tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63764261010777229432024-03-05T12:37:34.258-08:00Ed's Eco AdventuresIt's Florida and we are kayaking, paddleboarding, fishing, surfing and more...want to come along? Spend time with the rarest of all living things in Florida: Florida natives...
Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.comBlogger297125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-48189359655022804512023-09-29T15:21:00.000-07:002023-09-29T15:21:04.238-07:00Two Old Coots and the Tow-headed kid<p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-nShbCt7svb6vi0oHskjxNBEhUS4-qYDRCUj0z-D5Kl1nKv2lRHmE-U_703Yo844zXPv_cSM6zTNA_aHl260L9r-qdnvTR3Uu2M7FH9sJdqwWC9_gzhu5SoWt5eMVaTW4whMZfria9h0XebNYcuOukK3-GTIIGoj8aKq5j1jrWn_AvH6MiNt_OVqlb6P/s1424/IMG_4890.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1424" data-original-width="1380" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-nShbCt7svb6vi0oHskjxNBEhUS4-qYDRCUj0z-D5Kl1nKv2lRHmE-U_703Yo844zXPv_cSM6zTNA_aHl260L9r-qdnvTR3Uu2M7FH9sJdqwWC9_gzhu5SoWt5eMVaTW4whMZfria9h0XebNYcuOukK3-GTIIGoj8aKq5j1jrWn_AvH6MiNt_OVqlb6P/s320/IMG_4890.jpeg" width="310" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was sleeping that great way you can when it's cold out and the only way to stay warm is to keep the sleeping bag pulled up the way up over your head. You know it's dark outside and getting out of that bag merely means the pain of the upcoming day is about to begin. Sure, there will be wonderful sunrises and sunsets. The sky will be clear and blue, and the leaves will be in the midst of changing to the vibrant colors that happen in the fall. BUT...you will be seeing and feeling all of that while carrying a large pack with tent, sleeping bag, and all of the supplies for 5 days on your back while marching uphill with small breaks to eat some food that tastes like something from a vending machine that hasn't been serviced in five years. Yes, there are times when it seems like the best part of the day is right before you crawl out of that sleeping bag.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">At some point, I looked at my watch and marveled that it still seemed dark at 7am, and thought, if we don't get going, the uphill marching will continue farther into the night than I might prefer. I pulled on enough clothes to make it worth venturing out to attempt a decent cup of coffee. I had the tent half unzipped when this head floated into view, saying "I have a great deal for you!". It took me a minute to register where I was, who I was, and I had to hold my hand up, while I realized that it was Levi, my grand nephew, the only 12 year-old I'd ever met that wanted to go backpacking with a couple of old guys. Levi kind of reminded me of myself at 12 years old, except that I remember me as being a shy bookworm, that loved science fiction, and books in general, much more than any physical activity. If this kid had any of my DNA, it was polished up, and refocused in a totally different direction. He was tall, thin, with a shock of blonde hair, and a personality that knew no enemies, just prospective friends. He was smart and could talk a mile a minute, and that's what was happening now. We had arrived on this trip with me in a solo tent and Levi and his grandfather sharing a two-man tent. The idea was that Levi might be scared sleeping alone in the woods and having his PopPop nearby might offer some comfort. This was our first morning after sleeping under the stars and Levi already decided the sleeping arrangements could be improved. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> </span>"So, I could sleep in your tent tonight and you and PopPop could sleep in the other tent together!" My guess was Levi was thinking I might enjoy Paul's snoring, and Paul might enjoy mine. I almost felt sorry for the kid for a hot moment and then replied, "You're on your own, kid. I got my tent and that's where I'm sleeping!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-66732342375600268542023-05-23T08:05:00.001-07:002023-05-23T08:10:23.154-07:00Traveling The Potomac River The Hard Way: Part 2<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVqMgfbpkkgAZ7MrEXqrS7I9skyXSZxxa7r7pbrGl1cClFhV5dCktBnj5x9TNsXEKc5acz5I2TAQ7wn8gKiLqsiAn8e4MY6suUDktRg_CRyjAXAQEMek8LfkiwO7rxxiB42xNfTQmlkjRo_xI_sUMWCql3-XL4qKgjupQ9gWsYtvukClUoYp-RRU4uQ/s4032/Ed%20on%20Amtrak.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVqMgfbpkkgAZ7MrEXqrS7I9skyXSZxxa7r7pbrGl1cClFhV5dCktBnj5x9TNsXEKc5acz5I2TAQ7wn8gKiLqsiAn8e4MY6suUDktRg_CRyjAXAQEMek8LfkiwO7rxxiB42xNfTQmlkjRo_xI_sUMWCql3-XL4qKgjupQ9gWsYtvukClUoYp-RRU4uQ/s320/Ed%20on%20Amtrak.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It sounded great on paper. An epic journey beginning with riding the Amtrak train from Winter Park, FL to Washington DC and then riding bikes from there to Cumberland, MD on the historic C&O trail, stopping at hotels in small towns and sampling the food and culture along the way. It was to be an escape from the incessant Sunshine and heat of Central Florida. The talk of this trip began way before the whole Covid Pandemic and much of the discussion was, could we even pull this off? What kind of bikes would we need to make the trip. In the beginning, we were riding lowslung Catrikes and were told they couldn't go on the train, nor would they work very well on the rough conditions of the trail...fast forward to 2023 and we were on lightweight e-bikes that weighed less than the 50 pound limit of Amtrak and had enough range to last a day. We started attempting long distance trips close to home, loaded down with saddlebags, seeing if we could really do 60 mile a day for multiple days. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We booked pretty far in advance, as the space for bikes is limited on Amtrak, and what started getting a little spooky as the trip was getting closer...the weather forecast...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was hot, but not that kind of hot where you can smell the asphalt melting under your feet. Steve and I were standing alongside the railroad track in downtown Winter Park, FL. A quaint little place in central Florida, populated by the very rich and those who serve them. It was one of those places where the phrase "the wrong side of the tracks" came from. On one side was Park Ave and the blocks of shops that sold things that didn't have price tags on them...the kind where if you had to ask, you could not afford them.On the other side of the tracks was Hannibal square. The place where black folks used to live, and is now populated with hipsters that paid lots of money to have a small old house on a tiny lot, with a new Tesla parked out front. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We waited patiently, wondering what was ahead, when we started feeling the train coming from the vibrations at our feet. Moments later, our bikes were handed up to the gentleman in the baggage car and we were welcomed up and into our roomette on the sleeper car. It was calm and exciting at the same time. Nothing much like an airplane terminal in Orlando. We had our own concierge and he took us to our room and explained how everything worked. My first impression was that it was a long time ago that this train was new, and it must have been built for smaller people. Neither Steve nor I are small and we were jammed in, facing each other...for the next 17 hours. The seats folded together to make a single bed and there was some kind of contraption that pulled down from the ceiling and made a top bunk. Steve took one look at that and said, "You are sleeping up there!" By this time, the train was rolling down the track and I was looking at a familiar landscape from a totally different perspective. I was thinking this was going to be much better than backpacking. I mean I had a really good bike, some electrical motor help if I needed it and it wasn't going to be hot like Florida...the only thing was, I was still getting over a really bad cold I had picked up a week before. I was gulping Steroids, Anti-biotics and cough medicine. It was going to be epic, I just knew it. Our Concierge came by and request our dinner desires and things were really looking up. A few hours later, we lurched our way up to the dining car, just like in the movies and picked up our trays. There was plenty of food. It wasn't awesome, but it was way better than some things I've had before and since. We sat together in silence in the dining car, munching on steak while looking at the industrial landscape rolling by us...that part was nothing like the movies. Apparently, where they put the railroad tracks in Florida is the equivalent of looking out behind a restaurant....they must figure nobody is ever going to look at that. We started seeing rain, and kept telling each other that it was just sprinkles and that will just cool stuff off a bit..then I started noticing how deep the mud puddles were in the fields...and it was raining harder.. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-43184079171259632942023-05-06T06:02:00.000-07:002023-05-06T06:02:55.127-07:00Traveling the Potomac River the Hard Way: part 1<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGNBRd4fT3ZudyPBdZNWjYjC4YXyvo0R0GGZUG5aPEfRrzK9XRpsT5ToxUJbc18r6I8lVlUAx-1AszTiZl8jjDgPSYBedaT1m89_uXYPZ6sHmXR5OS2h_G7ZffYAmgB-khSn-iAM88BzSQ9fuTtdjcvYqsQGv3lUyPu2k59M8LIsQHAJAt3rppfjoyBg/s4032/IMG_4453.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGNBRd4fT3ZudyPBdZNWjYjC4YXyvo0R0GGZUG5aPEfRrzK9XRpsT5ToxUJbc18r6I8lVlUAx-1AszTiZl8jjDgPSYBedaT1m89_uXYPZ6sHmXR5OS2h_G7ZffYAmgB-khSn-iAM88BzSQ9fuTtdjcvYqsQGv3lUyPu2k59M8LIsQHAJAt3rppfjoyBg/s320/IMG_4453.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’m having this well-known feeling of dread. In spite of
being prepared six-ways from Sunday for every possibility, here I am. It’s
starting to get dark, traffic is rushing all around me, and I’m pushing my
fully loaded bike up yet one more hill. I’m in Bethesda, Maryland. I don’t know
why, and I don’t where exactly where my hotel room is and my waterproof phone
inside a waterproof case is acting very much like water is winning the war. I’m
down to a couple bars of battery and I have no idea of what happened to my
battery-backup brick. I’ve been pushing for hours and ahead of me is one more
steep hill. Steve calls me from the hotel to say he is following me on the
locator app and that I’m heading in the wrong direction. I’d like to stop and
discuss this, but I’m also noticing a guy across the street waving his arms and
yelling at the passing cars. He sees me, and decides to cross the crowded six
lane highway to come over and help me with the bike. I’m tired, medicated,
soaked to the bone, and almost ready to hand this $4000 bike over to anybody
that would like it. Of course, any would-be robber might notice that one of the
crank arms and pedals is missing. Yes, even expensive bicycles can break, and
when this kind of failure occurs, pushing is the only option.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I know, you are already thinking, me? I’d just call Uber! I
did that, and the Uber guy pulled up, looked at me and drove away fast….yeah
that was a one star review, and then I got really unhappy when Uber told me I
got charged $8 for the guy to come look at me and drive off. Before that point,
I was even smarter (my brain cells were dying off at a rapid rate). I had
pushed the bike to a Home Depot, and rented a truck to carry it to the hotel,
somewhere off in a distant place, that seemed so much closer when I had two
functioning pedals. I ran inside Home Depot, waited patiently, while dripping everywhere,
and people staring at me and my muddy, loaded-up bike. Got the keys to truck,
ran out to Steve and rolled up the back door and turned to see Steve’s face. It
wasn’t good. I turned back to the truck and it was loaded to the ceiling with
used drywall material. The Home Depot crew came out, tsk-tsked, took photos and
mumbled about how somebody was in big trouble…but there were no more trucks,
and nobody wanted to unload the drywall….if I had known how the day would
proceed after that….I would have unloaded the truck by myself…Meanwhile, Steve
decided he needed to pedal on to the hotel to make sure the bed was made
