tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63049394718319166772024-03-19T12:11:07.943-06:00STEAMDMy life long passion has been in the area of “STEM,” Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics. As my career and experience progressed, I grew to understand the importance of Art and Design in this technological society we’ve become. I've adopted the acronym "STEAMD" to represent those passions and concerns. This blog is my personal views on STEAMD as well as a biography of my career of over 50 years working in high tech.Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.comBlogger389125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-40358246603153353122021-06-21T07:24:00.000-06:002021-06-21T07:24:02.378-06:00John Prine Jesus the Missing Years<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuMRJexKyDUwhjDFR5XLqaFRgf3Ic6GSHQywdr90K0KTmevU-A0dDSt7z-9AzoiEmA73hHgknFmyoDTaqIyzv6SUJHNvD5HPtFNUhyphenhypheneAFLbphZkSS8daPcJB6WHX0gtugaan7Vuk3WI5I/s1800/John+Prine+Jesus+the+Missing+Years.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="1013" data-original-width="1800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuMRJexKyDUwhjDFR5XLqaFRgf3Ic6GSHQywdr90K0KTmevU-A0dDSt7z-9AzoiEmA73hHgknFmyoDTaqIyzv6SUJHNvD5HPtFNUhyphenhypheneAFLbphZkSS8daPcJB6WHX0gtugaan7Vuk3WI5I/s320/John+Prine+Jesus+the+Missing+Years.jpg"/></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<p>
In 1991 Prine released the Grammy Award-winning album “The Missing Years,” his first collaboration with producer and bassist Howie Epstein. The title song records Prine's humorous take on what Jesus did in the unrecorded years between his childhood and his ministry. The song later reappeared on the live album, “Live on Tour,” in 1997.
<p>
If you listen carefully you will notice many of John’s compositions include his view of religion. “God Only Knows,” “When I Get Heaven,” “Whistle & Fish,” even “Paradise.” There’s even an article called “John Prine's Images of God and Male Melancholia: Terror, Forgiveness, and the Persistence of Desire” in the “Journal of Religion and Health.” I guess I’m not the only one that has noticed.
<p>
Some poets, or in this case, a singer-songwriter, can get into trouble. No wonder Plato wanted to exile them from his Republic. These poets are like a force of nature tending towards disorder, challenging what we see, asking questions no one wants asked. It’s Warren Zevon declaring “I was born to rock the boat” (from “Mutineer”) and Bob Dylan declaring, “the sun’s not yellow, it’s chicken.”
<p>
Along comes John Prine asking questions and poking fun at Jesus or at least the common notions of Jesus and you know that’s trouble. It’s why our parents got so upset about the music we listened to.
<p>
In concert, Prine introduces this song with some humorous patter about his latter day discovery that there were these missing years in Jesus’ life. Anyone who pays attention knows this, but most glide right past the point. The Bible describes Jesus’ childhood that takes him to age 12, then he steps off stage and we hear nothing from him again until he’s thirty.
<p>
No one asks too many questions about what Jesus was doing all those years. If pressed, most Christians might answer that Jesus hung out in Nazareth with his family, perhaps working as a carpenter with his Dad. (Johnny Cash intones a song called “Jesus was a Carpenter.” “Jesus was a carpenter/And he worked with a saw and a hammer/And his hands could form a table strong enough to stand forever.”)
<p>
So John Prine lets the idea of the missing years roll around in his head for a while until he does what a songwriter does: he turns those musings into a song. If there are no facts, he imagines some truth, has some fun, lets loose a little whimsy as he imagines a life for the young Jesus. You might want to ground yourself before reading the lyrics as the lightning bolts might fly if you say them too loud. Or you just might consider that our Lord has a good sense of humor. Anyway, I assume John’s up there now, and I’ll bet they’re having a good laugh about …
<p>
(spoken) Jesus… the missing years<p>
It was raining. It was cold<br>
West Bethlehem was no place for a twelve year old<br>
So he packed his bags and he headed out<br>
To find out what the world's about
<p>
He went to France. He went to Spain<br>
He found love. He found pain.<br>
He found stores so he started to shop<br>
But he had no money so he got in trouble with a cop
<p>
Kids in trouble with the cops<br>
From Israel didn't have no home<br>
So he cut his hair and moved to Rome<br>
It was there he met his Irish bride<br>
And they rented a flat on the lower east side of Rome…Italy that is<br>
Music publishers, book binders, Bible belters, Money Changers,<br>
Spoon Benders, and lots of pretty Italian chicks.
<p>
Chorus:
<p>
Charley bought some popcorn<br>
Billy bought a car<br>
Someone almost bought the farm<br>
But they didn't go that far<br>
Things shut down at midnight<br>
At least around here they do<br>
Cause we all reside down the block<br>
Inside at 23 Skidoo.
