One thing stands clear within the firearms community, there is no shortage of opinions ranging from gear, weapons and tactics.
For years I engaged in the nonsense of the caliber argument, failing to see the answer straight before my eyes simply as a hunter.
Looking at the most successful hunters I learned that merely using a good bullet which expands within any reasonable caliber and being compitant and accurate with said round, would garner you a full freezer. Fail in any of those accords and you will have an empty freezer.
People who used the largest magnum calibers tended to flinch and to be afraid of their weapon, not something you want as a hunter nor in a shit hits the fan scenario. Their theory being that the increased power would compensate for their poor accuracy, I am here to say that shooting an animal with a ill placed shot will result in you huffing around in the mountains wishing it had been better placed.
A weapon which fits you best and you are comfortable with makes all the difference in the world, while nobody wants to be shot, I would far rather the person shooting at me not be familiar and be as incompetent as possible.
The solution to all the above is practice, practice know your weapon which in the end brings confidence, knowing you will make the shot and comfort, being relaxed in making that shot, both = success.
Next we move on to the tactical scenario , and there is by no means any shortage of opinions on what is best, so what is the answer?
Well today I was talking to a friend, someone whom I used to train with, a wonderful man, and one of the best long range shooters I have ever encountered.
I was talking how I would like to get back into long range game, and he asked "do you really think in a SHTF scenario you would use it?
I dono, what is that scenario? Where will you be? what will you have? The answer is we really do not know so being astute in all skills be it CQB to long range certainly is a must.
What I do know is distance = safety in regards to accuracy, and certainly if one is applying himself in a hide the added benefit of not being seen certainly would help.
The best overall solution? The same I apply to travel in risky areas, do not make yourself a target, learn negotiation, barter and be smart.
The reality is regardless of how well armed and trained you are a mob will run your ass down and take over that house you are securing. You certainly no matter how good you believe you are will have the ability to take on an overwhelming force of trained aggressors, all you can do is possibly take some with you. Screw that, I am playing to win, come on in boys, have some vodka and let me cook you some fish! Oh no sorry to see you choking on that black powder ;)
Maybe IM getting old but the Idea of being Rambo becomes less appealing with each year and with more wisdom gained traveling I also learn that it probably is not so needed anyhow.
At one time I believed guns and ammo were a good thing to keep, and lots of them. If shit hits the fan money becomes usless so food, water, weapons and ammo are good for trade.
Hold on here, lets think about this for a minute, why the hell would I want to trade weapons to someone who may possibly use them against me?
Screw that, I want food, water, booze and titty magazines for trade, maybe a little Mary Jane, an attacker to lazy or stoned out of their mind would be optimal.
I will with that said continue to practice, mainly within firearms and of course I will always practice some martial arts as well since for me as a traveler that is the most likely weapon I will ever use, the one between my ears and hopefully nothing more ever again.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
How those dirty wanderers influenced my life.
I grew up reading novels about hero cowboys, men of adventure who challenged the world and marched to their own drum.
I rode a horse, herded cattle, carried a pistol, sometimes a rifle and loved to camp in the wilderness lands where the spirits of old whisper upon the wind.
I believe in the old adage "ride hard shoot straight and speak the truth, and damn it, I have shoved my fist in more than one nose of those evil villains bringing a scourge upon someone innocent.
I guess I never really realized it but as I write this, I now realize that those readings influenced my desire to travel and my ability to push the fear of the unknown aside.
Maybe it helped me to want to be that new person, to see new things, and to trade with those indigenous people and share their customs.
As I write this I realize the lasting impact upon my life, Craving a strong history I believe that one of my favorite Authors Mr Louis L'Amore more gave me some of that history by way of fiction.
His writings always brought forth someone willing to venture into the unkown, willing to see all things new. His book on medieval Europe peaked my interest and made me read about all those areas which Mathurin would travel, being a poet, a warrior and a physician what more could we model ourselves after?
For the past month I have been busy readying my steel horse, I have changed the filter, put on the Aluminum Saddlebags known to the motorcycle world as Paniers.
My steeds shoes are rubber and hopefully I will not throw any on the way, if I do, I carry spare in those water proof bags you missed out on.
My gear is not leather, nor wool, but rather textile which is waterproof and abrasian resistant, let us pray I never have to find out how well the later is.
My tent is loaded, my camping equipment washed, matches ready at hand to light that fire that will carry the hot ashes to the heavens.
A campus I will not carry, rather a GPS with all the maps of the US under my fingertips and all my trails shall be plotted, even into the abyss of the unknown.
Soon as with my Idols of my childhood I will sit under the open stars again, my head not resting against a saddle, like so many times of my youth, but rather against a nice modern inflated pillow.
Could be I am cheating a bit, but hell, the western saddle was technology in its time.
Travel music is also something which shall soon be my companion, an Ipod loaded with tunes to make my mind wander with the humming of my tires on the road adding to the strum of the guitar in my ear phones.
I really wanted to learn the Harmonica, but as it turns out I am incapable of learning a blow instrument, my cat had been horrified, now with him leaving this world only his spirit arches its back as I try to play.
I should have learned to play the guitar, I mean after all what could be more romantic than strumming a tune while gazing at those stars, what more could bring those savages to my favor?
The String Bass I played in highschool is to big to pack, and hell to be honest it has been so long my Rockabilly days are probably gone anyhow.
I hope that poor singing and a hearty appetite willing to eat nearly anything, my big smile and resemblence to Shrek will have to suffice & will win over their hearts, so please put down those torches and pitchforks!
