NickDG

Not at all, Nina's a good girl at low speed and high speed. No wobbles, no nothing . . . NickD

One hundred and ten degrees in the Valley last night. Couldn't sleep a wink so went for a ride this AM. This is me in my ridiculous cruising position. Funny that, the sport bike wuffoes call it the "parachute position." I didn't put any music to this vidy 'cause I wind up muting must other people's music taste. But since most computers nowadays can handle a video and music track at the same time I'll leave the choice of music up to you. Gypsy will be rocking out with Cream and and the rest of you sport bike losers will probably will be cranking up the Justin Bierber, LOL! This won't be too interesting to any but the most hardcore Nina junkies. But about half in on the first vid I do get my pant leg caught in Nina's front pulley. It's the the third time, so I'll have to build some type of guard for it. (I'm running out of jeans.) It doesn't hurt all that much, but it scares the shit out of you! Change the "P" resolution to the highest your computer will stand. (At least 420P.) Let's Ride . . . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MzSCCI5iiCE http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Il7VweI7fXg NickD

Forgive them, Gypsy, all they know is all they know . . . NickD

Oh, I forgot . . . I also won one the drawings (they ripped a deck of cards in half) and I got it with the Queen of Diamonds! I won a tee-shirt, a key chain (with a bottle opener that's pretty cool) and a one day motorcycle rental (any model) from Laidlaw's Harley Davidson. Haven't decided if I'll rent a bagger I can thrash or a sporty for Julia . . . LOL! NickD

Nina won her first trophy today! Best in class (custom) at the Vietnam Vets MC Mardi Gras Run and Show! NickD

Have almost a 1000 miles on Nina! NickD

I was 13 years old and living on Lincoln Street in Riverhead, Long Island, New York in 1967 and it was my very first real job. Delivering fifty-five copies of the Suffolk Sun newspaper on my trusty Schwinn Stingray bicycle. My alarm clock would go off at 4:45 AM but I was usually awake already as the bundle of papers landing heavily on our front porch was enough to rouse me. Depending on the weather it would take me anywhere from 45 minutes to two hours to complete my route. But today would be the latter as it snowed heavily during the night and I'd have to walk the route as no way could I ride my bike through the deep snow. Sometimes when the weather was really extreme (like during a blizzard) Dad would drive me but today wasn't bad enough for that. Before setting out I'd have to drag the bundle of papers inside and put inserts, if there were any, inside each copy of the paper. Then fold the paper into thirds and put a rubber band around it. You couldn't just throw the Suffolk Sun as they advertised "door knob" delivery so each paper had to be hung on the customer's door knob via the rubber band. And that's what made the route so time consuming. One day last summer I was hanging the paper on a new customer's screen door when a killer dog bounded right through the screen and bit me a half dozen times before the homeowner pulled him off. The homeowner took me to the hospital where I got stitched up and nothing was ever said about it. It was just the chances we newspaper delivery boys took. I had to be finished with my route in time to make it back home, have breakfast, and catch the school bus. If not I'd have to ride my bike to school, if the plows had made it through by then, or just walk it. This morning it was probably in the thirties temperature wise but when you're 13 years old you don't much notice things like that. So I bundled up and threw the canvas bag full of papers over my shoulder and set out. I didn't even make it to the end of my driveway before falling down. The first of about a dozen times I would do so. Today would be double duty as it was the dreaded collection day. Customers were supplied with envelopes they were supposed to leave for me with the money in it. But if they didn't I'd have to go around the route again after school to collect in person. "I'm sorry, my husband didn't leave me the money this morning, can you come back tomorrow?" Was the most popular excuse I got. I had three days to collect all the money before having to turn it in and woe betide the kid who was short. And yes, any shortages came right out of our pay. There was always some new kid who'd lament, "Hey, it's not my fault they didn't pay up!" But it was our fault. According to the Suffolk Sun they were selling the papers directly to us and what we did with them after that was our own lookout. It was the first and probably most important lesson in "business" I ever learned. I didn't have a wrist watch or anything, but I could judge my progress along my route by the things I observed. Mr. Pulaski always left for work promptly at 5:30 AM, the milk delivery was or wasn't at a particular house yet, Mrs. Pike's kitchen lights were on. My best gauge though was when I ran into my classmate Daniel who's route bumped into mine along Roanoke Avenue. If he was just turning the corner when I was halfway down the block I was ahead of him or vice-versa. It was a good-natured rivalry I looked forward to every morning. It also meant bragging rights the rest of the day in school. This morning I was way ahead of him. But I quickly saw why. Daniel was small for his age and had trouble carrying that canvas bag chock full of newspapers. So he had the bag on his bike and because of the snow was struggling to push the bike along. Sometimes, on those rare days when Dad would drive me we'd both see Daniel out there and Dad would offer to drive him too. But he always politely refused. Sometime later I learned Daniel didn't have a father (the first kid I ever knew without one) and although I haven't seen Daniel for over 40 years I'd bet my last dollar he made a good success of his life. The end of my route was easier of course. As I went along the bag became lighter and lighter until it was almost empty. It was never completely empty though. They always gave us a few extra copies as it wasn't too unusual for a car to stop with a, "Hey kid, got an extra paper?" And we were allowed to keep that money for ourselves. As I turned the corner on Osbourn Avenue I could already smell Mom's pancakes. I'd collected from all but about ten people so after school today wouldn't be so bad. I shook off the snow on our porch and unbundled myself in the mud room. "How'd it go this morning, Nicky?" Mom always asked, "Where you ahead of Daniel?" If I still had an extra paper I'd break it out and read it over my pancakes. I'd seen the headlines while folding them up earlier in the morning and would be somewhat curious. I never completely understood what I was reading but it began a lifetime love affair with reading a daily newspaper. But I'll admit, even to this day, I still don't understand everything I read in the newspaper. Nowadays no milk gets delivered, but my morning paper still comes. I have to walk down the driveway to get it (which bugs me to no end) and it's delivered by a man in a car. And I don't understand that either. "Another pancake," Mom asked. "No thanks, Mom, I can just make the bus." "Okay then, have a good day at school." Oh yes I would! I was going to get to bust Daniel's chops all day! NickD

