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Bad News for You Pink Plastic Flamingo Lovers .........

The makers of those cheesy, Pink Plastic Flamingos are going out of business. Union Products Inc. has been making these things since 1957. I had no idea they were manufactured in Massachusetts.

There are a shit load of these damn things stuck up on fenceposts out around the barn here at the GrumpyUnk Command and Control Bunker. The Plastic Flamingo thing got started as a joke about 10 - 12 years ago and got carried away. There's a neon light Flamingo on the other side of the room here and a damn Flamingo is painted on the friggin' mailbox out front. There's Flamingos all over the damn house.

Did I tell you the whole Flamingo thing got carried away? No, REALLY SERIOUS LIKE carried away.

Have no fear. I'm sure someone will pick up the slack and start making Pink Plastic Flamingos for the faithful again. Because WE damn sure will have to have a few more.

Note: I have a couple of cool Flamingo pictures here, but either Blogger or my shit-ass connection won't let me load them. Damn, this crap is driving me nutz.

Here's a great story about a youth program in Bellingham, WA, that uses distance running to build confidence and goal-setting skills for girls in the 3rd-5th grade. Can you imagine running a 5k when you're just 10 years old? That's a big deal!

A few great quotes:

"What I really love about this is how long-range goals are taught so well. Now when (10 year old) Etaane tries something, she doesn't see herself limited by the fact she doesn't have experience."

"We're encouraging girls for a lifetime of self-respect and healthy living. And the girls have so much fun, it doesn't seem like we're training them to run."

Perhaps there are a few next-gen ultrarunners in there...

- SD

Man, I Hate Narcan ......................
















In EMS circles, Narcan is the drug you give to reverse the effects of Narcotics. Generally in cases of overdose, intentional or otherwise, in the ER setting.

For those of you who aren't quite sure what Narcotics include, I'll give a short, non inclusive list for ya. Some of these are synthetics. All non synthetic narcs originate from Opium. Here's a quick list.
Opium - Heroin - Morphine - Dilaudid - Demerol - Oxycontin - Oxycodone - Hydrocodone - Methadone - Darvon - Darvocet .......... and others. You get the idea.

The thing about narcs is that in a large enough quantity, or when mixed with, say .......... alcohol. They get the brain to a place where it forgets to even breath. That's a pretty big acomplishment, 'cause if there's one thing the brain is wired to do, it's to support the basic functions of life. It'd be a bitch if you had to remind yourself to breath all the time.

Guys with my attention span would never even make it to grade school age.

So what generally happens in an OD (overdose) is that your brain gets to feeling so good you quit breathing. soon after that your heart stops pumping regular and your brain cells are dying at rates even I couldn't have kept up with when I was a stoner and you friggin' die. But feel great while your on your way out though.

What Narcan does is sorta pushes the narcotics out of the receptors in the brain, blocking and reversing the effects on the respiratory drive. It's really incredable how well it works. You can have a flaccid sack of OD'ed Zombie Meat one minute and in no time you get a pissed off, Buzz Killed Zombie who is mad as hell at you because you ruined the best buzz of his life.

And then they WILL puke all over the place.

Not MAYBE puke all over the place.
WILL for SURE puke all over the place. EH.

And that's why I hate Narcan.

Had one today. Found by family and fading fast. We got a line in this Zombie and Narcan had him awake in only a minute.

And the nasty bastard puked all over the floor and splashed that shit all over me. There are times when I'd be ok with just letting the sonzabitches die. Damn. I hate it when Zombies puke on me.

But we do what we do, 'cause every once in a great while, one of those Zombie Shitheads decides to get their shit together and become a productive member of society. You can never tell who it's gonna be either. So, as much as I hate the SOB's puking all over me. We pull there chestnuts out of the fire and hope for the best.

But damn, I wish that shit didn't make them blow chunks all over the damn place.

My Shitty ISP Continues to Be a Pain in the Ass.......

More off than on all damn week. I wonder if this will even post????

Cardinals Win World Series!!!!!

Not a cool as a Cubs win would be, but shit, way more likely. Congrats to the Cards!

It Appears This is a Link Intensive Day .........

Lot's of stuff on this cold, rainy day. Here's a short clip of Baxter Black with a refreshing view of America. It took a long time to download on my slow ass connection, but it was worth the effort. OK, there wasn't a lot of effort involved. But it took awhile.

Saw this over at Professor Schlong's this morning.

My New Hero ................

I love this Guy! A group of punks try to rob an old SAS Vet. Surprise!

My old Man whupped the shit out of a couple of punks when he was about the same age. Sweet street justice. It warms the cockles of my Grumpy ol' heart. And hey, anytime you can get your cockles warmed ................

Hat tip to SondraK

WTF is This ???????????????
Drug raid yields Los Alamos documents. This shit is not good. Can't ANYONE take security seriously. You'd think after they lost some harddrives to the ChiComs, the Los Alamos folks would have put a friggin' stopper in that shit.

I'll Bet it Splattered Like Bacon Too ...........

What do you get when you cremate a 600 pound Fat Ass? A Grease Fire. I love this line - "Firefighters rarely see these kind of fires." One would hope not.