So thank you Mr L'Amore, I loved your stories and have many of them, though they are all the same in some regards, they have molded me into the adventurous person I am today.
I rode a horse, herded cattle, carried a pistol, sometimes a rifle and loved to camp in the wilderness lands where the spirits of old whisper upon the wind.
I believe in the old adage "ride hard shoot straight and speak the truth, and damn it, I have shoved my fist in more than one nose of those evil villains bringing a scourge upon someone innocent.
I guess I never really realized it but as I write this, I now realize that those readings influenced my desire to travel and my ability to push the fear of the unknown aside.
Maybe it helped me to want to be that new person, to see new things, and to trade with those indigenous people and share their customs.
As I write this I realize the lasting impact upon my life, Craving a strong history I believe that one of my favorite Authors Mr Louis L'Amore more gave me some of that history by way of fiction.
His writings always brought forth someone willing to venture into the unkown, willing to see all things new. His book on medieval Europe peaked my interest and made me read about all those areas which Mathurin would travel, being a poet, a warrior and a physician what more could we model ourselves after?
For the past month I have been busy readying my steel horse, I have changed the filter, put on the Aluminum Saddlebags known to the motorcycle world as Paniers.
My steeds shoes are rubber and hopefully I will not throw any on the way, if I do, I carry spare in those water proof bags you missed out on.
My gear is not leather, nor wool, but rather textile which is waterproof and abrasian resistant, let us pray I never have to find out how well the later is.
My tent is loaded, my camping equipment washed, matches ready at hand to light that fire that will carry the hot ashes to the heavens.
A campus I will not carry, rather a GPS with all the maps of the US under my fingertips and all my trails shall be plotted, even into the abyss of the unknown.
Soon as with my Idols of my childhood I will sit under the open stars again, my head not resting against a saddle, like so many times of my youth, but rather against a nice modern inflated pillow.
Could be I am cheating a bit, but hell, the western saddle was technology in its time.
Travel music is also something which shall soon be my companion, an Ipod loaded with tunes to make my mind wander with the humming of my tires on the road adding to the strum of the guitar in my ear phones.
I really wanted to learn the Harmonica, but as it turns out I am incapable of learning a blow instrument, my cat had been horrified, now with him leaving this world only his spirit arches its back as I try to play.
I should have learned to play the guitar, I mean after all what could be more romantic than strumming a tune while gazing at those stars, what more could bring those savages to my favor?
The String Bass I played in highschool is to big to pack, and hell to be honest it has been so long my Rockabilly days are probably gone anyhow.
I hope that poor singing and a hearty appetite willing to eat nearly anything, my big smile and resemblence to Shrek will have to suffice & will win over their hearts, so please put down those torches and pitchforks!
So thank you Mr L'Amore, I loved your stories and have many of them, though they are all the same in some regards, they have molded me into the adventurous person I am today.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Celebrating a Terrorist, what gives?
People
have asked me several times over the past few days what was so bad
about Mandela? I guess they missed my link on him so here goes
We all know he went to prison, but most do not know why.
It seems in their mind he was a freedom fighter and went against the big bad regime. That would be true, but he sure had a roundabout way of getting there.
First off he orchestrated the Church Street Bombing, an event where he wanted to maximize civilian casualties, 19 Civilians would die.
He would become a leader in the African National Congress, A heroric patriotic group you hear. I guess if you think operating death camps in Angola is a good thing. Thats right, they terrorized villages, tortured and murdered people to "make them" go along with them. They along with Mandelas wife also had another way of coercing people, it was called necklacing, where they would put a tire around someones neck, fill it with gasoline and light it on fire.
Those people were anyone who were even suspected of talking to the government. Desmond TuTU would become famous for selflessly tossing himself on a victim and stopping the lynch mob.
Mandela would go on to Burn Farmers fields, encourage African Youth to Burn Farmers fields before he went off to the clink.
He wrote a book, where he showed no remorse for his past actions. He also never would separate himself from the African Congress which continued their terrorist ways while he was in prison and afterwards.
His refusal to distance himself from Militants has led to the slaughter of some 60k whites in south Africa, many of whom were farmers who have their throats slit.
Did he change after prison? Nah, a changed person is at least apologetic, he never was anything but arrogant, and i find it sad that the Western Media put a Terrorist on a Pedalstool.
We have a war on terrorism, I see the ra ra bullshit posts on here every day from the left, and the right.
I find it repugnant then that you would send your Brothers, Sons, fathers off to fight terrorists, who really are only people being victim to living in a certain land, and then put a single one on a pedalstool.
No freedom fighter bombs innocent people intentionally, that is what terrorists do, strike terror in the hearts of civilization.
You might not have wanted to hear this, but it needed to be said.
We all know he went to prison, but most do not know why.
It seems in their mind he was a freedom fighter and went against the big bad regime. That would be true, but he sure had a roundabout way of getting there.
First off he orchestrated the Church Street Bombing, an event where he wanted to maximize civilian casualties, 19 Civilians would die.
He would become a leader in the African National Congress, A heroric patriotic group you hear. I guess if you think operating death camps in Angola is a good thing. Thats right, they terrorized villages, tortured and murdered people to "make them" go along with them. They along with Mandelas wife also had another way of coercing people, it was called necklacing, where they would put a tire around someones neck, fill it with gasoline and light it on fire.
Those people were anyone who were even suspected of talking to the government. Desmond TuTU would become famous for selflessly tossing himself on a victim and stopping the lynch mob.
