“Oh, crap. He’s got a gun.”
I heard his words, but his voice, breathing and body language told me “no sweat.” I continued squinting at the SoCal page in the atlas. Bill, my youngest, two days out of the Marine Corps, would let me know when it was time to duck.
After I found what I wanted on the map, I looked up. “Who does?”
“The guy we just talked to.”
“What the hell was he doing with it?”
“Gettin’ it outta his truck. He took it inside that house.”
“What kinda gun?”
“I think it was a M-16. It coulda been a paint ball gun, or something. Sometimes they make ‘em pretty real looking. But I think it was real.” The Marine “thinks” it was real. Great.
Another piece for the “Carl” puzzle came into view because of a simple random turn off the interstate. This trip was getting better all the time.
We had left Camp Pendleton 3 ½ hours earlier and driven at reasonable speeds, non-stop, and STILL were surrounded by SoCal. Hell, even in Wyoming you can get someplace in three hours! Our goal for the day was Vandenberg AFB, but I didn’t think we were going to make it. And, the morning and travel coffee had gone through me. It was time for a break and map check. I had picked an exit and two blocks east of the interstate I was on a busy street lined with strip malls, small parking lots and heavy traffic. A pair of stoplights later I turned into a nice residential neighborhood where I pulled to the curb. When I came out of the camper, the fellow we would soon know as Carl was watching from his front door. I locked the camper, put away the steps and went back into the truck cab to study the map, Bill watched the fellow walk across the street to his own truck, an F450 with a work bed, fetch a hat, then approach my window and stand there looking in.
“Dad, we got company.”
I looked through the side window. A blonde, shaggy-haired fellow in his thirties with a deep tan grinned from beneath the wide brim of an outback hat. SoCal casual dress with an open cotton shirt and Bermudas, he looked large, but clean and non-threatening. I pressed button to move the window.
“Nice rig.” He motioned to the camper.
“Yeah, thanks, we like it.”
“How much it cost you?”
I told him I got a good deal.
“How much?” He was insistent. When I grew up, it was considered impolite to discuss the price of our toys, but I didn’t see any harm in telling him. I did.
“That’s a pretty good deal. I been thinking about a camper. Nice truck, too.”
“Thanks.” I waited for him to ask for the bill-of-sale. Bill seemed amused.
“Why are you parked in front of my house?” Ah. His real agenda.
“Just a random stop.” I went on to tell him generally where we were coming from and going to, and explained I had needed a break. He said “you’re sticker says Air Force,” motioning to my window decal. “Whatcha doing on Camp Pendleton?”
I explained that Bill had just finished his tour of duty.
Things started to loosen up a bit and we chatted for a few minutes with Carl, who had finally introduced himself, as had we to him. He claimed to have arrived from Oregon some years earlier and just stayed. I told him I had grabbed the Air Force ticket out of NoCal in the 70s and ridden that in and out of Wyoming over a long career before retiring there. About every other sentence, Carl mentioned how peculiar it was we stopped in front of his house, but between his expressions of wonder and curiosity he had some good information.
“Carl,” if that was who he was (hindsight says that’s unlikely), suggested we forget Vandenberg for the day and get over to the coast and stop instead at Point Magu Naval base. That sounded appealing and we thanked him. He asked if we were going on our way then, and I said “yep.”
I was on a narrow street with an intersecting street a block ahead, but when I got there it was labeled “no exit” and the street we were on also had a sign posted “dead end.” I pulled forward, backed into the side street and turned around, then parked. No sign of Carl. I went back to the map to check on Carl’s directions. That’s when Carl again emerged to fetch his “toy” from his truck. He had returned to the house before I looked up. A few minutes later he surfaced to fetch a young girl from a school bus that had pulled in, then disappeared again with her in tow. Maybe worry about the kid or the school bus zone had ignited his paranoia.
Bill and I did stop at Point Magu, after backtracking to the road that Carl recommended and finding a posted weight limit of 8,000 pounds. We found another passage over to the coast and liked Point Magu so much we stayed for three days. Some of that time was spent speculating about Carl. Cop? Not likely. He would have known about a weight limit on the road he recommended. Drug dealer? We both felt comfortable with that, and his story grew periodically over the course of our two week trip.
If I had been driving or towing some monstrosity, that whole scenario would never have played out, We would not have stopped at Point Magu and the story of the trip would have been a whole lot less interesting.
The summer of travel in the PUC has been filled with stories arising from similar detours; none of them as melodramatic as the Carl episode. I take the PUC into random turns where larger vehicles dare not tread and this has proven to be much more fun than previous summers with an itinerary carefully planned to accommodate a trailer. I call these side trips my “left turns,” because the ideas seem to come out of left field. I’ll post more Left Turn stories here in the coming weeks.
© 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Bigger sucks money! What would Goldilocks choose? (PUC - PT III)
If you’ve been following the story, you know that by the end of our 6 month quest to become fulltime RVers, we ended up with a home but no RV. That summer didn’t go quite as planned, eh?
