Skidsteer... Warm Beets and Burnt Buns...

Getting along... just piling beets and sleeping... or trying to...

Here's a look west from the Piling ground just a little while 'fore we shut down the other day...

Oh... and here's a pic I captured a few nights back. A friend asked me if I could see the moon? I asked "Why?" having not heard about anything special going on... I took my camera outside and saw only full overcast... But... Luckily the clouds parted for about fifteen seconds... and  I captured this...

*Blood Moon eclipse*

The weather has been getting in the way. This time__GOOD weather. It's been pretty nice if you like that sort of thing. Only trouble is, if the beets get t0o warm... that's warmer than 55 degrees, we have to stop piling or they'll spoil before the are processed.

Had several short days for that reason... soooo... in an effort to get the work done... we're starting tomorrow at 5 in the oh damn it's early morning... which means, I've got to get up 'bout 3 to suck down the normal amount of coffee required to get moving for the day.

Now... yesterday had an interesting situation develop.

It was warm, too damn warm and the yellow jackets and bees are pulled in by the beet piles so the windows of the Skidsteer were closed and the air conditioner was running full tilt...

Onliest problem being... I kept getting HOTTER! I mean... my backside was on fire! After a bit I was squirming like a two dollar hooker listening to a fire and brimstone preacher blistering the faithful!

Now I thought of a "Thing" and looked all over for switches... of which there are many in these new computerized skidsteers... only trouble THERE being... they aren't labeled! Some moron thought that some sort of squiggly lines and pictograms garbage makes it easier and clearer for illiterates and them that won't learn the language to operate a machine...

But damn it! I can read! and I've no friggin' Idea what most of those squiggly line pics that make no damn sense mean! So finding the switch I was looking for was what they call a FAIL!

I finally bailed out of the cab__wondering what the hell was goin' on! and fanning the smoking back pockets of my wranglers... until I looked back at the cab and there... under the seat was a lil' bitty red light... HIDDEN UNDER THE SEAT... where your leg can accidentally bump it on and blister your behind on a 75 degree day.

I don't mind seat heaters... but gol dang it! TELL ME it's there... and then put the dang switch where a guy can find it when his cute lil' butt is ON FIRE!!!

 I still sit a little funny...

- Brian

Beware the Black Hatted Buffalo Nudger

Yeah... I didn't know such a thing existed either.

So there I was after a few days of fighting ee-lek-trawn-icks... struggling to get a book published... The sixth western novel and the first to cause difficulty uploading...

Well, after multiple crashes, regroupings, re-Nuking and reformulation I surrendered and sent the manuscript to a computer geek lady who had it fixed and back in the time it takes to write a couple emails... and refused compensation claiming it was too small a job to bother.

One tiny little missed "click" in the formatting process on a used to be clear and open and now hidden screen... crashed the whole deal. ALL attributable to Microsoft's penchant for taking working software and improving it into cumbersome, awkward NON-intuitive malware...

SO! with the thing fixed, uploaded and published - FINALLY - I decided to reward myself with a drive through the northern end of Yellowstone before I pull out in a day or so...

Hmmmm... traffic has thinned considerable__but there's still plenty. I came to a patch of it where folks that normally live in concrete pastures were busily building a Buffalo Jam. Now__sitting on the asphalt for who know how long watching townies take pictures of Buffalo cows silhouetted against somebody's church van is not my idea of a well spent afternoon... so I kept moving.

Yup... if you idle along the Buffs will generally move out of the way. 'course if they stop you've no option but to stop too.

Well, these didn't stop... I moved... and they moved and I was on my merry way... for about 15 miles... and then the flashing lights behind me said; "Tsk Tsk Tsk... you were a bad boy!" except, I couldn't for the life of me figure out what I'd done... seeing as I was rolling 10 miles under the limit.

I pulled into a wide spot and this dang near 6' blonde Amazon Ranger walks up and wierdly... was really looking at and all over the truck.

"How are you doing?" she asks...

"Well... I -WAS- doing ok. What's up?" I say.

"I stopped you because we got a report phoned in that you were "Nudging Buffalo" ...

"Um... " I friggin' cracked up... "Are you serious? ummm... if I HAD BEEN you wouldn't be stopping me HERE! You'd be responding to the disabled truck sitting in the middle of the road with it's front end torn off!"

"If you Nudge Buffalo... those buggers Nudge Back!"

Well she grinned and laughed... and Agreed. "That's why I was looking at your truck so close... looking for damage."

Fact is... I DID... exactly what the Park Boys and Girls WANT you to do... keep moving... NOT cork the road...

We talked for some little while and she checked out my "Papers" to ensure that I wasn't some heinous jihadi looking to terrorize not only the american sheeple but a deviant terrorist hoping to sneak around NUDGING BUFFALO...