correctly…</span><o:p></o:p></p></div><p></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-64732761575118561832022-07-31T05:09:00.003-07:002022-08-01T10:42:18.840-07:00A Black Night On The Trail<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-8fLUptgIa1x-yb2YAkRS-I3darMYIb6zTMsXiRuUn-S9h37VGZ474-I7_B8qa-QFlXiurgZ1XZEqAMDZWGQZy6hOuFIflFjP29vAVdHXXRlkF0KaA6pk20BeaFUoo7T5bp6MDltDfFWtaNe6FPFhtJZhYWQutCprbD5WrF844eyyA_OTM3TAO-VEg/s4032/IMG_3883.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-8fLUptgIa1x-yb2YAkRS-I3darMYIb6zTMsXiRuUn-S9h37VGZ474-I7_B8qa-QFlXiurgZ1XZEqAMDZWGQZy6hOuFIflFjP29vAVdHXXRlkF0KaA6pk20BeaFUoo7T5bp6MDltDfFWtaNe6FPFhtJZhYWQutCprbD5WrF844eyyA_OTM3TAO-VEg/s320/IMG_3883.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />I was sitting on the step of a shelter on the Appalachian Trail, doing what I normally do while on the hike, pulling everything out of my backpack, looking for the one thing I need that always seems to be on the bottom. I think I need a special pack that opens on the bottom and that might be my one big contribution to the backpacking community. While I'm examining the contents of my pack and marveling at how many things I've brought along that I have yet to use, I'm listening to brother Paul tell his famous stories to a young couple that we met at the shelter. They were quite an oddity. Both were in their early 20's at most and both were fair-skinned red-heads. My kids are redheads and I'm often told by my daughter that red-heads do not go together. I'm not sure if that is some genetic thing, or just that two wildcard personalities don't usually match. But, this time it did and the second thing I realized about them is they were really scared. They were sitting very close, knees touching and holding hands while they told the story of their last few days to Paul. I was trying not to listen, but did anyway and soon I was getting goosebumps and wondering if I could make it all the way back to the car without stopping....and that would have been an incredible feat, because it was getting late in the day and the car was an 8 hour hike ahead of us.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I frequently marvel how worry and fear can consume me, yet many things I do all the time don't bother me much at all. If my brain can find some kind of math that makes me feel good, I'm fine. For example, surfing. Many people worry about shark attacks, and I live in a place where that is more likely than others, but what I know is that I am way more likely to die of drowning while surfing than from a shark attack, so I spend my energy making sure I'm safe from that...at least until I see a big shark fin heading towards me, then everything changes. Fear on the trail is a different thing. I've learned that the small sounds you hear in the night are not bears, no, even medium sounds are probably raccoons, A bear would sound like a dinosaur plodding in the dark. What IS scary is footsteps, careful, deliberate footsteps.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The young couple was asking if we minded stopping here at this shelter and spending the night with them. That was something I had never heard before. Usually hikers want solitude and hope that you are moving on. These two were hoping we could lend some protection from this ominous person they had met several times and thought he might be stalking them. They described him as an older homeless-looking guy with wild eyes that loved telling horror stories. The girl relayed one that I cannot forget to this day. The man said he had been hiking all day and was running low on food and came to an opening in the woods where somebody had placed some trail magic. Trail magic is a hiker term for presents people leave in the woods for fellow hikers, usually it is food, sometimes, it is something you can't usually get in the woods like a cold beer in an ice chest, but it is always something that brightens up your day in a large way. This time, he did find a large ice chest, and ran for it, hoping for some cold drink and something to eat. He opened chest and found it full of raccoon heads. Somebody had gone to all of the trouble to kill a dozen raccoons and leave their grizzly remains behind for a terrible joke on a hiker.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">His wild eyes gleamed at the young girl as he reached that part of the story and she slowly realized that he was the one that had placed the dead raccoons in the ice chest. They left him soon after that, but he was calling after them, asking if they were planning on staying at the next shelter and to save him a place to bunk. They ran as fast as young folks can with full backpacks, and knew that they were now deep in the woods with a crazy person. Their hope was Paul and I. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is where my low-level reptilian self takes over...there is no way I'm sleeping in the woods, waiting for crazy guy to show up. "We hike all night until we make the car. I'd rather die from exhaustion than getting chopped up by a serial killer!" Paul wanted to make a stand, find a big stick, make booby-traps, surround the guy, tie him up and take him into the cops.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">While this discussion was going on, my brain was also flashing how this would be a great story if i survived, and if I didn't, perhaps that "found diary" would be my "black Travis McGee story". That certainly needs explaining. A part of our society has wanted to clean up our literature, in an effort to show that we are better than we used to be. John D. MacDonald's books may someday fit into that category. He was an old guy, writing that kind of stuff we still get today, where tough detective guy solves the problem while disposing of the bad guy and getting all the chicks...except that in John's day, the female characters weren't too well fleshed out, and the black folks they got even less. Me? I think we need to remember how people were and we read that stuff and didn't complain. I'd like to think we've moved to a higher plane, but I'm not so sure. John did one particular thing with all of his Travis McGee stories: they all used a color in the title. There was a large rumor in the literary community that when John died, he left behind a manuscript that was the "Black Travis McGee Story", the one in which Travis died. No one ever found such a story, but that particular night it occurred to me that this might be the Black Ed Perkins story.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We pushed on, using headlamps and eating whatever we could while walking. All the while listening for footsteps behind us, and that my friend, was the fear feeling I carried with me for a whole night.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We got home, laughed about it, then read in the news that a homeless man that had been traveling up and down the Trail had killed two people with a machete. The description was that two young men had tried to restrain the man while the woman with them ran ahead...Those two young men died. The woman ran the trail for 6 miles......running 6 miles in the woods and knowing your friends were getting murdered behind you....that is a real fear....</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-51183545348247132852022-05-02T04:49:00.002-07:002022-05-02T04:49:41.444-07:00The Wilderness Of Things That Need Some Explaining: Part 3<p> <span style="font-family: verdana;">I've had a few times in life when my senses totally let me down. Where this happens the most is on the water. I remember looking across a bay from my kayak and thinking "What is the world is a large cruise ship doing in this bay?" and when it finally gets close, it's a small shrimp boat. I'm pretty aware that my brain is trying to make sense out of something with bad information. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">That was happening to me tonight. There was a pink light floating out there in the woods. This is the same woods where the wild PTSD guy was menacing us earlier in the day. There was also a guy running around somewhere out there with a sock over his head and I was starting to feel like a kid that had been told one too many scary stories around a campfire.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">My pulse was racing and I realized that being alone is quite a bit different than sitting around with my two armed brothers that are also karate experts. I was hearing crackling sounds behind me and then to my right and I knew then that there is a distinct amount of worry that I can handle at one time. Then I felt the wet touch of something with a really bad smell. I turned to face the monster alone, still not registering the full amount of fear that was working it's way up my chest and wanting to be born as a full blown scream, when my brain did another one of those tricks. Suddenly, the monster came into view, and it was a huge Pitbull dog with a large pink harness with glowing LED lights all over it. Confusion reigned with knowledge that I was alone in the woods with a wild pitbull dog and the cute pink harness claiming that she was a friendly girl...In the end, the pink harness did define the situation, and once she determined that I was a nice guy, she laid down by the fire, just out of reach.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Not much later, the guys returned from their ride and the pink-alien dog ran off. Nobody believed my story, and many laughs were heard around the campfire as I tried to explain what had happened. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">As wild as the weekend seemed to be in my head, we had a blast getting jeeps stuck in the mud and driving places where it would have taken a tractor to get us out. It was almost perfect until I backed into a tree leaving the campsite....good news...I had not worried about that beforehand at all!<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-32904710652416295412022-02-10T04:36:00.001-08:002022-02-10T07:42:28.436-08:00The Wilderness Of Things That Need Some Explaining Pt 2<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNUO9uaMJa28nUXp6vxplT_riqejGvxlOX1ZZFqMwdVoNMdJpAJ1LgKisXC3V9Hj3H5vBUtUPPcgQyVdhchbHUxZCo2jHc36K7TnxyYX7X8sld5-HcWxG7SUQc22qfEcIdzg6kOdABRBvLcluVc8yWqBF4NBrYJupRwW7Z9EhKWhLR95IMRMUmqte1_Q=s1044" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1044" data-original-width="751" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNUO9uaMJa28nUXp6vxplT_riqejGvxlOX1ZZFqMwdVoNMdJpAJ1LgKisXC3V9Hj3H5vBUtUPPcgQyVdhchbHUxZCo2jHc36K7TnxyYX7X8sld5-HcWxG7SUQc22qfEcIdzg6kOdABRBvLcluVc8yWqBF4NBrYJupRwW7Z9EhKWhLR95IMRMUmqte1_Q=s320" width="230" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Wednesday was a day driving of going down endless intersecting dirt roads, and at one point I was 100% sure of where I was going...and I was wrong. Jeeps are just amazing in that they seem to like going places that would have killed other vehicles I've owned. When I first bought the Jeep, I pretty much thought I would be the guy that had fun owning one, but never actually getting in a situation where I needed 4 wheel drive. My brothers made sure that was not the case, and right off the bat there was "Do you think I can make it? Hold my beer!". Then we took out the bikes and rode another trail for hours until we figured we could follow the power lines and somehow end up back near our campsite. Paul was our scout, and the crazy guy had not seen Paul before, so he rode through the area, and saw the guy yelling into his phone that he was being attacked by Jeepers and they need to get a ranger out here now! We decided to spend some more time riding around and perhaps venture back late in the day. I was suggesting that perhaps we should camp in Paul's driveway, while Steve kept pulling out his gun and seeing if there were any bullets in the clip, sort of the way I keep checking my back pocket to make sure I brought my wallet. Meanwhile, Paul is talking about how this is turning into the best trip in recent history, and we haven't even set up tents yet!</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We rode until our butts wore out from the bouncing, and finally decided around 3:30 to see if the guy was ever going to leave. He was gone, but now the other sites were full. There were still embers in the campfire, and as a weird sidenote..that fire was going the whole time we were there. I'm not sure about much else with that strange guy, but he was a hell of a fire starter.