#MS BOLLARDS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-californicationist · 8 months ago

Text

Cali's Kinktober: Day 18

Kinktober Masterlist dis manibus - "for the ghost" Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader Kinks > possessive, dub con, ghosts?? Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

In your little town of Sleepy Hollow, it’s usually not hard to make the news. But, when the headlines start bringing up ghosts from the past, and your fellow residents make claims that a ghoulish biker is attacking drivers on Route 330, you start to regret being the lone journalist in town. Legend has it that the masked rider is on the hunt for the most perfect sacrifice, and he won’t stop his reign of terror until he finds it.

Warning: actual ghosts, possession, dub con?, general spookiness

Yellowed teeth and a dangling cigarette, the stench of sweat and cheap tobacco, shaky hands and disordered movements, plus a wardrobe of ill-fitting, oil-stained jorts with a crooked-cropped Bud Light tee shirt completed Brandi Reddman’s signature look. Mrs. Reddman was standing in her usual spot outside of a dilapidated Pilot truck stop on the corner of Hatchet and Simmons. But, the leather-skinned, bleached-blonde, trailer park queen didn’t go by her late husband’s surname anymore. She preferred to be called by her well-earned title: Beaumont Brandi.

“And don’t you go putin’ no damn Reddman on my fuckin’ report,” she glared at you from her perch on the bright red bollard just outside her favorite Pilot truck stop, “Don’t even know what I’m gettin�� a goddamn ticket for. Two consentin’ adults can do whatever the hell they like, cain’t they? Ain’t this still America?”

“Ms. Brandi,” you sighed, “I’m not a cop. I’m a reporter. And I’m not sure what you want me to do when Mr. Brunson calls me down here to tell me about you tearing up his dumpsters again. You know there's a whole town full of people upset about the destruction of property here.”

Your stomach turned just thinking about writing this ridiculous article. What would the title even be? The Trash Takes Itself Out: a Sleepy Hollow tale. Or, Lot Lizard Strikes Again! With a full cover spread? No. This could not be your life. You tried to control the look of disdain on your face.

“It wasn’t even me! That asshole is crazy!” Brandi protested, the cigarette in her mouth holding onto her dry, cracking lip with nothing more than God’s will at this point.

“He said he saw you and a certain truck driver come out of the alcove just a few hours ago,” you reiterated.

“Hell, no. I ain’t gonna fuck no John in no smelly-ass dumpster. I’m a high class lady,” Brandi gestured to her ensemble, “And I’m tellin’ you, that lock was busted before I even stepped over here this mornin’. It’s that damn haint is what it is.”

The Haint of Sleepy Hollow. The Hollow’s Hell Rider. The Ghoul of 330. He went by many names, or sometimes, he was just called The Ghost.

Back in the late seventies when everyone was doing a little too much of everything, your town earned a bit of a reputation. There had been a string of disappearances off of the local highway, Route 330, and locals claimed to have seen a masked soldier on a motorbike, fresh home from Saigon, carrying his M16 slung across his back and wearing a skull mask over his face. He was riding an Indian 900, blacked out with no headlight and no plate.

Of course the truckers had been the first ones to sound the alarm, and there was a city-wide manhunt for any bikers matching that description. But back then, no one had cameras in their hands as readily as they did now, so it was all just a bunch of hearsay and over-exaggerated stories about the boogeyman.

But, that’s all it was. Just stories. There was no masked rider.

“Hey, you got another one of those?” Brandi pointed to the pack of smokes in your pocket that you’d brought along to bribe her with.

You sighed, lighting one for her and then for you. You told yourself you needed it to get through the rest of this conversation.

As she took a long drag, her timbre changed. She became quieted by her own voice, it seemed.

“I seent him, though. He was there. Parked under the bridge.”

She pointed to the overpass, her wrinkled finger trembling a bit as she guestered to the black shadows under the highway. You followed her line of sight, trying to imagine a dark rider in a skull mask, parked in the umber and looking for vengeance in the most boring town in New England.

“Did he do anything?” You asked, trying your best to scrounge up something more interesting than sex work in gas station parking lots for this write up.

Beaumont Brandi stared into the darkness with you, remembering… or maybe she was just fucking with you. But, it didn’t seem like it. She took another puff of smoke into her mouth, hissing it out through her stained teeth,

“No, but it felt like he was looking for somethin’. Felt… lonely. I dunno.”

Shaking you from the eerie moment Brandi had crafted between you both, a big, rumbling Mack truck pulled into the back lot, turning your gaze away from the bridge. Your interviewee hurried to smoke one more pull from her pilfered cigarette and gathered up her glittery, denim purse.

“That’s my ride. See you around,” she said, her voice still distant and restrained, lacking all of the ruffled animosity she’d presented to you earlier.

You stayed there, watching her scamper across the wide, drab concrete field, dodging pot holes and puddles, heading for the blue semi that had just parked in the trucker wash station. You watched her until she knocked on the door, standing on her tiptoes to reach the wide passenger window, shuffling around until the latch popped open and she disappeared inside.

The dark hollow of the highway’s bridge caught your gaze as you turned away from Brandi and her “ride”, and a cold chill shot down your spine. As you peered into the shadowy underpass, a lone biker, all in black, was sitting on his Indian motorcycle, staring right at you. His body was enormous. Even though the bike he rode was large, he was simply unfathomably tall and broad. When he leaned forward on the handlebars, idling there, his shoulders bulged in his leathers, threatening to break free. He was wearing a full-face helmet, but you could feel his eyes burning into your skin.

The problem was, you had no idea how he got there. You hadn’t heard his engine rev, and you knew you would’ve been able to listen to the roar echo through the underside of the highway, it’s enclosure making an accidental amplifier.

You stared back at him, but you reached into your pocket and clutched your car keys. Everything in your body was telling you to run. So, you quickly turned away, needing to force yourself to break your gaze, making yourself walk briskly back to your beat-up Miata.

Get in, and drive away, you told yourself. Get in. Drive away. Get in…

You were trying to calm yourself down, your mind feeding you a million excuses as to why you hadn’t heard him approach, or telling yourself it was just a guy on a bike and not a ghost, but you could still feel your heart in your throat, pounding away like a fist inside your veins.

Popping open the door to your car, you climbed in and immediately shut it behind you. Luckily, the soft canvas top of your ratty old convertible was already pulled up, but the sooner you got back to your apartment, the better you would feel. You cranked the engine, threw it in reverse, and sped off out of the gas station parking lot, sending your work bag spilling out across the floor.

As you pulled onto Hatchet, you headed east, avoiding 330. You tried to tell yourself it was because you enjoyed the senic route instead of the shorter path, but you knew that was a lie.

Behind you, you heard the roar of a bike.

You looked in your rearview mirror, but you didn’t see any headlights. Then, as you checked the side mirror, you saw him. It was the blacked out biker from the bridge. He was riding close to your back wheel, sitting in your blindspot, staring hard at you.

He followed you for miles. You doubled back, avoiding red lights, trying to make circles so he would get tired of tailing you, but he never did. If anything, he was getting braver and braver, moving his bike up and down the length of your car. Getting in your way, toying with you just to get a reaction.

You tried to speed up, but your junker was no match for his machine. So, you turned into a neighborhood, trying to lose him in the curvy, bumpy side streets.

He followed, and you felt your breath catch in your chest. With every turn, he would drive up next to your window to peer inside, staring straight into your eyes. You almost hit the curb, and when you finally exited the neighborhood, you took a right, trying to race him on a wider road.

It was one lane, but he didn’t seem to care. He reached out and planted his gloved hand on the glass of your driver’s side window as if he was trying to touch you through it, and you screamed at him through the glass, illogically,

“Leave me alone!”

He threw his head back, and you knew he was jeering at you. If a masked, faceless being could laugh, that’s what it would look like.

You had no idea what else to do, so you got aggressive. You swerved, trying to sideswipe him, desperate to get rid of your masked tormentor.

He dodged, nimbly moving himself out of your way. Then, he was right behind you, so you slammed on the brakes.

There was no way for him to stop in time. No way.

But, it didn’t matter. You watched in horror in your mirror as his bike and his body dematerialized, and he faded into a black mist, filling the interior of your tiny car, and reconstituting itself in your passenger seat. Your nose filled up with the smell of stale cigarettes and something undeniably masculine. His body filled in next to you in inky layers, pouring from a gas to a solid like smoke into a bottle, and what was supposedly impossible was becoming very, very real in your car.

You screamed, pressing the brakes even harder, coming to a full, screeching stop in the middle of the road. No one was behind you yet, but you wished there would be. You prayed for someone - anyone - to turn down your street and find you stopped in the middle of it.

The ghost - because what else could he be? - was staring straight at you, as if he was waiting for something.

“Leave me alone,” you begged, your voice feeling so small and strained.

You were staring into your own eyes, seeing your face as it was warped and contorted in the gleaming black shine of his helmet visor. Suddenly, you felt your car lurch forward, and it was moving on its own. You tried to turn the wheel, and your foot was glued down onto the brake, but nothing you did mattered. The car was driving itself.

You yanked at your seatbelt and pulled on the door handle, trying to throw yourself from the car, but it wouldn’t budge. You ripped at the handle even harder, trying to slam your shoulder into the door, ignoring the pain. In a last-ditch effort, you reached into the steering column and pulled the keys from the car, hoping to kill the engine. But, it didn’t. Your vehicle was taking you wherever your ghost wanted to go, and there was nothing you could do about it.

With your keys held tightly in your fist, you lashed out at the biker, using the metal shards to rake across his mask, scratching the visor.

The speed with which he reacted startled you, and as his hand wrapped itself around your wrist, he tilted his head to the side as if to study you, curious about you and your choices.

You felt your throat burn with despair, and tears ran from your eyes.

“Please don’t kill me,” you sobbed, trying to pull your wrist away.

He yanked your arm to his chest, tugging your body closer to his, forcing you into his space and taking you almost out of your seat, if it wasn’t for your belt.

You were face to helmet with him, and you could smell the menthols that inexplicably clung to his clothes. He could touch you, and you could touch him. He felt so real, so warm. And yet…

Slowly, he reached out to you with his other hand to touch your face, caressing your cheek and wiping away a stray tear. The feel of his leather glove was so gentle against your skin, it made your head spin. His earlier aggression was still fresh in your mind, and you sobbed from the fear.

Out of nowhere, a pickup truck swerved around your stopped car, blaring its horn at you, kicking up dirt from the side of the road, obviously upset at the stopped Miata in the middle of a street.

In the few seconds your attention was snatched from the ghost in front of you, he disappeared. Your passenger seat was immediately empty, and you were alone once more. Your car was dead since your keys were in your hand, and the clicking of a warm engine cooling down was the only noise you heard.

Another car was honking behind you, less aggressively than the pickup, but it moved around you and you turned back in your seat.

