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stallionmfg2 · 1 month

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SAHARA in Travel Trailers

SAHARA is a high-speed and slow-speed tire pressure management solution designed specifically for travel trailers. It effectively maintains tire pressure, ensuring a safe and smooth journey. Proper tire pressure is crucial for travel trailers, as underinflated tires can increase fuel consumption and pose safety risks. https://www.stallionsealants.com/products/sahara-high-speed-tire-sealant-copy

SAHARA’s unique formula balances the tire and wheel assembly and protects the tire casing from heat and oxidation damage. This extends tire lifespan, reducing the need for frequent replacements and saving costs. Additionally, it seals bead and rim leaks, preventing air loss and retaining correct tire pressure.

SAHARA is the only gel formula with the highest operating temperature range. This ensures optimal performance in various weather conditions, making it ideal for travel trailers that traverse different climates.

One key benefit of SAHARA is its ability to self-repair punctures up to 1/2" (1.2 cm) in diameter. This feature provides peace of mind to travelers, knowing that minor punctures won't disrupt their journey. The formula also prevents moisture from entering the tire casing, which can cause internal damage.

SAHARA works effectively with both tube and tubeless tires. It is recommended to apply SAHARA in new tubes only, as old tubes may contain contaminants that interfere with its performance. It is not suitable for use as a puncture repair in pinched tubes.

The product’s performance includes dissipating tire chamber heat, preventing the gel from pooling at the bottom, and not blocking the valve system. It is also safe for use with TPMS (Tire Pressure Monitoring Systems) and does not interfere with retreading processes.

In conclusion, SAHARA offers travel trailer owners a reliable solution for maintaining tire pressure and ensuring a safe, smooth journey. Its unique formula provides multiple benefits, including extended tire life, improved fuel efficiency, and enhanced safety. Investing in SAHARA is a smart choice for optimizing travel trailer performance and enjoying worry-free travels. Amazon.com: Sahara High Speed Tire Sealant - Superior Performance - Tire Repair - Stop Leaks - Extend Tire Life – All Weather – High-Speed – Slow Speed – ARDL Approved (34 Oz Bottle, Sahara) : Automotive

Contact:

210-639-4413

USA

[email protected]

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stallionmfg1 · 2 months

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Revolutionizing Flat Tire Solutions with Stallion Tire Management and Nano Puncture Sealing Solution

Experiencing a flat tire is not only inconvenient but can also be hazardous. Traditionally, dealing with flat tires requires immediate attention and can lead to significant downtime. However, Stallion Tire Management has introduced a revolutionary solution with its Nano Puncture Sealing technology.

This advanced system uses a special compound that automatically seals punctures as they occur, ensuring that tire pressure is maintained and preventing flats before they become a problem. This innovative technology is a game-changer, especially for commercial fleets where tire reliability is crucial.

By integrating Stallion Tire Management's Nano Puncture Sealing solution, fleet operators can minimize downtime and reduce maintenance costs. The automatic sealing not only prolongs the life of the tires but also enhances safety on the road. This proactive approach to tire maintenance ensures that vehicles stay operational, efficient, and safe.

Incorporating this technology means fewer unexpected stops and more time focusing on the road ahead. Experience the future of tire maintenance with Stallion Tire Management and its Nano Puncture Sealing solution, and say goodbye to the worries of flat tires. [email protected]

Contact:

604-990-0988

USA

[email protected]

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http://www.instagram.com/stallion_supertiresealant

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stallionmfgsblog · 3 months

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Motorcycle Balancer and Tire Sealant: Essential Tools for American Riders

In the dynamic world of motorcycling, maintaining optimal performance and safety is paramount. Among the essential tools for American riders, motorcycle balancers and tire sealants stand out for their crucial roles in ensuring a smooth and secure ride.

Motorcycle Balancers

Motorcycle wheel balancers are pivotal in enhancing ride quality and longevity of tires. Balancing a motorcycle tire involves equalizing the weight distribution around the wheel to prevent vibrations at high speeds. An imbalanced wheel can cause uneven tire wear, reduced fuel efficiency, and an uncomfortable ride.

In the USA, various types of balancers are available, ranging from static balancers, which are ideal for smaller bikes and home use, to dynamic balancers, which are used by professionals for precision balancing. The latter involves spinning the wheel at high speeds to detect and correct imbalances more accurately. Brands like Marc Parnes and Harbor Freight provide a range of balancing tools that cater to both amateur and professional mechanics.

Tire Sealant

Tire sealant is another indispensable product for American motorcyclists, offering a proactive solution to punctures. These liquid compounds, injected into the tire, can seal punctures as they happen, ensuring that a small nail or shard of glass doesn't lead to a roadside emergency.

Sealants, such as those offered by Slime and Ride-On, work by coating the inside of the tire with a protective layer. When a puncture occurs, the air pressure forces the sealant into the hole, effectively sealing it. This not only prevents flat tires but also maintains tire pressure, enhancing fuel efficiency and tire lifespan. Many riders appreciate the peace of mind provided by these sealants, especially when traveling through remote areas where repair services are scarce.

Conclusion

For American motorcyclists, the integration of balancers and tire sealants into regular maintenance routines is a prudent step toward ensuring safety, performance, and reliability. These tools are not merely accessories but essential components that support a hassle-free riding experience. Investing in quality balancers and sealants is a testament to a rider's commitment to preserving their bike's performance and their own safety on the road.

Contact:

210-639-4413

[email protected]

USA

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terryelsey · 1 year

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#purchasing ceat tractor tyres #Best Agricultural Tyres

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ymiruv · 2 years

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Fat Question SE Bikes are legendary From the streets they came Wheelie bikes and cruisers They are ahead of the game. Fat Rippers and So-Cal Flyers Big Flyers and the Beast Mode But it was the Fat Quad I wanted to ride down the road. That gorgeous quadangle frame With its artful welds Engineered for durability It’s beauty my attention held. We all like to dream of things We do so from when we’re born I dreamed of the Fat Quad It was my unicorn. I never though I’d see one Then Riders had one in store It taunted me as it sat My jawbone on the floor. My attention captured by it It’s tractor beam wouldn’t stop I drooled on the floor They went and got a mop. I left somewhat dispiritedly My cash reserves rather poor The pressures of being a grown up Of being cautious, and more. Today I stopped at Riders My beautiful wife also there The Fat Quad on the wall Announcing it was there. We chatted to Todd for a while I bought some handlebar tape I priced the Fat Quad once again The answer made me gape. The deal was incredible I went to leave and think I tuned to Helen for us to go She didn’t even blink - She bought the unicorn then and there I was swamped by the action Needing a corner for a moment To have an emotional reaction. They needed time for setup I said I’d return at 2 When it got close to time Into the store I flew. Todd put the bike near his sign For a photograph To find me riding it He stood and had a laugh. We chatted for a little while But I was keen for home To set the bike up how I like And across the country roam. With the crap stripped off it I was off down the street The frame shining in the sun Awesome under butt and feet. The fat tyres roared and squirmed It held a steady pace I loved every single moment A huge smile upon my face. The tiny touches of detail The gorgeous angles in the frame I knew this was the bike for me It had “Fat” in its name. Yes, it’s on the heavy side It takes attention and a plan To tackle any kind of incline Single speed riders understand. The position was upright perfect Continued next post #bike #bicycle #cycling #fatbike #fatquad @sebikesaus @sebikes @thepedallingpoet #thepedallingpoet https://www.instagram.com/p/CoOwTstyCVp/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#bike #bicycle #cycling #fatbike #fatquad #thepedallingpoet

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tyreright · 2 years

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Tractor tyres are a vital part of any agricultural business, but buying the right ones can be quite a challenge.

A wrong choice in terms of tread and material can lead to costly repairs and accidents.

Tractor tyres should fulfil multiple roles as they serve a dual purpose as support for different types of farming equipment.

Here's how you can choose the right tractor tyres for your farm equipment.

#tractor tyre #tractor tyres #atv tyres #tyres for atv #tractor tyres for sale #agricultural radial tyres #tractor tyres near me #earthmover tyres #utv tyres #agricultural tyres australia #farm tyres #tyres new farm #buy tractor tyre #agricultural tyres #tyreshop #tyreright #tyrefitter #tyreexperts

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sarbaniroy · 2 years

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#Ceat Tyres #tyres near me #tractor tyres

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vijaysharmaji · 3 years

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Find tractor dealers by brands in India

Are you looking for tractor dealers in India? At TractorGuru you can find Mahindra Tractor dealers, Swaraj tractor dealers, Massey Ferguson Dealers, John Deere dealers, Sonalika dealers, and many dealers. Visit our website for more info.