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We got our stuff set up and sat around the fire discussing meals, politics...nowadays we start with "Not to be political, but...", and what kind of crazies are in these woods. I remembered that my Dad spoke of camping solo in Ocala and the large group of Rainbow people up there. About that time, I started noticing a single character walking around the 3 campsites, as if looking for something. Strange manner of dress for this place. He/it was wearing tight clothes like you might wear for skiing and a headpiece that totally had no features. It looked like a giant black sock with no holes for eyes or mouth. I was more than a little bit freaked out, but Steve said it was probably mosquito netting, while he tightened his grip on his shoulder holster. Me, I was looking for signs of some kind of giant sword or knife. After a while, he was gone and I wondered if I had imagined the whole thing. The guys did not seem worried, and Paul said what we really need is a night ride in the woods! Yeah....I don't know about that, but I had a whole different problem, because as we pulled our bikes out to ride, I realized I had a big flat tire. They rode off while I sat at the campfire, content to work on my bike, none of the worries of real life, and pretty sure that SquidGames boy wasn't coming back in the dark...or at least I wouldn't notice it if he did. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I fixed that tire in record time, pretty good considering I was working with a flashlight and strange noises in the bushes from time to time....Guys? Is that you? No answer...but there was this glowing pink circle floating in the woods, it almost seemed as if it was slowing making it's way towards me. I quickly grabbed a bicycle tire tool in defense...not really sure if that was going to stop an alien...</span><br /> </p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-51936688855301990312022-02-04T15:22:00.003-08:002022-02-04T15:29:26.577-08:00The Wilderness of Things That Need Some Explaining Part 1<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5YMhCL-K0AKjlXPxs40RBh2FzDn-dLO-FXvOWm04-4TlgodtPSOINe2l_GnqbVdQoY0JuAvblKtpSiB7mRKUUwlT9msWm7DvceWWB5B-4wcRLQ1O-gL7dTYUsXdJONKjqEm2qGbBed7pbojF88xG4GVmQlC_lER46T43Gy3sjXE4HDaXlASjXsDd3SQ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5YMhCL-K0AKjlXPxs40RBh2FzDn-dLO-FXvOWm04-4TlgodtPSOINe2l_GnqbVdQoY0JuAvblKtpSiB7mRKUUwlT9msWm7DvceWWB5B-4wcRLQ1O-gL7dTYUsXdJONKjqEm2qGbBed7pbojF88xG4GVmQlC_lER46T43Gy3sjXE4HDaXlASjXsDd3SQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I sat back for a minute in my Walmart campstool and wondered just how many things could go sideways in one short trip. The three brothers in adventure were trying something totally new: Primitive camping in a state forest. Yes, there were designated sites, with a picnic table and a fire ring for campfires. Bathroom facilities? One community Port-o-let, shared by the 5 campsites. Unisex, you might ask? Well, if a woman ever ventured out in these woods, she wouldn't be the kind to stand in line for the ladies room in a bar while the mens room stood empty.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Perhaps I should concentrate on the things that went right. We all have jeeps, and great electric mountain bikes, and weather that any northerner would give their paycheck for right now. It was cold enough to wear a light jacket and sleep easy in a good sleeping bag in a tent, after enjoying a roaring campfire. The Cedar Creek Campground really seemed like a place nobody could ever find, but I did find it with google, after ignoring Siri's constant suggestion that I try the Cedar Creek Campground up in Middleberg....either Siri has a quirky sense of humor or she doesn't know that Middleberg was having some serious non-camping weather.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">My first day started off awesome, with little idea of what was ahead. I was rolling down A1A, taking the scenic route with the top off, once it warmed up enough. The tide was high and the waves were big with really clean faces from the light offshore wind. I was sipping on my second cup of coffee when Steve called to let me know that he was on the way as well and soon we could meet at the entrance of the state forest. I pulled off the main highway onto a dirt gravel road, and mere seconds from civilization, I was already missing running water, electricity, and toilet paper, and I hadn't yet reached the campsite. Right off, I ran into a snag. The gate was locked with no attendant, and another guy was letting himself in...I walked over and he made the sign of the cross and said I needed my own code...he drove off before I could even reach Paul on the phone and figure out what the deal was....it was all handled on the internet and somehow he didn't check his email or something and eventually we got a code. Once in, I was driving down two ruts with grass growing up...so what was back here that needed us locked out?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">About thirty minutes later, Steve and I met up and found our campsite. The only problem was that somebody was in it. We found a empty site and sat down to soak in the peace and quiet until it was our turn to set up. It was surprising that so far from anywhere that only one site out of four was unoccupied on a weekday morning..who are these strange people that want nothing but to park somewhere in the woods? That was a question I probably should have asked before now because, a tall, lean man that looked to be in his fifties, came stomping out of site 4, heading towards Steve saying "What are you looking? Why are you looking at me?" I had visions of characters from the movie "Trainspotting". He was as angry as any drunk I've ever seen in a bar, right before a fight. As he strode towards my brother, his hands were clawing at his flannel shirt as if his muscles could no longer be contained within the fabric. Steve stood his ground calmly, trying to de-escalate the situation, saying soothing things like "No worries, we were just trying to figure out which campsite is the one we are supposed to get". My mind was racing, either the guy had a knife in his waistband and would get Steve before I can even make out the words, or Steve karate's the guy into the hospital, or worse..guns come out. At the minimum, I'm thinking the rest of the week will be spent in the Sheriff's office while they grill us one at a time for our stories. "Yes sir, I would like a cup of coffee with cream...and I'll take one of those cigarettes too, just in case I need something to barter with in the big house".</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We decided to drive off and figure a new gameplan. Steve had his gun out, showing me his new clip that holds 30 rounds...I marvel at it while wondering if I would still keep firing at a zombie, or meth-crazed lunatic if the first 8 shots didn't do the job. I was thinking, game-over, dude! Even if we could trust the guy would leave when he was supposed to..how could we be sure that he wouldn't come back at night and do the Easy Rider on us? Steve is discussing shifts, taking turns on guard duty, making sure that each us of had a loaded gun and were ready to take on the enemy...I was thinking how unprepared I was for this and a little bit worried about how prepared Steve was.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Finally Paul showed up and we shared the story with him. Far from thinking we might need to camp somewhere else, his eyes got a little twinkle and he said This trip just got interesting...."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-38037280295389639722021-11-11T02:24:00.001-08:002021-11-11T02:24:40.837-08:00Ollie And The Tribute To The Worst Campsite In The World<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqMo7OlT9XPOCZkiWHRZV6WJi88ZGVg4h2uiL_mH7vDLXp1HrIogQCQSNEYcPLUS_yyBXQZgvzVhnVNLp35QmCD8vVH4WPVWByJO2EA5HhnU3iI7x4lsgWRcDOPyDQbI7yBk5UE446Pyu/s2048/EY7A9298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1333" data-original-width="2048" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuqMo7OlT9XPOCZkiWHRZV6WJi88ZGVg4h2uiL_mH7vDLXp1HrIogQCQSNEYcPLUS_yyBXQZgvzVhnVNLp35QmCD8vVH4WPVWByJO2EA5HhnU3iI7x4lsgWRcDOPyDQbI7yBk5UE446Pyu/s320/EY7A9298.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p> <span style="font-family: verdana;">As is usual, I was griping about how we haven't been camping for a real long time, and Pam declared once the state cools down enough to sleep without sweating, she's ready to consider some time in the woods. Unfortunately, everybody in Florida, in addition to everybody that owns a camper up north agreed with her assessment. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I opened up my browser and started searching for open campsites at all of my favorite campgrounds. Yep, everything is booked up everywhere. I always hoped for the day I would retire and be able to do stuff on weekdays when everything wasn't so crowded...little did I know that millions of people were retiring when I did and had similar plans. I did find some spots, maybe not the best campsites, but at least we were out in the wild. At this point in time, I did not truly comprehend that I was perhaps, one of the less informed camping enthusiasts in the area. We arrived at Fort De Soto County Park merely moments after the allotted time, to find a long line of RV's waiting to check in...on a Monday!!! I finally get our ticket and head to our designated spot...or 'pitch' as the Brits have it. Although Pineallas County calls it a camping space, site 119 is more like the parking space for the bathrooms. And we spent our downtime in folding camp chairs, watching the coming and going of folks as they came to do their business. There was nothing like cooking supper at the picnic table while I listened to the gentle sounds of toilets flushing nearby. Ollie, however, didn't mind this at all. He gave a rousing bark to every person that walked by, and a couple of extra barks for any kid that decided to ride a bicycle past our camp.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I will write this site number down so I don't forget this special trip. I can't say that this was the worst campsite in the world...but it was a Tribute.</span></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-36278922742217512742021-11-10T02:47:00.001-08:002021-11-16T05:41:17.282-08:00Camping With Pam & Ollie -The Next Thing I Need To Buy<p> <span style="font-family: verdana;">It is possible that I was wrong. There I've said it, and we can now all move on. Pam has, for over forty years now, insisted that I care too much what other people think. Actually, I just would prefer to come off as 'someone that knows what he is doing'. I can't speak for the women of this world, but probably a whole lot of men consider when bringing their wife camping or fishing means to them....that time when you have to back a trailer up..and your wife is helping. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We have done this a few times before, and we owned a boat for years, so it isn't like we don't know anything about trailering. And, Pam is great at driving the van, she can weave into little spaces at the Farmer's Market like it's nothing....but a pressure situation at a boat ramp or campsite? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Phrases like "No! Your Other f...ing Left!" just roll out like nobody is listening, and we aren't drawing a crowd already. I know durn well that there are 90 year old men and women around us that could back in a 40 foot motorhome like it's nothing, and here we are looking like greenhorns.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">My very next purchase is going to be a set of walkie talkie radios so Pam can whisper her words of endearment concerning my lack of ability to translate what she says into the correct actions. She says this won't help much because she will shout into the radio anyway. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">We finally got into the spot once I remembered that I had a backup camera...but I'm still getting those radios!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Food for thought...what if people are not gathering to laugh, although I have witnessed that, but to feel sympathy? Later that same day, while out walking Ollie, we had to stop because a large motorhome came to a halt and put its backup lights on. An older woman jumped out of the passenger side jumped out and the yelling began. The driver put it in park, turned off the motor, got out and invited the woman to get in the driver's seat....now why didn't I think of that?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-21256138210622678742021-09-27T06:03:00.002-07:002021-09-27T06:03:41.114-07:00The Boys, the Bikes and the Broken Part 4<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7NlQ353GVozpOlP8RJ8HBkiU9SUbJgMf17ipC5-jYyX45w40zYmpFRLGDQNNE9QS62hVX4AUxaw5n23EloXMCqxFOsUeQUbRyb7wlPqBYKj8Z-cFlOFFMuUKwZXriTy8ibeZqA-R-s-_/s2048/DSC09313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7NlQ353GVozpOlP8RJ8HBkiU9SUbJgMf17ipC5-jYyX45w40zYmpFRLGDQNNE9QS62hVX4AUxaw5n23EloXMCqxFOsUeQUbRyb7wlPqBYKj8Z-cFlOFFMuUKwZXriTy8ibeZqA-R-s-_/s320/DSC09313.