As you drove home, you were numb. You couldn’t reconcile anything that happened to you, and you had no words to even describe it. You thought about driving to the police, or to your office so that your phantom biker wouldn’t know where you lived, but something in you laughed at your naivety. Why would that matter? He was a ghost. He could reach you no matter where you were. You might as well leave your front door wide open for how much good it would do you.

When you finally crawled into bed, you left every light in the house on, but it didn’t help.

It was 0417 when you jerked out of your restless sleep, opening your eyes in your unusually bright room. You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself down, and the horrors of the night before felt more like a bad dream than a true memory.

You looked around, trying to determine whether you could manage to go back to sleep or not, when a faint noise pricked your ears. It was coming from outside your apartment window, down in the parking lot below your balcony.

You sprang out of bed and pulled your curtain. There, parked and sitting on the side of his bike, was your ghost. He was looking up at your window, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he was waiting for you. Waiting for you to say something, to do something. But, you didn’t know what.

Grabbing your keys, you flew out of your door and rushed down the stairs, hurrying to see if you could catch him. But, he was gone. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say to him, but you needed to know the truth. Your instincts as a reporter were driving you forward. You craved answers, needed them.

You turned back around and headed for your car, starting it up and driving out of your complex, back onto the street. You headed for the highway, and he was waiting for you, parked on the shoulder. He took off, and you followed him, swerving in and out of early morning commuters, pushing your crappy Miata to its limit.

He took the exit toward the old part of town, turning on the road to Ichabod Farm, cutting his speed and letting you catch up to him. Then, as he got further and further away from civilization, the farms turned into forests, and the roads went from pavement to dirt. Just as the sun was staining the clouds with its pink dawn, he stopped, sticking his leg out as a kickstand, and turned around to look at you.

You waited, sitting in your car, but after a while, nothing changed. He was still just sitting there, staring back at you. So, you killed the engine, and you climbed out of your car.

“Who are you?” You called to him, willing your voice to carry in the quiet morning.

As if he was tired of your questioning, he turned forward. He swung his leg over the body of the bike, and stood beside it, still waiting for you.

You started walking around to the front of your car, beginning to feel like you were a rabbit being led into its own trap, a lamb to its slaughter, and your skin tightened, the hair prickling on the back of your neck.

He put his hand out, gesturing toward the bike.

“Do you want me to go with you somewhere?”

He seemed impatient. He stalked forward, marching in black leathers and boots, and grabbed your wrist just like he did in the car.

“Wait! Hey! Wait, no!” You tried to fight him, but he held you fast, dragging you over to the bike.

He lifted you without struggle and sat you on the back of his seat, and he climbed in front of you, bringing the bike back to a loud roar. He took off, nearly toppling you over, and in your shock, you wrapped both of your hands around his middle, holding on for dear life.

To your shock, he turned off of the road and into the trees. The leaves made his tires slip and the roots of the tall yews made the ride bumpy and wild. You gripped him tighter and tighter, trying to remember which direction you were going, sure that he was taking you straight to your death, but just in case you escaped, you wanted to be able to try and make it out of the woods.

Suddenly, you came to a clearing. In the middle of it stood a huge, dead tree. The trunk had been struck by lightning, and the branches hung low, dipping towards the ground. Its roots were gnarled and popping like broken bones out of the dark earth, and it gave you a sense of immediate dread.

He stopped the bike, throwing down the kickstand and climbing off. Then, he held out his hand to you.

You looked at his helmet for a moment, trying to determine what he wanted, and then you realized he was trying to help you down. You placed your hand in his and felt him support you as you climbed off of the old motorcycle.

He released you, and he stood beside you, looking up at the tree.

You waited for a moment, again unsure about what he was trying to show you, but then you stepped forward. Something compelled you to touch the tree’s wide, twisting trunk.

You were suddenly aware of the state of your dress. You were in socks, sleep shorts, and a tattered old tee shirt, shivering from fear and from the chilly morning. But, still, you stepped forward, moving with your hand out towards the tree, trying to ignore the pinch of stray rocks and sticks beneath your feet.

Right before you touched the bark, you looked over your shoulder at the biker, and he was still standing there, waiting for you.

So, you pushed forward, laying your palm against it, and you were instantly overwhelmed with flashes of images and sounds, memories which were not yours. You saw him. It was your ghost. He was fighting in a war with muskets and swords, and then he was in a trench with grenades. You watched him crawl on his belly through a wet, dense jungle. Then, you felt the heat and the sting of desert sands, and watched him dragging the bodies of his friends from the rubble of a bombed building.

As quickly as they had begun, the visions stopped. You looked back at the masked rider, and he stepped toward you. His hands went to the neck of his jacket, and he raked the zipper down, revealing his bare chest and belly. He was riddled with scars, but he looked very much like a real man. The jacket fell with a thud on the forest floor, and he moved to shuck off his helmet.

You watched the reveal with wide eyes and an open mouth. Black, inky smoke surrounded his face. He didn’t have a head. It was only a skull mask, cracked and broken around the edges, perched on him where his face should have been. It was just a swirling darkness, nothing else. His head was gone.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“What… happened….” You managed to ask, your voice lower than a whisper.

The helmet clattered to the ground, rolling until it rested against a thick root.

He walked toward you, and you were staring into two black pits where there should have been soft brown eyes. You’d seen him in the vision. You knew what he should look like. And yet, all you were left with was this ghastly form.

His body was warm. You could feel it as he towered over you, mere inches away from your face. You reached up to touch his cheek like he had touched yours in the car, and he let you. As your hand swiped across his jaw, you saw flesh appear where there was none before. More and more, you touched him, painting his face back on with your hands. You moved over his eyes and nose and mouth, feeling the softness of his lips and watching in awe as he became a man again.

“Oh, my God.” You gaped, watching his face twist into an unknown expression, “You’re…”

“You made me real,” he spoke, his words sounded hellish; the noise was a terrible smear of shadow and violence. It was as if a million of voices were speaking at once.

“I…” You were trying to talk, but he wasn’t interested.

He leaned forward and slanted his mouth against yours, kissing you with a smoky musk on his tongue, forcing you to open and take his writhing muscle inside of your cheeks. He was breathing just as raggedly as you were, pushing himself onto you, dragging you to the leaf-covered ground.

He repeated his mantra, gasping it, his timbre full of disbelief,

“You… made me… real…”

His mouth was on you again, the top half of his face still hidden by the skull mask. He kissed your neck, and you felt his gloved hands grabbing at your clothes, shoving down your shorts.

“What are you doing?” You whispered.

“You.” His voice reverberated through you like a snarl of thunder. You could feel the sound move through your bones, “You can bring me back to this place.”

The air was cold as it billowed across your skin when he pulled away your shirt. The leather of his gloves was such a rough contrast to the smooth, furry expanse of his chest and belly, and he crushed himself against you, pressing you with all of his weight into the forest floor.

Your mind was in a haze. All of the magic and memories from the tree were whirling around you. His many lives, all stacked together, repeated like the rings of its trunk, year after year, his wars, his scars. All of them now real and raised to the touch.

His mouth moved over you, hungry and wanting. You weren’t ready to be taken so roughly, with so little regard, in the dirty, dank mud of this clearing. But, you wanted to be. You found yourself completely captivated by his movements, his hands, and the way he consumed you, making you feel like you were the key to his entire existence.

You spread your legs for him, and he had the audacity to laugh softly in his ghostly throat, rolling his hips between your legs to fit himself there, spreading you further with his wide body.

You felt the button of his leather pants loose and dangling, flapping open against your thighs which meant…

His cock lolled across your mons and belly, warm and hard. He humped himself against you, rutting along the curve of your tummy and teasing you with a preview of his strength. You reached down very slowly, stroking him carefully, barely touching his velvety foreskin, feeling the slip of it as he moved against your hand.

He let out a long, heated moan, his breath warm as it surrounded your neck, and he whispered to you in his million voices,

“Give yourself to me,” he chanted, “Bring me back.”

No sooner could you whisper back your consent than he grabbed you by your jaw and forced you to look into his black, soulless eyes. He notched his cock at your trembling hole, letting it dip into the wetness he had crafted there. Then, he pushed forward, stretching your walls around him, making you take his drooling head, raking himself in and out so that he could go deeper and deeper with each thrust.

You cried out, grasping your hands around his shoulders, and he squeezed your face in his huge paw, making you feel like he might break your jaw if he held you any tighter.

Once he was fully sheathed within the hollow of your body, he moved with a powerful, pistoned thrust, slamming himself through you and making your core heat from his friction. You felt yourself being broken by him, the parts of you that were holding together your sanity were slowly slipping away with each punishing movement, and the deeper you allowed him to fuck you, the further away from reality your thoughts were. You were back in his memories, imagining his life before, his warfare, ancient and modern, and all you could think about was why he would want to be back here. What did he want? Was it you?

His hand slipped between your lips, and he pressed into your throat, rubbing your tongue and making your jaw ache from his pressure and invasion. You tried to suckle from him, taking his fingers past your teeth, licking and slurping up your own spit from his glove.

“Such a good girl. Perfect for me. A new vessel.”

Vessel? What were you holding?

You whined, trying to understand, and he silenced you with a growl, low and deep. He was fucking you at a pace full of fire and fury, and your whole body felt like it was being pounded into submission. You could hear the wet, gushing slapping noises that his cock was making as it churned inside of you. Your legs felt weak, and you couldn’t help but leave them hanging open, allowing him to fill you as deep as he could go.

Your mouth burned from his fingers, and your pussy was begging to come, clenching and shaking with need. He felt you, and he pushed through your shuddering quim harder and harder, using you to bring himself to his own crescendo, joining you on the edge.

“You’re mine…” He hissed, moving himself right against your most pliant spot, massaging you up to a tumbling explosion of feeling and fervent want.

As you came, you screamed, but it was muffled by his invasive hand. He came with you, filling you as you tightened around him, dumping his thick load into your hole, smearing it all over your lips with each covetous thrust.

Then, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was melting into you, his body turning back into mist, covering your skin and seeping into your flesh. You felt him inside of you, curling and twisting around all of the parts that made you who you were, turning them for his own benefit, staining your soul with his own.

You gasped, searching for air, watching helplessly as the last thing you saw before he disappeared completely was the black sockets of his skull mask, and it felt like he was smiling.

You lay there, alone, and yet full of him. He was feeling and sensing and thinking right alongside you. And he was… playing with you. You could feel him moving his cock deep within you even though, when you looked down, there was nothing there.

“Please…” You begged, closing your legs together, trying to stop the sensation from happening.

“Pretty thing,” the Ghost chuckled, “We’re just getting started.”