Mandela would go on to Burn Farmers fields, encourage African Youth to Burn Farmers fields before he went off to the clink.
He wrote a book, where he showed no remorse for his past actions. He also never would separate himself from the African Congress which continued their terrorist ways while he was in prison and afterwards.
His refusal to distance himself from Militants has led to the slaughter of some 60k whites in south Africa, many of whom were farmers who have their throats slit.
Did he change after prison? Nah, a changed person is at least apologetic, he never was anything but arrogant, and i find it sad that the Western Media put a Terrorist on a Pedalstool.
We have a war on terrorism, I see the ra ra bullshit posts on here every day from the left, and the right.
I find it repugnant then that you would send your Brothers, Sons, fathers off to fight terrorists, who really are only people being victim to living in a certain land, and then put a single one on a pedalstool.
No freedom fighter bombs innocent people intentionally, that is what terrorists do, strike terror in the hearts of civilization.
You might not have wanted to hear this, but it needed to be said.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Why I choose an Adventure over a Vacation.
People often ask me why I travel as I do, why do I spend my time in a country traveling from area to area and needing a vacation when I come home, and the answer is very simple.
When you plan a vacation, you know what you will see before hand and everything else is planned out, when you plan an adventure, you are going into the unknown with no real time frame, only the beginning, and an end.
I grew up as a traveler, my father during my childhood was an over the road bus driver so I spent much of my youth riding with him.
I liked it as I am a chatty inquisitive person so I always got to meet someone new and interesting as on the bus there is only time for three things, talk, reading and sleep.
My parents also were into adventure. On my fathers days off we would saddle up the horses, load up the fishing poles and head into the wilderness.
I grew up thinking my head on a saddle was supposed to be a pillow when camping.
I thought a tarp was better than a tent as I had better things to do than sit in camp, there were caves to explore and fish to be caught. I honestly thought that bathing in a cold creek for a few seconds was a true bath in the wild. I drank out of every stream I came across and it was not until high school would giardia find my father and me on a much milder level. Cooking over the open fire and picking ash out of ones food is the best. I loved to forage when I was younger, and often would grab me some elk thistle and a grouse or two that happened in front of me.
Along with our trips came the usual mishaps of riding horses in the wild. They would of course become spooked or simply have a bad irritable day. I remember vividly Satan losing her cookies and being used as a pack mare at that time, tossing everything we had all over the trail.
We would spend the next few hours wandering around in the brush trying to locate our basics, my aunt would complain as we never found her toothbrush.
I liked this, it was fun, and I saw the wilderness in a way most never will, in a way that early explorers and settles often saw it. As such I never really bought into the boogyman nonsense, mind you my mind like everyone elses wanders, but it is much easier for me to control those thoughts.
I know there are dangers, but those are part of life in general, tens of thousands of people die in a car accident every year, yet nobody thinks twice about jumping in a car. There have only been a handful of documented Grizzly Bear attacks resulting in death, yet people panic at the very thought of one.
When a journey becomes an adventure your life is expanded upon, you will probably meet some person whom you never knew existed, a person who is helping you fix that broken strap on your back pack, or pull your motorcycle from a ditch.
When you are in an adventure you find things and places you never would see as a tourist, but unfortunately you miss a few things that other tourists may see, that is ok to me, as I believe I get a far better understanding of what a culture truly is about, and that rarely is what a tourist sees in a tourist area.
I often recount this, as it has had a major impact on my life, and that is when in 2007 I was backpacking about the Philippines province of Luzon and would stay in a small town where I was the first white person since WW2. I wrote a story about it which you can find among my blog, but the most amazing aspect of that story is the beginning of it all. When I would arrive at the house to which I would stay at 4:30 AM and breakfast would be waiting for me. After a morning of hiking I would return for lunch and there would be no food as they had cooked the last of it just for our breakfast.
I ask you, where can you find such genuine generosity when staying at a Sands?
Since my last trip to the Philippines much has changed, some of the things that I saw were destroyed in the earthquake and now the typhoon. How fortunate was I do have seen those things while they still stood.
I guess I will continue to travel on in my own way, I do not mind flying somewhere, but when I do, My feet will hit the ground running.
My next adventure is by Motorcycle and shall take me over some 4000 miles in three weeks, I am beyond excited. My ignorance of the area shall be lifted and hopefully I will meet more wonderful people to share stories with, and whos life I will change, and who will again change mine.
One thing more I shall gain, is more knowledge, and ultimately, more fulfillment as a person.
I leave you with one of the most Amazing quotes ever written.
When you plan a vacation, you know what you will see before hand and everything else is planned out, when you plan an adventure, you are going into the unknown with no real time frame, only the beginning, and an end.
I grew up as a traveler, my father during my childhood was an over the road bus driver so I spent much of my youth riding with him.
I liked it as I am a chatty inquisitive person so I always got to meet someone new and interesting as on the bus there is only time for three things, talk, reading and sleep.
My parents also were into adventure. On my fathers days off we would saddle up the horses, load up the fishing poles and head into the wilderness.
I grew up thinking my head on a saddle was supposed to be a pillow when camping.
I thought a tarp was better than a tent as I had better things to do than sit in camp, there were caves to explore and fish to be caught. I honestly thought that bathing in a cold creek for a few seconds was a true bath in the wild. I drank out of every stream I came across and it was not until high school would giardia find my father and me on a much milder level. Cooking over the open fire and picking ash out of ones food is the best. I loved to forage when I was younger, and often would grab me some elk thistle and a grouse or two that happened in front of me.