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: verdana;">There is something that us Florida people don't think about much. I should have remembered it from my backpacking experience in the mountains of the Appalachian Trail: If you have a nice long downhill, pretty soon you will have an extreme ascent to follow. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In this instance, we had spent hours climbing down this steep face of clay, rocks and weeds, hoping that somewhere ahead there would be a gentle path of overhanging trees and a nice wide trail of pine needles. We finally did come to something like that. It was a T in the trail. To the right, it appeared that the trail was going to go straight back up that mountain, and to the left there was a sign that said "Horse Stables".....Steve ventured the idea that we could ride to the horse stables, find a way to town, get lunch and then think about how we could ever get back to camp....I was all in for the lunch part, and wasn't looking too far into the future. Meanwhile, Paul was eyeing the straight up trail, wondering if he could make it and get GoPro footage to prove to his biking friends that just because you are riding an E-bike, doesn't mean you're a wuss.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The majority ruled, and soon we were on gravel, passing a barn, and a house, horses, and a lady that ran out yelling "don't y'all know you're on private proverty!?" Paul explained that we were some elderly brothers that got lost on the trail and were trying to find our way home....somehow I felt like he had a lot of experience of explaining his way out of jams...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">She yelled out some directions on how to get back to the campground...while I was still wondering of the town of Chatsworth had a decent BBQ place with picnic tables outside.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The lady chased us down in her truck, but Paul really won her over and she made sure we found the right way back to the campground (or made sure we got off her property).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">You ever been on an old country road that corkscrews for miles up to the top, and find some crazy bicyclist trying to pedal up that road? Yep....that was us.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-19503418025050035932021-09-23T07:08:00.001-07:002021-09-23T07:10:46.532-07:00The Boys, The Bikes And The Broken Part 3<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACPYPfR1rOe0oak-liSn3IEB5Gx2vIpoZcRqlf6WsLGuJu_-9GNFHpkJ6LIVfyokTqKmW9a8xxgxfxEe8I378d-du05O33qW88-1p9jcoYmLuWqdgMwHDOlb7hyldT3YbpmFjYpQRhEj4/s6000/DSC09310.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACPYPfR1rOe0oak-liSn3IEB5Gx2vIpoZcRqlf6WsLGuJu_-9GNFHpkJ6LIVfyokTqKmW9a8xxgxfxEe8I378d-du05O33qW88-1p9jcoYmLuWqdgMwHDOlb7hyldT3YbpmFjYpQRhEj4/s320/DSC09310.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We were really excited about doing some real mountain biking, and there actually was a trail that started right near us in the campground. Unfortunately, the trail looked more like the place water runs downhill after a good rain...steep and full of clay and rocks. Nobody got hurt, but Steve was thinking it was a good possibility, while Paul's eyes were glowing with the prospect of real danger ahead of us.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Once we got past the first 15 minutes of tough stuff, it turned into something more like a path a person would hike for fun and we all were enjoying it. There were pull-offs where you could view spectacular landscapes that you usually only see while backpacking. It seemed like the ride was over too quickly and we headed back to camp to plan a REAL ride for the next day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We ended up finding a 17 mile trail that went way off into the wilds, and I started getting a little concerned that the farther we rode in, the more difficult it would be to get out if something went wrong. There were even notifications about specific places on the trail where you could get airlifted out if something went wrong...that should have been warning enough....but Paul's eyes were really glowing at that point.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We started early the next morning, and it took a bit of trouble to find the trailhead. We had to go several miles down a dead-end road and the go past a sign that said "No Admittance". We knew we were at the right place because there was a large sign on a tree that said "Warning: Advanced Riders Only Beyond This Point".</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">3 hours later, I was pretty sure we were going to need that airlifting spot...It was straight downhill rocks, us walking our bikes with the brakes on full, while the bikes were trying to go on without us. Paul was certain that something was wrong and the motor was tugging his bike...but even with the battery off, he could barely hold it back. I kept thinking "Man, the only way out of this place is climbing right back up that mountain that we could barely walk down...how are we going to do that?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We argued and looked at how much food and water we had, not even counting all of the black bear warning signs we saw....then Steve had an idea...it was a great idea...doesn't mean it wasn't painful though...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-25230322788036584362021-09-22T06:00:00.000-07:002021-09-22T06:00:11.876-07:00The Boys, The Bikes, and the Broken Part 2<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-BJEZpAxrATpF2X_IeEzjrGPrEbmLqwQkJC95ps1ZWMD6ofANlbJ4qkIsA1zEIp7hpM8BiS8MvG9COtikXckjkRDe7Ceq_D_sF_pOUaUldj1V2QW-GLbetgVECp-cTHErQuSk8jBWbUpj/s2048/IMG_3286.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-BJEZpAxrATpF2X_IeEzjrGPrEbmLqwQkJC95ps1ZWMD6ofANlbJ4qkIsA1zEIp7hpM8BiS8MvG9COtikXckjkRDe7Ceq_D_sF_pOUaUldj1V2QW-GLbetgVECp-cTHErQuSk8jBWbUpj/s320/IMG_3286.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I learned many things on this trip. Number one would be: don't bring too much stuff. We were packed into one camper and we had gear coming out of our ears. The first morning we spent at Fort Mountain, Paul and Steve went into town to get a propane tank so we would not have to eat peanut butter sandwiches the rest of the trip. That trip to town required both of them because Paul, in spite of his healthy food obsession, had a jones for a fountain coke like nobody else...a bottle of coke would never do, and he really hoped for crunchy ice.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I had a few hours alone to reflect on how quickly my body decided that 70 degree temperature was just about right for t-shirt, shorts and flipflops. It still seems strange that I got used to the lower temp so fast, while I'm still struggling with re-acclimating to the Florida swamp days after I got back home.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Food-wise, it was a constant struggle for me. Steve, the grillmaster always had more meat going on the grill than my family would eat in a week. There is some part of me that must have once been a starving beggar in Medieval times, because when Steve would say "Do you want two 1/2 pound hamburgers or only one?" Why in the world would I turn down an extra hamburger in the woods where I might left alone starving on the trail that same day?! And this went on for almost a week...3 times a day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Paul, on the other hand, was disdainful of all of the meat and instead brought his special concoctions that he made himself from all organic ingredients, where the cost of making the food was no object. So, we have a tupperware box full of Chocolate chip cookies and granola bars that tasted better than the brownies we get for a once a month treat at home....by the way, that box of granola bars was so big, that even with me holding the box in my lap....we didn't finish it off until the last day of the trip.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Me, I brought vegetables, if baked beans count as a vegetable, and some other stuff that never got used, because there was some much better food to eat.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thank God, we were out on the trail most of the days. My heartrate averaged about 135bpm while riding, and if you think that an electric bike makes things effortless, there is always the prospect of riding full blast into a tree, falling in the rocks, or at the least, running out of juice and having to push a 70lb bike uphill to get back to camp. What those bikes do is make it where you can actually pedal that 70 pounds uphill in a place that you couldn't pedal a regular mountain bike for very long. Downhill? That same heavy weight became a juggernaut and we soon learned if we wanted to ride in the mountains, we needed much better brakes! I can repeat something you probably already know: that no matter how long and hard you exercise...a bad diet beats good exercise every time!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Next up: We find out why we never saw anybody else out riding on the trail...<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-43269065616468675762021-09-18T05:52:00.001-07:002021-09-18T05:52:35.238-07:00The Boys, The Bikes, And The Broken<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXKesOp1I1JJvUGfA9tjrUWN7pPyPc0h57vdvVsKSobJ8VNKWHLMaXa3PZTsNGec1RxGCnWFJ7Gr6S52rXg8G5Sl_5zGGjrcHJBk2o6UPWC3Xdd5eUWZWu99fF48X-eB3-igS3LZ42F-1s/s2048/Biking-Fort+Mountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXKesOp1I1JJvUGfA9tjrUWN7pPyPc0h57vdvVsKSobJ8VNKWHLMaXa3PZTsNGec1RxGCnWFJ7Gr6S52rXg8G5Sl_5zGGjrcHJBk2o6UPWC3Xdd5eUWZWu99fF48X-eB3-igS3LZ42F-1s/s320/Biking-Fort+Mountain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">When we were young, Paul, Jerry Carr, and I took a trip up to north Georgia to ride our dirt bikes. It was a one-off thing, but I still remember it fondly. After Paul, Steve, and I had been riding our electric mountain bikes in the wilds of Florida for a summer, it occurred to me that these machines might do well up in Georgia. Thus, we hatched a plan that consisted of a long drive and 4 days of hard riding and seeing if we had changed much since those early days.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I picked Fort Mountain State Park in northern Georgia, because I had been there camping with Pam and Ollie. I saw all of the mountain bikers in the campground and heard that it was an epic place to ride...I must not have listened closely.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The ride up was smooth, Steve driving the whole way, in spite of me insisting that I would be glad to drive as long as it was not raining, not dark and no where near Atlanta. As is usual on such a trip from Florida, all predictions were that we would arrive by 3pm and we got there around 8pm....all those predictions assume that we could always drive the speed limit and you never needed to stop for gas, food or restroom breaks.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In spite of that very long drive, including Google taking us straight through the heart of Atlanta, Steve pulled in, hooked up and then grilled us supper...or at least he was willing to. He had purchased a brand new gas grill, specifically designed to fit in the small space he had. We had packed in enough food to feed 6 of us for 2 weeks, because we knew it was a long drive down the mountain to Chatsworth, which supposedly had a grocery store.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was helping with the paper plates and silverware, getting some baked beans going and locating soft drinks for the 3 of us when Steve suddenly realized his fancy new grill only worked with a giant bottle of Propane, the kind you use for a home grill. Steve had 5 brand new bottles of the little ones you use for camping...and no adapter to hook them up...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Man, those were the best peanut butter sandwiches that night! I thought to myself that something had to go wrong on any given trip, and we got it out of the way on the first day...if that's the worst thing, we're good!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">.....not so fast, Perkins....</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig_QJAEmcgamWqp53i1EMHessvxFNuWsCiJhneIGHWIfcq-0A7CqUg_GzBQs_Np4y0fWXxkxzqDnJH0zyHi2CV9YjvHVa9FJw9kgBrDfNDmylfHMXXmiHvbDKo-QXDXs8UmxNMFdtY1waU/s2048/SteveCooking-Fort+Mountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig_QJAEmcgamWqp53i1EMHessvxFNuWsCiJhneIGHWIfcq-0A7CqUg_GzBQs_Np4y0fWXxkxzqDnJH0zyHi2CV9YjvHVa9FJw9kgBrDfNDmylfHMXXmiHvbDKo-QXDXs8UmxNMFdtY1waU/s320/SteveCooking-Fort+Mountain.