Experiment

I deleted my blog a while back, but just got it back, I think.  We shall see.

Cross Country Trip

At the end of May, 2010 I'm gonna take my iron horse across the country to see what I can see. After a few detours I want to go up the Pacific Coast Highway and look at the big trees that I have never seen

Our buddy Tyco!

On the morning of December 9, 2009 our little buddy Tyco, aka "Fat Man" died in his sleep. This is the third French Bulldog that has died for no apparent reason. Fat Man was a good little fella and we miss him a lot. His border terrier buddy, Grissom, misses him as well.

What's next?

I think it's pretty embarrasing that Chicago was the first city eliminated from olmpic consideration a couple of days ago. I gotta admit, it ain't the least bit surprising. A young fella was beaten to death with sticks while on his way home from school. Hundreds of students are shot and wounded or killed in Chicago schools annually. Corruption seems to be the normal way of conducting business and of course the distinguished former Govenor set an excellent example to follow. The president has gone around the world apologizing for the arrogance of this country and pointing out its flaws. He then has the gall to try and get the IOC to pick Chicago to host the olympics. Why would they? Obama has made it clear this country in not worthy.

Disgusted

I’m so effing disgusted I don’t know what to do! When I first joined the Marine Corps in 1971, I was meritoriously promoted to PFC upon graduation from boot camp. My salary was $149.10 a month, $1789.20 a year. As a normal work year is 2080 hours; that equates to about 86 cents per hour. When I got off active duty in 1977, I was making a blazing $671.10 per month base pay. When I joined the Chesterfield County Police Department the same year, I was making $9300 a year. In 1979 I had a brand new house built. It wasn’t anything fancy. A rancher with 1.5 bathrooms, 3 bedrooms, on 1.5 acres, it was more than adequate. At $35,000 I wondered how I would pay for it. As it turned out, it was not a problem. Somehow I always managed to have money in my pocket. I paid as I went and didn’t over extend myself.
Fast forward to 2006 when I retired from the police department. I had built a new house six years previously on 8 acres. It had three bedrooms, each with a full bathroom, a nice big living room with a guest half-bathroom. The mortgage was for $124,000. I since acquired an F-250 diesel pickup truck and two Harley-Davidson motorcycles. These possessions represent my life’s work. The things that got lost along the way are collateral damage and not worth mentioning any more. Over the past 38 years, a significant portion of my earnings have been taken in the form of taxes. I have never objected to paying my fair share in the past. I am now, however having a change of heart. There are many people in this country, legally or otherwise, who have not contributed their fair share and I am losing my sense of humor with them and the liberal government that wants to subsidize them, at my expense.
I never had children, but I pay for schools, busses, teachers and special programs that parents demand for their kids. I have dogs that do not cost anyone other than me money. I have to buy a license for them. Why don’t parents have to purchase a license for their kids? Why do I have to subsidize them? Why am I required to contribute funds to people that are third or fourth generation welfare recipients who have never worked and have no intention of ever working?
I suppose part of my disgust is the realization that 52% of the population wants to socialize this country. I also realize that of that 52%, many are the recipients, not contributors, of the welfare and entitlement mentality who do nothing for the good of the cause. With this many socialists and welfare recipients, it is not mathematically possible for working Americans to have a voice that is heard anymore. Politicians make a career of their chosen field. They depend on votes. It does not appear to make a difference to them that a majority of their voters are sponges upon the rest of us who provide the finances to enable their lifestyle. I’m disgusted and I don’t know if I’m gonna get over it any time soon.

The news is depressing

At 1735 I was watching the news. I should have known better. The federal government is looking at raising the tax on gasoline. Why? Because we ain't driving enough miles to give them the funds they are accustomed to. All the squealing about Americans cutting back and conserving fuel; we do, now the tax goes up. It is beyond crazy. Why don't they do like the rest of us and live within their means? I withdraw the stupid question! The billions that are given away every year to non-contributors should be the first place to save. It will never happen though! The non-contributors continue to vote for those that will spend our tax money on them. The politicians don't give a damn about anything other than getting re-elected and so, around and around it goes. While I'm on a rant, if you think Bernie Madoff pulled the biggest ponzi scheme in the history of the world, wait and see what happens with the social security system in the near future. You ain't seen a scam until this one comes to light!

Computahs are too complicated

Well, I thought I was pretty smart posting a blog. As I was admiring my literary masterpiece, I decided to do some more. The problem was it took an hour to get to the point where I could type something again. I guess you have to log in from scratch again. Maybe when I figure all this voodoo out, I can come back and delete the first experimental posts. I'm gonna try and cut and paste a trip log that I wrote a while ago. Who knows what will happen!.

