Scientific Experiment RE:Hickory Modulus

Sorry, my posts have slowed to a trickle, but the boy has been a bit busy. One of the things that has me busy is Mountain Biking. I have found a couple of guys who are showing me the local trails, and I have wallowed in the reintroduction to true mountain biking. You know, mountain biking with lung searing climbs, and blazing descents earned with sweat.

This newly rediscovered love had me filling out and approaching the CFO with a capital appropriation form for a new steed. After all the trusty Litespeed is still sweet but like me, long in the tooth. It should be here in about a month, but read on, for that doesn’t matter.

So as the weather is starting to improve the opportunities to ride have gone hand in hand. I haven’t ridden a mountain bike in the mountains for ten years, and the Tejas mountain bikeing is a different set of skills than required to negotiate the wet rooty trails of WV. My first couple of trips were more mountain bike pushing that mountain bike rideing. The poor bike handling skills I may have once had were gone. But alas time in the saddle and a few scrapes and I am getting to the point of riding most of the dodgy stuff.

Or so I thought.

It twas the end of the ride, last downhill before the parking lot, and all I know is I hit the eject button on the handlebars. Jeez, I have had the bike for fifteen years and I didn’t even know that button was  there.

It was a pretty steep downhill, we were cruising at a good clip, and I ejected to the downhill slope. I center punched a 6 inch diameter Hickory tree with my right kidney. I didn’t hit the ground and then the tree, I hit the tree while mid air. All of the judges, except the Romanian, gave me a ten. It did not feel good. Not at all. For a second I was concerned I had broken my back. Seriously, I was in some more kind of pain.

So, the entourage allows me to gather my wits, and after about ten minutes I make it to my feet. Of course, given the density of my head, I rode out and back to the parking lot, insisted on driving home. I could ride, I just couldn’t get on or off the bike, or in and out of the car.

They followed me home, and promptly tattled to the bride. She was cool, as she always is when I screw up. The boyz were insisting ER, but that really wasn’ t on my agenda for the day. So after three hours I caved and went for help.

Nothing broken, but it is confirmed that the modulus of hickory is much higher than the modulus of body tissue. A lot higher, I bet the tree is not bent at all. I did not detect any flexure in the tree whatsoever. I can’t say the same for me. I can barely move from one position to another. I may be permanently deformed in this curved state.

Ok, that’s enough blather, I am going for another round of happy pills.

One more thing, I have get better soon, so I’ll be ready to do the new steed justice.

The Best There Ever Was

I was taken up to the farm to meet him on one of my early inspection trips. Inspection meaning, was I suitable husband material. It was clear that he was a big man in my prospective bride’s life, and his opinion meant the world to her.

It was cold, ass freezing cold, but the old man who was about 80 those 22 years ago, insisted on showing me the acreage. We tromped across pastures where the pooled water skimmed with ice. He pointed out the water so I wouldn’t get my city cowboy boots wet, but he walked right though. I looked to see what kind of rubber boots he was wearing and all I saw was sock feet. He was so excited to show me the place that he completely forgot about shoes. That water never slowed him up, not one bit.

That is what my folk would call tough. Tough as a pine knot.

One hundred one years and 11 months, he lived in that Tennessee mountain hollow. He was one of a kind. Never lacking in self confidence, and never offensive in his self assuredness, he possessed the most unique quality I ever saw in a man. He was proud of everything that he did, that his family did, but it was never at anyone else’s expense. Besides it ain’t bragging if you can back it up.

He hard scrabble farmed, worked as part of the CCC building highway 441 across Newfound Gap, worked as a timber cutter, made his share of corn liquor, acted as barber for his friends, and worked for a time at the Alcoa aluminum plant. But those were just things to put food on the table, what he did best was raise family. What he did best was unconditional love. What he did best was show the way on how a man should conduct himself in life.

He lived as he wanted, and he died according to his wishes. He was razor sharp mentally until his last breath. His last interchange was “what time is it?”. He wanted to know, so he could tell the story accurately to his maker on the details of him traveling home. Like his maker wouldn’t know.

He was my hero. A man who was not afraid of tackling anything. A man who was comfortable with who he was. His friends spanned the spectrum from self made millionaires to plain living country folk. He treated them all the same. I think it was easy for him, cause he wanted nor needed nothing they had. What a simple but powerful concept, for it made his friendship so genuine. The current generation has an expression of “keeping it real”, yeh, that was him, he kept it real.

Did he finally accept me? I think so. He watched me fix a lawn mower engine one day. We were one and the same from that day on. I only hope that I lived up to the expectations he had for his only granddaughter. He knew she was a treasure, and I hope he entrusted the treasure with me.