<p>
Wine was flowing so were beers<br>
So Jesus found his missing years<br>
He went to a dance and said "This don't move me"<br>
He hiked up his pants and he went to a movie<br>
<p>
On his thirteenth birthday he saw "Rebel without a Cause"<br>
He went straight on home and invented Santa Claus<br>
Who gave him a gift and he responded in kind<br>
He gave the gift of love and went out of his mind
<p>
You see him and the wife wasn't getting along<br>
So he took out his guitar and he wrote a song<br>
Called "The Dove of Love Fell Off the Perch"<br>
But he couldn't get divorced in the Catholic Church
<p>
At least not back then anyhow<br>
Jesus was a good guy he didn't need this shit<br>
So he took a pill with a bag of peanuts and<br>
A Coca-Cola and he swallowed it.
<p>
He discovered the Beatles<br>
And he recorded with the Stones<br>
Once He even opened up a three-way package<br>
In Southern California for old George Jones
<p>
Repeat Chorus:
<p>
Charley bought some popcorn<br>
Billy bought a car<br>
Someone almost bought the farm<br>
But they didn't go that far<br>
Things shut down at midnight<br>
At least around here they do<br>
Cause we all reside down the block<br>
Inside at 23 Skidoo.
<p>
The years went by like sweet little days<br>
With babies crying pork chops and beaujolais<br>
When he woke up he was seventeen<br>
The world was angry, the world was mean<br>
Well, the man down the street and the kid on the stoop<br>
All agreed that life stank, all the world smelled like poop<br>
Baby poop that is, the worst kind.<br>
<p>
So he grew his hair long and thew away his comb<br>
Headed back to Jerusalem to find mom, dad and home<br>
But when he got there the cupboard was bare<br>
Except for an old black man with a fishing rod<br>
He said "Whatcha gonna be when you grow up?"<br>
Jesus said, "God"<br>
Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into?<br>
I'm a human corkscrew, all my wine is blood<br>
They're gonna kill me mama, they don't like me bud.
<p>
So Jesus went to Heaven<br>
And he went there awful quick<br>
All them people killed him<br>
And he wasn't even sick
<p>
So come and gather around me<br>
My contemporary peers<br>
And I'll tell you all the story of Jesus<br>
The missing years.
<p>
Repeat Chorus:
<p>
Charley bought some popcorn<br>
Billy bought a car<br>
Someone almost bought the farm<br>
But they didn't go that far<br>
Things shut down at midnight<br>
At least around here they do<br>
Cause we all reside down the block<br>
Inside at 23 Skidoo.
</span>
Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-37515856214808263902021-03-16T04:59:00.004-06:002021-03-16T05:04:27.495-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQ1UT5bioSrNgDbLLKQszRa_tGGvGwXKye62OztPWsDhyphenhyphen9prkrg6XrFpZyrIo7yHRHgYLSX5gBoDwvYJrvk_434pHNFuT8vQCEV_jOVbgOyZv23r67xt4EitzxI6I9ZGmE170hqv0uu4/s1024/Spanish+Pipe+Dream.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQ1UT5bioSrNgDbLLKQszRa_tGGvGwXKye62OztPWsDhyphenhyphen9prkrg6XrFpZyrIo7yHRHgYLSX5gBoDwvYJrvk_434pHNFuT8vQCEV_jOVbgOyZv23r67xt4EitzxI6I9ZGmE170hqv0uu4/s320/Spanish+Pipe+Dream.jpg"/></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<b>Spanish Pipe Dream</b>
<p>
As I grow older, my memory seems to fade. I can’t recall all the things I used to think, and often do dumb things without knowing it. As I gathered up materials to write about my favorite John Prine songs (and I know it is a long list … I have a lot of favorites), I skipped right over this one. I was looking at song titles and singing the tunes in my head. When I saw "Spanish Pipe Dream" it didn’t ring a bell. I didn’t find that title very inviting.
<p>
Then, almost by accident, as I played some of my Prine “Albums” (can you call them that when you are playing them on Apple Music ((which was called iTunes until they changed it))) and I heard this song again. I just didn’t connect the title to this song I really like. So I added it to my list to write about.
<p>
(I do have a list. I’ll bet you are wondering when I will finish. Well, I think I’m about half way. It is a LONG list.)
<p>
Here’s what John says about this song:
<p>
“I wrote this when I started performing. I thought the first song of the show should be up and bouncy. I can only play two rhythms—fast and slow—so this was written to go with my fast bouncy rhythm.”