But hey - "The crematorium is back in business and the funeral director said they'll notify the family to assure them their loved one wasn't harmed." Except for the fact that his fat ass is burned to a (larger than usual) pile of soft, fluffy ash. Not counting the part that got scraped up off the floor, of course.

600 pounds of LongPig would make a hell of a cookout. Think how many Haitians that would feed.

Somebody should tell Sally Strothers about this untapped protein source. Oh, wait a minute. Detective Robert Thorn already has. My Bad.

Advice I Was Not Expecting ...........

I was talking with my friend Lonnie today at work and I was telling him how it seems that I'm being steered toward the supervision and administration path.

He asked me if I knew how to play a harmonica & I answered, yes a little bit. Why?

He informed me that being good at administration requires the same skills as playing the harmonica well.

I wasn't following him at all and said so.

To which he answered - "It's all about knowing when to suck and when to blow."

This is an old story (2004), but I thought I would pass it on in case you missed it (like me). The Salk Institute in San Diego, CA, successfully modified the genetic code of mice to make them super-endurance athletes. By increasing the activity of the protein PPARDelta, scientists created mice that could run 92% farther, had double the amount of slow-twitch muscle growth, and only gained 1/3 the amount of fat of other mice (even when fed a high fat diet). Who needs EPO or "actual exercise" when you can just tweak your genes?


The research has fascinating implications, both good and bad. It's amazing that science can bring us closer to our full genetic potential, but I suspect it's primary use will be to give couch potatoes easy access to rock-hard abs. (sigh!) And I'm sure the Tour de France will never be the same (or, will continue to be the same but with a new twist). You can listen to a podcast of an NPR discussion about it here.

In a twist worthy of the "Mrs. Frisby and The Rats of NIMH", a couple dozen of the mice escaped into the wild a few weeks after the announcement. So let me get this straight - dial in your full endurance potential and you will be naturally pulled outdoors? Sounds right to me! But we're going to have to pre-engineer some cats too just to make it fair (then dogs, then dog-catchers...will it ever end?).

- SD

Weirdness in the Phone Lines ...........................

My crappy dialup has been having a case of the vapors over the last couple of days. Strange. Connection speeds like 4.6Kbps. WTF?

Weird shit like this is maybe the only downside to living out in the boonies. I'm currently zipping along at 21.6kbps. That's like what I had back in 1990 on my 386 with the 2400 modem. The more things change ................

I long for a high speed connection. There is supposed to be a whole new high speed setup of some kind being installed in the area and, theoretically, it will be extended out to my area sometime. I'm ready, that's for sure.

Yesterday I joined 130 trail runners on the beaches of Aptos, CA, for the 2006 Seacliff Beach 14k/22k/35k/50k. I hadn't planned on racing this weekend, but wanted to get a long run in on some new trails. As I went scouring for maps, I saw that Pacific Coast Trail Runs had a race going from the beach right up to the hills and redwoods of the Forest of Nisene Marks State Park. A wonderful trail, so why not sign up and race! I grabbed my gear and headed down Hwy 1. By the time I got there, my heart was set on the 50k.

The weather was perfectly overcast in Aptos, CA, as runners from California, Oregon, Massachussets, and one or two from China and India began their warm up. Some of them had just raced at Big Basin the day before, but had enough legs for one more redwood romp. I laced up my Inov-8 RocLite 315's, eager to try them out in a race now that I had clocked a few hundred miles in them. The RocLite's are a bit softer than the Flyroc's I had raced all season, but had the same low-heel, lightweight design. I was enjoying them tremendously for training - now I needed to see if they could hold up to 50k.


The course was a 4-mile run to the first Loma Prieta aid station, then a series of loops that kept coming back to that aid station. The 50k runners immediately started calling it the "deja vu" aid station, since we would visit it four times before heading back to the beach. The course is relatively flat (3700' vertical change), but with lots of short ups and downs as you weave through the redwoods. At 8:30am, the mass start began and we all headed up towards the forest.

I set a comfortable pace to begin, running with David Acosta from Monterey, CA. David is studying for his Master's in a nearby military academy, and was doing the 22k as a warm up for the upcoming Silicon Valley Marathon on October 28th. He had some great stories to share about running in Kosovo, Bosnia, Korea, and other war zones where he had been stationed in the Army. He's led quite a life in his 31 years! We reached the first aid station and stocked up, and learned that Oswaldo Lopez (doing the 50k) and James Hughes (doing the 22k) had shot off the front at a wicked pace. Did Oswaldo know that James was going half the distance?

David and I headed up the Loma Preita Grade Trail on the first loop, continuing our conversation about how trail running had helped us both find balance in this crazy world. We caught up to a few more 22k runners on the uphill climbs, and Chris Hacker (doing the 50k) caught us on the downhill. David, Chris, and I (the Camelpak crew) finished the first loop comfortably and restocked on food. David headed back to the beach to finish the 22k, and Chris and I started on the first of two 13k loops up to the West Ridge Trail.

I charged hard up the first hill, and after a quick sprint through a hornet's nest (two stings), found myself alone with the forest. The first growth redwoods created a towering canopy that kept the trails soft and lush. No iPod needed on this run, that's for sure! Both times that I ran through a clear spot, the butterflies flew along with me. It felt almost too serene; perhaps life with a newborn has given me a new appreciation for peace and quiet.