#cali’s kinktober #kinktober 2024 #cod kinktober #call of duty kinktober #graviora manent #by the californicationist #x female reader #x fem!reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #actual ghosts #like ghost is a ghost #idek how to tag this #just forget it

64 notes · View notes

news365timesindia · 6 months ago

Text

[ad_1] Udupi Cochin Shipyard Limited, the wholly owned subsidiary of India’s leading shipyard - Cochin Shipyard Limited, has today launched the Inaugural vessel of the Series of Six nos 3800 TDW General Cargo Vessel being built for M/s. Wilson ASA, Norway. This launch underscores the CSL group’s commitment to the "Atma Nirbhar Bharat" initiative, as well as the "Make in India" and "Make for the World" programs of Government of India. Ms. Martine Aamdal Bottheim (Royal Norwegian Embassy) Mr. Einar Tornes (Wilson ASA) Sh. Madhu S. Nair (CMD, CSL) & Shri Harikumar (CEO, UCSL) at the launch Ms. Martine Aamdal Bottheim, Minister Counsellor and Deputy Head of Mission at the Royal Norwegian Embassy, had the honors of launching the vessel, accompanied by Mr. Einar Tornes, Chief Financial Officer of Wilson ASA. The event was also graced by the presence of Shri Madhu S. Nair, Chairman and Managing Director of Cochin Shipyard Limited; Shri Bejoy Bhaskar, Director (Technical) at Cochin Shipyard; Shri Harikumar A., Chief Executive Officer of Udupi-Cochin Shipyard Limited; and other senior personnel from the shipyard. Ms. Martine Aamdal Bottheim (Royal Norwegian Embassy) Mr. Einar Tornes (Wilson ASA) Sh. Madhu S. Nair (CMD, CSL) & Shri Harikumar (CEO, UCSL) at the launch Wilson ASA, a company headquartered in Bergen, Norway, is the leading short sea fleet operator in Europe and transports about 15 million tonnes dry cargo across Europe. The Company operates a fleet of around 130 vessels ranging from 1500 to 8500 DWT. Wilson ASA, has further signed a follow on order of 8 nos of 6300 TDW Dry Cargo Vessels as two batches in June 2024 and September 2024, totalling to 14 vessels. The projects are under various stages of construction. Since takeover of the Yard by Cochin Shipyard Limited, UCSL has successfully delivered two 62T Bollard Pull Tugs to Ocean Sparkle Limited, an Adani Harbor Services Limited Company and two 70T Bollard Pull Tug to Polestar Maritime Limited, UCSL has also received further orders of four 70T Bollard Pull Tugs as repeat orders from Ocean Sparkle Limited (three) and Polestar Maritime Limited (one). The Vessel has a length of 89.43 Meters, Breadth of 13.2 meters and has a draft of 4.2meters. The Vessels designed by Conoship International, Netherlands are constructed as environment friendly diesel electric vessels for the transport of general cargo in the coastal waters of Europe. “Udupi-Cochin Shipyard Ltd (UCSL) has established a strong foothold in the international shipbuilding market by building this finest vessel in collaboration with M/s. Conoship International for M/s. Wilson ASA. Both Cochin Shipyard Limited and its subsidiary, Udupi Cochin Shipyard, continue to showcase their unwavering commitment to constructing high-quality ships for the Western European market. The repeat orders from existing clients of Udupi-CSL underscore the trust and confidence that customers place in the yard's capabilities and excellence,” said Mr. Madhu Nair, the Chairman and Managing Director of CSL. Udupi-Cochin Shipyard Limited, previously Tebma Shipyards Limited was taken over by Cochin Shipyard Limited in 2020 through an NCLT process, and the yard was turned around to a profit making yard in a short period of 3 years. Udupi-CSL today has an order book of more than Rs. 1500 Crores and is the leading subsidiary of CSL. !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window,document,'script', 'https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/fbevents.js'); fbq('init', '311356416665414'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); [ad_2] Source link

0 notes

news365times · 6 months ago

Text

0 notes

molsons112000 · 9 months ago

Text

You can see this bench.What happened to all the benches along the lake front... Like all that area down the lake front and they don't have benches so far apart. So you can sit there.Have your lunch and look out over the water Eating your lunch... Here in Logan square, they don't have it. At every cross street, but they should these benches.. Some people can go outside and drink their coffee and sit outside or go outside and have a beverage and have a snack. Now the thing it's missing is no garbage can by the bench...

But it would make it much nicer if it had a garbage can, and the garbage can could be on the outer side. So it's not next to the bench, it's at the corner and the mean i Thoroughfare through logan... This way.It's easy for the trash trucks to pick up...

Secondly, these islands on the right and left side protect the houses and the cars that are on the street from accidents... One time, some guy was flying down the center. Main traffic area because it has islands on both sides and Main traffic is in the center.. Any lost control, and because the trees are staggered, he hit a tree and yes, he died, but better than him going in crashing in and hitting the cars or ending up in one of the houses... So you know, other places put up cement pillars, but strong trees are the greatest way to protect buildings as well...

And this is better than putting up cement pillars. Strong trees act as a virtual barrier between pedestrians and vehicles.... And this is why I don't know why they don't position the bike lanes correctly... Because they can go very Green and use the trees as a separating force... So they can put in all these planter boxes and the planter boxes, separate car traffic from bicycle traffic, and it further protects pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk.. So I'll show you how protected people that walk on the sidewalks here are, they're very safe...

Studies have shown that when a street is lined with trees, they act as a visual barrier between drivers and pedestrians. A study from 2019 found that a higher urban tree cover is associated with increased feelings of safety.Jan 17, 2023

https://caseytrees.org › tree...

Trees for Traffic Calming

Also, trees protect bullets and give privacy.It's much much harder for somebody to make a clean shot...

Trees can be used as a protective barrier to help keep people safe from vehicles in a number of ways:

Reduce the risk of collisions

Trees can absorb energy in collisions, and their presence can signal to drivers to slow down. Trees with flexible trunks and branches are particularly effective at this.

Make roads feel safer

A 2019 study found that areas with more trees have a higher perceived sense of safety. Trees can make roads appear narrower, which can help calm traffic and reduce speeds.

Reduce road rage

Drivers may feel more relaxed in the presence of trees, which can lead to fewer accidents caused by frustration.

Protect cyclists and pedestrians

Trees can be used to create a safe environment for cyclists and pedestrians by blocking the view of traffic and air pollution.

Improve the quality of life

Trees can also save energy, reduce stormwater runoff, and increase property value.

However, trees are not as effective as engineered barriers like bollards or reinforced structures. In some cases, it may be necessary to remove trees from hazardous stretches of road and replant them at a safer distance.

State of Michigan (.gov)

Construction Barrier

Suitable land uses include transportation (highways), urban (drains, and private, commercial, or industrial development), and golf courses. This practice is par...

https://www.google.com/search?ie=UTF-8&client=ms-android-comcast-us-rvc3&source=android-browser&q=Using+trees+as+protective+barriers+to+protect+from+vehicles

So if donald trump was, i'm in the park, making a speech in an area of the park that had trees all around it now, yes, they would have to look for somebody in the tree, but it makes it very, very difficult... Trees are natural impediments preventing clean shots...

Oh, here you see. They talk about trees and trees and shrubs do act as natural impediments, and these houses here are logan are very protected from drive by shootings..

ScienceDirect.com

https://www.sciencedirect.com › ...

Investigation of trees as natural protective barriers using ...

by ECJ Gan · 2021 · Cited by 16 — Trees have been demonstrated to have significant windbreak capabilities [6,9] and could therefore be well-

https://www.google.com/search?ie=UTF-8&client=ms-android-comcast-us-rvc3&source=android-browser&q=Trees+and+shrubs+act+as+ballistic+barriers

So again, this neighborhood that I'm in, I'm on Logan in Fairfield, and it's very, very safe in that way, and I wish they would put up some more benches in that where people can sit down, you can walk with your stroller and then stop and sit on the bench and then. Move the stroller back-and-forth, and you can meet up with another mother. And maybe 2 dads walking their kids in the stroller, fathers, walk kids in a stroller, and then they have the running strollers. And running around logan bovart, i'm this inner lane, so let's measure this. So i'm going to measure it from my point back to my point one lap around logan boulevard, this is how I used to run at the university around the mall from the beginning of the mall to the end of the mall. Can I forget it was a couple miles one lap. But this is a natural jogging course, because not much traffic on the inner streets, and so it's good for jogging, and it's good for bicycling. And so it creates a natural exercise path, and in these center Islands, they could actually put a few workout stations like a pull up bar at 1 place and push upsetting at another place. And so they could put just a few one at each side of the island because they get divided by the streets. And so, as you're going, you can stop and do different, so you run a block, and then you do an exercise, then you run another block and do an exercise so they can set up a nice natural exercise course... So you can go out and do cardio and strength conditioning.... And they can set up a stretching station as well and sitting in the grass and that if dogs don't p*** and s*** and people don't contaminate or leave trash, then you can sit down in the grass and stretch and they could put up some signs about how to do different stretches and then signs by the apparatus on how to use the apparatus, so it's a very minimal investment. And they can make it a very functional area to stay in shape and people here can appreciate it going out and you can run with your stroller with your baby and you can run with your stroller or you could walk with your stroller and maybe they do some steps, so you can stretch also by having different steps so you have one step where you put 1 foot up. And if you've ever seen this, I'll put the thing in how to use stairs to stretch...

My one client. She got in great shape at work by not taking an elevator just using the stairs.And she lost a bunch of weight, and she looked great, and she was attractive, and she was getting in even better shape... But she just used the stairs at her apartment complex, and then the stairs at her office.. Now, the one thing she wasn't doing is doing multiple stairs, So you can skip stairs and do lunges, and also you can skip to do stretches... And so walking up and walking down, you can do going down lunges, those are much harder and I recommend using the railing, and for beginners, I recommend using the railing going up.... But you can naturally because they have 3 rise buildings, a lot of these have stairs walking app and that they can use the stairs in the front of their house to do stretches and exercise, do lunges going app and that so carry the groceries app and do lunches going app and then try to use the railing and do a longer step going down. So there's natural ways in your daily activity to do exercise... So like I said here, right next to the bench, they could have a little stretching station.... 🙄 🤔 And I use the curb to stretch my calves, and that, and the curb is a little step, so it's not that high, but you can use the curb as a step and you can use it for stretching...

You can use stairs to do a variety of stretches, including lunges, reaches, twists, and side reaches. Here are some ways to do these stretches:

Lunge: Step one foot up onto a stair, place your hands on a higher stair, and keep your back foot flat.

Reach: Push down into both feet while lifting your arms up.

Twist: Lower your arms and twist toward your front leg.

Side reach: Square off your torso so that your nose faces your toes, reach your right arm up, and arch toward your front leg.

Hamstring stretch: Put one foot toe up, lean over, and hinge at your hips.

Climbing stairs can also be a great aerobic exercise that can help strengthen your lower body and burn fat.