Harley Balford Duggan, we shall miss you. But you will always be such a part of who we are. When you described things you were proud of, you proclaimed them “the best that ever was”.

You sir, were the best that ever was.

The Techno Spin Cycle, or Things That Make You Go Hmmmmmp!

Moving presents some unexpected challenges, especially for mentally challenged dinosaurs like me.

I am the IT and Audio/Visual department here at Casa Entrekin. Moving into new digs and having to hook all that stuff back up has not been a smooth sail. Nope. First of all we own electronica in the video world spanning 15 years, all the way from HDMI backwards through component through S-video and so on back to the standard yellow video red and black audio hookup. Take four tele’s and all the ensuing satellite receivers, DVD players, remote controls, digital vs analog,  and just for fun mix and match the technologies. What that produces is one perplexed and frustrated technician. That stuff doesn’t play well together. I’m ready to go back to three local stations and getting out of the chair to change the channel. Is all this compatibility driving anyone else nuts?

Oh, but oh, that was just a warmup for computer wars, or more specifically internet connectivity wars. It starts with it taking over a week for the phone wizards to hook up the land/DSL line. Oops, it seems we are on a party line with another house. Huh, yeh two lines having sex somewhere in a dark wiring closet. Took another week more or less to fix that. So now, finally, internet is restored. Kind of.

The two computers are not in the same area, not even close. So the wireless connection, on Band G if you’re a technoweinie, is sketchy. Low signal, SLOOOOOOOOOOOOW. And since the frau’s computer is the SLOOOOOOOOOOW one, are you familiar with the “if momma ain’t happy” rule of task prioritization? Anyway, off to the BuyMore to snag the latest super duper, transmit wireless to Mars technology. The kid at the store swears it is better than pockets on pants. It takes ALLLLLLLLLLLL day last Sunday to get it up and going, including an hour long session with Netgear wireless support.

The result. One really SLOOOOOOOOOOOOW connection. During the week I play around and see that the new and improved high dollar N Band transmitter receiver combo I have installed is actually weaker than the old system I had. One of those things that make you go Hmmmmmmp! I pour another 8 hours during the week nights playing with locations, re installs, and antennae to only produce an underwhelming result.

Yellow fever (pissed off) sets in, and in a pique I take receipt, routers, computer cards, and what not back to BuyMore. I didn’t really expect them to give me any thing but the satisfaction of letting them know it was a POS that they recommended. To my surprise, they gave me a full refund. Another  Hmmmmmmmp!

So I have 8 hours of initial labor, 8 hours of tweaking, two trips to BuyMore invested and still no internet for the frau. With refund in hand, I ignore advice of same helpful kid, and decide to try one of these devices that transmits the Ethernet through the home power lines. The kid is pretty sure it won’t work.

Five minutes to unpack the box, five minutes to plug them in, two minutes to plug Ethernet cables in. Voila. Instant internet. No muss, no fuss. Something to make you go Hmmmmmmp!

Mine’s got a Steering Wheel Too

This is an old NASCAR tale made new by a recent tandem ride with the bride.

Back in the heyday, seems Dale Earnhardt and Rusty Wallace had a few on track skirmishes. Apparently Mr. Wallace, who was known to be quite loquacious aka whiny, was mouthing off about an alleged incident where Mr. Earnhardt had spun him into the fence. Rusty was all hot and bothered, saying things like Earnhardt was going to kill someone, and he wasn’t going to take it, and Earnhardt better watch his back. Of course the TV reporters were taping every word. It made for good press. Almost as good as wrasslin.

Wasn’t too hard to predict that the same reporter made his way down pit lane, and relayed every word to Dale. Only Earnhardt had no comment, just that old crooked grin. After about the third attempt to get any comment, worded something like “Rusty says he’s going to put you in the wall”, Dale’s dry comment was “Mine’s got a steering wheel, too”.

So, dear bride and I are doing a casual ride in our new home town on Sunday morning. We come to an intersection where we can go right up a slight hill, or left straight back to the car. It’s a beautiful morning and we have only ridden about ten miles, so naturally I head up the hill. Now, said bride is real big on communication on the tandem. Stuff like, we’re stopping, or turn right or left, or even some indication that I am about to stand. She’s just needy about that kind of stuff.

Normally, she is the perfect stoker, perfectly balanced and still. But in this instance, as I make the slight weight shift and handlebar countersteer to head right, she who must be obeyed takes one look at the hill and does a massive weight shift left. Who says the stoker can’t steer the bike. Only problem is that as I am being swung to the left to stay on the bike, I am looking straight into the grill of an oncoming jeep. Quick countermove back to the right to avoid jeep, and another quick move to come to a stop.

