#its just close early so oil cools. pump out oil by hand which is a bit of a workout but whatever. wheel it back pump it into dumpster.

[oysterie]

I dont get why coworkers complain abt it i loveee boiling out the fryer easiest job ever

[septicace-writes]

Truck Stop

Summary: You meet a handsome stranger at a highway rest stop. Syverson x cis!F!Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: smut, blowjob, fingering, PiV sex

a/N: I had a dream where a truck pulled up beside me at a truck stop and while I woke up too early for anything to happen, this is the result. Also exists as a cis!M!reader version here

1.9k words

You had been driving for hours and while the music kept you going for a while you also had gotten up at 4am and were in dire need of a break. In the middle of nowhere, on an empty highway, you keep your eyes out for a reststop. After about 30 minutes you finally find one, even though it's really just a small parking lot, a few benches and an outhouse without even so much as a vending machine. Luckily, you had some packed lunch in a cooling bag.

You walk around a bit to stretch your legs while you eat your sandwich, then soak in the sun for a while, sitting on one of the benches. In all this time you don't see a single other car so you decide to have just a quick nap before continuing your drive and get back in the car, leaning the seat back as far as possible.

You startle awake from the noise of someone knocking on your car window. For a second you're not sure where you are until you remember your drive and the stop. Sitting up straight, you look out the window and see a man standing a few steps back but looking at you. He's big, his body well-endowed with muscle under a healthy layer of fat. He sports a massive beard that does its best to hide the smile he's sending your way. As you're still taking it what's going on he gives you a little wave and motions for you to open the window. You take another look around, everything is still well-lit by the sun, no sign of it setting yet, and you don't see anyone else. The only other noticeable change is the large truck he had parked on the other side of the parking lot. Feeling a little reassured by him keeping his distance you roll down the window.

Sorry to disturb you, Miss, just wanted to make sure you're alright. He gestures to your surroundings Don't get many people riding solo and stopping here of all places.

You blink slowly, taking him in further, his voice is deep, smooth like butter and from the first word you're caught in a dream of what it might sound like in certain other situations. You're so caught up you forget to answer until

Are you... Alright? There's concern in his voice now so, quickly, you nod.

Yeah. Yes. Yep. Yeah I'm alright... Just a long drive and I needed a break. You smile in what you hope is a reassuring yet charming manner.

Glad to hear it. Just make sure you're not staying here till nightfall. The place has a bit of a reputation of... Well, less reputable folk to meet here. Damn that charming, dreamy southern accent. You're barely taking in what he's telling you but nod along anyways.

He turns to get back to his truck and in a sudden burst of bravery you speak up So... If this place is so disreputable, what brings you here?

He looks back for a moment It's part of my route. I usually don't pull in but your car here so all alone in the middle of the day had me worried. But since everything's alright I really ought to get back on the road.

Shit shit shit you don't want to say goodbye just yet. You barely know what's gotten into you when you open the door and say And what would it take to make you stay a little longer.

At that he actually turns back around, takes in your form, now leaning against your car. You push off, take a step towards him and bow your head just a little, looking at him through your eyelashes. He adjusts his posture, straightening his back, and visibly swallows.

Well, a temptation like you certainly might. If you're implying what I think you are.

Your heart is beating a million miles an hour in your chest, you did not think it was going to be that easy yet here you are, about to fuck - or rather get fucked by - this man in an empty parking lot. You take another step forward, and another, until you stand face to face with him. He's a few inches taller than you, and from so close you can smell the motor oil in his clothes. You want to reach out a hand and touch him but for a short, tense moment you both just stand there, staring at each other - neither knowing how to make the first move.

It feels like an eternity even though it's just a few heartbeats and then he places a hand cupping your neck and, looking directly into your eyes If you're sure about this, I'd like to kiss you and how could you say no so you nod, already leaning up.

His lips are warm and soft, smoothly moving over yours as he continues to hold your neck, caressing the side of your face with his thumb. The full beard tickles a little, but you can tell he keeps it well as the hairs are soft against your skin. Now distracted from your nerves, you sling your arms around his back, feeling the muscle underneath as you slide them up and down. He brings his arm around your waist, pulling you tight against his body. You moan at the feeling of his already growing erection pushing against your belly and he ceases the moment to slip his tongue between your lips.

You find the hem of his shirt and slide both your hands underneath to feel his warm skin at the same time as you grind your hips into his just a little to see how he reacts. With a growl, he breaks the kiss for just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and discard it, giving you a perfect view of the dark hair on his chest until his lips are back on yours. He lifts you up with ease, wrapping your legs around his waist. As you pull your own t-shirt off he walks you both towards his truck, leaning you against the sun-heard metal. You yelp and he pulls you back up.

Shit, sorry! Here let me... And he take your shirt and puts it behind you as a buffer. God you're gorgeous he takes you in for a moment, then nuzzles his beard into your neck and begins kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin. You squirm at the ticklish sensation but he's got a strong hold on you, not letting you get away. He works his way further down, unclasping your bra and taking it off before taking a nipple between his teeth and gently biting down while one hand pinches the other. At your enthusiastic moan, he does it again, making your rut your hips up against his body for any friction you can find.

You look down to see a devilish grin on his face before he comes back up to kiss you. You can't help another moan as he reaches his hand between your legs, cupping your pussy with just enough pressure to tease. Biting at his lower lip in revenge, you elicit a low groan. He moves his hand back to your ass, supporting you as he grinds his own, now fully hard cock against you. Panting, you bring your hands down to free him from his confines but your hands are quickly seized by one of his.

I don't remember giving you permission He all but growls, making you whimper with the loss of stimulation as he stills his hips.

Please, sir you squeak out, your brain already muddled with neediness and thankfully he seems merciful and releases your hands which immediately resume their task. Even with how shaky they are you make quick work of his button and zipper and, with an appreciative sound, finally wrap your fingers around his now freed cock. You press a line of kisses from his neck down his chest as he continues to rut into your fist, bracing himself with one hand on the car behind you. You work your way lower and lower, sliding down the hood until you hit the ground, now kneeling with his imposing endowment right at your eye level.

His free hand falls to your head as you give a testing lick to his tip before wrapping your lips around it. You slowly work him deeper until he hits the back of your throat and wrap one hand around what doesn’t fit, pumping at a maddeningly slow pace. But not for long, as the man above you gets impatient with your teasing and begins fucking into your mouth at a quicker pace. Your free hand wanders along his body until it reaches underneath to cup his balls, gently rolling and massaging them as a contrast to pace he has set. His groans and growls only spur you on, wanting to hear what he sounds like falling apart. You’re peripherally aware of your own arousal wetting your underwear, but the thought is overshadowed by your need to make him cum. Before it comes to that, he pulls out, holding your head back by the neck as you try to chase your prize.

Come back up here sweetheart he commands, voice deep and raspy with arousal and you obey, standing up. He reclaims your lips, moaning at his own taste on your tongue as he fidgets to open your trousers and gain access to your wet heat. You helplessly pant into his mouth as he begins rubbing your clit, giving you a taste of your own treatment as he starts a teasingly slow movement. When you try to rut your hips faster against him, he stops until you still again, quickly teaching you that he is in charge. In your effort to keep your hips still you wrap your arms around his torso again, hands raking over his back as you moan and pant at his ministrations. He pushes two fingers in, scissoring them to spread you open, groaning appreciatively at the way you clench around them. You whine when he pulls out, about to start begging when you notice he is lining up his cock to your entrance. With a pleading whimper, your wrap your legs around his waist as he enters you in one swift movement.

Your mind blanks for a moment at the stretch and the feeling of being so full with him that you don’t even realise he’s not moving. When you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with a smug grin. Then he braces against the car and slowly begins pulling out, drawing a long whimper from you. With a snap of his hips he fucks back in, now setting a rapid pace that drives any and all coherent thought from your mind. As his thrusts become more erratic in chase of his own end he sneaks a hand between you and begins rubbing your clit again in quick, tight little circles. With a scream, you cum, walls fluttering around him which takes him over the edge with you, painting your insides white. You stay like this for a while, him buried deeply inside you as you both catch your breath. Then, he pulls out and begins cleaning you both with your shirt while you put your bra back on.

All cleaned up and satisfied he takes you in his arms You were amazing sweetheart. Now let’s get you home for dinner.

[foreficfandom]

Mystic Messenger - First Time With MC (Lemon)

(Author’s notes: These scenarios do NOT assume a gender for MC, but do write the boys penetrating the reader.)

– Zen –

This isn’t his first rodeo, but he’s not exactly experienced; he’s had, like, one-and-a-half relationships before you. It’s been years since he’s had partnered sex.

And he’s never had sex-ed, either, so his knowledge of the Nasty is kinda lacking. He thinks he can re-use condoms as long as he keeps it on, he believes coconut oil can be used with latex, he thinks birth control pills act as a spermicide, and so on.

You and him initiate sex pretty early on in the relationship, perhaps merely a few days after the RFA party. He’s very romantic about it, too, planning a whole day in advance with rose petals on the bed and scented candles dotting his room. But in the middle of making out, you ask if he’s clean, and he pulls back, confused. “... I think? I mean, I haven’t been with anybody in years, so ...”

Turns out he’s never been tested for STDs. He’s almost offended when you bring it up, like you’re insinuating he’s been cheating on you. You have to explain that getting tested is just what everyone does before having sex with someone for the first time. 

So ... he’s not tested. “Can we ... still do it?” He’s blushing like crazy now, embarrassed he’s so behind on the know-how when he’s the one who wanted this in the first place. 

Partnered sex can still be relatively safe even when an individual’s not been tested, so long as you use lots of protection. But depending on who you are, you might say no, just to be 100% safe. Either way, Zen’s disappointed - not in you, no way, but in himself. God, he’s been looking forward to this night for so long, and he fucked it up by being stupid. He stews in his thoughts silently for a while, and you can tell he’s feeling down so you cuddle him close to have a good long chat about sex, relationships, and communication. Afterwards, he feels much less insecure. The two of you take the rose petals and candles to the bathroom to enjoy your first romantic bath together, instead.

Two days later, he bounces back from the clinic with a negative on every test imaginable. It’s finally time to dig in, and go ham he does, passionately wrapping you into his arms while thrusting deep and slow, trying to have as much skin contact at all times. Oh, god, he loves you, and he’ll spend the whole night proving it.

(Except he definitely couldn’t last the whole night. Your first time having sex was a mere two turns before he clonked out. He’s still embarrassed about that.)

– Yoosung –

It’s his first time having sex, and he’s really nervous. He wants it, wants you badly, but oh my god what if he messes up? What if he farts? Or scratches you in the face? Or he thrusts weird and hurts you and you start bleeding or something?? Dear lord help him

He considers proposing sex like, eight different times. He’s always chickened out, just kissing you on the doorstep before saying goodbye, or letting you leave his dorm without offering to stay the night. It doesn’t help that his dorm is tiny, he’s got a twin bed barely big enough for him. And anybody passing by the door would hear what’s going on inside clear as day. Take his word on that.

He had spent several hours worth on his laptop, doing research on ‘how to have sex for the first time’. He’s got his list of positions to try, how to minimize pain and discomfort, etc, all memorized.. He eventually goes out to get condoms and lube, making sure to use the self-checkout. 

You and him are hanging out in his dorm after a date, and he wasn’t even planning to suck it up and ask you, but you saw the condoms in the shopping bag he forgot to stow away, and you asked him gently, “do you want to be intimate with me, Yoosung?”

He blushes like crazy, you could swear you saw steam lines radiating from his face. But you take his hand in encouragement and he nods eagerly, looking anywhere else but your eyes. “I - I really want this, MC. I’ve been thinking about this for so long ...”

You can tell he’s nervous. The two of you sit on his bed and talk explicitly about what he wants, how you should proceed, what lines to avoid, and lots of other important details. A safeword is confirmed; ‘server maintenance’. He feels much more confident. 

The two of you begin by just kissing on his bed, he slowly dares to feel up your shirt and eventually the clothes come off bit by bit. His body is lean and soft, and he’s loud, too. Just nipping at his pillowy tummy makes him cry out. 

You give him oral, and he’s twisting around, grabbing at pillows and sheets like he’s tumbling down a cliff. He comes without warning and collapses, wrung out and overwhelmed with pleasure. 

Some cuddling afterwards, and then he’s hard again and kissing at your neck. He asks you to ride him, and when you do, he’s sobbing without shame and grabbing hard at your hips.

Some time afterwards, when you and Yoosung are trying to cuddle on his bed without either of you toppling off, he remembers just how loud he’s been and dreads facing anybody in the building tomorrow. You just laugh and tuck him into the bedsheets.

– Jaehee –

She shyly shows off a beautiful new set of lingerie as her way of asking to ‘take the relationship to the next level’. And she’s a real bombshell in it. It’s sometimes easy to forget that Jaehee’s got a bod underneath her suit/cafe uniform.

Unlike certain younger boys, Jaehee didn’t feel the need to agonize over this night over a period of several months. This is a natural progression for her. Once things feel ready between the two of you, it’s natural that the question eventually comes up.

She first shows you her new lingerie in its original packaging, and waits to hear your ‘yes’. Then, it’s time to hop into the bathtub for a long soak and thorough wash before putting it on.

She also gets new toys. Entire shopping bags and shipping boxes filled with insertables, vibrators, pumps, impacts, (and also the supplies needed to maintain them). She didn’t come out and show you these all at once, she’d probably die of embarrassment if she did. But she had them all unwrapped, clean, tested, and ready to use in a discreet box.

You and she actually end up making out on the couch rather than the bedroom. She’s sitting in your lap dressed in her lingerie, you’re fully clothed, and things get so heated the two of you decide to go at it right there.

She’s surprisingly wild. She keeps as much of her lingerie on as possible, even while you’re knuckle deep or pelvis-to-pelvis. The floor is eventually lined with toys as one is used after the other. And she loves taking the initiative with a gentle but firm hand, directing the positions one after the other, or deciding what toy to be used where, and for how long.

A round on the couch, and Jaehee cools down long enough to freak out about staining the upholstery, so she ushers you into the bedroom while she busts out the Lysol. 

After she cleans up, she joins you on the bed for some belated cuddling, and perhaps a second round. Or three.

And it’s actually in the middle of the day, not during the night, so the two of you are completely worn out by dinnertime. Food is takeout, and there’s a lot of it because you need to replenish all that energy.  

Jaehee doesn’t get blushy until you feed her a bite of dessert. It’s cute how confident she is when it comes to sex, but shy about small acts of intimacy. 

– Jumin –

He’s not a virgin, (not that it’s any of your business, Luciel), he had sex with a random girl back in college just to see what the fuss was about, and nothing else since then.

Jumin’s a conservative guy. “Liberalism can only flourish with a good foundation of conservatism.” He believes unmarried couples shouldn’t live together. Of course he’s not gonna be fond of having sex before tying the knot.

It’s not like he rushed the engagement for that reason, but if he was perfectly honest, he did wake up in a cold sweat at 3am when he remembered that this meant the two of you would be intimate very soon. 

Jumin’s got that reputation for being some d/s sex-mad sadist daddy, but that’s not the full picture. You might be able to get him into that specific mood after the two of you establish your relationship more. But for the first few times, it’s all vanilla.

It takes a long while before the wedding actually happens. And, no, Jumin’s not gonna really want to have sex for that entire period. Sure, he’s excited about it, but it’s not a driving, burning need. You, on the other hand, might say differently. 

So if you don’t want to wait four to five months, you’re gonna have to breach the topic yourself. And he’ll be torn - on one hand, he rationally realizes that it’s completely harmless to have consensual sex without martial ties. But he also believes in that supposed virtue of being abstinent until marriage. He also liked the romance of waiting. It’d make the moment more special for him.

Either way, he’s excited. The bed’s furnished with fresh sheets, the lights are dimmed, and there’s five dozen roses in crystal vases throughout the bedroom. 

It’ll start with wine while sitting on the bed - if you don’t drink, you have a glass of something you prefer while he’s sipping on some $12,000 vintage - and he drills a hole in your face with his loving gaze while singing your virtues. He wants you naked before he is, so after some kissing you’ll be nude on the sheets while he finally takes his clothes off.

Jumin has no idea what sex is ‘supposed’ to look like, which is both good and bad - you can tell him to do anything, and he’s not gonna worry about feeling awkward or stupid. But he also needs to be told to do anything. 

If you want him to go faster, or use more tongue, you have to tell him. He’s not gonna take the initiative. If you want him to switch positions, you need to describe exactly how you want to position yourselves. It’s a mixed blessing.

The first round goes quite a while because Jumin was taking it slow. There’s a second round where he gets more adventurous, and maybe a third round depending on how you feel. 

The next morning, the chef’s been hired to prepare a special breakfast, and you can tell that they know. Jumin doesn’t care. He just smiles all day.

– Saeyoung –

He actually was a virgin, which was kinda a surprise. His agent job never require any sort of sex-related work, thank god, and it’s not like he ever earned the attention of anybody else before this point. 

If an agency job had enough time to have sex while in the field, then that meant the job was going down the dumps fast. And whenever Agent 707 was involved, a job never nosedived that far.

It’s (semi) canon that Saeyoung asked to be intimate during the after-ending, while on the search for his brother. It was the night before all your plans would come to fruition, and he didn’t know he would come back alive. “I want to leave evidence on you that I existed.”

But it’s ALSO canon that in Saeyoung’s ‘dark chocolate’ Valentine’s Day ending, he asks to ‘take the relationship to the next level’. Which implies that the two of you haven’t had sex yet. 

So what’s the dealio? Basically, Saeyoung wanted to have sex with you that night in the cabin, and after some kissing, you realized that you (1) didn’t have protection, (2) neither of you have been tested recently, and (3) your current emotional states weren’t ideal for sex, especially since Saeyoung was a virgin. He left a lot of hickies on your neck instead, and the two of you held each other close the whole night. 

By the time Valentine’s Day rolled around, it had been two months since Saeran was rescued and Saeyoung was feeling a lot happier. You made it to the end of the scavenger hunt to find an amorous redhead that was ~prepared~ this time. An entire shopping bag full of prophylactics, lube, band-aids, water bottles, and everything. 

He managed to fake a confident persona up until he undressed you fully, then he found himself blushing like crazy when you undressed him in turn. Damn, he really was hiding muscles underneath that hoodie. His arms were woven cable, and underneath his pudge you could feel shapely abs. 

He asked to be on top, you complied, rolling over and allowing him to explore your body with his hands and mouth. It took three tries to enter you, because without his glasses, you were a bit of a blurry blob. But once he was in, he went at it. Maybe even a bit too enthusiastic for the first few thrusts, he was just running on some animalistic instinct he didn’t know he had. 

Two minutes later, he was blindsided by a surprise orgasm. Embarrassed, he rolled off of you and buried his face into the sheets. You had to stroke his hair soothingly for ten minutes before he would look you in the face. 

Saeyoung’s first evening of sex had one ‘disastrous’ first try, then a much better second run, and then after dinner there was a third ... and also .5 a prance while in the shower.  

– Saeran –

You’re his first sexual partner, but more than that, today also marks a big step in his self-confidence. He’s cashing in his newfound tolerance for his body and constitution. Saeran spent most of his life hating his ‘weak’ health and thinking anybody’d be repulsed by him. He wouldn’t have sex if he didn’t believe differently. 

So it’s probably several months - perhaps years - into your relationship that he even brings up having sex. Even though he may be ready, he’s still nervous and shy and unsure about how to proceed. 

Before the big night, he spends several minutes in front of the mirror, looking at his body. He’s gained weight and a new color to his skin thanks to his healthier lifestyle, and there’s this confidence to his posture that wasn’t there before. A sparkle in his eye. It’s incredible how far he’s come from hating every inch of himself. He smiles.

He prepares one of his Patented Saeran’s Romantic Dinners, complete with candlelight and ambient music. The two of you have done this several times before, but this time there’s an electricity in the air ‘cause of what’s to come. You notice that the food has no garlic, or other strong smells. Saeran’s more cunning than he looks. 

As dessert finishes up, he gets more quiet, until the conversation dies down and there’s nothing for it; he takes a deep breath and says, “....Sh-shall we go to bed?” Like this hasn’t been planned weeks in advance. The two of you walk hand-in-hand to the bedroom, where there’s even more candles and another stereo playing soft music, and you picture Saeran putting together a ‘having sex for the first time’ playlist.

You begin by kissing Saeran lying beneath you, but he stops you with a hand on your shoulder and asks to switch positions, because he doesn’t like the feeling of you hovering over him. It’s another mark of his progress that he asks for adjustments. 

Things progress slowly. Saeran feels out what makes him feel anxious, and what makes him feel good. The two of you end up side-by-side as he takes you, facing each other with your legs wrapped around his waist. Very intimate. Very sweet. He loves threading his fingers through your hair, and he mewls every time you fondle his ears. 

His health is still shaky, so he only has the stamina for one round before he needs to rest. He all but demands you inch as close as possible so he falls asleep holding you tight. When he wakes up the next morning, he’s got a 1000-watt smile. 

– Jihyun –

Out of the entire wacky cast of Mystic Messenger boys, Jihyun’s the only actual experienced one. You don’t have to tell him that a single pack of five condoms is waaayy too little, you don’t have to explain what dental dams are, or worry about him using oil-based lube on accident, and he’s the only one who actually showers thoroughly beforehand. 

It begins with your typical night of cuddling-and-kissing, then Jihyun says he’s clean and he’s got a bedside cabinet full of supplies. He gently holds your hand and asks, ‘”if you’d like …? We could … if you’re comfortable. If you’d have me.” He’s blushing, but he’s confident. 

Of course, even if you’re experienced, the first time with anybody is gonna be awkward. And Jihyun’s a surprisingly big guy to maneuver. There’s a lot of accidental elbowing, bonking of the heads, kneeling on sensitive bits, and little scrapes. His long limbs seemingly end up everywhere on the bed, and it’s like you’re playing twister. 

Mistakes just make him laugh. You trip over his outstretched forearm and face plant into his shoulder, and he just chuckles and pulls you into another kiss. 

He’s just so soft and loving. ‘Cause to Jihyun, it’s about ~making love~. He wants to go slow, looking into your eyes, cradling your head and burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

Tries to get you off first, either through oral or otherwise. He’s not a big fan of any positions that turn you away from him, it’s just too rough and aggressive. He’d rather carry you on his shoulders before he prefers doggy style. 

Checks in with you constantly, asks what you like and where you like to be touched. Tries to get you to literally guide his hands. In turn, he asks you to please, touch his legs, his thighs ... yes, kiss me there - 

For your first time, he’d rather have a one-two long sessions than multiple quick ones. He believes sex is one of the most intimate methods of non-verbal communication, and the longer you go in one sitting, the more is passed between the two of you. 