>>to show tandem BASE I/E

Allow me extend and revise my remarks . . . >>All new B.A.S.E. jumpers suck!

New B.A.S.E jumpers suck! NickD

2.5 unless I'm in a crowd. Then I'll go down to 1500 feet looking for clean air . . . (no gizmo, of course!) NickD

When we were doing AFF classes for big groups of Japanese we'd always have a big banquet on their final night. (No, not before their first jump, LOL.) One time we decided to do up a hog. A local jumper assured me he knew a farmer and we could get a good sized one for a song. When we got to the place I was expecting it to be all packaged up but the truth of it was quite a bit different. "Sure thing, ya'all go up to the big pen and pick one out. Did you bring a gun?" "Ah, no." "Okay, use this," he said handing me a 357 magnum and six rounds and he warned me, "hit 'em square between the eyes or he won't go down." As we drove up to the big pen I handed the pistol over. "This was your idea," I said, "you shoot him." "All right, I'll shoot 'em, but you pick out the one." So now I'm looking at five or six 400 pound hogs. I felt like that guy picking out Jews train-side. "The big one," I said, "no wait, the small one," dammit I thought, "just kill one already!" And oh boy, it didn't go well. It took four rounds to the head and that hog squealed like a human being the whole time. By the time we hung him up back at the DZ and dressed him out I never wanted to eat pork ever again. Our quests loved it, and probably won't forget it. But neither will I. The smell of bacon makes me wretch now . . . NickD

Tandem, however Ted and Bill envisioned it, is only and was only good for the the blind, and the otherwise physically handicapped. It wasn't meant for those with no balls and who were scared shitless. But because we made it cheap and oh so easy is why the sky is now full of people who are most liable to panic. They will always zig, when you think, they will zag, and kill you . . . NickD

Is there any bigger piece a shit than Sean Hannity? http://tv.gawker.com/5634468/jon-stewart-msnbc-should-take-notes-from-fox-news NickD

My GP HD isn't working either. I have to pull the battery out to get it to turn on, but if you turn it off you have to repeat that process to turn it on again. Also getting it into USB mode is hit or miss, mostly miss. I checked the GP HD support forum and there's more than a few folks with similar problems. And the firmware update didn't alter its behavior. I'm hoping for a RMA too. NickD