But we still wanted to travel-- lots. (At this point, we sort of figured that after what we had done for this HOA, perhaps one of our neighbors might be willing to keep an eye out for billowing smoke, gushing water or strange people with a moving van at the garage while we were gone.)
The search was on. The goal of a reliable and reasonable RV proved to be a sticking point. Our time spent researching our options ended up saving us gobs of money and probably an equal amount of grief. (For a start on your own research, you can click on the links on the left side of this page.)
Recreational vehicles, homes to some, toys for others, have not been immune to the growth craze. You can buy a Class A rig (a bus with a bed and a designer kitchen) in any length from about 22 up to 45 feet. Owners of these latter monstrosities tow about anything they want, including full-blown trailer-garages for their SUVs.
Maybe something a bit less conspicuous for us.
Also available are little “teardrop” trailers that provide the minimum in shelter requirements for those who might enjoy towing around a conversation piece and cooking in the rain. We did enough of that when we were tent camping.
Maybe something in between.
Our two previous RVs have been “fifth wheels.” These trailers are intended to provide a stable and safe towing experience, a comfie to roomy living space, and offer anywhere from “some” to “lots” of storage space. Those features are the intent of the design. A few companies achieve some or all of those goals. Fivers come in lengths up to 40 feet. When we started our search, we thought we wanted to stick with this design. But we had had some “issues” with the two we had previously owned and we didn’t want to make another mistake. What we learned, in a nutshell, is that common benchmarks such as cost, size, and manufacturer or brand popularity, provide no assurance of trouble-free living and traveling. And, the service nightmares people experience would provide ample material for a whole new book-length tirade.
Then, through some fluke of forum clicks, the truck camper world revealed itself to us.
One of the problems with hauling around a trailer is the damn thing is always there when you’re moving from one camp to the next. The sheer size limits the sightseeing possibilities during a day of travel. For a full-timer who has all the time in the world, this may not be an issue; for a vacationer, it’s a pain in the a**!
While we had not been completely ignorant of the existence of slide-in campers, we were certainly uninformed of new designs and capabilities. Something prompted me to look at this category of RV and I stumbled across an article “10 Reasons to Own a Truck Camper.” Click on the Truck Camper magazine link at left, and page through the archives to January of ’07. Don’t forget to come back!
It was a few easy steps from that article to the decision to buy a slide-in camper-- my PUC (“pick-up cabin” for those who failed to read the earlier postings. Naughty!) There are far fewer manufacturers of slide-in campers, because they are sort of a niche market. But, most of those manufacturers are far more attentive to quality and customer service than are most makers of other RVs.
Further research convinced me that Interior Products in Penticton, British Columbia, the maker of Snowbird and Snowriver slide-in campers, was the best of many good choices. The owner, Bob Mehrer, builds about 150 of his campers a year with a staff that has been with him for many, many years. (See Truck Camper magazine, Sept 07, for a company profile.) It is hard to find any sort of complaint about his products, anywhere. If one arises, Bob has been known to get out in the field and fix it himself. The man is a legend. That worked for me. A Snowriver it was and is. (see http://www.snowbirdcamper.com/)
In theory, the idea of a slide-in camper would seem to provide low hassles (no brakes, axles, tires or registration) and large convenience (can go and park almost anywhere I can drive the truck.)
Did practice prove the theory? After eight thousand miles of happy travel this summer, I would say “YES!”
I’ll share some of those travel adventures over the course of the winter. Then, I’ll start all over again in the spring. BUT, before I start traveling next year, one thing is certain: I will NOT have to spend hundreds of dollars on such issues as bearing/brake maintenance/adjustment or licensing fees!
MADWAA is one HAPPY monkey.
But we still wanted to travel-- lots. (At this point, we sort of figured that after what we had done for this HOA, perhaps one of our neighbors might be willing to keep an eye out for billowing smoke, gushing water or strange people with a moving van at the garage while we were gone.)
The search was on. The goal of a reliable and reasonable RV proved to be a sticking point. Our time spent researching our options ended up saving us gobs of money and probably an equal amount of grief. (For a start on your own research, you can click on the links on the left side of this page.)
Recreational vehicles, homes to some, toys for others, have not been immune to the growth craze. You can buy a Class A rig (a bus with a bed and a designer kitchen) in any length from about 22 up to 45 feet. Owners of these latter monstrosities tow about anything they want, including full-blown trailer-garages for their SUVs.
Maybe something a bit less conspicuous for us.
Also available are little “teardrop” trailers that provide the minimum in shelter requirements for those who might enjoy towing around a conversation piece and cooking in the rain. We did enough of that when we were tent camping.
Maybe something in between.
Our two previous RVs have been “fifth wheels.” These trailers are intended to provide a stable and safe towing experience, a comfie to roomy living space, and offer anywhere from “some” to “lots” of storage space. Those features are the intent of the design. A few companies achieve some or all of those goals. Fivers come in lengths up to 40 feet. When we started our search, we thought we wanted to stick with this design. But we had had some “issues” with the two we had previously owned and we didn’t want to make another mistake. What we learned, in a nutshell, is that common benchmarks such as cost, size, and manufacturer or brand popularity, provide no assurance of trouble-free living and traveling. And, the service nightmares people experience would provide ample material for a whole new book-length tirade.