#tractor dealers in india #CEAT tractor tyres #MRF tractor tyres #tractor dealers near me

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cazzyf1 · 2 years

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My favourite/quotes I found interesting from Niki Lauda's For the Record: My years with Ferrari

"The accountant had an adding machine in front of him, which I didn't like; ugh, I thought, that's unpleasant. Until then he had never appeared. Usually, he was on holiday when wages were being discussed." - page 15

"A week later Enzo Ferrari said in an interview 'Lauda is worse than Judas. He sells himself for thirty sausages to our rivals.' It wasn't quite like that. He ought to have known my worth." - page 16

"'Good my boy,' Enzo Ferrari will have said. 'Nothing is good.' I hear Lauda say. 'It's all shit.'" - page 26

"But the computer is in love. 'Action Ibiza', we managed it several times in those weeks, secret journeys for which we need a discreet and silent pilot, Marlene and I. I have avoided all publicity and no journalist has an inkling of our trips. They are the most beautiful days of my life." - page 29

"I deny everything. Marlene Knaus? Yes, I know her. Nothing more. I don't want to be a magazine hero. I want to be known for my driving, not as a society man or a lover or God knows what." - page 30

"The marriage was the logical conclusion of the happy days on Ibiza and the end of my near-marriage with Mariella Reininghaus." - page 34

"Marlene and I moved in a few weeks after our wedding in New Year 1976. At the time of the Monaco Grand Prix Marlene lost a baby." - page 36

"It is lovely that she hasn't been drawn into motor racing, she is only there for me, not for the sport." - page 36

"Marlene has lost her baby, she needs me and I need her." - page 42

"I am not very handsome, because my right thigh is on my face. But that doesn't worry me." - page 52

"One handicap, left over from my tractor accident, was cured. In the morning after I got up I could never move my left hand. This was something to do with the nerve connected to my backbone; anyway this rather comic handicap quite worried me. After the Nürburg-ring accident it was blown away. People talk of 'Heat-cures'" - page 60

"I also signed an agreement to pay a penalty if I wore any other cap except Römerquelle cap, except on the podium after a victory, because then we had to wear Goodyear caps, as long as Goodyear provided us with tyres." - page 69

(This is in it's own seperate section) Praise for the World Champion, James Hunt. He is of all the drivers the one I like best. I value him, I am fond of him, he is the only one I know fairly well in private life. He is relaxed, easy and unworried. He does what amuses him, and I like that. All the quarrels between McLaren and Ferrari in 1976 never made any difference to James and me personally. We had divergent interests and each had to fight for his own side, of course, but that had nothing to do with us two men. He is a marvellous driver and brilliantly talented. When he is rested, he is the hardest man to beat." - page 70

"Before the start, when I was already in the car, Nosetto bent over me and wanted to shove a bit of green stuff into the cockpit: 'to bring you luck you'll win with this' he said. I shouted, 'it's lucky for you that I'm strapped in otherwise I'd hit you' - page 72

"A few years ago in Canada I once became so savage that I hit a marshal on the head with my helmet because he was madly gesticulating and wanted to turn off the main switch on my car, which started the fire extinguisher. I was not 'back to normal' when I hit the man. I was so shocked by what had happened that whatever the circumstances I can always keep control of myself now. The mind commands emotions." - page 89

"I couldn't resist teasing them." - page 97

"I don't care what people think of me, because if I did I should have to sit in a corner and cry." - page 99

"The old man was so utterly furious that he went around shouting nonsense, whereupon I began to shout too." - page 103

"McLaren would have been the perfect team, with good, clever people, a good organisation and good cars. But a combination James Hunt/Niki Lauda wouldn't work in the long run; Hunt's position in the team was too dominant." - page 104

"He had a big share in the title, he was my man, not only this year." - page 108

"We make a short detour and miss Nigeria Falls. I am a terribly bad sight-seer." - page 109

"A woman journalist from the French Auto Hebo goes beyond what is permissible. She can only speak french there so we need an English person to translate; he soon goes off and the questions are so painful. She asked about my sex-life, whether I get it on with groupies, does it amuse me and how often do I do it? I ask myself, what is different between Lauda and anyone else, and whether she would have the cheek to ask other married people such questions. I give her my answers and say please may I ask her question, which is: do you do it much, do you enjoy it? and how many times in the last week? The translator was embarrassed and talked round the subject, but I tell him not to be cowardly, then he translated it as she goes red and embarrassed and laughs in a silly way and gives no answer. So I asked her: 'why do you put questions to Lauda that you yourself refuse to answer because you find them painful and indiscreet? Why have you got two standards?" She doesn't answer, and goes off with an embarrassed laugh." - page 111

"For Part One of this book Niki Lauda made many tape recordings. We then wove them together and discussed and corrected them. One thing seemed to be missing: a second point of view. Many of Lauda's commentaries and observations did not fit into the mainstream of his vision of what happened, and then some of the foregone conclusions need to be put in perspective and supplemented by an outside observer, who could question, think aloud and stand aside from all disputes. We made this second part together, but with me as narrator- Herbert Völker."

"I like motor racing and I can't seperate that from an inner need or any other need, I can't say I have got such and such a feeling in my brain, another in my penis and yet another in my behind." - page 120

"His smile is broad, although his mouth is small. His eyes are kind and seemingly guileless. He radiates an attractive, manly, sometimes touching personality. Somewhere in his eyes there is a gleam of humour. They are large, wide and light in colour. Where is the mainspring hidden, which scares him in the child-sized car - which drives him into the deadly dangerous game? I have no idea. Shocks in childhood? The need to show off? Impossible to say." - page 123

"His girl-friend Mariella was a great admirer of Handke's books, and Lauda was quite pleased to place himself at Handke's disposal, even at Nürburgring among all the hurry and fuss, because the poet wanted to make a study in depth and to get to know the motor racing world. Niki was curious to see the result, rather like somebody who had been on Freud's couch to be analysed" - page 124

"Handke suggested he felt as if he was in an hotel bedroom where he could hear the sexual act being performed next door. Then it was clear to Lauda that he, Niki, saw his sport in too simple fashion, because in all the years he had been motor racing, he had never thought of the sexual act or of the complicated idea of the acoustics next door." - page 124

"Lauda himself only regretted the loss of time ('why did I explain things to him for three hours when he was only thinking about sexual acts next door?)" - page 125

"Lauda had no patience with Fuller's equation racing car-phallus, about which he writes pages (the pouring champagne over the winner is according to him ejaculation.) Lauda: 'Anyone can make comparisons if it amuses him. I have never bothered about such ideas, nor ever had the slightest feeling that my sort of racing driving has any connection at all with sex symbolism." - page 128

"Outside racing and away from public view, he gives his impulsiveness free rein." - page 128

"He did not want to have a model, and now he doesn't want to be one. He hadn't thought it over much, he only knows that it is so, that he doesn't feel called upon to serve as an example to youth." - page 131

"Lauda's satellites say that they can never remember him so patient and willing during a photography session as he was in the middle of the training stage at Monza when a Spiegel girl photographer was shooting the cover picture. Lauda always worked remarkably well with women, so long as they are fairly attractive and know what they are doing." - page 139

"I shout into the thing 'I'm not having a baby. That's a statement by Niki Lauda in the Hilton Hotel at Sao Paulo and now you can go to hell." - page 141

"The way the young girls who wrote the next letter idolises Niki, is the nearest thing to a 'love letter'. Real declarations of love from women are very rare. Perhaps the reason is that Niki Lauda'a erotic radiation to the public is quite weak, and this is Niki's own opinion : "Well, its normal that a married man doesn't get proposals, so they never get such ideas." 'And what was it like before you married?' "I don't know, I've never read my fan mail." - page 145

"Niki, you catch a frog in the stream. The frog says I give you three wishes if you let me go. What is your answer? After ten seconds of consideration, Lauda says quickly: First I wish for a child, second I wish for my professional pilot's license, properly endorsed according to Austrian requirements, third I wish for my own freight business, already established and functioning. 'But,' he added. 'Those are my wishes today, tomorrow it may all look quite different.' So let us give the date: 26th October 1977" - page 154

"I was once with a girl in a nightclub and all the time people came asking me for autographs. Every few minutes somebody came to our table and disturbed us - as unfortunately always happens. The girl grumbled all the time, "it's mad when one's with you, there's not a moments peace, I can't bare it." - and at the same time I noticed she was avid for the publicity. Then she said "One couldn't marry a man like you", and I wanted my peace and quiet and said "that's it then. Special men need special wives - and you don't belong there." - page 156

"One thing is certain: Niki is not easy." - page 157

Sorry sorry I had to do that 😂 the way it looked when I first read it I was like, oh okay Niki 👀, here's the full quote,

"One thing is certain: Niki is not easy, but he would like to be easy, and he likes people who are easy or pretend to be." - page 157

"Behind that there is obviously the mistrust and anxiety of a man who doesn't want to be exploited." - page 158

"Other drivers don't interest him in the least, with exception of James Hunt, but then he is a 'type'." - page 160

"Niki loves his snail-shelled house very much." - page 160

"When the Laudas are in their living room there's always gramophone music. As the loudspeakers are at the level of the top storey the whole room is filled with sound, mostly background music. Soft pop of the top class, almost jazz, carefully chosen. Lauda's number one is Randy Newman, then Bill Withers, Rod Stewart and Stevie Wonder. If classical music is played in Lauda's house, that is exclusively for Marlene." - page 164

"Near the writing table stands the only cup in the entire house - it is from the race at Jarama in 1974, Lauda's first grand prix win. Niki won't allow that it is there for sentimental reasons connected with his first win, he says its so practical for hanging things like elastic bangs and scissors on its elaborate surface. And all sorts of things dangle from this sumptuous goblet." - page 165