It's sad how a country of immigrants has become so anti-immigrant . . . One day back in the early 90s I was working on Coronado Island in San Diego. I'd catch the ferry back and forth across the bay but this day (on my way home) I was a bit early so I walked down to sit on the sea wall and wait. I looked down at the water and the rocks and saw what I first thought was a dead body. It was a man, fully clothed, laying half in and out of the water. Jumping down I put my hand on his shoulder and we both got a big scare when he suddenly jerked upright. He wasn't a man at all, he was boy probably 17 years old or so, he was ragged looking, and he tried to scramble out of my reach. "Hola, Senior," I said in my best street Spanish, "Está bien usted?" He looked at me and I could clearly see he was exhausted, but he nodded that he was indeed all right. "La Migra?" He asked me. "No," I said, "I'm not the immigration police." It took a while but I got most of his story. He was from Chiapas, the most southern state in Mexico. He was trying to reach his Uncle’s house, an Uncle he'd never met that lived in Los Angeles. It had taken him a couple of months to get this far, and from what I could understand it sounded like he walked most of the way, hitchhiked some, and hopped a freight train or two. That's a journey of over two thousand miles. My God, I thought, the balls on this kid. Coronado only looks like an island when you see it from the city of San Diego. It's actually a peninsula connected on its south side to the mainland. I took it he got passed the U.S. - Mexico boarder by swimming around it via the Pacific Ocean and landing somewhere in Imperial Beach. No small feat considering he would have to get out past the breakers to do so. All up it was probably a two mile swim in rough cold water. But now he was stuck. He was trying to reach the Amtrak Station in San Diego but couldn't figure out a way across the bay. I guess he actually tried to swim for it, but realizing he was to so tired he turned back and that's when I found him. This kid was totally out of gas. I took him up to a little food stand that sold Gyros and bought him two and Coke. He didn't know what a Gyro was but gobbled them down and laughed when I told him they were Greek Tacos. He showed me a train ticket and a U.S. fifty dollar bill he had carefully folded up in a plastic bag. He also had his Uncle’s phone number. The last thing he showed me was a photograph of his mother and what appeared to be several younger brothers and sisters. It wasn’t a very happy looking picture as they all looked to be at the end of their ropes too. I wasn't sure the ticket he had was still any good but by then I had decided to help this kid out and we'd deal with the ticket thing when the time came. He totally looked like what he was. So I bought him some fresh clothes and a cap in one of the tourist shops and sent him into one of the rest rooms to clean up. While he was doing that I purchased another ferry ticket. Sometimes in the past I’d occasionally seen Boarder Patrol agents riding the ferry and checking people out. So we waited until it was about to pull out before jumping aboard at the last minute. His English was limited to yes and no, but not always at the appropriate time, so I told him if anyone said anything to us I’d do the talking and he should just smile and nod a lot. The ride across the bay was uneventful and I was looking at the train ticket he had. I think I got that his Uncle had sent it to him, but I wasn’t 100 percent sure it was still good. Worse was even though he took great pains to protect it, it looked like it had been through the mill. I considered buying him a fresh ticket but realized my name would be on and the possible consequences of that if something went awry. But I decided to chance it. I could always say I lost the ticket and there was something in this kid’s eyes that told me, no matter what, he’d never give me up. I actually considered going straight to my boat (I was living on a sailboat at the time in Harbor Island) and getting my truck and just driving him up to Los Angeles. But there was an immigration checkpoint on the I-5 freeway between here and there, and while I don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble, that dealio, if we were caught, would be a bit too much. I stashed him on a bench outside the station and went inside were I bought a one-way ticket to LA’s Union Station, a newspaper, and a Los Angeles street map. There was a Pacific Surfliner already sitting in the station pointing north and it was about a half hour away from leaving. I explained to him that after he found a seat, how to put the ticket onto the back of the seat in front of him, and to hold up the newspaper up in front of himself like he was engrossed in reading. And not to talk to anyone or move around once he was seated. Hopefully, when the conductor came by he’d just grab the ticket off the seatback, punch it, and that would be that. I also told him not to go all the way to Union Station. That place was always full of cops and immigration officials looking for guys like him. I told him to get off in Fullerton, the last stop before LA, and call his Uncle from there. If for some reason his people couldn’t come for him, but he got an address, I told him to use the fifty bucks he had on a cab as that would be the safest way. His only problem now was sometimes the Boarder Patrol rode on the Amtrak too, and they could come aboard anywhere along the line. There’s was nothing we could do about that, and if it happened, he’d just be shit out of luck. People were beginning to board the train now and I saw the conductor standing by the door checking tickets. We just watched for a bit until I was sure he saw how it worked, shook his hand, and watched him go for it. He walked up and got in line like he knew exactly what he was doing. Meanwhile, I was shaking in my boots. He flashed his ticket at the conductor who didn’t look twice at him and the air came out of me like a popped balloon. I walked around to the other side of the train and watched through the window as he sat down and placed his ticket just like I showed him. I looked around hoping not to see any Boarder Patrol agents. I’m not sure what I would’ve done if I saw any moving toward the train, maybe walk up and start a fight with someone as a diversion, LOL. I’ve often thought of him over the years. Wondering how he made out and what became of him. I hope to God he made it. But I remember one thing like it was yesterday. As the train slowly pulled out, there he sat, engrossed in that newspaper he couldn’t read, looking so confident and I was so proud on him. He ever so slightly looked my way for just a second and smiled a silent thank you. And I thought to myself, now there goes a real American. My god, the balls on that kid . . . NickD