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /> <br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-50345351703859741852020-12-16T14:00:00.001-08:002020-12-16T14:00:07.362-08:00Camping With Ollie and the Beach Poodles: Part 2<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3hyphenhyphenRZUff_UNXBAFy_Q5lacZ655e6CBCpCwCys56I3YjXlp3T65GZ6Gak74Wu4KLeOVySJIl1zLMuP4E97Yb82OIogptp83EwKoq_IXCLZa4Ai4vmgeECaP9wXN6OMrRRnKugvQYtALWeS/s2048/EY7A9070.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1875" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3hyphenhyphenRZUff_UNXBAFy_Q5lacZ655e6CBCpCwCys56I3YjXlp3T65GZ6Gak74Wu4KLeOVySJIl1zLMuP4E97Yb82OIogptp83EwKoq_IXCLZa4Ai4vmgeECaP9wXN6OMrRRnKugvQYtALWeS/s320/EY7A9070.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">If there was a best part of the camping trip, it was finding this almost deserted beach and enormous dog park. We had a giant fenced in place for Ollie to run until he dropped, and occasionally, he met some new friends.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was a short walk from the fenced in area to a section of beach where folks were letting their dogs have a free run. I wasn't quite ready for Ollie to go running free...since I was pretty sure I would never catch him, and I wasn't at all positive he would come back to a couple of old folks that were hardly worth chewing on.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We had the two of us, trying to control one little rowdy puppy, and then this old lady strolls up on the beach with 3 different size poodles and just let them go. The big black one had to be the single most frou-frou dog I have ever seen in person. The dogs were nice and loved Ollie. He got all of the dog attention he could want that day. The lady turned out to be a groomer (shocker!), and she gave us advice about what Ollie was going to need. Turns out that our puppy's coat takes extra work...and perhaps body armor for the groomer.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The big surprise for me was that Dharma, the black standard poodle that did not seem to belong on some dirty little beach, was the nicest dog I've ever met. She was quickly my best buddy, once I got over the hair-do. Ollie didn't mind the attention I got from Dharma, he was too busy working over 'Stretch', the toy poodle, who was a big ball of fur. Every once in a while Dharma would come over and nose Ollie upside down to show him that size matters in the dog world.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQQQsMZJAIPQJBIpN_G3mzZz_mS1pkFf2ucG8c-wiNC1tOelgSmOFI8WNdC6Ky2vaZidmHqJGP-uNK3a6mzdmzcHczP3CFRtwyKQvMG2p5VCise4SBAwOZW2yBkzr_-DU7iTXjH3MdFhA/s2048/EY7A9022.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1291" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQQQsMZJAIPQJBIpN_G3mzZz_mS1pkFf2ucG8c-wiNC1tOelgSmOFI8WNdC6Ky2vaZidmHqJGP-uNK3a6mzdmzcHczP3CFRtwyKQvMG2p5VCise4SBAwOZW2yBkzr_-DU7iTXjH3MdFhA/s320/EY7A9022.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /> Ollie found that the beach was the best place in the whole world...and he still doesn't know about getting wet. You can dig anywhere! And there is so much cool stuff to bite and smell! He sat quietly at attention while he watched a young woman with a Brittany Spaniel throwing a ball into the ocean and the dog swimming out to get it. He's not ready yet, but soon Ollie will be a wet, muddy mess anytime we get near water....just not too soon, please?</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4P6JER0T559n_CPoWU5hoDK4qv8ZApv5cJImV24vVifP43bAoDW3GvIJyzLFFC0giqmO-Y0MTlxHyhTBDLOOEI5IX2oHBWO_9JQhs7ettkoROco8EXDdtdX9shRvitP47vPNKXN6picQz/s2048/EY7A8950.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1684" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4P6JER0T559n_CPoWU5hoDK4qv8ZApv5cJImV24vVifP43bAoDW3GvIJyzLFFC0giqmO-Y0MTlxHyhTBDLOOEI5IX2oHBWO_9JQhs7ettkoROco8EXDdtdX9shRvitP47vPNKXN6picQz/s320/EY7A8950.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-19613878816503570782020-12-10T14:37:00.001-08:002020-12-10T15:03:40.897-08:00Camping With Ollie and the Beach Poodles: Part 1<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnvE7qv_4MII_4HkVeycOcW8-Eny8BIgrQsA2sK9oeJqwiKXL6aU3N2Gk191otbIIx7kPyOOoberfJlzBjk4XSTtPDI444Nt9-NUBR-HtTqRLU-_ss41oRbNOpFyZEMtctlijtGTbQOmj/s640/IMG_2375.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnvE7qv_4MII_4HkVeycOcW8-Eny8BIgrQsA2sK9oeJqwiKXL6aU3N2Gk191otbIIx7kPyOOoberfJlzBjk4XSTtPDI444Nt9-NUBR-HtTqRLU-_ss41oRbNOpFyZEMtctlijtGTbQOmj/s320/IMG_2375.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I don't know if we just get lucky or I really know how to predict extreme weather. Almost every time I plan a camping trip, we get a hurricane. I cancelled the last one after it appeared that the hurricane was going to land right where we were to pitch our trailer. The time before, we bee-lined home right before the storm hit up in Atlanta. Right now, it seems like Orlando is the only place that was safe from hurricanes in 2020. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Slightly shy of a hurricane was the cold front that came through while we were camping this week. We pulled into Fort DeSoto Park in Saint Petersburg, Florida, on a nice winter day, just cool enough to let Pam wear a jacket and crocs. Ollie, the pup liked this place that had a million things to taste and smell. The photo above was taken on the first day, of what I expected to be a few days of biking, paddleboarding, and dog walks on the beach. There was charcoal, firewood, and the fantasy of romantic evenings, watching the calm waters of the Gulf lapping up on our own private beach. We had good food in store, plenty of ice, and I was getting pretty good at dealing with the whole camper thing without looking like a newbie while setting up. I'm still considering what I've seen some other older couples do: buy little two way radios, so Pam can whisper "NO! Your OTHER left!" while I'm backing the trailer into to a patch of low hanging tree limbs. This would be preferable to the current method of Pam yelling out her instructions while the neighboring campers pull up chairs to watch the best entertainment available..</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The afternoon sun didn't last long, and the breeze was picking up to the point that I was thinking I might not get a chance to put Ollie on the paddleboard and show him that he was definitely a waterdog. It was about then that I met our next door campground neighbors. It was a couple of women, either of which looked like they could handle this outdoor stuff much better than I could. They had a trailer that was called "Vintage" and looked much like a very cool new version of something old. As they introduced themselves, they mentioned the coming rain and wind. At the time I was thinking of a light breeze and some sprinkles. I was pretty wrong about that. Most of the night we spent cuddled on the small bed watching our latest binge-show, while the wind screamed and the rain pounded the metal roof and sides of Bambi.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ollie was great and when I got up early to walk him, I found out what we had in store...30 mph winds and temperature so cold that the jacket I almost left home wasn't enough. Pam murmured that I had promised her beautiful weather with no rain and she wasn't getting up until I could produce it. I was already looking at a long crooked tree branch that was hanging over the camper and creaking like it wasn't going to last the day. I really needed a shower and a shave, but it was looking like it was going to be a long day in small quarters with a puppy that had a blood thirst...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0MpivXiZ2U2TpE-FDI2wJwaKKcNStdk6GfykheDV5eE_vVmWQJVZ2CgujLWdZ66Z40WqR-Br1NHtKQR6CAxjRdCNHjraNvu5pwYt9XcBd1NSXJdvTvCin1UNCjEVdxW8X_rA66XOkjX7/s640/EY7A8932.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0MpivXiZ2U2TpE-FDI2wJwaKKcNStdk6GfykheDV5eE_vVmWQJVZ2CgujLWdZ66Z40WqR-Br1NHtKQR6CAxjRdCNHjraNvu5pwYt9XcBd1NSXJdvTvCin1UNCjEVdxW8X_rA66XOkjX7/s320/EY7A8932.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /> </p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-33068360771757513932020-11-23T09:26:00.000-08:002020-11-23T09:26:36.126-08:00The Electric Mud And The Stinkeye Pinto<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbvFK94VfNWpLSUprclDFUsbr79OVR_1P-iL-Cm27VupP-ybPIbf38hKw3gtARD1DBEId_wFQwO0pCvcfB8ONesxwbv2ktZ0V1dvihnbD0vLqMkbkPQnEGtlGCGy5KiyIjt5stT2D3ztXi/s2048/C9F9CBE6-16D3-41B0-B0B9-87E4D3321D77.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbvFK94VfNWpLSUprclDFUsbr79OVR_1P-iL-Cm27VupP-ybPIbf38hKw3gtARD1DBEId_wFQwO0pCvcfB8ONesxwbv2ktZ0V1dvihnbD0vLqMkbkPQnEGtlGCGy5KiyIjt5stT2D3ztXi/s320/C9F9CBE6-16D3-41B0-B0B9-87E4D3321D77.heic" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's the first Perkins brothers camping trip of 2020, and someday somebody will ask how we let that happen? They will have forgotten all about the virus, and wiping down our groceries and figuring out what to use instead of toilet paper. Yeah, it's pretty easy right now to believe that we will never forget this, but history tells a different story. The stage must be set with 3 brothers of differing political beliefs, the most contentious election in our lifetime...see? we already forgot all about Nixon...nobody remembers that one.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The virus is raging through the world, and someday a vaccine is coming to save us..or will it be like the lifeboats on the Titanic? You can imagine that we had some lively conversations around the campfire, but that is part of the story. Right off, I declared 'no politics' to which Paul replied, 'I agree to disagree'....not sure what that meant, but we did switch to wondering about if we had enough supplies when civilization came crumbling down. Steve was wondering what route to take if he had to shoot his way out of Orlando, while Paul pondered if his business could pivot somehow in a positive manner while zombies were shuffling down the street. Me, I was fantasizing about band gigs in a Thunderdome-like setting. I did always like Steampunk stuff. And pretty much everybody looked old in those Mad Max movies...I'd fit right in.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We camped in the most beautiful, primitive place in Florida, Princess Place Preserve and as long as you don't need fresh water or electricity, you'd be fine. The weather was something special. I've seen a lot of wind coming off that salt marsh in the past but this trip was a true test for my tent. Nothing would stay on the picnic table without something heavy anchoring it down. And rain...did I mention the rain? Well, it didn't rain all the time, it just came and went without warning, just like hurricane times.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">What turned out to be the best fun of the weekend, was a daylong trip on mountain bikes through the miles and miles of horse trails throughout the park. I am absolutely certain that you could be lost out there for days WITH a GPS. This time Steve brought his two electric bikes, one of which I rode, while Paul went old-school on his expensive pro bike. Steve and I had a blast, while Paul got the real workout. I know, you're thinking, why would we want electric bikes for riding along a horse trail. This is because you are not familiar with the term 'sugar sand'. Let's just say a long time ago, I rode with a serious group of mountain bikers that got stuck in a large patch of it, and we did the walk of shame...and it's not much of a problem on an E-bike...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hardly anybody was in the park besides us, and we had this long spooky walk to the only functioning bathroom in the park. It turned out that there were a couple of neighbors right next to the bathroom and they were camping in horse trailers while the horses hung around in small portable fences. There was one old grey-white horse that looked like nobody had asked him if he wanted to go camping in this weather. There was another brown and white horse that was quite different. I'm not much into that 'how smart are horses' stuff. I'm still trying to figure out how smart are people..but that horse. Every time we would walk by, that horse would stick his head around the back of the trailer, like he was sneaky or something. He'd then turn away, and suddenly look back to see if we were still there...then he'd come around the other side of the trailer, with this look, staring straight at me. I wasn't sure if he was saying, 'This guy looks like somebody I want to hang out with' or 'I'm gonna stomp that guy until he stops moving!'