1 and they were the experts. We then went on to play a similar game involving the wall lockers and fitness training. The basic sequence was: calmly explain how to do it right and then leave us to do it. Show up at some arbitrary and unrealistic time later to inspect. Smoke young privates while berating us about our inefficiency. Rinse. Repeat. I later learned that the Army continues to use this model of inefficiency throughout the service for certain things.<br />The only other real agenda we had for that day was to meet our battle buddy, who was the guy sleeping in the bunk next to you. He was the guy who was supposed to help and motivate you, while the two of you learned together. You were supposed to do everything but wash each other’s cracks in the shower with your battle buddy. If your battle buddy screwed up, you both paid the price. My battle buddy was a fat guy who was also a pathological liar. This made basic much more fun for me over the duration. No matter what the story, he’d always done something better. Turns out he had almost won the professional bull riding championships before deciding to join the army. I often wondered if he’d meant to say the competitive eating championships, but mixed up his words. Anyhow, every basic training unit has “this guy” and I just happened to be partnered up with him. Some guys get all the luck. After these introductions were made, we finally were released to get ready for the next day, and it was close to midnight before I got under the sheets for my first night as a trainee. It wouldn’t be until later I learned not to sleep under the sheets…</div></div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-49574410307768096282008-06-22T02:13:00.002-04:002008-06-22T02:57:46.683-04:00The brakes on the Bean may be bad, but I could still see the headlights!Just a short update... Today didn't go as planned at all. I decided the shoreline highway might be a bit hard on the Bean, as the brakes started acting funny so I headed inland. I then got an invite to come up to lake <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Berryessa</span> to hang out and drink beer with nubile women (there words, not mine) and some ex-army guys, so how could I refuse! As I trekked up even curvier roads to get to the lake I noticed the Bean was shaking worse than <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">RTD's</span> ears when I hit the brakes, and it was getting worse. I decided that after the lake I'd go have that looked at. Well from there it went all downhill....<br /><br />Once at the lake, I couldn't get in touch with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">inviters</span>, so I drove around and finally parked with the idea of swimming with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">RTD</span> for a bit. I walked him all over kingdom come, and he did whatever <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">bidness</span> he had in him so we headed to the beach. As we walked down the road <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">RTD</span> was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">tapdancing</span> all over the place b/c of how hot the road was, and no matter how much I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">pushed</span> him into the grass, he was right back in the road. I used to do something like this when I was about six years old, but that was because traffic looked like so much fun! Some things never change. Finally we made it across the beach and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">RTD</span> was on good behavior. That should <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">have</span> tipped me off it was about to change...<br /><br />We ended up walking in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">fron</span> of the girls who were tanning and dozing, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Rockstar</span> chose now to strike. No, he didn't run up and scare them, instead he stopped no less than four feet in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">from</span> of them and dropped a huge <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Rockstar</span> signature load. this was about the time they woke up... Well at first we all just kinda stared, then the girls lost it. They started yelling for me to get my d**n dog out of there, and expressing their inner feelings that I am in fact a freak. I think their words were "HEY FREAK! GET YOU AND YOUR D**NED DOG AWAY FROM US!" I was somewhat unamused, and had it not been for the fact that someones <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">pitbull</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">mixbreed</span> decided now would be a great time to run up and sniff <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">RTD</span>, I might have replied. <br /><br />Well now here I am, hunkered over trying to scrape up feces one handed with a huge garbage bag, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">RTD</span> is busily trying to start the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">butthumper</span> game with a dog that was much bigger than he was. Fortunately the dog was also friendly, and just tried to play before his owners got him back... Another disaster narrowly averted. After that we got a spot to swim, and I took the leash off and let <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">RTD</span> do his swim/drown mix dance. After a bit I threw a big rock about 50 feet out, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">RTD</span> swam out looking for it. Once there he started snapping at the water where his paws were frothing it up, and generally doing his best to drown. I started to go out to get him when he wisely turned around and came back in. I decided this was a great opportunity to leave, but the fun wasn't yet over!