Laughed my way all the way back to camp... Walt Disney educated nature lovers are like somebody walking on a treadmill... they put out a lot of effort... they just don't get anywhere.

- Brian

P.S. Leather and Stone is now working through the distribution channels and is or soon will be available for Pre-order at Smashwords (and it's retailers) and Amazon! (I'll get an Amazon link up as soon as it's live)

Yeah... So... Gol' Durned Fur Bearin' Hollow Headed Galoot! DOH!

All my life, 'tween the brush draggin' at ya, the critters and bugs bitin', scratchin' and cuttin'... and the wear and tear of just livin'... I found it advantageous to keep my carcass covered up. Hell, I wore chaps and a denim jacket with it a hundred degrees to keep my hide from gettin' shredded.

The number of times I've been exposed to the sun... even swimming... can probably be counted on my fingers and leave enough of 'em for a good firm grip on a cool one.

So... what possesses a guy, after well over a half century, to go against the hard won lessons of life?

Yeah... some shovel-nosed mackerel thought it would be kinda cool to gain one of them studly tans on his bodacious bod... Dumb, flea brained varmint!

Bwahahahahahhhaha... 'tween the wasps and the sun... I been gettin' some sort of a re-educashun 'round here for sure!

... and my constitution must not be quite so constitutioned as I thought... didn't take but twenty minutes in the sunshine for there to be three wrecks out on the dirt road passin' the farm as I mowed...

... and a case of that "Sun-Poisoning"... Pathetic... apparently a life of livin' ONE way... ain't about to change cuz of a twenty minute brain fart.

The culprits in those wrecks said the glare comin' off something movin' around the farm yard blinded 'em so bad they run off into the bar ditch...

So... itchy and wigglin' I've been ridin' some little bit...

Planning on taking off later in the week for a few days of mountain riding. I've reworked some of my gear in the last couple weeks so I thought a "test ride" to make sure that the new gear and packing arrangement was gonna ride well... might could be a good idea.

Another ride up Thompson Canyon and a loop up into Rocky Mountain National Park proved that out... a full camp on a cruiser is a fair load. But with the heavy stuff low in the saddlebags and just the bulky light gear up top... it rides well. Ready in fact for another long postponed Alaska Run! :)

So, as soon as a couple more close up chores get accomplished I'm gonna put me on the bike and the bike in the wind for maybe as long as a week riding some of that Western Far Country... just a mite closer to home than that... then it's back here to put the accumulated parts and materials onto the rig to prepare it for the journey north to the Beet harvest... which will be here sooner than we'll likely be ready for.

Brian

Tarnashun! A Supplemental Sit Rep 7/7/2014 0916 hours;

Late yestiddy afternoon I seen a swell in the number of them gol durn buzzing varmints. They harassed me clean offn the roof as I TRIED to begin my scrubbin'.

I responded by expending all remaining available Peppermint oil munitions in a heavy barrage on all observed positions of the no good, buzzin', flea bitten, carpet baggin', double-crossin', butt stinging, bug faced varmints!

Today so fer... From juss after daylight I been a watchin' for the pain in the caboose obstructifliers in my current area of operation... so far only one lonely flat footed scout has got seen. Holding onto hope! ;)

In a short while with a bucket, a brush and a jug of fixin's... I'll commence to swampin' out the roof in preparation for recaulking and then eventually... recoating...

Unless of course those rackin' frakin' bush-whackin buzzers come zippin' round and chase me offn my own roof... Again! 

Brian

Oh No!!! Have You Heard of...

... the Wars? 

There's world wars, gas wars and gender wars. Guerilla wars, conventional wars and nuclear wars.

Most of 'em just like THIS one are unwanted and thrust upon us. 

THIS war is the Wasp invasion in combat with the cowboy militia! 

Right now the wasps won the first battle with the near destruction of my roof. They've now counter attacked and began reinfesting the refrigerator cap. While trying to puzzle out what to do about that invasion by the noxious bastards... I discovered two more lines of attack. 

They have made beach heads under the solar panels as well as under the cap of the sewer vent...

... which might explain the advent of noxious fumes inside!

They might think they're victorious, disarmed as they thought I was. But it's way too early for the buzzing varmints to get  cocky!

I may have found a secret weapon. Early tests showed promise so I immediately ordered the full deployment of the weapon system. 

Peppermint Oil! I've been told that it not only kills the larvae in the nest, but it vigorously repels the adults as they detest its aroma. I mixed it extra strong and assaulted their positions with a lightning raid in the full daylight!

So far the lines are holding. Though a scout or two has been spotted they departed quickly and the main force has not mounted another counter attack.

I am hopeful this war may be over... cuz I got a lot of work to do on that roof!!!

Armed and Ready... Peppermint oil spray bottle is loaded ;)
Brian

Technology, The Great Convenience In Life...