He’s never used toys in his life. If you decide to pull one out for your first time, he’s gonna blush like crazy and actually decline. He wants the first night to be 'organic’. And he’s so driven towards that romantic face-to-face lovemaking, he won’t go too hard or fast, even if you’re begging him. 

After the sex, he wraps you up in a cozy blanket before fetching some hot tea and fresh fruit. Then there’s several minutes spent reviewing how things went, what things worked well, or how they can improved. He catalogues it all for later. 

He rarely wants to fall asleep right after sex, so you might pass out peacefully, but he’s gonna stay awake, just gazing at you for a while. 

[typinggently]

1) unanswered text messages, a crush, a golden sunset for superbat?

Oh, thrilling request!! Thank you! I’ve been very into the whole tired-slim, black turtleneck, RobPat-inspired Bruce look lately and I haven’t had much opportunity to write something for him, so this was a great opportunity!

-

Bruce in general isn’t the biggest fan of giving out his actual phone number (Brucie has his own phone that Bruce curates for one hour every morning and that’s honestly all the social media and interpersonal contact that he can stand). But what’s even worse is the concept of his “colleagues” having his number. Especially now, when they all don’t know each other all that well yet. All possible things could happen.

They could make a group chat, for example. They could send him messages.  

Truly terrifying concepts.

Anyhow. Two weeks in, they all exchange phone numbers. It’s not like he really has a choice. And it’s not like he can just give them the Brucie number. So with a heavy heart, he adds six new contacts into his phone.

That, of course, is only the beginning. It all gets messy from there.

At first, not much happens. There are some minor things like “I’ll be late” messages in the group chat (terrifying concept), but other than that, most things had been quiet. Until. Until one day, Clark and Hal get into a friendly discussion about cows that turns into a heated debate on cows. Bruce misses parts of it, mostly because it doesn’t seem all that important, but some hours later, Clark posts a photo in the group chat. Bruce, alarmed, opens the message only to find that it’s a portrait of three cows. It’s early morning in Kansas, apparently, and the colours are still a little washed out, even though the long cow-lashes of the cow-ladies are already tipped in gold. They’re all smiling for their portrait (as much as cows can smile) and look warm and soft, curls around their big ears and pink muzzles. One of Clark’s hand is resting on the cheek of one of the cows and she seems to be pressing her face against his caress. He looks tan in comparison to her off-white, cream colour, his hand big and gentle.

“See?” He writes, “Very pretty!”

“Such beautiful eyes!” Diana says in response.

Barry goes “very nice!!!!!!”

Hal sends a line of emojis, most of them rolling their eyes, and ends with “fine, fine”

Arthur is typing…

Bruce closes the chat and checks his alarm once more before closing his eyes, determined not to dream.

-

That’s how the group chat starts becoming more active. Bruce saw it coming, now he can’t do much about it.

Usually it’s just the odd message or photo here and there. Sometimes the others share newspaper articles they stumble across (Bruce saves those), sometimes they discuss restaurants or take-out places (Bruce deletes those and drinks his shakes).

But naturally, it gets messier. Because while Bruce is fine just ignoring the group chat, another most unfortunate event takes place: Clark texts him. Privately.

It happens at 4am. Bruce’s eyes hurt from staring at the screen of the BatComputer for so long and his mouth tastes like caffeine. When his phone buzzes, he blinks owlishly at it. At first, he assumes it’s a mistake and turns back to his screen, but Clark doesn’t delete the message and doesn’t send one into the group chat. So an hour later, when he’s made his way from the screen-glow dark of the cave to the blackout-curtain dark of his room, Bruce reluctantly opens the new chat. It’s a photo of the Kent farm - Bruce assumes, it might be any old farm as far as he’s concerned - at dawn. The grass is high and looks cool and wet, the house itself is still a sleepy grey-pink. But the sky is slowly warming and the first hints of gold shimmer in the windows of the barn and the leaves of the apple tree to its right.

Kal-El (or Clark, or whatever) wrote “:) since you probably didn’t get to see it!” and that’s enough of that. Bruce drops his phone and rolls around to face the other direction.

-

It doesn’t stop. At least once a week, Clark sends him a photo of a sunrise. Bruce never answers, but Clark apparently doesn’t care. He sends photos of the farm, the skyline of Metropolis, but sometimes also other places. The green horses drawing Victory’s carriage on the Brandenburg Gate gleaming and caressed with pale sunlight, the windows of the Eremitage flooded with gold, White Hall glowing pink. At one point, there’s the Earth itself, glowing as it turns towards the sun, light flooding the continents, the ocean.

Bruce doesn’t know what to say. When they meet in person, Clark doesn’t seem to treat him differently, so Bruce doesn’t bring it up. Instead, he just keeps his eyes on his notes or on Diana and goes through the meetings as if nothing’s wrong. About 5 minutes in, though, he feels bad. Every time. So he subtly squares his shoulders a little, causing their shoulders to brush. It’s a nice point of contact, Clark running hot even through the suit and Bruce’s Kevlar, and it becomes so familiar that Bruce finds himself standing close to Clark, too, his cape brushing Clark’s.

-

This goes on for a number of weeks, but suddenly, the photos stop. First, Bruce thinks Clark just missed a day, but when there are no new pictures for a whole week, he feels oddly stranded. Not that it was an actual conversation, Clark didn’t write anything after the first pic, but still, he got used to the little photos just before he goes to sleep. And the problem is, he can’t talk about it with anyone. It’s too late, if he were to explain to Alfred that he’s been ignoring Clark’s messages for one month and a half, Alfred would no doubt look at him disapprovingly and choose one or two cold words. So that’s not going to happen.

And naturally the others are no option, either. He likes Diana, but he’s not going to explain this to her.

So he’s stuck, staring at his phone, unsure what to do. Another week goes past, then Bruce can’t stand it anymore. He has to do something.

-

“If someone were to send you photos, what would you do?”

Dick puts down his milkshake. “You know, it was lovely talking to you and all, but I think I have to go. Right now, actually-“

Bruce shakes his head and leans over the table to take hold of his arm just before he can slip away. “No, wait. Listen.”

Dick makes a pained face. “I’d rather not, actually. I mean-“

“It’s Clark.”

“Oh.” Dick’s eyes widen. “Oh!” He sits back down. “No way. What kind of photos?”

“I don’t think that matters.”

“Oh my God. Is Superman sending you- You know what, no. Good for you, but I don’t think I want to- I mean, I kind of do want to know. But no.”

“It’s sunrises. He sends me pictures of sunrises.”

At that Dick raises a brow. “Sunrises.”

“Yes.”

“Is that a metaphor?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“What do I do?” Bruce hisses, finally annoyed by the lack of progress this conversation is making.

“Oh, I mean. Send one back?”

Bruce sighs and runs a hand through his hair, gaze lost in his coffee.

-

It’s been a long day. Clark’s hair is still a little crunchy with salt after he took a dip into the ocean at noon to pull up a sinking oil cruiser, but he doesn’t feel like taking a shower just yet. After dinner, maybe. He drops his messenger bag on one of the chairs around the kitchen table and wanders over to the fridge to check on the leftover potato gratin. His stomach grumbles just as his phone buzzes on the table. He closes the fridge and carries the gratin over, putting it down next to a stack of as of yet unopened mail to pick up his phone.

It’s a photo from Bruce. A library, or a study, maybe an office? A room with a ceiling so high it doesn’t show on the photo, walls covered in dark, glistening wooden shelves. Rows and rows and rows of books. A tall window through which the golden light of the sunset spills on an ornamented carpet, stacks of paper. Dust is dancing in the honey-thick light. And out of the window, the leaves of a copper beech, glowing in rosy red. “just woke up” it says and “(not really, but bats are nocturnal)”, followed by a little bat emoji.

Gold pumps warmly through Clark’s veins. He sends a “:)”.

-

Thank you SO much!!! This was so much fun to write!!! :) I love soft, awkward Bruce.

[septicace-writes]

Truck Stop

Summary: You meet a handsome stranger at a highway rest stop. Syverson x cis!M!Reader Genre: Smut Warnings: smut, blowjob (Sy recieving), mutual masturbation a/N: I had a dream where a truck pulled up beside me at a truck stop and while I woke up too early for anything to happen, this is the result. Also exists as a cis!F!reader version here 1.8k words You had been driving for hours and while the music kept you going for a while you also had gotten up at 4am and were in dire need of a break. In the middle of nowhere, on an empty highway, you keep your eyes out for a reststop. After about 30 minutes you finally find one, even though it's really just a small parking lot, a few benches and an outhouse without even so much as a vending machine. Luckily, you had some packed lunch in a cooling bag. You walk around a bit to stretch your legs while you eat your sandwich, then soak in the sun for a while, sitting on one of the benches. In all this time you don't see a single other car so you decide to have just a quick nap before continuing your drive and get back in the car, leaning the seat back as far as possible.

You startle awake from the noise of someone knocking on your car window. For a second you're not sure where you are until you remember your drive and the stop. Sitting up straight, you look out the window and see a man standing a few steps back but looking at you. He's big, his body well-endowed with muscle under a healthy layer of fat. He sports a massive beard that does its best to hide the smile he's sending your way. As you're still taking it what's going on he gives you a little wave and motions for you to open the window. You take another look around, everything is still well-lit by the sun, no sign of it setting yet, and you don't see anyone else. The only other noticeable change is the large truck he had parked on the other side of the parking lot. Feeling a little reassured by him keeping his distance you roll down the window. Sorry to disturb you, Young Man, just wanted to make sure you're alright. He gestures to your surroundings Don't get many people riding solo and stopping here of all places. You blink slowly, taking him in further, his voice is deep, smooth like butter and from the first word you're caught in a dream of what it might sound like in certain other situations. You're so caught up you forget to answer until Are you... Alright? There's concern in his voice now so, quickly, you nod. Yeah. Yes. Yep. Yeah I'm alright... Just a long drive and I needed a break. You smile in what you hope is a reassuring yet charming manner. Glad to hear it. Just make sure you're not staying here till nightfall. The place has a bit of a reputation of... Well, less reputable folk to meet here. Damn that charming, dreamy southern accent. You're barely taking in what he's telling you but nod along anyways. He turns to get back to his truck and in a sudden burst of bravery you speak up So... If this place is so disreputable, what brings you here? He looks back for a moment It's part of my route. I usually don't pull in but your car here so all alone in the middle of the day had me worried. But since everything's alright I really ought to get back on the road. Shit shit shit you don't want to say goodbye just yet. You barely know what's gotten into you when you open the door and say And what would it take to make you stay a little longer. At that he actually turns back around, takes in your form, now leaning against your car. You push off, take a step towards him and bow your head just a little, looking at him through your eyelashes. He adjusts his posture, straightening his back, and visibly swallows. Well, a temptation like you certainly might. If you're implying what I think you are. Your heart is beating a million miles an hour in your chest, you did not think it was going to be that easy yet here you are, about to fuck this man in an empty parking lot. You take another step forward, and another, until you stand face to face with him. He's a few inches taller than you, and from so close you can smell the motor oil in his clothes. You want to reach out a hand and touch him but for a short, tense moment you both just stand there, staring at each other - neither knowing how to make the first move. It feels like an eternity even though it's just a few heartbeats and then he places a hand cupping your neck and, looking directly into your eyes If you're sure about this, I'd like to kiss you and how could you say no so you nod, already leaning up. His lips are warm and soft, smoothly moving over yours as he continues to hold your neck, caressing the side of your face with his thumb. The full beard tickles a little, but you can tell he keeps it well as the hairs are soft against your skin. Now distracted from your nerves, you sling your arms around his back, feeling the muscle underneath as you slide them up and down. He brings his arm around your waist, pulling you tight against his body. You moan at the feeling of his already growing erection pushing against your belly and he ceases the moment to slip his tongue between your lips. You find the hem of his shirt and slide both your hands underneath to feel his

warm skin at the same time as you grind your hips into his just a little to see how he reacts. With a growl, he breaks the kiss for just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and discard it, giving you a perfect view of the dark hair on his chest until his lips are back on yours. He lifts you up with ease, wrapping your legs around his waist. As you pull your own t-shirt off he walks you both towards his truck, leaning you against the sun-heard metal. You yelp and he pulls you back up. Shit, sorry! Here let me... And he take your shirt and puts it behind you as a buffer. God you're gorgeous he takes you in for a moment, then nuzzles his beard into your neck and begins kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin. You squirm at the ticklish sensation but he's got a strong hold on you, not letting you get away. He works his way further down, taking a nipple between his teeth and gently biting down while one hand pinches the other. At your enthusiastic moan, he does it again, making your rut your hips up against his body for any friction you can find. You look down to see a devilish grin on his face before he comes back up to kiss you. You can't help another moan as he palms your dick over your trousers. Biting at his lower lip in revenge, you elicit a low groan. He moves his hand back to your ass, supporting you as he grinds his own, now fully hard cock into yours. Panting, you bring your hands down to free him from his confines but your hands are quickly seized by one of his. I don't remember giving you permission He all but growls, making you whimper with the loss of stimulation as he stills his hips. Please, sir you squeak out, your brain already muddled with neediness and thankfully he seems merciful and releases your hands which immediately resume their task. Even with how shaky they are you make quick work of his button and zipper and, with an appreciative sound, finally wrap your fingers around his now freed cock. You press a line of kisses from his neck down his chest as he continues to rut into your fist, bracing himself with one hand on the car behind you. You work your way lower and lower, sliding down the hood until you hit the ground, now kneeling with his imposing endowment right at your eye level. His free hand falls to your head as you give a testing lick to his tip before wrapping your lips around it. You slowly work him deeper until he hits the back of your throat and wrap one hand around what doesn’t fit, pumping at a maddeningly slow pace. But not for long, as the man above you gets impatient with your teasing and begins fucking into your mouth at a quicker pace. Your free hand wanders along his body until it reaches underneath to cup his balls, gently rolling and massaging them as a contrast to pace he has set. His groans and growls only spur you on, wanting to hear what he sounds like falling apart. You’re peripherally aware of your own arousal straining in your pants and the slight friction your movement provides, but the thought is overshadowed by your need to make him cum. Before it comes to that, he pulls out, holding your head back by the neck as you try to chase your prize. Come back up here sweetheart he commands, voice deep and raspy with arousal and you obey, standing up. He reclaims your lips, moaning at his own taste on your tongue as he fidgets to free your own neglected erection. You helplessly pant into his mouth as he wraps a strong, calloused hand around it, giving you a taste of your own treatment as he starts a teasingly slow movement. When you try to chase his hand with your hips, rutting faster, he stops until you still again, quickly teaching you that he is in charge. In your effort to keep your hips still you wrap your arms around his torso again, hands raking over his back as you groan and pant at his ministrations. He opens his hand a little and for a moment you’re worried he’ll stop but then you feel his dick pressing against yours as his hands closes over both. You join a hand between you and together you pick up the pace, cocks tightly pressed together, hips

desperately rutting into each other, a cacophony of moans as you both chase your high. You give in first, hips stuttering as your spend shoots over both your fists as he continues to stroke you through it. He is not far behind, the pearly white slick mingling on your chest and sticking to the hair on his. For a while there is no sound but your breathing as you both try to catch your breaths. Then, he gives you a warm smile, pulling you up from where you were leaning against the car. He grabs your shirt from behind you and begins cleaning you up before tending to himself. When you’re both clean, though still shirtless as your shirt is now covered in come, he smiles, hugging you tightly You were amazing darling. Now let’s get you home for dinner.

[creativitytoexplore]

Swim by Christopher K. Miller https://ift.tt/3757ycN Christopher K. Miller's character is tired of ageing and called by the sea.