Then, through some fluke of forum clicks, the truck camper world revealed itself to us.
One of the problems with hauling around a trailer is the damn thing is always there when you’re moving from one camp to the next. The sheer size limits the sightseeing possibilities during a day of travel. For a full-timer who has all the time in the world, this may not be an issue; for a vacationer, it’s a pain in the a**!
While we had not been completely ignorant of the existence of slide-in campers, we were certainly uninformed of new designs and capabilities. Something prompted me to look at this category of RV and I stumbled across an article “10 Reasons to Own a Truck Camper.” Click on the Truck Camper magazine link at left, and page through the archives to January of ’07. Don’t forget to come back!
It was a few easy steps from that article to the decision to buy a slide-in camper-- my PUC (“pick-up cabin” for those who failed to read the earlier postings. Naughty!) There are far fewer manufacturers of slide-in campers, because they are sort of a niche market. But, most of those manufacturers are far more attentive to quality and customer service than are most makers of other RVs.
Further research convinced me that Interior Products in Penticton, British Columbia, the maker of Snowbird and Snowriver slide-in campers, was the best of many good choices. The owner, Bob Mehrer, builds about 150 of his campers a year with a staff that has been with him for many, many years. (See Truck Camper magazine, Sept 07, for a company profile.) It is hard to find any sort of complaint about his products, anywhere. If one arises, Bob has been known to get out in the field and fix it himself. The man is a legend. That worked for me. A Snowriver it was and is. (see http://www.snowbirdcamper.com/)
In theory, the idea of a slide-in camper would seem to provide low hassles (no brakes, axles, tires or registration) and large convenience (can go and park almost anywhere I can drive the truck.)
Did practice prove the theory? After eight thousand miles of happy travel this summer, I would say “YES!”
I’ll share some of those travel adventures over the course of the winter. Then, I’ll start all over again in the spring. BUT, before I start traveling next year, one thing is certain: I will NOT have to spend hundreds of dollars on such issues as bearing/brake maintenance/adjustment or licensing fees!
MADWAA is one HAPPY monkey.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Senseless economic tragedies
I interrupt the story of PUC acquisition to bring you a pair of breaking news stories of tragic proportions.
First, the morning news has reported that a slew of the world’s billionaires did NOT make the annual Forbes 400 list of richest people. Can you imagine the devastation those also-rans are feeling? Must be a tremendous blow to their egos. Some of these fellas (or gals) must be having trouble choking down their morning bowl of designer Cheerios. I’m certain we will soon see demands that Forbes increases their list to 500. Why should they be immune to inflation?
They could increase the list to many thousands and still not capture Wyoming’s Governor! That’s right-- according to this week’s local news, we have a veritable pauper in the top chair at our capitol. The poor guy draws a salary of only $105,000 a year (plus free rent and a couple other bennies!) This is news because the local journal finds it easier to reprint press releases than to go out and find real news.
It seems to me that $105,000/year isn’t much for a Governor of anything, even Wyoming, given the crap factor in those jobs. But it is still a pretty good chunk of money by Wyoming standards. Most of us living here are not familiar with six digit salaries (unless we count the digits to the right of the decimal point, which I like to do when conversing with my relatives in California. In fact, I even count the decimal point and report an income of being in the low EIGHT digits!)
Back to our Governor.
“Governor Dave” (as he is quaintly referred to) is trying to keep a stiff upper lip, but this “low” salary is apparently causing some problems on the home front. Seems he is having a little trouble making ends meet, what with college tuition for his kids and so forth. As a matter of fact, he reportedly told the local journal that he actually has to depend on his wife’s income to make ends meet. (She is an attorney!)
MY GAWD - can you imagine any other two-income couple having to depend on BOTH incomes to make ends meet? What is the world coming to? Next thing you know, we’ll be hearing about people having to hold down more than one job to scrape by.
Oh. Wait. That’s the way most of us already live.
Sorry Governor Dave, the sympathy level from this corner is low. Good luck to you.
First, the morning news has reported that a slew of the world’s billionaires did NOT make the annual Forbes 400 list of richest people. Can you imagine the devastation those also-rans are feeling? Must be a tremendous blow to their egos. Some of these fellas (or gals) must be having trouble choking down their morning bowl of designer Cheerios. I’m certain we will soon see demands that Forbes increases their list to 500. Why should they be immune to inflation?
They could increase the list to many thousands and still not capture Wyoming’s Governor! That’s right-- according to this week’s local news, we have a veritable pauper in the top chair at our capitol. The poor guy draws a salary of only $105,000 a year (plus free rent and a couple other bennies!) This is news because the local journal finds it easier to reprint press releases than to go out and find real news.