... That's sorta just like strappin' your Kak onto a rabid buffalo and hollerin' LET 'ER BUCK!...

This Ol' buster is nigh on to done with allowin' tech-NO-logy to have its hooks buried so deep in his hide. I'm bone weary of the never ending acceleration of the addiction to widgets and gadgets that's infected me as pathetically as ever'body.

There was a time that the onliest thing that this boy needed was a saddle, a bareback riggin' a truck, beer and a rodeo... and a couple of horses...

Now... I got cell phones that won't stay not broke, computers that demand internet to make my living... air cards that bleed my thin wallet into givin' me eating disorders and a churning distaste for a lot of what this world thinks it can impose on a man...

... much of it inflicted just because some infected parasitic politician thinks he's got more right to decide what my liver imbibes than I do.

Any of you Poh-lite townie types have Any sort of an idea what the consequence would be for some blustering bozo, should he go stompin' into a bunk house and declare in a loud and demanding voice; ALL YOU BOYS LISTEN UP! YOU WILL DO THIS... and YOU WILL DO THAT... and YOU WILL PAY US FOR THE PRIVILEGE!  Hmmmm?

I do... do the words ear notching, hide burning, and rocky mountain Oysters mean anything to ya?

Well that's just 'bout where my mad has sizzled up to... I don't mind payin' good money for good tools... but constantly havin' to kick in more to get less has wore out it's welcome, for sure and for certain.

I take my gol' darn'ed confabulation of intenet enabled eelek-Trawnic wizardry into town to utilize the wifi... so I can dance around the Bull Feces being pedaled by the miscellaneous and sundry wireless (and integrity-LESS) companies and what should I encounter?

Uh Huh... You guessed it... That damned drunken Murphy has hired on as the Range Obstructor for the gaggle of outfits that have banded together to make up today's modern "Land and Cattle Barons".

It's kinda like the Johnson county war all over again... 'cept this time they're pushin' an' shovin' EVER'body into the herd that they plan on milkin'... not just the cowboys and folks out on the fringes... willing or not.

Because of this and that and weird eelek-tawnick wizardry that only a Mensa Hacker could untangle... I get locked out of danged near Ever'thing. Bank, Facebook, Blog dashboard, My Amazon dashboard... It's like in that movie a few years ago and somebody pushed a button and I just QUIT EXISTING!!!

ARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!

There I sit with somebody's kid squallin' like you hammered his foot, a fish sandwhich McDonalds starved to death bought so I can tell myself I'm a good guy and didn't "Steal" the wifi...

While the laptop locks up with ALERT! WE DON'T KNOW YOU...YOU ARE LOCKED OUT! messages from every outfit I try to log onto...

.... and when they pop up their IDENTIFY YOURSELF windows... Nada... Zip... Nuthin'... their screen sits there doin' nuthin'...

So... what's a feller to do? Wellllll... Iff'n You got a horse with a broke leg you pull out a winchester and...

Yeah... the sheriff down here thinks just 'zactly the same as ya'll do... so... now Winchesterless...

...I end up havin' to hold my right ear 'tween my left finger and thumb while hoppin' in a circle on top of a table, grunting jingle bells while waving  my right leg in the air and farting the pledge of allegiance... to get things un-cornfuzzle-ated.

... and THIS is convenience? 

You think ever'body got their shorts tangled at that American Traditional song sung in foreign tongue at the super bowl? Oh... damn... you should of heard the noise at Mickey D's!

.... sooooo... now the coffee's all gone... the fish is choked down... the internet dance is done... most of the locked out sites are unlocked... until NEXT time... and my mad is cooled out...

But... there's an old old saying...

If they fool you once it is Their fault...
If they fool you twice... it is YOUR fault...

And you know what? these lard butted turkeys have skunked me too many times... I'm kinda done takin' it quiet...

The words of an Old movie come back to me...

"I'm goin' back to who and what I was... something simple... Hard, but simple.'

Wellllll... My spleen is all sparklin' clean having been fully and totally vented... Don't I feel better!

Time is a Comin' to Poke the Badger
Brian

Spinning Yarns, Exclamation Marks and Proper Grammar

Well, it's been slow going and I'm far behind on my "Time" goal... but I believe I'm finally starting to gain some momentum. Takes some little time and effort to push past the dust and commotion in a muddled brain and put good words on a page.

I have two stories working. Buuuuut when I hit a box canyon with one I chose to swap over to the other series and keep on moving. That one, the Jeb Taylor series, seems to have grabbed some traction and be finally, gathering some speed.

I've found I don't take an easy breath until the story has finally caught traction in my head and begins to carry itself... and me... along.

