Goin' To the Dogs

I really, rilly like this clip:

   

Now, how cool is that?  Answer: very.

Hat-tip to Occasional Reader and Constant Correspondent Lin.

Just Because

Bikes and wimmen... what's NOT to like?



We were floundering around, trying to find sumthin' suitable for posting on this too-damned-cold Monday morning (23 degrees as we speak, on its way to 41) and came across what you see above.  Which brings to mind that ol' Richard Thompson song, wherein he maintains "red hair and black leather" is his protagonist's favorite color scheme.  Or blonde.  Or brunette.  Whatever floats yer particular boat.  I'm rather partial to blondes, myself.

The Second Mrs. Pennington on my box-stock RD400, 1979.  The bike didn't stay stock for long.

The Sunday Re-Run

With minimum fanfare...

Sunday, January 20, 2008

On Any Sunday...

Well, it’s Sunday. Big Doin’s for NFL fans today and for masochists from all over the US, if not the world, who will tune into the NFC game just to watch people suffer. In a good way, of course. Hell, I might even watch. I watch the playoffs in nearly every other sport, but rarely pro-football. That might change today. There’s sure to be lotsa crowd shots of people in Green Bay whose sensibilities and/or sanity I question. Am I being redundant by sayin’ that? I mean…you have to be jes a lil bit “off” to live in that part of the world, dontcha?

―:☺:―

Before I move on to (arguably) “bigger and better” things…there’s this… Best comment on a blog I read yesterday:

· Comment by happyfeet on 1/19 @ 7:06 pm #
Is that different from muesli? I like muesli. Kashi is kind of like muesli plus you get interracial lesbians. Yay!

Yes, it really is a comment. There’s a link hiding up there.

―:☺:―

So, it’s Sunday. And once upon a time, in another world, another time, another season, and another life, I would be doing this:

The pic is of YrHmblScrb and several dedicated competitors on the starting line somewhere in the wilds of Hokkaido, sometime in the summer of 1969 or perhaps 1970. The time period is before motocross caught on as a Big Time Sport in the US, and is exactly the point in time when the Nipponese fielded their very first purpose-built MX bikes. Up until about 1971 (or so) if you wanted a competitive MXer you didn’t buy a Yamaha, a Honda, or a Suzuki…you bought a CZ, a Maico, a Husky, or maybe a Bultaco. European, in other words. Or…you could do as most of us did (at least those of us who raced in Japan), you bought a stock dual-purpose bike, tore it down, and rebuilt it with factory “race kits” and after-market items. Like my friends and I did with Yamaha’s immortal DT-1, an example of which I’m sitting astride in this starting line shot.

Motocross in Japan was interesting, to say the very least. Especially in Hokkaido, where the races were generally held on ski slopes, which made for fine MX tracks… what with the changes in elevation, off-camber corners, and relatively wide open straights. That was just the physical aspect of the racing… there were also cultural differences which made for some “interesting” times, not to mention great good learning experiences. And lots of drunken evenings with the local club(s) after practice on Saturday. First and foremost, though: the Nipponese were fierce competitors, and they were competitors with a great sense of honor. There was very little, if any, “dirty” racing; we were all in it for the fun of it. The “fun of it” is pretty much the way amateur racing is anyway, no matter where you go. 

Lotsa fun. And lots of memories, too many of which have faded away, unfortunately. One memory that sticks in my mind, though, is of the evening my friends and I were at the public bath in some small Japanese town after either a hard day of racing or a hard day of practice before the race. Japanese public baths are segregated by gender, with the larger baths having separate facilities for men and women. The smaller baths, however, usually only had a partition (think: movable wall) that separated the men’s and women’s areas in the large soaking bath. And that partition was less than effective. If one really wanted to look into “the other side” from your side… well, it wasn’t hard to do. 

So… there we were… several of us Yankee GI bike racers, soaking in the bath, and there she was… on the other side of the partition, doing the same thing, yet coyly coming into our view every so often. And she was pretty well-built for a Japanese woman, who are generally not known for being… um… well endowed. One could NOT help but notice, and we were certain she was noticing us, as well. But nothing was revealed, really… until one of us, and I really, truly, do not remember who… stood up and gave the lady a lil show of sorts. And she reciprocated, knocking us back on our collective asses, figuratively speaking. It wasn’t blatantly erotic or meant as a come-on, or anything else in that space…just an unobstructed 360-degree view of the “goods,” so to speak, and such very fine goods they were, too. And just as quickly as it began, it was over. She exited the bath with her towel wrapped around her and a big smile on her face. Made our day, she did.  (I’ve told this story elsewhere on the blog, but damned if I can find it…and I looked, too.)