The downhill side of the West Ridge Trail was fast and furious. It never got so steep or technical that you had to slow down, so it was easy to keep a fast pace. You didn't want to go too fast though - one trip into the waist-deep poison oak on either side would keep you in calamine for weeks. I came off the downhill and returned to the aid station, where they filled up my Camelpak and poured some flat Coke. They said Oswaldo was still setting a cheetah-worthy pace for the 50k, and was already 20 minutes ahead! I got the feeling he knew what he was doing, and had the 4:54 course record square in his sites. Wendell later told me that he had just done the Angeles Crest 100 as his first 100-miler last month, and got 7th. Yup. He knows what he's doing. ;-)

I charged back up the West Ridge Trail for loop #3, feeling energized from the Coke. The hornets got me again (6 stings this time), prompting me into the fastest fartlek I had done in months. Christine Miller and Donna Yee were coming down the other way after inadvertently extending their 35k by an extra 10k, but they were smiling and having a good time. Since I was familiar with the trail this time around the loop, I went a bit harder. I was in the zone, and my runner's high was giving me that warm fuzzy feeling. 50 minutes later I finished the loop, about 3 minutes faster the second time around.

It was at this point it dawned on me that I had been negative splitting this race, and had about 9km to go. If that was true, I could finish in under 5 hours if I kept going hard. How is it possible that keeping up with baby Sophie all night long IMPROVES my times? I put away the camera, ate some Clif Bloks, and charged through the last 2km loop and back towards the beach. I went hard enough that my calves burned, although I couldn't tell if that was hornet stings or lactic acid. The downhill guided my along at a 7 min/mile pace.

With the beach in site, I came down the finishing chute in 4:56:56, good enough for 2nd place. Oswaldo Lopez had crushed the course record in 4:17:23, pacing James Hughes along for a course record 22km finish (1:44, 20 minutes ahead of 2nd place). Julie Bramlet set a Women's course record in the 35km with a 3:13:46, good enough for 3rd overall. Trail Runner Mag Trophy Series contender Adam Blum won the 14km race in 1:00:07. Overall, everyone was making good use of the ideal weather and well-marked course to push the course to its limits.

Leo DeAvila (an Ironman triathlete based out of Los Gatos) and Chris Hacker came in shortly after me for the 50k, with Stephanie Hiller winning the women's division about an hour later. We ate up soup, chili, and plenty of snack foods as we watched the families play on the beach. My legs looked like hell from the hornets, but they felt good and held up to the finish. The RocLite's did well, and were cushy enough to go even longer. It was an epic day!

My thanks to Wendell, Sarah, and the PC Trails volunteers for putting on another great race. I hope to see you at the Woodside 50k in December!

- SD

Freddy Fender RIP .......................
Saw this yesterday, but work got in the way of posting it.
Dead at 69. Here's a nice article In the Baltimore Sun about the man.




Yeah, I was a Freddy Fender Fan.

Note: This is - Old Shit First posted in December of 2005. I was telling a guy at work today about how I aquired my current acoustic guitar and that prompted me to repost this story today w/ a couple of gramatical tweaks.

Guitar Stories................

I've been playing guitar for about 34 years now. Sounds like a long time and I guess it is. Now that I think of it, I ought to be much better than I am after all that time. But I never really wanted to be a "Guitar God" or anything. I started playing mainly to pick up girls.

Yeah, big surprise that one. I had a buddy who was as ugly as Fidos Ass, but he picked up the girls because he could halfass play guitar. I figured if that ugly mutt could do that and I'm only half as ugly as him............ Yeah, a plan was formed and I went out and got a cheap Epiphone acoustic box.

I had played guitar for about 6 months when I was 13, but that shit was a lot like work and I was so Damned ADD (Attention Defecit Disorder) I just couldn't do it and being forced to practice made me just wanna break stuff. Mom got tired of fighting about it and that was that for 5-6 years.

I found that I really liked to play, once I got going. I didn't pick up any girls but that was ok too. I played the shit out of that cheap ass Epiphone for several years. The neck got loose and had a big bow in it, but I kept right on with it. I finally acquired a newer box this way.........


I was working a construction job in Iowa and was in the hotel bar getting good and drunk one night with the foreman and his beautiful wife Alice. In walks this big dude playing a nice guitar, rather poorly. He looked kinda like Hank Williams Jr, but had even less talent. He said, "Call me Otis". So we did. We sat there awhile and proceeded to get more drunk and finally went up to Otis' room to burn some rope I happened to have with me.

Like I said, Otis was a big fella. But Otis was a lightweight. John, the foreman, and I were pretty close to Olympic class drinkers at that time & Otis was not up to the task of trying to keep up with us. That would've been ok, but the more he drank, the more he kept trying to hit on Alice.

Remember Alice?

Bad move.

John told Otis to keep his hands to himself ......... Twice. Once more than most guys would've and I thought that was pretty nice of him. Twice just wasn't good enough though.

Otis Put his hand on Alices' leg again and John quietly got up and excused himself. I didn't know what he had in mind, but I knew it wasn't gonna be good for ol' Otis.