All that comes in the face of some critical reviews the past few weeks. It seems some folks don't especially hold with what could be considered my odd emphasis and grammar. Funny... they still gave it four stars :)

You know... Cowboys tend to be excitable fellas... I'd warrant that if you recorded a conversation of a dozen of 'em compared to reg'lar folks... you'd HEAR a lot more exclamation marks! I consider my writing to be sort of a "Truth in Advertising" kind of a deal.

The thing is, I don't look at language as some static this-is-the-onliest-way-it-can-be sort of regimented science. Language has one and only one reason for being; To allow one fella to communicate what he's thinkin'... with another.

So... if that gets done, if the story gets told in a way my readers find entertaining... it don't make no lil' bit of a never mind to me if the commas are in the place dictated by an english teacher, or if I've got some part of a ciple danglin' some damn where. Ain't no cowboy ever knew what one of those was any damn way.

Now I 'spect that absolute precision is purty important when you're drawin' out the plans for a vee-hickle that's gonna fly some loco pilot to the moon and back... but... when ya'll are passin' on some cowboy's version of a difficulty he had in the high chaparral... with seven fellas that ain't got no better education than he's saddled with... good grammar would be a really dishonest way of tellin' the story.

Now that don't mean I'm against makin' things neater and cleaner for those that look for where the commas are at rather than reading the words... but if it seems to me that doin' such gets in the way of the proper feel and flavor of the tale... you'd be best to expect to find things arranged in a way that'll make your english teacher wiggle and squirm.

So, when the dust settles and the words hit the electronic shelf... since those that admire my particular way of spinnin' a yarn seem to outnumber the critical ones; and considering that even those that question some of the mechanics of my literary license claim they continued reading because the story held their attention... I believe I'll keep on keepin' on the way I been doin'.

Many Thanks for Reading My Stories!
Brian.

The Hunger Moon

Don't know about ya'll... but this dollar thing is gettin' wearisome. Purt near worn out its welcome for sure. The Indians used to have lots of different names for the winter season. January was the Howling Wolf Moon... February the Hunger Moon.

They pretty much all referred in some way to bein' cold, hungry and losin' weight. Pushin' cows you watched 'em losin' pounds all winter... and then poured it to 'em late so they'd be gainin' come the spring.

Here's hopin' there'll be something to be Pourin' 'round here come late winter!

Till then, what does a motorized boondocker do when the paper that funds the go juice to operate the motors runs thinner than the generosity of a mother-in-laws heart? ... uh... not much.

One thing is, you pull the blankets out from their compartment to make a nice thick cover and leave the thermostat in the wait to warm up for morning coffee position to save propane for sure and for certain!

There's enough groceries in the fridge and cupboard to feed on for the next pair of weeks... if I don't eat most of the second one :) and there's diesel in the truck and gas in the bike... for plenty of rollin'... as long as I don't go no where! :)

With lots of time for thinkin'... I've calculated that there might could be a couple of advantages to not moving around a whole lot. Which helps make not moving around much reasonably palatable... assuming of course I snooker myself into believing my own yarn!

First, machinery don't break nigh as often when it's sitting parked! :)  So on top of saving fuel dollars that weren't there in the first place... there's fewer repairs to do! Ain't that slick?

and then...

you'd think such a long quiet time would be just prime for a fella to sit down and carve out some good stories wouldn't you? Well I thought so too!

Turns out... yes and no... there's plenty of time... but...

You see... when you're backbone is buffin' up the back side of your belly button it kind of creates a distraction to shapin' words into admirable stories. The noise is a fearful scrapin' sound and the vibrations tickle so bad you can't sit still in front of the keyboard for more than six minutes at a time...

Now... Ya'll might could think I'm just yarnin' here... but I Vow! It be a true tale. The only saving grace is that such poverty is 'bout the only protection from the D.C. scavengers and their parasitic fining ways for failing to sign up for the double priced savings on their latest Poh-lit-i-cuhl scam.

Yup! There won't be no fat cat's squeezin' this rooster... you can only get so much nuthin' out of an empty bucket! Haw Haw Haw! :)

Pursuin' the Cowboy Diet (1 Jar peeled air, 2 cups of dehydrated water, stir in 3 pieces of tenderized rawhide and salt to taste)
Brian

Burros and Cowboy Mental Gyrations

You might wonder what they eat in the places they live in what some see as a bleak and forbidding desert... There's no grass to speak of here. Sage and creosote bush. Mesquite and Paloverde...

That's what makes jack asses so hard to beat... the buggers can prosper on what others would pass on by and never see...

There's a small herd here, maybe a half dozen or so. They "Grazed" by yesterday afternoon, maybe three or four hundred yards off. What they were "Grazing" on was the trees themselves. They pruned off the freshest tips of the brush and Paloverde trees... and then moved on...

It's been said that the last two critters on earth will be a coyote and a cockroach... I'm of the opinion that a burro is gonna be right in there givin' 'em a run for their money.

Well... a burro probably being ridden by a politician...