Thanks, I'll look into it . . . I just got pulled over for the first time on Nina. I was going down Tuna Canyon Road this morning (getting a ride in before it got too hot out) and I passed a Glendale motor officer going the other way. He gave me enough of a look that I knew he was going to turn around and come after me. He came up on me, but just paced me for a bit. (I was doing the speed limit the entire time.) He got into my blind spot so I turned my head to look at him and he motioned me over. We were on a curve and it was a narrow two laner so I kept going looking for a safer spot. (I see enough people getting hit on the side of the road at work.) And he seemed to know what I was doing. I came to side street, signaled (with my brand new turn signals, LOL) and pulled up. He was riding a BMW. He said hello and I said hello and he mentioned he pulled me over because of my license plate. He said from the right side of the bike it was impossible to see. I told him according to the law it was legal and he just looked at it for a while. "Well," he said, "I guess it's all right." I was thinking he probably had no trouble running my plate number while he was pacing me but I didn't say anything. "Are all those lights working?" "Yes sir, all those lights are working." He then asked for my license, registration, and insurance, but he didn't run me through the radio for warrants or anything. "Okay," and he was smiling now, "that's a real nice bike you have there. Have a good weekend and be careful out here!" And that was that . . . NickD

"Malfunction Junction" isn't the worst place to be. It's "Too Late Junction" you have to avoid . . . NickD

Some might recall when for many years these devices were known as AOD(s) for Automatic Opening Device before being changed to AAD for (Automatic Activation Device) just to prevent this type of lawsuit. But this was bound to happen sooner or later . . . In hindsight Helmut's manual (and advertising) should never mention a reserve canopy. The gizmo is a loop cutter and nothing more. On the other hand I hope it becomes clear to Mom that the company she's trying to wipe out is responsible for saving who knows how many hundreds of lives. NickD

Education (the catch all newbie answer) doesn't work as too few are capable of effectively passing it on, and even less so are capable of absorbing it. Sorry, but the current emergency situation consisting of "hard turn - bounce" ad nauseam requires regulation. I never thought I'd say that. But I also never thought we'd allow ourselves to spawn a generation of lessor jumpers. NickD

I'd be working on the book I'd have published the day they pulled me out of there. CHAPTER 1 - The Smell . . . NickD

Not sure what you're getting at with this, but just in case it's what I think it is, then go fuck yourself . . . http://jerome-mccauley.last-memories.com/index.php NickD

Here's my "theory." You bump into someone someday somewhere and you "build" a life! NickD

When I was nineteen years old I was already in the Marine Corps for three years and had a hundred jumps. Grow a god damn set of balls! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFgiUm4lQig NickD (Tough Love Light On)

Zig Zag is only good for rolling up the buds. What he meant was serpentine. And that's only good when the gators are shooting at you . . . NickD