I think subconsciously, Otis must have known it too. His lack of beer drinking KungFu, coupled with the rope we'd burned, made his belly decide that it was a good time to do a crash evacuation maneuver of all contaminants. He bolted to the bathroom and started puking his guts out. Alice and I started getting ourselves ready to go when John came back.

With a tire iron.

And hostile intent.

John was NOT a fella to get riled up. He had every intention of beating Otis to a friggin' pulp and only Otis' lightweight constitution had saved him so far. With some difficulty, Alice and I kept him from beating in the door to get at Otis and killing him. To this day I believe we saved the life of that dumbass.

John was in a cold fury and started looking all around for something to vent on. And saw that nice guitar sitting against the wall. Up came the tire iron........ and I snatched it right out of his hand from behind. And it was a good thing I had it too. He whipped around with a look that flat scared the shit out of me. I told him not to smash up a perfectly good guitar just because it's owner was an asshole.
He snatched that guitar up and was getting ready to smash it into the wall when Alice said she wanted it. Alice didn't have any desire to own a guitar, but she was smart enough to know that a guitar smashing spree at 2 o'clock in the morning would just about guarantee us all going to jail.

John handed it to her and that was that. We all left to the sound of Otis blowing chunks in the crapper.
A
s we split up at our rooms, Alice handed me the guitar and said, "Here, I don't want this piece of shit. You take it."

I've had it ever since. The statute of limitations for that crime ran out about 1984, so I guess I can tell the story now. It's been a good friend and companion through many adventures. But it's never been as good a friend to me as it was to Otis.

It saved his life.

Howz about Some Pin Up Girls?????????
Here's some more random artwork for Ya'll.


















OK, not exactly Pin Up, but I like it and I know Surly will appreciate it.















This one's on the nose of a B-24, if I remember right. Hey, Pin Up girls own, Nose Art













An especially nice, Moran Girl



















Yeah, I know this ones not art either. But how can you Not like it?






































If you find you need one of these about now, you're life sucks worse than mine.

And I will have to send this Old Bastard to whack the shit out of you. BTW, Thoazine will help suppress those nasty urges.

Embarrassing Moments in the ER..........

I've had a few brilliant moves and moments over the years. Times where I've just said the dumbest shit, or spilled a urinal on the floor - after my feet tried to keep the floor dry by absorbing it all. Brain farts and moments of none to graceful acrobatics, brought on by fatigue, being in a hurry or not seeing the puddle of ________ (fill in your body fluid of choice here) and falling on your ass. That sorta thing.

But maybe the most embarrassing moment I ever experienced was because of Velcro. Yeah, that wonderful spin off from the space program. Here's how it went .........

A small Community ER setting about 0430 or 0500 in the morning. It's been quiet for the last 1/2 hour and everyone is hoping the calm holds till 0700, so we can get the hell out of there.

A car pulls up to the back door. Shit. I slowly get up and start moving toward the direction of the doors, hoping it's someone who works here pulling up to unload something. No such luck. Here comes an older woman in the doors, saying that her husband is "Having chest pains!"

When you've worked in Emergency Care for awhile, you develop a pretty good sense of Radar about some things and I started moving quicker and snatched up a wheelchair while heading out to the car.
I saw the passenger door swing open and an older guy step out. He had, what we call, "THE LOOK". A sort of sickly, yellowish/Grey hue, profuse sweating and obviously having trouble getting his breath. Along with the classic - Holding his fist in the middle of his chest posture.

I really started moving then, scooped his ass into the wheelchair and hauled into the nearest Trauma/Cardiac room. I hollered for someone to bring the EKG machine and started peeling his shirt off and tossed him up on the cart.

While I was trying to untangle the monitor leads, which were knitted nicely together, the Tech put Oxygen on him and started getting the EKG together. I finally got him on the monitor and he was obviously having "THE BIG ONE". I started looking for an IV site that I knew we were gonna be needing soon.

I had left the blood pressure cuff off while looking for the IV site and the Tech was busy with the EKG. The Tech ran off with the EKG back to the Doctor, who was napping in his little area in back as I finished up the IV and drew the necessary labs. I snatched up the B/P cuff, that had fallen on the floor, by the hose to get it on his arm.

As all patients arms are not the same size, B/P cuffs use Velcro to make a snug fit. Generally speaking, that's a good thing. But if you try to swing the cuff up into one hand by pulling the connection hose with the other ...... and that Velcro gets ahold of the Drawstrings that hold your scrub pants up?

Oh yeah. Impresses the hell out of people, don'tcha know.

Like most Nurses, I carry a bunch of shit in my pockets. Big scissors, tape, my little cheat sheet book of calculations and such that I can never remember. That sort of shit adds weight.

Let me tell you, that velcro got a nice good grip on that drawstring and I, blissfully ignorant, kept right on pulling on that cuff to get it wrapped around his arm. And that knot on my scrubs came untied.

Down they went and there I was with my scrubs around my ankles. Just me and my BVD's.

Now, just what the hell do you say to a guy, who is obviously having a big heart attack, when your pants have just landed on the floor?

ME- "Have no fear. I'm a total professional."

Patient -

Patient's Wife - (running out of the room with her hands over her face) "BuWaaaHaHaHaHaaHaaa".

I can tell you this much, it makes a hell of an impression on 'em.

Major Thanks to SondraK Today ......................