I'm well into a bad episode of A.D.D. Working on any one thing for more than a couple hours, if that, is nigh on to impossible... so I tool leather, write a few thousand words, practice up some braiding with a hank of cord I picked up, doodle, do some quick online research for a story... take the dogs for a short walk... sweep the floor, put things away that got forgot the first three times, check this and that... and then... repeat... oh, and the laundry, propane and water to deal with...

While watching burros, bikers and fighter planes...

... all with quite some little bit of spinning in kaleidoscope lit circles mixed in to keep things interesting and get some bonus exercise.

I don't know if it's actually a diagnosable case of A.D.D, advanced old timers syndrome or the consequence of of an over active imagination hobbled by an under performing wallet.

Whatever it is... it's taking some genuine conscientious effort to focus on any one thing long enough for it to show some progress!

I'm gonna go stumble aother spin through the desert for a bit and work off some more kaleidoscoping gyrations...

 It May be a different drummer... but it's MY different Drummer!
Brian

We Done Busted the Rules

Etiquette says... One Night At Walmart. Uh huh. And for all the times we've been patrons of the Night Stoppers of Walmart society... that's 'zactly what we done.

'Till now.

This night shall be our Third night, courtesy of Walmart. Parked it with a lame truck Saturday afternoon and received the clearance that we'd have no trouble, so we could get into the shop Monday morning.

Monday morning rolled around, right on schedule... the truck rolled into the Dealers yard, right on schedule... and right on schedule that @#%$ Murphy showed up.

Now, in amongst all the wires and hoses and confabulationary plumbing and hardware that constitutes the guts and structure of a modern diesel truck lives a thing called the ECM. That's engineer speak for engine control module.

Fabulous lil' boxes. They tell the engine how to run and when to do it in a fashion that makes these late model rigs run the old thumpers of my youth to gasping wrecks trying to keep up.

Uh Huh... right up until they don't. Now, in the old days when the side of your carburetor blew out, you could look in there under the hood and say; "Aw Hell! The side of the carburetor blew out!" The fix was simple. Bolt on a fresh one.

Now, you have to ask that ECM and it's lil' recording devices; "What ail's you son?" and 99.9% of the time it pops up a CODE that tells you 'zactly what's ailing. Uh HUH. Not 100% I said 99.9%

Any of you still wonderin' what % I stumble around in? You thought YOU were special? HA! I live with the sure and certain knowledge that I ain't no 1%er... I am a .1 %er... you see that lil' bitty POINT there in front of the 1 right?

Yup... that fancy ee-lek-trawnic whizbangin' gizmo under the seat... or wherever they hide it... refuses to tell anybody which part is the right part... to replace... It didn't record a dang thing.

The consequence being; "If it ain't broke... we can't fix it!"  arrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhh!  ... and I'm not willing to roll out into the far flung wilds with a lame rig.

So we ride into our THIRD Walmart night...

Well Hell, at least they have craft beer for sale inside and no shortage of TP...

Life is a Beer... Goes down easy and frequently leaves you sitting on the porch looking stupid.
Brian

An Unnecessary Education on the Value of Maintenance

Or at least, it SHOULD be unnecessary at this late stage of The Game.

So... when you get poor... and repairs eat up the money you've not yet made faster than you can make it... those things that can be postponed.... Guess What? They get... Post - Poned!

Uh huh. Maintenance falls pretty low on the priority scale.. Now generally... that doesn't really get your shorts in a quiver... unless of course you're sitting on an airplane... owned by a company in financial distress!

So, there you are, rich in visions... but poor in assets. As in... the truck your ass sets in.

Now... you're rolling into a lil' burg... and the truck goes BURP! WHEEZZZZEEEE UPUCKFLURPEEWHUMP! .... all over the space of 'bout 3 seconds...

It stumbles... and then... the CHECK ENGINE light illuminates and you say; awwwww CuuuuuuuRRRAPPPPPP!

Buuuuuuuut there's no place to pull off, so for a mile or three you keep movin, your eyes jumpin' all over the dash, trying to find something wrong...

It rolls on down the road until you can find a spot along the narrow way to pull over and check, all the while your liver is doin' a tap dance on your kidneys...

You look, and hunt and search only to find nothing wrong... or at least, nothing you can find with a look and a wish with the hood up on the side of the road waiting for some yuppie in a duramax to holler; GET A CHEVY!

Soooooo... you can holler back; So I can park the lump of GM fertilizer  LIKE A ROCK? 

Well, frustrated in your recon under the hood...  you roll on the 15 miles to your next camp... with the CHECK ENGINE light! making your shorts a bio waste hazard...

Buuuuuuuuut everything runs just like it should... alternator, fuel pressure, oil pressure, engine temp... outside air temp... the ONLY thing wrong is your pulse, that nasty smell spreading through the cab annnnnnd... the twisting squirming lump in your gut.