HT Physio – Over-Fifties Specialist Physio ·

How to Climb Stairs Easily: Exercises for Ages 65+

so this is my starting position. and all I'm going to do is stick my bottom out and bend my knee at the same time.

https://www.google.com/search?ie=UTF-8&client=ms-android-comcast-us-rvc3&source=android-browser&q=How+to+use+a+stair+or+a+couple+of+stairs+to+do+different+types+of+stretches+in+your+house

But it's not only calf stretches, you can do different grind stretches by putting your foot up on the curb, meaning stand back from the curb, and then extend one leg out to the curb and have it placed on the curb because it's in front of you and then lean forward and you will stretch. The groin of the leg that's behind you and in front of you. And then switch up...

Calves stretches

Now stand on a step or curb with your right heel overlapping the back edge of it. Bend at the knees and hips and, keeping most of your weight on the left leg, gently press the right heel down, simultaneously pulling the toes up. Repeat both stretches on the left leg.

https://www.southwestfamilymed.com › ...

How to stretch correctly and improve flexibility

So they have natural abilities to do different forms of stretching!!! Even when you're walking, take bigger steps, so you can do walking lunches, it's just another way to exercise when you're walking down the sidewalk...

YouTube · ExpertVillage Leaf Group

190+ views · 3 years ago

How to do Standing Calf Stretches on a Curb

How to do Standing Calf Stretches on a Curb. Part of the series: Track & Field Tips for Lower Body Stretching. Learn some great tips on how ...

Missing: street ‎| Show results with: street

REI

https://www.rei.com › learn

Great Stretches for Running

Learn the difference between dynamic stretching and static stretching and what stretches are best to do before and after running.

https://www.google.com/search?ie=UTF-8&client=ms-android-comcast-us-rvc3&source=android-browser&q=How+to+use+the+street+curb+to+do+different+stretching

And if you've ever taken spin class, you can use your bicycle to do stretching as well. Now it's easier in a spin bicycle because they have a stationary platform that holds it up, but if you get a motorcycle type kickstand on a regular bicycle, yes, a motorcycle kickstand on a regular bicycle instead of it, leaning to the right or left. I don't know why they don't put them on bicycles. Because a motorcycle kickstand it's very good for a regular bicycle and it holds it up in the center, and then you can stretch right or left.You can use the bicycle the stretch because it's a more supportive kickstand and it holds the bicycle upright, so they should put a motorcycle kickstand...

Oh, even if you're motorcycle riding, you can use the bumper of your car if you put a little cover on it and you can use it for stretching, you can put a blanket across the top of your car, truly the trunk or the hood and you can stretch your thighs by putting your foot up and so you can use your card to stretch And so there's all kinds of stretches, and you just put a cover, so you don't scratch it... But there's ways to do all this natural stretching and exercise...

AI Overview

A motorcycle center stand is a device that holds a motorcycle upright and is primarily used for maintenance work, such as changing the chain or removing wheels.

A motorcycle's side stand is used for parking and is more stable than a center stand. It's also more stable when the bike is in gear.

Here are some other things to consider when using a motorcycle kickstand:

Side stand enlarger

An aftermarket side stand enlarger can help prevent the side stand from sinking into asphalt and improve stability when parking on off-road surfaces.

Sidestand coasters

Sidestand coasters or plastic discs can be placed on the ground under the kickstand to protect surfaces from scratches.

Extended kickstand

An extended kickstand can be used for bikes that have been raised to accommodate larger wheels.

Using the kickstand

To use a rear stand, face the rear of the motorcycle, grab the tail section, and brace the bike against your hip. Then, move the stand into position and apply pressure to the handle.

So if you do this and they educate, but where is the City of Chicago showing this on videos on the alderman's website on the city of chicago's website? How to use the natural setup of the city to stay in shape!!!!

https://www.google.com/search?ie=UTF-8&client=ms-android-comcast-us-rvc3&source=android-browser&q=What+is+a+motorcycle+kickstand+that+holds+the+bicycle+motorcycle+straight+up

So this is very good and so they can make this neighborhood even more beautiful and make it more friendly and have people that live a more fuller and more beneficial life even if you're having dinner parties go for a walk!!! Me and costa, we used to go for walks after we ate dinner... Europeans do this all the time.After they eat dinner, they tend to go for walks... I used to do this when me and Jen went out on couple dates. We go and eat dinner net and then we would walk around the neighborhood, the couples, the guys would walk together and talk and the girls would walk it together and talk. We did this with Jane and Alex after we ate at marches, me and Alex walked together and talked and Jane and Jen walked together and talked now the girls walked in front of us and we walked behind the girls. So this way, I could keep an eye on them.... And if anyone wasn't a sneak up, they would sneak up on me and not them.... So we walked behind, and the girls walked in front more as a protective thing... But we would go out to dinner and then go for walks after dinner. We went on a couple dates and it was good and we had fun times and then we'd go walk around the neighborhood. We were in after dinner, but it's a great way to go somewhere. Get something to eat and then yeah, get the note. The areas you live around Or I used to do this when I went to new york and other places, truly, I would go somewhere to eat, and then I would walk around the neighborhoods, getting the know the neighborhoods.....

So take a little walk after you eat breakfast.Take a walk after you eat lunch.Take a walk after you eat dinner, take a little walk....

Walking after eating can have many health benefits, including:

Blood sugar control: Walking after eating can help regulate blood sugar levels. A study found that walking after eating caused blood sugar levels to rise and fall more gradually than sitting or standing.

Improved digestion: Walking after eating can stimulate the stomach and intestines, which can help food move through the digestive system more quickly.

Lower blood pressure: Walking after eating can help lower blood pressure.

Weight loss: Walking after eating can help with weight loss.

Improved mood: Walking after eating can improve your mood by reducing stress hormones like cortisol.

Increased circulation: Walking after eating can increase circulation, which can boost energy and mental clarity.

Heart health: Walking after eating can support heart health.

Building exercise habits: Walking after every meal can help you build a consistent exercise habit.

If you have any preexisting conditions, you should check with your healthcare provider before starting an exercise regimen.

Peloton

4 Reasons Why Walking After Eating Is So Beneficial - Peloton

Jan 26, 2024 — The Takeaway Walking after eating is a simple way to support mental and physical health. Studies

https://www.google.com/search?ie=UTF-8&client=ms-android-comcast-us-rvc3&source=android-browser&q=So+the+health+benefits+of+walking+after+eating

And it's also a good way in your neighborhood. When you do it, you can say hi to neighbors, and sometimes you're walking down the neighborhood, you know, take a card. Truly, take a card, write a card and drop it in a neighbor's box and say, Hey, never met you and/or I just wanted to say hi, and hopefully everything's going well. So as you walk the neighborhood, you can take some cards out with you and pre fill them out for the different addresses and just saying, hi, I hope you're having a great day. Hope everything's going well with the family. Hope the renovation on the house is going well if they're renovating the house or what? They're doing something, you know, of drop a card in their mailbox. It doesn't have to be delivered by the postman. You're just talking about your neighborhood. So just walk up and drop off the card in the mailbox, be neighborly... This wanted to say hi, if you live in a building, slip a card under the door or put it in the door itself, you know, maybe put a rubber band around it and tie it to the doorknob... That way, it's on the doorknob, and it doesn't fall on the floor or the ground... And that way they don't step on it, or you know, it doesn't blow away or anything, but, but you're just being neighborly and saying hi... And so think of ways to create communities like the church that lives in these areas they can have parishioners, like they did at urban ministry, what did urban ministry we did, when ncpc moved into urban ministry... Every day after church before people left, they would walk the neighborhood and then people would come back to the church and then they either had fellowship or people would go home or leave, say bye to each other and just go home or go somewhere... But when they moved in to urban ministries, my church, they walked a neighborhood constantly on sunday after church... It's good for the congregation, and it's also good. People see the congregation, walking the neighborhood, they get to see the neighborhood they get to interact, and they could drop little friendly notes on people's houses as they walked the neighborhood... But this is another way to do a little bit of exercise and stretched her legs after they sat for service in church... So now, like the orthodox christians, they walk around the church on christmas eve three times but they could just make this a standard thing.And reason for 3 times is the father, the son and the holy ghost.. But they can make this in every sunday occasion.So making church includes a little bit of exercise, but people get to walk and talk and get to know each other... So you can mix up the seating, so when people go walk the neighborhood, they're with different people, and they get to walk with them and talk to each other and get to know each other... So it also can be a bonding event, a fellowship event!!!! And like here, there's multiple churches, and maybe the services are at the same time and they get out and walk the neighborhood and they can say hi to each other as they pass by each other!!!! So think about it, it can create better friendship and create a healthier congregation.And in the winter, it's no reason not to walk.Just people have to bring coats and gloves inappropriate, whether even if it's raining out, bring an umbrella, wear a raincoat, bring appropriate a tire and at the church.We have some raincoats and extra umbrellas... The Marriott hotel that I stayed in across from Central Park. They always had umbrellas, and so you just asked for an umbrella at the front desk. They had lots of umbrellas and so you can ask for an umbrella may give you an umbrella so you could go out and walk when it's raining or snowing.Oh yeah, that's right.You know, you use umbrellas when it's snowing as well.It's just not rain, it's also good for snow...

Also, in the fall, if there's a lot of leaves falling around the trees are shedding its leaves walking with an umbrella, keeps them out of your hair and off of you. So even if it's not raining or snowing, but also umbrellas are good to protect yourself from the wind...

Some say you should not use an umbrella in the snow, while others say it can be acceptable in certain situations:

Snow accumulation: If the snow is falling so fast that it will weigh down your umbrella, you should not use it.

Melting snow: If the snow is melting quickly and is falling into your face, you can use an umbrella.

Snowflakes: Snowflakes can be brushed off most fabrics, and they don't cling to snow-specific clothing like parkas and ski jackets.

Energy waste: Some say that using an umbrella in the snow is a waste of energy.

Winter clothing: Some recommend wearing good winter clothing instead of an umbrella.

Sunglasses: Some recommend wearing sunglasses to protect your eyes from the snow.

Courtesy: If you do use an umbrella in the snow, be aware of the people around you.

Umbrella diameter: Make sure your umbrella's diameter is appropriate for the width and crowdedness of the streets.

Eyes on the snow: Keep your eyes on the snow drifts instead of the umbrella.

Bwog

In Defense Of: Using An Umbrella In The Snow - Bwog

Jan 27, 2022 — If the snow is falling at a rate in which it will pile up and weigh down on your umbrella, yeah, obviously

RevZilla ·

YouTube · 1y

Motorcycle Stands: How To Use Them and Why You Need Them ...

plus they can often knock that tire change out while you wait. so by

So go out and enjoy life.Make some friends be active.....

0 notes

wildler · 5 years ago

Text

My mother had told me that the shadow creatures never came out of the darkness, because they didn’t have to. They always found a way to lure you in.

Rae’s mother had never told her anything like that, so when the floodlights at the end of our street stopped working and the surrounding homes were evacuated, she wanted to check it out.

“Missy!” Rae called, leaning on a traffic bollard that supported a road closure sign. “Damn dog, where’d she go?”