<p>
“Originally, the chorus wasn’t about blowing up your TV. It was something about the girls forgetting to take the pill, but sunk pretty low after that first great verse. I sounded like Loretta Lynn singing about ‘the pill.’ Then I got the line ‘blow up your TV.’ I used to keep a small bowl of real fine pebbles that I picked up on my mail route, and if somebody said something really stupid on TV I’d throw some at the screen."
<p>
This was written and originally released by John Prine on his self-titled debut album. John Denver recorded a famous cover version on his 1971 album, “Aerie.”
<p>
The song is about a soldier who meets a topless dancer who tells him it is good to live simply: "Blow up your TV, throw away your paper, go to the country, build you a home." They both end up living by that advice. You could even add this song to John’s religious theme if you notice the right lines.
<p>
Spanish Pipe Dream
<p>
She was a level-headed dancer on the road to alcohol<br>
And I was just a soldier on my way to Montreal<br>
Well, she pressed her chest against me<br>
About the time the jukebox broke<br>
Yeah, she gave me a peck on the back of the neck<br>
And these are the words she spoke<br>
<p>
Blow up your TV, throw away your paper<br>
Go to the country, build you a home<br>
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches<br>
Try and find Jesus on your own<br>
<p>
Well, I sat there at the table and I acted real naive<br>
For I knew that topless lady had something up her sleeve<br>
Well, she danced around the bar room and she did the hoochy-coo<br>
Yeah, she sang her song all night long, tellin' me what to do<br>
<p>
Blow up your TV, throw away your paper<br>
Go to the country, build you a home<br>
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches<br>
Try and find Jesus on your own<br>
<p>
Well, I was young and hungry and about to leave that place<br>
When just as I was leavin', well she looked me in the face<br>
I said "you must know the answer"<br>
She said, "no, but I'll give it a try"<br>
And to this very day we've been livin' our way<br>
And here is the reason why<br>
<p>
We blew up our TV, threw away our paper<br>
Went to the country, built us a home<br>
Had a lot of children, fed 'em on peaches<br>
They all found Jesus on their own<br>
<p>
</span>
Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-79746930510259132622021-01-01T12:46:00.000-07:002021-01-01T12:46:36.223-07:00It's a Big Old Goofy World<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8o5J4JCqDajjLec2N5l5Vt4qMny0sv-WvobnjmH3dO2udIOiaG4T849YGb4fj7MToZifL70r_fjuKLi9S082tSFGE1016HPuYxsxKmIDM8e34DAR55Bi3wHa2WiUOKAiNvowtxcBwWDg/s500/Goofy+World.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; clear: left; float: left;"><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8o5J4JCqDajjLec2N5l5Vt4qMny0sv-WvobnjmH3dO2udIOiaG4T849YGb4fj7MToZifL70r_fjuKLi9S082tSFGE1016HPuYxsxKmIDM8e34DAR55Bi3wHa2WiUOKAiNvowtxcBwWDg/s320/Goofy+World.jpg"/></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<p>
John Prine was sitting with his mother in the kitchen once and they were looking at some magazine or puzzle book that was full of idioms and similes such as “cold as ice” or “fit as a fiddle” or “drinks like a fish.” His mother and he had a good time coming up with their own common expressions and out of that foolery came this song.
<p>
I compare John Prine to Mark Twain. It is easy to make the connection between Mark Twain, the nineteenth-century writer and lecturer, and John. Like Twain, Prine views the world with joy and pity — with humor and disdain. While Twain utilizes literary techniques to advance his impressions, Prine’s musical compositions demonstrate his unique outlook. Perhaps foreshadowed by Bob Dylan, today’s poets often materialize as singer/songwriters.
<p>
Prine’s observations of the world around him reflect the attitudes and practices of modern American culture. His views on love, social issues, politics, and religion are presented in a vernacular language that is made accessible by melodies that are both poignant and memorable.
<p>
Prine’s song, <i>It’s a Big Old Goofy World</i> is a microcosm of his world view.
<p>
As he riffs on the silly similes, he tells the story of a happy couple. So happy they’re dancing. It’s a fun song, like many of John’s compositions. A simple tune to make you all feel happy.
<p>
John can legitimately be regarded as a Country singer and musician. He gravitated toward Nashville as evidence of that. My personal tastes run more to Folk music, and I can make a case for John as Folk artist too. (I could do the same for Dylan.) That works for me!
<p>
Folk music can be measured by the ability of regular folks to perform it, and most Prine songs can easily be performed and appreciated with voice and guitar and still retain their essence. Though the words may be complex, the simplicity of the music makes the songs accessible. You don’t have to be a great singer to do Prine. At least that’s my excuse.
<p>
When I hear this song, I think the <i>Big Old Goofy Man</i> is John himself. Maybe he’s dancing with his mom, or maybe with his wife. You know they all shared his vision: <i>It’s a Big Old Goofy World.</i> Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying. This morning that’s my mission: to laugh to keep from crying.