I made a trip to Vernal, Utah in July, 2006 and met up with my old Marine Corps buddy from 1975. I did not take any pictures until I got to Sedalia, Colorado. In fact, I didn’t even get a map until I got to Lamar, Co. When I left home, I figured on riding about 350 miles a day. The longest trip I had ever taken was 360 miles in one day up to that point. When I got to Charleston, WV, I thought that would make a good stopping point. The weather was perfect and if I stopped then, there would be nothing to do other than twiddle my thumbs and watch guiding light on the television. I continued westward. Many bikes blew by me with a wife of girlfriend on the back and I couldn’t figure out how they were going so fast with such apparent ease. I promised the bride I would call her at 2000 each evening to let her know I was still alive and well. At the appointed time, I pulled off interstate 64 and told her the trip was going fine and I was passing through the Hoosier National Forest in Indiana. By the end of the first day, I had gone 713 miles. At the end of the third day, I pulled into Pueblo, Colorado. I didn’t think that was too bad on a softail deuce with no windshield. I found a Harley shop, but they had just closed for the day. Had they been open, I may have traded my bike in for something designed for doing the miles I had done and anticipated in the near future. The trip ended up being 5316 miles in eight days of riding. Once in Colorado and Utah I wished there was a way to let the missus and those I knew east of the Blue Ridge to appreciate the scenery that I had seen. While riding through the Gunnison National Forest I was laughing to myself how insignificant we humans are on the grand scheme of things. Having to deal with urban sprawl on a daily basis, this was unbelievable. As I was getting ready to leave Vernal and head home, I looked at a map and figured Yellowstone was about a good days ride due north. The chance of being this far west anytime soon was minimal so I decided to take a look-see. Sure am glad I did. As it was a Sunday, there were lots of tourists and many traffic backups for some reason. It didn’t take long to figure out why the congestion was so bad. I had stopped and taken a picture of some bison about a hundred yards away. I thought I had really captured a photo masterpiece. Little did I know the beasts were standing in the road a mile away and snarled traffic while people were getting close up shots. As I made my way past some of these critters, if I had three arms I could have reached out and touched them; they were that close and massive. As I was ready to go home and see my bride I headed out of fishing bridge, eastbound. By the time I got to Cody, Wyoming, it was time for a break. I holed up at the Western Six Gun Motel ready for a piece of steak meat and a frosty malt beverage. The motel clerk said there was a steak place just down the road, so that’s where I headed. That was the best piece of blackened prime rib I have ever eaten, (Cassie’s supper club). Not until weeks later did I learn the history of the place. The next morning I got up at zero dark thirty to make an early start on the way home. As I was going to the motel office to turn in my key, there was a baby blue BMW a couple of rooms down from where I had stayed. I thought, that’s an unusual color, I had only ever seen one like that before. It had Virginia tags on it too. Upon entering the office a woman, wearing a Richmond BMW Riders tee shirt was coming out the door. I asked, “Is that your BMW?” She said it was. I then asked if she had eaten breakfast at Poe’s Pub in Richmond. She had this incredulous look and confirmed she had. I informed her I had seen her and her bike there the year before. Although I didn’t know her, she was so excited and took me into the motel lobby where her husband was partaking of the normal motel breakfast food. I recognized him immediately from Poe’s Pub, although I didn’t know his name either. We chatted for a while and compared travel notes. It really is a small world. The scenery that day was beyond description. I stopped for gas in Dayton Wyoming after coming through the Bighorn National Forest. Although I was in town for less than five minutes, I think I want to live there. Although I was now behind schedule due to my detour, I figured I might as well go by Sturgis, just to say I had been there. They were ramping up for the annual festivities and I proceeded on to Deadwood to spend the night. Now I realized how close I was to Mount Rushmore, so the following morning I headed south and took a picture to the monument. I headed back North and went through the Badlands National Park on Hwy. 44. That night I had made it to Council Bluffs, Iowa. The deuce was running like a Swiss watch, but I realized it was not designed for doing what I was doing on it. Now I was to the point where all I wanted to do was get home. Next stop was Jeffersontown, KY where I crashed for the night. Next day I was home by mid-afternoon. I went thousands of miles and never saw any litter anywhere. Crossing the Virginia state line coming home, there was more garbage in one mile than I had seen in days, west of Missouri. On 3/10/07, I put my trusty deuce on consignment at the local Harley shop and rode out on a 2007 Ultra Classic. Now I know how those couples blew by me at 75 mph. Now I need to find the time to do some touring in luxury. AM/FM, CD player, cruise control and somewhere to stash everything one needs to take on a trip. I suppose that now makes me an official old guy, riding this geezer-glide. It sure is sweet though.