So, anyway. I continued my racing career for a brief time after returning to the US (to Boron Air Force Station, a great assignment for a dirt biker!) and here’s a shot of YrHmblScrb after a Hare and Hounds somewhere in the great Mojave desert. The pic was snapped immediately after I pulled into the pits, and I’m exhausted… which is fairly plain to see. 

My racing days came to an end when I (a) got assigned to Turkey for a year and (b) got old and slow. MX is essentially a young man’s game, although there are classes for “Over 40” and “Seniors” and the like. But that ain’t me. It was a LOT of fun at the time… but times change.

By the way… that woman with the captivating smile behind me in the mud picture? That’s The First Mrs. Pennington. Lovely, isn’t she?

Ah, Former Happy Days.  We had 'em.

Saturday: Off To the Races

My money was on the F1 car before this even started...



I watched this all the way through, given I'm something of a gear-head and most definitely a biker (albeit a retired biker).  The guy on the bike ran a pretty good race even though he came in third.  There's not a bike in the world that can keep up with a car in the twisties... it's all a matter of physics and amount of rubber the vehicles put on the road, as in "contact patch."  Among other things.

Amazing

I wouldn't believe you if you told me this story without the video as back-up.

Linkage and a War Story Retold

First the linkage...

Isle of Man TT: Cool and Unusual Motorcycles

Roads and museums on the IoM feature bikes rarely seen in America

From the linked article.  Does this moto look familiar?

There are a LOT o' cool bikes at the link, if'n yer in to that sorta thing.  Now about the re-telling bit in the post title.

I've posted about TT Week in the Isle of Man and believe me, Gentle Reader, it don't get ANY wilder than that.  Evah.  Both Daytona and Sturgis are more like the Westminster Kennel Club Show than a biker's destination, mainly coz of the racing.  Now there are races at the former... Daytona, but they're on a closed circuit... and there ain't no races at all in Sturgis.  TT Week in the Isle o' Man features a full solid week of road racing on real roads... serious roads.  And then there's the matter of Mad Sunday, which is THE ultimate biker's wet dream.  Let me quote:

On "Mad Sunday" any member of the public can ride the mountain section of the course, which is open one way from Ramsey to Douglas. In 2012 there were just four accidents on the open day - while in previous years there had been dozens. In 2013, eleven spectators were hurt when a rider lost control at Bray Hill on the outskirts of Douglas.

What makes Mad Sunday so Mad?  No speed limits.  None.  Ride as fast as you wanna... on a twisty two lane road that runs over the mountain.  I rode Mad Sunday in 1982 and THAT was my peak mo'sickle experience... nothing will ever top it.

But we digress. I received a box full of correspondence from SN2 yesterday, all of which originated in days o' yore.  I found this lil item among the stack o' stuff:

Yup.  A ticket, about 40 bucks worth, give or take a farthing or six.  There's a bit of a story behind that ticket, the Reader's Digest version about which goes like this...

It was in the early evening, just after dinner, when I decided to go for a little putt on the back roads just outside Douglas.  So, there I was, motoring along at about 60 mph on a two lane country road when I had the livin' bejeezus scared outta me when a guy on a Suzuki RG500 GP bike went screaming past me at about 120 mph or more.  The guy caught me completely by surprise and I inadvertently changed lanes when he blew by me.  (Parenthetical side note: given there's actually no track at the IoM TT, most teams do their testing after hours on the back roads.  This was a case o' that.)  So, it wasn't but three or four minutes later when a friendly constable steps out of the ditch on the side o' the road and waves me over, me bein' caught in a speed trap.  I was incredulous and exclaimed "Didn't you see that guy on the Suzuki in front o' me?"  "Wot Suzuki?" said the constable, in reply.  It dawned on me right there and then that some animals are more equal than others during TT Week.

So... it was off to traffic court the next day to pay my fine (60 mph in a 45), which really pissed me off as I missed the first race while cooling my heels waiting to see the fines clerk.  There really AIN'T no justice in this world, sometimes.

Our mount for TT Week:

That was one seriously quick mo'sickle.

Ah, Former Happy (mo'sickle) Days.