Every February, for the past nine years, you and your second husband, Jack, drive down from Ottawa to Anna Maria Island. Official snowbirds now. Always stay at the same rental semi on the beach: a well-appointed cabin, really, with cable TV and high-speed internet. Central heat and air - most days you need both. Shared cedar deck with a big gas barbecue, saltwater pool, and hot tub, too, of course. Mornings you drink coffee with whipped cream and watch pelicans dive-bomb for fish. Last year, a woman you met on an island boat tour said she'd heard they eventually go blind from all those eyes-wide-open impacts, and starve. So no pelican ever dies of old age. Afternoons, it's burgers and beer at Skinny's. A snack shack with a bar. Close enough to walk. Decorated totally with dollar bills. Thousands of them. Like the owner tacked up the first one he made, but then couldn't stop. Then, after a nap, dinner someplace nice. Evenings, unless it's cloudy, you watch the big orange blob of a sun sink into the Gulf. Drink pink Zinfandel you buy at the local Publix for twelve dollars a gallon. Lean on the railing. Talk to the couple next door. Last year, dairy farmers from Wisconsin. From the moment the sun's orb touches the horizon until it's completely gone takes only a few minutes. You can stare without hurting your eyes. Second time you watched, you took a cell phone video and posted it on YouTube. You don't want to die of old age, either. You've given this some thought. Every day on the road is one less day in Florida. Plus you and Jack both hate motels. Always seem to have this musty smell, even the non-smoking units. Noisy heaters mounted beneath dirty windows overlooking parking lots. Crappy TVs, usually bolted onto something. Flimsy doors that either stick or refuse to latch. Shallow tubs with gritty anti-slip tread strips. Leaky toilets. A waste of time and money. So you just drive straight through. Easy in the Caddy. GPS. Cruise. OnStar. Jack, who used to work for QNX, says it's just a matter of time until the car'll drive itself. Still, it's a long haul. Twenty, maybe twenty-two, hours speeding down I-79. Depends on pit stops. Between Jack's prostate and Sheetz's bottled cappuccinos, you take almost as many exits as you pass. The first Waffle House is in Philadelphia: Welcome to Waffle House! Tim Hortons as far south as Georgia now. Not as busy as the Canadian franchises, though. Last year, driving back through Summersville, West Virginia, you thought your headlights weren't working. It was raining and, between the slick and the glare, you couldn't see the center line. Jack does all the driving now. Says he doesn't mind a bit. The trick's to not eat too much. And pacing the caffeine. This year's neighbor's a financial planner, also from Ontario. Works for one of the big banks. Maybe CIBC... or could be the Royal. Hands Jack his card. Tells him he oughta consider moving some of those GICs when they mature into oil and precious metals, maybe even cash out early if that's an option, pay the penalty. The mighty "petrodollar" is gonna crash soon. He uses his fingers to indicate quotes. Like didja see where Germany wants its gold "repatriated." Again with the fingers. But The Fed don't have it. Can't produce it. Prolly sold it to the Asians. No wonder they refused the Germans' request for an audit. Been wallpapering the Globex with naked shorts, unredeemable gold warrants, since Christ knows when, trying to drive the price down. Quash interest rates. Desperate to sweep Obama's latest QE clusterfuck under the rug. To mask inflation. Prop up the nation's credit rating. His wife, who looks maybe half his age, hasn't said a word. Probably heard it all a million times. Appears stoned in some asocial way, or maybe just super bored, as she watches the sun set, dusk fade. No breeze. The ocean looks coated in orange plastic. Like a giant sheet of Canadian fifties. You've heard that a good way to die is to swim out as far as you can. At first, you'd turn on the car's defrost. Then you blamed cataracts for the fog. Jack had them a few years back. Half your friends already, too. Really, nowadays, almost everyone gets them. Even babies. Jack thinks it has to do with all the cell towers and microwave radiation around. A million texts a minute zapping through your body. Fortunately, an easy fix. You researched it on Wikipedia. How they used to slice open the eye. Replace the lens. Stitch it shut. How you'd spend three days flat on your back in a halo hoping your retina didn't detach. Now it's a topical anesthetic. In-and-out with a needle. A simple ten-minute procedure. OHIP's rates lag the technology. A good ophthalmologist can do thirty a day, make three million a year easy. After dark the neighbors join you in the hot tub. Dip their toes in. Ask if you mind. She's fit enough for a two-piece. But he's too big for a speedo. How is it men are oblivious to their fat? The water rises with his entry. There's a restaurant/bar with an outdoor patio maybe half a kilometer down the beach. Semi-live music. Just a guy singing karaoke, really. Maybe a guitar. Everly Brothers. Simon & Garfunkel. Beach Boys for the younger set. Drowned out when Jack turns on the jets. He and the financial planner are working on a happy drunk. A loving drunk. Guy's explaining derivatives trading. How today, thanks to computers, that's where ninety-eight percent of the market is, and how a wise money manager uses 'em to hedge, not leverage. His foot keeps touching yours. The stars look out of focus. The moon's full and low, but murky. As if shrouded in smog. You point to where you think a city-sized cruise ship's lights decorate the horizon. But no one confirms. Jack says the stock market's always frightened him the way casinos should compulsive gamblers. Even after RIM bought QNX and handed out call options like Halloween candy and made him and everyone he worked with rich, he never cared for it. You wonder if he's playing footsie, too. Surprised that you don't care. What at first you think's a falling star turns out to be either a satellite or some high-altitude plane. Or maybe the space station. Even looking at it out of the corner of your eye, where objects are at their clearest, it's impossible to tell. Might just be something floating across your cornea. You were a pretty decent swimmer back in high school. Swam men's varsity your freshman year, only girl on the team. Still remember your times. Fifty yard freestyle: twenty-three seconds flat. Two-oh-nine-seven once in the two-hundred individual medley. Coach Burton's face in yours every time you breathed: Swim! Last year, at your eye appointment, you wondered if all the chlorine might've caused your condition. Dr. Hopfner, the optometrist, thought not. Anything's possible. But AMD's a genetic thing. More common in women, eh? Your mom died in a car crash when you were sixteen. On her way home from a Christmas party. Drunk. But you remember her mother as seeming kind of blind, always trying to see you better, always pulling you a little too close but never looking straight at you. Back then you figured it was just an old person thing. Like wrinkles. Like bad hair and teeth. Dr. Hopfner advised you not lose hope. Leafy green vegetables. Intravitreal injections. An SSRI if necessary. Though you were right about the cataracts. Just not mature enough to be operative yet. Better to take a wait-see approach. Weigh the risks down the road. The financial planner's wife steps into the pool. Says she needs to cool down. Her breasts are too big for the rest of her. Her swimming looks like some combination of doggie paddle and sidestroke. And drowning. The way she rolls and gulps. Appendages flailing. All working against each other. You almost want to rescue her. Takes forever to swim two laps. You can tell she's proud of her aquatic prowess, though. The way she leans over the shallow end's gutter drawing deep, even breaths. Like hyperventilating. Like she's just crossed the English Channel. Jack asks the financial planner why he thinks it is the US still hasn't gone with plastic money or chip cards, and why you gotta pay cash in advance at the pumps, which is a total pain the ass. This causes the guy to launch into a diatribe about the US economy being so bust now that it actually relies on a certain "manageable" level of forgery and identity theft. He puts his drink down to do the quotes. No one could even begin to counterfeit a fraction of what The Fed does each and every day. Not even close. So who cares, right? And did you know they get most of their oil from us? So how come gas is so much cheaper here? He advises Jack terminate any exposure his portfolio might have to US currency. Not just cash, but any mutual funds containing US bonds or equities he might have kicking around in RSPs and whatnot, too. He places his hand on Jack's shoulder. Giving free advice seems to evoke in him a sense of largesse. The ocean is black and smooth. Like an oil slick. Swells and ripples instead of waves. You wonder if dolphins sleep at night. Sometimes, in the morning, a pod will swim by, surfacing and diving. Up and down, up and down. Like swimming the butterfly. As if stitching invisible seams. You used to rush out to see. Peer through the binoculars. Though not anymore. It's funny how the amazing blurs into the commonplace. How you can become inured to anything. Like the sun. The good life. The whole universe. But probably not blindness, despite Jack's theories about its leading to enhanced spatial and eidetic memory, better hearing, and probably better sex. At first you thought they were sharks. You climb out of the hot tub's fever-temperatured water. Say you think you'll try a swim, too. But in the ocean. The financial planner seems actually impressed. Are you nuts? What about undertows? What about sharks? You tell him there's no such thing as an "undertow." Only rip currents. They'll drag you out, but never down. And that you're more afraid of jellyfish. Jack brags you're an unbelievable swimmer. A regular fucking dolphin. Sounds a little inebriated. Glances at the woman, again floundering in the pool. Looks a little worried. What about cramps, though? You take off your ring. Wouldn't want to lose it. Four flawless carats. Wouldn't want to attract barracuda, either. Jack's glad to hang onto it till you get back. No worries. Your muscles are limber. You haven't eaten in hours. Your fingers graze his palm. A kiss might seem too final. There's a gate, then a path leading down to the sand. Scrub grass on either side. You close it behind you. South on the beach, the entertainer's singing an old Lou Christie hit. Faraway voices blend with the nearby lapping of water. Two Faces Have I, but not quite Christie's keening falsetto. High tide. Probably headed out soon. The ocean's cool, but not much cooler than the air. You're still hot from the tub. The sand's soft and smooth. Early every morning a grader truck rakes up all the stones and shells. Someone said they use them on driveways. It seems to take forever until the water reaches your knees. The moon is almost straight ahead. You recall reading somewhere that its orbital period and women's menstrual cycles are identical in length. When the ocean tickles your thighs, you dive, and swim for it. But after only a dozen strokes your hands grab sandbar. Standing makes you feel heavy. Unwieldy. Removing your suit helps. You surrender it to the tide. Now the air seems cooler than the water. After the sandbar, the bottom drops away quickly. As if on the edge of a steep underwater hill. Or cliff. You raise your arms up over your head and perform a standing surface dive. The deep water's colder. But your feet don't touch bottom. So you kick back up. Swim for the moon. Effortlessly. Like flying in a dream. You wonder if you should pace yourself. And, if so, how? For the mile? Your personal best was 17:59. But that was in a twenty-five yard pool. A long time ago. Sixty-five flip-turns. Coach Burton screaming himself hoarse the entire final hundred yards. Bringing you home. Every breath to poolside, screaming in your face: Swim! Both Jack's sons are visiting next week with their daughters. No wives, though. Separated. The three girls call you Gamma. Like the radiation. Your step-sons call you Jeanne. Always have. You're glad they don't call you Mom. Even though you've known them since they were little. Kissed their owies. Helped with their homework. And, later, their finances. Even though you love them, and you're pretty sure they love you, you suspect it's not the same. Sometimes you wish you'd had children of your own. Though not right now. Stroke stroke stroke, breathe. Steady flutter-kick. Goddamn your feet are big. First thing Coach Burton ever said to you. Regular flippers. Mermaid feet. Huge smile on his face. Stroke stroke stroke. Your armpit forms an air pocket. Breathe. Stroke stroke stroke. You skip a breath, laughing. Never paced yourself for maximum distance. Stroke stroke stroke, breathe. Guessing eighty-second hundreds. Pulse maybe picking up a little. Sixty-eight or so. More from exhilaration than effort. The current seems to carry you. Even when you stop and tread water. Your longest competitive open-water swim was five kilometers. Organized by Swim Ontario. Then there were boats and buoys and other swimmers to guide you. You seem to have drifted south a little. Toward the open Atlantic. Toward the restaurant, which is almost directly behind you now. The singer sounds tinny. Lost in the tide. Strings of red, white and blue bulbs outlining the patio look like violet webbing. To the north, past your rental, past your husband and the financial planner bonding in the hot tub, a hotel's pool lights leer aquamarine. Ahead, the moon seems to have drifted to your left. Surely an unreliable guide. You've never heard of sailors navigating by it. Only the stars. Fuzzy and faraway. You wonder if it's really true that if all the stars visible to the naked eye were grains of salt, they'd only fill a teaspoon, whereas all the stars you can't see would fill a lake. The sun's amber glow still lingers on the horizon. Like a tease. You swim for it. Coach Burton always thought you had a shot at Lake Ontario. Would've gladly helped you train. You wonder if he's still alive. He was about the age you are now. So how old would that make him? Probably too old. It occurs to you, and for the first time, that maybe it wasn't all about mentorship. Maybe his will to your athletic success was mired in something more. Stroke stroke stroke, breathe. Of course. He had a crush on you. You with your big feet, flat chest and pimples. He just wanted to be with you. Even if it meant sitting for days in a small boat, gripping a sputtering outboard's steering arm. Tossed about. Hour after hour. Occasionally vomiting into Lake Ontario's rough, cold water. Just to watch you swim. He also taught Health Ed. Breathe. Stroke, stroke. Breathe. Only to the left now. One reason you never took on Lake Ontario was all its lamprey eel. Maybe the ugliest creatures on earth. Long, slimy suction cups with needles for teeth. Love to attach to swimmers. But the real reason, the main reason, was those who'd gone before. You wouldn't have been the first, the youngest or the fastest. Though now, it occurs to you, you could be the oldest. Something slick and firm bumps, really more like nudges, you on the thigh. As if to remind you that you're not alone. Maybe a manatee. You pause for a rest. Look around. Pee. That last glass of Zinfandel. The air's much cooler than the water now, which is cooler than your body. Your urine. You relax. Float. Easy. Seawater's buoyant. You settle into it, only your nose and mouth exposed to the chill air. Feel the ocean's rise and fall. As if breathing. As if in a deep sleep. You listen for the eerie howling moan of whale song. Hear only the drone of some faraway ship's engines. Then surface. Look around. Ears and cheeks cooling. All horizon now. Everywhere you look. You wonder if it's true that sailing ships of old always carried swine. That a pig, thrown overboard, will always swim for the nearest land. You feel a little dizzy. A mild vertigo. Disoriented. Faraway lights could be a ship, or a pier. Or an illusion. But the moon seems real. And about where you remember it. You've always had a good sense of direction. You consult your inner swine. Then do the opposite. Swim for the farthest shore. You're in the Gulf. So somewhere on the coast of Mexico. Or Texas. Or even Louisiana. Cuba, if you're way off course, would be much closer. But still far enough. Switching to backstroke works a different set of muscles. Gazing up into the night sky is not unlike gazing down into the deep. Both are unfathomable in their way. You imagine Jack has lost interest in matters of national economic import by now. Whatever buzz he's managed to tie on, you've probably killed. But surely the other couple hasn't gone to bed. Left him standing alone on the beach. You wonder how long he'll shout your name before he breaks down. Calls 911. The coast guard. No. It'll be someone else who does. Maybe someone from the restaurant. Americans are way friendlier than Canadians. Especially in the South. What's the problem, buddy? What? How long did you say? Oh man! Jack might even argue a little. A few hours in the water ain't diddly. Not for you. Hell, there've been Lake Ontario crossings took over forty. Some who've swum across and back. Even after the call is made, he'll keep trying to find you. Run up and down the beach all night. Screaming like Coach Burton. Like you're not the one who's lost. You stay on your back, but switch to a frog kick, with a lazy underwater double-arm sweep. Not a competitive stroke. Well maybe in synchronized swimming. Super easy. Have to be careful not to kick too hard, though. Don't need a calf cramp. But you have to keep moving. You've heard sharks have to swim to breathe. If you stop swimming, you could freeze. Seems funny someone could freeze to death at room temperature. Because that's what the water is. There's a kind of tension, a clenching, that precedes shivering. The air seems colder now. You push a little harder. Just enough to get warm. You don't want to sweat. You don't want to cry, either. The ocean is big enough. So you stop thinking about Jack and the kids. Roll over. Get back to some serious swimming. Count your strokes. In a pool it's about fifteen hundred per mile. In open water, usually more. Depends on waves and current. There are no waves out here. Not the breaking kind. Only swells. You rise and fall. Rise and fall. It's made you a little queasy. You also have a niggling headache. Like someone's squeezing your eyeballs. Dr. Hopfner mentioned glaucoma. Not to worry. You don't have it. But your IOP's at the high end of normal. Both eyes. Could complicate things down the road. Something to keep on top of. Did you know swimming goggles have been shown to raise intraocular pressure? Do you still swim? Goodness! No wonder you're so trim! You start over every thousand strokes. But was it nine or ten? Your arms are heavy. Burning. And, at the same time, a little numb. Breaststroke's just as hard on your lats, but easier on your shoulders, and better for looking around. Not a lot to see, though. Water. Sky. Stars. The spoonful that are visible, anyway. Tough on the knees. For about a hundred strokes, whenever you pull up to breathe, you think you hear a helicopter. Far away. And getting farther. Till it's just your heart thumping in your ears. Seems a waste of energy to try to shake or knock the water out of them. Should've worn earplugs. Sustained, breaststroke's hard on the neck. It's made your headache worse. Rolling to your back turns your stomach. Turns your queasiness into full blown nausea. Thinking about Skinny's onion rings doesn't help. What goes in a veggie burger? Do meats ever masquerade as vegetables? You need to shit. On the road, you're at the mercy of public washrooms. Restaurants, gas stations and service centers. You can usually hold out longer than Jack. But you get less warning. Still, you both try to sync washroom breaks with refueling. If you don't need gas, you buy an Almond Joy and something to drink. You feel like you should pay something. You wonder if whales ever hold it in, either as an exercise or out of some sort of marine etiquette. But you're just visiting. No holding back for you. You push. Sync it with your whip kicks. No wiping after. Nice thing about being naked in the middle of the ocean. Cleans you right up. Like a giant bidet. It helped. You feel less nauseated. Less bloated. But your head still hurts. All the way down your neck and back, really. Whoever said swimming out into the ocean as far as you can was a good way to die probably never tried it. Or wasn't a very good swimmer. Think about something else. You don't believe Coach Burton had a wife. A family. You remember how obsessively he bit his nails. Probably from being responsible for things over which he had no control. Like your times. Gnawed them till they bled. Right down to the quick. Right into the meat even. Had to have hurt. Probably be prescribed an anticompulsive today. Except when screaming, always had a finger in his mouth. Angry scabs oozing yellow pus. Especially his thumbs. You wonder if they ever got infected. Seemed to infect his breath a little. Your own, too, when blown back into your face. Bile rises up into your throat so, instead of air, you inhale that. And cough. And cough. Makes your head pound. Once, at the YWCA, you took a lifesaving class. Got your certificate. What you're doing now is called a jellyfish float. Tucked into the fetal position, curled like a question mark, you cough into the ocean. Gulp your own saliva and stomach acids. And seawater. Brackish and warm. Like blood. Like urine. Underwater, you vomit. Heave. Bits of veggie burger and deep fried onion and whatever it was you had for dinner... spinach salad and blackened ahi tuna... it all spews from your mouth and nose. Swirls around you. Like chum. But again, you feel better. Cleansed. Lighter. And thirsty. In lake crossings there's juice and pop. In country crossings there's bottled waters. Sweetened teas. Flavored coffees. Whatever you want. Everywhere you stop. But here there's only your saliva. You swallow. Roll to your back. The stars are gone now. The moon, too. You forge ahead, nonetheless. Feel for the farthest shore. Trust your inner pig. Ignore your thirst. The ache in your shoulders and back. Think about something else. Maybe Coach Burton's eating his fingertips was just his way of sharing your pain. How can you expect to push others to maximum endurance if you aren't willing to suffer yourself? Bleed yourself? That reminds you. He had a scalp condition, too. Maybe eczema. A wreath of scratches and pricks. Always a few tiny flakes of skin sprinkled on his glasses. Thick bifocals that made his eyes look as if they were floating in water. Try sidestroke. A lifesaving stroke. But, unless you're carrying someone, an inefficient stroke. Asymmetric and slow. Or maybe you just never practiced it enough. Butterfly is almost as fast as the crawl. But more demanding. A woman did once swim Lake Ontario using it, though. Land mammals all instinctively swim doggie paddle. But you wouldn't. Not if your life depended on it. Switch back to breaststroke. Then freestyle crawl some more. Then just lie on your back and kick those big feet without using your arms. Your mouth is dry. A kickboard would be nice. All the salt you've gulped. You feel weak in a way that transcends mere muscle fatigue. Drained at the core. Your headache is back. But you're almost there. Once, in a psychology class you took back in university, they showed a video of an experiment some psychologists had performed to determine how long rats would tread water before drowning. Some lasted as long as ninety-six hours. Four days. How this knowledge could possibly ever benefit anyone was a complete mystery to you then. You stop. Tread water. Ahead in the distance, you think you see the lights of that city-sized cruise ship again. But then it's gone. The sky and the ocean are black. But with different textures. Seem to reflect one another. Each distorting the other's image. Again and again. Over and over. Like floating between two vast funhouse mirrors. An assistant coach, whose name you forget, once told you Coach Burton had swum for the University of Michigan. On scholarship. Even qualified for Olympic trials. Made it all the way to the finals despite a very tough field that year. Then missed the two-hundred meter freestyle cut by less than a tenth of a second. Tragic in a way. The relay team took gold that year. All that hard, hard work. You think high school workouts are tough? You have no clue what tough is. Heat after heat, with only a few breaths to recoup. Then, after all that hardship and pain, to lose by a fraction of a second. Difference between a six-figure Wheaties endorsement and coaching high school. So maybe Coach Burton just wanted for you what he couldn't give himself. You wonder if he chewed his nails off to keep from scratching his head. Funny how a man can come into focus after so many years. Be seen clearer at a distance. You always wondered why you never saw him in the pool. Never saw him swim. Maybe the chemicals. You try a few more strokes. But, no. Nothing left. And so here you are. Finished. You made it. As far as you can go. So thirsty now. You look up at the starless sky. Feel like you should say goodbye or something. But instead say, Help. Not loud. Not to attract attention. Not even as a prayer. You don't pray. Wouldn't to save your life. You say it only as a kind of joke. Between yourself and the universe: Help. Still you can laugh. A hissing sweeps across the water. You hear the rain before you feel it. Then splashing all around you. Mottling the ocean's smooth surface. At first you think it's a bad thing. Just more water. You feel hope sink. Yourself, too. From below the surface, the rain sounds like it's shushing you. Telling you to listen. Then you realize: it's a gift. And rise up as from the dead. As if reborn. Lie on your back. Feel it pelt your eyes and face. Open your mouth and drink. And drink. Drink until all is quiet. Until the stars return. Again you try to swim. To forge ahead with your plan. Again your limbs refuse to obey. Your arms are numb. Legs, too. Only your lungs still burn. Only your heart still aches. Everything else feels like rubber. So this is it. This really is as far as you can go. Behind you, as if to agree, and to confirm the correctness of your course, dawn shimmers on the horizon. Offering guidance. Promising warmth. In a few minutes the entire sun will peer up over the edge of the world. Rising as it fell. You wonder when humans stopped worshiping it, and why. You feel a warm gust of wind in your face. Like Coach Burton's breath. Feeling has returned, accompanied by a prickling in your extremities. Still, you cannot swim any farther. Not another stroke. Not ahead. And so there you are. Two directions remaining. Down into the unfathomable. The inevitable. Or back into the morning's light. And whatever else awaits. All or nothing, now. Nothing, or all... And so you pirouette. Turn. Reverse course. Breathe. Stroke. Roll. Breathe. You probably look like the financial planner's wife. The way she does her laps. Stroke. Roll. Breathe. Still, progress is progress. Pain a blessing. Endurance unfathomable. This you have learned. This he has taught you well. Crab-walking along beside you. With that awkward crouching stride that must've killed his knees. At times, stooped almost as in prayer. Keeping pace. Bringing you home. Just as you remember. Bent down with that thorny crown. Those drowning eyes. Leaning right out over the water. One hand on the deck for support, and, in the other, holding forth, clenched in bloody fingers - not for you to read, but only to emphasize the importance of time remaining - his silver stopwatch. Screaming, blowing your breath back into your face. Every time you breathe: Swim goddammit! Swim!

[imsvg]

engraved

Fandom: Love Live! Sunshine!! Pairing: YouHane (You/Yoshiko (or Yohane) Summary:  In which You and Yoshiko go to the beach. Words: 1633 Links: FF is here! AO3 is here!

Yoshiko hated beaches.

What the hell was there to even like on beaches? The beach was dry, sand was everywhere, there was an infinite source of water that she couldn’t even drink from, and yet, people still loved the aspect of going to the beach for whatever reason.

And You happened to be one of those people.

“I still don’t understand why we have to go to the beach,” Yoshiko whined as she laid under the umbrella, spread-eagle. She didn’t dare to move; she felt unbearably sluggish and gross, and the only time she moved was to either go to the bathroom or get a bottle of cold water from the nearby snack shack.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Yoshiko-chan!” You gave that cheery laugh of hers, and for a moment, Yoshiko felt a sudden urge to punch her. “The beach is fun!”

“That’s what you think,” Yoshiko scoffed with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s what I think because it’s a fact.”

Now Yoshiko really wanted to punch her.

“Please,” Yoshiko began with a sarcastic bite, “explain to me this fact.”

“Well, one, you get to be out in the sun! And play in the water! And there’s so much you can do in the sand! Like, you know, build castles and stuff. Let your imagination run wild, you know?”

“Wow, never would have thought.”

“And you get to have so much fun with friends on the shore! Like, even if you can’t swim, you can still enjoy being in the water, you know? You can walk along the shore, and let the ocean cool you down!”

“I love hypothermia.”

“And the entire day just becomes this whole memory you never, ever forget,” You said, her tone suddenly turning warm. Any sarcastic remark Yoshiko was ready to spit out died on her tongue as she stayed quiet, waiting for You to continue.

When You didn’t say anything, Yoshiko quietly asked, “That so?”

You nodded, then said, “I’ve made a lot of happy memories here. A lot of them were with Chika-chan and Kanan-chan, but there are some with Pops when he came home. And there was that one time with Aqours, too! But now”—You turned to her and just grinned, and for a moment, Yoshiko thought she was staring straight into the sun—”I get to make memories with you over here! And what’s there not to enjoy about that?”

Blood rushed to fill Yoshiko’s cheeks, burning her skin from the inside as she stared at You with an open mouth. There was something about You and her open-hearted honesty that threw Yoshiko off, and honestly, she couldn’t tell if she hated it or loved it.

What she did know, however, was if she kept staring at You she was going to go blind.

Yoshiko quickly averted her eyes, opting to stare at the crowded beach shack in the distance. “Th-the hell? How can you say that with a straight face?”

You laughed, and Yoshiko tried to ignore how her heart jumped at the sound. “I’m just super excited, I guess. I mean, we live so close to each other, but we never really hung out together, you know? I think this is the first time we’ve been alone together.”

“…Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“So!” Yoshiko felt the blanket underneath her shift as You stood up. “Let’s go and make some memories! Just the both of us!”

Yoshiko wished that she didn’t turn her head to look at You because the early afternoon sun was directly behind her, forming a faint halo around her toned figure. And just then, as if Mother Nature decided to mock her even more, an ocean breeze ran its fingers through You’s naturally mussed hair, messing it up even more as she grinned on.

Yoshiko felt the urge to run to the shack for her third bottle of water that day.

But a gentle hand grabbed her wrist and effortlessly pulled her up. Yoshiko let out a squawk of surprise as she tried to find her balance. When she did, she realized just how damn close she was to You.

Yoshiko now felt the urge to pass out from all the blood rushing to her head.

“Let’s go to the ocean!” You says with a salute and wink. “Full steam ahead! Yoshiko!”

At least hearing her real name was enough cold water to shake her out of it.

“It’s Yohane!”

-X-

“Ah, that was super fun!” You cried out, stretching her arms over her head as she sat down. “I’m really glad that we came today! How about you, Yoshiko-chan?”

Yoshiko looked at her with a deadpan expression, her entire face bright red. “Totally.”

You burst out laughing, her laugh ringing out through the emptying beach as she clutched at her sides fighting for breath. “O-oh, I-I’m s-so—so s-sorry, Y-Yoshiko-chan,” she wheezed.

“I’m sure you are.” Sarcasm dripped from Yoshiko’s voice as she rolled her eyes. “But why me?” She asked, her voice turning into a whine. “I won’t be able to lie down for a week!”

You forced herself to stop laughing, little giggles bubbling out as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Oh God.” she said, her cheeks hurting from as she glanced at Yoshiko’s bright-red shoulders. “Luckily, I have ointment.”

“You have ointment?”

“Of course I have ointment,” You said as she opened her drawstring. “I need to be prepared, after all.” She took out a bottle of aloe vera oil and shook it to prove her point.

Yoshiko’s face turned an even brighter red, and You wondered if the sunburn was just got even worse.

“…Thought you were the type of person to get strung along with Chibaka’s plans without a care in the world.”

“I am,” You admitted with a laugh, “but I always made sure that Chika-chan would be fine afterwards. So I always carried bandages if she got scratched, or ointment if she got sunburnt. Still do, actually.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be Kanan’s job? Because she’s like, I don’t know, the dad of the group?” Yoshiko winced when You began to apply the oil on her skin.

“She’s like that now, but”—You sighed as a nostalgic smile crawled onto her face—”she was a complete idiot as a kid, now that I think about it.”

“Really?” Yoshiko didn’t even try to hide the surprise in her voice.

“Yeah.” You laughed before pointing out an abandoned dock in the distance. “You see that over there?”

“Yeah?”

“We used to go diving there all the time as kids. And there was this one time the water level got really high, and Kanan-chan still wanted to go swimming. Chika-chan wanted to go too, but she was scared to jump in, so Kanan-chan had to coax Chika-chan to jump down. And she did, and Kanan-chan caught her.”

“Wait, isn’t that dangerous?”

“Yeah.”

“Couldn’t they have drowned?”

“Probably.”

“Why do you sound like you’re smiling about this?” Yoshiko looked over her shoulder with a look that was a cross between concern and surprise.

“Because,” You began with a laugh, “it’s one of those memories I was talking about!”