I got a link from the Goddess of Goodness, SondraK Herself, today. Cool.

Of course, it figures that a Turd Story does it!

Which leads me to the "Turd Patty" on the Triage area floor, last night. It was a thing of beauty. The Triage Nurse had stepped in it of course. And of course, we both laughed about it. Her Reebok imprint was as clear as a bell. No CSI team needed for that. Lucky she didn't trip over it.
We both figured the Elderly fella with the constipation complaint that had just left the room, as the likely perp.

Jeebus, to think I passed on a plumbers apprenticeship as a kid, because I didn't want to be a "Turd Herder". Karma. It's a bitch.

Insecticons !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Not sure where I saw this earlier today, but it is just one more cool bit of technology by the Department of Defense. Miniture Killer Robots. The people that work at DARPA have got be some of the most crazy genius folks in the world.

Check out the Specs Page.

Look at the face on that crazy bitch. She's aroused by the potential of a little robot (1/2 that size) that can sneak a peek at what's going on, and then drop a personalised bomb on your ass. If IT decides to.

RIP, Virgil ....................

My neighbor, Virgil, died the other day. He was only 89 years young. He and his wife, Florence were sort of our adopted grandparents over the last 6-7 years. He would sit on his porch and watch me work around the yard and garden and then come over and laugh and make fun of me about "How much work I put into running around in circles".

We raised chickens together. I bought, fed and raised 'em and he butchered. Worked pretty well as I like raising and eating chickens and he and his wife didn't seem to mind the butchering 'em. I get 'em up to size and he'd come over and catch 3 or 4 and then bring back 1/2 of the days work in a freezer bag a little while later. I always have a shitload more eggs than We need, so they always got some. Worked out nice.

I planted a bunch of strawberries a few years ago and they really took off. He'd be out there every morning picking a big bowlfull. His wife would bring over home made shortcake.

He still drove all the time, in his little Chevy stationwagon. Not fast, mind you. He'd be out on the highway going to or coming from town with a string of angry people behind him as he went 35mph in the 55mph zone. Never fazed him a bit.

He taught me the proper way to catch chickens. You need a heavy gauge piece of wire about 3 &1/2 feet long. Make a hook on the end about the size of your finger in width and about an inch and a half long. Then all you have to do is snag 'em by the leg and you got 'em. Easy, once you get the hook bent to the right size. I had mine to big. Of course, he laughed at me about that too.

He laughed a lot and that's probably one of the reasons he lived so long. If local lore is to be believed, his long life could be attributed to the fact that he never did a thing to wear himself out. I don't know about that, except to say that his wife was still working a full time job at the age of 80, when I first met them. You decide.

I worry about how she's gonna do without him. She's in pretty good shape but ..........

Virgil died a few minutes after midnight, on October 7th. He and Florence were married on October 6th. 68 years ago. I don't have a hell of a lot of faith in the family to do right by her. None of them seems to have acquired her work ethic or honesty.

He was a good ole' boy and I'm gonna miss him.

Two ultra news items I thought y'all might like:

Jurek wins 246k Spartathlon in sub-23 hour pace

Scott Jurek became the first US winner of the 246k Greek Spartathlon, clocking a 22:52:18, only the second person to have a sub-23 finish (Yiannis Kouros did 20:29 in 1990, and sub-23 three other times). Scott made the historic run from Athens to Sparta (considered to be the route run by the greek god of ultrarunning, Pheidippides) in hot conditions. Sekiya Ryoichi from Japan, finished 2nd in 24:14:11, followed by Ohtaki Masayuki in 25:19:12 , also from Japan.

Inagaki Sumie from Japan won the women's division in 28:37:20 (10th), with Takako Furuyama from Japan in 31:40:31 (23rd) second and Mary Larsson-Hanudel from the U.S.A. in third in 31:41:56 (24th).

Hawker and Djouadi take 100km gold in IAU World Cup in Seoul

In a high speed battle for the World 100k Championship, French runner Yannick Djouadi won gold with a 6:38:41. In what was mostly a tight race, Djouadi held his pace behind early front runners to pass them around 80km and seize victory by almost 5 minutes. The IAU has a great article about the race here. Great Britain's Elizabeth Hawker held the lead from start to finish to win the Women's division.

Why America is a Great Place .................
Because there is always someone ready to step up and meet the needs of the marketplace.
For example -





















I don't harsh on HD Riders to often, but I had another encounter with one the other day who had -That Attitude. He was riding something similar to the what's on the trailer and talkin' smack about "Real Bikes". Yada, Yada, Yada. Heard it all before. I gave him, what's now become my standard line, "Race ya, title for title. From here to Dallas" Shuts 'em up pretty quick.

Stole this from one of the threads at TonUp.

Fixed the Concours Today ..........
Woke up this morning and the last of the Migraine flitted away with the rising sun. What a relief. Those things terrify me anymore.

Got after the Concours again after breakfast. I had replaced the bad radiator hose and a couple of others the other day. I had to pull the entire fairing off that pig to get at the radiator. First time for that job and not one I look forward to again any time soon. Major pain in the ass.

