Free Puppies!!!

We've all seen the signs. "Free Puppies".

Free indeed. Free to pick up, but then there's the (fill in the blank). When those of us who have been beaten up by life see such signs now we grab our wallets and run away.

So ... my mother gave me a Corvette the other day.

For free.

A 1976 Corvette Stingray. Pretty cool. Last year of the Stingray.

I'm honored to own it. My mother, never a car guy, bought the car in 1981. Surprised us all. A CORVETTE?!?! Wow, cool Mom!

She drove it for 26 years (!). Even picked up a speeding ticket about ten years ago. The story slowly came out over time. Seems that when she was 75 years young she was following some old people going slow on a two lane road. Pokin' along, holding up traffic, irritating the heck out of my Mom. There was finally a break in traffic so she tromped on the go peddle and dusted them. Actually, she let the car ramp up a little bit more that necessary just to let the engine cool off. My Mother's engine, not the car's. Cops got her when she was slowing down. Took an airplane to do it. Clocked her at ten over. Good thing they got her on the down side. When the police car pulled her over I suspect the cop was expecting to greet some punk in a 'Vette, but instead met up with the Little Old Lady from Pasadena. Wrote the ticket anyway, the creep. When we (finally) learned about the ticket we asked her if she framed it and put it on the wall. Oh no, she says, you had to send it in with the check. What? You couldn't have made a copy first? Come on! Your kids would have been proud!

So anyway, I got the 'Vette. Flew down to visit my Mom and my wife suggested it would be a good time to bring it back. My brother thought it would be a good time to have it shipped back. The excellent tech guy with whom I work thought the same thing. My mother tells me three times she's a little worried about the condition of the tires. They look fine.

Wimps.

It's a Corvette for crying out loud! It's supposed to be driven!

And that's when this free puppy started getting expensive.

But you saw that coming, didn't you?

My Mother took it into the local shop near where she lives and asked the mechanic to ensure it was road worthy. The mechanic, at guy named Dave, was great. Very cautious. In fact, when he first called me after taking a look at the car he said "What are your intentions with this car?". I said, "Drive it to Virginia, and then make it my Sunday car". Dave said he would do what he could, but would not make any guaranteed. In fact, if pressed for an opinion he would advise against driving it that far. Probably should ship it.

Whatever, Dave. Join the growing line of wimps.

I suppose the first sign of trouble was when the radiator blew. Sitting in the shop. At night. Not doing anything. Since my main concerns were the cooling system and the rear axle bearings, this was fine with me. Drop a new radiator in that baby, Dave. And so he did.

The free puppy cost about $1,400 to get it out of Dave's shop. Visa actually called my wife questioning my sanity. Can you believe that?!? Wimps! WIMPS! WIMPS!

Dave says that the rear end is a little loose. The bushings are shot. (The car does squiggle a little bit on the on/exit ramps. I take it easy and end up being flipped off by soccer moms in minivans because I'm holding them up.)

I'm ready to go! Bring on the adventure!! Told my boss the trip home would take somewhere between 14 hours and five days. I was right. That's probably the most accurate forecast I've given my sales boss all year.

Tuesday morning, July 3rd, right after breakfast I hit the road. Since the Corvette is a heat pump and the air conditioning was not working, I had a case of water keeping me company on the passenger seat . Hi Yo Silver, awaaaaaay!

We blew through Florida!

We blew through Georgia!!

We blew through South Carolina!!!

We blew a tire in North Carolina!!!!! And I mean it blew. The left front tire literally exploded. All the way down to the rim. Steel belted shrapnel all over the place. I was probably going between 50 and 55 mph when the tire detonated. The car tried to swerve left into the center guard rail, taking me to whatever awaits us all on the other side of life. Although I'm an old fart I still have some fast reactions left, ("Growing old is not for sissies"), and was able to take the car to the right shoulder, tire parts leaving a trail of destruction behind me. I can't believe I didn't hit anybody with either rubber or fiberglass. I get out of the car and find that the exploding tire took out part of the fender and rocker panel under the door. It also nuked the charcoal canister and I have windshield washer fluid running out of the car like green snot.

Darn.

My Mother drove that car for 26 years and never bent it. I drive it for 10 hours and blow it up.

It's 6:00 the evening before a national holiday and I'm sitting beside the road one mile from the exit for the metropolis of Lumberton, NC.

Time to try out that towing service to which we subscribe.