Pardon me, but I didn’t take the time to explain all that whilst in action. You may read a slightly different version over at wersquared.wordpress.com. Funny how different perspective can be when we were only inches apart.

So, I steered, she steered, I steered…..hence the mine has a steering wheel too.

Marriage is kind of like that, yes? Everyone has their input, you gather it back up, and head on off down the road.

Broncomatic

One of the unexpected surprises about living here in WV is that I have seen at least half dozen of a particular truck I used to own. The last one was bone stock down to the original hubcabs and seats. Not bad for a forty year old ride. Seeing those trucks has opened a floodgate of nostalgic videos. Taken me back to a younger wilder time.

Don’t know about you, but I have owned a number of cars with character. Some of my acquaintenances are smirking, thinking the driver was the character not the car, but let’s not debate that……..right now. Those cars have incredible memories associated with them of good times, bad times, and adventures that the car figured heavily into.

My particular auto was a 1972 Ford Bronco. You might or might not remember them. The original Broncos, not the huge bulbous box that followed, and not the gutless litlle Bronco II with a asmathic hamster engine. No, the steel box, primitive suspension, drum brake, four wheel drive, V8, mud slinging, bad ass backwoods auto. In my mind it WAS the SUV.  It would get filthy on the inside from mud, peanut shells, and deer (hmmmmmmm) leftovers. Solution, park it sideways on a hill and get out the house.

It was the first car that I bought on my own. It was worn out when I bought it. I loved it. It took me to all the deer hunting and turkey hunting locations that most couldn’t reach because of muddy and treacherous roads. It would go through anything, almost. The problem, however, with a bad azz mud machine, is that on the rare occasion that you do get it stuck, it is stuck. No simple matter of throwing a few sticks under the tires and backing up. Nope, maybe, just maybe you can winch it back out with a come along. Maybe, you can dig it out with the shovel. Always you are standing waist deep in mud the instant you step out of the truck.

There was the time, that I was alone and stuck it so deep, that shovels and come alongs were no help. I walked out five miles to the nearest house to get help. That house was still pretty far out in the woods, and imagine the warm reception that a mud slathered stranger received, first by the gaggle of mixed breed dogs, and second by the lady of the house, all dressed in her house rub complete with cig dangling from her lip as she skeptically questioned me. Anyway, I finally found someone with a rig big enough to pull me out and lived to tell about it.

Oh yeah, there’s the time the whole engine caught on fire due to a leaky fuel line. Some quick action with red dirt saved the day, but not before the engine wiring was toast. Yes, we were five miles from civilization, so a little splicing work with a pocket knife, using a ripped t shirt to insulate the wires, and we finally drove out. Come to think of it. The fire and the big stuck were literally about two hundred yards from each other on the same road. Talk about a spot with bad karma.

And then there was the time it snowed and I drove my wife to work. I was grooving on playing in the snow with the truck and pulling folks out of ditches. I was feeling pretty uppity about the old trucks prowess in the slick stuff when I happened upon yet another car in the ditch. Ok, I have the drill down by now. Leave truck in road, hook snatch strap to the car in ditch, and go. Well in this case the car was headed up a steep hill, so I told the driver that I wouldn’t stop until we reached the top. Damn, we are slipping and sliding, and I am cursing this wimpy little beast. Already, I am thinking about the next power upgrade to an already tweaked V8, and this must also be justification for some even bigger tires. We finally made it to the top, and I am a little embarrassed by the slipping and sliding. The driver jumps out thanking me for rescuing his sorry butt, and apologizing at the same time. Seems he wasn’t ready, and didn’t get the car out of park before we started. The old Bronco dragged him up the hill.

The best part of this nostalgia, I have saved for last. There had to have been at least a hundred hunting trips in that old Bronco. Early mornings with bad coffee and greasy eggs at the awful Waffle, bull shit stories with my Dad and my uncle Ralph, trips with no deer seen, trips with the back full of fresh venison, sweat your butt off  mosquito infested trips, freeze your butt off hunting trips. Those are some of the best memories of my life. I had no money, but I had the two men who raised me. They were doing what they “did” on those trips to teach me how to be a southern man. Not so much by words as in action.

Seeing all those old Broncos has stirred some powerful memories in me. I can only hope that I have put similar ones in my boys’ treasure chests that they can pull out later in life.

Who are you?

