Good Cop, Good Cop

Posted on Monday, October 7, 2013 by Dick

Did I ever tell you the story of the night I spent in jail? And did you know I do not drink coffee, ever?

My folks were heavy coffee drinkers but I never liked the taste as a kid. We spent one rainy afternoon on the boat on the Chesapeake, sitting at the dinette playing cards, my folks with coffee in their tall Aladdin™ tumblers and me with Pepsi™ in mine. The tumblers were all red. You know what comes next, right? Yeppers, I grabbed the wrong one and took a healthy chug. Even the Pepsi™ didn’t kill it. I do not drink coffee to this day.

Just to get away from all the battery acid at home, I went to college in Hoboken and ended up just six blocks from a Maxwell House coffee plant. I love the smell but still can’t stand the taste.

Back to jail.

My first car was Triumph TR-3A which got me through senior year in high school and my freshman year in college. I might still have it if my roommates hadn’t decided to float test it in the Hudson.

Enter Thunder Bug.

My beautifully restored 1950 Volkswagen Beetle had 27 coats of hand rubbed ember firemist paint (a 1967 Cadillac lacquer), hand stitched leatherette seats, and a 140-horsepower Corvair engine under the sleek, vented hood that exceeded the original body lines by no more than six inches. It had the split rear window and “semaphore” turn signals that flopped out of the B-pillars. It was occasionally persnickety.

Thunder Bug.

A few Volkswagens were imported into the United States in 1949 by Ben Pon, but they didn’t gain much popularity. In 1950, Volkswagen Beetles started arriving into Dublin packed in crates in what was termed “completely knocked down” form, ready to be assembled.

First Beetle off the Boat Despite the 33 horsepower engine, the Beetle was designed for “sustained high speeds” on the Autobahn. Assuming 72.2 mph is considered fast.

I always wanted more. 140HP was about right. Thunder Bug could, um, break the speed limit anywhere. Even on the Autobahn.

The American deluxe Beetles got hydraulic brakes in 1952, and lost their semaphores in 1955. Mine had mechanical brakes and semaphores.

I’ve pretty much always been a gearhead which is a good thing since most of my cars have required a certain amount of wrenching. Even Thunder Bug. Maybe especially Thunder Bug.

One dark and stormy Sunday night (Really. It was November. Near freezing. Pouring rain. Bitter.) I was on my way back to school when Thunder Bug coughed twice and died on the four-lane 202 in Somerville, New Jersey. I coasted to the side of the road and popped the hood. Did I mention it was pouring? I had no flashlight so I was feeling around the engine compartment for something that felt familiar when my world lit up. It was so bright, I thought the stadium next door had blown up except there was no stadium next door.

It was a Somerville cop. Patrol car with high beams and twin million candlepower spots.

To set the scene, I was a college kid with a hot rod. I was probably unkempt. I was definitely unshaven. I was absolutely soaked. It was about 1969. College kids and authorities didn’t mix well.

He was smart enough to stay in his car where it was warm and dry. I wandered back and we spoke through his slightly lowered window. I ‘splained what had happened. He volunteered to stay and “light the scene” for me while I troubleshot the car.

I spent the next half hour alternating between his (warm, dry) passenger seat and tracing wires and fuel lines in the (cold, wet) work space under the hood. We determined it was a dead fuel pump.

“You can’t leave it here on the road overnight,” he said.

“Nope.”

“There’s a car parts store right over there. If you think we can push it into the lot, you can leave it there.”

Did you notice the “we”? He helped get the car down into the parking lot.

“I can’t let you stay here,” he said. “Do you have any place to go?” Only later did I realize he was afraid for my health if I had slept in the car, not worried about my transiency. I told him I was on my way to school and had neither family nor friends in Somerville.

“I guess I’ll have to put you up then. Get in.”

So we rode back to the police station. He got me a couple of blankets and showed me the closet where they keep the cots. The closet had, um, bars. And a door that locked from the outside.

Fortunately, I got a single.

They didn’t lock the door.

And they gave me an extra pillow to go with the extra blanket.

Still, I didn’t sleep well. I had to keep kicking the door to make sure it was unlatched.

Reveille came early Monday morning. As my night watch rescuer was going off duty, he brought me in a take-out cup of black coffee. I hate good coffee and this was cop coffee. Best drink I’ve ever had. I drank it all down. And then he took me back to Thunder Bug. The rain had stopped.

Good cops they grow in Somerville, NJ. Good cops, indeed.

Next up, my ride in a New York City paddy wagon…

Liftoff

Posted on Monday, July 22, 2013 by Dick

It was never a sure thing with the leaden skies and incipient rain and lightning so when we went Red for upper level wind conditions, we were all worried.

The hold was short and the United Launch Alliance Atlas V with the second MUOS satellite aboard lifted off at 9:00 a.m., 44 years after Apollo 11 passed behind the Moon and fired its engine to enter lunar orbit. This was my first in-person launch. WOW, what a birthday present!

