One year ago today: April 24, 2016, the doggie-poo place.
Five years ago today: April 24, 2012, “globaloney”.
Nine years ago today: April 24, 2008, 100,001 flushes.
Random years ago today: April 24, 2007, $500 coverage for $211 (travel insurance).
It was one hell of a task, but I got some maps of the Peace River east of here. It is 67 miles long and navigable by canoe the entire distance. Than means very few or no rapids. So I looked for crooks and bends. There are only two boat ramps in the immediate area and there is some restriction against launching wherever you can. Reminds me of the ecologists criticizing the Prairie Dog hunt last day. They would protest, wouldn’t they? The mothers are nursing babies, they said, which is all the more reason to hunt them, but you know these pacifists. How does the saying go, they want to close all the smelly dairy farms because everybody knows you can get all the milk you need at the supermarket.
Here’s a segment of the river just south of the lake where it originates. The map indicates it flows through wooded areas next to a reclaimed strip mine. I chose this part because of the lack of roads into the area, and because this is the place where I test drove the Honda Rebel in December last. There is a boat launching area in the south, let me see if I can find the picture of that bend in the river where I pointed out the high water mark.
Well, that’s interesting. Exactly a week of my files are missing right where I know made that trip. It’s a good thing they are published on the biggest cloud, the Internet. I don’t know if this would be a good gold area, but it is accessible. One could park, then paddle or troll upstream thought that series of bends shown here. Or better yet, have somebody drop you at the north end and come get you later down near Fort Meade. See, remarkable as it is, I actually found a use for Fort Meade.
The river is so tame it is hard to see the water flow, but over the eons, you can see the water marks where it flooded. Since there is nobody to ask, I had to thought experiment the whole operation. No, Agt. R does not know the river or how fast it flows, that was an assumption on my part. That means the first trip, we go upstream to find the range of the trolling motor, or maybe we can assist it by paddling. I found light-weight canoe paddles for $8 each at Wal*Mart.
The flotation vest in my size is $50, though we may have some in the Civil War shed. The first trip has to be exploratory, but more for the distances and locations than for checking out where the likely spots are. I don’t even know if the ten or so miles to the headwaters is enough for any gold to have moved. The only facts in the library are items like a flood mentioned in 1914 after a severe winter storm and a website which claims to show info about the boat ramps, but has no search button, duh. What? Yes, it’s a government site. Maybe the same outfit who programmed the Obamacare system, how would I know?
Fool’s gold.
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Wanting something to do, I hauled out the bass and learned the guitar riffs to the old Buck Owens tune, “Act Naturally”, as recorded by Ringo Starr. What? I said that before? Nope, you were not listening. What I did before was figure out a custom bass line to the song that emulated the guitar riffs. Now, I actually play them. Significantly, it is a piano pattern, but for the first time, I learned it directly on the bass fretboard without my usual step of pecking the notes out on the keyboard.
I was intrigued by the mechanism that allowed a windmill to operate a vertical pump although the hub was horizontal to the wind. That’s where I ran across this diagram of windmill technology. I never realized the consistency of this type of construction until I examined the parts shown here. It’s not a blade, it is a sail. I also found the mechanism that operates the pump. A rather clever design.
The upright pump rod has a collar around the top end. As the windmill spins, a gear turns a cog that lifts the collar and thus the rod upward, drawing water from the ground at the bottom end. As the cog passes, gravity drops the rod back down the well and starts over again. I had thought the pump rod was rotating, but it isn’t. It is reciprocating. There is a simple gear mechanism inside the windmill housing that slows the action down to about 1/10th the wind speed, but steps up the power of the stroke.
The two red cardinals are back, I suspect since they get along, the other must be the juvenile now fully grown. Well, what do you expect when I’m pampering them? Here is a list you might find curious.
1. Plum Creek Timber (also largest in USA.)
2. St. Joe Co. (Real estate
3. Foley Timber (about the size of Rhode Island.)
4. Rayonier (forest products.)
5. Lykes Bros. (destroyed by lawsuits.)
6. Deseret Ranches of Florida (ranching.)
7. Mosaic (phosphate mining.)
8. Bascom Southern (condo developers.)
9. Florida Crystals (big sugar.)
10. U.S. Sugar (suspected Monsanto front.)
“There’s a spider in my keyboard, but relax,
I’ve got him under control.”
While looking at windmills, I saw this picture from Grapevine, Texas. . A water tank with a windmill on top. It must be for the tourists. I think that because there is no pipe to the ground. But it is an interesting concept. If the water was pumped up to the tank, it would still flow on days of no wind. Analog storage, a classic study in converting kinetic energy to potential energy. The windmill looks perfectly operational. And what is the Cotton Belt Route? Don’t look at me, I’ve never been to Grapevine.