It seems to me that $105,000/year isn’t much for a Governor of anything, even Wyoming, given the crap factor in those jobs. But it is still a pretty good chunk of money by Wyoming standards. Most of us living here are not familiar with six digit salaries (unless we count the digits to the right of the decimal point, which I like to do when conversing with my relatives in California. In fact, I even count the decimal point and report an income of being in the low EIGHT digits!)
Back to our Governor.
“Governor Dave” (as he is quaintly referred to) is trying to keep a stiff upper lip, but this “low” salary is apparently causing some problems on the home front. Seems he is having a little trouble making ends meet, what with college tuition for his kids and so forth. As a matter of fact, he reportedly told the local journal that he actually has to depend on his wife’s income to make ends meet. (She is an attorney!)
MY GAWD - can you imagine any other two-income couple having to depend on BOTH incomes to make ends meet? What is the world coming to? Next thing you know, we’ll be hearing about people having to hold down more than one job to scrape by.
Oh. Wait. That’s the way most of us already live.
Sorry Governor Dave, the sympathy level from this corner is low. Good luck to you.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Pet Peeves
Dear Customer: In order to further enhance your shopping experience (and our profit margin) we are cutting back on the quality of our products and will focus solely on quantity. Come back often..
What rule of blogger insanity dictates that your typos will remain hidden until your work is posted?
What rule of blogger insanity dictates that your typos will remain hidden until your work is posted?
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Bigger stuff is bigger problems (or - How I came to the PUC, PT II)
Our life’s album grows heavier with each snapshot that emerges from a unique combination of lenses and filters. If you witness fights, shootings and ATF raids at your favorite bar, perhaps you’ll go elsewhere. Or, maybe you’ll arm yourself with a .44 magnum and continue to hang out in the place.
My own lenses and filters have been showing me that the American snapshot of “bigger is better” may be an optical illusion.
I bought my first house in 1977 for $12,500. It was pretty basic-- five-and-a-half rooms, 1 bath, no basement, shaky garage. But it was a dry, warm home that should have met my needs. But, as loyal adherents to American Values, we were forever climbing the property ladder (and other silly ladders.) A few years ago I thought I hit the jackpot when I found a town home billed as MAINTENANCE FREE for what I considered a “reasonable price.”
“Maintenance Free” in the homeowner market (vs the condo market) is real-estate-speak meaning “someone else will cut your lawn and move the snow from your sidewalk if “the group” can find someone affordable who feels like showing up when the work needs doing.” Oh, Boy, was I looking forward to no more mowing or shoveling! The almighty “Homeowners’ Association” could worry about that. Now, I are the Association and I handle the funds, administer the lawn care contract and perform the snow removal duties myself for all 14 units in the group. You might imagine how underwhelmed I am with this picture of the “bigger” life.
That snapshot, along with other fuzzy results, drove my handler and me to seriously consider a life of full-time RVing. For those outside the RV universe, what that lifestyle entails is unloading most possessions and living and traveling full time in a home selected from amongst a vast array of “recreational vehicles” on the market today. Hundreds of thousands of people, it seems, have chosen this lifestyle, and it had strong appeal to us.
We have owned one form or another of RV for many years. Each one, of course, was larger than the last. We had never really, actually, researched any of our purchases; we just snapped up what we liked and could afford. The results have been, as you might imagine, something less than fully satisfactory (although each rig, in its own way, has carried us through many happy days and nights of so-called “camping.”)
So, after much thought, we put our house and our then-current RV on the market and started to actually research what we would purchase as a suitable “full-time” RV. We informed family and friends of what we were doing, held a garage sale, made lists of which of our dear possessions would go to which family members and generally spent several months preparing and planning for a life on the road.
Man makes plans and God laughs.
Our RV sold, our house did not. We had decided to sell about the same day that the world of real estate was beginning a downward spiral. After six months of lookee-loos traipsing through our home and the loss of one or two sales through various screw-ups, we took the house off the market and begun, again, to compose our next frame. Out of all this turmoil, one clear picture emerged: we had to spend more time traveling (kids and grandkids halfway across the country, life wasting away, etc.) and we absolutely wanted to do this via a reliable and reasonable RV. The next snapshot was going to have to be a work of art or our little album would (not to add too much flare) be destined for the flea market, not the auction house.
The PUC is only a hockey stick and ice chip away-- keep reading.
My own lenses and filters have been showing me that the American snapshot of “bigger is better” may be an optical illusion.
I bought my first house in 1977 for $12,500. It was pretty basic-- five-and-a-half rooms, 1 bath, no basement, shaky garage. But it was a dry, warm home that should have met my needs. But, as loyal adherents to American Values, we were forever climbing the property ladder (and other silly ladders.) A few years ago I thought I hit the jackpot when I found a town home billed as MAINTENANCE FREE for what I considered a “reasonable price.”
“Maintenance Free” in the homeowner market (vs the condo market) is real-estate-speak meaning “someone else will cut your lawn and move the snow from your sidewalk if “the group” can find someone affordable who feels like showing up when the work needs doing.” Oh, Boy, was I looking forward to no more mowing or shoveling! The almighty “Homeowners’ Association” could worry about that. Now, I are the Association and I handle the funds, administer the lawn care contract and perform the snow removal duties myself for all 14 units in the group. You might imagine how underwhelmed I am with this picture of the “bigger” life.