Sure enough, within 30 minutes the tow truck driver arrives. In his car. With his family. What was he going to do, take pictures? They were on their way to South of the Border in South Carolina to buy fireworks. Bless his heart, he gets the tow truck and drags me over to the local Wal-Mart auto shop, who is getting ready to close up for the day. A young guy at Wal-Mart changes the tire for me. (My fragile male ego requires me to tell you that I DO know how to change a tire, but I couldn't get the bolt loose to lower the tire. Okay?!?).

So, $20 tip for the tow truck driver and $20 tip to the guy who changed the tire. This guy tells me to NOT drive on the spare and he's right. It looks like one of the original 1976 tires, except it's bald. I can make it across the parking lot to the local Hampton Inn, where I hole up for two days ($200) until the local tire shop opens after the holiday. I spend my July 4th holiday watching "Live Free or Die Hard" and "The Transmographiers" ($5 each). Took a taxi to the movie theater ($10). Got the business card from the taxi driver so I could call him to come pick me up. When I did call him he was apparently ready for the fireworks and I only got his voice mail. Asked the weird looking, long purple haired, Goth looking punk kid who collected the movie tickets if there was another taxi in town. There's not. I'm trying to figure out how to get back to the hotel when the kid offers to drive me. Wow. You gotta love a small town. He drops me off at the hotel and refuses gas/beer money ($0). I'm impressed. What a fine looking young man!

First thing the morning of July 5th I'm at the tire shop, trying to not look stranded. I'm treated right and they put four new tires on the car ($400) and I hit the road around noon.

I'm cruising along enjoying the ride. Since leaving my Mother's I've taken it easy on the car. It IS a 30 year old car after all.

Then this punk comes up behind me so close that I think his pickup truck is trying to mate with my 'Vette. I'm in the left lane in line of about four cars passing a semi. I guess the punk wants us all to get out of his way, even though we are all in the process of passing the big truck.

He can wait.

I'm finally first in line now and can actually squeeze in behind the semi to let this jerk pass me before I then pass the big truck. I actually empathize the driver of the pick up. When I was his age I was an asshole. So, I put my turn signal on and start to move over. But OH NO! This guy is going to teach me a lesson and pass me on the right (and there's just not all that much passing room on the right to begin with) and cut me off as he jumps back into the left lane.

I know this.

I've done it a million times.

Now he has my dander up. I've been trying to hold my temper in check, and now he's going to act like a big jerk. But, my Mother cautioned me to take it easy with the car until I got it home.

Mother ..... jerk ..... Mother ..... jerk .....

"Jack it up! Jack it up! Buddy gonna shut you down!!!".

I step on the gas and don't let him over into the left lane. Guess I'm still an asshole. He's pretty mad and comes back over behind me.

Whatever.

I finish safely passing the semi and move over to the right lane. The jerk in the pickemup passes me and we exchange pleasantries. Take that you rednecksumbitch.

Heh, heh, heh.

..........


I figure that it was about then that the water pump started to fail.

I made it to Kings Dominion amusement park in Virginia before the pump blows coolant all over the engine compartment. 100 miles from home. Soooo close!

I buy another case of bottled water (I've run through most of the first case myself. It was HOT in that car. Drank a lot of water, didn't have to pee) and started dumping it into the radiator trying to make it home. Went through 1.5 liters in about 5 miles.

Well, that's not going to work.

Found a mom & pop auto repair shop near Kings Dominion. The mechanic agrees to throw a new water pump onto the car. Tomorrow. The guy's secretary drives me to the closest motel, the Best Western next to Kings Dominion.

In July.

Rock throwing distance from the mega-amusement park.

Prime vacation season rates.

I get a smoking room for $185 for ONE NIGHT. I'm surrounded by hoards of kids climbing up or coming down from a cotton candy high. Good grief.

I put on my Bose kid canceling headphones (compliments of my lovely wife) and listen to 30 years of the Beach Boys (compliments of my youngest son and his family). Ahhhhhh. This is good. I LOVE the Beach Boys, even with the periodic whiff of stale smoke.

The next day the secretary picks me up at the motel ($20 tip for the round trip) and I'm on the road by 1:00 with a brand new gold plated water pump ($270!!!).

Northbound I-95 backs up by Quantico and I don't want to chance the engine over heating. I bail out and take back roads towards Manassas. Traveling through some kind of forest on a winding two lane road I eagerly await the failure of the fuel pump. Doesn't happen (I'm sending it to a lab to determine why not).