You know the story all too well. Seemingly well adjusted couple splits when the last kid leaves the house. No warning to friends and neighbors. They wake up one day, look at one another, and ask two questions. Who are you? More importantly, what am I doing with you?

Chill, it’s not happening here. Just the opp. The last year with my bride has been incredible. As we get a taste of what it is like to just have the two of us to think about, it has opened a new era of contentment and peace. We are excited about our future.

During our relo road trip to WV, we drove the bus cross country. Just the two of us since one kid was in college, and the other shipped out of country. It was fantastic.  We took an unplanned day to tour the Missouri wine country. Who knew? Missouri wine?  And another day to ride the tandem with a guy we met at an RV park who just saw the bike toys and introduced himself.

So, yeh, I say who are you? But it is with the wonder of kid who has found a new toy. Wow.

I wish the same for you, friends.

Where ya been?

Legions of my faithful readers, nay I say throngs of my followers, are contemplating this very question. Why oh why, has the boy not thrilled and chilled us with the latest banal details of his existence.

Nah, nobody really missed this drivel.

But that doesn’t stop me. I’m back. I think.

Back to the burning question. Where ya been? Well I tell you. It started with this little matter of my employer offering me a position in a different location. Cept it was a big secret because some of the impacted people were not in the loop. It did set in motion a massive all consuming effort on my part to get the house ready to sell. I worked night and day for over two months to make our home a ready to move into place. It is immaculate.

Guess what, none of the work was worth hoot in the real estate market today. Of the three homes in my neighborhood that were used to establish comps, two were foreclosures. Yuck. Boo Hoo. Drat. Ouch. Fuuuuck. In the long run it’s just money.  I could have left all that work undone, forgone the great tile project, and new carpet, and new kitchen, and the house would be worth exactly the same. I don’t really know how that makes me feel. I walk away from the house with a ton of fantastic memories. My teenagers grew up there. It’s time for the next chapter of our lives.

So leave that thought behind and celebrate with me, for I am a lucky guy. I have been allowed to return to the engineering world I so love, and move to a place with trees, and trails, and DEER. Lucky for me the bride and the sixteen yr old were up for it. These days we are ‘camping’ in an efficiency apartment until the home here closes and our stuff arrives. Our comfort blankets, tools, books, music, and coffee mugs will be here soon enough. Funny how your things sooth you.

Mountain bikeing abounds here, so it looks like I will get to play even more in the woods. I can wait for the moving truck to bring the toys from Texas.

Anyway, that’s where I’ve been hiding. Sorry no insight or humor today, just trying to ease back into the blog thing.

See you soon.

Uninvited (but oh so nice) Porn

Our society has sunk to a new low ( high) for me. In this weeks mail came a blatant, full glossy porn mag from an outfit that up to now has been low brow and reputable.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no prude when it comes to skin. Perhaps even an instructional video now and then can have it’s uses.  And yes I actively look at bike porn, and bus porn, and backpacking porn from time to time. I do have to admit that it does come to my house delivered by the US Posties.

But nothing was so outlandish as the porn that came this week. Sears, of all people. Who woulda thought. Friends, and fellow tool fetish freaks, Sears has published a tool catalog that puts Victoria’s and Hustler to shame. Tools not seen before by the likes of me. Tools from Germany, and Englund (sic), and Japan. Tools even I didn’t know existed. Mercy.

This one went straight to the library if you know what I mean. I may never come out.

Oh my. If you didn’t get one, find one.

MudSlide Slim

We must all find our calling in life. I have tried on many roles, and in general can hack my way through most things, excepting music. However, in the last year the heavens have spoken to me. I have been ignoring it, but as I dispense with the denial, there is a preponderence of evidence that my calling is……………rainmaker.

Some of my legion of faithful readers and followers, population approximately 0.1, will recall the September bike ride during a weekend of what is now called a 1000 year flood. Others will remember a certain backpacking campout of ducky mucky conditions. Still others might have read Rhonda’s rendition of the great bike and water ski event in Tyler just a few weeks ago. It was looking like all I had to do was plan an outdoor event and there would ensue a general shortage to all global droughts.

It is confirmed. Yes, indeedy.

As a final shakedown cruise for the Scout troop, we returned to the scene of Mucky Ducky for a two and half day little 16 miler. After all the weather has been spectacular whilst I have spent the weekends on the The Great Tiling Project.

I should have known when I found a little rubber duck as trail bootie that is was an omen. A serious omen.

It rained. Not drizzle, not local showers, not thunderstorms, not intermittent bands of precipitation. It rained in a large, continuous, voluminous, saturating kind of a way. For TWO days.  Allow me to show you a picture of the trail.