That snapshot, along with other fuzzy results, drove my handler and me to seriously consider a life of full-time RVing. For those outside the RV universe, what that lifestyle entails is unloading most possessions and living and traveling full time in a home selected from amongst a vast array of “recreational vehicles” on the market today. Hundreds of thousands of people, it seems, have chosen this lifestyle, and it had strong appeal to us.
We have owned one form or another of RV for many years. Each one, of course, was larger than the last. We had never really, actually, researched any of our purchases; we just snapped up what we liked and could afford. The results have been, as you might imagine, something less than fully satisfactory (although each rig, in its own way, has carried us through many happy days and nights of so-called “camping.”)
So, after much thought, we put our house and our then-current RV on the market and started to actually research what we would purchase as a suitable “full-time” RV. We informed family and friends of what we were doing, held a garage sale, made lists of which of our dear possessions would go to which family members and generally spent several months preparing and planning for a life on the road.
Man makes plans and God laughs.
Our RV sold, our house did not. We had decided to sell about the same day that the world of real estate was beginning a downward spiral. After six months of lookee-loos traipsing through our home and the loss of one or two sales through various screw-ups, we took the house off the market and begun, again, to compose our next frame. Out of all this turmoil, one clear picture emerged: we had to spend more time traveling (kids and grandkids halfway across the country, life wasting away, etc.) and we absolutely wanted to do this via a reliable and reasonable RV. The next snapshot was going to have to be a work of art or our little album would (not to add too much flare) be destined for the flea market, not the auction house.
The PUC is only a hockey stick and ice chip away-- keep reading.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Pet Peeves
Dear Customer: In order to serve you better, we are cutting back our hours and staff and raising our prices.
Bigger ain’t always better (or How I came to own a PUC) Pt I of ?
Bigger is not always better. That sounds kinda cliché, but think about it. Some years ago DOS evolved into Windows and we are still searching for lost documents and recovering crashed systems.
But I’m not going to spend the day ragging on Microsoft. I’m keeping this local.
The last couple years, I‘ve been doing some banana-fetching for a rather small (read one-man) operation. He does some pretty phenomenal programming. The first few years in business he landed some nice contracts and did the job asked for in the time allotted for a cost that stayed within budget. When his clients wanted him, they could place a local call or send an e-mail, and get HIM. But then he hit a dry spell. Some of his clients, with their ever-increasing budgets, moved on to larger, out-of-state companies. Bigger is better. More cost, less accessibility, larger disasters. Some of those big boys missed the target. Now, some agencies are coming back to my boss with requests to “please fix this!” I wonder if his business will eventually grow? Then what? Hmmmmm?
We’ve seen it happen too many times to our favorite businesses. The small restaurants grow and by the time the wait staff is finished annoying us, all we can think to tell them is-- “City sanitation is hiring: Go Now!” Small mom-and-pops are run out by box-marts and the selection grows right along with the crowds and tension. Our town has been on a push for more growth over the last several years. Bigger is better, right? Some of us aren’t crazy about increasing traffic, taxes and other annoyances that come with growth. One local editor, a fellow from elsewhere, tells disgruntled locals if we don’t like it we can get out. Ain’t that rich?
A couple (small) shops I have visited recently for various repairs have come under the same “growth is better” delusion. On two occasions in two businesses in the last month, I have been promised parts would be ordered and I would be called when they arrived. With both orders, I had to follow up after a couple weeks by calling, reminding the people of who I was and what I wanted and what they had promised (they acted like I was calling from Saudi Arabia asking for a custom camel saddle.) I’m still waiting for one order from a guy who-- while I was in his shop-- was telling me how he had bought out another business and is expanding. Geez, man, how much money do you need? How many customers? How many headaches?
But these businesses and institutions that I have been ranting about are all run by Individuals. Like You and Me.
The problem is we are not content to remain static. Most of us are forever climbing after that bigger paycheck, larger home, greater collection of higher priced toys. I have not been immune to this silliness, but I am learning (finally.)
This is where the PUC comes along. Stay tuned.
But I’m not going to spend the day ragging on Microsoft. I’m keeping this local.
The last couple years, I‘ve been doing some banana-fetching for a rather small (read one-man) operation. He does some pretty phenomenal programming. The first few years in business he landed some nice contracts and did the job asked for in the time allotted for a cost that stayed within budget. When his clients wanted him, they could place a local call or send an e-mail, and get HIM. But then he hit a dry spell. Some of his clients, with their ever-increasing budgets, moved on to larger, out-of-state companies. Bigger is better. More cost, less accessibility, larger disasters. Some of those big boys missed the target. Now, some agencies are coming back to my boss with requests to “please fix this!” I wonder if his business will eventually grow? Then what? Hmmmmm?