“You keep talking about memories,” Yoshiko mumbled under her breath. “I don’t really get it.”

You hummed as she clicked the cap of the aloe vera closed. “Well, I mean, even if it’s the beach, there’s only so much that you can do, right? Even I get tired of the same-old, same-old. But when you go out here with friends, even the mundane gets really, really fun! Together with friends, whether it’s on the beach or not, that’s always fun in general! But it’s even more fun when it’s on the beach! And it’s easier to remember, you know? Because even though everything is changing around us, the ocean is one thing that won’t change. And every time you look out, you’ll think about the beach, and the beach will remind you of all the find things you’ve had.”

Yoshiko stayed quiet for a moment, her eyes drifting off into the distance as she mulled over You’s words. “Yeah,” she said after a while, “I think I get it.”

You broke into a grin. “That’s great!”

A moment of silence passed through them.

Yoshiko was the one who broke it.

“—again,” she mumbled.

You tilted her head. “I’m sorry?”

Yoshiko’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red. “I said I want to…again.”

You raised an eyebrow and her lips quirked into an amused smile. “You have to speak louder, Yoshiko-chan.”

Now Yoshiko’s cheeks were the same color as Ruby’s hair. “I said I want to come back here again! You know, to make m-memories with you! A-and it’s Yohane!”

You’s smile disappeared for a moment as she tried to process Yoshiko’s words. When she did, You felt her heart ramming itself into her ribcage, its echoes ringing in her skull. She broke into the biggest grin she could muster, the excitement of more fun times to come already pumping in her veins.

“Yeah!” She exclaimed. “Let’s have more fun together and make more memories together!”

What happened next threw You off guard. Yoshiko immediately broke into a grin, the kind where she closed her eyes. With the setting sun was directly behind her, and gave her an heavenly halo of orange and pink. Her sunburnt cheeks accentuated her charm, and her skin gave a faint glow. You felt like she wasn’t even looking at someone human anymore; she felt like Yoshiko was something else, something otherworldly.

Like—like an angel, flung out of space.

“Me too.” Yoshiko’s grin never faltered.

“I—I can’t wait,” You said.

But even as she said that, You knew that Yoshiko’s smile would be her favorite memory of all time.

i've been listening jimoto ai mantan summer life non-stop for the past two days. and i thought it was finally time to write about these two.

sorry if they seemed ooc; it's been ages since i actually managed to write and finish something.

[mnranger5]

Big Bass Bash 2019, The Boat Drama is Finally Over, Lake of the Ozarks, MO, 4/26/19 – 4/29/19

4/26/19

Early in the drive to Lake of the Ozarks, Aaron and I timidly joked about how it wouldn’t be our spring fishing trip if we didn’t have some kind of drama.  There is so much truth to that…  From blown out bearings, to malfunctioning trolling motors to dead batteries, we’ve experienced heartbreak on our trips that we’ve almost become accustomed to.  As we rolled down I-35 to Des Moines, something big was brewing…

Rewind to four weeks ago.  I pulled the Ranger out of the garage from it’s LONG winter slumber.  It was going to Lighthouse Motorsports for an oil change and tune up on the motor.  In the fall of 2018, I started having a weird issue where I’d lose power once I got up on plane.  I need that that fixed ASAP, before the spring trip to Missouri.  Lighthouse took about 2 weeks to finally diagnose the problem as a bad fuel filter.

T – minus two weeks until the fishing trip.  I picked up the Ranger from Lighthouse and went straight to the lake.  She fired up beautifully.  I idled through the Crystal Lake channel and gave her some throttle.  Immediately, I began experiencing the same power loss.  Nothing had been fixed.  In fact, it had gotten worse.  After limping one lap around the lake, the 2009 Mercury killed multiple times, even while idling.  I recall texting Aaron that I am sure the boat would be fine, but deep down, I wasn’t so sure…

Back to Lighthouse.  I was worried. After some more testing Lighthouse thought the problem might be a bad fuel pump.  Getting a new pump from Mercury could take several weeks due to it being on backorder.  This was a big problem.  They continued testing it at the shop while I contemplated a contingency plan.

Then Dyan opened a real can of worms: “What if you bought a new boat?”  Oh boy.  I quickly created a Craigslist/Marketplace add for my boat and furiously scoured the internet in search of a new boat.  But I am particular.  It had to be perfect.  The exact color, features and most of all, the right price.  About the time I came to the conclusion that I’d need to order a boat if I wanted to get all the options I was looking for, Lighthouse called me back.  They think the motor problem was just a bad $10 spark plug?  Serious?

Four days until departure, I picked up the Ranger and took her back to Crystal Lake.  She fired up without missing a beat and raced around lake sounding better than ever in the 7 years I’ve owned her.  Whew.  Crisis avoided.  Hopefully we can finally avoid some drama on the fishing trip….  For fun, I decided to leave my boat ad on the internet, just to see what kind of offers I might get...

The drive into the Ozarks was long and uneventful (in a good way).    We did make a mandatory stop at Bass Pro in Columbia for lures and licenses as well as a lunch stop which included this humongous 16” party sandwich.  

Aaron catches a fish that size on Saturday or Sunday, we will be driving home with some money!  As we continued the drive into Columbia, I told Aaron about the motor debacle and how it kind of “opened the door” for me to look at new boats and possibly sell my boat.  By this point in the drive I already had 3 people who saw my listing and had requested test drives when I returned from the trip.  In addition, I had a guy named “Greg”, who wanted me to cancel all my test drives because he was planning to buy it, sight unseen, no test drive necessary, as soon as I got home.  Okay, whatever you say Greg…

At 4:00, we arrived at Village Marina and dumped the boat into the lake.  It was bluebird sky with light winds and temps well into the 70’s.  Just a perfect afternoon for fishing.  And it wasn’t long before we began catching either.  Aaron and I both pulled in a couple of small bass each on the shakey head and drop shot.  About an hour into fishing Aaron hooked up with this chunker casting a shakey head up on the shoreline.  

We worked Jobson Hollow cove for a couple of hours before venturing toward the channel. 

Out near the primary points, we came across this monster long-nose gar.  It may have wound up in the boat a bit untraditionally, but no doubt, what a cool looking fish to see up close.  

This gar must have been nearly 40” long and close to 10 pounds.  Had I known the long-nose gar had teeth like these, I probably would not have been so eager to have my hand up near its huge mouth.  Yikes!

Once in the channel we actually had really good luck picking up a half dozen bass on soft plastics, including these couple of short ones. 

Once again, drop shot (4” pumpkin dreamshot) and shakey head (7” black & blue ribbontail) were really on fire.  

But, with BBQ ribs, au gratin potatoes, baked beans and Texas toast being served up hot at home, we blew across the glass-like lake to get some food in our bellies!  

And to top it off, home made chocolate chip cookies.  We’re eating good now!

4/27/19

5:30AM: Alarm clocks went off.  As Aaron and I contemplated our gameplan for the day, there were scattered thunderstorms in the area.  We took refuge under the covered dock, staying dry from the downpour.

The plan was to be the first boat on the Shady Oaks Resort cove just to the north of mom & dad’s house.  

We felt like our best chance to get a good fish in the morning would be working as much un-fished water as possible.  Then once other boats move in, and we’re no longer the first boat making casts on a particular area of water, it could be time to look elsewhere.  At 6:30, we took our first casts in the cove.  By 6:35, thunder boomed above use, and lightening magnificently lit up the sky.  And that was that.  

We made our way back over to the dock and decided to wait out the storm.  I can deal with a lot on the water – cold, wind, snow and rain – but I don’t take any chances with lightening.  So instead, while other anglers braved the heavy thunderstorm, Aaron and I made our way inside for quite possibly the best breakfast sandwiches being served on the lake.

As we conversed with mom and dad over breakfast, the rain pelted the metal dock just beyond the deck.  We were pretty lucky to have the comfort and convenience of 5 star accommodations and hospitality while all the other anglers were getting soaked and cold.  But, at least one of those anglers braving the elements weighed in a 7.93lb bass within the first hour of the tournament.  As Josh always says, “You gotta risk it to get the biscuit!”  This guy was risking some serious storms for a giant fish!  And it ended up being worth it.  That fish would go on to win the $100,000 Big Bass prize for the tournament.

Finally, around 7:30, Aaron and I were able to get out on the water under some light rain.  But it didn’t last long.  The cold and rain gave way to warm sunshine within the hour.  We fished the cove we had intended to start in, as well as a couple other bays in Jobson Hollow, picking up a couple of VERY short fish.  

Although the forecast was calling for extreme winds, at the moment, they were very light.  We made our way across the channel and began fishing main channel points at the Village of Four Seasons.  Aaron started chucking the Alabama Rig (Chandelier Rig) and almost immediate hooked up with this largemouth who was parked right on the shoreline.

We continued deeper into Four Seasons when the wind suddenly kicked up.  And it was fierce.  Sustained winds were 25mph out of the SE with gusts between 40-50mph.  It seemed like the winds in the channel were just as bad as the winds in the coves, so Aaron and I braved the rough waters and fished the rock ledges at mile marker 2.  I tried my best to keep the boat on a parallel line between us and the wall with about 30 feet of spacing.  Even though we were super close to the wall, the boat was situated in 40-70 FOW.  We were casting right up on the wall and slowing letting it fall down the shear cliff.  We picked up a flurry of fish, but none of them biggin’s.

We were getting pounded by the wind, so we decided to push back across the channel.  I could never have prepared myself for such a bumpy and chaotic ride. While the Ranger did fine slamming into the 3 foot waves, I broke the tip on one of my St. Croix rods, nearly lost another (if not for Aaron’s miraculous save) and broke the mount on my front trolling motor.  Uh oh, Greg is not going to be happy about that!

Back in Jobson Hollow, we desperately tried to find some quieter water, in the deepest parts of the cove we could find.  Unfortunately, the only fish swimming around there were the smallest fish in the lake.

We finished the day with not much to show for it except some sun and wind burn.  

We buzzed over the The Boathouse at Village Marina where we met up with Mom, Dad and Brianna for a couple of cold drinks before dinner.  

The Boathouse is definitely my new favorite watering hole on the lake!  

And little did we know, the feast that awaited us at home was fit for a king.

Yep, that is tenderloin roast beef with mash potatoes and green beans.  Off.  The.  Charts.  I am pretty sure I rolled off to my room directly from the dinner table.

4/28/19

Aaron and I were pretty confident in our approach to catch fish on Day 1, so we planned to continue it.  After all, we had caught WAY more fish than any of the other anglers we spoke to, so no need to change it up.  All we needed was a little luck that one of those bites was a 5+ pounder.

Once again, we started in my parent’s cove. This time working the point in our first casts.  I was pitching a drop shot while Aaron bounced a shakey head along the bottom.  On my first cast. I got bit and reeled in this feisty little two pounder with my parent house in the background.

A great way to start the day.  Made the windy, 40 degree morning a bit more bearable.  We cast everything in the tacklebox over the next two hours, not picking up a single nibble.  We worked way deep into the cove, which was packed with boats casting the spawning flats and pre spawn staging areas.  But we couldn’t muster another bite.

With only a single non-prize-worthy fish to show for the morning, we headed home for a hearty breakfast which was made to order!  Aaron went with the omelet, while I opted for the ham and eggs!  

This is like staying at an all-inclusive property!  Eat and drink whatever we want, whenever we want.  We feasted, warmed up, regrouped, and figured out a new game plan for the rest of the day.  

Aaron and I made our way to the shorelines of Birdsong Hollow.  We cast up and down this cove for nearly two hours picking up only one short fish.  We then changed directions and headed out to the choppy main channel.  We knew we’d get beat up in the big surf, but we felt like it gave us our best chance for catching a pre-spawn swamp donkey.  I was throwing the biggest bait I have, the YUM Flash Mob Jr, rigged similar to Aaron’s presentation yesterday.  Casting it on my 7’ heavy rod with 80lb braid, I was probably going to throw out my shoulder - but it would be worth it if we got a big strike.  Around noon, we got a strike, just not the giant we were looking for.

About the same time, Aaron hooked up with a fish on his spinnerbait.  The way this fish was spazzing in the water made it apparent it wasn’t a bass.  Instead, it was a nice little channel catfish.

We continued fishing the afternoon jumping from one spot to the next.  We worked a couple back creeks in Jackson Branch Cove as well as the rip rap around the Hawaiian Island.  Finally we made the trip back into Jobson Hollow where we finished the day pitching the docks around Village Marina.  

While I was getting hung up on submerged dock cables on nearly every cast, Aaron was busy catching this bass in front of the waterfall.  A good way to end the day.

We loaded the boat up at Village, and headed out to the Grand Glaize Park for the awards ceremony.  Finally, the sun was starting to warm things up, and attendance was much better this year than last.  I’d guess about 300 people were there which represents about 5% of the total anglers in the tournament.  

The 7.93lb bass hung on to win the event and was caught on a Crock-o-gator jig.  Rounding out the top four was a 7.11, 7.06 and 6.83.  Once again, these fish were caught using the same presentation Aaron and I used at various times thought the weekend.  Spinnerbait, shakey head (w/ 10” worm) and jig.  All it took was to drop the right bait on the right size fish at the right time.  Just as it happened to them, it could have just as easily happened to us.  That’s what makes this tournament so special.  Anybody can win on any given cast!

Unfortunately for us, gas money was not offered for MN anglers this year.  Instead they gave it to Colorado, California, Michigan and South Dakota.  But in an unexpected turn of events, my name was called for an early bird registration prize.  It was worth $500!!!

That night, we once again feasted.  Homemade Momma-cotti, salad and garlic toast.  To. Die. For.

Although the tournament weather left a bit to be desired, it was an absolute blast fishing the in the Big Bass Bash and staying with my parents again.  I can’t think of anything I’d change with the hospitality, except, maybe Mom could churn up some homemade ice cream next time.  Haha!  

And while we were fishing, Brianna, Nana and Grandpa didn’t have much for downtime.  

They spent the weekend sharing milkshakes, mini-golfing, playing at Minor Mike’s arcade, Dog Patch USA, and cooking for us fishermen.  And lots of Cooper time!

They even made me this sweet apron with all my favorite things!

The 2020 Big Bass Bash is April 18 & 19, 2020.  I’ve already got it on my calendar!  No way I’d miss out on another trip to see Nana and Grandpa with my best fishing partners!

4/29/19

The drive home seemed WAY quicker.  Aaron and I continued to joke about Greg, who had contacted me several times throughout the weekend about the boat.  He was hot for my boat, and needed it today.  I told Greg I wouldn’t be home until the afternoon but he was welcome to come by and see it this evening.  He told me, “I am not coming by to see it, I am coming by to buy it.”  Okay Greg!  Greg claimed he had “17K, cold, hard, cash.”  I’ll believe it when I see it.

During the bumpy seas on Saturday, I lost one of my Humminbird Gimbal mounting screws.  It’s currently somewhere 100’ underwater in the Ozarks. Greg probably wouldn’t be happy about this!  We stopped quick at Bass Pro in Des Moines so I could pick up a new one.  Unfortunately, they were out of stock of the $10 screw, but the guy working behind the fish finder counter offered me a free extra one he had!  Are you serious?  Bass Pro just gets better and better every time we stop in.  Around 4PM, we pulled up to the house and Aaron went on his way.  Brianna and I had a date at the car wash to clean up the filthy boat.

Later that evening, Greg did indeed show up to the house.  He gave the boat about a 30 minute lookover before stating he wanted to buy it.  The whole thing was surreal.  Was I really selling my boat?  I hadn’t even stopped to consider that if I went through with this, it would be the first time in seven years I wouldn’t be boat owner on fishing opener.    

Sure, that boat has been a thorn in my side and caused me more drama on the water than I care to mention.  But the happiness that little Ranger has brought to my life has been priceless.  I was blessed to find that perfect little boat 7 years ago in Indiana.  At the time, I paid $16,000 for a three year old boat with 11 hours on the motor (the MSRP was $26,345).

We drew up some quick paperwork and Greg made good on his claim by throwing down $17,000 in cold, hard, cash, onto to deck of the boat.   Yep, my little investment in floating happiness, netted me $1,000 more than what I paid for the boat in 2013.  There is no doubt, the Ranger brand holds it’s value!  In less than an hour, the transaction was completed.   I handed Greg the keys to the boat and asked him to send me pictures every now and then.  We hooked up the Ranger to Greg’s truck and he cautiously pulled out of the driveway, as I had done so many times in the past.  I watched from the driveway as he towed my baby away.  It was a very sad moment.  No more Ranger.

But it also meant, no more DRAMA!  And even better, it was time to start shopping for a new boat!  Stay tuned.

[melodylandmouse]

Last week I think? Pom brought up that they had read something about lawyers jogging to help with anxiety and that they could see Benny doing that which I heckin’ LOVED the idea of, so I went out and read a thing about lawyers also meditating to help with stress, so all of that combined with the already existent headcanon of mine that Benny is made of pipe cleaners and duct tape (read: flimsy as all heck) resulted in me writing this little ditty.

Just a shortish one-shot that I’ve been calling “Benny Jogs to Taco Bell” even though a more accurate title would be something along the lines of:

“Benny Tries to Run from his Problems but is Harshly Reminded that he is his Own Problem Most of the Time (also Oliver is there)”

Contains fluff, doctors doing doctor things, and lots of robots being robotic. Rated PG-13 tops probably, fic below the cut, rip mobile users. 1800 words. Not the best thing I’ve ever written, but I still like it, so enjoy. I don’t think there’s any applicable trigger warnings since they’re all robots?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of all the unusual sights in Toontown, a backstabber booking it around the courtyard of Lawbot Headquarters before a trial was not one of them.

“There he goes,” buzzed a Spin Doctor to a Big Wig, both Lawbots’ glares following the lesser cog as he jogged by the entryway. He very nearly tripped over an invading toon on his way by, but he was too busy and she too stunned for them to engage.

The Big Wig scoffed and shook his head. “This case will not even be a challenge. I almost pity that shopkeeper.”

“Agreed. The rabbit would have been better off being represented by a pile of scrap he picked up off the street,” the Doctor added, turning his nose up. As they continued on their way to the courtroom, their sneers nearly turned to cruel smiles.

Benedict heard none of this. His focus was inward even as he nearly ran over that cat by the entryway. He didn't think about his ill-fated defense, didn't think about that openly-mocking prosecutor, and certainly didn't think about what was going to happen to his defendant when he inevitably lost this case… He had already taken the time to hope that some toons would be in the jury, and now he had ten minutes of nothing but last minute preparations before he needed to be in court, unless he wanted to be late to being thirty minutes early for the trial.

He had tried taking these ten minutes to update his will and say some hopeless prayers in the past, and therefore knew firsthand that this was a better way to spend his limited time. He kept his eyes forward, watching the floor ahead of him to make sure he didn't trip or run over anything, holding his pace at a brisk jog. Any faster and he'd be putting unnecessary stress on his systems. Any slower, and he wouldn't need to concentrate on keeping said systems in check. This way, he could just feel his pistons pumping at a constant rate, just focus on getting his oil flowing to every limb, just listen over the mostly deadened noise of his engine to the dull whir of his fans and bellows working to keep his components cool and clear, and of course just plunk, CRASH!

Benny didn't even have time to register that something had happened before he was on the ground in a dazed heap. That hadn't felt very good...

He groaned and sat up easily enough… He hadn't detected anything wrong before he had gone down, so perhaps it had just been some imperfection on the completely smooth and level flooring that had made him slip up…? He started to get up slowly, and discovered the problem almost immediately when his left knee buckled under pressure. He was sure he could hear something grinding in there, and, even worse, something rattling around further down his leg whenever he moved it. He winced. ‘Scrap...’

Rather than trying that again, he deployed his propeller, the blades whirling above his head just quick enough to get him off the ground and upright. He cautiously lowered himself; he could still control that leg despite the knee being what he could only describe as dislocated, so maybe... Yes, it could still support his weight so long as he didn't put too much on it. The moment he tried to bend it to walk, however, he nearly ended up on the ground again.

After several minutes of cautious experimentation that left him gritting his teeth, Benny was finally heading towards the courtroom with a stiff limp. So long as he kept that leg locked straight, it would support him long enough to take quick steps. Sure that rattling sound was attracting some stares, but it wasn’t like that was particularly unusual. He was used to ignoring them, and so just kept his eyes ahead and flew over the stairs rather than climbing them. He’d just have to make sure he stood in one spot during the trial, and hope his rhetoric was strong enough to keep everyone’s attention on his defense...

He was about to duck hurriedly into the courtroom when someone seized him by the elbow on his injured side and started dragging him in the opposite direction. Benny yelped as his leg was knocked out of its locked position by the sudden movement, but the grip on his arm made sure he stayed upright. “What do you think you’re—” His indignant remark was abruptly cut off when he looked up and saw a familiar Spin Doctor glancing down at him.

“Silence. You have the time,” Oliver said firmly, guiding Benny around the corner to one of the marble benches lining the hallway. It was quieter over here without the noise of all those other Lawbots shuffling into the courtroom. The Spin Doctor set to work the moment the Backstabber was sitting, bending the malfunctioning leg experimentally.

The grinding and rattling still made Benny grimace. “How come you weren’t in the courtroom already?”

“I was coming to look for you. You were late,” Oliver explained. He already had Benny’s leg open, the small bolts that had been holding the exterior plates together each falling victim to a simple twirl of Oliver’s fingers.

Benny watched Oliver work with almost morbid fascination; his favorite Spin Doctor hadn’t wanted to be a mechanic at first, but that hadn’t stopped him from becoming so well practiced at his job that Benny couldn’t even feel him plucking bolts and poking around his internal structures. “Only relatively,” he said defensively, but it had little bite to it. “And now I suppose you know why.”

Oliver frowned, reaching down into his leg. “I’ve already called Jennifer.” He pulled out a particularly large screw from the bottom of Benny’s leg and showed it to him.

Benny groaned. “Oh no, that really wasn’t necessary!”

“This is a support screw, Benedict, an important one. If the other falls out, this joint is worthless,” Oliver growled, nudging Benny’s nearly useless leg for emphasis. Benny flinched, glancing stubbornly off to the side. “You insist on jogging even though you know your structure cannot safely handle the strain. I am finished waiting around for you to break down every time you take a case, so Jennifer is going to get you some better parts and you are going to sit still long enough for us to install them.”

“So that’s why you keep sitting in on all my clients’ trials.”

Oliver carefully replaced the fallen screw, spinning it back into place with a flick of his precise fingers. “It is one of the many reasons.”

Benny couldn’t help but smile. He glanced back over and saw Oliver looking up at him expectantly. He slowly bent his leg. Oliver studied the working parts carefully, then stood up straight and offered Benny his hand. Benny used it for leverage, and stretched his legs. Satisfied that he wouldn’t fall apart mid-trial, Oliver closed the plates over his leg again.