I make it home by 4:00 pm on Friday, July 6th.

Good grief.

$1,400 damage to the car according to my poor, unsuspecting insurance agent.

It was an adventure, maybe a little rough around the edges, but an adventure.

But you know what? I really like this free puppy! And remain honored.

Thanks, Mom:)

The Ant Farm

Every want to have an ant farm when you were a kid?

Like this one?

http://www.break.com/index/giant-ant-colony-is-a-world-wonder.html

My thanks to my youngest son for bringing this to my attention.

Holy cow!

Camp Clark Community Clinic by Carl

Received an email from my eldest son a little while ago. He's USAF (Ret.) and a buddy of his who is still active military is spending some time over in Afghanistan, working in a rough neighborhood, trying to make a difference in the world. My son's buddy, Carl, send an interesting email regarding some of his activities towards winning the hearts and minds of the locals.

I suspect that most if not all of you reading this blog support our troops, to one degree or another, in one manner or another.

For those of you who wish there was just some way for you to make a difference, you can, according to our protector, Carl. See his email below:

Hello everyone, Here's a link to a few picture of things you'll probably never see on CNN or Fox News concerning the effort of "Winning the Hearts and Minds" of the people of Afghanistan. This is a Clinic just outside of our FOB that will periodically offer free medical treatment, along with warm clothing and school supplies to the local villagers. This is a combined effort between the US and our Afghan Army counterparts, and on this particular day we saw about 38 children and a few adults, but there were about 150-200 more people at the gate that had to be turned away--while that's sad, it's reality here...we just don't have enough stuff to give to everyone who needs it. On that note, if you would like to help by donating warm clothing (hats, scarf's, mittens, blankets, shoes, socks....you get the idea, or school supplies) let me know and I'll send you information on how to go about doing that. This was a very rewarding experience for me, but at the same time, a very sad experience as well. Look closely at the pictures and you'll see what I mean--this is very much a third-world country.

Please be safe and keep in touch...I'll write again soon, Carl

http://picasaweb.google.com/cwilson241/HumanitarianClinicJan82009?authkey=Gcssw1IFmWQ&feat=directlink#

So, we asked for additional information and Carl says:

What we need:

Children’s Multivitamins

Children’s Ibuprofen & Tylenol

* Spiral Bound Notepaper

* Handheld Pencil Sharpeners

* Coloring Books (no English writing)

* Backpacks, Gym Bags & Totes

Folders or Small Notebooks & Loose Leaf Paper

Pens, Pencils & Crayons

* Shoes & Athletic Socks

* Blankets

* Jackets (especially children’s)

* Hats, Scarves & Gloves

Travel Size Toiletries

Toothpaste & Toothbrushes

* Most urgently needed

Please avoid sending:

Western style clothing – including no jeans

Underwear

Infant Clothing

Make-up or Cosmetics

Shoes with high heels or unpractical for walking

Glue, tape, scissors or craft supplies

Religious items or literature

English games, books or activities

Food requiring cooking/microwave

Items can be sent to:

Community Clinic

1/203rd BST

FOB Salerno, Camp Clark

APO AE 09314

So, here's your chance.

• If you think we made a strategic mistake leaving Afghanistan behind when the Soviets left town the first time

• if you want to join the effort to win hearts and minds and keep the Taliban at bay

• if you want to help Carl make a difference

Then here's your chance.

Of course it will take a little effort on your part. You'll have to spend some time, effort and fuel to go to the store and pick up some needed supplies. You'll probably have to stand in line at the checkout, surrounded by magazines proclaiming the latest critically important issue to hit some important Hollywood star. You will then have to package up the supplies, maybe trying to find the right box in the basement, and then fight with that darn packaging tape. Slap on an address label and then schlep the whole thing to the post office or local shipping provider.

I guess I would much rather do that than what Carl is doing. My neighborhood is a lot nicer than his.

What a country.

Wish it wasn't a true story, but it is.

What a country in which we live.

To honor such people, by such honorable people.

http://www.hbo.com/events/takingchance/

http://www.blackfive.net/main/2004/04/taking_chance.html

The New 60 is the Old 50

The biker eased his chromed steed past the Tree of Shame.