"A central, almost a dominant role in the Lauda household is played by the dog. Lauda originally wanted a Boxer, but he was pleased when Marlene came home in the spring of 1976 with a Great Dane puppy. It was given the name Baghira because of the resemblance to a panther, black with white flecks on paws, front and tail. Baghira grew according to plan into a giant dog, which Niki finds okay. A big place, a big house and big dog. Lauda loves the animal, spends a lot of time with him and gets into a panic when Baghira runs away - especially since one of the keepers said 'next time' he would shoot the dog. Lauda rushes out and drives to the spot where he is most afraid of the keeper. The thought that the dog might meet with an accident comes to him sometimes for no particular reason. Once he was describing the psychological stress within the Ferrari team, the war of nerves, and when he wanted to give a really telling example he said, 'It is almost as if someone whispered in my ear just before the start of a race: Your dog is dead." The playfulness and the high spirits of this young animal bring life into the house, the dog is all over the place. Niki declares that Baghira is fairly well-trained (except for licking the guests, which he can't be stopped from doing). Marlene's Volkswagen Cabrio has over the months had all its inside pulled out, Baghira eats everything from the upholstery to the dash board, he wouldn't behave like this in the Jaguar, and he very seldom bites the Fiat." - page 167

"The atmosphere makes him high-spirited, and Marlene is enthusiastic about the way her Niki relaxes there; sometimes he dances all night. Marlene: 'He is a good dancer, with a charm of his own in his movements. Sometimes, like a boy, he is embarrassed when people stare. I love his way of dancing." - page 177

"Even when it wasn't all that cold I had to wear a scarf and coat and put on a Styrian hat. My brother was always identically dressed, we looked two complete nitwits." - page 182

"The typical Lauda of those days was unobtrusive. What distinguished him from most of his motor racing contemporaries were his good manners, which he got from home." - page 184

#niki lauda #niki lauda quotes #classic f1 #vintage f1 #retro f1 #f1

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tagsecretsanta · 4 years

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From @Psychoseal

to @avengedbiologist

Full credit to the author above, secret santa does not won this work!

“Ugh it is freezing” Gordon complains to the empty changing room. It is the final day of school before Christmas break, and it has been heavily snowing all day, and he is getting changed after swimming practise. Jamming his head under the hand dryer to try to dry his hair off, Gordon can’t stop himself from shivering. He has been cold all day, apart from the blissful hour he spent in the pool.

Grabbing his bag, he leaves the changing room and goes out into the snow to wait for his bus. Pulling his hood up over his head, his hands gloved and in his pockets, but the tips of his fingers are already numb.

Minutes tick by like hours, as he leans against the sign for the bus, but it doesn’t show up. “Great. Just bloody great” Gordon screams. It will take him over an hour to walk home, it is cold and dark and he knows that there is no way Scott will agree to come and get him. not after the argument the pair had over breakfast this morning.

*FLASHBACK*

“GORDON COOPER TRACY. GET YOU BUTT DOWN HERE NOW” Scott yells angrily.

Gordon is up in his room putting the finishing touches to last weeks book report. Groaning he gets up and walks as slowly as possible, knowing that he is heading to his own execution. Finding Scott in the kitchen, covered from head to toe in glittery flour. “Oh yeah that!” Gordon thinks.

“What’s wrong Scott?” he asks innocently pretending that he can’t see the glitter in his hair and sitting down at his usual spot next to John and starting on his cereal.

“I am going to shower and change and be late for school because of your childish immature prank, and dad isn’t here to write me a note so I will end up in detention. You are ruining my life brat features.” And with that Scott storms from the room.

“I don’t think he liked your joke Gordy” Alan says once he has calmed down from hysterical laughter.

“No, I don’t believe he did Allie” Gordon says. He too is laughing. “He will get over it, he just has to be a drama queen first”

“Come on you two, we have a bus to catch. Fish, I suggest you are gone when Scott gets downstairs” John says, throwing Gordon his bag before helping Alan with his shoes. “Good luck Virg!” John says to his second eldest brother, the one unfortunate enough to be in the same school as Scott and stuck in the car with him!

Virgil rolls his eyes at Gordon. Before turning to John “Everything will be okay, Gordon is right. Scott will be fine he just needs to vent first.”

“Gordon is always right” Gordon replies.

“Gordon is never right and stop talking about yourself in the third person it is annoying” John says rolling his eyes at his younger brother.

“I AM ALWAYS RIGHT!” Gordon cries.

“NEVER!” John cries back.

“ALWAYS!”

“NEVER!”

“ALWAYS!

The boys are still arguing when Scott gets back downstairs. “WHAT ARE YOU LOT STILL DOING HERE?!” he shouts over their arguing. “Your bus left five minutes ago”

“It was Gordon’s fault” John immediately blames the blonde, who is so taken aback he is momentarily speechless.

“Of course it is. It is always Gordon’s fault! Right. All of you get in the car, and don’t think for one second I am going to write you notes. I get detention then you beasts get it too” Scott says, grabbing Gordon and pushing him out of the door.

“Ow! Not so hard Glitter head” Gordon complains, before regaining his composure and jumping into the passenger’s seat of Scott’s car, leaving Virgil, John and Alan to squash themselves into the back seat.

Scott doesn’t say a word to Gordon during the trip. Gordon tries, but he ignores everything, choosing instead to concentrate on getting to the middle school Gordon and John attend as fast as possible in order to be rid of them.

“TAKE ALAN TO THE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL!” Scott yells, speaking for the first time, as Gordon, John and Alan hop out of the car. Not bothering to make sure they actually do as they are told before he spins the car around and wheelspins out the carpark, leaving dark tyre marks on the road.

To make matters worse, Gordon doesn’t get detention!

*TB*

Now he is starting a three-mile hike home, in a heavy snowstorm. In normal weather conditions, he can do the walk in an hour but battling against the winds and the snow drifts. Wishing he could just phone Scott for a lift but knowing that he will never come for him and even the tears are frozen to his face as he slowly battles the elements.

The sidewalk is icy, and more than once Gordon almost falls over his feet slipping and sliding along the pathway, causing him to swear loudly. The cold wind is biting his face, and it is not only his fingers that are numb now. His toes will probably need to be amputated to prevent gangrene from frost bite.

Another patch of ice causes a further slip, and this time he is unable to stop himself from falling putting both his arms out to stop himself from landing on his face, his right arm hits the concrete first, making a sickening snapping sound before pain shoots up his arm. He whimpers in agony as he staggers to his feet, his arm clutched to his chest.

He stumbles and staggers slowly towards home. Every step is more painful than the last, and he has no idea how long he has been walking for, or even how far he still has to go. Maybe, just maybe he should call Scott.

*TB*

“ALAN STOP THAT!” Virgil shouts, calling his youngest brother away from his easel where he is trying to get his art project finished but Alan wants to help. Gordon is usually home by now and ready to entertain him but he is late.

“I’m bored” Alan complains before he grabs the brush from Virgil and leaps up onto the sofa and paints purple streaks across his nose. “Oops!”

“Run” is the only word Virgil needs before Alan jumps down from the sofa and races through the hallway and into the kitchen where Scott and John are making dinner.

“SCOTTY HIDE ME!” Alan calls crawling under the kitchen table to escape Virgil’s wrath.

Scott rolls his eyes. “What now?” it has been a really long day. First Gordon flour bombed him, then he got detention for being late and had to spend his lunch hour writing lines and now this.

“He threw paint at me” Virgil says disgusted. “Get out from under there.”

“No!” Alan replies “Not until Gordon gets home to protect me!”

“Gordon’s not home yet?” John asks surprised. “He is usually back by now”

Scott rolls his eyes again. It seems like that is all he has done all day. Why did he ever tell his dad that he can handle his brothers alone for a few days?

“Nope” Alan confirms. “And it is really snowing out there again. Poor Gordon”

“Poor Gordon?” Scott scoffs. “He deserves whatever he gets.”

Scott doesn’t even notice Virgil glaring at him as his phone starts to ring, Scott groans as he sees Gordons name on the caller ID. “We have said his name too many times and summoned him. WHAT?” he barks into the phone. “Where are you?” another eye roll.

Virgil and John and staring at him in confusion as they can only hear one half of the conversation. “What?” this what is totally different, now Scott sounds concerned which brings Alan out from under the table. “Where are you?” more silence. “Calm down Squid, don’t cry. Okay I am on my way, talk to Virgil”

Scott hands his phone to Virgil “Keep him talking while I go and get him” he orders. “John keep an eye on the oven it should be ready in about fifteen minutes, I will be back as soon as I can”

This is all his fault, he knew that the blizzard would cause chaos with the transport systems, he should have gone to collect him. Their dad left him in charge, and the only thing he has done is endanger his brother’s life. There is a fluffy purple blanket on the back of the sofa, which he grabs on the way out the front door.

The driveway has disappeared under a sheet of pure white snow, and Scott’s car has been half buried in just the hour and a half he has been home. But Gordon is counting on him to rescue him, he needs a plan B and he needs it fast.

Looking around the yard for inspiration Scott spies the old tractor near the barn.

“Perfect” he says aloud, a smile crossing his face for the first time all day. His car is fitted with a snow dispersal unit, an invention of Brains’, which Scott unattached with a push of a button on his keys and installs it on the tractor before climbing up into the cab and starting up the engine.

To his relief the engine roars to life, noisily, belching out black smoke from the exhaust. The temperature gauge is telling him that the outside temperate is now minus three and getting colder by the minute.