“Thank you.”

“Just take things slow until I can get a better look.”

“I’ll do my best,” Benny promised with a small chuckle.

The pair headed back towards the trial, Benny’s hand on Oliver’s shoulder.

 ------------------------

“Are you sure this is an ‘improvement’?”

It was the most skeptical expression both Oliver and the Micromanager standing next to him had ever seen on a Backstabber who happened to be doing lunges in circles around them.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Ben,” replied Jennifer, the Micromanager. “Sellbot parts are the easiest to get even without considering that any other make would have to be imported.”

“They will do,” Oliver added firmly.

Benny stood up straight and looked distastefully down at his legs. They looked exactly the same on the outside, but inside they were all but entirely different. Oliver, with Jennifer’s assistance, had spent several hours working on fitting the barely compatible legs of a Two-Face chassis into Benny’s frame without damaging any parts. It was fortunate that Oliver had been up to the challenge, or else the upgrade may not have worked; although they were the correct size, fitting all of Benny’s modified parts in and around them in a way that wouldn’t cause any problems in the foreseeable future had caused some anticipated difficulty. Oliver was rather proud of his work, and knew that Benny really did appreciate the effort, so he didn’t mind quite as much when the Backstabber had scowled at the concept of having Sellbot insignias engraved into almost every part of his lower chassis.

“I believe you,” Benny said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying that I’m pretty sure that going from high quality Lawbot engineering to this is more of a downgrade in general.”

Oliver and Jennifer exchanged a look, but neither was about to remind him that he hadn’t been built with quite the same integrity as other Lawbots.

“I’ll admit it, I do not disagree with you there,” Jennifer said instead, pulling a pair of sunglasses from a pocket inside her suit. “But considering that you can jog to your heart’s content now, I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the gags on this one. Take care, Ben, Oliver.”

“Take care,” Oliver replied as she took her leave. Benny just hummed, lost in thought. Oliver gave him a look. “What is it?”

Benny looked over at him, thinking about the new parts. And more specifically, how Jennifer had probably gotten her hands on them... None of them was overly troubled when it came to finances, but brand new Sellbot replacement parts, especially chassis components, were not cheap. She certainly had not resorted to petty theft to get them for him, at least not in the traditional sense, but that wasn’t reassuring. He had seen the alternatives land many cogs and toons alike in much deeper trouble than simple crime would have. “Nothing you need to worry about,” Benny said with a reassuring smile.

Oliver knew that look all too well. That affectionate sort of smile that he had seen older toons give their younger counterparts... He found it endearing and patronizing in equal measure. He frowned and shook his head. “As if I wasn’t the one just looking after you.”

Benny actually laughed aloud at that. “You can’t blame me for that! You obviously worry enough as it is. Like I’m going to intentionally bother you with any of my problems.”

“Do you have any more problems for me to be bothered by?” Oliver asked immediately, seeming to think that if he squinted hard enough at Benedict’s face that he’d be able to read his mind.

“Oh, let me get out my list,” Benny snickered, clapping him on the shoulder.

Oliver might’ve scoffed at that, but it came out as more of a snort. “Point taken.”

“Good. Now off you get, I’ve got things to do.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”

Benny just smiled and jogged off into the distance. Oliver rolled his eyes and nearly groaned aloud. Of course he was going to break in his new joints.

And if that ended up being literal again, so help him...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! <3

[sevdrag]

dreamwidth update: HOLY JESUS FUCK A DUCK THIS MORNING

so mike and i are going to pittsburgh this weekend for my brother's birthday. i had a full list of things to get ready for today - get things settled for the catsitter, clean the kitchen, do some laundry so i have something to wear, pack, rig up my bike for the weekend, sort out my medications (this takes about a half hour every week to load them into my "morning" and "evening" weekly pill boxes, ugh) ... there was a lot.

the thing is, i have been tired as actual fuck this week. because i end up overcharging my energy credit card during the week, i usually try to save up and pay it off on weekends, meaning i need lots of sleep, relaxing, and a good amount of alone solo-time. because of the recent messes (previous posts), i haven't had a free weekend to myself since the middle of june. this means not only am i exhausted, and carrying around the static background-noise of someone who hasn't been able to ground herself and clear everything out*, but of course the house is a mess and i am behind on everything.

(*i am also suffering from not having my Vicodin at the moment; those four hours of reduced pain help me clear out the static noise and ground myself like fuck, but because i have to go back to formal pain management (which is a process) i don't even have that tool in the toolbox right now.)

so anyway, i am tired and pretty strung out at the moment, but it's jim's birthday and mary wants us to be a surprise, so we'll be a surprise :)

so last night, i come home tired from the pain-load on my circuits. i take two tramadol and a glass of wine, which i'm sure my liver is mad cool about but it helps shut the pain up when i don't have opiates. i crash on the couch for a bit, with cats, and then slowly start hitting my chores. i make a pact with myself because i'm watching Chopped on tv, so every commercial break i get up and do a thing. this continues on, laundry and litterboxes and drugs, via Chopped and Beat Bobby Flay commercials (look, i love BBF, it's all fancy cooking and trash talk, that's my jam), until the second wind wears off and i get tired. well, i say, i'll get up early in the morning to finish it.

the alarm goes off at 5:00.

i am having a dream where a group of people (no one i know, which is surprising for my dreams) and i are hosting some kind of event luncheon thing with food and wine for fucking Donald Trump and some Republicans, I guess trying to talk some sense into them or come to an accord or argue with them or spy on them or, i don't know, it seems reasonable in the dream. and i'm some kind of power hostess but i'm focusing mainly on the cooking (thanks, fucking Chopped and Beat Bobby Flay), and trying to make points and break up fights while making sure everyone has food?, i mean at one point i fucking leave an argument to go make more fried cornmeal balls (hushpuppies i guess)???? so like: i'm already pretty discombobulated.

i finally manage to get out of bed, after some snooze buttons, at about 6:00

i head downstairs, turn on the keurig, head to the basement. pull the dry laundry out of the dryer and put the wet laundry in the dryer. yes, i went to bed with laundry in the washing machine. it was literally only there for like 5 hours, it didn't smell or anything

i get my coffee and sit down on the floor to fold the laundry but i'm tired as fuck and end up playing out my stamina in FFBE

i fold the laundry, while finishing FFBE/FFRK stamina, with Iggy and Potato helping. this literally hakes maybe an hour? i'm so tired i feel heavy, like i'm moving slowly because everything weighs 500lb, including my thoughts

i finish the laundry and go to get the cats ready. write a note, set out food, fill their dishes, give them wet food breakfast, get everything set

my brain finally processes that i had a dream about catering donald fucking trump, where i made him bruschetta and fucking hushpuppies rather than punching him in the face, maybe with a knife. i spend a good 15 minutes severely disappointed in my subconscious

it's starting to get close to when i should be leaving for work, and i'm starting to unravel a bit here. i go upstairs to pack. weirdly i fucking gained back 9lb in the month of july, i do not know how, so i'm also trying on everything i want to pack to make sure it fits. a lot of random shit just goes in the bag

i spend a half hour sorting out my pills. i have 20 empty pill bottles and at least 2-3 refills of each type, which makes everything more confusing than it should be. i do not know how it happened and my brain really wants to know rather than focus on getting each med in its appropriate pill box. eventually the boxes are full

i scramble to get ready for work, throw some shit on, the jeans are actually still damp but honestly i ignore it bc they stretch out better that way after a wash. hair goes up in a braid, fucks not given

head down to start loading the car. checking my important list on my phone. get jim's gift in the back seat, bike pump in the trunk because once it had a spider on it. look around the garage, and i don't have my bike rack

it must be in fucking mike's garage

i legit spend 20 minutes attempting to cram my goddamn bicycle into the back seat of my fucking honda civic

i mean, maybe if i take the front wheel off

the front wheel isn't coming off, the brakes are in the way

how do i undo brakes

maybe if i wedge it this way

fuck it we're gonna have to stop by on the way out and get my bike

head back in to wash the oil and smudge off of my hands. i am sweaty, and extremely cranky at this point

hands clean, everything else in the car, head out to get in and go to work

the bike rack is hanging from one of my ceiling hooks

someone was helpful and "put it away"

at this point i am decidedly sweaty, cranky, and obscenely late for work. there's a constant stream of "fuck you, fuck this, fucking fuck, fuck this shit, fuck everything" coming out of my mouth like i'm reciting the world's worst rosary

while taking the rack down the straps get caught in my hair and pull half of it out. everything is terrible

the rack is on the fucking car. the bike is on the fucking rack. go wash my hands again.

get into the car. what's on my seat? oh, it's the post it note of my to-do list. let's check it. i forgot to leave the key for the fucking catsitter

fuck you, fuck this, fucking fuck, fuck this shit, fuck everything

the key is safely in a plastic bag in its place

i am stopping at starbucks if it fucking kills me

literally i do not care if i am fired for being late i'm getting a goddamn starbucks

...

get to work. no one is here. half the group is traveling or on vacation, and the other half is off for 9/80 fridays. all my brain can come up with is "9/11" and i sit staring into space for 20 mins trying to figure out what the 9/11 schedule is

it is surreal

i don't know what i'm doing

so now i really just want a nap. and another starbucks

comments Comment? http://ift.tt/2v3tLGP

[itsworn]

1971 Dodge Dart: Destiny and Determination

After a 22-year journey, Bill Hartman finally has the big-block Dart he’s always wanted.

Bill Hartman grew up immersed in all things Mopar, because his father was the service manager at Springfield Dodge in Springfield, Pennsylvania, in the 1960s and 1970s. The family always had a shiny new loaner car in the driveway so Bill was exposed to a wide variety of different Chrysler products throughout his childhood, but it was actually his brother-in-law, not his dad, who got him hooked on muscle cars. “My father was predominantly a light-footed driver,” he recalls, “so my first hammer-down ride came at age 12 in my brother in-law’s 1968 440-powered GTX. I had helped him install new motor mounts and Lakewood Traction Action bars on the GTX. We stopped by a shop in South Philly to have one of the motor mounts shaved, and I was standing behind the GTX when my brother-in-law moved it in order to let another car exit the garage. He hammered it and black-tracked away from me. That was it! After seeing the GTX rip down the street like that I was hooked!”

Following high school, Bill joined the U.S. Air Force and spent the next 24 years wrenching on KC-135 Stratotankers, C-130 Hercules and B-1B Bombers in support of our nation’s freedom. In the early 1980s, while stationed at Altus Air Force Base in the small farming community of Altus, Oklahoma, he spotted a clean 1971 Buick GS 455 on a used car lot. “While some might consider this a momentary lapse in judgment given my strict Mopar upbringing, I couldn’t walk away from the GS sitting there on the lot just begging to be bought.”

The Buick was fun, but not surprisingly, it was only a detour in Bill’s journey to find the right Chrysler product. Fast-forward to June of 1997 in Abilene, Texas, where he was stationed at Dyess Air Force Base. A small ad in the local paper for a 1971 Dodge Dart Swinger project car caught his attention. “The car was rough,” he recalls, “with just an engine core and transmission sitting in the framerails, driveshaft, and steering column in the trunk, trashed seats, boxes of parts sitting beside it, no exhaust, a ’74ish front bumper, a junk rear end in the car, and so on.”

It took a few visits to look at the car before vivid memories of another Dart from decades earlier compelled him to pull the trigger. “The inspiration that kept calling me back to look at the Dart stemmed not only from my family’s Mopar ties, but a vivid memory from my high school cruising days in the 1970s on MacDade Boulevard in Delaware County, and a revered 1970 B5 Blue Swinger that was upgraded from its former 340 to become a 440 big-block Dart. Those words spoke loudly in terms of street credit in those days, and hearing all the chatter about it has stuck with me to this day.”

The first thing Bill and his wife, Diane, did after getting the Dart home was evict a family of rats living inside it. They then gutted the interior to get rid of the odor the unwanted rodents left behind, and began accumulating parts for the planned resurrection. While deployed to Maxwell Air Force Base in Alabama in 2000, Bill stumbled across a 1971 Dodge Demon in a salvage yard. “It was literally just the shell and framerails sitting on the ground with only one removable aspect remaining — the perfectly straight front bumper and its mounts that I needed!” He also needed a Dodge emblem for the deck lid, which wasn’t being reproduced at the time, and managed to find that at a salvage yard in Roswell, New Mexico, while there doing some certification at the Bombardier Flight Test Center. He later bought an entire front grille assembly from an internet auction site. “The parts were in Dwight, Kansas, and ironically, at the time of purchase, we had what was to be our final military assignment in hand and were preparing to relocate from Abilene to Wichita, Kansas, so rather than ship the fragile grille and risk breakage, the seller was kind enough to hold on to it for a few months until we moved there, and I could make the 120-mile trek north to fetch the grille.”

In 2003, the still-disassembled car and growing parts collection went with them to that new assignment at McConnell Air Force Base in Wichita. Three years later Bill retired from the Air Force and spent the next several years at GE Engine Services supervising overhaul of CFM-56 and CF-34 TurboFan Jet Engines and at Bombardier’s Flight Test Center as a project engineer, helping facilitate certification tests on newly designed Bombardier aircraft.

Some 10 years after buying the Dart, Bill finally had the time to work on it in earnest. First, the car went to Autobody Connection in Rose Hill, Kansas, where Vern Hammond’s team “transformed its outer appearance from barn find to barn stormer.” Though originally B5 blue, the Dart was painted black early on. Bill knew he wanted to return it to blue, but was indecisive regarding the exact shade. After much debate, he opted for 2003 PT Cruiser Electric Blue Pearl for the body and 2002 PT Cruiser Bright White for the tail stripe. Besides doing a masterful job with the body and paintwork, Autobody Connection also did the work needed to install a full complement of Auto Meter gauges in the dash and an RCI 15-gallon fuel cell.

After getting the car back from Autobody Connection, Bill spent the next four years putting it all back together with mostly stock parts, and in September 2011 he started the newly rebuilt 440 for the first time. It roared to life and put an ear-to-ear grin on Bill’s face, but the joy was short-lived as he discovered the 727 automatic, which had come with the car and was represented to be in excellent working condition, was in fact fried inside. After he and his wife pushed the Dart back into their garage, he removed the transmission and turned it over to friend Mark Wise, who expertly rebuilt it.

Following reinstallation of the 727, the Hartmans enjoyed their reborn Dart very much, driving it to many shows and cruises in the Wichita area. The following year, Bill noticed the engine wasn’t quite as peppy as it used to be and traced the problem to some worn lobes on its Mopar Performance cam. “With problems come opportunities to upgrade,” he reasons, “so a Comp Cams Retrofit Hydraulic Roller Cam, Comp Roller Rockers, and Howard Hydraulic Rollers were installed in place of the stock parts.”

In 2016, Bill made another significant upgrade to his engine’s performance. “I had been closely following Andy Finkbeiner’s finely detailed dyno assessments sorting out a new line of Trick Flow Specialties Aluminum Cylinder Heads at his business, AR Engineering. After concluding these are a great set of heads, Santa, in the form of my wife, Diane, was gracious enough to drop a pair of the Trick Flow Specialties PowerPort 240 heads down the chimney for Christmas, and the Dart’s long-standing breathing problems were eviscerated once and for all. Trick Flow’s new line of aluminum cylinder heads were designed specifically for big-block Mopar’s and hands down were indeed a great power adder!”

With the engine running great and making the level of power he wanted, Bill turned his attention to the car’s brakes. In 2018, he replaced the OEM setup using a Wilwood disc brake conversion kit that put four-piston calipers and 11-inch steel rotors on all four corners. Never one to sit still for long, the next project on his radar screen is installation of a six-point rollbar and RCI five-point harness. Both of these safety upgrades will be done in preparation for some much-anticipated drag racing.

The Hartman’s 22-year odyssey with their Dart Swinger has had many challenges, but the hard work and determination has paid off. The car is a wonderful reminder of Bill’s childhood growing up surrounded by Chryslers, courtesy of his father’s job at Springfield Dodge, and his teenage years hanging with all of his car buddies. They continue driving it to local shows and cruises, and get a great deal of enjoyment from sharing the car with others. “With Darts having sported fairly high production numbers in the early 1970s, the car starts a lot of conversations at car shows with people whose parents had Darts, or it was their first car, and those who had 340 Darts, or Demons, etc. Many key in on the Swinger emblems and the trademark sunflower accenting the “i” and how well that fit the ’70s era. The Dart is a trip to drive and gets its fair share of attention with lots of waves, thumbs up, picture grabs, and gas station conversations.”

1971 Dodge Dart Swinger Bill Hartman, Wichita, Kansas

ENGINE Type: 440-cid V-8 Bore x stroke: 4.320 (bore) x 3.750 (stroke) inches Block: Stock cast iron Rotating assembly: stock cast crank, stock connecting rods, stock aluminum pistons Compression: 9.0:1 Cylinder heads: Trick Flow Specialties PowerPort 240 aluminum heads Valves: Trick Flow, 2.190-inch intake;1.760-inch exhaust Valve Springs: PAC Racing dual springs Rocker Arms: Comp Cams Ultra Pro Magnum roller rocker arms; 1.5:1 ratio Push Rods: Smith Brothers custom push rods Valve Lifters: Howard’s hydraulic roller lifters Camshaft: Comp Cams Retro-Fit hydraulic roller, duration 283-degrees intake/303-degrees exhaust; 227 degrees intake/241 degrees exhaust at .050-inch lift; lift 0.513-inch intake/0.498-inch exhaust Machine work done by: Ed’s Automotive Machine and Supply (Abilene, Texas) Induction: Edelbrock Victor 440 intake manifold, Holley 850-cfm double pumper with mechanical secondaries Oiling system: stock oil pump and Milodon 7-quart deep oil pan Exhaust: Tube Technologies, Inc. headers with 1.75-inch primaries and 3-inch collectors, Dynomax Ultra Flow mufflers, 2.5-inch pipes with X-pipe Ignition: MSD Pro-Billet distributor, MSD Blaster coil, MSD Digit 6-Plus CD ignition controller, FireCore50 custom fit wires Cooling: Engineered Cooling Products 26-inch HD Cooling II aluminum radiator, 440 Source aluminum water pump housing, aluminum water pump, and billet aluminum water neck Fuel: 15-gallon RCI Racing fuel cell, Holley Blue electric fuel pump, Earl’s Performance Plumbing, Fram fuel filter Engine built by: owner Bill Hartman

DRIVETRAIN Transmission: 727 TorqueFlite three-speed automatic with B&M Transpak manual valvebody, built by Mark Wise in Wichita, Kansas Converter: Turbo Action S800 Series 11-inch torque converter, 3,000-stall Cooler: B&M SuperCooler Shifter: Hurst Pistol-Grip Quarter Stick, B&M shift cable with fire sleeve Driveshaft: Victory custom 3.25x.065 mild steel driveshaft with US Tool bolt-in drive shaft safety loop Rear End: Mopar 8 3/4 limited slip with 3.91:1 Mopar Performance gears Axles: OEM 29-spline

CHASSIS Front suspension: OEM stock, Competition Engineering 3-Way Adjustable Drag Shocks Rear suspension: Competition Engineering subframe connectors, mini-tubs, Mopar Performance leaf spring relocation kit, Mopar Performance super stock springs, Calvert Racing CalTracs, Competition Engineering 3-Way Adjustable Drag Shocks Steering: OEM fast-ratio manual box Front brakes: Wilwood forged Dynalite Pro Series 4-piston calipers, 11x 0.810 rotors Rear brakes: Wilwood forged Dynalite Pro Series 4-piston calipers, 11×0.810 rotors; Wilwood DynaPro low-profile rear parking brake kit Master Cylinder: Mopar Performance lightweight master cylinder, Wilwood proportioning valve, Hurst line lock

WHEELS & TIRES Wheels: 15×6 (front) and 15×10 (rear) Weld Racing Prostar Front Tires: 26×7.5×15 Mickey Thompson Sportsman Rear Tires: M&H Racemaster N50x15 Muscle Car D.O.T. drag

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Even though the anti-inflammatory, antioxidant and antibacterial Houses of honey and cinnamon could reward acne-prone skin, no scientific studies exist on their own power to take care of acne. How for making a Honey and Cinnamon Mask Learn about the nutritional vitamins and minerals that can guidance your health as anyone with arthritis. Read Far more >> There aren't any research exploring the advantages of drinking environmentally friendly tea In relation to acne, but applying it on to the pores and skin has long been demonstrated to assist. Stick to with the common conditioner. Mouthwash’s anti-fungal Qualities assistance avert dandruff-causing yeast from growing. Here are a few myths about mouthwash that just aren’t true. These 10 home therapies for insomnia can help you get back again heading in the right direction with a superb evening's slumber. See how you can sleep better with these home therapies. Leave the concoction in your facial area for 10 minutes, then rinse off with drinking water. Here are a few sneaky causes you’re having an acne breakout. Summary: Individuals with acne tend to acquire decreased zinc amounts than individuals with very clear pores and skin. Many research show that having zinc orally can considerably cut down acne. This has prompted Many individuals to consider the best way to heal acne naturally at home. The world wide web is full of recommendations, but do natural treatments really work? An additional review with 31 participants yielded equivalent results (sixty three). These smaller scientific tests recommend that a low-glycemic diet regime might be handy for people with acne-vulnerable pores and skin, but additional research is necessary. The gallbladder is tiny, but has the significant work of storing bile for the liver. An excessive amount cholesterol could potentially cause gallstones, after which you can lots of suffering. Find out how home remedies can reduce gallbladder suffering. The enteric coating prevents capsules from opening inside the tummy and rising soreness by causing heartburn and indigestion. The peppermint releases and goes to operate lessen from the gastrointestinal tract, the place gasoline-plagued people will need it most. (See what your gasoline is attempting to let you know.) Early research recommend that weed might contribute to erectile dysfunction, but additional investigation is necessary. These so-referred to as probiotics contend with and replace the reeking microbes. (In website cause you to prettier—check it out!) The lemon-yogurt combo promptly neutralizes odor and lasts twelve to 24 hrs. By way of example, ingesting environmentally friendly tea has been shown to decrease blood sugar and insulin concentrations, that happen to be things which can lead to the development of acne (37).