... and you park...

... you get camp set up... while thinking all the while about all the myriad of things that could trigger the EVIL CHECK ENGINE light...and how many zero's are gonna follow along behind the part number of that lil' jewel.

sooooo... you sit in your fading but not yet failed folding chair trying to find a shuttle to take herself to the Airport, 80 something miles away tomorrow afternoon so you can spend the next two weeks figuring your way out of the most recent hole that's opened up under your beer bottle...

... and then you think... well... maybe it could have been... The FUEL FILTER! That's overdue!... and you hunt up an Oil Can Henry's just down the road... 'cause changing the oil in camp is a nasty, greasy, menial job best left to those without the masculine beauty and sensual adonis traits of ethiopian bellied, bald headed onetime Cowboy, Bikers.

Now... you rob that poor motherless son Peter to pay Paul... one more time... only this time he had to take out a loan 'cause you already robbed him of the next two years tax returns... 

... and you go on down there to change the oil and the fuel filter... which... due to that pri-ohr-uh-ti-za-shun scandal mentioned above... hasn't been done since... oh well... never mind that...

So... you're sitting there in the cab and you hear this noise. It's the sound a minimum wage Oil Can Henry em-ploy-eeee makes when they find something some uncaring, useless Dodge mutilator has done to a fine machine.

He was uttering one of those Poh-Lit-I-cully impolite uses of a fellas name. Uh HUH... THAT fella. The one that some are terribly fearful of...

uh HUH... He'd found the AIR FILTER!

I didn't know they had a button for such things at just another variety of a lube shop. But they do. The echoes in that lil' building still have my ears ringin' from when he hit the EMERGENCY EVACUATION button...

***AHHHHHOOOOOOOGAAAA !!!

Alert! RED ALERT! 

This machine is about to BLOW!

 Do not walk. Do not hesitate! Run for the exits.  

RUN NOW! 

AHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOGAAAAA !!!

 

RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN!  

RRRRRRRRRRR---- UNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN !!!  NOOOOWWWWWWWWWW !!!! 

AHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOGAAAAA***

I would have taken a picture of  said Air Filter... but it was seized by armed  FEMA agents and passed on to Homeland Security to be investigated as a Home grown weapon of mass destruction.

To give you an idea of it's appearance... think of the sourest prude of a celibate old puckered up, double dipped, triple rectified Victorian 89 year old virginal Librarian you can think of; and take a picture of her the instant she bites into the most bitterest lemon you can find while flashing her a picture of a gangbanger with his jeans hanging half down his butt...

Uh Huh... that air filter was... uh... bad... :'( to put it into one word... Plumb Shameful. Well sue me! You can't PUT it in one word!

Well, now that abused, tortured and maligned GOOD TRUCK from DODGE is sitting out there in this new camp with clean oil, a fresh fuel filter... and no longer crying... aiiiirrrrrrrr.... i neeeeeeed aiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

The moral of this story is... Take care of your machinery, one way or the other... 'cause you just can't count on it having the guts to keep moving you like I wrung out of this'un.

Chastised and Hew-Milly-eighted
Brian

Go here... go there... This one or that one? but what about the other... Oh look! A Butterfly!

Scattered, dis-focused and debilitated by the indecision of a prosperous imagination.

I have tripped and fell face first into the dreaded sewer of too many options and new bright Shiny bits. My mouth and ears and eyes are full of the sand of things that could be... if only... I Could Freaking CHOOSE! ;)

Possibilities... arrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh.

You know the deal... saddle a guy with too many choices and options and possibilities and the consequence is... NO CHOICES get made... and nothing gets done, cuz you get stuck in that tangled web of this that or the other.

Oooooffff... time to take a deep breath... suck it up... Cowboy Up and CHOOSE! and find a way to stop the niggling voices in the hollow recesses of an over active imagination, squalling that I chose wrong, from overpowering the ringing in my ears!

*Looking out of Old Town Bandon Oregon*

So... with the voices echoing in the dark void...and... before the rains returned last night we made a long mid day visit into town to peruse... that's a word you'll find few broke down biker cowboy wandering drifters using... the wares of the Bandon Farmers Market.

Tasted a few samples, Heidi added a sponge drying ceramic doo dad from a local potter... to add to the clutter around the sink and covering up the last of the open flat surface; thereby preventing dust from settling on that last bit of unused counter top...

... and got a tip from the potter to visit a local chocolate shop... a Spot known as "Coastal Mist".

Yeah... the "voices" in my head distracted and confused me such that though we declined to buy lunch at the farmers market for five bucks... 'cause we need to be more frugal...

... The $8 dropped at at a chocolate shop made supreme sense...

What can I say? It's a morality issue. Passing by chocolate is like slapping Nuns or spilling Beer!