I leaned on the bollard next to Rae’s and peered over the sign. I’d lived my whole life under the safe glow of lamps and my eyes weren’t accustomed to cutting through darkness. Which made it hard to make out anything past the curtain of shadow that met our artificially lit end of the street. “You shouldn’t have let her off the leash,” I said, trying to scan the poorly lit driveways and lawns of the furthest houses.

“I know that now, don’t I?” Rae gave me a shove in the shoulder and pressed her lips into a hard line. She was taller than me and I had to hold the sign to stop from falling over.

“There!” My gaze snagged on a yapping knee-high figure in the darkness. Missy was two houses down, on Ms Hudson’s abandoned front lawn.

“Come back girl!” Rae’s desperate voice echoed down the street. Missy’s ears pricked up as the broken floodlight flickered to life above her, bathing the evacuated end of the cul-de-sac in safe, sterile, bright white.

“How—?” I squinted into the lit bulbs. The specialised repair crew wasn’t expected for another day.

“Here.” Rae shoved the leash at me, not waiting to see if I caught it before she hoisted herself over the blockade.

“What are you doing?” I clutched the leash to my chest and tried to grab the back of her shirt in the same motion.

Her sneakers hit the road on the other side of the barrier with a slap. “Getting her while the lights are on.”

“But—”

She didn’t wait for me to finish, taking off down the path, her pony tail swinging behind her. Missy looked up from the patch of grass she was sniffing and gave an excited bark. I watched, my heart drumming in my ears as Rae scooped her up and rounded swiftly, sprinting back toward me with the fluffy bundle wriggling in her arms.

There was a flicker and my breath caught as the floodlight dimmed, dousing Rae in shadows for a moment. A scream stuck in the back of my throat, strangling me while my stomach tipped upside down. Then there was another flicker, and the lights were back. I let out a thin breath. Rae was still running, her face stricken as she closed in on me. Missy fought harder in her arms—tiny legs frantically kicking the air.

“Take her!” Rae held Missy at arm’s length out in front. She was still running, full speed, on a collision course with the barrier.

I reached as far as I could over the road block. Missy’s weight filled my hands just as the light went out again. Rae was plunged into darkness. Her silhouette barely visible in a churn of moving shadows. She let out a scream and something tugged sharply on the dog in my grasp. I tightened my grip and Missy howled. A freezing swirl of air clasped my outstretched arms. It pulled my stomach into the sign, winding me. I let out a panicked wheeze and wrenched backwards. Icy claws tore down my arms and I fell back. Missy was still in my hands, landing on top of me with a whimper.

Rae’s scream from the darkness was cut off and I scrambled to my feet, straining my eyes and seeing nothing. No sign of Rae, or the swirling mass of shadows that had smothered her in the dark. It was as though they hadn’t been there at all.

There was a flicker, and the broken floodlight blinked back on.

------

stay out of the darkness this week for @alexprompts .. :)

#fiction #short story #spilled ink #writeblr #flash fiction #original fiction #prose #original prose #my writing #creative writing #writing #prompted #alexpromptsoutofthedarkness #wildlerwrites

48 notes · View notes

blessed-but-distressed · 6 years ago

Text

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU

***

also on ff.net and ao3

***

Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal , @kat2609 , @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld , @natascha-remi-ronin, @kiwistreetswan and whoever else asks me.

***

A/N: Part 1 of 2. We’ll get there when we get there.

***

Emma

It had been building for weeks. Months, really.

It began with a series of fences up on the Castle Esplanade, robbing the selfie-stick set of their outlook towards Arthur’s Seat. Before long it became a full-blown construction site, scaffolds looming up on either side of the tarmac like a bad omen.

Then came the anti-terrorist bollards on the Mile, at once ugly and terrifying in their design. By the time the placards went up at the tail end of July, you could feel it in the air, like an encroaching thunderstorm.

August.

For as long as she’d lived in Edinburgh, Emma had heard the war stories.

A bloody nightmare, was how Killian had once phrased it. Imagine, if you will, if every insufferable wanker in London with even the slightest dramatic inclination took it upon himself-

Or herself, Tink had interrupted.

Or herself, he’d amended, with a roll of his eyes, to decamp 400 miles up the East Coast line, en masse. And not just for a weekend, either. An entire month. And then imagine they proceed to spend that time putting on dodgy comedy shows, getting pissed as newts, and trying to get off with each other.

Don’t forget the inflated prices, Will had cut in.

The traffic, Tink lamented.

Hipsters with posh accents taking up all the seats in your local, Will added mournfully.

The flyers, Killian sighed. At that, the other two groaned.

So it’s busy? Emma had asked.

Aye, Swan, Killian had replied, a weary glint in his eye. It’s busy.

***

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe them, exactly. She’d seen the crowds at Christmastime, swelling up around the markets in Princes Street Gardens. She’d stared the drunken aftermath of Hogmanay in the face, and lived to tell the tale. She knew busy.

The Festival was, well… most days it wasn’t unlike navigating the Battle of Thermopylae. Every major thoroughfare, every centrally located eatery turned into a desperate crush of bodies, all attempting to coexist in too little available space. And there on the periphery the thespians lay in wait, ready to exploit any signs of weakness.

The first few days, she took every flyer on offer. It was the polite thing to do. But as her bag, and the crowds swelled, she was forced to reassess. By week’s end Emma learned to do as the locals did, keeping her head down, headphones in, and her hands stuffed in her pockets at all times.

So when August, the man, promised Emma he could sneak her into the green room at the Book Festival, she took her chance to escape the rabble.

Compared with the madness up on the Mile, the Book Festival in Charlotte’s Square was an oasis of calm. The crowd skewed older, and it showed. They sat drinking up the sun in plastic lawn chairs, whiling away the hours until the next panel or signing with the unhurried air of the newly retired. Yet even as she sipped her overpriced plastic cup of gin, Emma felt content.

It was summer. She was on vacation. And she was one Q & A session away from having her apartment all to herself again.

“Emma!” Her houseguest fell onto the grass beside her, spilling half of his gin in the process.

“You got them?” Emma asked, leaning over to top up his drink with some of hers.

Taking a few surreptitious glances in either direction, August unzipped his jacket, and tossed something into Emma’s lap. “I’m a man of my word.”

Emma wouldn’t go quite that far, but she snatched it up anyway. It was a sweater, pale blue with a prominent STAFF designation across the back. Her ticket into the green room. “And where did you get that? Did you slip some poor underpaid usher a tenner, or something?”

August just tapped the side of his nose, and smiled his usual mysterious smile.

Tamping down her urge to kick him, Emma sighed and pulled the sweater over her head. It was a little big on her, but not comically so. She rolled up the sleeves, and waved a little to get August’s attention.

“What do you think? Do I look like I’d volunteer at a Book Festival?”

“No,” he replied, without looking at her. “And I think your columnist just came out of the Zadie Smith signing. Kevin?”

She squinted against the sun, to where the crowd was pouring out from the Signing Tent. Sure enough, there was a familiar monochromatic figure loping his way across the square. It’d been more than a month since she’d seen him, but if the signature walk hadn’t given him away, the outfit would’ve. Who else would insist on black leather in the middle of summer?

“Killian,” Emma corrected automatically, already regretting rising to the bait.

August knew full well who Killian was. He’d Facebook stalked him the same as Ruby had. He read his columns religiously, picking them apart in their group chat with the zeal of a literature major on Adderall. He just liked being a dick.

As they emerged from the throng, Emma saw the petite woman at Killian’s side, matching his stride in impressively tall heels.

How does she walk in those things? Emma wondered to herself. But before she could voice this aloud, August was already on his feet.

“I’m going to go say ‘hi’.” There was a twinkle in his eye, one she didn’t much like the look of.

“August...” Emma gave a low warning, but it was too late. He’d already passed her the last of his drink, and disappeared across the square.

Lord help her.

Downing the last of the gin, Emma straightened her sweater one last time and went after him.

***

August wasn’t famous, exactly. His debut, a semi-autobiographical account of his early twenties backpacking through South East Asia, had made some waves when it first came out. There’d been movie interest. A profile in the New Yorker. Everyone was a sucker for that foster-kid-made-good fairytale.

But when he switched focus to fantasy fiction, his agent jumped ship. Likewise, most of his readership. These days, he was what Emma might charitably call a “midlist author.” Consistent, but not exactly setting the world on fire. Mostly, he survived under the radar, letting the royalties from his successful debut prop up his middling career. But every once in a while, he’d run into a fan in the wild, and things would get... strange.

When Emma finally caught up to August, she came to two sudden realizations;

On closer inspection, the woman with the impressive ability to navigate across grass with spike heels was none other than Belle. Librarian Belle. As in, I-really-like-sad-songs-and-married-a-complete-douchebag Belle.

Belle was staring at August with the kind of gobsmacked, I-just-swallowed-a-goldfish expression that could only mean one thing: She was a fan.

“You know August Booth?” Belle shout-whispered to Killian. The hand clinging tightly to Killian’s bicep might’ve stirred Emma’s interest, if she didn’t think it was all that was keeping the girl upright.

Killian seemed entirely puzzled. “Err… in passing?” He looked from August to Emma, searching for a lifeline.

“You’re a Swords of Storybrooke fan, I take it?” Emma asked, helpfully.

Belle seemed to shake herself a little. “Emma! Hi!” She reached across to give her a one-armed hug, the best she could do with the books still cradled against her chest with her other hand.

“Are you kidding? I’m in love with those books! I have the last line from Good Form tattooed on my-” She trailed off abruptly, cheeks flushing red. “Sorry,” she said, turning again to August. “You must get that all the time.”

“Not as often as I’d like,” he said with a flash of teeth. “Always nice to meet a fan. It was Belle, wasn’t it?” Emma saw the flash of recognition cross his face, as he matched the name with the story. “You’re a friend of Ruby’s, right?”

“Ruby? Ruby Lucas? Uh, yeah. We dated. Sort of. You know her?”

“We go back a ways. Do you like gin, Belle?” he asked, coaxing her closer to the bar. “I heard they’ve got some here that tastes like Earl Grey…”

It took Emma a moment to realize she’d been abandoned. Alone. With Killian Jones. Exactly as August, that slimy son of a bitch, had intended.

To his credit, Killian looked similarly startled, trying and failing to cover it with a casual scratch behind his ear. It was just a small thing, but it killed her.

“Sooo…” he began, never one to leave a silence unfilled, “Been a while…”

5 weeks, not that she was counting.

“Not that I blame you for avoiding me, mind...” he added.

“I wasn’t-” Her first instinct was denial, but she swallowed it back down. He knew her better than that. “Yeah, okay, I was, a bit. Sorry. I just needed…”

“Space,” Killian finished for her.

“Yeah. Space.”

The smile they shared was fragile. Precious. She wanted to tell him she’d meant to call. That she’d had to fight off tears the whole time she’d read through his latest column. She wanted to tell him what it had meant to her.

Instead, she just said the first stupid thing to pop into her head.