<p>
Whether Folk or Country, this song is just fun. It could even be classified as kid’s music, the kind you hear in a Daycare. (Guess you folks didn’t know I’ve spent time in a Daycare, and I don’t mean as a kid! Yes I have.)
<p>
So let’s all sing along with John. After all, it <b>IS</b> a
<p>
… “A Big Old Goofy World"
<p>
Up in the morning<br>
Work like a dog<br>
Is better than sitting<br>
Like a bump on a log<br>
<p>
Mind all your manners<br>
Be quiet as a mouse<br>
Some day you'll own a home<br>
That's as big as a house<br>
<p>
I know a fella<br>
He eats like a horse<br>
Knocks his old balls<br>
Round the old golf course<br>
<p>
You oughta see his wife<br>
She's a cute little dish<br>
She smokes like a chimney<br>
And drinks like a fish<br>
<p>
There's a big old goofy man<br>
Dancing with a big old goofy girl<br>
Ooh baby<br>
It's a big old goofy world<br>
<p>
Now Elvis had a woman<br>
With a head like a rock<br>
I wished I had a woman<br>
That made my knees knock<br>
<p>
She'd sing like an angel<br>
And eat like a bird<br>
And if I wrote a song<br>
She'd know ever single word<br>
<p>
There's a big old goofy man<br>
Dancing with a big old goofy girl<br>
Ooh baby (sing like Elvis)<br>
It's a big old goofy world<br>
<p>
(Bridge — for you Folk players)<br>
<p>
Kiss a little baby<br>
Give the world a smile<br>
If you take an inch<br>
Give 'em back a mile<br>
<p>
Cause if you lie like a rug<br>
And you don't give a damn<br>
You're never gonna be<br>
As happy as a clam<br>
<p>
So I'm sitting in a hotel<br>
Trying to write a song<br>
My head is just as empty<br>
As the day is long<br>
<p>
Why it's clear as a bell<br>
I should have gone to school<br>
I'd be wise as an owl<br>
Stead of stubborn as a mule.<br>
<p>
And there's a big old goofy man<br>
Dancing with a big old goofy girl<br>
Ooh baby<br>
It's a big old goofy world<br>
<p>
Ooh baby<br>
It's a big old goofy world<br>
</span>
Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-86243273580917805492020-12-31T18:28:00.000-07:002020-12-31T18:28:43.757-07:00Hello In There<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGsuHqlymAFDjbI9oHtnAjvHr0g5OjTKwIxwTfpjhQP6tMRyZZcvvKxxCro6QAHKTRVXzW3iqgjYiwGTj4fBmAB70IpcH6kAgHWX62sPJau9lcaI82t6ep7J1tjE_o-qqmn4Im7iKRX0/s360/john+prines+elf+titled.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; clear: left; float: left;"><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGsuHqlymAFDjbI9oHtnAjvHr0g5OjTKwIxwTfpjhQP6tMRyZZcvvKxxCro6QAHKTRVXzW3iqgjYiwGTj4fBmAB70IpcH6kAgHWX62sPJau9lcaI82t6ep7J1tjE_o-qqmn4Im7iKRX0/s320/john+prines+elf+titled.jpg"/></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<p>
Brandi Carlile recently appeared on <i>The Late Show</i> with Stephen Colbert to pay tribute to singer-songwriter John Prine, who died on April 7,2020 at age 73 from complications related to COVID-19.
<p>
Brandi chose to play one of John's most beloved songs, <i>Hello in There,</i> which she said has special meaning amid the coronavirus pandemic. “I think that this is a song that John would like me to sing, because this song refers to the people that we're all staying home to protect,” Brandi said.
<p>
This song was on John’s self titled first album released in 1971. And what a debut it was: <i>Illegal Smile, Hello in There, Sam Stone, Paradise, Far From Me, Angel From Montgomery, Donald and Lydia</i> — all my favorites. Born in 1946, John wrote all these great tunes when he was twenties, or maybe his teens.
<p>
(The <i>Great Compromise</i> and <i>Souvenirs</i> were on his second album — more favorites.)
<p>
John has said, "I heard the John Lennon song <i>Across the Universe,</i> and he had a lot of reverb on his voice. I was thinking about hollering into a hollow log, trying to get through to somebody — <i>Hello in there.</i> That was the beginning thought, then it went to old people.”
<p>
“I’ve always had an affinity for old people. I used to help a buddy with his newspaper route, and I delivered to a Baptist old peoples home where we'd have to go room-to-room. And some of the patients would kind of pretend that you were a grandchild or nephew that had come to visit, instead of the guy delivering papers. That always stuck in my head.”