The time had finally arrived to challenge the fire breathing dragon, resident of Deals Gap. His heart thumping, the biker settled into his leather seat, lowering the center of gravity just a little bit, getting ready for the fight of a lifetime. His steel horse weighs in at 810 pounds and the biker adds another 220. That's a lot of weight to throw at the dragon.


Entering the first turn, one of hundreds, the biker rolled the throttle up to launch speed and entered the fray. "Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup".


Oh, what the hell.


There's the biker perched upon his rumbling, two wheeled Winnebago soon to become one with the bike.The biker launches his bike and begins the eleven mile hunt. His goal is to not embarrass himself in front of the four other riders on their fast BMWs. Sport bikes all.


The turns came quick and sharp. The adrenalin began to flow. Time slowed down as the turns came quicker. Faster! Lean it over!! Soon the biker focuses on staying between the solid white ribbon on his right and the double yellow on his left, both unreeling at an increasing pace. Faster! Lean!!! The solid terrain flies by on his right, his helmet getting closer and closer to the rocks. A sharp curve suddenly appears and the biker takes the bike over farther than ever before. The right floor board touches down, striking a match on the road. His bike now starts to look like a Roman Candle from Milwaukee. Steel and pavement blend together, throwing sparks far behind the biker dueling with the dragon. The beemer behind him starts to lag behind. As it turns out, this beemer biker didn't want to:

- get hit from whatever it was that was fueling the Roman Candle in front of him

- miss seeing a wreck like this


The dragon slayer no longer has time to look in his mirrors. The beemer biker is on his own in the land of dragons.


Suddenly the dragon curls his tail like a snake. The road twists left, right, left, right, and left again. The biker throws his bike from left to right. A half ton weaving at speed. The horizon appears to be attached to a broken gimbal, tilting wildly as the biker keeps it between the lines. He looses count of how many times the floor boards light up the road. Throwing flames back in the dragon's face. That's one for the little guy, pumping adrenaline and swallowing so much fear that he can taste copper in his dry mouth. His only goal now is to get to the other side of the dragon's lair without crashing into the rocks or flying into the valley below. He roars around a corner and there, in a small area off the road is an ambulance, sitting there with emergency lights flashing. Trolling for business. The biker did not need that particular distraction at this particular time.


Suddenly, the biker rolls out of the valley of death and onto a straight road. He slowly decelerates and is able to stop by the time he arrives at the boat launching ramp. The biker pulls into the parking lot and for the first time in a very long time, takes a breath of fresh air. He links up with the four fast beemers. They all look at one another and as if of one mind, turn the bikes around and go dragon hunting again.


Play it again, Sam.


Back they roll, into the dragon's lair. Hunting for thrills. It's not any easier the second time through the Tail of the Dragon. More Roman Candles, more speed, more adrenaline, more copper being swallowed in a dry mouth.


No win for the dragon either. The biker screams out of the valley and past the Tree of Shame. The knight on the chromed steed extends his middle digit to the tree. Maybe next time, pal. The bike blows an ill wind past the tree, causing its limbs to shake. The Tree of Shame seems to be saying "I'll get you next time you bastard!!! NEXT time YOU'LL be hanging from my limbs!!!". The biker laughs a slightly maniacal laugh, and then refocuses on the winding road. He only has a mile or so to bring the bike down below 1.0 on the Mach meter before pulling into the Tapoco Inn. The biker is looking forward to a refreshing beverage to quench his thirst, maybe a bite to eat and, of course, a little bit of bench racing with the beemer bikers.


The biker smokes into the parking lot of the Inn, sliding to a halt. He throws the kick stand down and climbs off of his mount, quietly securing his scorched shield and broken lance, invisible to all but himself. He starts to walk towards the Inn, through a cloud smelling of hot metal, scorched oil, burned tires and, finally, a slight whiff of asbestos. Brembo brakes, 2008.


It was a good year.


It occurs to the biker, how is he to memorialize such a memorable ride? As this thought occurs to him, he glances at his rear tire and the quarter inch chicken strip on each side of the tire. A quarter inch buffer just in case he came upon the dreaded decreasing radius turn whilst battling the Dragon. A quarter inch of buffer for Mom and the kids.


Not bad for a half ton, two wheeled Winnebago.


So, the biker takes a memorable picture of the quarter inch chicken strip. It's either that or, say, a pretty tree. And who wants to remember this battle with the Dragon with a picture of a frickin' tree?!?


And that, my friend, is why I sent you a picture of my rear tire.