Along with our trips came the usual mishaps of riding horses in the wild. They would of course become spooked or simply have a bad irritable day. I remember vividly Satan losing her cookies and being used as a pack mare at that time, tossing everything we had all over the trail.
We would spend the next few hours wandering around in the brush trying to locate our basics, my aunt would complain as we never found her toothbrush.
I liked this, it was fun, and I saw the wilderness in a way most never will, in a way that early explorers and settles often saw it. As such I never really bought into the boogyman nonsense, mind you my mind like everyone elses wanders, but it is much easier for me to control those thoughts.
I know there are dangers, but those are part of life in general, tens of thousands of people die in a car accident every year, yet nobody thinks twice about jumping in a car. There have only been a handful of documented Grizzly Bear attacks resulting in death, yet people panic at the very thought of one.
When a journey becomes an adventure your life is expanded upon, you will probably meet some person whom you never knew existed, a person who is helping you fix that broken strap on your back pack, or pull your motorcycle from a ditch.
When you are in an adventure you find things and places you never would see as a tourist, but unfortunately you miss a few things that other tourists may see, that is ok to me, as I believe I get a far better understanding of what a culture truly is about, and that rarely is what a tourist sees in a tourist area.
I often recount this, as it has had a major impact on my life, and that is when in 2007 I was backpacking about the Philippines province of Luzon and would stay in a small town where I was the first white person since WW2. I wrote a story about it which you can find among my blog, but the most amazing aspect of that story is the beginning of it all. When I would arrive at the house to which I would stay at 4:30 AM and breakfast would be waiting for me. After a morning of hiking I would return for lunch and there would be no food as they had cooked the last of it just for our breakfast.
I ask you, where can you find such genuine generosity when staying at a Sands?
Since my last trip to the Philippines much has changed, some of the things that I saw were destroyed in the earthquake and now the typhoon. How fortunate was I do have seen those things while they still stood.
I guess I will continue to travel on in my own way, I do not mind flying somewhere, but when I do, My feet will hit the ground running.
My next adventure is by Motorcycle and shall take me over some 4000 miles in three weeks, I am beyond excited. My ignorance of the area shall be lifted and hopefully I will meet more wonderful people to share stories with, and whos life I will change, and who will again change mine.
One thing more I shall gain, is more knowledge, and ultimately, more fulfillment as a person.
I leave you with one of the most Amazing quotes ever written.
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Take this job and shove it, one of those days you didnt want to be at work.
Yesterday was one of those days you just wish had not happened.
Started out with a delivery for Accessories to a mine on Monday, nice 10 hour day.
Would check into the Hotel at 7 PM, relax, ate a nice light chefs salad purchased form the grocery store and just relaxed.
Sleep was my usual four hours of non constant BS grr.
Would crawl out of bed at 4:45 Am and eat a banana, 15 minutes later I would fire up the work truck, visit the hotel eh ehm, diner for some usual hotel food.
Two hard boiled eggs, one minature slice of french toast and one microwaved sausage I was ready to hit the road.
Nothing eventful as I drove the hour 15 minutes to pick up the MMU truck, or mobile manufacturing semi truck I would use on another site.
It was left at a different mine. It fired up after its usual five minute crank fest, doing the walk around I found that a fuel line used to tell how much fuel as in the auxiliary tank was broken do to age.
I fixed it at least as best I could in the truck headlights. Fixed the burnt out bulb in a clearance light and would be ready to go.
Not so fast, the less than dependable fuel guage only registered just over quarter of a tank, which ment it probably was empty.
A quick kick and a feeble attempt to see into the fuel tank would confirm my suspicions, my ever caring previous co workers had failed to not only mention any problems, but also that it needed fuel.
I would proceed to the mine shop and see what I could find out, namely how far a gas station would be.
I parked amongs the line of Miners vehicles who had just showed up, people were walking about everywhere and there right in front of me was a fox. She was looking scared confused and licking her chops. HOLY SHIT A RABID OR DISTEMPERED FOX! I prepared to jump back into the truck as she looked at me and took a few step forward, visions of the seven shots in my stomach came to my mind. But some crazy fool miner would walk right up to her, I almost yelled, he put out his hand and she sniffed it, he walked on past.
Turns out the Fox is a wild pet of sorts, they feed her breakfast and she follows them around, what an amazing experience!
Next I would have my fuel fear confirmed "Nearest station is 30 miles" yea I was screwed.
I managed to beg a tank of fuel off of them. By then it was now 7:30 am, I was supposed to be on another mine site 50 miles away already grrr.
Off I went, worried about hte scales as this is one of those barely passes trucks, not eventful at all.
I would ring my co worker and tell him to inform the boss I was running late and to please let the mine know.
40 minutes later I was at the mine.
First attempt to load the truck did not go so well, but it worked.
We began to fuel the axillary fuel tank and the crap hose I had tried to fix earlier broke, diesel everywhere.
After listening to a guy who didnt know what to do, I should have just used my years of plumbing experience and fixed it how I wanted, which I would do.
My boots were soaked with diesel and I was praying not enough to get into my socks, this sucks.
Boom swings out over the hole, I hit the switch, and, nothing, flip the switch back and forth, nothing.
Outside mess with the manual hydrolic override controls, nothing.
Miner helping is just staring, I am swearing out loud everyone knows how much I hate this job.
The Auger was not emptied properly so another half an hour following my co workers mistake we would finish loading the first few holes.
Back down to refill, this requires driving under and chute from a Amonium Nitrate bin with a flexible 14 or so inch hose hanging down.