<br /><br />As we walked out, a little mini <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">pinscher</span>/chihuahua looking dog named "Chocolate" came over and started sniffing at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">RTD</span> again. he'd done this the 1st time by, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">RTD</span> had ignored him. Allowing his <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Napolean</span> complex to get the best of him, Chocolate decided to snap at Rocky, which was just what I didn't need. The little rodent snapping at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">RTD</span> alerted him to his <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">minuscule</span> presence, and Rocky decided to see if Chocolate was true to his name. Now as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">RTD</span> was snapping back, large <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Mexican</span> men were coming to the aid of their little buddy, and I had visions of myself disappearing off the face of the earth. Finally I dragged <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">RTD</span> away from the little Hershey's Kiss and imminent danger, and we started out towards Yosemite.<br /><br />It was along the way that the back left brake started locking up. I replaced EVERYTHING in the brakes about 4 months ago, so I'm guessing it's an adjustment issue. Deciding I didn't want to turn the Bean into the Black Eyed Pea by slamming into someones rear end, I stopped in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Fairfield</span> to get it looked at. After sitting there for over an hour watching four mechanics work really hard standing around staring the each other, one finally came and told me they were too busy to get to it today. Thanks.... With that great news I loaded up and angrily headed to Sacramento where I decided I'd rent a room and sleep well. We freaks need our beauty rest, apparently... It was along the way here that I finally had something many <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">people</span> have asked about happen. I saw my first pair-o-boobies! A lady was so kind as to display them on their way by, with her hubby laughing hysterically in the drivers seat... At least my day improved a little! The funny thing was as I was filling the Bean up 30 miles later, the hubby pulls into the gas station at the very next pump. We chatted a bit as his wife was off getting food, and they both thought it was a hilarious thing to do... I agreed wholeheartedly. Finally I headed out, but not before following him over to where he had to pick up his wife to give my best Wolf-Whistle for her (his idea). I'm now happily in a hotel, and hope to get the bean fixed tomorrow. From here <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">i'm</span> heading to Vegas, and might make it tomorrow or Monday, so stay tuned!! Sorry there are no pics for today.....Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8198289953981711830.post-67391740379218587532008-06-21T13:34:00.004-04:002008-06-21T14:33:13.143-04:00A recurrent theme...<div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SF1GnxIt7OI/AAAAAAAAAVw/IFNDofUUS_4/s1600-h/001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214401592583646434" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SF1GnxIt7OI/AAAAAAAAAVw/IFNDofUUS_4/s400/001.JPG" border="0" /></a>Good day everybody! Currently I'm in a tiny town called Sebastopol, CA. I've made my way out of the towering Redwoods and down some of the twistiest roads I've ever seen. I must say these rival US129 aka The Dragon down south of Knoxville, and they just go for miles! I took HWY 101 to HWY1 which follows the pacific coast down California. The turns are hard in the SportsBean, but i'm making my way through them well. RTD isn't to happy about my choice of route, and spends much of his time attempting to avoid stuff that isn't tied down from bouncing off him as I squeal the bean through yet another 180 degree turn. When I'm on the coast side of the ridge, the weather is a balmy 65 degrees, and then on the valley side it's about 110 and I start having Kandahar flashbacks. While the road is particularly twisty, the earth is usually some shade of parched brown, but the ocean stretching out toi the right makes it all worth it! Also I managed to find the tree with a tunnel cut through it, and the Bean even fit! By fit I mean the mirrors were folded in and the CB antenna down but whatever. I have to wonder HOW there came to be a tunnel through the tree. I suspect it involved a fair amount of alcohol, at least at the start! This seems like the kind of thing that results from a conversation that included "you know what would be totally amazing? A tunnel.... THROUGH a TREE! Pass me another beer and I'll go get the chainsaw!"</div><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SF1Gn1cxgqI/AAAAAAAAAV4/tWigPBXVeQA/s1600-h/004.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214401593741509282" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SF1Gn1cxgqI/AAAAAAAAAV4/tWigPBXVeQA/s400/004.JPG" border="0" /></a>Anyhow, something that has come up quite a bit from people has been the issue of gas prices, and the remedies that people have heard of. Global warming has reared its' head a bit, too. I reference it a bit in jest, because last year was the coldest year ever recorded globally, which seems kind of interesting given this whole "warming" scam. I hate to turn this into a rant, so I'll try to keep it entertaining at the least. We all have noticed that the prices at the pump have been going up, and if ya haven't that probably means you are a politician and have a driver who fills your car up for you. Everyone seems to have some very misguided ideas at what the answer is, and I'm amazed at how little people know about an issue seem so passionate about. </div><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SF1Gn5tTi4I/AAAAAAAAAWA/V6UruBkDNU0/s1600-h/010.