The Ballet

It wasn't the firm landing on the aircraft carrier that surprised me. Our Navy pilot flew our C2-A Greyhound nicely, but firmly, onto the deck. The loudest noise was the hook banging and scraping along the deck.

However, the catapult launch the next day was breathtaking. Literally. Going from zero to 140 mph in two seconds stops your breathing and probably causes the heart to skip a beat as well.

So, here's how it came about.

A friend of mine, Admiral Miller, USN (Ret) called and said that he had a spare seat on a plane heading out to the John C Stennis ( http://www.cvn74.navy.mil/home.html ), would I like to come aboard. That would be a yes. The Navy's goal is to invited business leaders on board a naval vessel to help people better understand the Navy's mission and how it conducts its business. I got to grab the empty seat and ride along with a bunch of CEOs.

So, off I go to San Diego to team up with the Admiral and two of his delightful friends.

On the first day of our visit we had a lecture from Captain Davis of the Commander Naval Surface Forces Headquarters. Capt. Davis, as were the other Naval offices I met, is a highly educated and articulate man. His lecture was fascinating as well as educational. His command is responsible for supplying all USN ships except aircraft carriers and submarines. They supply material to 163 ships around the world, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. They are also involved in the development of next generation destroyers with the goal of reducing shipboard personnel from 340 to 40(!). Highly automated.

Following the lecture we then visited the USS John Paul Jones, an Aegis class destroyer. The Admiral is piped aboard and the rest of us follow for a wonderful tour of a fighting ship. The officers and enlisted personnel of the ship were a delight, proudly serving us a tasty lunch while helping us understand the workings of the ship. What a wonderful crew.

Properly fed, we then head off to another lecture by Mr. Bickert, Deputy Commander Fleet and Industrial Supply Centers to learn how Navy Supply (NAVSUP) supplies the USN around the world. One interesting part of the lecture involved a presentation explaining something called "Transformation: Organizational Realignment". This is gov speak for very substantial changes on how NAVSUP will conduct its business in the future. Long story short, the Navy is going to substantially transform NAVSUP to improve procurement, storage and delivery processes, all while keeping the USN fed. It is a massive undertaking against a moving target. My comment was "This is Harvard MBA material". Mr. Bickert said "Funny you would say that. Of the NAVSUP officers from Captain and above, 85% already have their MBAs". Good grief. What a well educated, talented team of leaders. The Navy, our Navy, is in good hands.

Lectured out, that evening we had a rousing dinner at the Del Coronado including a number of current and retired naval officers. What a blast. One retired captain has a sail boat. 28 feet long, sharp bow at each end, no motor. He sails from the dock to the bay to the ocean to the dock. Sometimes alone. He is a purist sailor to his core. Impressive guy.

The next day (drum roll please) we head on over to the North Island Naval Base to learn how to be a passenger on a C2-A Greyhound. ( http://www.navysite.de/planes/c2a.htm ). This is the twin engine turboprop airplane that schleps freight and curious civilians to and fro the carrier.

We learned that the C2 is the safest plane in the Navy's inventory (blah, blah, blah), we've never lost one (blah, blah, blah), and you're going to enjoy the ride (blah, blah, blah). Then the pilot then casually mentions:

• The seats face backwards because that way they,and we, can withstand a 20g crash
• There are no windows (actually on two small portholes which serve no purpose). We will be flying in a dark, metal sausage sitting backwards.
• Here are our helmets, foam ear inserts, ear muffs like on a shooting range, goggles and floatation devices in case we crash into the ocean aboard this totally safe airplane
• Here's how you pop the escape hatch in case we crash
  • But don't inflate your floatation device before exiting the aircraft because then you will be trapped inside. For life.
• There is a "relief tube" onboard, but for guys only and you will be "reliefing" yourself in front of 20 of your newest, closest friends (talk about stage fright).
  • Said tube is NOT a sound activated communication system, no matter what some enlisted sailor tells you. Do not put the tube up to your mouth and shout into it.
• Have a nice trip

And off we go. Nice flight out, sitting backwards in a crowded, dark, noisy tunnel NOT thinking about having to pee. The crew chief gave us a 20 minute warning before (crash) landing, a five minute warning, a 2 minute warning and BANG, the gal next to me grabs my leg. Were you not paying attention to all those hand signals?:)

Here is a quick clip showing a Greyhound landing (not ours but just like it):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldwUuoIsDY0&NR=1