Being the kind of guy I am (read idiot) I figured I should just go ahead and adjust the valves on the thing while I had everything torn off. Actually, it went pretty smooth. There were only 2 that had slipped any since the last adjustment 10,000 miles ago.

added radiator fluid and bled the system and started putting it all back together again. It went better than I expected. The front fairing is a pain. The rest of the bodywork I've gotten used to.

Clint came by on his V-Star and we took a short shake down ride of about 20 miles. Burped the radiator again and topped off the fluid.

Listening to it idle, it sounds like I would have been ok not have messed with the valves. I'm hearing a bit of Clackity Clack coming from that area now. Shit. I'll end up doing that again soon. Yeah, I know - "Tappy Valves are Happy Valves" but this is a bit louder than " Tappy.

We'll see. I'm all done in for today. And a little PinUp Girl for you since it's Friday.

Oktoberfest .....................
The local version of Oktoberfest starts today. Bad food, Bad entertainment and Drunken Hillbillys. And no Babes like these.

I stole this picture from Ace to, sort of, set the mood. He's got a funny story that goes along with the picture, too.

I have not gone anywhere today, due to having another damn migraine. I'm getting to really hate these headaches.

I finally broke down and hit the wife's headache medications to get this monster calmed down as the stuff I have just wasn't cutting it. Subsequently, I've been asleep most of the day.

I'm gonna have to go see my Doc and see what he can prescribe me to keep around the house for when the next one shows up.

I'm feeling much better this evening, though I'm still a bit queasy. If it stays away, I'll be ok tomorrow and I'll be able to get back to repairing the Concours.

I changed the bad radiator hose yesterday along with two others. Had to pull the entire front fairing off to get at everything. That was not a fun job. Not fun at all. I figure, since I already have it off and out of the way I'm gonna go ahead and set the valves while I'm at it.

If I was feeling better, I'd have the wife drive me to Sears tonight and buy myself a torque wrench. I've rented one the last couple of times I've done the valves. My motto about tools is, If you have to borrow a tool more than once, you need to go buy one of your own. I need to just break down and spend the money and get one and quit being such a cheap ass. I'm probably gonna have this bike for a couple of years yet.

More Famous Turds I have Known.......















In the comments to the post below regarding "Proper Tools", Clint, one of my coworkers, mentioned how a Turd can stop a Heart Attack and save a life.

Strange as that sounds, it is true. We both were there for the "Cardiac Turd miracle".

Maybe 20% of the people we see in the ER truly have what could be described as an "Emergency". That would be defined as "A condition, that if not attended to immediately, could lead to a loss of life, limb or sight." Most of what we see are routine medical problems and minor injuries.

It doesn't take long to recognize someone who really does have something going on though. We in the ER say, "They look bad or They have THE LOOK" and that's enough to jump start the nurses and docs into action.

The "Cardiac Turd miracle" began with a call from EMS, telling us they were bringing a older man (Late 60's) who was having chest pain, shortness of breath (SOB), diaphoresis (Clammy/sweaty) and ST elevation on his cardiac monitor strip.

The strip looks something like this -

To ER folks, this is NOT a good thing. This is what a heart attack looks like on paper. Mr. miracle Turd's EKG looked worse than this example. The staff was all over this guy in a big hurry, trying to get things rolling. I was trying to start an IV line in his left arm, Clint was trying on his right. We could see his rhythm strip on the monitor and it appeared to be getting worse by the minute. Not a good thing. He definitely looked bad and was exhibiting other bad signs, like Profuse sweating and extreme agitation.

He hadn't been there 5 minutes and we were still working on the preliminary things when he starts hollering "I gotta shit".

Well, priorities being what they were in this case, we all told him to go ahead an shit the bed, 'cause he wasn't going to go off to the restroom anytime soon.

He wasn't having any of that and continued to holler "I gotta shit" repeatedly. In situations like that you just have to keep working and do what needs to be done. Clint and I both got an IV started and labs were drawn to see how bad his cardiac enzymes were gonna look.

All of a sudden he stopped hollering and sat bolt upright. I thought to myself, "Shit, there he goes" and prepared to defibrilate him if necessary. I was not feeling good about this guys overall outcome and was fairly sure he was gonna die on us.

Wrong. He sat up and started crapping. And crapping. And crapping. I'm talking incredible amounts here, people. I thought we were gonna need one of those guys who follows the elephants around at the circus to come help clean up the mess.

And then "THE MIRACLE" occurred. The more he shit, the more his EGK began to return to normal. He quit sweating and dried up. His color started returning to normal and his agitation level decreased too. In less than 10 minutes, he was completely pain free and said he felt fine. His EKG had returned to almost normal.

We did our workup and did all the good cardiac things we do and shipped him off to a facility that was better suited to treat him further.

About 10 lbs lighter than when he came in.

The Proper Tool for the Job..........

Working as an RN, one of the things that you cannot fail to notice is - Some people are capable of passing Humongous Turds. I'm not talking about your basic log here. I mean absolutely huge Turds. Turds so large, that they should probably be given a proper, Christian Name.

Turds so large, that, anatomically speaking, should not be possible. My introduction to the World of Turds began in a different environment though.

