Thursday, June 30, 2016


Sometime around 1975 while following a Jaguar in Vancouver, B.C. our attention was drawn to a bumper sticker, "The Parts Falling Off This Car Are of The Finest British Workmanship".

Spotted this gem yesterday in my hometown.

What a perfect way to start collecting British sporty cars, a Triumph Spitfire!

Please note it comes with that indispensable British car accessory, a car hauler trailer and tow vehicle.

With this as a starter car,you will be ready to add other British cars, Italian sports car, Australian sourced Mercury Capris, Opels, Buick Reattas, Pontiac Fieros, and Harleys while having the backup trailer and tow vehicle to get them home Such a deal!

Kinda, Sorta a Blank

No profound political or philosophical thoughts are percolating in what passes for my brain so you get pictures. One good thing about starting my day at 0300 is seeing nice sunrise colors.

Wheatland, WY.

Gurnsey, WY

I like the contrast in colors. Makes the drive interesting.


About 5 miles South of Interstate 80 and Kimball NE. Hate to think what kind of nasty shit gets processed here.

A tedious but vital job.

Yes, it is the Air Force but why can't they wear their fucking covers? Take pride in their appearance? By gawd, back in my day.............

Saturday, June 25, 2016

Why I Decided to Walk to Work, Ocean Division

Back in the day at the Recruiting station.

SSG Coleman, "Son, ever been on the ocean?"

Me, "I've seen the Great Salt Lake".

A few months later aboard the good ship General Maurice Rose was happy I listened to him.

Wednesday, June 22, 2016


Just a post aimed at family members. Other may get something out of it.

Seeing posts from people involved in amateur radio got me to reminiscing about my late uncle Joe. Copied an announcement from the ham newsletter in 2001.

Joe White, K0CNV, a long time RMRL member, died February 20 after
being in failing health for the past few years. Joe was a fixture
of the Denver amateur radio scene for more than 40 years, and was
in the commercial tower business prior to his retirement. He also
ran the RMRL swap net until his health concerns prevented it.

He was married to a large brassy blond named Elise. Medical problems prevented them from having children and their chaotic life precluded adoption. He focused his energies on ham radio and she on disabled veterans, abused children, and an obscure Indian village in Mexico.  The woman was formidable.

Joe’s principal employment was a heavy truck mechanic. He was so good his company would fly him out by helicopter to their broken down trucks.

Joe was willing, no eager, to teach me all about ham radio. I never caught the bug. I do remember him telling me his tower, all 40’ of it, was grounded in an underground stream. Said it gave him a powerful ground wave. I assume some readers will know what that means.

At family gatherings the younger children would be tasked with climbing trees to string antennas.

For all his mechanical skill, he neglected their vehicles. Elise nagged him to fix her brakes. He said he would do it; she didn’t have to remind him every six months. When they got to the point where the brakes had to be pumped three times, she took it to a local shop. The next time he drove it, at the stop sign he pumped the brakes. Took him a few years to live that one down.

Elsie was an indifferent housekeeper. Not long after my wife and I married we were visiting and Elsie feed us stew. Since it was prepared in a pressure cooker I felt it was safe to eat. As my bride was eating the family cat walked across the table and my wife’s plate. Calmly, she lifted the cat off the plate and continued to eat while avoiding the paw prints in the stew. Damn, I was proud of her.

Elsie would spend all year gathering clothing and useful items for the Indians. Once a year she and Joe would pack a large trailer and head to Mexico pulling it with their pickup with a slide in camper.

They devoted countless hours to supporting Search and Rescue with communications and whatever civil defense needs were in their community. They were two people who gave unstintingly to others even when they barely had a pot to piss in.

I could have done without Joe and a buddy showing up for our wedding drunk on their asses. Oh well, part of belonging to a large family.

Elsie had serious health problems. One time when she was in the hospital, my wife and I visited. There was a constant stream of visitors. An eclectic mob to be sure. Everything from black ladies dressed in their best church clothing,  WW II vets in wheelchairs, foster parents, and some I couldn’t classify.

Elsie preceded him in death by a decade. As his health faded, several of my cousins rallied to his aid insuring home repairs were done, yards were mowed, etc.

Doing the Google thing, found this little tidbit.

Call Sign: K0CNV, Grant Date: 12/12/1994, Expiration Date: 12/12/2004, Cancellation Date: 12/13/2006, Registrant: Joe W White, 6335 W 53 Ave, Arvada, CO 80002

I assume these are for certain periods as I remember him having the same call sign for as long as he was involved in amateur radio.

He had a side business climbing broadcast towers to repair burned out lights. More than once he offered to bring me along. Gosh, it always coincided with something I had previously committed. Heights in airplanes don’t bother me. Towers? Cliffs? Makes my scrotum make friends with my diaphragm. I can, and have, done it but I damned sure didn’t enjoy it.

Over the years as a young man, I was exposed to a lot of expertise by aunts, uncles, and older cousins that I am richer for knowing.  Uncle Joe was a part of that. 

Sunday, June 19, 2016

One Tough SOB

If nothing else, he taught me a man gets up every morning and starts putting one foot in front of the other no matter what. Best lesson a Dad can teach a son.


Thursday, June 16, 2016

Younger Generation

Once again WSF goes philosophical and, as usual, makes a half baked observation. You have been warned.