We’ve seen it happen too many times to our favorite businesses. The small restaurants grow and by the time the wait staff is finished annoying us, all we can think to tell them is-- “City sanitation is hiring: Go Now!” Small mom-and-pops are run out by box-marts and the selection grows right along with the crowds and tension. Our town has been on a push for more growth over the last several years. Bigger is better, right? Some of us aren’t crazy about increasing traffic, taxes and other annoyances that come with growth. One local editor, a fellow from elsewhere, tells disgruntled locals if we don’t like it we can get out. Ain’t that rich?
A couple (small) shops I have visited recently for various repairs have come under the same “growth is better” delusion. On two occasions in two businesses in the last month, I have been promised parts would be ordered and I would be called when they arrived. With both orders, I had to follow up after a couple weeks by calling, reminding the people of who I was and what I wanted and what they had promised (they acted like I was calling from Saudi Arabia asking for a custom camel saddle.) I’m still waiting for one order from a guy who-- while I was in his shop-- was telling me how he had bought out another business and is expanding. Geez, man, how much money do you need? How many customers? How many headaches?
But these businesses and institutions that I have been ranting about are all run by Individuals. Like You and Me.
The problem is we are not content to remain static. Most of us are forever climbing after that bigger paycheck, larger home, greater collection of higher priced toys. I have not been immune to this silliness, but I am learning (finally.)
This is where the PUC comes along. Stay tuned.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Pet Peeves
New arrivals in town who don’t even have their baggage unloaded before they start spouting off about how the locals should behave.
Moving right along...
Every news story on the small screen this weekend had a blip about the crash of a dragster in Brisbane, Australia. As it was reported, the guy shot off the line, approached 300 miles per hour, then crashed. I don’t know about the reported speed. Three hundred miles per seems kinda quick to me. I’m not saying the talking heads were lying, but that community has been known to suffer the occasional bout with FDS: fact deficiency syndrome.
At any rate, pictures don’t lie, and the crash was caught on film. The dragster came off the line quicker than the cameras zipping to the latest train wreck in someone’s life out in star land. Then the car became airborne, rolled, crashed to the ground, split apart and exploded in flames. All this in about 2 - 3 seconds. It was a brutal sight.
Protective gear is key to extreme sports today. A driver on the track will be protected by a pretty tough roll cage and wearing a flame retardant suit from head-to-toe along with helmet, boots and gloves that make the gear provided our country’s warriors seem like playground apparel.
So, despite a high speed impact and camera-pleasing flames, the guy walked away. With only a scratch on his hand. Yep, the cameras caught a picture of the upright driver showing his hand to a paramedic.
I don’t know how Australia and its people function. After all, the place is upside down and backwards to us, being located below the equator and half way around the world. Maybe people there are different. But probably not. Amazingly, gravity still works there, so one might assume that human nature functions about the same.
This all begs this monkey’s question of the day: How long before the driver or his partner sues the glove maker for failing to protect his invaluable pinky?
At any rate, pictures don’t lie, and the crash was caught on film. The dragster came off the line quicker than the cameras zipping to the latest train wreck in someone’s life out in star land. Then the car became airborne, rolled, crashed to the ground, split apart and exploded in flames. All this in about 2 - 3 seconds. It was a brutal sight.
Protective gear is key to extreme sports today. A driver on the track will be protected by a pretty tough roll cage and wearing a flame retardant suit from head-to-toe along with helmet, boots and gloves that make the gear provided our country’s warriors seem like playground apparel.
So, despite a high speed impact and camera-pleasing flames, the guy walked away. With only a scratch on his hand. Yep, the cameras caught a picture of the upright driver showing his hand to a paramedic.
I don’t know how Australia and its people function. After all, the place is upside down and backwards to us, being located below the equator and half way around the world. Maybe people there are different. But probably not. Amazingly, gravity still works there, so one might assume that human nature functions about the same.
This all begs this monkey’s question of the day: How long before the driver or his partner sues the glove maker for failing to protect his invaluable pinky?
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Inspiration........and Relaxation
Some days, it’s good to play in your own sandbox. Saturday was like that here in Cheyenne. Over the last week we celebrated the opening of our new library (pic) and the release of the Wyoming state quarter which features the legendary bucking bronc and rider capped with the reminder that we are “The Equality State.” Friday and Saturday brought us the Cheyenne Book Fest (yep, people out here read. It gives us something to do on those long stage coach rides.) I grabbed a bunch of bing cherries (no bananas!!!!) from the morning Farmer’s Market at Cheyenne Depot Plaza and was off to make the rounds.
Most of the event was staged around the State Capitol, Supreme Court Building (pardon our construction) and Barrett Building at the north end of the central district. Other events were held throughout downtown Cheyenne where a major facelift has been on-going for a decade and is still in progress.