Many years ago I took a part time position as a Maintenance Man at a local nursing home to supplement the household income. Pretty basic stuff. Cut grass, general fix-it, mop and wax floors. That kinda thing. The boss, Terry, was a real big dude. Well over six feet and well over 300lbs. He was a pretty good guy to work for and usually started each morning off with a cup of coffee and a reefer out behind the equipment shed. At the time, that was a good thing.

One morning, not long after I started working there, Terry gets a call about a toilet that's stopped up. He makes a note of the location and gives me the wave to follow him.

Instead of going in the direction of the non-functioning toilet, we headed out to the equipment shed. Being the observant guy, I asked him where we're heading and he answers, "You gotta have the proper tools, sometimes". He then walked right through the shed, past all the tools and out the back and immediately fired up a joint.

Not normal behavior. He didn't say much, so I just shut up and got stoned with him and waited to see what was going on.

Finally, he walked back into the shed and went over to the far corner and pointed out a machete hanging on the wall and said, "Grab it and follow me". So, armed with this rusty old machete I followed him back into the main building.

He still hadn't told me where we were going or what the hell I was doing with the machete. But I followed along trying not to scare anyone. He finally stopped outside of the room that had made the complaint of toilet trouble. He turned and looked at me and said "Today you find out if you really want to work here". He then opened the door and went in.

Into the bathroom we went. As luck would have it, the toilet hadn't overflowed all over as I had feared. Terry did not seem surprised by this. Apparently, knowing your shit is what get's you being the boss.

What did surprise me was the unbelievably huge Turd in that stool. This masterpiece must have taken weeks to be created. Two and a half feet long, if it was an inch and as big around as a soup bowl. I was dumbfounded. I just stood there and stared, repeating to myself, "No way. Nobody could do that and live".

Terry, bless 'em, just pointed at the Turd and then to the machete and said "Start cutting, Bubba. Ill flush". So that's what I did. Chop, chop, chop, Flush. Chop, chop, chop, Flush. For what seemed like hours.

It was such a surreal situation, two adult men in a little bitty bathroom, doing battle with a Monster Turd. I started giggling. Then laughing. Terry started laughing. The laughter punctuated by the Tink, Tink, Tink of the machete against the porcelain of the toilet, followed by the flush. Over and over. Tink, Tink, Tink, Whoosh. Tink, Tink, Tink, Whoosh.

We finally chopped that big bastard up and flushed the last of it away. We exited past the little old lady, who looked to be in discomfort and whose eyes were still watering, and heading back out to the shed.

"Hose it off and meet me out back" is all he said. Terry then gave me a dissertation on "Proper Tools for the job" while smoking another joint. I was telling him a machete was not usually considered a plumbing tool, when he held up his hand and stopped me.

He said, "How the hell would you know? You can't even pronounce it right." I asked what the hell he was talking about and he said -

"It's not machete. It's Ma-Shit-tay. Ma-shit-tay, dammit". "You still don't know shit about tools, Bubba".

I learned a lot from Terry.

I had planned to do the Tahoe 72-mile Ultra this last Saturday, but wasn't able to completely shake my cold from the week before. My symptoms were all above the neck and I have been running short distances all week, but I feared an all-night run could drop that virus right into my lungs and take me out for a month (a move dumb enough for a Darwin Award, I'm sure). After conferring with my crew, we decided it was best to do this ultra another year.

The gorgeous Lake Tahoe weather beckoned me to at least race another distance, and there were plenty to choose from. This was "Lake Tahoe Marathon Week", featuring a wide range of events such as kayaking, distance swimming, cycling, design-your-own triathlons, extreme golf, runs from 5k's to ultras, relays, the Tahoe Triple (3 marathons in three days), and even the XTerra National Championships. No surprise that everyone was in town for the fun! I opted for the 11th running of the Lake Tahoe Marathon, which ran from Tahoe City to South Shore down the west side of the lake.


The Tahoe 72-mile Ultra had started at midnight, and by the time I got to the marathon start at 7:15am, Sean Messiner had already gone by, leading the ultra by about 1.5 miles (quick math on his pace - that was 46 miles in 6 hours and 45 minutes - whoa!). As we warmed up, Pam Reed, Sam Thompson, and a few others came by and started down the last 26.2 miles of their all night runs. About 400 had signed up for the marathon, and we all gathered ourselves on Commons Beach in Tahoe City to kick off the start. The elite women led off the pack at 8am (30 minutes ahead of the men, with an extra $500 bonus if they crossed the finish line first), just as the sun warmed the temperature to the optimal high-50's. We cheered on Chris, the sole crank chair participant, a few moments later.


Tahoe Triple racers were facing the last of three marathons in three days, and most of them looked really good as they stretched out on the grass. They recounted similar stories about the races so far - the first marathon had the biggest hills, the second marathon had the challenge of getting up the day after a marathon, and the last day was "let's just get through this". All of them were clearing having a good time.


As the gun went off for the 8:30am start, a pack of six quickly went up front and set a blistering sub-6 minute pace. Considering we were at 5,400' feet and climbing, only elites such as Tony Torres, Johan Oosthuizen (leading the Triple with two sub-3 hour finishes already), and John Weru had a shot at keeping this pace and getting the $500 prize. I settled in around 15th or so, running about a 7 minute/mile pace. I figured I would make the most of the 9 miles of flat running, and slow down if my coughing became too much to bear.