Yesterday was in the nineties (Yes, a pleasant day in Texas). While stopped at a traffic light couldn’t help but notice two young men in a car next to me. Heavily tattooed, wife beater shirts, cigarettes, and loud blaring rap from their stereo made them hard to ignore. In nearly every stereotype way, they were proclaiming to the world they are baaaad asses.

It made me happy to see them. In today’s world of effeminate young males, it was refreshing to see masculine males. Maybe they are just posers. Even so, they have the guts to pose, and face possible consequences for projecting an image many find offensive.

In my youth we rolled a cigarette pack in the sleeve of our T shirt, street raced, and got into bar fights. On occasion, real bad asses showed us we weren’t. Scars were a badge of honor, especially scared knuckles. A broken nose was a common sight. Young women were attracted to bad boys, to men who they could count on to protect them.  Today?

Even rap is becoming “pop” says my son who is an expert on heavy metal (one of his blogs is on my side bar).

People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.   George Orwell

Where are the rough men going to come from in our current cultural emasculation of boys?

Bless the rebellious youth. May we have more of them.

Cousins By The Dozens

Having lots of cousins can come in handy. Recently one and his wife were vacationing and lost their key to their vehicle parked at DIA. (Millbillies to Momma Fargo)

 No problem, a spare key was overnighted to my sister. I picked it up and took it with me on my rounds. After dropping off my shipment at the Air Freight Terminal, drove to the passenger terminal. My cousin stepped out, my window was rolled down, the key was transferred and I was on my way. Had chickens to sell before they died and eggs before they hatched.

About fifteen years ago my youngest and girlfriend were returning from Washington State when his alternator went bad near Caldwell, Idaho. I asked him if he could make it to Boise by having his battery charged. When he arrived at a truck stop in Boise, a man pulled up along side them and asked,

  “Are you Travis?” “Follow me”.

Soon they were at my aunt’s house. The car was parked. An alternator for a Daihatsu wasn’t available in Boise so they left the car and came to Colorado on Greyhound. The cat, Precious, stayed with my aunt.

An independent owner friend of my sister ran Greeley/Seattle/Greeley weekly hauling fresh beef for the Japanese market. Arrangements were made and Precious joined him at a Boise truck stop to ride back to Colorado.  

The trucker amused himself on his CB telling all of his buddies  he was,
   “Back hauling pussy”.  *

It is good to belong to clans that will support each other.

*Today with the Truckers Against Trafficking (which I wholeheartedly support) that wouldn’t happen. Again, fifteen years ago. 

Sunday, June 12, 2016

A Black Thing

Another car sales story with blatant racial overtones. Alert the (P)regressives.

While working an offsite sale with several dealerships involved, a coworker, Karl, called me over. Seems I was the only white boy among the four salesmen by the entrance.

Karl, a black man, had a black customer. The customer wanted to test drive a pickup.

  “No problem”, said Karl. “Let me make a copy of your driver’s license”.

   “Is that some kind of ‘back thing’, that you need my license?”, asked the customer. Karl looked at him, then looked at his own forearm, then back to the customer.

   “Yeah, I know you are black”, said the customer. “I still think it is a black thing”.

   “Hey Tank, can you come over here?” Karl called out to me. When I slithered over ( what do you expect from a car salesman) Karl said,

    “This guy thinks making a copy of his drivers license is some sort of a black thing”.

     “No, it is a policy”, I said to the customer. “However, if you want to make it a black thing, let us do a credit app first”.

The customer looks around and sees all the black salesmen cracking up.
Give him credit.

   “Am I being silly”, he asked? When I answered affirmatively, he produced his license, Karl made a copy, and they went off on the test drive.

Had to take a few minutes teasing from the black salesmen. As I recall one comment was,

   “Man, you put the R into redneck”.

Kind of a point here. In those days a lot of teasing went on. It helped make a bond, us against the world. Today’s politically correct climate doesn’t allow people of different colors and backgrounds to get to know one another. Our country is poorer because of political correctness.

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Stinking Thinking

Could be wrong but this kind of stinking thinking goes back to the 1960's and Eldridge (Rape) Cleaver. If your cause is righteous enough (in your opinion and you rabble pack's opinion) any action you take is justified.

We see it in calls by the (P)regressives to kill Trump. Here is something "sweet" from Wild Earth Guardians types.

So, for those of that mindset, here is my opinion. Fuck with me and I will fuck you up. YMMV

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Not so Fast

I enjoy the upheaval that is the Donald. Kicking the props out of smug assholes who have insulated themselves from critical examination. Giving the press an overdue blast.

He is saying what he will do as President to which I caution, not so fast Donny boy.

You will face a Senate with enough Democrats that can and will fight you over every Cabinet appointment, every Supreme court nomination and will employ every parliamentary trick known. These won’t be the all talk, no backbone RINO little Obama bitches. This will unrestricted war. Odds are farsighted Democrats are already planning strategy. James Carville Jr, anyone?

For eight years the (P)regressives have been filling civil service ranks. 1,000 lawyers in the EPA alone. They won’t go quietly.

Obama appointed czars. You appoint Inspector Generals with the legal authority to bring charges, and bring people to trial. Won’t happen using the Justice Department. At each turn of the screw, remind the public these are the spawn of the Democrats.

Properly handled, the next midterms will result in the American public throwing the entrenched bastards out. Then real progress can be made.