<p>
“It was all that stuff together, along with that pretty melody. I don't think I've done a show without singing <i>Hello in There.</i> Nothing in it wears on me."
<p>
He told Bruce Pollock, "The names mean a lot. You know, like Loretta in <i>Hello In There.</i> I wanted to pick a name that could be an old person's name, but I didn't want it to stick out so much. People go through phases one year where a lot of them will name their kids the same &ellipsis; and I was just thinking that it was very possible that the kind of person I had in mind could be called Loretta. And it's not so strange that it puts her in a complete time period."
<p>
As for the name of old factory friend Rudy, Prine explains, "We used to live in this three-room flat and across the street there was this dog who would never come in and the dog's name was Rudy. And the lady used to come out at five o'clock every night and go 'Ru-dee! Ru-dee!' And I was sitting there writing and suddenly I go 'Rudy! Yeah! I got that.”
<p>
I remember the first time I heard my friend William (he was Billy back then) play <i>Hello in There.</i> You can’t remember everything that happened in your years, but some things are just special enough that you remember exactly, even things that happened more than 50 years ago. I recall thinking about the meaning of that title. Were these old folks closed up and so they were “in there” … in their thoughts … in their recollections … in their memories?
<p>
So, just to refresh everyone’s memory, here is
<p>
<i>Hello in There.</i>
<p>
We had an apartment in the city<br>
Me and Loretta liked living there<br>
Well, it'd been years since the kids had grown<br>
A life of their own left us alone<br>
<p>
John and Linda live in Omaha<br>
And Joe is somewhere on the road<br>
We lost Davy in the Korean war<br>
And I still don't know what for, don't matter anymore<br>
<p>
Ya' know that old trees just grow stronger<br>
And old rivers grow wilder ev'ry day<br>
Old people just grow lonesome<br>
Waiting for someone to say, "Hello in there, hello"<br>
<p>
Me and Loretta, we don't talk much more<br>
She sits and stares through the back door screen<br>
And all the news just repeats itself<br>
Like some forgotten dream that we've both seen<br>
<p>
Someday I'll go and call up Rudy<br>
We worked together at the factory<br>
But what could I say if asks "What's new?"<br>
"Nothing, what's with you? Nothing much to do"<br>
<p>
Ya' know that old trees just grow stronger<br>
And old rivers grow wilder ev'ry day<br>
Old people just grow lonesome<br>
Waiting for someone to say, "Hello in there, hello"<br>
<p>
So if you're walking down the street sometime<br>
And spot some hollow ancient eyes<br>
Please don't just pass 'em by and stare<br>
As if you didn't care, say, "Hello in there, hello"<br>
<p>
</span>
Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-12489721229011521032020-12-31T18:08:00.000-07:002020-12-31T18:08:00.910-07:00Dear Abby<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfR2gwhiC7wu9OtxeCNAXWyaVxXMXiX_nAPmwzBqyk3JngLC8DheV-tDwS8RRkEE8dJNWLRZayfmUFW7nAEkiMDFk-LaKw0t_7f1cga1DnuiwoxezTGJ7YMBiR54McAq7QFKSXcgIDTw/s200/Sweet+Revenge+Prine.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; clear: left; float: left;"><img alt="" border="0" width="200" data-original-height="196" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfR2gwhiC7wu9OtxeCNAXWyaVxXMXiX_nAPmwzBqyk3JngLC8DheV-tDwS8RRkEE8dJNWLRZayfmUFW7nAEkiMDFk-LaKw0t_7f1cga1DnuiwoxezTGJ7YMBiR54McAq7QFKSXcgIDTw/s200/Sweet+Revenge+Prine.jpg"/></a></div>
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Are you ready for some more John Prine? …
<p>
I can't hear you. Again, are you ready for some John Prine? …
<p>
That's better. You want some more, here's some more (obscure Zappa reference).
<p>
<i>Sweet Revenge</i> is the title track from Prine's third album, the one with the cover portrait of him with his cowboy boots on the upholstery in a convertible he bought with the money from his first two.
<p>
The songs inside are a rocking account of newfound success that immediately detours toward hilarity. It conveys cockeyed optimism with a smear of darkness dirtying the frame. (OK I copied that from somebody else. I can't create all the golden nouns and verbs.)
<p>
"I got kicked off Noah's ark," Prine sings like some shaggy Don Quixote. "There were two of everything but one of me." The wisecracks keep coming as the band plucks behind him and Cissy Houston adds some gospel harmonies. The narrator cozies up to an English teacher on a plane who doesn't like his jokes about red balloons, hears his own songs on the radio, and keeps things weird.
<p>
"The white meat is on the run and the dark meat is far too done," Prine croaks, whatever that means. It doesn't matter. What it means is that life makes no obvious sense, but people can make stories from the random-seeming joy and pain it offers, and share them with each other, and do a lot more than muddle through.