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Other choice therapies considered to help ED involve zinc nutritional supplements (specifically for Guys who will be small in zinc), the herb ashwagandha (also called Indian ginseng), and ginkgo biloba, but extra experiments are necessary to know with certainty. Put aside in the future a week for the cheat food. Keep in mind, it’s essential never to take in an excessive amount. To find the most out of your cheat food, eat it slowly but surely and take a look at to stop disturbances whilst having. Lousy hair brushing and shampooing practices, dry pores and skin, anxiety and inappropriate diet programs, can make your scalp a lot more prone to dandruff. Now you’re aware of the leads to, it’s time for you to fight dandruff.  The salicylic acid in aspirin is really a go-to for acne treatments, and the aspirin can dry up pimples and minimize inflammation. To take full advantage of these home solutions for acne, form a paste by mashing aspirin in somewhat water, or dissolve 4 products in 2 tablespoons of drinking water. A later on research printed in 2003 documented that 21 per cent of ED sufferers who gained acupuncture experienced improved erections. Other studies have revealed conflicting final results, but this treatment has prospective and could give you the results you want. Though the anti-inflammatory, antioxidant and antibacterial Attributes of honey and cinnamon may perhaps advantage acne-inclined skin, no reports exist on their own power to treat acne. How to generate a Honey and Cinnamon Mask Your not long ago seen goods and showcased recommendations › Watch or edit your browsing history These so-referred to as probiotics compete with and change the reeking microorganisms. (In addition they make you prettier—test it out!) The lemon-yogurt combo instantaneously neutralizes odor and lasts 12 to 24 hrs. You'll find a wide variety of exfoliation products obtainable in outlets and on-line, but it surely's equally as very easy to make a scrub at home employing sugar or salt. As an example, consuming environmentally friendly tea has become shown to lessen blood sugar and insulin levels, that happen to be aspects which will add to the event of acne (37). Healthcare situations absolutely are a Regular reason behind erectile dysfunction or ED. But from time to time, the result in has got to do with Life style selections. You can even purchase aloe vera gel from The shop, but ensure it is pure aloe with none included substances. There are a number of home cures for migraine ache aid which can help abate the debilitating soreness. Find out how feverfew can assist address migraines. Multani mitti will help to revive hair wellness. This straightforward dandruff solution utilizing multani mitti provides comfortable, silky hair and dandruff-no cost hair.

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As an alternative to shelling out for highly-priced acne treatments, find out how to get crystal clear pores and skin with these natural at-home remedies. From cold and hot treatments, to electrical stimulation, to therapeutic massage, learn more with regard to the natural therapies which will help relieve your soreness and arthritis signs. Read Much more >> A different great idea for weightloss will be to consume environmentally friendly tea. It's a big array of antioxidants that support your body stop working foods, and assist in losing excess weight. Nonetheless, the American Urological Association doesn’t endorse yohimbe as an ED treatment method. It's because there’s not a great deal of proof proving it really works. Its Unwanted effects might be harmful to well being. These include things like improved blood pressure level and heart level, irritability, and tremor. Sip linden flower tea, which will work in two methods: It stimulates the hypothalamus to raised Command your temperature, and it dilates blood vessels, inducing perspiring. Dandruff aid could possibly be no farther absent than your fridge, When you've got lemons on hand (which you must, because they have a lot of useful employs!) Just massage two tablespoons lemon juice into your scalp and rinse with h2o. A rigid neck success from slowed circulation and lymph stream to muscle tissues. Use distinction hydrotherapy—a quick blast of sizzling, then chilly water—to have the blood pumping again. In the shower, to start with run sizzling h2o above your neck for 20 seconds to extend blood circulation, then switch to cold for ten seconds to constrict blood move. Summary: The natural and organic acids in apple cider vinegar may perhaps assistance get rid of acne-triggering microorganisms and minimize the looks of scars. Making use of it for the skin may perhaps trigger burns or irritation, so it should be used carefully. ) Activate the tannins inside a tea bag by dipping inside of a cup of incredibly hot water for a number of minutes. Cool during the fridge, then utilize the damp bag to be a compress to the closed eye for 10 minutes. These so-referred to as probiotics contend with and change the reeking bacteria. (In addition they cause you to prettier—test it out!) The lemon-yogurt combo quickly neutralizes odor and lasts twelve to 24 hours. The dangers of acupuncture are lower if provided by a accredited acupuncturist. Acupuncture displays promise for treating ED, but much more scientific studies are required. Summary: Individuals with acne tend to own reduce zinc levels than individuals with crystal clear skin. Numerous research demonstrate that using zinc orally can significantly minimize acne. Erectile dysfunction (ED) is commonly named impotence. It’s a affliction through which a man can’t reach or manage an erection for the duration of sexual effectiveness. An absence of sleep can make you snack extra late during the night time, makes you crave consolation foods, and leaves you also worn out for normal Bodily training. Deficiency of sleep might also halt weightloss attempts from Doing work.

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With its natural inflammation-combating Attributes, a 5 per cent solution of tea tree oil is less severe than a 5 p.c benzoyl peroxide Alternative and will be equally as helpful against acne, while it may well very clear up a little less rapidly. The salicylic acid in aspirin is really a go-to for acne treatments, plus the aspirin can dry up pimples and cut down inflammation. To reap the benefits of these home treatments for acne, variety a paste by mashing aspirin in a bit drinking water, or dissolve four capsules in two tablespoons of water. Acne surfaces in the course of moments of hormonal imbalance. Some search for natural treatments these oral vitamin and mineral supplements. Find out which natural therapies… Aspirin incorporates the identical Lively component (salicylic acid) as lots of medicated dandruff shampoos. Maintain flaking in check by crushing two aspirins to a high-quality powder and incorporating it to the normal degree of shampoo you utilize every time you wash your hair. There are plenty of merchandise and treatments You should use at home to treat nasal congestion. Learn more details on home treatments for nasal congestion from this informative article. Ingesting milk and consuming dairy goods exposes you to hormones, which may bring about hormonal modifications and produce acne (sixty four). Two massive scientific studies claimed that increased amounts of milk intake were being connected to acne (65, 66). However, participants self-documented the data in equally of such research, so more research must be performed so as to determine a real causal marriage. Coconut oil nourishes your hair, though lemon juice assists to deal with dandruff at home without the need of utilizing dangerous chemical substances. Provided below is the simplest dandruff home cure: By way of example, ingesting environmentally friendly tea is demonstrated to decreased blood sugar and insulin amounts, which are things that could add to the development of acne (37). To cure diarrhea, it is important to interchange the fluids and salts The body has missing. Learn the way to cure diarrhea in the following paragraphs. 'Home cures - Natural Remedy' is the greatest android application for finish manual to home (ayurvedic) treatment or get rid of for in excess of 50 illnesses or ailments. In the event the typical cold or other insignificant ailments strike you down your 1st line of defense might be in your individual home. Check out these home therapies and you might not have to secure a prescription. Lemons act as an exfoliant, skin lightener, and disinfectant to scale back the looks of scars and prevent new pimples from forming. On the clean facial area, dab acne that has a cotton ball or cotton swab dipped in lemon juice, then rinse with cool drinking water. These are generally the seven worst myths about Grownup acne. Dandruff procedure could be performed at home with baking soda too. The cure to make use of baking soda for dandruff treatment is presented under: Your diet regime could also influence your sexual overall performance. For information on which foods could benefit you, such as cocoa and pistachios, have a look at this post on food plan and ED.

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You could possibly even make paste of apple peel, honey, vinegar, as well as a dash of multani mitti. Apply for half an hour and rinse off with rose water. Your skin will visibly tighten and will develop a healthier, radiant glow.  It is best to in no way give honey to a kid young than one year old, mainly because it often contains botulinum spores. Although they’re typically harmless to more mature youngsters and Older people, infants’ immune units aren’t in the position to battle them off. Unintentionally ruined your mani? Don’t worry—there’s a two-minute repair that camouflages chips while not having to get started an entire new manicure from scratch. Brahmastra actor Alia Bhatt hosted an impromptu Q and also a with her supporters just after achieving twenty five million followers and he or she divulged some eating plan and beauty secrets and techniques! Oatmeal baths could also soothe your skin. Grind a couple of handfuls of plain oatmeal (not flavored or instant) in a blender or food processor, then sprinkle the great powder about your tub drinking water. Look into extra natural alternatives for eczema and psoriasis. High-carb foods are linked to acne—and bodyweight acquire—due to the fact Your entire body ordeals an increase of glucose and insulin levels. Those who try to eat a balanced eating plan (that incorporates balanced carbohydrate foods like create and entire grains) have 50 % as a lot of acne breakouts, In accordance with a naturopath, and it is why averting all business dairy items, processed foods, refined sugars, and processed industrial oil items will naturally support battle acne. “Put the ingredients in the drinking water and produce to your boil. Simmer for quarter-hour. Strain Sweeten with natural and organic honey to flavor and consume a person cup just about every two hrs.” Here are extra tips on steeping an ideal cup of tea. With the festive period around the corner - Durga Puja, Karvachauth, Diwali and endless parties and festivities that go with it, the skin and hair have to glimpse healthy and stunning. Going for walks—If you're able to’t run—is a small affect, beneficial cardio-conditioning training, while bodyweight training allows you build muscle, rev up your metabolism, and retain you experience powerful. Use these physical exercise motivation tricks to start. For those who have dry skin, take into account cold product like Pond's, which the French use, or make your personal natural cold cream employing this straightforward cold cream recipe. Only use the product, then wipe off, no water necessary (For those who have really hard h2o, it could be Primarily harsh on skin). Let us take a look at some Rewards coconut oil has to offer for hair decline and some hair packs which you could bring into use to expand content and balanced tresses In a single study, researchers observed that giving kids 10 grams of honey at bedtime minimized the severity in their cough signs. The kids reportedly slept far more soundly, which also can help reduce chilly signs and symptoms. For those who have wavy or curly hair, you understand that acquiring your best texture isn’t clean-and-go. Ringlets need careful styling that straight-haired persons just don’t understand. To make the most of one's curly hair, test these tips we’ve picked up from major stylists.

Uncontrolled strain could make your skin far more delicate and cause acne breakouts together with other skin complications. To stimulate balanced skin — along with a healthful point out of mind — get ways to handle your pressure.

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Possessing a nagging cough gets troublesome quick—specifically for Individuals close to you. An excellent home cure is black pepper tea. To generate the tea, position a single teaspoon of freshly floor black pepper and two tablespoons of honey in a very cup. Fill with boiling h2o and Allow steep, lined, for quarter-hour. Phytochemical researcher Varro Eugene Tyler described paraherbalism as "defective or inferior herbalism dependant on pseudoscience", applying scientific terminology but lacking scientific evidence for security and efficacy. Tyler outlined ten fallacies that distinguished herbalism from paraherbalism, which include promises that there is a conspiracy to suppress Secure and productive herbs, herbs can't result in harm, that whole herbs are simpler than molecules isolated from your crops, herbs are superior to medicine, the doctrine of signatures (the perception that the shape on the plant indicates its functionality) is legitimate, dilution of substances raises their potency (a doctrine with the pseudoscience of homeopathy), astrological alignments are significant, animal testing is just not appropriate to point human results, anecdotal evidence is an effective means of proving a material is effective and herbs had been produced by God to overcome disease. Tyler suggests that none of these beliefs have any basis in truth.[72][seventy three] Traditional methods[edit] Use sunscreen. Utilize a broad-spectrum sunscreen using an SPF of at least 15. Apply sunscreen generously, and reapply just about every two hrs — or maybe more frequently if you're swimming or perspiring. The terms harmony and holism are frequently applied alongside complementary or integrative medicine, declaring to take into consideration a "total" individual, in contrast for the supposed reductionism of medicine. What to anticipate depends on the sort of practitioner you’re consulting. A health-related medical doctor, osteopathic health practitioner, or naturopath may perhaps propose an herbal solution in the midst of an Office environment check out if you have produced a specific complaint. See how Mayo Clinic investigation and scientific trials progress the science of medicine and boost client care. H2o is critical to healthier residing. Learn the home remedies that could continue to keep you from turning out to be dehydrated. Herbal medication has long been utilized to deal with or reduce pretty much each and every attainable health care affliction. Several of the most well-liked herbal remedies plus the ailments for which They are really made use of consist of: Using herbal remedies is a lot more common in individuals with Long-term diseases including most cancers, diabetic issues, bronchial asthma and end-stage renal illness. These home remedies for diarrhea will let you recover more rapidly and stay nutritious. See 10 home remedies for diarrhea to get going. “I see that combining Himalayan Pink Salt with powdered magnesium in drinking water is an additional effective Remedy. Just spray over the influenced locations.” One you may not understand about is by consuming elderberries. In get more info , elderberries—the dried berries in the Sambucis nigra While herbal medicine is just not a accredited profession in The usa, herbal remedies in the shape of extracts, tinctures, capsules and tablets and teas might be recommended by healthcare practitioners of many different disciplines for a functional way to handle numerous types of health care conditions. Pregnancy: It's best in order to avoid having any herbs during pregnancy, Specifically the primary trimester, Until you’re underneath the care of the knowledgeable practitioner.

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High blood cholesterol is A significant reason for coronary heart assaults. Learn what All those cholesterol quantities suggest, and read about the home remedies that can help Get the cholesterol under control. Complementary therapies in many cases are used in palliative care or by practitioners aiming to control Long-term soreness in people. Integrative medication is considered additional suitable in the interdisciplinary approach Employed in palliative care than in other parts of drugs. "From its early encounters of care for the dying, palliative care took without any consideration the necessity of positioning individual values and Life-style behaviors on the Main of any style and shipping of high quality care at the conclusion of life. Winter can take a toll with your skin and hair.  You may experience numerous skin and hair troubles in the course of winters. Your hair and skin will get dry quite quickly. Know several Winter season hacks which you can try to obtain a glowing skin and frizz totally free hair this Winter season. Should you are convinced your chaotic existence is trying to keep you away out of your perfectly-deserved beauty snooze and regular monthly salon visits, then check out these right away face masks that won't only give you ... Herbalists ought to understand lots of skills, including the wildcrafting or cultivation of herbs, diagnosis and procedure of situations or dispensing herbal medication, and preparations of herbal prescription drugs. Some professions of complementary/regular/option drugs, for instance chiropractic, have obtained full regulation in North The us along with other parts of the planet[186] and so are regulated inside a fashion similar to that governing science-primarily based drugs. hile you know some of its Fantastic health and fitness Advantages, you must also know how superior it is actually for your personal skin far too. If you're the uninitiated a single in this article, we tell you some ... Allopathic drugs or allopathy is an expression generally utilized by homeopaths and proponents of other types of different medicine to confer with drugs. Herbal medicine has been utilised to treat or alleviate pretty much just about every feasible healthcare affliction. A few of the most popular herbal remedies as well as the situations for which They are really applied consist of: Patricia Wexler suggests Gals exfoliate every day. "This at the time-a-week issue is nonsense. But, I believe You should know your skin. You need to never ever search red or irritated—it is best to search much better after you scrub." That said, toners of now are not your mom's toners of a few many years ago. They are much more Mild, packed with antioxidants and skin brighteners and can make even the driest skin glance vibrant. Use in the time period remains prevalent between homeopaths and has spread to other alternative medicine practices. The meaning implied through the label hasn't been approved by regular drugs and is taken into account pejorative.[39] More not too long ago, some resources have used the phrase "allopathic", particularly American sources wishing to differentiate involving Medical practitioners of Medication (MD) and Physicians of Osteopathic Medication (DO) in The usa. Integrative drugs has long been criticized in that its practitioners, skilled in science-primarily based medicine, intentionally mislead patients by pretending placebos will not be. Aloe Vera Gel with at the very least 90% pure aloe barbadensis leaf juice in it really is great for sunburned or irritated skin. Aloe vera is known for its therapeutic Homes and will do miracles for the skin.

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To treat sunburns, you could apply a combination of 1 spoon of besan (Gram Flour) and two tablespoon of curd with your face. Enable it dry for 50 percent an hour and rinse off with chilly h2o. Steep 1 tablespoon of dried herb (out there in wellbeing food retailers) in a very cup of very hot drinking water for 15 minutes, then sip. Consume beauty care to four cups every day. If you still operate incredibly hot after a working day of sipping tea, look for clinical attention.  This fashion I'm able to line my eyes in three to four swift stamps rather than attempting to draw a straight line—which is almost not possible!"—Lara Ramos, The Glossarie When these beverages may well not distinct up your chilly fully, they will help you obtain the vitamin C that the immune method requires. Getting adequate vitamin C can reduce upper respiratory tract bacterial infections as well as other ailments. In America: "Beneath the legislation, beauty goods and ingredients usually do not need FDA premarket approval."[forty seven] The EU and also other regulatory organizations world wide have additional stringent regulations.[48] The FDA does not have to approve or critique cosmetics, or what goes in them, prior to they are sold to your buyers. You won't such as the scent, but some outdated-fashioned topical ointments, including vapor rub, surface to lower chilly indicators in little ones older than 2 yrs. Just 1 or 2 purposes right before bed might help open up air passages to fight congestion, cut down coughing, and improve rest. "I provide the least constant hands on the planet, but I really like just how my eyes appear after they're tightly lined. I've discovered to carry a liquid-liner marker pen horizontally, so I am using the broader aspect on the tip in lieu of the fantastic point, and press it into my lash line. When all of our herbal remedies may have amazing effects, some herbs appear to obtain a lot more attention than Some others. Underneath are hyperlinks to some of the most well-liked herbs in health-meals merchants and supermarkets: You should never ever give honey to a baby younger than 1 12 months previous, mainly because it usually incorporates botulinum spores. While they’re usually harmless to more mature kids and Older people, infants’ immune devices aren’t capable to struggle them off. Apply this paste on your face and neck right before taking tub. Let your skin take in it for a minimum of ten minutes. With common use you'll discover lesser blackheads and also a fairer skin tone. In the center Ages, it seemed completely natural the face ought to be whitened plus the cheeks rouged.[13] Don't alter the place where your brows peak and by no means pencil The entire brow. Rather, only fill in holes. It may additionally reduce the size of a chilly. In case you’re a healthy Grownup, look at taking one to two grams of echinacea root or herb as being a tea, three times daily, for no more than one week. A further very good plan for fat loss will be to drink environmentally friendly tea. It has an enormous variety of antioxidants that assistance your body break down foods, and assist in shedding fat.

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Even though realizing what to take in and just how much to consume is crucial, it always allows if you can Increase the whole process of digestion. The best home therapy for hair care is often a healthy diet. You will be That which you eat, and what you place into Your whole body will probably be mirrored on the skin./p Specially between Girls, thyroid ailment is among the additional underneath-diagnosed wellness fears. Hair falling out in clumps is just one symptom of a set of symptoms which could reveal a thyroid worry. Not rather! You can utilize conditioner in the hair more commonly than this. Try to deep problem your hair at the time a week- or if you hve afro-textured hair, deep condition whenever you shampoo. Pick out A further reply! Practicing Yoga aids build the human body and head, yet is not a substitute for drugs. It is important to master and observe yoga under the supervision of the properly trained Yoga Trainer. In the event of any health care condition, exercise yoga only following consulting your medical doctor in addition to a Sri Sri Yoga Instructor. Even so, avoid ingesting water during foods mainly because it slows down the digestion approach. It is recommended to have drinking water 30 minutes just before or immediately after your food. As constantly, be sure to share this healthy behavior/ healthy dwelling submit on your favorite social community to spread this to as many people as you can. Thanks! If you like wrapping a towel all around your hair to dry, try out a considerable microfiber towel alternatively. Check out another solution... If you acknowledge the value of these healthy behaviors and do your own very best to incrementally increase you happen to be leagues in advance of all those who have no idea what healthy living is centered on. On a more major Notice, getting Handle about your reproductive conclusions is tied to better outcomes for basically Every person (that includes you!). Analysis collected from the Guttmacher Institute reveals that folks who opt for when to own Young children are happier; their associations tend to be more stable; and their relationships with the kids are stronger. 15/21 pstrong14# Idea For Hair Care/potent/p pstrongCleanliness is vital/strongbr /A very powerful basis for hair tumble is dandruff and itchy scalp. Hence, sustain fantastic cleanliness for attractive and healthy hair./p Any of these signs or symptoms may perhaps reveal a need for Expert aid from the dermatologist or trichologist for analysis. It's also advisable to subscribe to healthy messages on the internet and in social networking. Scientists have discovered that daily reminders can have a big influence on weight reduction achievements.

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The Fact About healthy diet That No One Is Suggesting

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[boilwateradvisory]

A lot of grit and innovation spark local water treatment business’s success

By day, Mike Schuette helps run Merchandise Outlet, a long-time discount retail store in Mt. Pleasant. By night, he and his brother-in-law Josh Lauderman team up in a business that aims to cleanse industrial wastewater in a way that creates streams of income along the entire — no pun intended — pipeline.

GCI Wastewater applies the spirit of capitalism to the problem of what to do about oil field wastewater. Like a lot of successful entrepreneurs’ stories, it started in someone’s garage and through a lot of long hours and sweat equity now occupies physical space.

In fact, while the business has grown to be sustainable and poised for further growth, both men still work day jobs. Lauderman is a chemical engineering who works in Hemlock and Schuette co-owns Merchandise Outlet in Mt. Pleasant.

The space for GCI just happens to be Titusville, Pa., the home of the American oil industry. There is still a going oil industry where the nation’s first oil wells were sunk, and the small- to medium-sized producers who are chiefly there are GCI’s primary clients.

The story of why that is starts with how GCI does its thing.

It starts with barrels and barrels of filthy water created by drilling. The first is a grayish combination of muck and chemicals created when water is pumped into a well to help cool and lubricate a drillbit working deep beneath the ground. The second is water with an orangish hue. This is the water that comes back up with whatever is being pumped from the well, either natural gas or oil.

When that water reaches the surface, most of the desired product is separated out, leaving dirty wastewater.

GCI address the question of what to do about that wastewater, Schuette said.

Their primary means is an advanced oxydation process that helps make it easier to filter out volatile organic matter, radioactive waste, heavy metals and hydrocarbons, co-founder Lauderman said. Lauderman, a chemical engineer, is responsible for most of the business’s scientific and technical side. This separates out the chemicals, leaving only heavily-salted brine.

Some of the chemicals pulled out by this process are themselves valuable, Schuette said. One is lithium, which can be found in lots of modern electronics.

“That’s what’s interesting, the waste is valuable,” he said.

Another is the brine itself. In the past, the untreated wastewater has been sprayed on roads to melt ice in winter and keep the dust down in summer. Schuette said that as he leanred more about this, the more adamantly he felt about finding ways to keep hazardous chemicals off the roads. Spraying just the brine while removing the hazardous elements can achieve the same results without exposing people and the environment to toxins.

The next phase is about finding an economical way to remove the salt from that brine, leaving just clean water. Doing this economically is one of the great technological Holy Grails of our time. Schuette said that they are keeping track of some very interesting developments in which small-scale desalinization could become viable.

Once that is realized, just with being able to sell chemicals removed from the first phase of treatment, there is a market for the sodium, calcium and magnesium salts they remove.

While the two said they want to keep the actual technology they use a proprietary secret, what’s given them a leg-up in the competition isn’t a piece of technology they are selling. It’s how they are marketing it.