New! (Not Really) Improved! (That Much Is True)

I had to approve a comment that was in the moderation queue this morning... the default being all comments on posts over 90 days old go into moderation... a comment left on a post I wrote back in December of 2005.  That particular post is one of the greatest, if not THE greatest, sources of EIP Google hits and not a month goes by without someone landing on "Wakkanai Air Station."  I took a look at the post this morning and saw it's pretty sorry by our standards today.  So I cleaned it up a bit, added a couple o' photos and re-published it.  And then I thought "why wait for one or two googlers to appreciate the wonderfulness of our efforts?"  Why, indeed.  So here ya go:

Monday, December 05, 2005

Wakkanai Air Station, Japan

I got to thinking today (a dangerous pursuit, for me) that what this blog needs is a few war stories to spice things up a bit. After all, I spent 22 years in the Air Force, so I should have some pretty good stories to tell, right? Not really. Or, to put a finer point on it, most of my war stories aren't suitable for publishing in a family-rated blog. And I do want to keep this blog rated PG-13, at the very most. And then there's the other problem: memory. Unlike a lot of folks my age I don't have a treasure-trove of memory-jogging photos, documents, pins, ball caps, and all that other good stuff one accumulates over the years. Most of the photos from my AF days are in the custody of The First Mrs. Pennington, the rest I boxed up and sent to Number Two Son for safe keeping when I downsized life to fit into the RV. (Ed: I've since retrieved a lot of those pics from SN2)  So, no joy there! I have to rely on my diminishing supply of brain cells, nothing else. Scary thought.

Ah. But there's the web! I googled "Wakkanai Air Station" to begin my trip down the memory hole and hit pay dirt. Indulge me for a moment before I tell you about Wakkanai; I'm gonna go off on a tangent.

Tangent: All military careers could arguably be called "different," especially for my generation. Guys in my cohort got sent all over the world; the travel opportunities today, compared to what I experienced, are very limited. Most USAF people spend their careers going from AF base to AF base. And that's where my difference comes in. In 22 years I was "permanent party" on only two Air Force bases: Yokota AB, Japan ('75 - '77) and Tinker AFB, OK ('83 - '85). You can add Keesler AFB, MS if you like - I was in a school squadron there in '63 -'64. The rest of my career was spent on Air Force Stations, literally on mountain tops (or the highest ground around) in the case of my Air Defense Command radar assignments, and isolated overseas locations during my tours on surveillance and monitoring (read as: spook) sites. Which brings us to Wakkanai!

Wakkanai AS (WAS), Japan is on the northern tip of Hokkaido, as far north as you can go in Japan without getting your feet wet. The unit had various designations over its lifetime, but it was mostly the 6986th Security Group, a unit of the late, great, USAF Security Service. Wakkanai was a surveillance site, with a (then) state of the art system known as a FLR-12. The FLR-12 had a huge antenna farm. Wakkanai opened in the mid-1950s as an Aircraft Control and Warning (AC&W) radar site, it ceased operations in late 1971 and closed in 1972. I was there twice, from 1968 - 1970, and again in 1971. WAS was an "isolated" tour, dependents were authorized, but the tour length was short: 15 months unaccompanied and two years, accompanied.

The one thing people always remember about Wakkanai is the snow: we had an average annual snow fall of 275 inches. Do the math...that's a tick shy of 23 feet of snow. Every year. And it was cold. The snow began falling in late November and stayed on the ground until late March or early April. All bases are surrounded with at least eight-foot high chain link fences, usually topped with three strands of barbed wire. In mid-winter the WAS fences were useless. Even though it was illegal to leave the base through anything but the main gate (and if you got caught you were in trouble!), we routinely scrambled up and down the snow banks that used to be a fence and went "across the street." "Across the street" was a euphemism for the three dive bars that were literally across the street from the base...the Club Seven, The Inferno, and The Shadow. And Man! - were they ever fun! "Hey Buck! Where ya goin'?" "Across the street!" That's all the further I'm gonna go: PG-13.