</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Eventually, Paul got the owner into a conversation where she told us this beautiful animal was a Pinto with some Arabian in him. I'm not sure if that explained anything, but I did ask her why he was staring at me. She said 'Oh no! He's very friendly, he's just wary about bears.....'.....yeah, right....I know better, that horse was making plans..</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-VzryM83554j5Ix6BU0bL4wfjeWO6OW-VTiFKsUBdLGmQUCmWM0NaJMG-JqNcCX4SXcLTasR1Pbm0oG4B9YhXrScQu6xSrqBD5NhK9ERXFA0Ev-CUqcpduoa_4xxKhE_ynbLCAdVV2diZ/s2048/F437359D-9E97-478E-8D75-C3F39148C5D1.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-VzryM83554j5Ix6BU0bL4wfjeWO6OW-VTiFKsUBdLGmQUCmWM0NaJMG-JqNcCX4SXcLTasR1Pbm0oG4B9YhXrScQu6xSrqBD5NhK9ERXFA0Ev-CUqcpduoa_4xxKhE_ynbLCAdVV2diZ/s320/F437359D-9E97-478E-8D75-C3F39148C5D1.heic" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span> <br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-57981433885944749722020-11-02T03:30:00.001-08:002020-11-02T03:30:37.861-08:00The Quest For The Wire Fox: Part 6<br /><p><br /> <span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsN3p-zTg8Amij28CMZcleUup_oyMlYWbQEePp28HIzowewlRu32hBjgABYOuTqDmTTwtAssbNo4xf8pmMj56ZWqr7pL1Kcj3g-galibXcGRJQst5H3k3cBdbnPOJ7JHK_8N7GuokUKDG1/s4032/IMG_2179.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsN3p-zTg8Amij28CMZcleUup_oyMlYWbQEePp28HIzowewlRu32hBjgABYOuTqDmTTwtAssbNo4xf8pmMj56ZWqr7pL1Kcj3g-galibXcGRJQst5H3k3cBdbnPOJ7JHK_8N7GuokUKDG1/w400-h300/IMG_2179.HEIC" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Life was suddenly very different. We were driving up the road to Ft. Mountain State Park in northern Georgia and there was a new dimension to everything we did. Pam's planning about training the dog to ride in a crate and respond to clicker commands flew right out the window in the first 15 minutes of the drive and the only worry on my mind was, would Ollie get carsick?</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Either those young folks that raised this litter of puppies did a great job, or we got another really smart dog. He did everything you could want from a new member of the family, even treating Pam and I equally...well, almost equally. We pulled into the campground on a nice cool afternoon, and right away I saw that we were never going to use those coats we brought along. 55 degrees, is just nice for shorts and t-shirts. You can walk for 10 minutes without sweating. In Florida, it sounds cold, because we are lucky when we get that kind of weather. Unfortunately, Ollie still needed another round of shots before he could walk on the ground anywhere..something I didn't know about getting disease from where other animals have walked. We put up a playpen with a tarp and blanket on the ground and he was excited. He loved his crate filled with a blanket and toys. He made a regular habit of sleeping in it with just his head hanging out.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In just two days, we had a routine. I'd wake up around 5:30am and sit on the floor of the camper and hang out with Ollie until 7 and then toss him in bed with Pam and wait for the scream. He was like a little barracuda in that confined space..me searching for the first aid kit more than once after I unsuccessfully fended off attacks of the puppy razor teeth.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was like heaven for us, and we hadn't even gone to look at the pre-historic wall that is the main attraction, plus I had my mountain bike to explore while Pam would teach Ollie to chew on toys rather than people.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The second morning was when Pam turned on the news and saw, guess what...Hurricane headed our way. There is something about us and hurricanes and Pam wondered aloud about our relative safety. This was while I pondered driving down I-75 to Florida in pouring rain, following a mass exodus from Georgia to the Sunshine State. In the end, we left before the storm and made it home just in time for Mandy, who had been calling us every few hours, asking when she could meet the puppy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">He is now spoiled rotten, and the only grumpy person in the house is the cat, who seems to be saying "Nobody asked me if I wanted a puppy!" Ollie is trying hard to make friends and the cat is becoming a little bit more tolerant as the days roll on. The cat has this look, "Hey, just because I'm not hissing and I let that little furball be in the same room, doesn't mean I'm happy about all this!"</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhES6GOgd1oLm5EEJ2BQimIYMJDqa9GX0j50tXW72GbAdQS9VNIC-cSpkkJcijXzcLwLl7X9ReV6A7xA2KMbPGSdE_foCDlri-uPVbuvc_u0_nv6tW3wP3OYyKOCLsdWLC0o8lP4DgJ4coG/s3088/IMG_2186.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhES6GOgd1oLm5EEJ2BQimIYMJDqa9GX0j50tXW72GbAdQS9VNIC-cSpkkJcijXzcLwLl7X9ReV6A7xA2KMbPGSdE_foCDlri-uPVbuvc_u0_nv6tW3wP3OYyKOCLsdWLC0o8lP4DgJ4coG/s320/IMG_2186.HEIC" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-54933841323242811102020-10-31T07:33:00.000-07:002020-10-31T07:33:12.449-07:00The Quest For the Wire Fox – Part 4<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Gee3sObpasntXINAl-DhhpRzN_v5MJjxTfWf6bjSm1VgclOlXtr8O9Cd0xeAQgMwMXQuCTqpyfiieGzvpqcbSSkCrvrUhCn6GMtnkCITtfmZmCmmLom-fWUl-leV5Vn8p9djzZ3t-g-X/s2048/83AB4A78-8FFD-4C9A-8B14-C011259AD975.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Gee3sObpasntXINAl-DhhpRzN_v5MJjxTfWf6bjSm1VgclOlXtr8O9Cd0xeAQgMwMXQuCTqpyfiieGzvpqcbSSkCrvrUhCn6GMtnkCITtfmZmCmmLom-fWUl-leV5Vn8p9djzZ3t-g-X/s320/83AB4A78-8FFD-4C9A-8B14-C011259AD975.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /> I won’t lie to you, the drive through Atlanta, even on a
Sunday morning, was something of a test for me. I’ve been trying to live a life
where I can handle whatever comes my way with aplomb. My mantra is that I have
had worse to deal with, lost while backpacking in Maine, shark encounters while while surfing, and
driving a motorhome in Scotland. We managed to get to Powder Springs, Georgia, with only a
couple of wrong turns, no cursing and no freaking out. The level of difficulty was pulling a camper trailer behind the huge van and the endless flow
of traffic before a big football game in the city.
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<![endif]--><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This wasn’t a case of me worrying about something that would
never happen. There were plenty of reminders on the sides of the road, smashed up
cars, police vehicles with lights flashing and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>small crowds of people wearing masks. I was driving 5 miles and hour
UNDER the speed limit, but like Pam said, other drivers looked at the van and
the dents on the trailer and gave us wide berth.</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ollie’s house was an interesting stop. Only an hour away
from the crazy traffic of Atlanta, I pulled into this suburb that seemed
created for hipsters. I could not tell if it was old and fixed up, or if they
just recently built it to look old. Lots of bike paths, a long street of
buildings that invited walking shoppers, and then what seemed like miles of
fancy multi-story apartment buildings. We drove past all of this and then
suddenly we were in the old country, with older homes with large properties,
and huge shade trees. Pam was admiring all of this, saying ‘if I had to move, I
could handle this!’. It didn’t hurt that the temperature had dropped to the
point where you could walk outside for a few minutes in shorts and flipflops
without sweating.</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was still ready for anything, leaving the gun in the car,
tightly gripping the large sum of cash I had to bring for this special dog Pam
had to have, and in the other hand, I had the keys spread out between my
knuckles. I was telling myself to assess the situation and make sure that I
took out the most dangerous person first if it came to that. The house was in
front of me now, at the top of a small rise. A yellow and white home with a
railed porch out front. I could see a large man sitting in a rocking chair,
cradling something in his lap. If it was a gun, I couldn’t make out the model
from the distance. I needed to know if it was a revolver. If that was the case,
I might be able to count how many shots he could take. There was a little bit
of a chance for us if the deal went south. There was a large well-used pleasure boat on a trailer on the street
in front of the house, probably purchased with the money from other foolish
people that had walked up here with lots of cash and no idea of how far they
were from the law.</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As we rounded the boat, he stood up and walked towards us
and I tightened my grip on the keys and moved in front of Pam to make sure I
closed as much distance between as I could before he raised his weapon. It
turned out, that I had paid too much attention to the man, because I was caught
unawares when a huge dog leaped in the air right in front of me. I dropped my
keys and stood in amazement as the dog jumped about 4 feet straight up in the air
3 times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man yelled at the dog,
‘Bella, settle down!’ .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stood there
helplessly as he raised he hands and pointed a puppy at my head….</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
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</span>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-19352841806465711702020-10-30T04:09:00.001-07:002020-10-30T04:22:37.748-07:00The Quest For the Wire Fox: part 3<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDt7P3-e4h4GM7BnmXv5rydT2bIX6pBPS1yLMzQeyVSFVG_tP8hHv8RT6AxvGEzXj03LXx-nXs_Qw2B8KNgeEHyOgUCuQV4D1vFrZwNFczZ6x9wmT8ALfZIK4om8sc4ORdrMwlYHWSqDZz/s2048/E9393A2C-0364-4C37-AC50-8BDE68480834.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDt7P3-e4h4GM7BnmXv5rydT2bIX6pBPS1yLMzQeyVSFVG_tP8hHv8RT6AxvGEzXj03LXx-nXs_Qw2B8KNgeEHyOgUCuQV4D1vFrZwNFczZ6x9wmT8ALfZIK4om8sc4ORdrMwlYHWSqDZz/w400-h266/E9393A2C-0364-4C37-AC50-8BDE68480834.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br /></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The first day of the excursion was a leisurely drive up the
interstate to a small town in Georgia called Forsyth. Our stop for the night
turned out to be a really nice campground in a deeply wooded area with a
fantastic view of the interstate highway flowing by. I drove a short distance
from the main road into the park and found out right away that this was going
to be a pleasant short stay. Rain had been in the forecast and we managed to
get camp set up before the steady drizzle got going. I was feeling that this
kind of camping wasn’t all that bad, until right before dark, another camper pulled
in about six feet from our front door. This was apartment living, RV style. </span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We managed to get a little bit of exercise before the rain
arrived, eyeing the fellow campers and their rigs. I was having flashbacks of
me as a teenager, my mom and dad with their 31 foot Airstream trailer and
International Travel All truck. It was one of those things that did go right
for my dad after he got home from Vietnam. The government gave him something
like a dollar for every day he spent in prisoner of war camp. He took that
money and bought the RV rig of his dreams. They took us on a long trip with
them, and every night they would string up the owl lanterns around their trailer
awning, while us kids groaned and tried to look like we did not belong to the
Airstream crowd. They would always walk the park, and make friends with the
fellow campers, while I was trying to pretend that I was not really an 18
year-old<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that was camping with his
folks. Now, Pam and I were older than they were back then, walking the park,
but somehow, I didn’t have the personality to go up to strange people and say
‘Great weather we’re having…if you’re a duck!’. Nope, that wasn’t me, but I did
have a plan for the lanterns….</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We are using a ‘rig’ that must strike people as quite odd,
and I do see many confused looks from fellow campers. Most people either go the
route of getting something as big as they can possibly handle or totally
minimalist. Usually, people that are pulling an Airstream Bambi are unusual
folk. Here we have something quite small and light, yet expensive. One might
imagine that it would be pulled by a tricked out Jeep Wrangler or a family SUV.