Our 24 hours aboard the Stennis was a whirlwind tour consisting of:

• Met the brass:
  • Admiral O'Bryan who is responsible for the carrier strike force consisting of the Stennis, cruisers (small battleships), destroyers and submarines.
  • Captain Johanson, the first class Commanding Officer responsible for the Stennis
    • Capt. Johanson started the Stennis University on board the carrier. Three college professors serving 2 and 1/2 months each, teaching a variety of courses. A sailor may earn an associate or bachelor's degree.One sailor is close to earning his doctorate.
  • Command Master Chief Powers, the highest ranked enlisted person on the ship. Of the 5,000 residents on the Stennis, CMC Powers is responsible for about 2,500 of them. Average age 20-21
    • Herding cats
    • I sense that if you are ever in a fight, CMC Powers is the guy you want to be standing behind.
• Set up in our staterooms, which were actually pretty good sized, with bunk beds, sink and small closets and drawers.
• Observe flight ops (sort of an air traffic control tower)
  • Managing the deck activity really is a ballet. Planes and personnel comingling, missing each other by feet or inches. I watched sailors bend over to walk under a fighter's exhaust. Majestic motion, followed by brute strength during a launch or landing.
  • The arresting gear lasts for 125 landings, then has to be replaced. The large wire across the deck that the airplane hooks can be changed out in two minutes(!). During busy flight ops, it can be changed out between two planes landing.
• Observe flight ops from the sidelines (RIGHT THERE along the side lines!)
  • We insert foam rubber plugs into our ears, covered by hard ear muffs. An officer is trying to explain to one of our members how to roll up the foam rubber insert to place it into her ear. It's a new experience to her and she not quite clear on what the officer is say. I'm walking by so I say "Just roll it up like a booger". The officer looks at me and says "Are you SURE you've never been in the Navy?!?".
  • Deck scene is just like the opening shot from "Top Gun". Steam and everything.
• Photo op with the commanding officer (CO).
• Nice diner with Executive Officer (XO), 2^nd in command of the ship
  • The servers were a delight. Met one young lady from a town next to where I grew up. They all had smiles on their faces the whole time. They, like we, were having a ball.
• Observe call to General Quarters (combat prep, simulated attacks, damage control parties, fire fighters, etc)
  • When GQ is called, 3,000 sailors need to get to their battle stations anywhere on the ship within 4 minutes.
    • They did.
• Light shopping in the ship’s store (been there, seen that, bought the t-shirt)
  • The store is small but efficient. It's called "The Mall" because the smaller one is called "The 7-Eleven". That one must be tiny.
• Observe night flight ops from Vultures Row, arresting hook throwing sparks up as it dragged alone the deck; full afterburners while launching. Awesome sights and sounds.
• Sleepless night as our quarters were right below the flight deck, personally listened to EVERY launch, EVERY landing. Finally quieted down around 5:00 am, but then had to get up to pee anyway.

Second day

• Awakened at 5:45 but at least I didn’t have to pee
• Breakfast at 6:15, met the most interesting 19 year old NROTC student from VMI. Level headed guy. Made the breakfast very special.
• Observed the command center of the ship. They direct all the weapons of the ship from fighters to Gatling guns
• Visited the bakery. What a blast. The bakers are the heroes of the ship since they make the goodies, including birthday cakes.
• Visited the shop where they repair jet engines and then test them.
• Walked the entire flight deck stern to bow observing different stations and aircraft along the way.
• Chapel, Chaplain, library and Internet access room for emails.
  • There is a protestant chaplain, a Catholic chaplain and a Jewish chaplain. (This is not the start of a joke). When the Catholic chaplain helicopter's from ship to ship he is on the "Holy Helo". Then the Rabi chaplain is aboard the helicopter it's the "Kosher Copter".
• Weapons review from 9mm semi-auto guns to 2,000 lb laser guided bombs.
  • The kid who gave this lecture was a hoot. He personally loves every weapon in his care. When one of our members asked to hold an automatic weapon you could see in his eyes that it wasn't going to happen. Not MY baby!! The officer accompanying us saw a PR disaster in the making so he gently took the weapon from the sailor and said "Sure!", handing it to the lady who made the request. I kept my eye on the sailor and as our gal grabbed the weapon the look in the sailor's face was akin to someone grabbing a child without the parent's permission. The child was safely returned to the waiting arms of the sailor.
• Medical: surgery, dental, 50 bed hospital
  • The doctor noted that he had performed 40 vasectomies during the last cruise. 40!! Somewhat surprised, I asked if they were ALL voluntary. He said yes, although he knew a couple of people he’d like to pull from the gene pool.
• Vultures Row for one more visit, watching our taxi land.
• Last goodbye with the CO as he presented his personal coin to each of us
• The Launch
  • Sit backwards, tug your lap and shoulder straps as tight as possible, cross your arms and hang on tight to the opposite strap, press your shins against the seat back in front of you so your legs don't fly up, lean hard against the straps and press your chin down onto your chest.
  • 20 seconds to go
  • Engines bellow, props roar. The Greyhound is straining, quivering, wanting to join the race! Let's go! Let's GO! LET'S GO!!!!
  • Bang! Zero to 140 mph in 2 seconds. Slammed against the harness. Can't move, can't breath, can barely think.
  • Hot shit!