There wasn't a lot to do in the winter. POVs weren't allowed on the roads in the winter, so you became semi-isolated, except for busses or taxis into town. We worked, partied, worked. Rinse. Repeat. Summer was another story altogether. Summer was racing season! Wakkanai was where I learned how to ride motocross, and my buddies and I raced all over the island of Hokkaido, mostly on the sides of mountains that were used as ski slopes in the winter. We practiced on Saturday and raced on Sunday. After practice there was usually a formal dinner and serious partying with our hosts at the races, usually the local Motorcycle Federation of Japan (MFJ) affiliate club. Americans were a rarity in that part of Japan in the late 60s, so we were feted a lot. And those Nipponese racers were some sneaky guys...every single party I went to they tried (and sometimes succeeded) to get us falling-down drunk. Racing with a hangover isn't recommended... don't try this at home. (YrHmblScrb is 427 in the pic at right)

It would be easy to go on and on. Wakkanai was certainly one of the best, if not THE best, assignments in my AF career. I traveled all over Hokkaido, learned to love sushi, banged handlebars with some very cool dudes, acquired a taste for Sapporo beer, and learned to stay away from all but the best Suntory whiskies. And I loved my work, too. I won't talk about what we did, but it was important. Nuff said.

Do go visit the Wakkanai Air Station web site. There's history, mementos, and literally hundreds of pictures, and you know what they say about pics and words... David Lynch, the Website Facilitator, has done a great job of putting together a site that captures the feel of the place and the people that were stationed there. Well done, David!

As noted above, Wakkanai was one of the best of my Air Force assignments.  Even with all that gotdamned snow.

Want!

Big news today from that Milwaukee Mo'sickle Company... this:

At the cigar bar?  But of course!

Ooh!  And Ahhh!  I went on the record a while back about wanting one o' these and was terribly disappointed when I learned that Harley had discontinued that model... and its 1200cc Big Brother... this year.  But now we know why Harley cancelled the Nightsters... one doesn't want or need sumthin' from your own product line to cannibalize yer new models.  And those new models look pretty good at first blush.  Take a peek:



Well done on all counts, no?  To quote me: "I could see myself on one o' those."  

(If I could breathe properly and stand up straight, of course.)  (BIG-ass sigh)

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack: Born To Be Wild...

... or until such time as we're nicked by the local constabulary, more about which below.  But first... Steppenwolf:



I've posted about TT Week in the Isle of Man and believe me, Gentle Reader, it don't get ANY wilder than that.  Evah.  Both Daytona and Sturgis are more like the Westminster Kennel Club Show than a biker's destination, mainly coz of the racing.  Now there are races at the former... Daytona, but they're on a closed circuit... and there ain't no races at all in Sturgis.  TT Week in the Isle o' Man features a full solid week of road racing on real roads... serious roads.  And then there's the matter of Mad Sunday, which is THE ultimate biker's wet dream.  Let me quote:

On "Mad Sunday" any member of the public can ride the mountain section of the course, which is open one way from Ramsey to Douglas. In 2012 there were just four accidents on the open day - while in previous years there had been dozens. In 2013, eleven spectators were hurt when a rider lost control at Bray Hill on the outskirts of Douglas.

What makes Mad Sunday so Mad?  No speed limits.  None.  Ride as fast as you wanna.. on a twisty two lane road that runs over the mountain.  I rode Mad Sunday in 1982 and THAT was my peak mo'sickle experience... nothing will ever top it.

But we digress. I received a box full of correspondence from SN2 yesterday, all of which originated in days o' yore.  I found this lil item among the stack o' stuff:

Yup.  A ticket, about 40 bucks worth, give or take a farthing or six.  There's a bit of a story behind that ticket, the Reader's Digest version about which goes like this...

It was in the early evening, just after dinner, when I decided to go for a little putt on the back roads just outside Douglas.  So, there I was, motoring along at about 60 mph on a two lane country road when I had the livin' bejeezus scared outta me when a guy on a Suzuki RG500 GP bike went screaming past me at about 120 mph or more.  The guy caught me completely by surprise and I inadvertently changed lanes when he blew by me.  (Parenthetical side note: given there's actually no track at the IoM TT, most teams do their testing after hours on the back roads.  This was a case o' that.)  So, it wasn't but three or four minutes later when a friendly constable steps out of the ditch on the side o' the road and waves me over, me bein' caught in a speed trap.  I was incredulous and exclaimed "Didn't you see that guy on the Suzuki in front o' me?"  "Wot Suzuki?" said the constable, in reply.  It dawned on me right there and then that some animals are more equal than others during TT Week.

So... it was off to traffic court the next day to pay my fine (60 mph in a 45), which really pissed me off as I missed the first race while cooling my heels waiting to see the fines clerk.  There really AIN'T no justice in this world, sometimes.