Scott puts the tractor into first gear and it slowly starts to move down the driveway. the large tyres biting down onto the snow-covered tarmac. Barely able to see where he is going due to the onslaught of fog, which even his fog lights don’t completely clear him a path, Scott’s hands are gripping the steering wheel in terror as he turns left onto the main road.

Keeping his eyes focused on the road, for a sign of his brother, Scott has never felt so afraid. The cab of the tractor is starting to heat up as the engine gets warm, but his hands are still shaking.

“Come on Gords, where are you?” he says to himself.

The progress is slow, but steady as he carefully drives along the icy road, tight bends, potholes and patches of ice are navigated successfully until he finally spots his brother who is still on the phone to Virgil and to Scott’s regret is still crying.

Scott pulls over to the side of the road before jumping down from the cab and scooping Gordon up into his arms. “Scotty?” Gordon asks unable to believe that his brother has found him, his voice hoarse. His whole body is shivering violently.

“Let’s get you to hospital, get that arm checked out” Scott says, still holding onto him. Now he has him, he is never going to let him go again. “I have him Virg, call dad and let him know what has happened” he says once he has gotten Gordons phone.

The cab only has one seat and it is a tight squeeze, but Scott has Gordon wrapped up in the blanket, and squashed up against the window. He is safe, even if uncomfortable.

*TB*

Lying back on the soft pillow, Gordon doesn’t want to open his eyes. He can feel the presence of his eldest brother. He doesn’t need to look he just knows he is there with him. The room is warm and he is covered in a thick blanket, he still can’t wriggle the fingers on his right hand, which is now encased in a cast which ends just below his elbow, or feel his toes but he is definitely warmer than he was an hour ago.

“Scott?” he asks, eyes still firmly closed.

“I’m here Fish. How are you feeling?” Scott takes Gordon’s hand and gently squeezes his fingers.

“I’m sorry Scott”

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. And I should have come to get you. I knew that the roads were closed near the bus depot. I knew that it was never going to come. Gords, I am so sorry.” There are tears in Scott’s eyes, he knows that he is responsible for putting his own brother in the hospital.

“Stop it” Gordon demands, finally opening his eyes and fixing them on Scott’s. “Ugh my head hurts. Can I go home?”

“Just waiting for the doctor to finish the paperwork” Scott confirms.

Gordon grins at Scott. A sparkle now in his deep amber eyes for the first time since he was reunited with his big brother. “Can I drive?” he asks.

Those three words are all Scott needs. A smile breaks out on his face before he starts to laugh. “Never change Squid”

*TB*

Scott is not surprised to find the lights on when they get home, nearly two hours later. According to the clock on Gordon’s phone It is nearly three in the morning.

The snow has relented but not stopped, the flakes are now lighter and whirling in the wind. “It is really pretty when it is like this” Gordon says.

“I would rather live on a tropical island any day” Scott replies. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

They find Alan fast asleep on the sofa, his head is resting on Johns leg. John and Virgil have the television on, but neither are watching the screen.

“Hi honeys, we’re home!” Scott calls.

“Gordy” Virgil calls happily, getting up from the sofa and wrapping his arms around his younger brother.

Gordon nuzzles into his shoulder. “Virgy” he replies happily.

“Come on, let’s get you comfortable” Virgil says, leading him back to the sofa. “John run upstairs and grab his pyjamas”

John doesn’t argue the order and he comes back minutes later with Gordon’s pyjamas and a big bag or marshmallows.

“Really?” Gordon asks. “I thought you would make me go to bed”

“Are you tired?”

Gordon yawns heavily, and dramatically. “Yeah, but not enough to miss out on my marshmallows!”

Virgil helps him get changed into his pyjamas, before they gather around the fireplace on bean bags and the squashy armchairs. The room is warm and cosy. Virgil spears a marshmallow on his toasting fork before melting it on the fire and handing it to Gordon.

“Can we make smores?” Alan asks having been woken up by the smell.

“Nope. marshmallows is all we have” John replies. “Trust me I looked”

The marshmallows don’t last long. Gordon and Alan have a contest to see how many they can fit in their mouths in one go, which Gordon wins.

“Do you still want to move to a tropical island?” Gordon asks. His mouth full of melted, slightly burned marshmallow.

“How many times have I got to tell you not to talk with your mouth full?” Scott replies in mock disgust.

Gordon swallows before replying. “About a thousand so far, but I have never listened to you before. What makes you think I am going to start now?”

“That and it would scare you if he started doing what you said!” John adds, while he gently pokes his marshmallow onto the end of the fork before lightly toasting it on the fire.

“Very true!” Scott replies. He can’t even remember what it was Gordon asked and he is so tired and warm and comfortable that he doesn’t even care. Leaning back against the chair Virgil is sitting on, his eyes closed with the people he loves the most in the world is all he wants and it really doesn’t matter where he is as long as he is with his brothers.

Alan crawls into Scott’s lap. “I love you Scotty”

“Yeah me too” Gordon adds, climbing down from his bean bag and joining Alan. “Thank you for rescuing me”

“Any time Squid” Scott replies ruffling his hair before planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“EUW! SCOTTY!” Gordon complains, wriggling off his lap giggling. “Are there any more marshmallows left?”

John throws him the bag which he expertly catches in his left hand. “This is empty!” he complains.

“Yeah, chuck the rubbish in the bin” John replies.

Gordon drops it on the floor before letting out another large yawn.

“Bed Squid” Scott orders.

“Carry me” Gordon replies, leaning back and looking up at Scott.

“Come on then” Scott says helping him to his feet and letting him climb up on his back. “You too please Alan”

“No thanks Scotty, it is daytime now” Alan replies, pointing out the window, which sure enough is now lightening as the sun slowly rises.

“Bed” Scott repeats in a no-nonsense tone which has even Virgil and John getting to their feet and running for their bedrooms.

“You never answered me earlier” Gordon reminds Scott once he is tucked up under the blanket.

“That’s because it doesn’t matter where I am, as long as I have marshmallows. I mean you” Scott says. “I love you Gordy”

“Can I flour bomb you again?” he asks.

“No. but if you want I will help you prank dad!” Scott replies with a grin. “Now get some sleep”

“Night Scotty. Love you”

Scott makes sure Gordon and Alan are both asleep before he slips back downstairs.

“Where is the spare bag of marshmallows?” he asks Virgil, who has also come back into the living room.

Virgil lifts up a cushion, revealing a full bag.

Grinning Scott grabs his fork. “Chuck them my way bro.”

They sit in silence for several minutes while they eat their way through the bag, before Virgil realises that Scott is crying.

“Scott?” he questions.

“I was so angry with him Virg and he was in trouble. I should have been there for him”

“You were, the second you knew he needed you, you were out the door so fast you left scorch marks on the kitchen floor! You saved his life Scott” Virgil says. “Marshmallow?”

Scott takes the offered marshmallow and just holds it in his hand. Absently turning it over and over while he thinks. “I don’t know what I would do without him”

“He certainly makes life interesting” Virgil agrees. “Have you had any sleep?”

“No. I don’t think I can sleep” Scott replies.

“Scott, come on. Bed” Virgil says, using the same tone Scott used with Alan.

Together they make sure the fire is out, and that the evidence of their secret marshmallow stash is well hidden from their younger brothers’ eyes before they make their way up the stairs.

“Virg?” Scott says when they reach his bedroom and he stops to open the door.

“Yeah?” Virgil replies.

“Thank you”

“It’s okay Scott. Just try and get some sleep okay?”

Scott nods before entering his room and finally collapsing onto the bed where he falls asleep before Virgil has even reached his own door, his own exhaustion overpowering all other emotions.

*TB*

“Is that a true story?” Kayo asks.

They are gathered around a bonfire on the beach toasting marshmallows after a difficult rescue. something that they have been doing since they started international rescue.

“Every word” Scott replies. “Marshmallows are a Tracy family comfort food, and yes Virg and I still have a secret stash hidden in the house that John, Gordon and Alan have never known about until now!”

Gordon looks over at Alan and John, an impish grin lighting up his whole face. “Come on you two. Let’s go and hunt their stash!”

Gordon leads John and Alan back up into the house.

“Oh God. I think we just created a marshmallow war!”

#thunderbirds are go #Thunderbirds 2015 #tag team secret santa #secret santa 2020 #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #kayo kyrano #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #alan tracy

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onlyfangz · 6 years

Text

Due to the new Pokemon game

Since Scottish people and culture seems to be coming into the spotlight recently, here’s a few things you should know (Alternative title: Facts About Scotland):

- We are “Scots”, with one ‘t’, not two, and we’re definitely not “Scotch”, which is considered rude to call someone in most parts, and in others are considered a slur. Scotch refers to Scottish products. See: Scotch Wiskey, Scotch Tablet, etc., Singular is “Scot”. So, “He is a Scot.”

- You don’t need to tell us that you don’t understand our language. It’d be like if I saw a post wrote in Italian and I said, “Lol what does this say”. Like obviously, I don’t speak Italian, no need to comment on it.

- You also don’t need to tell us that you do understand our language. Again, it’d be like me reading a post in German (let’s pretend I can speak more than a few words in German for a sec) and I said, “Oh wow! I understand this!”

- Don’t try and write or speak in our language. Chances are no-one will have any clue of what you’re talking about.