After the two started working on the business together, they realized that while the market was wide open there were vendors selling equipment similar to theirs. It’s just that the equipment is really expensive and operating it requires that a company hire people trained to operate it.

That leaves a lot of small- to medium-oil producers — some families going back generations — with few options besides going to big expense to ship it out of state. This is also why while the two live in Mount Pleasant, most of their business takes place in Pennsylvania.

Michigan’s wastewater disposal laws mostly just require that you put it down a deep hole. Schuette said that while they’d love to provide services in Michigan some day, there’s not really much space for them right now.

Pennsylvania has strict regulations, Schuette said. And they have only a few deep injection wells, which gives most producers the only viable alternative of shipping it out-of-state to Ohio and West Virginia. Those transportation costs for smalltime producers can be daunting.

GCI’s primary innovation isn’t in a new, novel way to treat water, but in modeling their business as a service rather than a selling of goods. Titusville was a good choice because it’s at the center of a network of wells owned by smalltime — sometimes family — producers.

GCI puts a treatment facility somewhere surrounded by operating wells, and producers pay them to take the water off their hands. But, since the proximity of that service facility is close, transportation costs are significantly cut, from $10 a barrel of water to $3.25. That is especially noticeable when the price of oil has plummeted to $40 per barrel. The difference is enough in some cases to let a family continue to operate a well and make a small profit.

So far, they have less than 1 percent of penetration in Pennsylvania’s oil industry. Given the openness of the market, they see tremendous room for growth. There’s also potential for growth outside of the oil and gas fields.

“The beautiful thing about water is that it’s in every industry,” Schuette said.

They see room for operations in Okalahoma in oil and gas production, and say they think they could help clean PFAS out of Michigan’s water.

These might represent big dreams for a company still largely in its infancy. They’ve got two employees at their Pennsylvania operation, so far, and much of the work is less technical and more traditional business building. This is Schuette’s specialty.

There are tremendous hurdles in raising capital and overcoming regulatory obstacles, he said. One thing they did early on was develop a good, working relationship with the Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Protection. They are transparent with how they operate, which they said has helped smooth things with regulators.

As for raising the capital, that falls back on good old-fashioned sweat equity, Schuette said. And a little help from the Central Michigan University Research Corp. Actually, that’s quite a lot of help, Schuette said.

The CMURC, a business incubating program, helps small-scale entrepreneurs find money and make business contacts to help them realize their ideas. Schuette said that they have received critical assistance from the CMURC. In return, CMURC named GCI Water Solutions as the 2018 SmartZone Small Business of the Year.

“GCI Water Solutions came to CMURC while in the early development phase. By utilizing surrounding resources and funding opportunities, they progressed into a full-scale facility,” said Erin Strang, CMURC’s president and CEO, said in a press release. “The persistence and dedication of these entrepreneurs is why they were chosen for this honor.”

Source: https://www.themorningsun.com/news/local/a-lot-of-grit-and-innovation-spark-local-water-treatment/article_cb613a86-0ed2-11e9-a8ce-a337e1d7bb9e.html

[skaalpaul-blog]

Track Day for Old Blue

Old Blue is my 1987 Honda CBR600 F1, the Hurricane.  This bike and me go way back.  I found her on Craigslist.  I still clearly remember the day I bought her for $1200 and rode home. I had not ridden a motorcycle for twenty years, yet, the economic need for affordable transportation pushed me to this guy’s house on the outskirts of Atlanta, at dusk, fifteen miles from where I lived.   Old Blue was as forgiving as she was gracious.  My clutch and throttle control was raw but she never stalled out.  I remember that to keep myself calm and focused I repeated the mantra “We are one, rider and bike.” and then I kept a steady, slow pace home through the darkness, breathing a sigh of relief when we got there. She got me safely back that first night and then went on to carry me over 40,000 miles on every back road through fifteen states between Atlanta, Georgia and New York, New York.  After every trip I would replace, upgrade or improve certain parts.  Adding a pair of high beam spot lights here, new petcock there, a completely upgraded digital speedometer and engine temperature gauge. Always something better, piece by piece after each trip and before the next. I would estimate that only twenty percent of that motorcycle I bought in March 2012 still remains, replaced with little pieces of myself.

 The natural challenge for this motorcycle and myself was to take her out on a track day.  Begin that familiar nervous feeling of trying anything new.  Sport bikes within the last ten years will all go above one hundred and fifty miles an hour in capable hands.  My 1987 Honda CBR’s top factory speed was one hundred and thirty-five. Add on top of that my skill level and I’d be lucky to exceed one hundred and ten. It’s not the speed that is dangerous on a track it is the speed differential.   I looked long and hard for a group that catered to vintage bikes and left ego far from the track.  I found it in the Spooktrackular classic track day sponsored by the Cretins Motorcycle Club.  Just the tongue in cheek name was inviting and aligned with my dad joke sense of humor.

 There are minimum safety requirements for the rider and the motorcycle before you are permitted to ride the track.  Leather riding gear, either two piece or one piece, Snell rated helmet, track boots and gloves are all required.  The motorcycle also has to pass a basic safety inspection.  Things like all lenses must be taped over, no oil or fluid leaks of any kind, mirrors and license plates must be removed, anything that could vibrate off.  As a beginner, though, it is understood you are not really going to be riding the razor’s edge.  There’s no need to wire bolts or secure oil filters.  This all made common sense to me.  On the track you would be going three or four times faster than anything permitted on roads, by removing cross traffic or just cars of any kind your focused attention will be one hundred percent on riding technique, cornering and getting the most out of your bike.  Having bits and pieces of other bikes litter the track or lay oil slicks anywhere will go unnoticed that when combined with speed would have immediate disastrous effects. Beginners are given due leeway and grouping them together put the highest risk into one manageable mass.  While the intermediate and expert riders could be free to explore their upper envelope limits without the risk of a beginning level motorcycle dropping a muffler in the middle of turn three.

Three anxieties played prominent the day before the track ride.  I did not want to break any safety rules, none of which I had practical understanding of. I mean I could read the rules, of course, but none of them were grounded in experience.  I did not want to ruin or wreck my motorcycle.  To me she was one of kind.  I did not want to be “That Guy” the one that is just a little late, the one holding up the show which is actually comprised of parts of the other two anxieties with a little aspect of its own thrown in for good measure.  All of this anxiety and nervousness were unfounded of course.  I read somewhere that when you are nervous it is just because you care.  If that is true then I must have cared about this more than anything.  

It is five am on the morning of track day. I woke up in my tent in the bed of my truck.  Everything is silent. Even the coyotes I heard howling four hours ago have quieted down.  I open the tent to look around and the paddock is pitch dark, illuminated only by the night stars.  This was the beginning of my day.  The nervous energy insisted that I should get into my track suit. I had no idea how long that process would take. The suit has to be close fitting to do any good but made from leather, it was very stiff and awkward to get into, each put on movement needed a great deal of effort. I started in on the task, while trying to keep quiet for the others still sleeping nearby in their tents.  After twenty minutes of wrestling, it was done and I crawled out of the tent and got my boots on.  I was a full three hours early. There’s no way I’m going to be “that guy” now. The next couple hours were just me passing time.  I was so green at this activity that I didn’t even know how to pretend to look busy.  I sat on the tail gate of my truck, had a light breakfast and drank coffee and watch the track pit area wake up.  Here were professional racers just arriving with their track bikes on trailers. Pulling into open spots, setting up shade tents and getting their motorcycles on pit stands. These bikes were so specialized they did not even have kickstands. Every nonessential part removed to reduce weight.  Nearby was a group of Harley Dyna riders braced against the cool morning with their hoodies up and coffees in their hands.  Rider’s families emerged from trailers and children from age five to preteens passed the time by riding scooters through the paddock while their fathers put all their focus on their motorcycles. Across the way was a local coffee shop setting up for a brisk morning’s business of being the only place available for a pastry and a coffee, at least until the track cafe opened at eight.  Scattered throughout were every conceivable type of sport motorcycle that has been built in the past thirty years. By now the pit area was flush with the early morning sun and in full track day activity.  The loud speakers installed high on telephone poles came alive with music. It took a moment but I recognized the sound track from “On Any Sunday”  That familiar tingling sensation on the back of my neck put the exclamation point on a perfect moment. The morning sun, the kids on scooters, the motorcycles, smell of fuel and race leathers all swirling together. 

I had to break the spell and get Old Blue over to the bike inspection.  I had no idea what to expect. Would thirty year old motorcycle even pass? I walked her over to where folks had lined up and the race inspectors gave each bike a review.  The inspector took one look at my bike and said, “Hurricane! Wow! I used to race these back in the day!”  He was primarily looking for stray fluid leaks and pointed out my right fork seal.  “You’ll have to cover that up, if that blows you’ll put fork fluid all over the track. Just take a rag and a couple zip ties and secure it here and here.” He said pointing to the spot above and below the fork seal. Then he turned his attention to my throttle. “This needs to snap back faster. You may need to replace or modify the throttle but for now just squirt some WD-40 in their. If you go down you don’t want your bike going on without you or worse spinning your tire into your leg.  Get those two things corrected and then bring it back here for another look.”  I pushed the bike back to my truck and hurriedly set up the rag cover on the fork and worked in some spray lubricant into the throttle until it snapped back with reasonable responsiveness. Then started up and rode back to the inspector.  Checking her over, “Good! Good, see that throttle response is fine now and the fork cover looks excellent. You’re good to go.” and he put a sticker with the number three on the front fairing indicating I was in group three, the beginner’s group.  

By that time the mandatory rider’s meeting was about to start.  It was being held in the track cafe. Early as usual, I found a seat and watched the other riders filter in.  What I thought was going to be a very formal laundry list of safety procedures, instead was a pump up the crowd session and the safety talk boiled down to three things.  Enter the track and stay on the left until the first turn.  This was drilled into the crowd and was all about mitigating the speed differential.  As bikes would be coming down a long straight away hitting their maximum speeds they would be naturally aligned to the right of the track to set up for the first turn. Having someone enter from the pit at a much lower speed and swing into their path would be a disaster for all.  Next point was when exiting the track keep at speed but move to the left and raise your hand and do so from as early as turn seven.  This would tell the riders behind you what you intend to do.  Finally, there was review of the flags, red meaning accident and everyone off the track, checkered is the end of the group’s session and black meaning you’re leaking fluid stop, immediately at first safe point. There were a few more but those were the ones I focused on.  Meeting over, the track instructors asked all beginners to stay behind.  We were about ten riders in total and the instructors explained how they would introduce all of us to the track.  We’d begin with a slow review ride of the track with one instructor in the lead and another at the rear to familiarize us with the turn lines and just get through that first nervous adrenaline phase.  “I could go on and on about a lot of different information but you’re not going to remember any of it, it’s better to just get out there, remember the safety points and have fun.”

I went back to the truck to wait for my group’s turn or “heat”.  First up was group 1, the professionals, then would come group 2 modern, the intermediates on modern motorcycles, group 2 vintage and finally my group 3, beginners.  They each lined up at the track entrance and waited for the all clear then filed onto the track.  Racing down the straightaway at peak RPM, each motorcycle’s sound was unique.  Some engines were high and sounded like a jet engine flying by.  Others were low pitched growlers whose bass tones hit you in gut.  Everyone had that distinctive Doppler effect, as the bike approached the pit area the pitch grew and grew and until it hit peak pitch then suddenly the sound dropped away as the motorcycle disappeared around turn one. Each group was give 3 warning calls by the announcer, “Ten minute call out to group three, ten minutes!” That was for me and being preoccupied with nervous energy I put on my helmet and gloves, got on Old Blue and started up. “Five minute call out to group three, five minutes!” I sat there with the engine running, giving the old carburetor system plenty of warm up time.  “Two minutes for group three, two minutes!” I watched for the instructor and seeing him roll over to the track entrance I followed suit putting myself in third position behind one other beginner.  The other beginners lined up behind me. The instructors asked that we go in single file so we could see the corner lines more easily.  The ten or so engines filled the air with noise and vibration, The group on the track, 2 vintage got the checkered flag ushering them off the track.  Flag men around the track signaled back the all clear and ahead of me the lead instructor started forward. I eased out the clutch, rolled on the throttle and glided in measured safe distance cadence behind the rider in front of me.  A short entrance ease way and we were on the track. The grin under my helmet was ear to ear.  We cruised through turn one and then into the long sweeper of turn 2 and up the hill to turns three, four and five.  The turn banks were at a much more pronounce angle than could be seen from track side and even though the first lap was  introductory and promised to be slow, slow was probably in the sixty to seventy-five mile and hour range just to stay in line through the banked curve.  I was careful to fall back from the rider I was following. It felt like I was naturally riding aggressive.

The instructor exited off the track and we were given free reign as a group. I increased speed through the corners holding my own and just as the thought crossed my head, “this isn’t so bad, I seem to have got this pretty good for a first timer…” five other bikes passed me in rapid fire.  I was the slowest person on the track.  That ego slam was quickly followed by guilt. Was I getting in the way and being a speed bump?  I refocused attention and tried to decipher the cornering lines doing my best to look deep into each curve and avoid hyper attention to what was right in front of me. Powering through the corners to give my Honda the traction she needs. On the straightaway I would put in some juice but still very conservative, unsure how much braking it would take to safely get through turn one and the quick succession of turns after that.  

And then it was over. Our beginner heat was done.  The three checkered flags located at different spots on the track went out and I could see the one nearest me easily. Each of us raised our left hand while maintaining speed and exited to pit row. Soon afterward the beginners all met at the class room.  My point of freak out was quickly addressed. I ask the instructor about my concern of being in other’s way.  He quickly squashed it.  “It is their responsibility to pass you, don’t worry about it. The track is wide and the passing areas are all over the place. You just focus on learning the lines, looking into the corner, being smooth and consistent, the speed with come later.” 

There are no relative markers of speed on the track. On normal roads there are markers everywhere, other cars, speed limit signs, your own speedometer both on the vehicle and in your head.  All giving you information, how fast you’re going relative to traffic, the safe speed to take the corner coming up how much risk you have to be snagged by a cop. All of that goes away. I read before coming on the track and followed advise to mask my speedometer so I wouldn’t have that distraction. Without mirrors I had no idea who was behind me or if I was impeding their path, another distraction removed. All I had to worry about was to try and get the turn lines right and ride consistent and smooth.  If I don’t do anything unexpected or jerk through a corner, the riders behind me will be able to safely set a pass line around me. The focus narrows to just the sound of my engine, look as far into the corner as possible and decide which line to take.  For the newbie with no experience that blank slate brings its own confusion. How fast should I take this corner? I have no idea.  Where’s the traction envelope? Again, I got nothin’. What line should I focus on? Good story, you got Cliff Notes on that?   Without input on any of these things it is my inherent reaction to respond with less speed.  I am just not one of those guys who jumps in with both feet into the deep end of the pool. I have to start easy and work my way up to the edge of the envelope.

The second heat felt really good.  I could now see the cones on the side of the track for what they were, reference points. One was at the apex of each turn and based on that I made my beginner’s attempts at learning how to corner for speed. Other series of cones were at the entrance to each turn to give a reference point of when to brake and or change gears.  From them I was able to start to explore the path toward higher acceleration.  I knew I could continue to accelerate right up to those cones and begin braking as they came near.  I knew my Honda could handle much more than I was asking of her just based on the performance as viewed against those two reference points.  The Hurricane even surprised me when I finally got a good approach and exit out of turn nine and into the straight away, I hit the throttle at about seven thousand rpm with yet a lot of straightaway in front of me so I pushed her even further. I had never heard Old Blue sound like that, she was ten thousand rpm and the Hurricane was waking up and asking for more. From experience I know that seven thousand rpms on the Honda is about ninety miles an hour. Eight thousand pushes me over a hundred miles an hour so ten thousand rpms is probably in the one hundred and ten mile an hour range.  Although at the time there was only surprise at the new sounds coming from the engine and the firm stable feel of the suspension as we screamed across the straight away toward turn 1. This is what we were there for.  To push the limits and feel good about it.  This time though the heat was cut short by a red flag as someone’s muffler had fallen off.  All the riders raised left hands and exited.  I was not disappointed, I was exalting in the feeling of having performed solidly despite being just the second time on the track.  

My heat was separated by a forty-five minute interval as the other groups rode.  The advanced with their blistering sounds of one hundred eighty miles per hour or more and knee drag cornering were followed by intermediates on modern bikes that from my unaccustomed eyes looked just as intimidating as the advanced.  Then the intermediates on vintage bikes with their cornucopia of engine sounds that were highlighted by the announcer.  The announcer really enjoyed their day, bringing all of us calm with fun comments and his genuine awe and appreciation for both the variation of motorcycles on the track and the talent of the riders.  Where necessary chastising those that crossed the safety lines presented at the early morning rider’s meeting.  No comment wasted as each statement was a subconscious learning of what to do, what not to do, what to look for and spark that seed of appreciation. 

The third heat was coming up and I was feeling much more comfortable. I didn’t have the need to get myself in position on the first call.  I waited until five minutes prior to start up Old Blue.  The starter cranked but the engine didn’t fire.  Three attempts each progressively longer told me the old bike was feeling a bit winded by all the activity and the battery was lagging on being recharged.  On the fourth attempt the engine finally turned.  That alone made my third heat heavily conservative.  Old Blue wasn’t giving up, but I didn’t want to push her. We went in nice and slow on heat 3, just for the experience of learning together. The track instructor road in front of me signaling to follow as he showed me the lines but several times he had to wait for me to catch up. My envelope chasing enthusiasm was gone for the day, replaced by concern for the mechanical soundness of the old Hurricane. Still I learned a tremendous amount just by following the coach for the sixty seconds that we rode like that.  The third heat went the full fifteen minutes and the Honda kept it together and finished. My confidence was gone. I decided to pack it in rather than push the old girl.  

I have a winch in the back of my truck that makes loading easy and safe.  After securing a couple lashings, a bit of nostalgia swept over me and I patted the tank as one might pat a horse. “We did good today, it was a good day.”  We’d ridden several thousand miles together, even taking on seven hundred miles in one day and there was certainly a connection in that endurance.  Today was a different kind of connection.  One that we’ll have to do again before I can really describe it for you.

[olivereliott]

The 2019 Triumph Speed Twin revealed: specs and images

One of the most famous names in the history of British motorcycling has returned: the Triumph Speed Twin. It first caused a stir in 1938, when Edward Turner’s parallel twin offered unprecedented levels of power for a 500 cc bike.

The original Speed Twin created a template for many other manufacturers to follow, and the lineage is still visible in Triumph’s ‘Modern Classics’ range today.

But the new Speed Twin is a very different beast. With 1200 cc and almost four times the horsepower of its predecessor, on paper it’s a cracker.

It’s recognizably a Bonneville, but with a pumped-up, muscular style and a very obvious focus on the riding experience. It’s more than a boulevard cruiser, and is likely to trouble bikes such as the established Ducati Monster and BMW R nineT, and the incoming Indian FTR 1200.

The engine is the 1200cc ‘HP’ version of the Bonneville twin, in the same tune as the Thruxton and with the same 11:1 compression ratio. There have been some updates, including a low inertia crank, so it’s not exactly the same as the Thruxton motor.

The cam cover is now magnesium, and the engine cases are ‘mass optimized.’ It’s a new emphasis on weight saving that sees the Speed Twin tips the scales at ten kilos less than the Thruxton.

The cooling system is also updated, and the first major service interval is at 10,000 miles (16,000km).

Peak outputs are the same as the Thruxton R: 97PS at 6,750 rpm, with a peak torque of 112 Nm at 4,950 rpm. We’re promised a ‘distinctive British twin sound’ from the pair of black upswept mufflers.

Those figures are close to the BMW R nineT, which must be considered the benchmark. The Triumph falls short by some 13 horsepower and 4 Nm, but delivers its peaks much lower in the rev range—suggesting that its power will be more accessible.

The German bike is 220 kg wet, compared to the Triumph’s quoted 196 kg dry. Add on around ten kilos for fuel and a bit more for oil and other fluids, and there’s probably nothing in it.

There are the three selectable riding modes—Sport, Road and Rain—and switchable traction control. ABS is obviously standard, although there’s no word on the tech involved here.

The clutch uses Triumph’s familiar ‘Torque assist’ system, which is not a full slipper clutch but instead offers a lighter lever pull for stop-start traffic.

Right now, Triumph’s engineers are at the top of the game when it comes to bikes that handle well straight out of the box. On paper the suspension specs seem pretty low key, but we’d be surprised if the Speed Twin wasn’t a sweet handler—especially since Triumph are claiming ‘class leading handling.’

The frame is new, but adapted from the Thruxton R. At the front are 41mm cartridge forks, which are apparently not adjustable. At the back, there’s a conventional twin shock setup with adjustable spring pre-load.

Braking is close to the state of the art, with Brembo 4-piston fixed calipers and twin 305 mm discs at the front, plus a 2-piston Nissin floating caliper and single disc on the rear.

The wheels are lightweight 7-spoke cast aluminium jobs, measuring 17 inches both front and back. They’ll be shod with Pirelli Rosso Corsa 3 tires, developed from WSBK technology.

It’s quite a departure for the Hinckley Bonneville, which since its rebirth in 2001 has been a rather laidback roadster. But there is a precedent with the Speed Twin: in 1938, intrepid racer Ivan Wicksteed supercharged an early model (below) and lifted the Brooklands circuit speed record with a 118 mph lap.

Despite the decidedly sporting specs of the 2019 Speed Twin, the essential qualities of the Bonneville platform are all present and correct. The riding position is upright, the pillion-friendly bench seat has a low height of 807 mm (just under 32 inches), and the twin instruments are a pleasing mix of analog and digital.

Other niceties include a Monza-style fuel cap, a USB charging socket, a built-in immobilizer for extra security, LED lighting all round and a massive catalog of accessories—including Vance & Hines exhaust systems.

The new Speed Twins will start hitting showrooms around the world in Spring 2019. There’s no word on pricing yet, but we do know that three colors will be available. There’s a stealthy Jet Black, plus ‘Silver Ice’ and ‘Korosi Red’—both of which are overlaid with Storm Grey and have hand-painted pinstripes.

The new Triumph will be made available for journalists to road test in January, and we’ll report back then with riding impressions.

Will the Speed Twin live up to the legend? We have a feeling it just might.