“The U.S. Navy’s Mobile User Objective System (MUOS) is a next-generation narrowband tactical satellite communications system designed to significantly improve ground communications for U.S. forces on the move. MUOS will provide military users more communications capability over existing systems, including simultaneous voice, video and data – similar to the capabilities experienced today with smart phones.
“MUOS satellites are equipped with a Wideband Code Division Multiple Access (WCDMA) payload that provides a 16-fold increase in transmission throughput over the current Ultra High Frequency (UHF) satellite system. Each MUOS satellite also includes a legacy UHF payload that is fully compatible with the current UHF Follow-on system and legacy terminals. This dual-payload design ensures a smooth transition to the cutting-edge WCDMA technology while the UFO system is phased out.”

The United Launch Alliance (a joint venture of Lockheed Martin and Boeing) has three expendable launch systems: Delta II, Delta IV and the Atlas V. These vehicles have carried payloads such as weather, telecommunications and national security satellites, as well as deep space and interplanetary exploration missions for more than 50 years.

The Atlas family isn’t quite the ground pounder that the Saturn V was but it was still enough to lift John Glenn into the first American orbit.

And pound the ground it did.

More than 300 Atlas launches have been conducted from Cape Canaveral and 285 more from Vandenberg.

Once upon a time, not so many years ago, we huddled around our television sets and watched every launch.

I drove down to South Puffin from North Florida last night through a bodacious thunderstorm that stalled all flights out of Orlando and knocked out the Internet and the cash registers at the gas station I sheltered in. They couldn’t even take cash for gas.

I drove through Christmas and then stopped at Sebring. That fabled 3.7 mile, paved road course hosts the 12 hours of Sebring endurance race as well as the Chumpcar World Series, the SCCA Turkeytrot, the American LeMans, and dozens more races each year. It is one of the busiest year-round circuits in North America and held an event I missed this weekend. Still, I drove around, got directions from a very nice airport security fellow, and found my way to the SCCA compound. They welcomed me, even though I forgot to bring beer.

Then they invited me to come back up and flag.

Pretty darned good weekend!

Click here for the good launch photos.

Tuesday Trippin’

Posted on Tuesday, May 28, 2013 by Dick

I tweeted Leaving the land of $3.94 gas! Woot & Heeeeeeyyyyyyyyyooooooooo! on Thursday as I drove over the bridge into Vermont from New York State.

Bob and his friend Brad created the tradition of shouting Heeeeeeyyyyyyyyyooooooooo at the top of their lungs on road trips. They started it the first time they drove to the Winter Star Party in the Keys as “a cry of exaltation as each state line was passed.” Usually they are in closed cars, so it hurts only them. I have to admit that I expanded into yelling into everyone’s ears via social media.

I drovedrovedrove last week. Then I drovedrovedrove some more. Crossed a number of state lions so I did a lot of Heeeeeeyyyyyyyyyooooooooos.

Road trips are cool. Where else would I get my car detialed (that’s fonetic pronounsation) or discover that Woodstock has a brand new water tower. I shouted it for Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, and West BG Virginia.

And then, Heeyyyooooo? How did I get back in Virginia??? And then Heeyyyooooo? Maryland? MARYLAND??

Huhroh?

My GPS is schizophrenic. It told me I was in Pennsyltucky.

This was a visit-old-friends-and-shoot-photos trip. The Laurel Grove Cemetary and the Forsythe fountain. Robertville and Estill which may be pronounced E-stull. Harper’s Ferry. I stopped at a couple of beaches at the Delaware Water Gap and even waded in the river to take some bridge photos. I didn’t take (many) pictures of the friends.

The run along the Delaware Water Gap was nice although the overcast means the photos I shot there were fairly dull. I’ll still get a couple out of that series.

The rest of the trip was boring except for the rain. There were some serious deluges through which I flat out could not see. I need new wiper inserts — they are pretty worn and I had to push the stiffener down into the arm again when I stopped at lunch time. Can’t find refills anywhere so I guess I’ll end up buying complete new wiper blades. That irritates me.

The (topless)(white) car averaged a skoch over 30 mpg on the trip but I still paid between $3.229 and $3.459/gallon for the privilege. I could have paid $3.169 in one of the Carolinas but I had already filled up at $3.22. I saw $3.949 in Champlain but Stewart’s in Rouses Point was $3.629/gallon. Right across the bridge in Vermont, both the Mobil and Irving were $3.639. It’s $3.679 in Swanton. That came to more than $200 in gasoline alone.

That’s price gouging. Sen. Bernard Sanders (I-VT) got his sound bite about gouging last year, though, so we don’t have to worry about that any more. See, after he “launched an investigation into unusually high gasoline prices in northwestern Vermont last summer, gas prices in Chittenden, Franklin and Grand Isle Counties became much more competitive.”

Of course that lasted about a nanosecond after the TV cameras (and Sen. Sanders) went elsewhere.

Our neighbor, Captain Gib, sells gas at his country store. He was moaning the other day that he “only makes about four cents a gallon.” For the record, each gallon of gas sold in northwestern Vermont last year made the seller 31.6 cents in average profit; this region turned in the 10th highest profit margin in the U.S. which means I really, really don’t want to drive in the number one market.

Meanwhile, I have to mount the mower deck on the tractor and do the first cutting (the grass is more than a foot tall). There are some other chores waiting on me. Two toilets need repair parts and the hot water pipe to the upstairs bath burst over the winter. That made a mess. I have to bleed the air out and refill the furnace with water and anti-freeze. Memorial Day Weekend. It snowed a little just a few miles from here.