Wyoming Poet Laureate, college professor and Fireants maestro David Romtvedt, (who would rather talk about traveling than anything else- my kind of guy!)
and UW Creative Writing professor and accomplished author Alyson Hagy, along with more than a dozen other 
authors, signed books and visited with friends and fans. When I was attending UW, I was too intimidated to sign up for a class given by David, but I enjoyed the heck out of his music while I played the role of “thorn in side” to the then new arrival Alyson. While chatting up Alyson one day about publishing, she looked at me in exasperation and said “You have to pay your dues first.” As a 46-year-old geezer-in-training who had just finished a 22+ year military career, among other accomplishments, I ridiculously believed I had paid my dues. But what did I know?
authors, signed books and visited with friends and fans. When I was attending UW, I was too intimidated to sign up for a class given by David, but I enjoyed the heck out of his music while I played the role of “thorn in side” to the then new arrival Alyson. While chatting up Alyson one day about publishing, she looked at me in exasperation and said “You have to pay your dues first.” As a 46-year-old geezer-in-training who had just finished a 22+ year military career, among other accomplishments, I ridiculously believed I had paid my dues. But what did I know?
Craig Johnson (author of three, soon to be four, Walt Longmire mysteries), Margaret Coel (creator of the long running Father John O’Malley mystery series) and C J Box (chronicler of seven, soon to be eight, adventures and mis-adventures of Wyoming Game Warden Joe Picket) talked to fans and “students” about writing mysteries set in the west. The panel was moderated by Bob Koeling, an English Professor at Northwest College in Powell, WY. (seated at far left- where else would you expect a college professor?) C J arrived fresh from the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers’ award ceremony Friday night where he received the “Writer of the Year” award.
In speaking of place as a contributor to - or character in- their books, they all agreed that the Wyoming landscape and culture are multi-layered, unique and critical to the development of their stories. Coel (a Colorado resident, but we forgive her of her sins) sets her series on the Wind River Indian reservation in central Wyoming. She talked about landscape space and says the characters “can’t go anywhere in less than 40 minutes.” Sure sounds like the Wyoming I know.
In speaking of place as a contributor to - or character in- their books, they all agreed that the Wyoming landscape and culture are multi-layered, unique and critical to the development of their stories. Coel (a Colorado resident, but we forgive her of her sins) sets her series on the Wind River Indian reservation in central Wyoming. She talked about landscape space and says the characters “can’t go anywhere in less than 40 minutes.” Sure sounds like the Wyoming I know.
Box (an outdoorsman in his own right) mentioned that the “hidden agendas” in small communities are more apparent than in urban settings.
And Johnson (a Wyomingite who did a stint as a NY cop) earned “understatement of the day” honors when he pointed out that “Things are more complex out here than may be immediately perceived.”
Another contributor to the discussion of place was Wyoming’s own Lynn Swanson who presented her outstanding impersonation of author Willa Cather (1873- 1947, My Antonia and so much more.) Ms. Cather tells us of how much she loved the farm in Nebraska, but how she could not write there so she was destined to be forever on the move, searching for a new home.
Yep, a writer does have to capture the feeling of the place where her/his characters play. That’s one of the tricks I haven’t fully mastered yet (which is why I’m sitting here writing this blat instead of resting up after a hard day of book signing and lecturing on the circuit with the above bunch.)
So, you ask (or maybe not) did MADWAA come away with any books?
Another contributor to the discussion of place was Wyoming’s own Lynn Swanson who presented her outstanding impersonation of author Willa Cather (1873- 1947, My Antonia and so much more.) Ms. Cather tells us of how much she loved the farm in Nebraska, but how she could not write there so she was destined to be forever on the move, searching for a new home.
Yep, a writer does have to capture the feeling of the place where her/his characters play. That’s one of the tricks I haven’t fully mastered yet (which is why I’m sitting here writing this blat instead of resting up after a hard day of book signing and lecturing on the circuit with the above bunch.)
So, you ask (or maybe not) did MADWAA come away with any books? Well, duh! It was a BOOK FEST and I’m addicted - probably (maybe) even more than the ever-present cigarette!
*************************************************************************************
The heck with inspiration- it was time for a change of pace. . .
And Cheyenne offered up such a change with the 2007 Cheyenne Greek Festival. This is an annual event that I try not to miss and it seems from the number of attendees that more people every year add this affair to their list of must-dos.
And Cheyenne offered up such a change with the 2007 Cheyenne Greek Festival. This is an annual event that I try not to miss and it seems from the number of attendees that more people every year add this affair to their list of must-dos.
The Greeks know how to have a good time-- food, booze and dance-- what more could a good-ole- monkey want?
My handler did a fine job of keeping me out of trouble here.
Below, the Cheyenne Greek Dancers perform the Syrto, while some young ladies from the Colorado Cretan Dance Group warm up outside.
And they have a sense of humor! My handler and I were enjoying the roast chicken dinner (with pasta, salad, drink and desert!!!) and some young boys (Jr. High school age, I imagine) were functioning as waiters extraordinaire . They made it their mission to ensure every diner had everything they could possibly ask for every two minutes. Finally, one of the young men came to our table and asked (agaaaaiiiiiinn) “Is everything all right?”
Before my handler could stop me, I blurted out “What if I said no?”