Hose would fall off, and the hose clamps were rusted, one hour later it would re attach.
Miner whom I was contracted for "We HAVE to be done by 4pm today, nothing can stop us.
Trip to the bench, load more holes, back down for the hose to fall off again grr, Im hungy, and at this point it is 1:30 and I realize I left my sandwich in the delivery truck along with my extra water and vitamin water damn it!!!
Back up on top I would load on a hill most people would only want to drive a 4x4, not a semi truck.
We would finish, of course after I had to clean the auger two more times grrr.
3:30 pm, with a picture of Tom Cruise and Mission impossible music playing in my head I would strap down the boom on the truck and head out.
First stop at a gas station to get some diesel and hopefully a snack.
I would grab the last hotdog off the tray and it would roll off onto the ground unreal.
I would be back to the first mine site at 5 pm on the button, only one hour 15 minutes back to the hotel.
The Sandwich I left in the truck had melted cheese from the sun, luckily I had left a banana so I would have that. IT had only been twelve hours since my last snack even, and wow was I starved. Soaked work boots off, had not got to my socks which was great, but they stunk. Flip flops I would drive back in.
Upon checking into the hotel AGAIN I would ask where the best steak in Laural Montana was.
The bowling alley the old lady said who had worked this mediocre job far to long would inform me.
So off I would head up to my room, throw away my work shirt, tear off my stinky diesel covered clothes, shower and down to the kick ass diner.
And wow was I ever craving a good steak, and yea well it wasnt that at all.
A trip to the IGA and some snacks would tide me over with a six pack of beer would finalize another day in the mining industry.
Started out with a delivery for Accessories to a mine on Monday, nice 10 hour day.
Would check into the Hotel at 7 PM, relax, ate a nice light chefs salad purchased form the grocery store and just relaxed.
Sleep was my usual four hours of non constant BS grr.
Would crawl out of bed at 4:45 Am and eat a banana, 15 minutes later I would fire up the work truck, visit the hotel eh ehm, diner for some usual hotel food.
Two hard boiled eggs, one minature slice of french toast and one microwaved sausage I was ready to hit the road.
Nothing eventful as I drove the hour 15 minutes to pick up the MMU truck, or mobile manufacturing semi truck I would use on another site.
It was left at a different mine. It fired up after its usual five minute crank fest, doing the walk around I found that a fuel line used to tell how much fuel as in the auxiliary tank was broken do to age.
I fixed it at least as best I could in the truck headlights. Fixed the burnt out bulb in a clearance light and would be ready to go.
Not so fast, the less than dependable fuel guage only registered just over quarter of a tank, which ment it probably was empty.
A quick kick and a feeble attempt to see into the fuel tank would confirm my suspicions, my ever caring previous co workers had failed to not only mention any problems, but also that it needed fuel.
I would proceed to the mine shop and see what I could find out, namely how far a gas station would be.
I parked amongs the line of Miners vehicles who had just showed up, people were walking about everywhere and there right in front of me was a fox. She was looking scared confused and licking her chops. HOLY SHIT A RABID OR DISTEMPERED FOX! I prepared to jump back into the truck as she looked at me and took a few step forward, visions of the seven shots in my stomach came to my mind. But some crazy fool miner would walk right up to her, I almost yelled, he put out his hand and she sniffed it, he walked on past.
Turns out the Fox is a wild pet of sorts, they feed her breakfast and she follows them around, what an amazing experience!
Next I would have my fuel fear confirmed "Nearest station is 30 miles" yea I was screwed.
I managed to beg a tank of fuel off of them. By then it was now 7:30 am, I was supposed to be on another mine site 50 miles away already grrr.
Off I went, worried about hte scales as this is one of those barely passes trucks, not eventful at all.
I would ring my co worker and tell him to inform the boss I was running late and to please let the mine know.
40 minutes later I was at the mine.
First attempt to load the truck did not go so well, but it worked.
We began to fuel the axillary fuel tank and the crap hose I had tried to fix earlier broke, diesel everywhere.
After listening to a guy who didnt know what to do, I should have just used my years of plumbing experience and fixed it how I wanted, which I would do.
My boots were soaked with diesel and I was praying not enough to get into my socks, this sucks.
Boom swings out over the hole, I hit the switch, and, nothing, flip the switch back and forth, nothing.
Outside mess with the manual hydrolic override controls, nothing.
Miner helping is just staring, I am swearing out loud everyone knows how much I hate this job.
The Auger was not emptied properly so another half an hour following my co workers mistake we would finish loading the first few holes.
Back down to refill, this requires driving under and chute from a Amonium Nitrate bin with a flexible 14 or so inch hose hanging down.
Hose would fall off, and the hose clamps were rusted, one hour later it would re attach.
Miner whom I was contracted for "We HAVE to be done by 4pm today, nothing can stop us.
Trip to the bench, load more holes, back down for the hose to fall off again grr, Im hungy, and at this point it is 1:30 and I realize I left my sandwich in the delivery truck along with my extra water and vitamin water damn it!!!
Back up on top I would load on a hill most people would only want to drive a 4x4, not a semi truck.
We would finish, of course after I had to clean the auger two more times grrr.
3:30 pm, with a picture of Tom Cruise and Mission impossible music playing in my head I would strap down the boom on the truck and head out.
First stop at a gas station to get some diesel and hopefully a snack.
I would grab the last hotdog off the tray and it would roll off onto the ground unreal.
I would be back to the first mine site at 5 pm on the button, only one hour 15 minutes back to the hotel.