“Sorry, I think August just stole your date.”

“Date?” Killian looked back to where Belle and August had disappeared, and it dawned on him. “Belle?” His laugh was incredulous, if Emma was any judge. “Err… no. We just kind of met in the line.”

“To Zadie Smith, right?”

“Aye.” He held up the autographed copy of her latest, before tucking it back under his arm. “Elsa’s a big fan. Her birthday’s coming up, so-”

She felt a prickle of attraction and hated herself for it. Just because he was a good brother-in-law, it didn’t mean she had to let her guard down again. Ted Bundy had probably been a great brother-in-law too.

“She’s coming home soon?” Even as strained as things had been, he’d been unable to keep the implosion of his home life entirely to himself.

“Next week. Let the boys settle back into things before school goes back.”

“And things with her and Liam are…?” She let her words trail off, not wanting to overstep.

“They’re… I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “They’re talking now, at least. These long, overwrought transatlantic Skype conversations that I pretend very hard not to overhear. It’s a start, I suppose.”

Emma shrugged in agreement. As thoughtful responses went, it fell short of the mark. But what did she know about fixing a broken marriage? She’d had one functional adult relationship in her entire life, and she hadn’t even made it through the entire proposal before she’d cut and run.

“So you’re working here?” he asked suddenly.

“Huh?” She looked down, confused, only to realize she was still wearing her baby blue STAFF sweater. “Oh, this? No, this is stolen. Or borrowed? You know what? I’m not really sure on the specifics.”

“Oh..kay?” Amusement was definitely winning out over his confusion.

Emma shrugged. “August said he’d sneak me into the Green Room. This is part of my cunning disguise. Pretty convincing, huh?”

“You know they check lanyards at the door, right?”

She didn’t. Fucking August.

“There is, of course, another way in…” He tried for his usual irrepressible swagger, and it rang a bit hollow to Emma’s ears. But he was trying.

“Oh, is there?” she asked , crossing her arms sullenly over her chest.

He nodded, eyes growing brighter as they fell into a more familiar rhythm. “A secret way. Only known to the chosen few…”

Emma shot him a flat look.

With a grin and a flourish, he pulled a lanyard from his pocket, and held it out for her inspection.

It was identical to his in every way, right down to the Saorsa logo stamped on the back.

“Our photographer never made it, so I had a spare. What do you say, Swan? Want to ditch that awful jumper and join the big leagues?”

Emma cocked her head, considering this proposal. ”Would I actually have to take photographs?”

“If you like. But you’d definitely have to hold the camera. Authenticity and all that.”

“And we’d breathe the same air as actual famous authors?” She was kidding, but only a little.

“Breathe the same air, eat the same Chocolate Digestives. We could even talk to a few, if you like.” He shrugged. “That’s kind of why I’m here.”

Somehow, that trumped her original plan of playing the wallflower while August caught up with his cadre of fellow fantasy authors.

She didn’t say anything, but Killian must’ve already intuited her answer, because he gently pulled the lanyard from her grasp, and slipped it over her head with a smirk.

“Congratulations, Dr Swan. You’re now a proud member of the fourth estate.” He held out a hand. “Shall we?”

Emma looked down at the proffered hand and hesitated.

It was just a hand, and it wasn’t. Because here was the truth: Emma had started to trust Killian Jones. Started to lean on him. Confide in him. And even now, after he’d kicked the metaphorical chair out from under her and shown he was capable of being a complete ass when the mood struck, she still wanted to.

It was a hand, but it was also a second chance.

And maybe it made her weak, but Emma reached out and took it.

***

I can’t believe I met a Pulitzer Prize winner! ES

I can. You only made me take twenty pictures of the two of you together. KJ

Funny. ES

Not a hardship, I can assure you. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. It was good to see you, even if only for a wee bit. KJ

Huh. Sincerity. Not sure what to do with that. ES

I’m trying a new thing, where I occasionally let the people in my life know that I actually appreciate their company. KJ

And how’s that working out for you? ES

Will is now convinced I harbour a dreadful crush on him, and Liam asked me if I had a concussion. Soo… I’d call it a work in progress ;-) KJ

Good to see you too. ES

***

August’s Q & A went better than expected, if you didn’t count the guy at the front whose question was more of a diatribe, really, about all the things he would’ve done differently.

There was always one.

But on the whole, the genuine fans outnumbered the assholes, and it took a good two hours to finally extricate August from his adoring masses, after the fact.

He was already flushed, drunk on ego and free booze when he finally emerged from behind a tent flap, and pulled Emma into a lazy hug.

“Where to next, oh tour guide extraordinaire?” he asked with hot gin breath.

Emma grimaced, and held him at arm’s length. “There’s no next. You have a train to catch, remember?”

“Last train for London isn’t for another three hours,” August shrugged. “Still time for a last bit of revelry. Didn’t you promise you’d actually take me to a Fringe show?”

She had, but she’d also counted on August being distracted by his own brilliance long enough for her to welch out of that particular contract. The last thing she felt like doing was wading back into the madness of the Old Town.

“It’s kind of last minute…”

But August already had his phone out, scrolling through the app and Emma knew a lost cause when she saw one.

He looked up suddenly, eyes lit with a tantalizing prospect. “How far’s the Tron?”

***

During the semester, The Tron was a studenty kind of hang out. Plenty of drink specials, and always a free table downstairs. She usually avoided the place, none too eager to bump into her students during their messy nights out. Least of all during hers.

During the Festival, however, it was a very different beast.

Gone were the baby faced clientele, and reasonable prices. It was standing room only, and foreign accents were more common than not. In this crowd, she might’ve been just another festival-goer, at a loose end between shows.

Even with having the push through the late afternoon crowds on the Mound, they still made it with ten minutes to spare before August’s chosen comedian started his set downstairs. She sent him down to save them some seats, and after a lot of pushing, shoving and gratuitous cleavage displays, managed to attract the attention of the nearest bartender.

“Alright, love?” he asked, with little better than a leer.

She ordered a pint for herself, and a tap water for August.

“That’s £10.”

Emma nearly swallowed her tongue. “For a pint? That’s extortion!”

The bartender shrugged, snatching the bill from her hand. “That’s August.”

She turned around, drinks in hand and the crowd surged around her, gunning for her vacated space by the bar. Some of her lager slopped onto the shoes of the guy in front of her, and she was halfway through her apology before she took a look at his face, and froze.

Graham.

Her Graham. Standing in The Tron. And decidedly not somewhere in Northern Ireland, studying the possible ramifications of Brexit on the Irish Border. Contrary to the text he’d sent her two hours ago.

“Emma, hey!” the words were friendly, but there was no disguising the tension in his jaw.

He was not pleased to see her.

And when Emma looked behind him, and saw the dark haired young woman whose hand was clutched tightly in his, she realized why. It wasn’t just the white knuckled hold they had on each other, so they wouldn’t lose each other in the crush.

It was the matching silver wedding bands.

Mother. Fucker.

Emma barely had time to process before she was tipping her overpriced pint down his shirt. All £10 of it.

The crowd of people around them suddenly went deathly quiet, so quiet Emma could hear the rush of her own blood inside her ears. She saw at least one person raise a camera phone.

Graham, himself said nothing. Even as his companion, his wife, stared between the two of them, dumbfounded.

“Sorry,” Emma said, with the least amount of sincerity she could muster. “Really crowded in here, huh?”

The crowd parted for her as she left. Someone even slow clapped. It was all she could do to keep her face level until she was outside on the Mile, already dialing August’s number.

***

August never did end up catching his train that night. Instead they went back to Emma’s flat, and tore through Emma’s entire cache of American candy while bingeing episodes of Bake Off.

It was only around 3am that she finally let him lead her into her bedroom, tucking her in like she was still a kid. Like nothing had changed in the last twenty years.

“You don’t need to say it,” she said, as he settled on top of the covers beside her, both of them staring at the ceiling.

“Say what?” he asked, leaning over to turn off her lamp.

“That my taste in men sucks.”

August snorted, settling back down beside her. “Well, you said it.”

“You’re right,” Emma admitted to the dark. “And you were right about Walsh. I didn’t love him. I just kind of… got used to him. And it’s not the same thing.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

She turned over then, so she could see the vague outline of his face in the near darkness. “Have you told Jefferson how you feel, yet?”

They’d never discussed it. Not explicitly. But from the moment August had introduced his editor into their little group, Emma had known. And it didn’t seem to matter that Jefferson was a widower. Or a single father. There was something there, something between them as they traded insults and bickered over line edits. Something more than colleagues, or even friends. Something rare.

The silence was telling, as August regrouped.

“I wrote him a letter, once,” he confessed. “I was going to submit it with my finished manuscript. Right on the last page. But I ripped it up before I could give it to him.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to snort. “We never stood a chance, did we?”

“Some kids get trophies. Foster kids get abandonment issues.” It was a recitation. A line she’d heard before.

They knew the truth of it better than anyone.

#cs ff #cs au #findemmaswanafriend #cs fic

48 notes · View notes

logi1974 · 5 years ago

Video

youtube

- English -

Water-Lock Park Waltrop Three waterways meet directly south of the city of Datteln: the Rhine-Herne Canal from Duisburg, the Datteln-Hamm Canal from Hamm and the Dortmund-Ems Canal from Meppen and Dortmund. A few kilometers north, the Wesel-Datteln Canal branches off towards Wesel.

The approximately 15-kilometer-long section of canal to the port of Dortmund starts here, almost 15 meters higher than the other three canals. Together with this section, the Henrichenburg boat lift in Waltrop-Oberwiese, necessary to bridge the height difference, was opened in 1899.

As early as 1914, the first lock was built in close proximity to the boat lift, together with the completion of the Rhine-Herne Canal. It was decommissioned in 1969, renovated and is now part of a park-like landscape.

In addition to the old lock, the third system for lifting or lowering the ships was built in 1962: the new lift. In 2005 the new boat lift was also closed due to technical defects.

The only lifting system in operation is the new lock, built between the old shaft lock and the new boat lift in 1989, the fourth canal structure in Oberwiese.

All of the lifts and locks, all four technically so-called "descent structures", form the so-called Waltrop Water-Lock Park. The LWL Industrial Museum takes up a large part of it with the old boat lift and an exhibition on the topic of inland navigation. Some areas are inaccessible company premises.

However, the channel islands around the old lock became a park-like complex: the Waltrop Water-Lock Park. It extends on the so-called Channel Islands to the New Lock. The "islands" are the land masses between the four channel arms of the upper and lower water to the former and the current lifting device.

The disused and unused channel arms hold numerous memories of the active time that can be discovered during a walk. Here and there, benches invite you to pause and take a dreamy look at the still water, on which numerous waterfowls can be spotted.

The proud core of the freely accessible facility is the old shaft lock from 1914 with its western water basin. They served to save water during the lock process and to minimize the necessary and time-consuming refilling of the headwater on the section between Waltrop and Dortmund.