Instead, we are pulling it with Megavan, the Nissan van we bought for doing
farmer’s markets, and the van is actually larger than the trailer. It is also
possible that the strange looks are because the van is nice and shiny and the
trailer has way too many dents in it for something that cost so much. </span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We are excited and sleep will be hard to come by. The next
day we will meet the Ollie, the pandemic puppy, and his family in Powder Springs,
Georgia. Or we will get conked on the head by robbers, if you can believe my
brothers. I am in that in between place, where I am hopeful that there really
is a dog, and maybe it likes me or if it looks like a robbery, I can get out of
there fast. Yes, sleep was looking like an elusive creature this time. Tomorrow
will be driving through Atlanta pulling a trailer, and then going out into a
country suburb and meeting whatever awaited us there. The plan was to drive from
there to the mountains and camp a few more days…with an 8 week old puppy…what
were we thinking?</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">
</span>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-41425191834507836642020-10-29T07:11:00.000-07:002020-11-01T03:10:10.832-08:00The Quest For The Wire Fox: Part 5<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4RdZDbxTTwJghatwn_FhFdGBulNm1HgwbkeM2Ddah0OviZGPtsnqqsuu0yiDzULtDTvSxL6XDoq2Yb0HEA9oW0nB8xQ83As-t3Wko5dTHpzz4a6CUZvvvx_Yq5MEzUp7hd4MHDUbQ62O/s2048/F64DBC9F-1DF9-489F-928D-B65931E75B07.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_4RdZDbxTTwJghatwn_FhFdGBulNm1HgwbkeM2Ddah0OviZGPtsnqqsuu0yiDzULtDTvSxL6XDoq2Yb0HEA9oW0nB8xQ83As-t3Wko5dTHpzz4a6CUZvvvx_Yq5MEzUp7hd4MHDUbQ62O/w300-h400/F64DBC9F-1DF9-489F-928D-B65931E75B07.heic" width="300" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p> <span style="font-family: verdana;">I'd have to say that in many ways, we are very fortunate. Pam and I were already retired when the pandemic hit, so we never had to make the awful decision of whether or not showing up at work was worth the risk. We did find like others, that suddenly being home all the time, made us bond more with our pets. The Perkins family has always had a lot of pets, and by circumstance, this summer found us with no dogs and no easy way of getting a new one. The last time I got a dog, it was a trip to the house of somebody that had puppies and picking out the one that liked us the most. That is not how it worked this summer.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I did have plenty of warning from friends that it was difficult to get a dog, unless I wanted a pitbull from the pound. I spent a lot of time looking and hoping to free some hapless dog from a prison, but apparently everyone else was doing the same thing. Meanwhile, Pam was sharpening her online skills, watching every puppy video and emailing everybody in the country that was breeding dogs. She finally decided that a Wire Fox Terrier, was a dog she would love, and it might just be possible to get one if we were willing to take a chance on a young couple that was having their first litter and drive over a day's drive through Protest marches and Confederate flags to get the puppy. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">That was the beginning of the quest, and now months and over a $1000 worth of dog supplies later, it had happened. Ollie the puppy and Bella, his mother, immediately melted whatever misgivings I had. Bella had that special trait that I remembered from our beloved Jack Russel dog, Princess. Our kids had grown up with Princess and she had this ability to do a standing jump that was unbelievably high. There used to be a pizza commercial that showed a pizza box on top of a refrigerator, and every few moments, a dog head would flash into view...a dog jumping up to grab the pizza box. That was our Princess, and apparently, the Wire Fox terrier breed had the same skill. Before I could even get to the front gate of the house, Bella was showing she could be over that gate and defend the house from me any time she chose. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I came up and sat on the porch while Bella made sure I was okay to touch her puppy and Pam stood there smiling while Ryan, the suddenly nice young owner, that did not seem at all menacing anymore, handed me Ollie the little ball of fur.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Suddenly, thoughts of robbery, the long drive, the things that could go wrong were all gone, replaced by visions of me and Ollie surfing, me and Ollie riding bikes, me and Ollie hiking. Sure, I'd let Pam spend time with him, while I was sleeping, but otherwise, it was me and Ollie. Then I held Ollie out to Pam, and I was second-best....again... <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-55084909045412957172020-10-29T05:17:00.000-07:002020-10-29T05:17:58.064-07:00The Wire Fox Quest: Part 2<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNElMqcLVsPGTsNnar1QcfeS4RwW4vB7erWF4lHow1joNgjPezvhWoC4p79NUl9LGtlEdVLfsqws7fEstK1NBBRFnfxavRoT8JRo_kAXhs9OJfPK0jkReF1iPyF7WUEhDK9M7-18P7oqXf/s640/EY7A8918+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNElMqcLVsPGTsNnar1QcfeS4RwW4vB7erWF4lHow1joNgjPezvhWoC4p79NUl9LGtlEdVLfsqws7fEstK1NBBRFnfxavRoT8JRo_kAXhs9OJfPK0jkReF1iPyF7WUEhDK9M7-18P7oqXf/s320/EY7A8918+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"> It is strange how I can not at all remember where I packed the bread, but can be suddenly struck with a flashback of an event from when I was eighteen years old. I was in a fancy beachside town in south Florida, standing behind my parent's car with the trunk open. We had driven there to cash in on a promised free weekend in an unbelievably ritzy hotel. My dad had recently been freed from a Vietnamese prison camp and was one of the first two men to return to the USA. We were probably some of the first people to discover what "15 minutes of fame" could mean. It was 1973 and my dad didn't have to spend money anywhere. Even I had my photo pasted on the front page of a few newspapers. My dad went from eating pumpkin soup in a ratty cell, wondering if that was where he would die to getting free nights in a luxurious hotel in Boca Raton. They were supposed to be sequestered in the Philippines, while they were slowly brought up to speed, but my grandmother was dying of a long term illness, so they rushed him home...to all of the news people, and all of the photographers. We lost the war, but we got our POWs back...something to celebrate!</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">What none of us wanted to talk about was, how could anybody just do that? We maintained a facade that everything was fine, and we were living happily ever after. Never mind that when he left for the war he had four little crew-cut Sunday school kids, and he came home to teenage long haired hippies. Then there was his subservient Air Force wife that had somehow turned into a war protester and activist. He was rolling with it as best he could, and we could only get hints of what was going on beneath the surface.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">There were times when things went differently and today was one of them. We had driven, all 6 of us, crammed into a car made for 5, for 4 hours down to Boca to the fancy hotel, only to find that nobody there knew anything about Glen Perkins, EX-POW and welcome was not laid out for this family. I was standing outside of the trunk of the car, holding my prize possession, my 6 foot twin-fin surfboard, the first board I had purchased new, with an acid-wash design in my favorite green. The reason I could afford this board was it was made by a local shop that cut some serious corners in materials making it. It had a couple of little pressure dings already merely from me carrying it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was standing there with my board in hand, long haired surfer in my flip flops and shorts, while valets in suits stood by figiting nervously. My dad comes outside with a frown and growing look of sunburn on his neck and face. I recognized this situation and was ready to start hitchhiking home. Something had gone wrong inside the hotel and we were leaving. He grabbed my board and was trying to get it back in the trunk while I had a growing sense of alarm about how many pieces of my board were going into the car. I said, "Dad, it won't fit like that." </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">"I'll make it fit!" he said.....and that went down in the history of the family forever.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I got up early this morning, looking for the bread, and glancing around this campground, packed with campers, looking almost more like an RV sales lot than a campground. I've got my megavan full of man toys and puppy stuff, and Dad's Airstream camper. Airstreams aren't all that common, and whenever you see one, you can tell they have been loved a little more than ordinary campers. My eyes go high and I see the four or five giant dents on this new camper and wonder just where my dad had decided this thing had to fit....<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span> <br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-47030066607993641102020-10-28T03:46:00.000-07:002020-10-28T03:48:01.249-07:00The Wire Fox Quest: Part 1<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiszU4yxO97B4ekvo4reOzeSJDY7WrZCSknz_GIwNmphw68fS1b_gg2uEC79c3k0F6Ohel6bVHObs6_aXPMcwj-pDLSVja1ywzj2r43gJOsng1xvxgynCuntQFn8Ln83XCJV2x8SXoLErD4/s4032/IMG_2165.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiszU4yxO97B4ekvo4reOzeSJDY7WrZCSknz_GIwNmphw68fS1b_gg2uEC79c3k0F6Ohel6bVHObs6_aXPMcwj-pDLSVja1ywzj2r43gJOsng1xvxgynCuntQFn8Ln83XCJV2x8SXoLErD4/s320/IMG_2165.HEIC" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p> <span style="font-family: verdana;">It is the craziest, most unpredictable year in my life, and I've seen some doozies...yet this year has also contained some moments are possibly better because of everything we've all experienced.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">My wife's business is down to about zero, and her team seemed okay with waiting out the pandemic, ready to get back to work when it seemed like it might be safe, but it's looking more and more like nobody really knows when that will be. In fact, today, we read the news that we have just marked the time with the most new reported cases of the virus in a single day...even while it appears that some in our government are making it more difficult to know if the facts we get are trustworthy. In Florida, it is well known that the attitude is "let's get back to work". <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Meanwhile, my family dealt with months of a very different life, one that had lots of TV, and reading. In the middle of all this, many people decided they needed a pet dog in their life and my wife was one of them. The last dog in our menagerie had recently died from old age and we had the empty nest syndrome. Soon, days were filled with websites full of puppy photos and frantic searches for dogs that needed a home.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The breeders were going 'send me money and I'll put you on the waiting list in the event we ever have more puppies'. On top of that, my wife became quite specific in what she wanted for a dog. So, now it was expensive AND impossible to get. Complicating things, were news articles about innocent people getting swindled out of large sums of money.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In spite of all of this, a puppy was found and the excitement began. For most of our lives, getting a dog meant visiting people that had puppies and seeing if we found one that we liked and it liked us. This time was very different. This was seeing photos of the mom and dad, and then pictures and video of the puppies as they grew closer to the age where we could have one. Finally, there would be a journey to go get the dog, but this time, it was a serious long drive and to me that meant one thing: Road Trip! <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-91628666656381554002020-09-15T05:00:00.001-07:002020-09-15T05:04:54.673-07:00Tasting The Salt Life Part 4: Why Don't You Just Tie Up To Our Boat?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrUnJgbzyHTnwiEYFmqPdkmj8jL0ebuKise5btXs5ILbYqdWdTnl2Ci0zCB73r6wKM5jglRThnduR-dRBJWe_iygfdf_gytwb_gzRcpeXl97jb3Nj-lSZS9A8DmvuOrOG6pqwr4QoP3Dw/s6000/1A08F237-58DD-4541-9A2C-4CECF05E3D18.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrUnJgbzyHTnwiEYFmqPdkmj8jL0ebuKise5btXs5ILbYqdWdTnl2Ci0zCB73r6wKM5jglRThnduR-dRBJWe_iygfdf_gytwb_gzRcpeXl97jb3Nj-lSZS9A8DmvuOrOG6pqwr4QoP3Dw/s320/1A08F237-58DD-4541-9A2C-4CECF05E3D18.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Fisher folk are some strange people and they've got their own unspoken rules, and they abide by these rules to varying degrees. One pretty strong rule is that you don't fish close to somebody else that is catching fish...although there seems to be quite a bit of disagreement about what the proper distance is. Thus, when encountering a boat full of guys with beer and one guy with a big fish on you might hear, "Why Don't You Just Tie Up To Our Boat?" For those new to English, this is not a question that needs an answer, it needs you go to far away from those guys. In fact, I'm pretty sure it would mean the same thing if we were fishing in Japan.