I paced with Mike Miller (Sonora, CA), whom I had met at the AR50 earlier this year. He was running his 10th Lake Tahoe Marathon (only missing one of the 11 runnings to go to a family wedding), and had 10 "Top 25" t-shirts to prove it. In his races to date, he had six age group wins and finish times from 2:52 to 3:15, even finishing second overall one year. As we ran along the shoreline, he let me know what was ahead, and that at our pace I should be able to get a coveted "Top 25" shirt for myself. How cool would that be! But first things first - this cold bug was hanging on, so I didn't want risk getting more sick. Even if I couldn't go fast, I could enjoy the scenery along the way.

Mike and I cheered on each ultrarunner as we passed them, and began seeing a few of the 20-mile power walkers that had started earlier this morning. We stayed on pace as we alternated between the road (northbound traffic was blocked for the most part) and a bike path along a nine mile section of McKinney Bay. Locals came out to cheer us on, with more than a few brandishing their Halloween costumes. I ate a few Clif Blox every 30 minutes, and just had water at the aid stations. We hit our first section of hills at Sugar Pine Point, around mile 10.5.


The layout of the hills was perfect for warming up - slow rollers, than a small climb, then the two biggies at mile 15.8 and 18. The small climbs helped me survey my leg- and lung-readiness. We worked our way through the first set of hills and hit the halfway point in 1:30:11. We were certainly making good use of the flats!


As we tackled the first big "Hill from Hell" at Rubicon Bay, I started wheezing a bit and slowed down to a jog. Although it's just an 800' vertical foot climb, it's spread over 1.5 miles and climbs to a lung-pumping 6800' ft, which is enough to tame the "unacclimated" like me. Mike had no problem at all, and set off to hopefully win the Veteran's category (50+) and continue his streak. I slowly climbed my way up to the "heaven" aid station at the top, where hilarious volunteers danced to rock tunes and gave out water by the quart.


The reward for making the climb was the most breathtaking views on the course. Miles of Lake Tahoe were within sight. As we ran down around Emerald Bay, you could see the course winding ahead (uh-oh...looks like one more big climb). We got close enough to the water to see Fanette Island, complete with the stone Tea House.

I collected the mountain of shwag (wind jacket, medal, license plate frame, and Top 25 finisher t-shirt - SWEET!) and met up with the family to get some food and soak up the sun. It was very cool to have Roger (Christi's dad and my almost 72-miler crew), Christi ,and Sophie at the finish line. That's three generations of support! We drank beer (and formula) and watched as hundreds of smiling runners trickled across the finish line. It was a beautiful day to be running any distance, and I'm glad my cold didn't stop me from joining in on the fun.


My thanks to Les and all the volunteers of the Lake Tahoe Marathon that made this such a great experience. I'm looking forward to trying some other events next year, and hopefully be ready for the 72-miler!

- SD

[Note to bloggers - I'm linking to Flickr for my pics for this race write up, and have "geo tagged" them with Yahoo's new feature. Blogger does weird things to my photos, so I was already looking for a better alternative. My pal Paul Levine and his team are definitely on the right track!]

Thar She Blows !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was spectacular. I was riding the BigBluePlasticKawasaki to work this morning. Nothing inusual about that.

I pulled out on the State highway and was heading to town and fell in behind 2 cars. There was a Buick going about 40 mph in a 55 mph zone and another car behind the Blue Haired Granny in the Buick.

As soon as I got to a good open stretch of road I signaled, honked and pulled out to pass. I'd downshifted and ran her up so I could get around them in a hurry as I don't like being out in the other lane any longer than I have to.

I was going probably 75 when I went past Blue Hair when ............. BOOM!!!

Holy Shit! A huge cloud of steam and antifreeze engulfed the bike. Shit, I blew a hose. Either off or a hose failure, I don't know yet. I'm sure the Blue Hair was not impressed.

Damn, There was a business with a big parking lot and 2 entrances a few hundred yards ahead so I chopped the throttle and hit the front brakes hard so I could zip in and back out and make a run for home.

I totally did not think about all that slippery ass antifreeze on the back tire. WHEEEEEEEE! I had already commited and the rear end slid out and I went sliding along with the handlebars to the locks like Dick Mann or Gary Nixon, into the parking lot. I just kept sliding around and out the other way and made the run back to the house.

Damn, I wish I'd have gotten the whole thing on tape. It had to have looked cool, and nobody's gonna believe I was TT'ing that big landwhale around so slick like that.

Could I have planned it like that? Hell no. I'm not crazy enough to even try and slide that big bike around like a flat tracker. It was just lucky as hell I didn't fall on my ass and get run run over by Blue Hair.

Looks like I'll have to figure out what the hell blew tomorrow. I didn't lose any oil, so that's a good sign. Just one more thing to keep me busy and not riding.

Could've been worse. I was only 3-4 miles from the house. It was daytime. It was sunny. I rode it home. I didn't crash.

See Gary Nixon looking all cool and sliding all over in the picture, there?

I did not look all cool like that. I'm sure of it. I Was sliding pretty much like that though. On pavement. But, unlike Gary Nixon there, my ass was puckered up so tight you couldn't have pulled a Banjo String through it with a Bulldozer. Warp factor 9, baby. All's well that ends well.