Slog now, blog later

You get the picture. Yep, just about sixteen miles of that. Oops, almost forgot. Did I mention the reason we chose this particular trail is that it’s the hilliest one within a hundred miles of the metroplex. The clay has the frictional characteristics of KY jelley when rain saturates the trail.

Now if you will, allow me to introduce you to MudSlide Slim.

Slim doing his thing

I get by with a little help from my friends

Just Keep on Smiling, Smiling through the rain, Smiling through the pain....

 Not to pick on MudSlide, most of the rest of this gang had their moments with localized gravity storms, where they were instantaneously sucked to the ground for no apparent reason.

I had a few little blunders of my own. Such as, this being the weekend to show the boys how to fast pack with really ultralight stuff. Like one itty bitty tarp instead a big bulky tent with a big comfy rainfly. Also the superlight sleeping bag good to down around 80 degrees or so. And the zero change of clothes. Uh huh.

What can I say, the food was warm and good, the fellowship even warmer and better, and the boys or their mothers who have to wash the clothes will never forget it.

What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.

The Girl Has Game

First Day of Spring

Just when you think youare  through whining about winter, you better think again.  I knew better. After all, it’s not Easter yet. The old timers used to comment that there is always a cold snap around Easter. Well, being the educated and scientific young sprout, I laughed at their wisdom. After all, Easter comes at different times of the spring, plus or minus about two weeks. How could the weather be tied in time to something that moves around. Yeah, right. Pay attention to that one. Don’t put away your coat till Easter. Those old folks knew something I didn’t. Wait, I’m an old folk now. Oh well.

 Rhonda and I had been anticipating a ride in Tyler, Texas for a couple of months, affectionately named Beauty and the Beast for the rose center of the USA and one wicked hill at the end of the ride. After all, late March in Tejas, staying at our favorite park, (well except that’s the site of the infamous broken ankle incident), some good food, and a few bottles of our recently discovered good, but cheap vino would certainly result in a pleasant trip. If you’ve been following the TGTP http://wersquared.wordpress.com/, you know I probably deserved a break after a week of knee busting back breaking home renovation.

 There are a number of people camping at Tyler State Park for the ride. I did see the ultimate tow vehicle that another guy was pulling behind his RV. I have definitely been outstyled. The subie just couldn’t compete. For you NASCAR aficionados, that’s a real spoiler and splitter. The guy knew what he was doing when he built it. It was too long to get the bike rack on the back in the pic.

Stylin

 I’ll get to the point in a minute, but let’s take a quick detour. Periodically during the week, I experienced some pretty uncomfortable moments with the aging body, but I simply ignored it. After all, I didn’t have time to feel yucky when tile waited. Friday morning while packing up the RV, I had another spell of discomfort. I asked Rhonda for Tylenol, and promptly wolfed three. That and my lack of conversation during the drive told her something was up. A little hour hike when we got there didn’t really help me feel any better. After dinner, I could no longer hide in denial. My old buddy had returned. Yep, time to deliver another……….kidney stone. Needless to say, a couple of Shiners ( a local and excellent Texas beer ) later a successful birthing was in order. Glad that’s over.

 Up until now we have had a nice spring week. Sixty to seventy degrees with bluebird skies. Everything is in bloom. The weather prognosticators are mentioning something about a front coming in on Saturday. Hmmm, the pathological optimist in me hopes we will finish our ride before rain and 40 degrees arrives.

 Wrong.

 Literally as we rolled away from the start line, the rain started. Ok, so it’s fiftyish, and intermittent rain. We dressed warmly with gloves and shoe covers, we should be OK.  As the ride progressed, the temp plummeted and the heavens opened. We were cold and wet. Really cold and really wet. Although we had planned on the fifty something miler, I heard no protest from the stoker compartment when the guy in charge of the handlebars hooked a right at the 35 mile option.

 My bride puts up with a lot from me, but two hours plus in a forty degree rain and wind storm is a bit much. Not one whimper, not one complaint, not one edgy word. The girl has game. I’ll give her that.

 Oh yeah, she slayed the Beast too. 

We did have presence of mind to bring dry clothes. The bag of wet garments weighed least twenty five pounds. Just think how we would have gone uphill without the excess water.

It started snowing after we got back to the rig. I write this Sunday morning, parked in a parking lot, somewhere between Tyler and Fort Worth. The snow and visibility made driving a bad choice, so we wait it out.

Junior doesn't like snow

First day of spring, Texas 2010, and it’s snowing so heavy now the visibility is about zero. Looks like about six inches on the ground where we’re squatting.