<p>
This album shows the maturity of Prine as he records with a full orchestra and vocal backings. Personally I sort of prefer the simpler "Prine," just him and some basic backing, maybe a sharp guitar player like Johnny Burns adding tasty riffs, a bass, possibly some drums. I like his duets, especially with his good friend Steve Goodman, and certainly I appreciate how Bonnie Raitt digs up extra melody in her rendition of John's song. But what I like best is John in a simple combo.
<p>
My favorite song from the album is <i>Dear Abby.</i> While almost all of the album was recorded in the studio, the cut of <i>Dear Abby</i> came from a live performance. It was attempted in the studio but, as Prine told David Fricke in 1993, "The studio version of that was cut with a band, and it was real stiff and humorless. We cut it once, live, and that was it. That was the power of the song, in the way people would turn their heads the minute I'd get to the first verse, the first chords. That was the reason we used the live version."
<p>
It comes from an experience when John was touring in Europe. Each morning he’d go down to the hotel breakfast where he would find a little locally printed newspaper in English. The staff would copy some items from the <i>Times</i> or the <i>Post</i> or the <i>News</i> in English for their foreign guests. As John perused the little mimeographed paper he found an old friend. Someone to make him think of home in that foreign language speaking country. A close old friend, Dear Abby. So he wrote this song about it:
<p>
Dear Abby, Dear Abby<br>
My feet are too long<br>
My hair's falling out and my rights are all wrong<br>
My friends they all tell me that I've no friends at all<br>
Won't you write me a letter, won't you give me a call<br>
<p>
Signed Bewildered<br>
<p>
Bewildered, Bewildered<br>
You have no complaint<br>
You are what your are and you ain't what you ain't<br>
So listen up buster, and listen up good<br>
Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood<br>
<p>
Dear Abby, Dear Abby<br>
My fountain pen leaks<br>
My wife hollers at me and my kids are all freaks<br>
Every side I get up on is the wrong side of bed<br>
If it weren't so expensive I'd wish I were dead<br>
<p>
Signed Unhappy
<p>
Unhappy, Unhappy<br>
You have no complaint<br>
You are what your are and you ain't what you ain't<br>
So listen up buster, and listen up good<br>
Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood<br>
<p>
Dear Abby, Dear Abby<br>
You won't believe this<br>
But my stomach makes noises whenever I kiss<br>
My girlfriend tells me it's all in my head<br>
But my stomach tells me to write you instead<br>
<p>
Signed Noise-Maker<br>
<p>
Noise-Maker, Noise-Maker<br>
You have no complaint<br>
You are what your are and you ain't what you ain't<br>
So listen up buster, and listen up good<br>
Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood<br>
<p>
Dear Abby, Dear Abby<br>
Well I never thought<br>
That me and my girlfriend would ever get caught<br>
We were sitting in the back seat just shooting the breeze<br>
With her hair up in curlers and her pants to her knees<br>
<p>
Signed Just Married
<p>
Just Married Just Married<br>
You have no complaint<br>
You are what your are and you ain't what you ain't<br>
So listen up buster, and listen up good<br>
Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood<br>
<p>
Signed Dear Abby
</span>
Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-61035183046482370772020-12-31T14:39:00.000-07:002020-12-31T14:39:31.470-07:00That's the Way That the World Goes Round<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFhUeGzzCgtZzHibXgrGKua3sC1bXNbh2s1URqaufd7Vh99jD_EdHXX-rPVbN22wPMWvL1Y_X0f6GQIxtTGwhQIL2haADaslys3CSBzNVHkhDJzp_PVQxo9jwdsiA5xJkUNDVisURzsE/s640/John+Prine+in+Convertible.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; clear: left; float: left;"><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFhUeGzzCgtZzHibXgrGKua3sC1bXNbh2s1URqaufd7Vh99jD_EdHXX-rPVbN22wPMWvL1Y_X0f6GQIxtTGwhQIL2haADaslys3CSBzNVHkhDJzp_PVQxo9jwdsiA5xJkUNDVisURzsE/s320/John+Prine+in+Convertible.jpg"/></a></div>
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<p>
Back when John Prine first got sick I wrote about my personal experience with John Prine. When you're an acoustic guitar player, musicians like Bob Dylan and John Prine seem to write just for you. You gotta have a good memory for lyrics because there's not a lot of repetition other than the chorus. The chords are easy, but the words … ahhhh … the words.
<p>
After John passed, I guess I was surprised how many of my friends posted notes about their experience with John and his lyrics. I admit it was a surprise to me that John was so popular. I thought he was just my personal idol and gift to me only.
<p>
Sure some of my folk buddies knew him (and his words … all of them). But the rest of the world!?! Life is about surprises.