It's a despicable thing to contemplate.

If you stop and think about it... it actually is a lot more frugal to eat chocolate... especially REAL chocolate...

... than fresh vegetables, fruits and nuts.

The calories of that gooey goodness are gonna last a LOT longer than that dang lettuce and walnuts!

And... I am weary of a world of reason, sense, duty, and the burdens of being sensible... Which would you rather have carved on your tombstone? "He was a reliable bloke that worked hard every day" ... or ... "He was a wild and wooly son-of-gun that lived his entire life with a glint in his eye, his hair on fire and his heart thumping like a Drum." ???

If you're one of those that has refused to do some dodgy or distasteful Thing of drudgery ...

...until "Pigs Fly"... here's a heads up...

You might just want to stay clear of Bandon...

We spent quite a lil' while walking around the old town area... which seems to be mostly a parking area for Harleys...

Every pub, tavern and eatery had its compliment sitting at the curb... I didn't see any "Metrics Forbidden" signs at the city limits... but from the ratio of Harleys to "Others" I was wondering if I'd just missed it! ;)

A couple of things pretty hard to miss are the "statues" built entirely of Sea Trash...

Proof the old saying is true I guess; "One man's trash is another man's treasure."

*A Barbie Hunting Car?*

Well, on this rainy day, between strolls between squalls, I better get back to Cowboyin' Up to sortin' through the conflagration of confusions to Make a Choice or two... or all you'll see in the future is a picture of a bald head with crossed eyes, a wild grimace... and smoke curling out of his ears...

Duckin' and Choosin'
Brian

Life is a Beach

That's an old cliche ain't it... but it's still true...

The Waves hit the beach sometimes soft... sometimes hard, tearing things up, changing the landscape... and then, they recede...

Just a constant ebb and flow... You either learn to ebb and flow with it, you get in step with its rhythms ~  or you get smashed against the rocks.

I read a book recently; Last Survivor; a story by Navy Seal Marcus Luttrell. The true story of what some might think the failure of a military operation... but if you stop and let his words percolate, in truth, you will see a wondrous truth. The story Marcus relates contains and is the story of what is the essence of True Victory.

It is the story of men who, no matter the cost, they simply would not yield hope. They simply would not Quit. Highly intelligent men, yet that simple word ~ defeat ~ is not in their vocabulary. They can not comprehend it. They deliberately, and courageously refused to be in possession of whatever you must have ~ to Quit.

It was a choice... and they made it.

I am not a shadow of Marcus Luttrell and those men. I am a worn out picture taking, broken backed old soldier, biker cowboy, word wrangling, redneck, busy body...

But... I will never lay down, I will never give up... Quitting is never gonna happen... not while breath still inflates my lungs.

Success ~ Victory ~ is not getting where you are going, It is not the conventional wisdom of "Winning"... it lives in NEVER stopping. NEVER yielding Hope... NEVER QUITTING. Refusing to Ever admit defeat... only... another obstacle to be dealt with.

Life is a choice people. It is not, it has never been and It Will Never be Fate. How you live your life and what it becomes is a choice.

Which way you go in this life... You choose. It's as plain as that.

Closer in to Port Orford is another small beach we found called Paradise Point...

Crowded too. Wasn't much room left to even turn around walking along the surf out there! :)

 OK... small if a few miles in either direction is lil'.

 It's come to me, walking on lonesome black sand beaches that the spirit I find in the act of pushing a motorcycle through the wind is found in many of the parts of this life, and in many of the passions of people...

Walking alone along those beaches...

... Scaling a sheer rock face ~ muscles straining and on fire, dropping out of the sky beneath the thin shroud of a hang gliders fabric, shooting down a tumbling river in a tiny plastic boat, preserving the scenes before your eyes ~ with brush strokes on a canvas, pushing your aching body and screaming lungs to the edge ~ to make the distance of a Marathon...

There are many ways that a person turns his spirit loose in this life. The only true loss... would be to keep it always contained.

The next day we chose to go back to the beach at Cape Blanco... my perseverance paid off... I got to photograph what some go their whole life without ever even seeing. I was fortunate to be in the right place at the right time...

*Moby Dick swimming off Cape Blanco*

... To capture an Image of the Fabled... Moby Dick! Swimming in the rocks off the cape. :)

*Cape Blanco Lighthouse*

The winds were much calmer this day, and I could stand on the bluff without the fear of landing far below in the Sea. Without the screaming wind the color of the surf had returned to that beautiful blue from the dirty brown it had been along the shoreline.

Below the Cape itself, to the south, the state built a campground and access to the beach itself... Good friends Mike and Cathy stopped in our camp for a couple of nights on their way south along the Oregon Coast...