Sample cat shot as seen from a pilot's perspective. At least they get to sit facing forward:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9pPMeJQcM4&feature=related

Food for thought, carriers are built to last 50 years. The last admiral to serve on our newest carrier is currently in elementary school.

Our Naval officers are incredibly talented people. Our enlisted personnel are rock stars. I loved everyone I was honored to meet. In the hallways, in the dining mess, on the carrier deck, aboard the destroyer. They are rock stars. I miss them already.

To see trip pics please go to:

http://www.photoshow.com/watch/Ai4pq3qy

One of my beautiful daughters-in-law asked me how do you thank a friend who invites you outto an aircraft carrier.

I just don't know.

Thank you, Admiral. God Bless America.

A Bike Week Moment

I don't know which was better, the warm sun or the cold beer.

Call it a Bike Week Moment.

As is my habit, I had ridden my bike down to Florida to enjoy the annual Bike Week festivities. The ride was a little nippy, but Florida turned out to be warm and welcoming, as it has for so many years.

So, I'm sitting in this open air bar with two friends. Having a Bud.

One friend is an old sailor, with the tattoos to prove it. He fought a war while stationed on the Mighty Mo, and then went on to raise a nice family and to work steady at a good career. If you wake up in the morning safe and secure under the flag of the United States of America, say thank you.

The other friend is the sailor's son. This guy is truly one of America's Bravest, a member of that union of firefighters who, tragically, only recently started to receive a fraction of the recognition they so justly deserve. This guy is the kind of person in whom you can entrust your life. Many have, many more will. His wife has also chosen the same noble occupation. Good people, great couple. Tell you what, let's say thank you again.

Anyway, the three of us guys were sitting in that open air bar, right there on Main Street, near the Boot Hill Saloon, watching the world go by, havin' a Bud.

The world was going by on motorcycles. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands of them. Most of the bikes were Harleys and most of them were "saving lives" with their loud pipes. Pretty cool.

The bar crowd was its usual eclectic self. Hard core BMW riders; old farts on Gold Wings; kids on Japanese crotch rockets with more balls than brains; tons of doctors, dentists and accountants riding their new Harleys wearing their new leathers; and the early spring breakers with their nubile bodies, hard muscles and eyes as wide as saucers. There was a guy walking towards us with so many tattoos that we didn't know how his skin could breath. Walking the other way was a young lady in chaps and a thong bikini that made us forget to breath. Lordy, all that just by using some guy's rib. Who would have thunk.

All in all a fun bunch of people to watch, if you like watching people.

And I do.

The band was playing good loud music. It's not that the band was good. I'd say that they had better sound equipment than sound, but when you are at Bike Week, having a beer with friends on a warm spring day, even a second rate band sounds better than the Boston Pops. Way better.

The band was belting out George Thorogood's "Bad to the Bone", playing it to an appreciative audience. The appreciative audience was comprised of members of the Outlaw motorcycle ... um ... club. According to their motorcycle jackets they came from all over the country, seemingly to meet at this open air bar on a warm spring day, to listen to a band playing their theme song, and have a Bud.

Just like the rest of us, sort of. We all got along. No colors.

So there I was, in this open air bar with a couple of friends, havin' a Bud and a Bike Week Moment.

Life doesn't get much better than this.

The ride back was longer than the ride down.

Only 51 more weeks until the next Bike Week.

God Bless America.