- We don’t say “fockin”. Nobody says fockin.

- Or “fookin”.

- It’s just fucking. Fuckin’ if you must.

- Scots has a lot of intricate rules. Sometimes two words or variations means the same thing, but can only be used in certain contexts. “Ye” and “Ya” mean “You”, but where “Ye cannae dae that, ya dobberhied,” makes sense, “Ya cannae dae that, ye dobberhied” does not.

- We are not brash, rude, crass, uncivilized, barbaric, constantly drunk, angry, unintelligent, etc.,

- Yes we do have TV, it was a Scottish person who invented it.

- In fact, you’ve got Scottish people to thank for for: pedal bikes, the pneumatic tyre, the steam engine, penicillin, the pemalis wave energy converter, the hot blast oven, hollow pipe drainage, the telephone, postage stamps, postcards, universal time, the first ever english book on surgery, sherlock holmes, peter pan, modern economics, modern sociology, hypnotism, modern geology, the discovery of saturn’s rings, the decimal point, the Gregorian telescope, the discoveries of the properties of carbon dioxide, the pyroscope, identifying the nucleus in cells, the ground work for the incandescent lightbulb (thought thomas edison did that on his own, did you?), criminal fingerprinting, the very first cloned mammal, the world’s first tractor beam, the shot put, the hammer throw, curling, ice hockey, the saline drip, the hypodermic syringe, understanding transplant rejection, using the ultrasound to diagnose, identifying the mosquito as the carrier of malaria, the typhoid vaccine, discovering insulin, the HPV vaccine, fire engines, the discovery of TB treatment, the development of beta-blocker drugs, the glasgow coma scale, the glasgow anxiety scale, the glasgow depression scale, the fridge, the toaster, flushing toilets, the waterproof macintosh jackets, the kaleidoscope, the lawnmower, the electric clock, the bank of england and france, the game grand theft auto, forbes magazine, the new york herald, and paintball.

- So the question isn’t does Scotland have (x), it’s do you?

- Glasgow is pronounced “Glass-go” or “Glaz-go”, not “Glass-cow”.

- Edinburgh is pronounced “Ed-in-bruh”.

- Loch is pronounced with a soft “ck” noise, not with a hard “ck.” (It’s not “Lock”.)

- No I haven’t seen the Loch Ness Monster, I don’t even live near Loch Ness.

- Nessie isn’t the only Loch Monster. She has a sister, Morag.

- Now for a round of “Is it true?”

- “Does Scotland hate England?” A lot of us do, some of us don’t.

- “Does Scotland hate Ireland?” A lot of us don’t. I haven’t met anyone who does.

- “Are Scotland and Ireland the same?” No.

- “Do Scottish people type in their accents?” No, we type in our language.

- “Does Haggis taste good?” Depends who you ask. My personal answer - yes, I like it. Chances are you won’t.

- “Is Haggis made out of sheep guts?” No. It’s made out of sheep liver, heart, and lungs. It’s not disgusting, it’s just animal product and you need to chill out about it.

- “Are Celts Scottish?” Celts are Scottish, and also Irish, Welsh, Cornish, Breton, and Manx.

- Celtic and Celtic are two different things in Scotland. One has a hard “Ck” noise at the beginning of it, but the other has a “S” noise (Sell-tic). K-ell-tic refers to people, Sell-tic refers to a football club.

- Not all of Scotland is rough. A lot of it is actually quite nice.

- The Highlands are not mystical. It’s nice scenery if you like a bunch of mountains, but there’s not much going on up there.

- If someone is the King/Queen of Scotland, it means that they’re King/Queen of the land, but if someone is the King/Queen of Scots, it means they’re King/Queen of Scottish People. It’s a very hard distinction, and the reason why you’ll hear “Mary, Queen of Scots”, “Robert The Bruce, King of Scots”, but not “Queen Elizabeth II, Queen of Scots”.

- A lot of people don’t like the monarchy, so don’t ask us if we’ve ever had tea with the Queen or whatever you like to ask.

- Even though we’re working on it, we are still British. So if a Scottish person tells you they’re British they know what they’re talking about and do not need you to “correct” them. Britain refers to the four nations: Scotland, England, Wales, and N. Ireland.

- Britain has no culture. You’re thinking of English culture.

- There is a British accent. 43 of them to be exact. None of them are more British than the other.

- The North of England gets treated as badly as all of Scotland by the South of England.

- Scotland did not vote for Brexit, but if all of Scotland voted against something, and all of London voted for something, London would win by an estimated 3 million margin. (And that’s off population alone, numbers would vary due to voter eligibility.)

- Scotland is heavily liberal, with free college, free health care, is the only country in the world to give free sanitary products in schools and other public places, and is the only country in the world where LGBTI+ education is mandatory and part of the curriculum. (Other countries do give LGBTI+ education, but in no country is it mandatory.)

- In conclusion: don’t be an asshole.

#scotland #scottish #scottish facts #pokemon

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harrisonstories · 5 years

Photo

Above and below: George Harrison and Sir Jackie Stewart at the Gunnar Nilsson Memorial Trophy meeting in Donington Park, England, Middle: George driving the Lotus 18 at the same event (3 June 1979)

NOTE: This is a rather long but refreshing read about a side of George’s life which doesn’t get talked about much. Here is an interview George and Jackie did at the Gunnar Nilsson Memorial Trophy.

A Beatle’s new mania

George Harrison, former lead guitarist with the legendary Beatles pop music group, talks to Chris Hockley about his passion for Formula 1, fast cars and a private life

IT’S PUZZLING in a way why George Harrison has such a fervent passion for fast cars and motor racing. For since the mind-boggling days of the Swinging ‘Sixties, when as one of The Beatles he was swept towards super-stardom and super-richness on a tidal wave of hysteria, the pace of his life has slowed to a virtual crawl.

Gone are the days when he had to make a run for it through thousands of screaming pop fans. Today, you are more likely to find him in his wellies, gently pushing a wheelbarrow towards carefully-tended flower beds in the vast grounds of his palatial country mansion.

Gone are the days when he lived out of a suitcase and wasn’t sure if he was in London, New York, Tokyo or Cloud Cuckoo Land. Today, he meditates silently for hours in his own temple.

Gone are the days when girls scratched each other’s eyes out as they fought to touch a fragment of his clothing. Today, he is happier to stay at home with his wife Olivia and their 10 month-old son, Dhani.

Yet there is still one public side to the private Mr. Harrison. For as well as being one of the world’s most famous pop stars, he has gradually become the world’s most famous motor racing fan.

“I’m getting too well known at motor races now,” he grins – as he is beseiged by a swarm of autograph hunters who have just rushed past Mario Andretti. “It was my hobby, now it’s getting like work again.”

George’s lean and craggy features are a frequent sight at Grand Prix meetings around the globe. His name is enough to ensure him VIP treatment, but he reckons he repays all the behind-the-scenes privileges he enjoys by attracting publicity for the sport.

Though he is often to be seen in the midst of a cluster of photographers, he does not go out of his way to court glamour. Harrison goes motor racing to see and not be seen.

He has been a genuine enthusiast since the days when he was just another poor kid from the streets of Liverpool, digging deep into his pocket to get into the city’s Aintree circuit during its heydey in the ‘Fifties.

He loves talking about racing. To him it represents a refuge from never-ending questions like: “Are the Beatles ever going to get together again, George?” Or, “Is it true that Paul McCartney once had a bunion on his right foot?”

In his slow, deliberate – and knowledgeable – Scouse drawl, George will tell you about oversteer, understeer, gear ratios and why he hopes Jody Scheckter will be world champion this year.

And he will rave about Fangio with the same 12-year-old’s wide eyes that watched the great Argentinian dominate the 1955 British Grand Prix at Aintree with Mercedes team-mate Stirling Moss.

“I can’t remember why I started going to Aintree – I think I just saw a poster advertising a race,” he says. “Anyway, I used to go there whether it was a big or small meeting, take my butties and sit on the Railway Straight embankment to watch the race. I went to a lot of bike meetings as well – I was a big fan of Geoff Duke!

“I had a box camera and went round taking pictures of all the cars. If I could find an address I wrote away to the car factories, and somewhere at home I’ve got pictures of all the old Vanwalls, Connaughts and BRMS. All that stuff got lost when I went on the road with The Beatles, but I’m sure it’s still in my dad’s attic.”

Such was his enthusiasm that it was a question of whether cars or guitars would dominate his life. He couldn’t afford both…he couldn’t afford either, really. because he had to borrow the £2 10 shillings he needed to buy his first guitar. Luckily for him, he opted for pop.

“By the time I got any money at all I was 17 or 18, getting a couple of quid a week from a few concerts in Liverpool. But I got so involved with rock ‘n’ roll and The Beatles – we were on our way to making records and all that – that to tell you the truth I completely lost touch with motor racing apart from watching the odd bit on TV or reading magazines.”

As the Fab Four became the world’s top pop stars, so they were able to call the tune and ease up on their stamina-sapping schedule. George found himself free to head back to the tracks once more…and in true showbiz style aimed straight for Monaco.

It was there that he met the man who helped him to step backstage of big-time motor racing – Jackie Stewart. George found an instant affinity with Stewart, not least because Jackie wore his hair long and was an outspoken critic of the established order, two keystones of the “rock revolution” of the late ‘Sixties and early ‘Seventies of which Harrison was so much a part.