Triumph Motorcycles | Facebook | Instagram

[smoothshift]

3500 miles in a GT350: CA to MT & PNW. Pictures, words and field testing AMMO Frothe via /r/cars

3500 miles in a GT350: CA to MT & PNW. Pictures, words and field testing AMMO Frothe

(Originally posted to my profile which confused me to no end because interwebbing is hard. So hopefully this is not a double post on the sub)

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GT350 Summary

2017 in Shadow Black, Recaros, Sync 3

Driver assists added: Blackview DR650s front/rear dashcam, Escort Max360 radar/laser detector

Changes made: Black lugs, black valve stem caps, Steeda clutch spring (suspension brace pending install), ceramic tint, white stripes removed

3 stage detail and PPF applied - full nose, A pillars, mirrors, roof, door edges, quarter panels, trunk entry. cQuartz on all surfaces, 4 coats of cQuartz Reload applied as a topcoat

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Pics and short comments

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Trip Facts

Departure: Friday, Oct 5 at 2:22PM PT

Return: Friday, Oct 12 at 11:15PM PT

Distance: 3500.7 miles

Oil consumption: ~ 1/2 quart

Avg MPG: 20.4

Cost of 91/92 octane: $640.22

Cheapest gas: Chevron at 3.34/gal, unknown city, Idaho

Most expensive: Chevron at 4.42/gal, Boomtown, Nevada

Avg $ spent per fill up: $23.71

# of fill ups: 27

Avg distance between fill ups: 129.6 miles (range is 300 miles)

Hotel stays: 4

Cosmetic wear and tear: Minor rock strikes intercepted by the PPF, mystery scuffs on the driver side fender

Malfunctions: A/C fall down go boom. Known issue with 15-17 S550 platform.

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Gear

1 trunk organizer holding jumper cables, battery charger, tire inflator, coolant, extinguisher, first aid kit, basic tool kit, reflective parka, 2 gal water, 12 individual water bottles, 1 AMMO sprayer, 12v carvac from Amazon, 1 ammo can holding 2 quarts of 10w50 & funnel

2 stuff sacks holding 1 sleeping bag, 2 med blankets, 2 sm blankets, 2 travel pillows

1 tent and 1 inflating pad

1 bag holding coffee, french press, utensils, plastic bowl w/lid, JetBoil

1 tote bag holding misc food including the all important double choc brownies

1 camera bag holding a Nikon D800 and Nikon 24-70 f2.8. Additional images taken with iPhone

1 20L cooler holding milk, fruit, water, coke

1 bag holding detailing lotions, potions and goops

1 bag holding the world's supply of microfiber towels

1 6 gal bucket holding 2 collapsible buckets, 2 grit guards, 2 wash pads

1 small box holding dish soap, scrubbing thingamajobs, shop towels, toiletries, water heater

1 backpack holding clothing and sandals

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Destinations

Craters of The Moon National Monument (Idaho)

Yellowstone (Idaho and Montana)

Seattle

Prius Coast Highway (WA to CA)

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The words, and plenty of them

I had planned this trip since spring but hadn't gone due to work constraints. A window opened up in September, but it quickly closed due to life getting in the way. And then it happened: Early October, nothing holding me back. I was ready to go, to clear my head, to get away from work and you. Yes, you - the guy who swerves in and out of traffic at speed. And you, the lady who cannot stay off her phone. And don't think I've forgotten about you, bro - I see you hiding back there - the guy who literally ignores BSM. What better cure for driving frustration than to go.. driving. Or something.

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Tramlining and then it got cold

I left San Francisco on Friday afternoon, taking 80 east to Reno. This was well planned, nothing left to chance except for the most common sense thing: weather reports. There's an app for that, of which I have 3 and of which I used 0. This was not the smartest move as would be apparent this night and later in Montana, but for now all was well. Weather was warm, pavement dry and I'm moving at a good pace through Sacramento and into the Sierra Nevada range. The mountain section of 80, specifically the right lane is in terrible shape. I'm tramlining all over the place for too long, in too many sections, a constant jerky right, left, left, left, right, right fight on the wheel. Despite this I'm determined to stay right except to pass.

Its getting pretty cool out, and about 8PM I pull into the Truckee rest stop to discover its cold, 38 degrees. I know thats not cold to you Midwest and East Coast people. Kinda balmy. But to a coastal CA guy that's just about below freezing. I make a mental note about the Michelins not being rated for this temp, brush my teeth in the parking lot (classy is how I roll) and go to bed or rather recline the seat. I wake at 3AM and its time to move.

Leaving Truckee I discover tramlining is not done and it's another fight. And then the squeaking started from somewhere in the dash. Its a heavy grating noise and not a rattle; loud and obnoxious like my nephew. I'm pressing on the dash, the gauges, the vents - the usual places but nothing changes. Ten minutes later it's gone and does not return. Took the Boomtown exit and hit up Chevron. Go inside for coffee and pay for gas, pretty mundane but then I ran into a change scam. Some Eastern Euro guy was behind the counter. I give him 40 and he tells me he'll put 35 on the pump, and to come back for change. Not what I asked for but whatever. Returned for the change and - lets call him Uri - claims there's no change to be had. Its 3:30AM and I'm in no mood to get into this. Enjoy the $3 bro.

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Coffee, water and no rest areas. Also, LTE coverage is terrible

Back on the road and passing Reno AKA the drab copy of Vegas. Detector warns of 2 KA alerts but the signal is weak and I exit Reno without issue. Kept going east to Winnemucca, turning north on 95. The problem with 95 - other than being a long stretch through flat arid country - is the lack of rest areas combined with tidal pool-sized coffee cups and water. You know what this means and yes, I marked my territory in several places.

This stretch of nothing leads to the first of far too many LTE signal cuts and corresponding loss of Waze GPS updates. Through most of NV, and really, really long stretches of ID and MT there is no signal. Which I completely understand since ATT is a discount carrier a small mom and pop telco its really hard to relay signals over flat terrain its 1996 and cell phones are still a novelty. Signal loss in WA and OR along 101 - that I understand, and it happened frequently given the terrain. But issues in flatlands especially Idaho's more populated state routes - that I don't get.

And here's where I took the first acceptable picture of the car. Its a farming community, maybe a half mile of 25 MPH with a gas station, coffee house, cafe and sheriff's station. And one thing I found interesting, the Sahara Motel. 50s or early 60s design; sharp angles, cracked windows and peeling paint on the doors. The last paying guest was a long time ago and it makes a good backdrop.

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The Rag Company mission aborted; Shelby meets buttocks at Craters of The Moon

I'm off to Boise to find a hotel and stop by the Rag Company. Missed their store hours and tomorrow's Sunday, with Monday a holiday so.. no Rag Company visit. I chalk it up my usual level of masterful planning and stay the night at the Holiday Inn in Meridian. if you find yourself there someday stop by Beto's 24 hour Mexican place. The chicken chimichanga (fried burrito) is outstanding.

With sunrise it was time for my first destination open whenever - Craters of The Moon National Monument. Never been, never heard of it, just a random find when looking up Idaho tourist destinations. Taking 84 SE was unremarkable, but connecting to 20 was another story. Going up to 4k elevation, golden grass on the hills and plains, fall colors on the trees. Beautiful, with some fun stretches of road interrupted by people who dr.ive. ve.r.y. s.lo.w.ly.

Passed through Carey which is another livestock community with the requisite aroma d'odure. Up to this point I've mostly seen F150s, RAM 1500s and the occasional minivan. But here comes this kid in his JDM Civic, Idaho plates, red with all the toppings - wing, different colored bits here and there. Didn't check the rear but you know there were fart cans attached. Flat bill cap tied it all together. What I remember most is the look on his face as he passed, staring at my car like that guy on what show was it? The guy with the wild hair who says "I'm not saying its aliens..". Yeah. He had that look on his face. Stay strong, brosef, you're the outlier in the land of the lifted.

Keep going and the route takes you over Silver Creek which is famous for fishing, something I didn't know. Also didn't know that with fish come bugs and a lot of them. I know how to describe these because I took Entomology 101: big ole brownish-yellow, low-flying squishies with lots of guts. Stopped to carefully clean it off but there's too much bug juice, a full wash is needed later.

About 2:30PM I rolled in to Craters of The Moon. It looks like the name, kinda bleak and barren and perfect. Wide, cloudy skies from here to where the flat earth ends and vaccines aren't needed. I stop by a small hill and walk up to the crest; hidden behind is another crest. Decent pictures. Coming down I see some tourists standing around the car. Some guy is leaning his posterior on the hood and having a picture taken. This excites me a wee bit and I leg it to explain the finer points of no touchie; I know its complicated. They are French (not the Quebecois variety); explanations were offered, much hand gesturing ensued, apologies made and Trans-Atlantic relations were preserved (you're welcome, America). I keep rolling albeit with a blood pressure higher than normal; I like this place minus butt guy.

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Meeting JB from Texas, AKA Walter Mitty

Back on the road and I pull over for gas at Picabo. Station appears to be closing; their coffee is lukewarm and does not look good. Made my way to a rest stop for Operation Caffeine Overdose ala Jetboil and French Press and yes, it was great, full bodied and delicious. Fully amped I drive east toward Montana and Yellowstone but I can't quite make it. 9PM rolls around and I stop at a random rest area, writing out notes on the day. There's a silver Mercedes roadster a few spots over, I'm guessing early to mid 90s (SLK? Not familiar with Mercedes). It looks really good, sleek, fast and small. Fender flares, looks like aftermarket wheels and the driver is staring at my car. I go back to writing notes and look up a few minutes later. He's still staring. Got out to rummage for food and that's when the driver walks over: JB from Texas. 6'4" or so and has about 100 lbs on me, in a dark parking area - but that's not the problem. Problem is he's a close talker. Protip for tall guys talking to strangers in dark places: Don't be a close talker.

I ask JB about his car and he says it was his first, got it new in 99 when he was 15. That's remarkable and I asked how he pulled it off. "My parents are the most senior judges in (whatever TX town he's from)." This was said emphatically and louder than you'd expect, but I figure it's possible, and wealthy families can buy expensive cars for their kids. After this point little things were said that raised some flags but nothing major, things like European cars being cheaper to repair than domestic. But then it got weird, with JB stating he's a retired Air Force General, and his wife a retired Navy Colonel (for those unfamiliar, there are no Colonels in the US Navy). JB doesn't appear old enough to make 04 much less General, so I ask how old he is and this produces a long pause- really long (he was doing the math, 15 in 1999 now its 2018.. this minus that, carry the 1, no wait just subtract, x = y and divide the ... and he got it wrong). Finally he says "40." Amazing. A 40 YO retired General, he must be a legend I've never heard of. I decide to leave before the inevitable JSOC story. There's always a JSOC story.

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Yellowstone and KA bands

Morning rolls around and I awake at another rest stop. Get the jetboil going and its not long before 191 gets me to Yellowstone. Just before the park is the town of West Yellowstone and here the radar detector pays gives another assist. A few cars on the road and we're approaching a bend. KA alert is a sudden, strong signal and there he is, local Sheriff sitting just past the bend. He starts to follow after I pass but I'm in the clear. About a mile down I'm the only car on this stretch and just for giggles he lights me up. I get it, its a holiday weekend and no better time to get low hanging fruit like speeders and drunks, but come on, Deputy Dog. I innit stupit. Me gud drivor.

Yellowstone. Incredible driving roads but again no bueno to open it up, a fact reinforced by another Deputy exercising his radar skills (quite good, no alerts at all til I rounded a corner). If you like fly fishin' this is the place, and I made several hikes with one decent picture to show for it. That's my bad; arrival time (11AM) meant I had to wait awhile for acceptable light. Could be there's a pattern here.

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I visit Ennis and find an El Camino for sale

Leaving the park I point the car to Ennis on route 287. This is a tourist-focused town. You like huntin', maybe fishin', little bit of hikin', you want it they got it. The main drag is several hundred yards of contemporary storefronts and they appear to have been designed by the same person. Quirky, but not too quirky with just the right amount of rustic, and nicely done enough to let you know its gonna be expensive shopping there.

Exxon was out of 91 on all pumps (or 92 in MT) but I found another station. In the gravel lot next door was a bright light shining through parting clouds, and I may have heard a chorus because there she was, a 1987 Chevy El Camino, 71k miles, 10k asking down from 12. Looked in good shape, badged SS and V8. I didn't closely inspect it, and I'm no expert in verifying SuperSport models from any era. At any rate trans isn't my thing. But still, good looking history on wheels.

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Butte, where the rubber meets the road (or snow, in this case) and Georgetown Lake

And now I'm in Butte. I neither wrote nor recall much of this drive, my mind said write but my body said sleep. Made it in good time and got a room, and you know what? It's freaking cold. Like... dude. COLD, low 30s. Up to this point I still haven't checked weather reports because I'm a rocket scientist. Woke at 5AM and found a coin op car wash and yes, its cold and getting colder. I'm worried about the tire temp rating and this is compounded by a light dusting of snow. I realize my IQ has to catch up and GTFO to a warmer climate. S/SW is good but too obvious. N/NW is more my mongo style on highway 90; temp decreased to 28 degrees and snow had built up as a fine slush, but not frozen. At least there's no snowplows, that would be a bad sign. And then a few miles in there are snow plows, thankfully they appear to be pre-positioned and sitting there. This must be one of the first snows of the season, and my escape velocity is tempered by MPSS running well below threshold. Went gentle on the inputs, reduced speed and held it steady. No problems keeping it straight and thankfully stopping distance was not put to the test.

I self-flagellate for a number of miles, slowly building confidence and moving from light snow to rain. Stopped at a rest area to inspect the tires; no cracks or other issues found, nor did any appear during the trip. The air intake and grille had ice build up, good news is it was a fairly small area on either side.

I left 90 at Hensley Gulch, turning west on highway 1 AKA Pintier Veterans Memorial Scenic Highway. This was the most beautiful road of the trip, its scenic and then some. Rolling, gentle hills, mostly livestock and horses. More long sweepers with minor elevation changes, and then you get to Georgetown Lake, otherwise known as the place I'll buy when I win the lotto. Not been? Go, its worth your time. For me this was a pass-through, but I'll remember this drive for a long time, a little bit of paradise I had the privilege to observe.

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Crossing back into Idaho, and the memory of what was

Back in Idaho; a light rain and miles of yellows, browns and greens. Cruise control country like most of the route so far. And then the song played; the one that takes you back to what was or could have been. The one you do and don't want to hear, so you bury it, ignore it but can't quite hit delete. The opening guitar conjures her face and you can feel her touch. It's good and real and bittersweet and you wonder why it ended, but you know why.

some people wind up with the one that they adore

in a heart-shaped hotel room it's what a heart is for

the bubble floats so madly will it stay sky-high?

And suddenly I'm in Tel Aviv with her in that rundown motel by the beach. The faded yellow walls gave the room a golden light offset by dingy grey curtains and an ugly rug. Just her and I and this song playing on her phone. It was a long way from home, across borders, language, religious and cultural differences. It was also over but we didn't know it just then; better that way. She's married now. I put the memory back on the shelf, close the door and leave.

and it's you and me in the summertime we'll be hand in hand down in the park

with a squeeze and a sigh and that twinkle in your eye and all the sunshine banishes the dark

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The A/C goes to the great condenser in the sky

A month before leaving I attempted to get some issues addressed: Rear panel gaps, unreliable A/C, front wheel well liner not flush and a poorly fitted passenger door. My dealership put their best guys on the job and the results were: Panel gap parts on backorder (understandable), unreliable A/C diagnosed as "normal," wheel well liner was "normal" and nothing can be done about the door. I was impressed and decided to find another dealer after the trip. But now the A/C decides its time to meet its maker. No A/C, no heat, no joy. Top men, Dr. Jones. Top. Men.

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Coeur D'Alene Lake: Flatbed hauls a totaled 911 and Camry

I arrived at Coeur D'Alene. Passed through a few times before but never stopped by the lake, and I'm glad I did. 50 square miles of water surrounded by hills with marinas interspersed along the shore. Twisty roads with some straights that reminds me of Skyline. Only here I take it easy, I don't know the roads so I run an inspection cruise along a 20 mile run: 1 cross, 7 deer in 2 groups, 2 school bus stops, 0 cyclists. Not ideal especially the school bus stops and deer, and local popo are running KA band. I drive it anyway, moderately. On the way out I see a flatbed loaded up with a wrecked white 911 (recent) and Camry (00's model). The Porsche's passenger door is off the frame and the roof looks partially caved.

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Washington State expert editorial and heroin at the rest stop

I've never lived in WA but I'm nonetheless an expert with a viewpoint that applies to every resident, because I'm smart and stuff. They don't care for Californians because too many moved here, a PNW echo chamber that goes back decades and won't end, well, ever. Which is fine because no one ever moved to CA and drove up prices, in greater numbers and with greater consequences. They have a lot of tweakers, which CA also has a lot of. They share a coastline with Oregon and Canada that is hands down the most beautiful and inspiring you'll find anywhere. And their popo are a revenue generator force, more than most places.

Pulled in to a rest stop shortly after crossing the border. Camped out in the car and got the usual restless sleep. Up at 4AM to visit the men's room, and out walks Slim Shady's cousin with a red hat, red jersey of some kind, black basketball shorts and red basketball shoes. Slim left behind a syringe, one of those rubber hose things they use to tie off, an empty brown packet about the size of rubber packaging and some random bits and bobs. I return to the car thinking how sad it is this guy has a fix at the ready while preparing the jetboil and french press, and only later does the irony become obvious. As I said, I'm smart. And stuff.

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Field testing AMMO NYC'S Frothe (hoseless wash)

I exited 90 beyond Snoqualmie Pass, fill up and decide to test AMMONYC's hoseless wash product. Disclaimer: I have no relationship with AMMO, and I paid for the product just as you would. There's a TA truck stop adjacent to the gas station and I park in between them, well out of anyone's way. The car has road grime, some bugs, the usual detritus but nothing too heavy.

I used the sprayer with water first to rinse, then added Frothe and got down to business except for one thing: Parking a Shelby by truckers is like throwing chum into a sea of dorsal fins. I'm getting my foam on when I get my first visitor, Mike, 61, trucker and retired diesel mechanic. Mike's a nice guy but his intro was, "What in the hell are you doing?" I explain the concept but he looks doubtful, then I get the car stories (this V8, and that one, and some other one). Good conversation but I gotta work on this so Mike and I part ways.

Next up was another trucker, I didn't get his name. Large guy, about Mike's age and he approaches close but doesn't say anything, just stares at the car. I break the ice and he says, "I'd give you a run against my Hellcat." I'm not down to measure manhoods or compare cornering so I don't. He inspects the car and doesn't like the PPF, doesn't like hoseless wash. He does like the shine but I get a blank stare when explaining what ceramic coating is. All this was fine until he decides to touch the paint: "Is that a rock chip?" I don't know what it is about paint but some people can't stop themselves from touching it.

Second and last visitor gone I continue with Frothe. Easy to use, lifting the dirt does take a fair number of towels (6 in my case) and that's fine, I've brought a lot. No visible scratches or swirls but I didn't go CSI on this, it's clean, it shines and I was careful to follow the lifting vs pushing method. Very happy with the results but the pictures don't do it justice. See the Seattle/Pike's Place pic for a good representation, it was taken not long after with a good amount of miles driven.

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Speed, Karma & Laser Cats Cops

Continuing on 90 its flat agricultural land that reminds me of CA's central region with more rainfall. Traffic is very light, only a few cars and this Corolla - I'm thinking early 2000s model - comes up fast behind me. Really fast. What's remarkable is the great condition of the paint, this car is cosmetically well taken care of. I know because the driver, lets put him on the younger side of 18, passed at high speed and very close, swerving to lane change. I deploy the universal sign of disapproval and hope he learns his lessons before its too late. 20 miles down the road I see flashing lights and the state patrol is keeping him company. Karma, bro. It don't mess around.

On my last WA visit the city of Pasco (further south, not far from the OR border) had an aggressive ticketing posture. This time I didn't write down the name, no time to pull over - just a city between Snoqualmie and Seattle. KA band up ahead, and another a 1/2 mile after that. But they're not done, this is a pack operation. Mr. Laser Cop is parked after the 2nd KA cruiser, and its clear they mean (big) business. This was the second laser strike in WA during this trip. Thankfully I did not contribute to the register.

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Seattle and Pike's Place

In my mind this was going to be a great picture, something to print. Low light, low angle, blazing Pike's Place sign in the background. Got there too late for that, about 10AM due to heavy traffic and the Frothe field test. No biggie. Only problem is I'm from SF where car break ins are rampant and my car is chock full of stuff. Leave it like this at home and you're coming back to broken glass so I keep the car in sight.

Lets see.. Starbucks, not my first choice and it looks like Disneyland with all the tourists. I find an indy coffee purveyor, enjoy my dose and buy some overpriced t-shirts. And then its time to leave, but I drive around and I'm reminded that Seattle is what SF used to be: Not too crowded and a little laid back. Locals will tell you otherwise and the COL is too high, and there's too many people from CA who moved here, and they're right and wrong. But its vibe is nothing like SF and I hope it stays that way. Seattle is its own thing.

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Newport, Oregon and the awkward stop light

I'm driving through Newport, another coastal town and this one has a fine dining establishment I'm keen to visit, Taco Bell. You may have heard of them, may I recommend the 20oz Mountain Dew for optimal caffeine delivery. Leaving town I stop at a light, windows down because the Top. Men. did such a great job with the aircon. A Chevy truck (older one, S10 maybe) pulls up alongside. The driver has a ball cap on backwards, dark sunglasses and a Tom Selleck mustache. "Hey man! I'm a Chevy guy but I really like your car, that back end is something! Love how you put it together!" The words form in my head and my mouth opens to speak but he's gone before I can say anything. So there I was, mentally constipated long before the physical effects of this value meal, unable to tell him with urgency and a longing for relief that no, its stock and I'm not a Ford engineer or modding genius. Frustrating.

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I ordered pizza and met our Lord and Savior

I stopped for dinner at a town close to Eugene. Its time for something healthy, like pizza. Yeah. Pepperoni and a cold one will do. Nice enough place, nothing fancy and nothing you'd remember. Except the guy who took my order was Jesus Christ Superstar. Brown shoulder length hair and a full beard, neatly done. Semi-olive complexion and I'm wondering if my Aramaic is up to speed, or whether I should be his agent for the Broadway revival. Mostly I'm wishing my long hair days hadn't ended and I briefly wallow in envy. At any rate the pizza was good and Jesus was a nice guy. Good to know.

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The end

.. just kidding. I kept driving south, down to CA, following 101 as it looped in and out of the coast. It wasn't until Eureka that I was reminded of a specific subculture. The sun was setting as I drove through, and this is it, i knew it - The Walking Dead isn't fiction, its right here, game over and all I've got is a multitool. But it was only the patchouli and herb loving drum circle crowd and there were a lot of them coming out of the shadows. Maybe Phish was playing, but I think they broke up? Doesn't matter. Welcome back to California. I'm so excited to visit my dealership and have a really long conversation about the A/C, my feelings and unmet expectations and maybe a hug at the end. Nah, forget that. Time to find a dealer who will offer solutions and options. Wish me luck.

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The real end

Don't know why you're still here. It's done. For real this time.