The Sandwich I left in the truck had melted cheese from the sun, luckily I had left a banana so I would have that. IT had only been twelve hours since my last snack even, and wow was I starved. Soaked work boots off, had not got to my socks which was great, but they stunk. Flip flops I would drive back in.
Upon checking into the hotel AGAIN I would ask where the best steak in Laural Montana was.
The bowling alley the old lady said who had worked this mediocre job far to long would inform me.
So off I would head up to my room, throw away my work shirt, tear off my stinky diesel covered clothes, shower and down to the kick ass diner.
And wow was I ever craving a good steak, and yea well it wasnt that at all.
A trip to the IGA and some snacks would tide me over with a six pack of beer would finalize another day in the mining industry.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
"I told ya it was gonna snow", my first interstate motorcycle trip with a childhood friend.
It was 23 years ago and I had purchased my first Street bike, a 1982 Yamaha 750 Virago.
I was a badass, and I knew it, the thunder of the road was a refreshing change from the years of tearing up dirt trails and jumping out and into gravel pits.
It was not long into the summer when one of my childhood friends and I decided to make our first journey by motorcycle.
Much debating began, roughly three minutes before we would settle upon our destination some 400 miles and change to the Amusement Park known as the Lagoon.
We set a date and began our preparations. My father was insistent that it would snow, even at the end of August.
"Your batshit crazy pops" I would tell him, watching carefully out of the corner of my eye as usually a smart ass remark was followed by the back of his hand, a tool, or even in one case a dinner role which would smack me right between my eyes and knock me from my chair.
"boy, you just wait and see, its going to snow"
Seriously he was nuts, we would be gone for three days and be coming back on the 29th of August, not a chance.
I had little for gear back then, I had a Nolan helmet and a Harley Davidson leather jacket I had purchased locally. I am not exactly sure where the money came from for this ,as both were around 300 dollars each. Its kind of hard to Imagine a time so long ago when we were subject to what the local store carried or what was in the back of a magazine.
For saddlebags I literally decided upon a set I used often. Since we had horses there were plenty of saddle bags hanging around. Dad was quick and handy modifying anything and soon he had those bags fitting my bike nicely, and I would be ready.
We had little knowledge of how to pack back then, there was such limited information in those days it seems. About all I had in my head were visions from the worst movie I had ever seen "Born to be Wild"
We would have crap strapped everywhere and my blanket would be tied by bailing twine over my front fender.
We would depart, no fanfare, no parades, just two guys on a mission.
We would stop at the hardware store and buy some rain gear, Steve swore up and down that goretex gloves were the best thing under the sun if our hands were to get wet, so we would try.
It is unfortunate that I have not written this before, as so much has already escaped my mind over the years. The next thing I remember is stopping in Idaho falls to see my cousins. Wonderful people and I had stayed there before. I tried to talk Megan, one of my favorites to come along, she was a wonderfully beautiful girl and why I would want the extra attention she would garner was beyond me.
Perhaps I thought if I had a beautiful girl with me other girls would find me attractive.
She saw thru my ploy, or in reality saw my bike loaded to the brim strapped down in a way only a farm boy could and kindly said "I think I'll stay". FOILED again damn it.
We would arrive in salt lake to crazy traffic, darting here and there and at one point Steve felt it necessary to give a lesson to a corvette on his KZ750. One of the fastest bikes of its era it certainly did well and in triple digits, well I assume so at least as my speedo was buried at 85 *Grin* and Steve nearly a dot for me he would let off the throttle and I would catch up, seeing his big grin under the full face helmet as if his smile was painted on the outside.
We would pitch a tent in the camping area of the lagoon, wander about, run into friends from Anaconda, how amazing and do the usual Teenage idiocy.
We would find ourselves in the carnival games, as it turns out Steve was not so big into Amusement park rides (nice time to let me know Steve!!) as he would get sick.
So there we stood, trying to win stuffed animals, and in particular a four foot tall gorilla that we thought would be funny as hell tied behind our bikes.
I quit after a few dollars, proclaiming the game was rigged, I would fall for Steves urging and all my cash save enough money for three tanks of gas, I would give in. Realizing at that point that I could have went to the store and bought a damn life sized gorilla for the back of my bike for cheaper.
Uhgg tomorrow would suck as I drifted home on Fumes in my gas tank and an empty stomach.
We would load up in the morning and head out with temps in the high 90s. Our fuel stops were the normal and in Lima MT we would stop for lunch. Let me make a correction, Steve would enjoy lunch and I would drink some coffee as I was not sure if I had enough money to even make it home at this point.
The weather was cooling off substantially and as we entered Dillon MT the temperature would have dropped to a Balmy 31 degrees.
We would find at this time that the Gore-Tex gloves let in to much air and our hands were frozen. Back to leather for me. I remember some kid thinking we were his heros riding in the cold, I thought he was nuts. A woman in the gas station stated it was snowing up yonder and I heard my dads premonition ringing in my ears. "You probably should stay here she said"
All I could think about is it was my last tank of gas and only a couple dollars left in my wallet, a hotel room was beyond out.
Dillon is normally only an hour ride from home, should be easy enough to make we thought.
We put on sweats over our pants to stay warm and rain gear over the sweats to of course stay dry and the biggest thing, to brake the wind.
In another ten miles we would find that snow, and we found piles of it. It was beyond a mild storm and it was an absolute Blizzard.
Visibility was zero, snow was piling on so fast we could not see the tire tracks of cars in front of us.