The solution is to proactively root out the terrorist bases, that is, to surprise attack them. Ask the Israelis what they know about pre-emptive strikes. Then again, I’m not a decorated SEAL, so what do I know about human nature? Speaking of the Israelis, who do you think is gaining the lead on driverless cars? Insert joke here about why they need them over there. It’s not a leap of the imagination to figure out they are really working on a driverless tank. That would be an fascinating evolvement, a game changer. I’ll explain.
Tanks are a compromise between armor, mobility, and firepower, similar to airplanes. But tank commanders don’t have the egomania of pilots. Where planes are already flown by remote control with great resistance from the pitlots, tanks are apparently a more demanding environment that requires a different brand of teamwork. We can be assured somebody is working on this. Guns can be made self-loading, but a self-driving tank would mean the commander could command by remote. He would not have to also fly the plane like a pilot. Think about this.
The tank, without any human occupants, could be made smaller, or the armor thicker, or the gun bigger. The armor could be redistributed to vital engine and tread parts. There would be no need for chemical or biological filters, or anti-radiation shields. Dispense with escape hatches, view slits, and all creature comforts, and you have a compact, expendable unit. I know, the Swedes had that turretless S-tank with the same goals, but have you seen the price tag on that thing? That’s hardly expendable when you have a million refugees on welfare in Stockholm alone.
Then, I hauled out the old Danelectro and played it until I remembered that riff that walks down the entire fretboard in that old classic, “Singing The Blues”. When I looked up, it was 11:36PM, so cancel the movie. This is one of my Hallmarks, to “make the song sound more like the original”. There’s a spot in the song on each verse, but not the chorus, where a standard walk-down bass line will not fit if you try to extend it for three full octaves. Enter my piano lessons from so long ago.
Take the wrong key, in this case G, and play a cross-harp pattern. This is where the harmonica player uses a different key than the song to get that “blues” effect, although the tune in focus is not a blues tune, but swing music. It took a half-hour, but I got the notes. This gives the effect of beginning the riff and octave too early and yes, I still run out of notes, but only one, which I found a another passing note that ties it together.
That’s another of my stage specialties, looking like I’ve made an irrecoverable mistake, then getting out of it. Another thing I’ll do if some kids or pretty gal is watching is play a complex run all on one string. Why? Well, to show off and because I’ve noticed studio trained bassists love “guitar patterns” and will change strings whenever possible to keep their groupings tight. Myself, I think that reflects an ill mastery of the fretboard, so I purposely play notes at opposite ends. Darn rights you gotta be lightning fast, but since when was that any problem around here? On top of that, I noticed some guitar players don’t like it, so go figure.
ADDENDUM
I think I may have found the source of the all-girl band’s overattachment to the church. All is not as it seems, although I have a hard time imagining how a 94 lb woman could possibly be convicted of assault. Well, one of the girls in the band was arrested for just that. I routinely run all new band members in Florida after that probation officer incident with the Hippie. Ah, you don’t recall that, but I do.
That’s the probation bitch who tried to tell me I had to show her my ID and fill out her forms because I was associating with a known criminal. Up yours, lady, and I told her so. And tore a strip off the Hippie later when I found out he had been supplying her with private information about me. “If I don’t, man, she can put me in trouble.” Yeah, did you ask me if I wanted to be on some probation file? So if I ever get in trouble they can build a case that I habitually hung out with criminals. Did you ever think about that, or only think about yourself?
But it went nowhere, because I never tell anyone in the music industry my real name. In fact, that is what set the probation bitch off. I always park around the corner and when she ran the license plates in front, none of them matched the name the Hippie said was mine. Normally I would care less, but this one insisted I was “breaking the law” if I didn’t tell her anything she wanted to know. I reminded her she had no jurisdiction over me and she equally insisted she did. I walked out, and in the opposite direction of where my Cadillac was parked.
Screw her, I figure. If I ever wind up in court, I want the records that exist to be so inaccurate they cannot be used as evidence unless I do the one thing the system hates—pick which records I will verify, if any. I’ve seen too many court cases where the primary purpose of the cross-examination was to force the accused to update his own records under oath, questions which had not the flimsiest connection to the charges.
Wait, there’s more on the all-girl band. It turns out there is a decade long history of unsociable behavior. While there is no mention of prison time, we’ve all seen the convicts that find Jesus under similar circumstances. I won’t make any decisions until I hear both sides of the story. Don’t wait around for the details, mind you. This is not that kind of blog. I’m only pointing out what is already public record. And the only reason I’m doing that is because there are six or so people who should have told me, but didn’t. This is a small town, so it is not like they didn’t know.
Last Laugh
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