<p>
And, of course, any common idiot knew John Prine was very popular. Unfortunately I'm an uncommon idiot so it surprised me.
<p>
Anyway, in memoriam, I've been playing a lot of his songs on my little iPod/iTunes library (and I've got all 20 or so "albums"). But like much of my life and times, my favorites were the early ones … <i>Sweet Revenge, Bruised Orange, John Prine,</i> and <i>Diamonds in the Rough.</i> I've even got his compilation album: <i>Great Days</i> from '93.
<p>
Now all you gentle readers know I love to develop a theme and post every day. So what say you if I start posting Prine lyrics? Sure, that sounds like something nice to read as an alternative to posts about the virus or politics. Come on now … sing along … after all … <i>That's the Way That the World Goes Round</i> …
<p>
I know a guy that's got a lot to lose.<br>
He's a pretty nice fellow but he's kind of confused.<br>
He's got muscles in his head that ain't never been used.<br>
Thinks he own half of this town.<br>
<p>
Starts drinking heavy, gets a big red nose.<br>
Beats his old lady with a rubber hose,<br>
Then he takes her out to dinner and buys her new clothes.<br>
That's the way that the world goes 'round.<br>
<p>
That's the way that the world goes 'round.<br>
You're up one day and the next you're down.<br>
It's half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown.<br>
That's the way that the world goes 'round.<br>
<p>
I was sitting in the bathtub counting my toes,<br>
When the radiator broke, water all froze.<br>
I got stuck in the ice without my clothes,<br>
Naked as the eyes of a clown.<br>
<p>
I was crying ice cubes hoping I'd croak,<br>
When the sun come through the window, the ice all broke.<br>
I stood up and laughed thought it was a joke<br>
That's the way that the world goes 'round.<br>
<p>
That's the way that the world goes 'round.<br>
You're up one day and the next you're down.<br>
It's half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown.<br>
That's the way that the world goes 'round.<br>
<p>
</span>
Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-49409433483933519912020-12-31T13:57:00.000-07:002020-12-31T13:57:03.227-07:00Muhlenberg County<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_huX4emWn3FBAAPStemKLuoqx0BnqxtfyuakTacexZ9tjLPtUN1LAVXLjxxsIB774aRfIG1UM_jya82cB-CPcdGaDy4u-51XaMmR0jNeh4ATMBBivwGxxyIZ93MOPOOn4JzMUyREvEo/s620/2550.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; clear: left; float: left;"><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="620" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_huX4emWn3FBAAPStemKLuoqx0BnqxtfyuakTacexZ9tjLPtUN1LAVXLjxxsIB774aRfIG1UM_jya82cB-CPcdGaDy4u-51XaMmR0jNeh4ATMBBivwGxxyIZ93MOPOOn4JzMUyREvEo/s320/2550.jpg"/></a></div>
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<p>
Thinking about the Coronavirus pandemic. For we baby boomers this is an unexpected final act to a life that has been mostly fortunate and lucky. At least for most of us born between 1946 and about '63 which is the range of the "Baby Boomer Generation" I believe.
<p>
What a climax. Ignoring the Vietnam war, our generation never had it so good. Born after the great conflict and living through the greatest prosperity of the United States to get to this point and just wonder, "what is next"! We've had it so good for so long, "what is next"!
<p>
So my thoughts turned to this:
<p>
<b>MUHLENBERG COUNTY</b>
<p>
I wrote a while back how sad I was to hear the John Prine has contracted the Coronavirus. He was such a musical hero of mine.
<p>
My musical life and time on the guitar had many phases. Starting when I first learned in High School and perfected (as much as my mediocre playing was ever perfected) in college in Butte, MT. That was followed by six years in the Navy, much of which I lived in a very musical home with some musicians, and we played lots of rock and what we called “beach music” which was a reference to the clubs in Virginia Beach and the Motown music we heard there. I had a Gibson Firebird electric and a couple of keyboards, and we rocked that house.
<p>
Got out of the Navy, sold the Gibson, keyboards, amps, and moved on. In Colorado I bought a nice used Epiphone acoustic. I have it to this day. It was built in Kalamazoo back before Gibson bought Epiphone and made it their low cost offering.
<p>
Once I arrived in Colorado I met another musician and we became close friends to this day. He and I would play a lot of stuff on acoustic guitars and many of my favorites were penned by John. My absolute favorite is one called <i>Paradise</i>, although I always referred to it as “Muhlenberg County.” Like most good music and lyrics, this song tells a story from John’s childhood. It takes one back to their own youth and floating down rivers or shooting pop bottles.