Our mount for TT Week:

That was one seriously quick mo'sickle.

They're Everywhere

Hipsters.  Well, I don't see many of 'em here in P-Ville, but there ARE a few at ENMU.  Apparently  there are hipster-bikers, too... according to this editorial I read in the August issue of Motorcyclist magazine.

"Squids."  Yup, that's what we called 'em, back in the day... and I saw PLENTY of 'em.  Guys riding around in SoCal clad only in bathing suits and flip-flops... no leather, no helmet, no boots.  I used to shudder at the thought of having to clean up an accident scene involving one of those guys, or worse: being the trauma MD in an emergency room somewhere.  I was pretty fortunate in my early biker days, mainly because my friends... the guys I rode with... impressed upon me the importance of "dressing for the slide, not the ride."  I did just that... wrapping myself in leather, heavy boots, and a Bell Star on my head.  The upshot was I never lost much blood during my 45 years o' riding.  

As the editorial above implies... you gotta be young and dumb before ya get old and wise.  I see plenty o' people on bikes here in P-Ville that fit the first part o' that sayin', and I hope they live long enough to get wise.

And... just for the record... RDs weren't just a mount for squids.  Some really cool guys rode those things. 

There She Goes, Again

Not her, but damned close... both bike and girl.

I was out and about earlier today and I saw her again.  There's this raven-haired beauty here in P-Ville who rides a Sporty and the town is small enough that I see her two or three times a week, sometimes more.  My FIRST thought when I see her is "Damn.  I need a woman like that in my life."  She's striking, indeed, what with that jet-black mane flowing behind her and that tight-fitting tank top that accentuates all the best points... pun intended... of the female form.  She's a sight to see... confident, beautiful beyond a doubt, and she's on what appears to be an immaculately-maintained bike.  What's NOT to like?

Well, this.  My second thought when I see that girl is "she ain't all that smart."  First: no helmet.  Second: that tank top, which would be fetching in the bar, is gonna coz her immeasurable grief when and if she unloads.  (Short parenthetical digression: there are only two types o' bikers, those who HAVE been down and those who are GONNA go down.  No exceptions.)  Bottom line: not all that smart.  We're at an age where "smart" outweighs pulchritude by a large margin.  Still and even, I do think I'd like to have a couple o' beers and bench-race a while with that woman.  There's an outside chance I could change her attitude and get a helmet on that pretty head and leather on that well-put-together body.

A mission, eh?

You Don't See Many o' These Any Longer

I'm talkin' about sidecar rigs, like this:

Don't they look spiffy?  That's Occasional Readers Carol and Tom, who stopped in for coffee yesterday morning.  They're on a Memorial Day weekend jaunt down towards Ruidoso, Fort Stanton, and the VLA... among other places.  There was a time when one used to see sidecars all over the place but I'm thinkin' they've fallen into disfavor in this day and age.  More's the pity, as they say, because a sidecar rig is a pretty classy way to travel.

Yesterday was the first time we've met in Real Life and the occasion is one of the things I like BEST about this blogging gig... the making and meeting of new friends.

It's One o' THOSE Days...

... which is to say the sorta day where I got nuthin' yet my Occasional Correspondents come through to rescue me.  Again.  Frequent Correspondent, Occasional Reader, Superb Cook, Great Drinkin' Buddy, Retired Blogger, and Perpetual Biker Lin sends this along...



About which I replied...

Wow.  Those guys have MUCH bigger ones than I do, speaking specifically about riding in snow, all that "passing on the right" stuff, and some of those mountain "roads."  Ah, to be young again.

That's just scratching the surface.  You'll note the map at the beginning of the video that shows the route these guys took.  That, in and of itself, is amazing.  I've ridden in some rather obscure and exotic places in this world but these guys' "been there, done that" tee-shirt is almost beyond amazing.  Big ones.  Big BRASS Ones.

On another topic... make sure you drop by the Old AF Sarge's place today to see some incredible plane pr0n.  Good stuff, Maynard.

Grab Bag

Randomness...

I was awakened by the phone at sumthin' like oh-dark-thirty this morning, or about 0915 hrs, same-same for me.  My Buddy Lee In Oregon called with some news about a friend who's battling cancer (prognosis: good) and with a small request.  Lee has a couple o' friends currently on a cross-continent mo'sickle trip and would it be OK if they dropped in to do a lil laundry and recharge... seein' as how I'm "on the way?"  Why certainly, sez I.  I'm always up for a lil bit o' bench racing and other forms of swapping lies, so come on down.  I may not ride any longer but I have 40 years worth o' mo'sickle stories to share.  So I may have company tomorrow.