We would stop and look at each other and my last words uttered to Steve for the next hour would be "We do not know what these things will do on these slick roads so lets take it easy." Steve would Nod and would tear off into the sunset, er blizzard.
We road at a blistering pace and I am still not sure how we knew where the road was at, the snow was piled up so heavy only the occasisonal non iced over reflector let us know our path. My Visor was iced up so I found myself cracking it open slightly and looking between the visor and the chin guard.
Steve was flying, from what I could see on my icing up speedo we were doing 65, way to fast.
Cars were crawling at below half that pace and we tore past them as if they were going backwards.
I was cold, so cold, the rain gear had iced up and froze stiff, my fingers were almost beyond numb and all I could think of was if we could pull over we could warm our hands on the open motors.
But Steve had other Ideas, and kept up the blistering pace, I followed close behind him only because I was afraid he would slide off the road and I would not see him. By this time snow was over our feet planted on the foot pegs.
I would flash my light, nothing, pull up beside him, nothing. I would try one last ditch effort trying to wave my hand and point to the upcoming rest stop, nothing. It was all for naught.
Finally he would stop, 12 miles from home at the intersection of I 15 and I 90 and proclaim in a just above a whispered stutter "I am so cold I cannot go on."
Seriously I thought, we were almost home why let blood flow to our extremities now?'
We headed to the truck stop which was about a mile away. I remember sitting at the table with our helmets on, fingers to cold to pry the Ice from the clasps.
The waitress thought we were crazy, everyone made sure to let us know we were and the coffee would be free, well after our helmets came off of course.
Two pots of coffee later Dad would show up and rescue us with the car trailer, laughing with his booming laugh as always "I told you it was gonna snow"
It is unfortunate that such a wonderful adventure was not captured on film.
It seems to me that the next morning I took a picture of our bikes on the trailer, snow dripping off in the following day 70 degree temps.
I know not where that picture may be, nor if I ever actually had it developed, hell the way film used to be maybe it never came out.
I talked to Steve about this ride a couple days ago, which set forth this story before it leaves my mind.
I am happy to have shared it, cold fingers and all, and I have recounted it far to many times over the years.
Epic adventures come and go, but they always stay in our mind, this was one of them and would set the stage for my future travels. Sharing things like this with friends is the best and I only wish I could persuade more friends to share future travels with me.
I was a badass, and I knew it, the thunder of the road was a refreshing change from the years of tearing up dirt trails and jumping out and into gravel pits.
It was not long into the summer when one of my childhood friends and I decided to make our first journey by motorcycle.
Much debating began, roughly three minutes before we would settle upon our destination some 400 miles and change to the Amusement Park known as the Lagoon.
We set a date and began our preparations. My father was insistent that it would snow, even at the end of August.
"Your batshit crazy pops" I would tell him, watching carefully out of the corner of my eye as usually a smart ass remark was followed by the back of his hand, a tool, or even in one case a dinner role which would smack me right between my eyes and knock me from my chair.
"boy, you just wait and see, its going to snow"
Seriously he was nuts, we would be gone for three days and be coming back on the 29th of August, not a chance.
I had little for gear back then, I had a Nolan helmet and a Harley Davidson leather jacket I had purchased locally. I am not exactly sure where the money came from for this ,as both were around 300 dollars each. Its kind of hard to Imagine a time so long ago when we were subject to what the local store carried or what was in the back of a magazine.
For saddlebags I literally decided upon a set I used often. Since we had horses there were plenty of saddle bags hanging around. Dad was quick and handy modifying anything and soon he had those bags fitting my bike nicely, and I would be ready.
We had little knowledge of how to pack back then, there was such limited information in those days it seems. About all I had in my head were visions from the worst movie I had ever seen "Born to be Wild"
We would have crap strapped everywhere and my blanket would be tied by bailing twine over my front fender.
We would depart, no fanfare, no parades, just two guys on a mission.
We would stop at the hardware store and buy some rain gear, Steve swore up and down that goretex gloves were the best thing under the sun if our hands were to get wet, so we would try.
It is unfortunate that I have not written this before, as so much has already escaped my mind over the years. The next thing I remember is stopping in Idaho falls to see my cousins. Wonderful people and I had stayed there before. I tried to talk Megan, one of my favorites to come along, she was a wonderfully beautiful girl and why I would want the extra attention she would garner was beyond me.
Perhaps I thought if I had a beautiful girl with me other girls would find me attractive.
She saw thru my ploy, or in reality saw my bike loaded to the brim strapped down in a way only a farm boy could and kindly said "I think I'll stay". FOILED again damn it.
We would arrive in salt lake to crazy traffic, darting here and there and at one point Steve felt it necessary to give a lesson to a corvette on his KZ750. One of the fastest bikes of its era it certainly did well and in triple digits, well I assume so at least as my speedo was buried at 85 *Grin* and Steve nearly a dot for me he would let off the throttle and I would catch up, seeing his big grin under the full face helmet as if his smile was painted on the outside.
We would pitch a tent in the camping area of the lagoon, wander about, run into friends from Anaconda, how amazing and do the usual Teenage idiocy.
We would find ourselves in the carnival games, as it turns out Steve was not so big into Amusement park rides (nice time to let me know Steve!!) as he would get sick.
So there we stood, trying to win stuffed animals, and in particular a four foot tall gorilla that we thought would be funny as hell tied behind our bikes.
I quit after a few dollars, proclaiming the game was rigged, I would fall for Steves urging and all my cash save enough money for three tanks of gas, I would give in. Realizing at that point that I could have went to the store and bought a damn life sized gorilla for the back of my bike for cheaper.