George said: “Jackie did such a lot for the sport and was criticised for it. People moaned and groaned when he wore fireproof suits and talked about safety – things which are so obvious and practical now but at that time were being put down.

“Another thing was that he always projected the sport beyond just the racing enthusiasts which I think is very important.”

It is Stewart, always a big Beatles fan, who has given George an appreciation of the finer points of the racing art, often driving him around circuits – he scared the pants off Harrison at Interlagos this year – or showing him the best places to watch from “inside” of the track.

“I always enjoy the last session of the qualifying best,” says George. “Jackie taught me how to get the most from it by wandering around the circuit to watch from different places. That way you really get into how cars are handling gear ratios, the whole thing.”

The rapport between the two was vividly illustrated at the recent Gunnar Nilsson Campaign meeting at Donington, where both took part in a demonstration of classic Grand Prix cars. Afterwards, Harrison changed into jeans and sweater, while Stewart stayed in his racing overalls plus the mandatory black corduroy cap. As they walked into the royal enclosure to watch the afternoon’s racing, Stewart turned to Harrison and said: “I don’t know why I am dressed like this.” “Because you’re a twit,” came the reply.

Friends say that of the four ex-Beatles, Harrison is the one who has kept his feet closest to the ground. He seems to have retained the “love and peace” message of the flower power era and has refused to be swayed by the cynicism of the ‘Seventies.

His easy-going manner has made him a popular figure among the Formula One drivers, and he has become friendly with many of them.

“It’s obviously an advantage for me to be sort of independent,” he says. “I’m not like a spy from Ferrari or Lotus or anything like that. It’s a very nice position to be in – I am no threat to anyone so they are friendly towards me.”

His close contact with the drivers has also changed his attitude to them. Like most race fans, he has had his idols – Fangio because he was top dog in his childhood. Graham Hill because he was “a very English gentleman,” Jackie because he was Jackie and so on.

Now, there are no more heroes. “It’s difficult to single anyone out because I’m much closer to them. I mean, there’s people like Jochen Mass who might never be world champion but is such a nice person.

“But I want Jody Scheckter to be world champion this year. It would be good if Grand Prix racing was like the music business, where you can have a No. 1 hit and then get knocked off by your mate for his turn at No. 1. But unfortunately it isn’t like that. There is a point where you are just ‘ready’ to be a world champion, and if it doesn’t happen, it could be all downhill from there.

“Jody is ready – he’s got the car and the team, and mentally he’s right there. To get in the right team at the right time is almost impossible. It happens, like Mario last year – he was very fortunate in having that car.

Take Villeneuve. He’s very good but he’s still a bit young and more prone to making mistakes than Jody. He’s got a lot of years ahead of him, though. That’s why I’d like to see Jody get it now.

“Alan Jones is another one who’s ready. He’s great, he’s mature and he’s ready to win. And now he has got a really good competitive car. Maybe next year Alan Jones will be right at the head of the championship.”

Harrison is no sluggard himself. He drives a Porsche Turbo and what he calls an “old” Ferrari Dino Spyder. There are whispers about 140 mph tyre-squealing burn-ups on a 10-mile “circuit” around his incredible home – Friar Park, near Henley-on-Thames.

Certainly it is not difficult to imagine a glorious road circuit winding through the 33-acre wooded grounds. Nothing would come as a surprise after the mansion itself – a £2 million fairy palace that would do credit to Disneyland – and other amazing features of the grounds like three lakes built on different levels, a series of caves filled with distorting mirrors, model skeletons, glass grapes and hundreds of the proverbial garden gnomes…and an Alpine rock garden including a 100ft high replica of the Matterhorn!

But George though he admits he sometimes has “a spin through the woods,” insists that the burn-up stories are exaggerated: “It’s all very slow speed around the garden – you know tractors and wheelbarrows and things like that…”

He has, however, had a go at the real thing. He took his turn at the wheel of a Porsche 924 in a 24-hour run for the Nilsson campaign at Silverstone, organised by his local sports car specialists, Maltin’s of Henley.

He drove Stirling Moss’s famous Rob Walker Lotus 18 at the Nilsson’s day at Donington, where Jackie Stewart managed to frighten him yet again by blasting his Tyrrell around at full pelt at the same time.

And he has even managed to get his hands on a modern generation Formula One car. It was at Brands Hatch two years ago, the time when former world motorbike champ Barry Sheene, another good friend, was thinking of moving into car racing. Sheene took George with him when he tried out a Surtees TS19 with a view to having a crack at the British Aurora Formula One series.

It was an occasion which George remembers with more than a slight grin…

“Barry persuaded John Surtees to let me have a go. But John said: ‘He’s got no gear.’ So Barry rips off his fireproof vest and says to me ‘Here y’are, you can wear this.’ I just slipped on this sweaty old thing and borrowed John Surtee’s crash helmet. I got in the car and said: ‘I’m not going to go fast because I haven’t even walked around Brands Hatch, let alone driven round.’ So he said: ‘Oh shit, you had better get in my road car.’

“Well, we went bombing off round the track in his Mercedes and he was saying things like: ‘Keep it over to the left here, make sure the tail doesn’t flick out too much here, and so on. I was just hanging on for dear life.

“I got in the F1 car and thought ‘Now, what did he say?’ Then, while I was pulling away in the pit lane, trying not to stall it, I was thinking ‘God, it’s windy in this car.’ I hadn’t even remembered to close my visor!

“Still, it was a great feeling. Although some people have told me it wasn’t a very good Grand Prix car, believe me if you hadn’t driven one before it was fantastic. It was like, wow…those wheels just dig in round the corners.

“I didn’t go very fast. I just signed the chitty saying that if I killed myself it wasn’t John’s fault!”

George, now 36 years old, is unlikely to do a Paul Newman and turn his hand to serious racing. He is honest enough to admit he is apprehensive of the dangers.

Neither is he likely to become involved in large-scale sponsorship, despite a reputation for generosity (it is said that he once gave the landlady of his local pub three rubies for her birthday).

He has dabbled in a small way with bike racing – last year he backed Steve Parrish, who he knew through Barry Sheene, when Steve lost his works Suzuki ride. But this year he has turned down an approach for £185,000 to run a BMW M1 in the Procar series – and has no intention of following in the footsteps of Walter Wolf or Lord Hesketh by setting up his own Grand Prix team.

“What with living in England and the tax I pay, it takes a long time to get some cash anyway, and the last thing you need is just to give it away. You need too much money to do the job properly in Formula One. If I had £3 million to give away, which I haven’t, there’s probably better things to give it to than motor racing. Like the starving, for example.”

The last comment reflects Harrison’s continued commitment to the impoverished parts of countries like Bangladesh and India. All the royalties from one of his albums go into a foundation, and from there the cash is handed out to various charities.

There is a chance that in the years to come, George’s enthusiasm may rub off on his son, and we may yet see a Harrison out there on the track. After the usual parental head-scratching, George concedes that he would not stand in the way if Harrison Junior opted for cars instead of guitars – “though by that time they’ll probably be driving missiles or something.”

But for the time being at least, George will stay on the outside looking in. A weekend at the races will go on being the noisy, urgent, smelly and exciting contrast to the gardening and the meditation.

And a brief glimpse of the one public side to the private Mr. Harrison.

- MOTOR magazine (28 July 1979)

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formerlyrunephoenix6769 · 5 years

Text

Fields of Gold. (Bumbleby fic)

She was loath to leave behind a good job with a reputable newspaper that she had worked hard for, but things with her ex-boyfriend had gone too far, so she had packed her most cherished belongings into her car, she had hugged her housemate goodbye, n tearfully parted, not telling Sienna where she was moving too so as not to put either of them in danger. Plus she had no idea where she was going. Absconding in the middle of the night, she had driven to a dealership,which coming to think of it had seemed at bit sketchy, swapped her car, bought a new sim card and deactivated all her social media accounts.

She couldn’t remember how far she had driven, Route 66 meandering across America, she was sure she passed a number of state lines, she had stopped off at diners in the small nondescript towns..

None of them taking her fancy.

It was in Oklahoma, 10 or so miles outside of somewhere called Clearwater that the engine gave out. Spewing up steam n making a bit of a gurgling sound as she willed the car to keep going, inch by laborious inch the noise became too loud to ignore giving one last pathetic squeal before the lights on the dash flickered and died and Blake thunked her forehead against her steering wheel in defeat.

It was only when she was rummaging through her purse she remembered that she had forgotten to purchase data, so there was no googling mapping where she was or figure out if there was any local tow companies.

Maybe if she got lucky she would be near one of the orange emergency phones that were dotted along the highways of America in case of this exact emergency.

With a deep sigh, she collected her purse and got out of the car to be instantly hit by a bank of oppressive heat and the glare of the midday sun. Shielding her eyes, she scanned the horizon and was meet with nothing but two fields either side of the highway, tall grain, rippling as far as the eye could see spread out like a vast yellow ocean.

The highway stretched like a snake, basking in the rays, heat shimmered off the surface and in the far distance a twinkle, more than likely a mirage.

She wasn't dressed for this vastly different weather, clad in heavy black jeans, a black tank top and leather jacket.