A Moment in Time

One sunny, warm fall day a sizable anti-war rally was held in our nation's capitol. The crowd was estimated to be between 100,000 and 150,000 people.

Nationally recognized individuals as well as ordinary citizens expressed their opinions. Voices were raised and the protesters to the ongoing conflict in Iraq made their feelings known loud and clear.

But they were not the only one's seeking to be heard.

As these citizens exercised their constitutional right to protest, others exercised their equally important right to counter-protest.

A much smaller crowd of citizens lined the street being marched by the anti-war protesters as they made their way through Washington D.C. This crowd of counter-protesters was there to voice their opposition to the views of the anti-war participants.

Each side was separated from the other by the thin blue line of the Washington D.C. police department. Not an enviable position.

As the anti-war protesters streamed by the counter-protesters there was a great deal of unfriendly comments hurled between the two groups. Each side believed in their cause. Each side vigorously defended their cause. Members of each side aggressively shouted their position to the other side, across that thin blue line.

One of the anti-war protesters making her way in history was marked by a gold star upon the left breast of her blouse. The gold star marked the location of a damaged heart, part of it dying in the sands of war. In my most ardent imagination I cannot imagine such pain endured by this mother. No one could doubt the sincerity of her protest. There were, however, those who protested her message.

One of those protesting her message was a retired defender of democracy. A former member of the United States Air Force who proudly served our nation, and it's citizens, for over 23 years. Although for many years he supported our Constitution, including the right to protest, he was angry at the anti-war protesters, feeling that such protest could jeopardize the well being of the troops currently deployed in dangerous parts of the world. Willing to defend to the death our nation's Constitution, and therefore the right of protest, he was not willing to abdicate his own right of protest and he drove down from Boston the night before just for the opportunity to express his opinions.

What beauty. The right of protest shared equally by both sides.

So there they were, the gold star mother and the retired veteran. Protesting on opposite sides of that thin blue line; on opposite sides of issues; in some ways on opposite sides of the earth.

How odd. Two opponents juxtapositioned by the common goal of safely bringing our troops home yet separated by opinions on how to best serve those troops.

The veteran was loudly expressing his views to the anti-war protesters. Why, I'm not sure, other than to exercise his right to protest. Certainly not to win the hearts and minds of the protesters marching down the avenue. Emotionally charged rhetoric, shouted over a policeman's shoulder, rarely causes someone to abandon their beliefs and jump ship.

Likewise, the anti-war protesters angrily shouted at the veteran and his companions, and for what reason? To convince?

So much emotion on both sides. So much yelling. Calm reason takes a holiday. Mr. Emotion Goes to Washington.

The gold star mother marches her protest, perhaps with images of her child in her head. I hope the child was proud of her. It could be that this was an act of courage for her, and we should be proud of her courage if such was the case.

The gold star mother marches down the avenue, turns her head, and makes eye contact with the defender of freedom vigorously projecting his view. Their eyes lock and things change. Just like that. A scene out of a movie. The gold star mother and the veteran stare at each other and in the blink of an eye connect with the soul of their opponent. Sound fades. Scenes fade. It is now only the mother, gold star upon her left breast, and the veteran with the baseball cap proudly stating his years of defending democracy. The gold star mother breaks her view of his soul, looks up at his cap and then back down at his eyes.

The gold star mother says "Thank you".

Thank you.

A mother who raised, nurtured and protected her child only to have that child die too young while serving our country. And through all that pain says "Thank you" to a veteran.

Thank you.

The veteran calmly looks into the damaged heart of the gold star mother.

The veteran replies "I'm sorry".

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for the immeasurable grief that permanently damaged your gold star heart.

I'm sorry.

For just a moment, two people on opposite sides of the protest connected.

Respected.

For just a moment Mr. Emotion Took a Hike Out Of Washington .

The gold star mother held her view for just a moment longer and then turned to continue her march.

The veteran watched her go, not agreeing with her message, but understanding her cause.

Alas, as it is wont to do, emotion bulldozed it's way through this all too brief snooze alarm of reason and reawakened with a vengeance. The previously focused view of two people now widens to include the crowds marching down the avenue; the thin blue line; and the counter-protesters along the sidewalk. Sound returns and fills the air with uncommunicative chanting and yelling.

A moment in time. Just a sliver. A brief interlude in which two people on opposite sides of an important issue calmly communicated with one another. A display of mutual respect.

I wish they could have calmly sat down and discussed their differences.

I wish we all could.