Uhgg tomorrow would suck as I drifted home on Fumes in my gas tank and an empty stomach.
We would load up in the morning and head out with temps in the high 90s. Our fuel stops were the normal and in Lima MT we would stop for lunch. Let me make a correction, Steve would enjoy lunch and I would drink some coffee as I was not sure if I had enough money to even make it home at this point.
The weather was cooling off substantially and as we entered Dillon MT the temperature would have dropped to a Balmy 31 degrees.
We would find at this time that the Gore-Tex gloves let in to much air and our hands were frozen. Back to leather for me. I remember some kid thinking we were his heros riding in the cold, I thought he was nuts. A woman in the gas station stated it was snowing up yonder and I heard my dads premonition ringing in my ears. "You probably should stay here she said"
All I could think about is it was my last tank of gas and only a couple dollars left in my wallet, a hotel room was beyond out.
Dillon is normally only an hour ride from home, should be easy enough to make we thought.
We put on sweats over our pants to stay warm and rain gear over the sweats to of course stay dry and the biggest thing, to brake the wind.
In another ten miles we would find that snow, and we found piles of it. It was beyond a mild storm and it was an absolute Blizzard.
Visibility was zero, snow was piling on so fast we could not see the tire tracks of cars in front of us.
We would stop and look at each other and my last words uttered to Steve for the next hour would be "We do not know what these things will do on these slick roads so lets take it easy." Steve would Nod and would tear off into the sunset, er blizzard.
We road at a blistering pace and I am still not sure how we knew where the road was at, the snow was piled up so heavy only the occasisonal non iced over reflector let us know our path. My Visor was iced up so I found myself cracking it open slightly and looking between the visor and the chin guard.
Steve was flying, from what I could see on my icing up speedo we were doing 65, way to fast.
Cars were crawling at below half that pace and we tore past them as if they were going backwards.
I was cold, so cold, the rain gear had iced up and froze stiff, my fingers were almost beyond numb and all I could think of was if we could pull over we could warm our hands on the open motors.
But Steve had other Ideas, and kept up the blistering pace, I followed close behind him only because I was afraid he would slide off the road and I would not see him. By this time snow was over our feet planted on the foot pegs.
I would flash my light, nothing, pull up beside him, nothing. I would try one last ditch effort trying to wave my hand and point to the upcoming rest stop, nothing. It was all for naught.
Finally he would stop, 12 miles from home at the intersection of I 15 and I 90 and proclaim in a just above a whispered stutter "I am so cold I cannot go on."
Seriously I thought, we were almost home why let blood flow to our extremities now?'
We headed to the truck stop which was about a mile away. I remember sitting at the table with our helmets on, fingers to cold to pry the Ice from the clasps.
The waitress thought we were crazy, everyone made sure to let us know we were and the coffee would be free, well after our helmets came off of course.
Two pots of coffee later Dad would show up and rescue us with the car trailer, laughing with his booming laugh as always "I told you it was gonna snow"
It is unfortunate that such a wonderful adventure was not captured on film.
It seems to me that the next morning I took a picture of our bikes on the trailer, snow dripping off in the following day 70 degree temps.
I know not where that picture may be, nor if I ever actually had it developed, hell the way film used to be maybe it never came out.
I talked to Steve about this ride a couple days ago, which set forth this story before it leaves my mind.
I am happy to have shared it, cold fingers and all, and I have recounted it far to many times over the years.
Epic adventures come and go, but they always stay in our mind, this was one of them and would set the stage for my future travels. Sharing things like this with friends is the best and I only wish I could persuade more friends to share future travels with me.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
The Road of Life
I often wonder where the road in my life would have been had I followed my dreams, and not what others thought best for me.
I think living a lie is the absolute worst thing we can do, and unfortunately in todays society that is what most of us have done, and hell, maybe historically has always been the case.
To me I think we can take a lesson from the story of the Essex, where a captain went thru hell and after surviving, went back to society and took the lowest job he could find. He would live his remaining days a happy man in that position. Adversely his first mate would go on to be captain, would live a life of paranoia and gluttony with a predictable end.
We are so programmed in society that success is measured in dollars and wealth that we lose ourselves in the processes.
Now I realize that a Euphoria of relaxation with everyone achieving their dreams is not realistic. But wouldn't it be nice to simply live a life without unnecessary pressures? A life without others dictating or tearing you down?
Maybe that is why we all find solace in books, TVs, and even sports, to escape our own real demons and make our dream life come true, even so faintly for an hour or two we live vicariously thru others.
I say to hell with that, it aught to be a reality, our reality.
I think living a lie is the absolute worst thing we can do, and unfortunately in todays society that is what most of us have done, and hell, maybe historically has always been the case.
To me I think we can take a lesson from the story of the Essex, where a captain went thru hell and after surviving, went back to society and took the lowest job he could find. He would live his remaining days a happy man in that position. Adversely his first mate would go on to be captain, would live a life of paranoia and gluttony with a predictable end.
We are so programmed in society that success is measured in dollars and wealth that we lose ourselves in the processes.
Now I realize that a Euphoria of relaxation with everyone achieving their dreams is not realistic. But wouldn't it be nice to simply live a life without unnecessary pressures? A life without others dictating or tearing you down?
Maybe that is why we all find solace in books, TVs, and even sports, to escape our own real demons and make our dream life come true, even so faintly for an hour or two we live vicariously thru others.
I say to hell with that, it aught to be a reality, our reality.
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