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214401594884590466" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SF1Gn5tTi4I/AAAAAAAAAWA/V6UruBkDNU0/s400/010.JPG" border="0" /></a>First off, ethanol. Seriously? How in the world have we sold ourselves this BRILLIANT idea? "I know! Let's take our FOOD, and turn it into GAS!" By the way, this is a fuel that is significantly less efficient than petroleum, so as a side benefit of higher food prices, you also get to enjoy lower mpg and power in your car. In the end, to save a few cents per gallon of gas, you get to pay several cents more for all of your food, AND get worse mpg, meaning you buy MORE gas! This is like giving someone $1000 dollars and then they give you $800 cash back, and you get excited at your "windfall". Now some people might argue that it's only corn that has gone up, but again that's not true. Given the increased demand for corn, farmers have stopped planting other crops to meet the demand, so now wheat, barley (BEER!) and other cash crops have fallen to the wayside in lieu of the new Corngod. Personally I think this is a bad idea. Kinda like much of the stuff that I do... Again many people point to Brazil and their cheap fuel, but what people don't realize is ethanol is a byproduct of their sugar industry, so it's a win win situation there. Not here.</div><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SF1IAPrl6NI/AAAAAAAAAWI/ZI1d3YYRQXE/s1600-h/006.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214403112611473618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SF1IAPrl6NI/AAAAAAAAAWI/ZI1d3YYRQXE/s400/006.JPG" border="0" /></a>That being said, electricity MUST be the answer! We can get Enron involved in this idea, too... While electric cars SOUND great, we need to think about a few things. First off this doesn't get us OFF of fossil fuel, it merely removes it to a place you don't see to make the energy for your eco-car. Your friendly power plant! So picture this, and electric car in every other driveway, and the power plants attempting to meet the need of the increased demand for electricity. There was another industry that had a sudden increase in demand... It was the petroleum industry... So now you get to pay more for power for your car, and your air conditioner, and your TV, and computer, etc etc etc. Also, many cities can barely meet demand for power just for houses. Now add to that the demand for cars, too. Coal burning power plants are gonna go into overdrive to make that power. I say coal because the majority of the power in the USA still comes from coal. Last I checked that stuff has some nasty emmissions...</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Now that you have you electric car, you have a big battery, which will die every 6-10 years with current technology. So what to do with the HIGHLY TOXIC and LARGE lithium battery? Can't put it anywhere it will get wet, because then it will react violently and go boom. Can't put it in a landfill because it will eventially leak, causing a HUGE disaster to the local environment. What about nickel? That's great, except for it too is toxic in concentrated amounts, plus it currently is mined in the North Americas, shipped to Japan (via fuel burning boats) turned into a battery and shipped back (more gas!). So with current battery technology, this MIGHT just be a bad idea...</div><div></div><br /><br /><div>So then what? Hydrogen, right? Yayyyyy.... Has anyone here heard of "The Hindenburg"? Granted the hydrogen cells will be well built, but eventually one WILL rupture in a bad enough crash, and then the it might spark off, since crashed often involve sparks. I can barely wait to see the lawsuits that roll into the courts when THAT happens. Pluse, where do we get the hydrogen? From water right? But how, Daniel? Well you get it by shooting a busload of electricity through it, resulting in electolysis and H gas and O gas. Where does the electricty come from? The friendly little cave dwelling electricity gnomes? Nope.... back to the power plant. So I think driving a hydrogen car might be a bit of a gamble at best.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SF1IBN6TU8I/AAAAAAAAAWQ/4T6C48ggXAA/s1600-h/020.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214403129316168642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UyymD5_GNEs/SF1IBN6TU8I/AAAAAAAAAWQ/4T6C48ggXAA/s400/020.JPG" border="0" /></a>So what is the answer? Well there are engines in Europe that get 47-53 MPG, AND make good useable power. They are called "common rail diesel engines" and already in widespread use there. Why not here? The EPA won't allow them because the sulfonated fuel doesn't meet out emissions standards. Nevermind the fact that they are highly efficient, and emit way less emissions at highway speeds, we can't have that sulfur can we. Or can we? We have to ask ourselves what tradeoff are we willing to make. Do we protect the ultra rare blue ringed snotty tree slug while millions of Americans lose their houses, families, jobs, and lives because they can't afford to eat or buy gas? Or do we find a LONG TERM solution to the problem? I vote long term. As for electricity, I think that wind and solar may be good solutions. I know South Dakota had constant 20-30 mph winds all day, and a LOT of unused space that would be great for windmills! However, given current battery technology, THAT isn't yet the answer. The only other suggestion I have is possibly a car that is like a train engine. A diesel that is highly efficient which drives a small generator to power the elctric motors in the car, and only runs on demand. Not sure how well this would work, but it beats having everything die off from the lithium leached into the soil from the battery it replaced.</div><div> </div><div>Anyhow, I hope to be in Vegas tomorrow and Monday, then on through the Southwest. Expects somre pivcs of me keeping RTD from walking over the edge of the Grand Canyon... I hope to get to meet some people in Vegas, so e-mail if you are interested! Maybe another meet and greet a la Portland, Oregon. Enjoy the pictures of the Pacific Sunset I've posted!</div></div>Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10612208111259259256noreply@blogger.com7