Their truck was skinny 'nuff to make it down onto the sand. But, watching the tires of their single wheel pickup... rubbing on the drift wood stacked along the trail, buttressed my belief that our own wide butted Dodge... with its extra set of wheels just wasn't gonna make the trip! :)

Another 18" or so of width WAS NOT gonna fit through that driftwood keyhole!

A surf fishermen was working in the late afternoon to produce his supper...

*Cape Blanco Fisherman*

While we walked on the beach and watched, he landed a single small fish... but plenty sufficient he said, combined with a bit of rice for a fine meal...

Heidi, being the more openly curious and less shy of the two of us... walked over to see what he'd landed.

*A Beach Fisherman's supper*

It was what he called a Surf Perch. Not a bad life.

In the morning Mike and Cathy pulled out for points east... and we took another stroll in the sand...

We found beautiful soul filling vistas, that soothing music of the surf coming ashore... oddities of the sea... and Agates...

... along the way the strains of Bob Seeger rolled through my head...

"I'm older now and I'm still runnin' against the Wind..."

I will ALWAYS... be runnin'
Brian

Murphy Won The International Championship

Started hearing a small noise...

Sooo... Detached in the Thunder Valley Casino Parking lot and took the old '99 dodge mouse farm to a tire shop to check things out...

Small noise was a bad caliper that came apart... Which, while it was eating the rotor on the left side, hid the sound of a bad bearing disintegrating on the other side at the same time... which all together masked the vibration of a failing tie rod end... Ooooofffff...

Bottom line... We're robbing Peter to pay Paul... And rolling one poor old drunk who made the mistake of stumbling past the Les Schwab shop at the wrong time.

Older, thinner and juuuust a bit poorer.
Brian

A Biker Cowboy's Visit to The Bishop Mule Days.

It appeared to me that pretty much the entire town, and no shortage of visiting drifters, turned out for the parade Saturday morning. People lined the street in both directions, most as far as I could see.

*Mule Feet and Teamsters by the Dozens*

All up and down the street you heard the greeting; Happy Mule Days!

Now I'm used to seeing venders hawking cotton candy, soda, peanuts and beer at events of various sorts. In Bishop, Under a bright sunny sky on a warming day... one enterprising vender came up with something new, at least for me...

*Watermelon Vendor at Bishop Mule Days*

He rolled his cart of Watermelon down the street and had a booming business at I think I heard $5 bucks  chunk. ;)

When I was a kid the Parade for the Tucson Rodeo was billed as the longest horse drawn parade... this one is billed if I remember correctly as the longest non-mechanized...

Not sure who measures such things... The National Board of Parade Inspectors for Dimensions and Technology?

Just 'fore the real deal got working... two Ol' boys came along, riding the wrong way... and were doing a purty good imitation of what appeared to me to be stretching out the festivities of the morning after the "night before"...

That weren't fruit juice in the Red Solo Cup!

Right on time the parade came along, led of course by a Veterans Honor Guard, and those Mule boys rode off with it. ;) ... uh... the parade... not the Honor Guard ;)

All the folks who struggle to keep one horse shod... how'd you like the shoeing bill for that crowd? :)

There didn't seem to be a whole lot of saddle animal racism neither... horses were let in and rode alongside the mules without any nasty remarks. :)

 

... and then along came one of the legendary twenty mule team setups...

Though in the parade... I think it was a 14er ;)

*Death Valley 20 Mule Team*

 

At times it seemed like a Packer's Showcase. ;) I didn't count how many Pack outfits participated... but if there was one in California that wasn't here... I'll bet it was the ONLY one!

Lot's and Lot's of purty critters and fine equipment to admire...

Yes sir... real fine equipment. ;)

For the eccentric thinker... there was even a bit of RV inspiration...

*Mule Powered RV*

... I guess that makes 'em long eared Tow Vehicles?

Hmmmmm... if I made it a six-up... I could put in the extra batteries for my solar, a better water tank AND pull a pup trailer to carry my Yamaha! :)

I'd need a few new Website sections; "Fuel Economy of grass versus alfalfa" and  "The Care and Feeding of your Tow Vehicle"!

Then there'd need to be an article admonishing RVers to "Clean up after your Tow Vehicle!"

How about; "Tow Vehicle Options; Chevy, Ford, Dodge or... Hybrid!" :)

I'll just hang a few more pics of the Bishop Mule Days Parade on here or this'll run on till midnight... then I'll try and do a second post in the next day or three with some of the pics and clips from the "competition" performance in the arena...

Everywhere you looked was Mules. Dragging wagons, carrying packs, hauling fire "trucks" and... leading Zebras!

 

and... the littlest Mule... they claimed to tally 225 lbs. ;)

 

... and finally... a band of horsemen... guess they're like me... don't get along with Mules so good... 'cause they don't like dealing with critters that are Smarter than they are! :)

I'll finish up our Bishop Mule Days Day... in a day or so...

Brian