Reaching back through the car door, she retrieved her sunglasses from her visor and peeled out of the jacket, tossing it haphazardly on the back seat. She began rummaging through the trash she had accumulated over course of her journey in the already sweltering car, sifting through candy wrappers, crisp packets and sandwich covers, stretching out, she blindly searched under the passenger seat, and let out a squeak of triumph when her fingers coiled round the familiar feeling plastic of a water bottle but her victory short lived as when she retrieved it, there was barely a drop left. The ground beneath her feet began to vibrate. like the very asphalt itself was coming alive and a deep rumble began reverberate the car. Blake crawled backwards, trying to get out of driver’s side door only to hit the back of her head on the roof.

“ Fuck! ... God damnit!” She cursed, outloud to no one in particular

In a fit of temper and mounting frustration, she threw the bottle back into the depths of the car as the rumbling noise almost became deafening.

Turning to investigate the hellish sound, the journalist saw in the distance a huge green tractor approaching at a speed that surprised her. She had always been under the impression that tractors where slow and lumbering. This was anything but, it was large, much larger than she ever anticipated and it was fast approaching. Maybe whoever was driving was local? Maybe they would know a tow company or maybe they were a country bumpkin serial killer and all they would find of blake was her busted car?

She could be easily buried in a field and turn into one of those cold case shows her mother liked to watch. It's not like anyone knew where she was.. OR, She could stand on the side of the road, roast to death and die of thirst. They were her options! looking up at the cloudless cerulean skie, she spotted a bird hovering over the field... . I'll die here and my bones will get picked clean by vultures, what a fitting end! In university, she hadn't been voted most likely to die in a freak accident and she had no intentions of putting herself in the running.. Death by country bumpkin serial killer it is then! Wiping her already damp hands on her jeans, she stepped out giving the universal symbol of hookers everywhere and "Im available to be mass murdered." , stuck her arm n thumb out and shielded her sunglasses from staring in the direction of the sun. The tractor ate up the asphalt, leaving a plume of what looked like off coloured clouds from its side attached exhaust pipes. The machine looked monstrous, as it drew closer, Blake could make out the height n width of the tyres, at least another foot towering over her decent 5ft 7 in ,and she tried not to imagine being squished underneath them instinctively causing her to take a step back from the road. The wind screen was tinted making it near impossible to make out the driver.

The noise of the machinery clunked and clonked, almost as if making a mockery of Blake's car's plight, its cabin rocking and bouncing with its suspension,even on the supposedly flat surface of the road and did not seem to be slowing down any time soon.

In desperation, Blake flipped her long silky dark hair over her shoulder and flashed what she hoped was a megawatt inviting smile. With a deafening roar the tractor sped past, with a rush of wind, leaving Blake in a cloud of dust, dirt and nasty exhaust fumes that stuck in the back of the throat, causing her to cough and splutter. With watering eyes, she was about to flip the jackass the bird when she noticed the tractor beginning to slow down before coming to a halt up ahead on the side of the road.

Nobody alighted from the cabin and Blake remained cautiously beside her car, the driver’s door open, in case she needed to hastily duck back in and lock the doors. Not that it would offer much protection from a LeatherFace kind of creature hell bent on ripping her limb from limb.

After what seemed like an agonisingly long moment, the door to the cabin opened and someone hung out. From this distance, Blake could just about make out a brown cowboy hat, the sun glinting off a pair of glasses and a mass of unruly blond locks. A voice called out that invoked images of apple pie, iced peach tea on the wrap around porch, nights spent plinking a guitar round a campfire on the plains, and lazy summer evenings watching the fireflies dump into each other. "Is everythin alright there, darlin?" Ignoring the slight electric shock down her spine, and the 'darlin' part of the question, two very conflicting feelings, which right now was not the most opportune moment to act upon. Blake took a step forward, n away from the car. Holding up her hands so the other woman could she see wasn't armed. "My car..." She called out, "It conked out.. and my phone.." She gestured, " has no data... was wondering if you might know a tow company I could call." The blond paused, almost as if she was weighing the options as Blake stood there sweating her tits off in the midday sun in the middle of the road in buttsville county in whatever the fucking state she was in. Finally, coming to a decision, the woman climbed down from the cabin. As she approached, Blake began to wish she hadn't. As the Cowgirl, as Blake was beginning to think of her, came closer she could see the glasses were aviators. The blonde moved in confident strides, a roll to her hips n shoulders. worn brown cowboy boots, skin tight blue jeans held up with a chunky buckled belt. a yellow n brown flannel undone, but knotted just on the tummy, accentuating the woman's flat stomach and the rather impressive assets currently been held back by a straining bright white tank top.

The only words that the journalist could bring to mind was ‘breathtakingly beautiful.’ As she came to a halt just in front of Blake, the journalist could make out a slight honeysuckle brown texture to the skin of her collar bones and her strong looking forearms, no doubt gained from long hours spent outside. Blake licked her lips, finding her mouth suddenly dry. The blond woman's teeth were bright white and her lips were moving. Her ears finally getting the attention of her brain, Blake realised the blond woman had been talking as she had been staring. She sputtered, "I'm sorry... I didn't quite catch that." With her fingers in the loop of her belt and a relaxed cock to her hips, the blond regarded her, making Blake suddenly conscious of the fact she had been practically living in her car for the past few weeks and the last time she had showered properly was at a truck stop. She attempted to draw her fingers through her hair. The blond removed her glasses and asked, "How long you been out here? Did you get a touch of the sun fever?"

At first Blake bristled until she caught the hint of a smirk playing on the blonde's lips. She's damn well knows and she’s she's teasing me about it, the journalist thought. It was both parts hot and infuriating, but she couldn't help it when a laugh bubbled from her stomach and erupted from her chest, causing the blonde to break into a huge grin, with a devilish glint in her eye. Blake stuck out her hand in introduction. "Blake! From New York." The blonde took her hand shaking it with a firm grip. Her palm was surprisingly cool in heat of the day. This close blake could make out a smattering of sun dapples across the bridge of the blondes nose and apples of her cheeks and in the light her eyes looked almost lilac. As she shook her hand, she replied in that easy going almost teasing way,

" I was gonna say, you dont look like you're from round these parts.". "Its that obvious?". “ Yup..... 1) No one wears black out here, not on a day like today. 2) You're waving down strangers on the side of the road and 3) i know every one round here and I mean everyone and you, I don't recognise.... So you're either new to town or passing through.!” She paused, "Also...... Imma gonna need my hand back if you want me to have a look under the hood" And that's when Blake, the supposedly sophisticated big city slicker, realised she had been grinning like a buffoon, her sweaty palm still pumping the cowgirl's hand. She let go, giving an embarrassed cough, mumbling, "Of course.. of course." Once again the cowgirl regarded her with a look Blake couldn't fathom, as the flustered woman tried to regain some composure. Her cheeks were burning that had nothing to do with being under the sun's intense glare. In an attempt to hide her blush, Blake gestured with a incline of the head, "I’ll just go pop the hood..... shall I ?" "That would be ideal. " Blake ducked back into the car and almost yelped when her hand touched the metal of the door, it was scorching to the touch. Sucking on her fingers, she slid into the driver's seat trying to ignore the pair of ever so slightly mocking lilac eyes watching her intently.

Reaching underneath the steering wheel, she fumbled about. With it being a new car she wasn't entirely sure where anything was. Atleast she could duck her head n find some respite. Fingers clasped solid metal and she yanked hard to hear something click and the bonnet of the car popped open. The blond flashed her a thumbs up before lifting the bonnet and disappearing from view. Blake hastily checked her reflection in the rear view mirror and quickly brushed her fingers through her hair before alighting from the car and returning to the front to come across the cowgirl bent over inspecting the engine, giving Blake a view of a very firm and pert backside, the skin tight jeans leaving nothing to the imagination. The white vest top had ridden up slightly showing off a muscular lower back and the ever so slight hint of a red thong poking out of the lip of the jeans. Blake swallowed, biting back the urge to fan herself, just as the cowgirl straightened up. She removed her cowboy hat, taking a brief moment to look around before popping it on Blake's head and returning to what she was doing. Blake parked her backside ever so slightly on the bumper and watched as the blond began checking the oil and water gauge. "I didnt catch your name." "Cause i never gave it to you." Echoed from the depths of the engine straightening up the cowgirl gave Blake another annoying smirk, "I'm Yang..... From down the road." The two women held each other's gaze, before Blake once again broke out in laughter. As Yang removed a hair tie from her wrist and tried to bundle her unruly thick hair into a ponytail, Blake was certain she caught hints of gold glittering as it caught the sun light. "Would you have some water?" Yang asked. Blake shook her head, "I'm sorry." Yang gave a playful roll of her eyes. "Now i definitely know you ain't from round here." Bracing herself on edge of the bonnet with her hands, Yang added. "Theres some in the tractor." "You want me to go to the tractor?" Blake replied in slight disbelief, "Are you not afraid that I might just abscond with it?" "Do you know how to drive it?" "No." Blake admitted. "Then I think i'll take my chances." There came another pause, ".... It's under the seat." Blake seemed to stutter at the trust she was being given as Yang's eyes raked her up and down watching in interest. Pushing herself off the car, the journalist set off in the direction of the tractor. Arriving at the monstrous vehicle, it took her two attempts to climb up the awkwardly shaped steps. She almost fell off when she yanked the door only to find that it swung from left to right rather than a car door, right to left. She hung precariously for a few moments as her trainers slipped on the steps and she was able to nimbly correct herself. The cabin was surprisingly cool, tidy and smelt of freshly cut grass with a hint of lavender. With minimal effort she found the bottle of water retrieving it before ungracefully stumbling back down the steps, though she tried to be extra aware of her foot placement and closing the door with a slam. Head long, she rushed back only to find Yang casually sitting on the bumper of the car bonnet, flicking through her phone. At her approach, the blonde looked up and Blake spotted a dash of dark oil on her cheek. Handing over the bottle of water, she watched in fascination the way the column of Yang's neck bobbed as she swallowed the clear liquid. How it met the collar bones opening out to an expanse of honey coloured skin that looked soft to the touch, leading down to her cleavage that rose and fell ever so slightly.