Oh.  Yes, I WAS civil with Lee, even considerin' I'd been awakened from a dead sleep and hadn't even THOUGHT about coffee yet.  I'm such a good guy.  Sometimes.

―:☺:―

We're in that sweet spot o' the year, that brief period o' time in Spring and Fall when I need neither heat nor air conditioning... just open up the windows (dust permitting) and let it all hang out.  My electric bill drops by about 50% during this time and we DO like the savings that's in it.  Then again, I think my electric bills are pretty reasonable for an all-electric house: I've never paid more than $101.00 in any given month and that was in the dead o' winter.  

We may have to fire up the AC for a bit today or tomorrow, however, coz it's gonna be warmish these next two days:

Great verandah weather, though.

―:☺:―

A miscellaneous bitch:  My apartment has those gotdamned eco-friendly low-volume-flush toilets.  So my question is... what fucking good are they if you have to flush the damned things TWICE?  I suppose saving water is a good thing (and its an especially good thing in water-challenged areas like The High Plains o' New Mexico) and I also realize I only flush once for Number One.  But it really galls me to HAVE to flush twice, otherwise.

I'll add that to my list of First World Problems.

―:☺:―

Speaking of First World Problems... an alternate term is "Posh Problem."  That's what the Brits say and I learned this by watching oh-dark-thirty Bloomberg News on my teevee, wherein they air the very early bid'niz news (we're talking from 0100 to 0300 hrs or thereabouts) from their London studio.  Mebbe I'll start using that term or would that be an affectation?

I think I just answered my own question.

―:☺:―

It begins tomorrow night!  Yays for me, but YOUR mileage may vary, Gentle Reader. 



Yeah, let's meet some characters.

Why, Yes... Yes, I Have

There was this in today's junk e-mail love note from NatGeo:

Have you ever watched the geysers erupt in Yellowstone or gazed in awe at the sweeping vistas of Arches National Park? Even if you’ve never visited these landmarks, chances are you’ve been to one of the nearly 400 parks that are cared for by the National Park Service. 

Why, yes...

Yes, I have and thanks for asking.  All of the above were taken 13 years ago at a place that should be obvious (and with a first-generation digital camera with all of ONE megapixel!).  These next pics?  The place isn't so obvious (and the photos were taken with better equipment)...

The above are from Arches National Park in Utah (except for the one of YrHmblScrb, which was taken in Poudre Canyon, CO, on that same trip) back in 2007.  Riding the bike(s)... different ones at different times... through both Yellowstone and Arches were remarkable adventures.  I only wish I'd gone to Yellowstone later in the year... coz it was still VERY cold in May.  It got cold on that road trip to Arches (among other places)... come to think on it.  VERY cold.

Ephemera

I went into the archives last evening lookin' for sumthin' specific... that I didn't find... but I found sumthin' else that will serve as blog-fodder, as usual.  Small-Tee tim made a comment the other day about how he saves concert tickets and has more than a few from Led Zep concerts past.  I used to save tickets as well, but the great majority of MY ticket stubs got away from me.  All I have left are these, suitably annotated.

The top two tickets are from my days at Yokota AB just outside Tokyo ('75 - '77); note the start times for the concerts, quite early.  The next two are pretty self-explanatory; Arena Bands playin' arena gigs.  The bottom tix are from the Zoo Amphitheatre in OKC, one of the nicest concert venues I've ever had the good fortune to visit. (Click all the pics to embiggen, if'n ya wanna)

These are all pretty much self-explanatory, with two exceptions.  That lil yellow thing is a Paris Metro ticket, saved for sentimental reasons.  The Van Morrison stub is from my PEAK rock'n'roll experience -- rushing the stage for Van's encore that evening, a rousing rendition of "Caravan."  It never got any better than that, ever.

One ticket, one photo, and two souvenirs.  That would be YrHmblScrb perched on his RD350LC before he modified it and my Royal Automobile Club member card.

Ah.  Former Happy Days were pretty damned happy, when ya get right down to it.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

I always thought this tune would make the perfect soundtrack for that mo'sickle racing video I never made...