The principle of the lock is very simple: the ship goes into the lock chamber, in which the water level is then slowly adjusted to the lower or upper level, lowered or raised. The ship can then leave the lock on the other side at the same height.

When the lock was dismantled after its closure in 1989, the eastern water pools were removed and replaced by a parking space. The lock gates were also removed.

A pedestrian path leads through the middle of the lock basin, only 10 meters wide and under the lock gate, with its romantic turrets, from the former upper water to the lower water.

The outer harbor at the underwater is also used as a marina. The popular channel cruises on the MS Santa Monika passenger ship usually start here.

The brick walls of the lock basin then rise to the right and left. The now dry embankments and concrete bollards testify that ships used to drive and moor here.

In 1962, the old boat lift and the old lock were supplemented by the new boat lift. However, due to construction defects, this has already been shut down as well. Its trough is 90 meters long and 12 meters wide.

The Café Kortmann, located between the car park and the street, invites you to take a break and offers excellent cakes and of course food and drinks.

The park between the new lock and the open air museum is freely accessible 24/7. The visit is free of charge.

#schiffshebewerk #schleusenpark #henrichenburg #datteln #waltrop #kanal

1 note · View note

philipchircop · 6 years ago

Text

Give yourself the greatest gift: Learn to do nothing

by ELIZABETH RENZETTI GLOBE AND MAIL | SATURDAY 21ST DECEMBER, 2019

We gluttons don’t need GPS. Our noses are the finest technology the universe will ever produce. So I followed mine to the Christmas markets of Berlin, where I had to choose between the seductive kartoffelpuffer and the saucy dampfnudeln, the aromatic lebkuchen and the sugary almonds. Who am I kidding? There was no choosing. I ate them all. It’s Christmas time, and someone else is cooking. Someone who has a PhD in carbs.

I’ve lived in Berlin since the summer, and I’ve been waiting for the Christmas markets every day, like the rapidly aging child I am. There are 2,500 Weihnachtsmarkt across Germany, and dozens in the capital alone. At the LGBTQ market in Nollendorfplatz, I listened to the MC wish everyone “peace, love and rhythm” for 2020. At the historic market in Friedrichshain, I threw an axe at a plywood bear, watched the axe thud dully to the ground and took it as proof (as if any were needed) that I should never leave the city.

At the giant market surrounding Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, I watched the crowd stream through heavy-duty bollards placed there after a terrorist drove a truck into the crowd in 2016, killing 12. The attack happened on Dec. 19 and three days later, the market was open again, because this is Europe, and more specifically Berlin. The city has been through worse. And, as I’d come to understand, you don’t mess with the Christmas markets.

Mainly, though, I watched people doing very little of anything. They came, maybe they bought an ornament or a balloon for their kids, and then they stood around eating sausages and drinking gluehwein (I’m sorry, I don’t come up with the stereotypes, I just observe them). They stared into the fire, or chatted with friends. Almost no one had their phones out. It felt like there was a life lesson on display: Here was a way to be quiet, communal and generally purposeless, even in the middle of the most frenzied season of the most frenzied year at the end of a truly bonkers decade. Not good bonkers either, like Iggy Pop dancing, but bad, dangerous, sanity-ravaging bonkers. “The age of perpetual crisis,” the Guardian called it, and it’s hard to disagree.

What do you do when stillness is impossible to find, when your attention is being shredded like a constantly flapping flag in a gale-force wind? Well, you could take a page from one of the most useful books I read this year, Jenny Odell’s How to do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy. “Nothing is harder to do than nothing,” writes Ms. Odell, an artist and teacher in Oakland, Calif. “In a world where our value is determined by our productivity, many of us find our every last minute captured, optimized, or appropriated as a financial resource by the technologies we use daily.”

What she proposes is not a “digital detox,” which merely presses a person’s reset button before sending her back into the rat race, but something much more radical and resonant. We should instead question our very ideas of productivity, and wonder on whose behalf we are being productive (and who is profiting from our attention). She argues for an intense focus on the people and animals and landscape right under our noses, a concept she calls “placefulness.” Above all, she’s not talking about running away from the world and its problems, but marshalling our limited attention and energy in order to fight more productively for what matters – as opposed to feeling like a flag at the mercy of the storm.

It helped me to be in a different place to understand placefulness – especially one that is comfortable with doing nothing. I had no idea before moving here, but Germans – Berliners in particular – relax very hard. It is perfectly acceptable, my German teacher said, to use “ich faulenze” (essentially, I’m loafing) as an excuse for not going out. Germany’s productivity is famously high, and yet the country falls at the lowest end of the OECD in terms of hours actually worked. You work, and then you stop, and then you might have a beer. Servers at a restaurant will not bring the bill to your table until you ask for it, often more than once, because nobody’s in a particular hurry (they also don’t live on tips, which helps).

If you’d told me that Germany would teach me to relax, I would have asked what kind of mushrooms were in your omelette. But it is, in fact, true. This country has entire days set aside for proper rest: Sunday shopping, for example, is limited to a few days a year. And heaven help you if you break the peace of the ruhezeit, or rest time. There is no leaf-blowing allowed on Sundays, no boisterous barbecuing. In our apartment building, even putting bottles in the communal recycling on Sunday earns serious stink-eye from the neighbours. Poor savage, they seem to be thinking, she does not understand the rules of calm.

Doing nothing is particularly hard at this time of year, when it feels like there are more demands on your time than Quality Streets in the tin. You’re not meant to be working, and yet find yourself working harder, and often more pointlessly, than ever. Busyness becomes its own reward, a refuge of sorts from having to confront your thoughts. Doing nothing is not for sissies, to paraphrase someone wise on the subject of old age. It is hard. It is a radical divergence from the pack. And it just might be the best gift you can give yourself.

2 notes · View notes

seabreeze2022 · 3 years ago

Text

Grand Banks to Sturgeon Bay, WI. (Part 1)

Nancy and I delivered a 42’ Grand Banks trawler from Columbus MS, to Sturgeon Bay WI, Sept-Oct. 2022. The trip took 25 days and approximately 928 miles, with 20 locks. We put 175 hours on the two engines.

On Sept. 26, 2022 we flew from Syracuse NY to Columbus MS. Where we boarded the “Susan Lee” (SL). It is a 1974 boat built in Singapore. This boat was kept in meticulous shape, mostly in freshwater.

After a quick check of the boat we borrowed the marina’s courtesy car and made a run for groceries. This is where Nancy’s help is so valuable. She bought $400 of food from Walmart, providing us with 2 weeks of balanced meals.

We started out early the next morning at mile marker (mm) 335 on the Tennessee-TomBigBee river. I had stayed at the same marina in June on another trip. Our first lock was the “Aberdeen Lock” at mm 357. Aberdeen lock is pretty typical of the US Army Corp of Engineer (USACE) locks. It is 600 ft. long and 100 ft. wide. This lock has a lift of 30 ft.

Here is Nancy on the foredeck wearing a required life Jacket while in the lock. Plus she has heavy gloves. This trawler had everything including a set of wireless headsets, referred to as “marriage savers” on boats. We were able to just talk to each other without screaming. Nancy gives me distance to the lock wall or dock. Since I can not see them very well from the upper helm.

She has already tied us “starboard side to”, on a floating bollard. More about that later. This trawler has both bow and stern thrusters, plus two engines giving me differential thrust. The down side of the Grand Banks is, it has very small rudders. At slow speed you end up spinning the wheel like the “Wheel of Fortune”. When using differential thrust you just park the rudder in the center and maneuver the boat by going either one in forward and the other in reverse. Or some other variation. Below is a photo taken of a similar Grand Banks running gear.

This is the first nights dinner of pork chops, field peas and mashed potatoes. We had anchored well off of the channel at mm 393, just north of Fulton MS. Each day when we retrieve the anchor, Nancy has to hose off the mud stuck in the chain links. This keeps the anchor locker clean.

We woke up to steam rising from the river. Mornings were calm with winds picking up in the afternoon. Rankin Lock was just up the river with a 31 ft. lift. Below is Nancy tied off to a “floating bollard”. It raises and lowers as the water level in the lock changes. Beware it could hang up. Two schools of thought. Either do not cleat the line, just wrap it around the cleat keeping tension on it. Or be ready with a sharp knife to cut the line.

After Rankin lock came Montgomery lock with a 33’ lift. Then the Jamie Whitten Lock with a 84 ft. lift. That morning our generator would not start or even turn over. It appeared to be electrical in nature. After consulting with my boss, Karl. It was decided that we would pull in at Aqua Yacht Harbor Marina, just south of the Tennessee border. We pulled in around 3 pm. A lead mechanic came and did a quick look at the generator and agreed it was electrical in nature. He would send a mechanic around 9:30 the next morning. The next day the two of them showed up. The other mechanic pushed in a circuit breaker that was painted red like the whole generator. It started right up. I had gone through the manual and it mentioned a circuit breaker, but never had a diagram to show it. That was a $100 lesson.

While we were docked there, I was talking to a guy who was working on his boat across from us. His voice sounded familiar. I finally asked if he ever worked in Charlotte NC, 30 years ago. Turns out he was in a new hire class at Piedmont Airlines right behind me in 1987. Barry Marshall is still flying for American. He lives an hour and a half away, in Memphis. Small world.

This is the 84 ft. lift Jamie Whitten lock. It is the highest lift we will go through. A bit scary thinking about how much force is on the other side of the forward door. Water constantly leaks around the door. At the top of the lift, I glanced at the depth sounder and saw 110 ft. while still in the lock. Amazing!

Here, Nancy is concentrating on steering SL, while slowly passing this “Tow boat” pushing multiple barges. We only made about 8.5 kts. while on the rivers. Which only gives us a couple of knots advantage over the “tow boats” going the same direction. Nancy had called the Captain of this “Tow boat”, who told her to pass on “two whistles”. It would take us up to 12 minutes to pass one of these large barges. They can be 3 barges wide and 5 barges long.

Just because you passed the barge, doesn’t mean you are out of danger. If you lose steering or engines while you are still a mile in front of these guys. They can not really turn or stop in time to keep from running you over.

Above is the “cheat sheet” with the whistle signals. Each dot equals a whistle. We say on VHF that we will pass on “one/two whistles”. In the old days whistles were actually used. Now for the most part it is just a term used on the VHF radio.

While on the Ohio river just short of the Mississippi a tow boat Captain had been parked with the nose of his barge against the bank. He was pulling off the bank in reverse and told me to “pass on ONE whistle”. That was impossible. His barges were still on the bank, and I could not pass on his starboard side. I asked him, “ You sure, you do not want me to pass on TWO whistles?”. He quickly answered, “Yes, two whistles”. Thinking back, I believe the Captain was turned around looking astern and got mixed up.

Nancy is a clean freak and we all know that, here is the proof. Not only does she vacuum the floor but the ceiling also. Actually she was very cleaver in vacuuming bugs off of the ceiling instead of smashing them and making a mess.