For the second time in 10 minutes Blake was reminded just how dry her mouth really was. Another sickle of a smirk was her greeting alerting the brunette to the fact that she had been caught staring again. Offering out the bottle, Yang innocently asked, "Thirsty?" A second, seemed to last an eon, as the implication hung there, crackling like an electron, and Blake caught the wicked flash of mischief. Two could play at this game. Blake reached out for the bottle, allowing her finger to graze Yang's as she took it. With a smirk of her own, she held Yang's gaze, as she replied with a sultry, "Parched!" She continued to hold the other woman's gaze as she drank and she was delighted to see a bit of colour blossom across the cowgirl's cheeks and a bite of her bottom lip. Finished, she screwed the cap back on the bottle, slowly and deliberately drawing her thumb across her bottom lip to catch the slight moisture left there Without a word, Yang pushed herself off the lip of the car, closed the bonnet with a bang. She stepped up close to Blake, the other woman registered how the purple of her eyes was barely a thin ring, bordering huge black pupils that almost reflected her back. She leaned closer, her eyes darting all over Blake's chest hungrily before coming back to her face. Leaning closer still, she breathed against the brunette's ear, "Bring only the essentials and come with me.” Blake barely had time to drink in the intoxicating smell of the cowgirl so close, before Yang deftly plucked the cowboy hat from Blake's head, popping it on her own, giving her a down right salacious wink and setting off back to the tractor. Unable to move, Blake stood there in a stupor as her brain short circuited and a shock went straight from her stomach to her core, it was only when she heard Yang shout from up the road, "Unless you got better things to do." that she was finally able to move It was almost like a jump start . She flailed and tripped over herself, yanking on the door, scrabbling around the backseat, tearing open bags in an attempt to find a change of clothes, underwear,a towel and stuff them in a small backpack. She rammed in her toiletries bag, grabbed her laptop and her purse. Closing the door with a slam as the sounds of the tractor's engine roared to life, she had to retrace her steps so she could lock the door.

She rushed almost head long across the bleached tarmac in the sweltering heat on a road in the middle of buttsville, wherever the fuck she was, about to willingly and very eagerly jump into a stranger's vehicle, leaving behind no trace as to being there and as she scrambled to up the awkward steps and a strong yet cool hand reached to take her belongings, coupled with a warm megawatt smile, Blake realised, that she couldnt find it in herself to care. Her stuff safe stashed, she hovered a little awkwardly, as there was only one seat and tractors were not designed for two, until Yang patted her firm muscular thigh. "Come mere, darlin, you ever ridden a cowgirl's knee before?" Blake shook her head, trying not to laugh, instead she cheekily leaned forward, breathing against yang's ear, "But i'm a tryer, i'll try anything once." Before swiftly snatching Yang's hat from her head and placing it on her own once more. This time is was Yang's turn to laugh. "You're a feisty one, that's for sure." Blake grinned, wickedly, "You have no idea" "But I'd sure like to find out, Darlin." Hands reached, helping turn Blake around and pulling the slightly smaller woman on her lap on her lap, sitting her side saddle so Yang could see the road and reach the wheel. Blake lay one arm round Yang's shoulders and back, the other holding onto the stability handle to brace herself. "You comfy, darlin?" And for the first time in over a year, Blake truly was. As Yang pressed the throttle, the tractor lurched forward, causing Blake to let out a surprised yelp and a giggle and Yang to guffaw. As they thundered down the road, the cabin shaking and bouncing, which from Blake's vantage point gave her a very jiggly eyeful, she yelled out. "High ho Silver.. Awaaaaaay!" Much to Yang's amusement and a shake of her head. Never in her life had Blake ever imagined she would find a fresh start in the cabin of a tractor that smelt of freshly cut grass and lavender, wearing a cowboy hat from a girl from in the middle of the road in Buttsville, wherever the fuck she was.

#rwby #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #blake x yang #bumbleby #bumblby #bumbleby fanfic #olkahoma #the sooner state #beehaw

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harinirajagopalan · 6 years

Photo

Medium: Watercolor on watercolor paper and photoshop.

I’ve been trying to paint without any pencil drawings. They’re very rough, but I think it’s getting better.

I remember watching an Alt-J video (Left Hand Free) where a bunch of teenagers float down a river in tube floats. I watched that video with a slight hint of jealousy. I wanted to have that kind of summer. An American summer. I wanted to be able to sit by a riverside and float down a river in a state of absolute bliss, not a worry in the world.

When my husband and I started dating, he told me he used to go “tubing” in the summers. Tubing is what I had seen in the Alt-J video. Many people use floats, but my husband used old tires to float down the rivers in New Hampshire. My eyes lit up and I jumped up. “I want to do it!” I yelled.

“Please can we do it sometime?”

“We’ll have to wait for the summer.” he said.

So we did.

When summer rolled by, my itch for tubing increased. I would ask my husband every day if we could plan our tubing trip. He usually brushed it off. There was no real reason we couldn’t go, but we never planned it out. We never sat down and said, “yes, now.” Slowly, I gave up on the idea. “Maybe next summer,” I thought to myself.

Then one day, my husband came bursting through the door with four deflated tyres hung on his shoulder. “Look what I found!” he said.

“What is that?”

“Tyres.”

“Why do we need tyres?”

“They’re old so they’re a little scruffy, but they were free!”

“Why do we need tyres?”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay, I don’t think any of them are bad.”

“Why do we need tyres?”

“These tyres are of a tractor probably so they’re good for decades.”

“Why do we need tyres?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do we need tyres?”

“For tubing!”

I was ecstatic. It was like my husband had made the plan in his head and had forgotten to tell me. He then laid out the plan in front of me, and asked me which weekend would be best to do this. I chose the weekend of my birthday and we settled on it. I was excited.

So that weekend, after the cabin, the calzone and the marinara, and the s’mores, we drove down to Plymouth, New Hampshire to get some coffee and go tubing. “We’ll need to get a cab,” said my husband “because we’ll park upstream and we won’t have a way of getting back.”

“How far are we going to go?”

“I don’t know, but you want to stay in the water for a couple of hours right?”

“I guess.”

“So we’ll need a cab.”

Plymouth is a small town, and mainly a college town. I saw teams of girls running on the road and small auditoriums. Would there be a cab company in this town? We googled it, and found that the two that were functioning were closed that day. Once again, my heart began to sink as the my dream of tubing floated further away from me. My husband sat in the car, sipping his coffee and staring into the distance. “Maybe we should just go home,” I said, “or do something else.”

“No, I mean… there’s a lake nearby. We could go there. Ideally we should do it in a river.”

“A lake sounds fine,” I said hurriedly. Anything would be okay at that moment. As long as I could go tubing.

Twenty minutes later our car was pulling into Mirror Lake. It was around 10 o'clock in the morning and the sun was beating down on us. I grabbed the food and towels and found a bench under a tree that was free. I found one near the water. I walked back to the car to find my husband pumping the tyres. I watched as the tyre got larger and larger and then he stopped. “Is it done?” I asked. “We’re not even halfway there. I’m taking a break.” With incredible determination, I took over. How hard could it be to push a pipe down to inflate a tyre? Had I not spent an hour at the gym for over two years now? Surely I had the strength to pump air into a tyre. A couple of minutes later my shoulders were sore and I gave up.

For the next forty-five minutes I watched my husband pump up the other tyres. One of them was too damaged so the air was slowly escaping as he pumped. We had three tyres, one more than we needed. But we pumped it up anyway. My husband took duct tape and taped across the tyre, creating two Xs. He then taped the cooler with all our supplies to the X. “Let’s go,” he said.

We go to the water’s edge. I looked at him, clueless. What were we supposed to do now? “Just float,” he said.

“How?”

“Put the float in the water and then sit in it. Kick a little so you get into the water.”

I did. Soon I was in a part of the lake where my feet couldn’t touch the ground. I began to panic. What if my float turned over? I called out to my husband. He was right behind me, one leg hooked under the float with our food. I turned my float around and hooked my leg under his float and he steered us to the middle of the lake.

An hour later, I was used to the float, and confident that I could not turn over. I looked up at the bright blue sky, and bathed in the heat and sunlight that beat down on me. I had missed the sun through the dark winter. I had new appreciation for the sun.

#Nonfiction #summer #tubing #new hampshire #america #alt j #mirror lake #illustration #watercolor #watercolour #photoshop #textures #chilling #beauty #nature #tyres #writing #creative writing

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