And I SHOULDA made that video... except for one small thang:  there was no such thang as cheap, hand-held video cams back when I was doing that racing thang, which is to say c. '68 - '72.  Which is just a weak excuse to post photos I've previously posted.  To wit:

YrHmblScrb is second from the right

YrHmblScrb is second from the left

That's The First Mrs. Pennington directly behind #48, which would be me

These three photos are all that remain of the racing archives, the great majority o' which were lost in the Great Divorce Debacle o' 1999.  But... back to the tune... I always visualized the opening 30 seconds of "Jingo" as panning up and down the starting line, and the rest of the tune devoted to action shots of a race, culminating in the finish.  YrHmblScrb would be the star of this extravaganza, of course, ignoring the fact that my racing career was less than... ummm... stellar.  But, Hey!  We had us a great good time.

Ah, missed opportunities and the wistful remembrances of an old man...

Gear-Head Stuff

With a kinda-sorta local connection, if'n you consider four hours away "local:"

High Plains Drifters, indeed!

Former Happy (Mo'sickle) Days

I got a note from SN2 last evening, thusly:

Dad,

I'm looking forward to meeting your friend tomorrow.  I was surfing the web, researching some parts for the RD and came accross these two pics... I was moved.  I thought you might want to enjoy them as well.

ILY,

S

These are the attached pics:

I replied:

The cafe racer is cool, but that RED bike hit me where I used to live.   Yours could look just like that with a lil work.
Ily,
d 

And he came back with...

Yes... it will look like that.

ILY,

S

It's just a matter of time and priorities.  Long-time Gentle Readers know I gave my RD to Sam after the maid quit and when I was in the process of downsizing life as we knew it.  He's had the bike since about 1999 or so and managed to get it running but not fully restored.  That bike has been in the family since 1979 and has a long and storied history of back-road Hell-raising.  Some history:

YrHmblScrb and the RD, c. 1979

The Complete RD as We Knew Her

I spent the winter of 1978 in my garage working on that bike.  Most of the mods were bolt-ons, which is to say after-market shocks, new handle bars, rear-set foot pegs, a brake/shifter kit, electronic ignition, and better tires.  The cognoscenti will note the expansion chambers on the bike and those were part of the minor engine mods I did.  I didn't want to build a hand-grenade motor so I just added expansion chambers, larger carbs, and K&N air filters to improve the bike's breathing.  I also polished all the cylinder ports to improve air flow.  And that was it... but the finished product really wailed.  I should also mention coastal Oregon was a danged fine place to own a back road burner like the RD, too.

The top pic is YrHmblScrb and the stock bike, the bottom pic is as described above.  That's the state the bike is in today, except for the general decay brought on by being in storage and rarely ridden since about 1985.

I do believe she'll wail again someday.  And I'm gonna ride her, too.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

Keef...

We can't do anything
Any trick in the book
We can't go anywhere
As long as we care

We ought to be locked away
We ought to be locked away
Locked away...

Yeah.  What he said. It occurred to me while sittin' out on the verandah that I've said good-bye... pretty much a FINAL good-bye... to at least two wimmen in the past two weeks or so, neither of which was under the happiest o' circumstances (to say the VERY least).  That got me to thinkin'... is it me or them?  I mebbe shouldn't go there, for that way madness lies.

On another note... we did our semi-monthly run out to Cannon Airplane Patch earlier this afternoon for to go to the commissary and the Class VI store.  Mission accomplished and all that, sans flight suit.  On the way out and back The Tart was telling me the ambient temp was either 102 or 103, which is pretty damned hot.  The strange thing?  It doesn't FEEL like that, at all.  As a s'matter o' fact, we're just in from a two-beer, one cigar Happy Hour on the verandah and I swear... it's comfortable outside.  Warm, yes.  Unbearable?  No... emphatically so.  This is what we look like at the time o' this posting:

Hot.  But not unbearably so... note the humidity.

On yet another note... The Tart also tells me my average speed since she's been mine is 44.9 mph.  Really?  I've done one road trip to ABQ and the rest o' the time we've spent together has been in the local area.  That seems rather fast, no?

And on a FINAL note... there was a time when 100+ degree temps didn't bother me at all.  I'm speaking about that year I spent in the Mojave, during which time we'd take the mo'sickle out and tear us up some desert on just about any given day when I had the time to do that sorta thang, which was often.  Like this:

In the Mojave at a hare 'n' hounds race, c.1971.

OK... that was just an excuse to indulge in a lil nostalgia and self-promotion.  Coz we're like that.