The anchorage that night was at Eagle Nest cutoff, on the Tennessee River. Plenty wide, no barges, just a gentle current holding us in place. Nice not worrying about a tidal change and fouling an anchor in the middle of the night. We woke up before daybreak with lots of steam coming off of the river. Temperatures are in the low 40’s. Heavy dew on the isenglass prevents us from seeing very well for the first hour or so. We open the front window on the upper helm till it clears off. So it is a bit chilly first thing in the morning.

As we motored up the river with the steam rising. I witnessed a very strange thing. We have all seen “dust devils”. This was a “Steam Devil”. It rose at least 40-50 feet in to the air, slowly dancing around.

Another great breakfast of sausage and eggs to start the day.

Photo of the upper helm, with its “wheel of fortune” steering wheel.

The next night we anchored off of the side of Kentucky Lake at Little Crooked Creek after an 83 mile day. Having done my homework I picked a great spot. When we pulled in, there was another boat anchored exactly where I wanted to go. So I had to find another spot with enough swing room. This is a manmade lake, which flooded roads, bridges, and cemeteries. Right behind us was a submerged bridge. Not something you want your anchor to get hung up on. See the second photo below. The photos are snap shots from Navionics which I use to navigate with.

Below is a photo taken while Nancy is hauling in the anchor chain and washing it down. Note the orange “Trip bouy” hanging off to the right. The theory is, should the anchor get hung up on something like a tree or submerged bridge. You motor up to it and pull the anchor out backwards. This would be very tough to do with high current in some of the rivers.

At the end of each day, I do my homework for the next days travel. Plus keeping a journal on my iPad of times and distance done for the day. Each morning we check engine oil, transmission fluid, alternator belt and fuel filters. Engines have to be warmed up 15 minutes minimum. Once engine water temperature is approaching 200 degrees I start motoring for the day.

Here is an abandoned grain Dock after the area flooded. About a mile further is a car ferry that runs across the lake. We passed about a half dozen on our trip.

We had an issue with excessive water leak coming from the port prop shaft. I was able to pull into a quite cove and tighten the packing nut. The packing nut needs to “weep” while running, just not pour water into the boat like it was doing.

We ran up to Green Turtle Bay Marina for fuel and waste pump out. To do this, you have to take a canal cut between the Kentucky Lake to the Barkley Lake. They were full and could not allow us to dock for the night. Talking to the dockmaster about local knowledge. He said “Do not anchor” anywhere on the Barkley Lake. Taking his advice we ran back to Kentucky Lake and found a small cove.

This cove is very tight. One “day boat” was parked where I would have preferred. That left me to anchor very close to a submerged bridge. See the photo below.

The next day we had two options of locks and rivers to get to the Ohio River. Commercial barge traffic has priority over Recreational Craft (RC). The Kentucky lock and Tennessee river are 25 miles shorter than the Barkley lock and Cumberland River. Taking a chance I called the Kentucky Lock by cell phone. The lockmaster said, “Come on down, no barge traffic”. That saved us 25 miles. This was one of only two locks where we dropped down in height.

This is the Kentucky Lock with a drop of 57 feet. There is a thing called, “The Great American Loop”. Those doing the loop are known as “Loopers”. This time of year, all of the “Loopers” are migrating south. We are the only ones heading north. As many times that I tell lockmasters we are “up bound” they don’t catch on and have we have to wait while they turn the lock around for us.

Today we make 78 miles covering about 298 miles to date, going through 10 of the 20 locks on this trip. Once we hit the Ohio River the barge traffic is very common. Just when you think it is obvious which side the Tow Captain will tell you to pass on. They tell you the other side. Sometimes they are going to an area to park the barge or cut across our bow.

That evening we anchored at the very junction of the Ohio and Mississippi River at the Angelo Tow head. Looking at Goggle Earth it looks like you can motor up the inside of the oxbow. Busy place, tow boats everywhere. Lots of current, dredge and bridge behind us. There was already one boat anchored close to shore. Water levels are down and there are snags sticking out above the surface. If levels had been higher, good chance I would have tried to anchor further up the canal. No telling what damage would have happened. Talked to the other couple and they had been up the canal in a dinghy. Agreed it was not navigable.

Now we are officially in the “Mighty Mississippi River”, I was dreading this 217 mile leg. The head current will drop our speed from 8.5 kts. to 6.5 kts. making passing a tow very long and tedious. You have limited width to pass between the shallows and the barge. They move so much water around between their prop wash and pressure wave, you are fighting the wheel the whole time. Last time I was here in June there were lots of floating tree parts. Some only a foot long, but one tree was 50 ft. long.

This is was taken at sunset of the boat anchored just ahead of us at Angelo Tow head.

What is the Mississippi without a paddle wheeler? Here is the “American Princess” heading to Memphis.

When traveling the Mississippi there are almost no marinas and no tow services. Only two fuel stops in 200 miles. And only two safe anchorages off the actual river. So we had a short day of a 47 mile run to “Little Diversion Channel” just south of Cape Girardeau, MO. The channel is 8 ft. deep and navigable for about a half mile. We were the 4th boat in from the far end nearest the bridge. By nightfall there were 10 “Loopers” anchored with us.

One guy was super nervous, it was only his third day of boating. He picked a hell of a leg to learn on. At least he was buddy boating with two other boats. The channel was so narrow you could not put out enough anchor chain, without swinging on too the shore. So we put out a stern anchor, just laying it in the mud to keep us from swinging. The nervous boater said he was going to stay up all night on anchor watch. So when sent over a “care package” of beer and Little Debbie’s.

Next morning was foggy. We left at daybreak heading north to Kidd’s fuel dock at Cape Girardeau. I had called Charlie Brown the day before and arranged to borrow his fuel dock for two hours while he was in a meeting. The owner of the boat, Dr. Bernie Patterson, needed to get some jewelry off the boat for his girlfriend. We had him bring 2 cases of oil and absorbent pads. He spent an hour and a half showing us how to drop the radar mast so we could get under bridges near Chicago. This really cut into our day but it all worked out.

We ran till about 4pm and I checked out a possible anchorage off the side of the channel behind a wingdam. The river looked lower than I remembered. The depths didn’t check with my Navionics maps. Wisely I decided not to press into the anchorage. Instead I made a last ditch effort to run to Kaskaskia Lock. We were running out of daylight, with no good options to anchor. Did we make it before dark?

Was there room to tie off to the lock wall, or was it full of “Loopers” already?

For the answers, see Part 2.

0 notes

thermocoolengg · 2 years ago

Text

MS Structural Fabrication Services in Kolkata

At Thermocool Engineering, we use the latest technology and equipment to ensure that our fabrication services meet the highest standards of quality and precision. We are committed to delivering our services on time and within budget, without compromising on quality.

We take pride in our work and strive to exceed our clients' expectations by providing them with customized solutions that meet their unique requirements. Our team of experts will work closely with you to understand your needs and provide you with the best possible solutions.

With years of experience in the industry, we have earned a reputation for providing reliable, efficient, and cost-effective MS structural fabrication services in Kolkata. We are committed to building long-term relationships with our clients by providing them with excellent service and quality workmanship.

Contact us today to learn more about our MS structural fabrication services and how we can help you with your next project.

#MS STAIRCASES #MS FABRICATION SERVICES #MS BOLLARDS #MS FURNACE STRUCTURE

0 notes

vagabondretired · 7 years ago

Photo

Ring of steel. They love him so. A plea to British people to take Donald Trump’s outrageous utterances “with a grain of salt” was made today by the head of the US Republican party’s supporters in the UK. Sarah Elliott said she herself had been embarrassed by some of President Trump’s comments, including sexist remarks about crotch-grabbing, but appealed to people not to take his words too seriously. As new fences and counter-terrorist concrete bollards were installed at the US ambassador’s residence in Regent’s Park ahead of his visit, Ms Elliott admitted: “There are a lot of things I wish he hadn’t said.”

12 notes · View notes

leanpick · 4 years ago

Text

Bollard prints add a splash of colour to Sunset Beach surf spot

A set of mundane road bollards at Sunset Beach have been beautified with a collection of photographs paying tribute to some of the local surfers who have a strong connection to the area. The project is the brainchild of Sunset Beach resident Linda Stott, who was inspired by the artwork printed on bollards in the Geraldton CBD. With the blessing of the City of Greater Geraldton, Ms Stott worked…

View On WordPress

0 notes

kalyaniacharya · 4 years ago

Text

Know About the Use of Steel Pipes

Steel pipes are cylindrical tubes that are made from steel and are used in several ways in manufacturing as well as in infrastructure. They are highly used products that are made by the steel industry. The most important use of the Jindal steel pipe is the transportation of liquid or gas under the ground. But Jindal pipes of various sizes are utilised in manufacturing and construction. One of the most common examples of household manufacturing is the thin steel pipe that tracks the cooling system in refrigerators. In construction, pipes are used for plumbing and also heating. It is also used for building structures using steel pipes of various sizes like pipe bollards, handrails and bike racks. Now, let us have a look at more uses of steel pipe: A galvanized steel tube is utilised in structures, manufacturing and transportation. Their sizes are adjusted accordingly based on their outer diameter, and the inner diameter varies depending on the thickness of the wall. Some applications require thick walls than others based on the force that the pipe should manage. Structure Uses: Some common examples of the use of steel pipe in structures are in the common building and also in construction. In these sectors, the material used in the building is called steel tubes. The GI steel pipe, also known as a steel tube that offers extra strength to foundations, is utilised in many construction works. Construction Uses: Steel pipes offer strength to the foundation through a procedure known as piling. In such applications, the pipe is taken deep into the earth before laying the foundation. It offers high stability for construction and high building or construction that is not safe. Scaffolding poles are prepared by linkage of the black steel pipes in a cage that helps construction workers access areas high above the ground level. Manufacturing Uses: Steel tubing is used to construct guard rails to protect cyclists and pedestrians. Some examples are: Guard rails that are manufactured from steel tubes make an aesthetically pretty safety feature for stairs and balconies. Steel pipe bollards help in protecting pedestrians and also infrastructure from vehicle collisions. GI pipe manufacturers in India make stainless-steel pipes one of the best choices for furnishings of outdoor sites as they are both resistant to corrosion and very tough. Bike racks uses: Several bike racks are made by bending the steel tubes. The properties of the steel make it highly safe against thieves. Transportation Uses: One of the most important uses of steel pipes for product transport is because the materials suit well for installations on a long-term basis. It can be buried under the ground because of hardiness and resilience to breakdown. Low-pressure uses do not need pipes to have good strength, as they are not out to significant pressures. Steel tubes with narrow walls facilitate cheap manufacturing. Like in the oil and gas industry, some special applications need an MS black pipe with more strict specifications. So, these are some common applications of steel tubes. Be it an ERW MS pipe or a steel pipe, it is necessary to select the best manufacturer.