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It is a pretty common occurrence that fish are biting in one spot, yet fifty feet away, you'd get nothing but envious of the guys catching the fish. This was probably one of the big pushes for giant engines on small boats, so the guys could be the 'first one on the spot' in the morning.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">On this particular day, our last full day of fishing, we found ourselves out at the Boca pass, which is some kind of natural wonder all by itself. If it is not the deepest natural pass in the USA, it must be close. For comparison, the water in the harbor is around 10 feet deep in average. If you were in a boat on the east coast, you might drive out 30 miles from Cape Canaveral before you hit 50 feet of water. Generally, the water near the coast on the Gulf side of Florida is shallow as well, but the depth of Boca Grande pass is 80 feet. What happens there is during tarpon season, you can find giant boats catching giant 150lb fish mere feet from shore. So, fishing is a big deal there, and those big fish and big boats mean big money to be made. A toll bridge and really fancy homes are there on Boca as well as some fiercely competitive fishing guides.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We pulled up in the pass on a non-tarpon day and few boats were out. Dusty was determined to pull up a huge Goliath grouper from the old Phosphate docks, but that was not to happen today. By the way, back when I was young they called them "Jewfish". I have no idea why, but I have a pretty good idea of why they changed the name...once again, I didn't get the memo, but when I first saw a video of a guy landing a Goliath grouper, I went, "Oh, I know what that is!". Back in my day, I didn't think anyone could catch those things, they could break any pole and any line.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">While Dusty was trying to find some bait big enough to interest the grouper, I saw something WAY better. Three old spanish guys were up on the beach on the island, wading with yellow bait buckets towards some rocks where there was some serious splashing happening. Suddenly, one rod bent double and you could hear his line singing all the way to our boat. There other guys cast in the same general direction and it was snook time! Minutes later, the first guy was cradling one of the largest snook I've seen, and slowly swimming him back into the water.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dusty was already heading in their direction, wondering just how close could we get without getting yelled at. We decided that what was right was about 100 yards away, and we sat there casting good live bait...for nada. We sat with our shoulders drooped while they caught fish after fish...until the first guide boat came flying in with 6 people on board and anchored about 10 feet from the wading guys. I thought that wasn't very polite and then the second guide boat came in with 6 more guys and suddenly nobody was catching fish. I did hear some words being exchanged between the wading guys and the boat captains. I could not make out the conversation...but I'm pretty sure I knew what they were talking about... <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-8297128352443954312020-09-14T12:40:00.002-07:002020-09-14T12:45:51.165-07:00Tasting The Salt Life Part 3: The Hundreth Dolphin<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IdEv9JHGrq2Tw8AcUCtFSCqhbLs98O8_X4Qsp3AmhXX-W7WA77lsuYWyyHvzvy64UBoPtkDf1todPF2_5VuBCtNo91FiOCfmDbamlh2eAC3tAdtw43UWz5nqkn-FJdV2Ov74-GPfpRbE/s4032/IMG_2094.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IdEv9JHGrq2Tw8AcUCtFSCqhbLs98O8_X4Qsp3AmhXX-W7WA77lsuYWyyHvzvy64UBoPtkDf1todPF2_5VuBCtNo91FiOCfmDbamlh2eAC3tAdtw43UWz5nqkn-FJdV2Ov74-GPfpRbE/s320/IMG_2094.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mind you, I've been vacationing in Bokeelia, that little redneck version of Sanibel Island, since I was 18 years old. Before that time, I knew little or nothing about salt water, except what you could learn from going to the beach. Pam's family brought me into the fold, and showed me how to catch snook, how to fish the sandbars, and learn about all of the wildlife. There is so much to see and know, and yet, I can still be amazed after all of these years. Buddy the dolphin, was a unicorn as far as I knew. I've kayaked, surfed, and paddleboarded all over Florida and never saw a dolphin that would give you the time of day..Buddy was different. Buddy could work a crowd, and entice you to give up whatever you had left in the hold...especially if there was a girl in the boat. There have been other dolphins that would hang around and snatch fish after you took them off the hook, but that was different than this guy. I thought he was a singularity, a hurt dolphin that had been nursed back to health and released by Mote Marine or something like that. What happened this trip blew my mind.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">There was a story I heard back in my college days (you can look this up on Wikipedia), in Psychology class. Some scientists that were studying monkeys on an island came up with the idea that once a new behavior was shared to 100 monkeys, it became something they all knew. There is even a book called 'The Hundreth Monkey'...but the idea is that at some point a behavior can be observed and repeated and soon enough everybody is doing it. After this trip to the southwest islands of Florida, I'm wondering how many more years before we reach the hundreth dolphin.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">As I later found out, the dolphin at the Icehouse wasn't Buddy. Nope, Buddy was still out in the Boca Grande pass working his magic on the boaters there. The thing was that you could tell that Buddy was an older dolphin merely by looking at him and his battle scars. The dolphin at the Icehouse was a young dolphin with smooth skin and no age spots. And...Buddy would let you pet him. He'd probably climb in the boat if there was enough fish in there to make it worth the effort. Did Buddy have offspring? Or were there two released dolphins making their stake in separate areas of the harbor?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I got the answer on our third day out, when we ventured to an area called 'Twin Pines'. We raced across the flat calm water, giving no mind to the already building thunderhead clouds above, figuring an epic day of fishing would be worth the chance of getting caught in a storm. Twin Pines is merely a spot on a map, but there were already a few boats working the spot, so we cut the motor and started some drift fishing. First cast, Dusty had a fish on that broke his line. Dustin is a born boat captain, and when he hooks a fish, it's always a monster and is always most likely a tarpon. He is very good at telling you about the strike, and how the fish is attempting a run at the boat, and what a challenge it will be to get it in the boat. Now, in the family I married into, the prescribed behavior for situations like this is to chant our encouragement when someone hooks a big fish. It goes like this "Catfish! Catfish! Catfish!". Dusty would loved to have proved us wrong, but his line broke and as he examined the cut line, he vowed that it must have been the biggest tarpon that ever swam those waters and nothing less than 150 lbs could have severed that expensive braided line he had on his pole. He was totally wound up and we probably would still be there trying to catch that tarpon if something more exciting didn't happen right then. The rest of us in the boat had been catching small trout, none that you could keep, and we kept seeing a dolphin hanging around the boat. I was sure it was just taking those trout as we tossed them back, but soon she actually came right up to the boat...with her baby. We tossed out some of our live bait, and my eyes went wide as I watched mom push the fish towards the baby's mouth. She was teaching the baby how to take fish from us. Even at that moment, I thought, "hmmmm, is that the best thing to do?", but if dolphins have one thing on their side, it is cuteness....we were helpless against the creatures with the built-in happy smile...<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6376426101077722943.post-70678170234974506772020-09-13T14:28:00.000-07:002020-09-13T14:28:06.792-07:00Tasting The Salt Life Part 2: The Charge Of The Trump Brigade<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_h3lPNjj-S2gs1RuENN1U1-iJDJ_WMHY4n9IrVncGtxuIb7ATnIsIymOCZc7zGNlpSAqv3NnmOCDinKQ8ZNPMJptXNcG1fkW4fTO3whXrrcpFmdxwF18ZtaikGBleRNUR8FhoCLk92w8/s640/DSC08979.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_h3lPNjj-S2gs1RuENN1U1-iJDJ_WMHY4n9IrVncGtxuIb7ATnIsIymOCZc7zGNlpSAqv3NnmOCDinKQ8ZNPMJptXNcG1fkW4fTO3whXrrcpFmdxwF18ZtaikGBleRNUR8FhoCLk92w8/s320/DSC08979.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here is was, Saturday morning of the long Labor Day weekend, heading out on a week long fishing trip. Not even ten minutest into the trip, we had a dolphin encounter and I wasn't sure if that was an omen, or we had the best part in the very beginning. It turns out that on vacation as in life, I had no clue of what was really coming.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dusty decided that since this was a Saturday and the weather was nice, we needed to make the run to Captiva Pass. For folks in Orlando, that was like (in normal times), "Hey, it's a weekend, the weather's nice, let's go to Disney!" I figured it would be a fun ride, we'd see a few really fancy boats, but I wasn't into the groove enough yet to think this might not be the best day to head to a popular fishing spot. The ride from Bokeelia to Captiva Pass is about 30 to 45 minutes for somebody like me. This is an area that is well known for very shallow sandbars and secret ways to get places that tourists don't know. I can still vividly remember my first trip back when I was young and running full speed into a sandbar because I didn't really understand how serious those channel markers were. I did know that a passtime for locals was to anchor near a pretty shallow sandbar and wait for some adventurous boater with a big motor see if he could skim over the 'bar. There is some kind of saying about if you see bird walking on the water...don't go that way.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dustin, however, is a whole different animal. He grew up on these waters and he loved speed. I still remember shivering as I let his 16 year old self drive our boat at our maximum speed of 24mph, weaving through the channels of the bay. Now, he is in his 40's and has a big boat that will go 60mph...and he was doing it..unfortunately, the locals were disappointed if they were hoping for a loud ringing of the prop hitting bottom. Not only did Dusty know the area, he had a very expensive GPS that had Charlotte Harbor laid out like Google Maps.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We probably would have been to Captiva Pass in short order except for one thing: every boat in the whole world got there before us. I'm not sure if it was a flash mob, social media posting or what, but somehow, I didn't get the memo. All of the boats had American flags and Trump flags, big ones. I was very impressed that somebody could get this many people to do anything on a Saturday morning. I started wondering if the boat ramps were all full, or if this parade was made up of people that owned waterfront homes with a boat out back...there wasn't much in the way of the kind of boat I could afford, so my first assumption was that Trump was backing some bill that deeply benefited boat owners. It was something that made me feel good that people are not apathetic anymore, on the other hand, I was kind of expecting Greenpeace guys in Zodiac boats to show up with Biden flags...but that never happened.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We drove down the whole length of Cayo Costa (a barrier island park in the gulf) and finally found a tiny anchorage for our boat. We got to swim in the crystal blue water and marvel at all of the boats...wondering why we didn't bring something to sell out there. Politics aside, we could have made a killing!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was a day of no fish, but it was only the first day and it was already looking like this trip was going to be like no other. I thought it would be impossible to top this boat parade, but I was still at the point where I thought Buddy the dolphin was the most incredible animal encounter ever...I had more to learn.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span> <br /></p>Bad Marvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05579838506226705725noreply@blogger.com0