The young man, without missing a beat, said, “well, then, I guess I’d just have to ask you to get out” and he pointed to the door. That kid has a fine life ahead of him (maybe not in Wyoming customer service, but New York beckons!)
That concludes this week’s public service diatribe. Tomorrow I get crotchety.
That concludes this week’s public service diatribe. Tomorrow I get crotchety.
Now it’s time to perform the annual maintenance on the jacks that support MADWAA’s puc when it’s not on the truck. 
Friday, September 14, 2007
I like to escape
My slide-in truck camper has proven to be the perfect escape vehicle. I am going to christen it MADWAA's PUC (pick-up cabin.) One Canadian pundit suggested that it might get beaten to death with sticks. I pointed out to him the subtleties of SPELLING - i.e. my PUC is NOT a p-u-c-k. I'm waiting for a reply.
I'll write more about the camper in in the days and weeks to come, as well as share some of the advantages of a truck camper over other sorts of RVs (recreational vehicles). Of course this will raise the hackles of those dedicated to those other things. That's fine. They are entitled to travel the way they want to. My PUC works for me. It fits into nice, small, out of the way spots, as seen here.
This is one of the sites we visited this summer. It is the Popo Agie River in Sinks Canyon outside Lander, WY. A gorgeous spot.
Why I started a blog
"I don't know what I'm thinking until I write it down." (famous author- forget who.)
I need something to do while I am supposed to be writing my third novel. (Don't rush to the library. The first two haven't been published. Yet.)
It will give my children, other relatives and friends a way to keep track of me without the humiliation of overtly expressing an interest.
It gives me something to do while I am stored in the basement before my handler comes home.
Maybe I can amuse someone and make their day better.
I need something to do while I am supposed to be writing my third novel. (Don't rush to the library. The first two haven't been published. Yet.)
It will give my children, other relatives and friends a way to keep track of me without the humiliation of overtly expressing an interest.
It gives me something to do while I am stored in the basement before my handler comes home.
Maybe I can amuse someone and make their day better.
Not THAT MADWAA
I am going to save the CIA, FBI, ATF, OSI, IRS, DCI, CPD, LCSO, and other curious groups or people a great deal of trouble.
There is a MADWAA on myspace.com who claims to be a 19 year old female in Australia, I think. She uses the handle "clearly its madwaa." I am not her.
There is a MADWAA trading establishment in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. I am not connected in any way to that organization or whatever it is they are selling, bartering, buying, or wishing for.
There are a few hundred other MADWAA references that appear when a Google search is performed. Unless it has to to with this blog, or one of the RV forums or magazines on the web, or UW, or writing the Great American Novel, it is probably not me.
Okay, snoops, I've just saved you hours of cross-referencing, analyzing, pondering and naval-scratching. Send me a thank you note with SASE and I'll tell you where to send the check.
There is a MADWAA on myspace.com who claims to be a 19 year old female in Australia, I think. She uses the handle "clearly its madwaa." I am not her.
There is a MADWAA trading establishment in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. I am not connected in any way to that organization or whatever it is they are selling, bartering, buying, or wishing for.
There are a few hundred other MADWAA references that appear when a Google search is performed. Unless it has to to with this blog, or one of the RV forums or magazines on the web, or UW, or writing the Great American Novel, it is probably not me.
Okay, snoops, I've just saved you hours of cross-referencing, analyzing, pondering and naval-scratching. Send me a thank you note with SASE and I'll tell you where to send the check.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
How I came to be MADWAA
When I retired from the Air Force in 1995, I enrolled at the University of Wyoming. I naively thought my days of dealing with bureaucratic silliness were over. What the Hell did I know?
After days of one-damn-thing-after-another enrollment hoop-jumping with xfer credits, GI Bill bennies and class scheduling, I finally started classes. Then I learned I had to "report" to the computer lab and acquire a campus e-mail name! So, off I went to spend the next couple hours figuring out their computer system. By the time I FINALLY got to the point that asked what name I wanted to use, with all the requisite cautions against actually using my own name, I decided I was just an old, pissed-off, out-of-date dinosaur and tried to pick an appropriately descriptive name.
Hence: MADWAA - Middle-Aged Dude with an Attitude.
During the next three years, whenever an instructor would ask for my e-mail, they would tend to treat me with kid gloves until they figured out the name-- and me-- were all in good fun (usually! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA) .
After days of one-damn-thing-after-another enrollment hoop-jumping with xfer credits, GI Bill bennies and class scheduling, I finally started classes. Then I learned I had to "report" to the computer lab and acquire a campus e-mail name! So, off I went to spend the next couple hours figuring out their computer system. By the time I FINALLY got to the point that asked what name I wanted to use, with all the requisite cautions against actually using my own name, I decided I was just an old, pissed-off, out-of-date dinosaur and tried to pick an appropriately descriptive name.
Hence: MADWAA - Middle-Aged Dude with an Attitude.
During the next three years, whenever an instructor would ask for my e-mail, they would tend to treat me with kid gloves until they figured out the name-- and me-- were all in good fun (usually! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA) .
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