<p>
The simple song which we always did in D with just a G and an A was one of my favorites to play and to sing. John wrote a lot of thoughtful songs: <i>Sam Stone, Illegal Smile, Hello in There.</i> We did them all. His most famous is <i>Angel from Montgomery.</i> Made a top hit by Bonnie Raitt.
<p>
Back when William Weinacht (he was Billie back then) and I played, just the two of us at his house in Denver, are some of my best memories. This was before I got married. The girls would come over and listen and swoon. (Well, at least smile.)
<p>
He came from a very musical family. His dad played bass with Casey Anderson. I did a lot of recording for Casey. William's brother, Jeff, also played bass, and we were a trio and sometimes a quartet. William plays everything. His original instrument was drums, but he plays guitar, banjo, violin, flute, and even a little keyboards. Much more dedicated and skilled and talented musician than me, but that was part of the fun. I sing some leads and some harmonies and just try to keep in key.
<p>
But the most talented of the Weinacht family was brother Gary. He has written a ton of songs and is a great solo entertainer. He lives these days in Scotland, but makes it back to CO now and again. Last April when he was here, we all joined in of the verses of <i>Paradise.</i> I do the high harmony on the chorus and we trade verses. Here, you can sing along:
<p>
<p>
When I was a child my family would travel<br>
Down to Western Kentucky where my parents were born<br>
And there's a backwards old town that's often remembered<br>
So many times that my memories are worn.<br>
<p>
And daddy won't you take me back to Muhlenberg County<br>
Down by the Green River where Paradise lay<br>
Well, I'm sorry my son, but you're too late in asking<br>
Mister Peabody's coal train has hauled it away<br>
<p>
Well, sometimes we'd travel right down the Green River<br>
To the abandoned old prison down by Airdrie Hill<br>
Where the air smelled like snakes and we'd shoot with our pistols<br>
But empty pop bottles was all we would kill.<br>
<p>
And daddy won't you take me back to Muhlenberg County<br>
Down by the Green River where Paradise lay<br>
Well, I'm sorry my son, but you're too late in asking<br>
Mister Peabody's coal train has hauled it away<br>
<p>
Then the coal company came with the world's largest shovel<br>
And they tortured the timber and stripped all the land<br>
Well, they dug for their coal till the land was forsaken<br>
Then they wrote it all down as the progress of man.<br>
<p>
And daddy won't you take me back to Muhlenberg County<br>
Down by the Green River where Paradise lay<br>
Well, I'm sorry my son, but you're too late in asking<br>
Mister Peabody's coal train has hauled it away<br>
<p>
When I die let my ashes float down the Green River<br>
Let my soul roll on up to the Rochester dam<br>
I'll be halfway to Heaven with Paradise waitin'<br>
Just five miles away from wherever I am.<br>
<p>
And daddy won't you take me back to Muhlenberg County<br>
Down by the Green River where Paradise lay<br>
Well, I'm sorry my son, but you're too late in asking<br>
Mister Peabody's coal train has hauled it away<br>
<p>
John grew up in Chicago, but he would visit family in Kentucky and boat down the Green River. There was an old abandoned prison from the Civil War on a hill called Airdrie. When he told his grandmother that he and his friend had hiked up that hill she warned him of the snakes … lots of snakes. She said they smelled like cucumbers. She advised him to take a pistol for protection. “But empty pop bottles was all they would kill.” (Some versions on YouTube John sings “the air smelled like cucumbers.”)
<p>
Folk music always has a story. We all have a story. Now my old friend, Gary Weinacht, is suffering from cancer. He won’t be with us much longer. Sad.
<p>
At my age there are a lot of childhood friends that may not be with us much longer. That includes me.
<p>
So take care of yourselves my friends. Each day is a blessing. Things have changed in this wonderful country we grew up in. Some better, but it seems many for the worse. Mister Peabody’s train has hauled it away. We may not be able to go back. I try. In my mind and thoughts and in my words.
<p>
Daddy won’t you take me back?<br>
When I die let my ashes float down the Green River<br>
Let my soul roll on up to the Rochester dam<br>
I'll be halfway to Heaven with Paradise waitin'<br>
Just five miles away from wherever I am.
</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-83060077757960172642018-08-05T16:40:00.001-06:002018-08-05T16:41:57.261-06:00KOMA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm currently in Edmond, Oklahoma, a suburb of Oklahoma City. We helped our son, Mark, move down here for graduate school. As he re-tuned his radio from Colorado stations to local, he encountered KOMA FM on 92.5.
<p>
Those who grew up in Lewistown, Montana when I did will definitely recognize those call letters, although we listed to the AM version back then (AM 1520).
<p>
Here's a little detail from the KOMA website that should shake up some memories in you Lewistown boomers.
<p>
During the 1950’s, television was forcing radio into a period of change. The old radio shows were quickly fading into the past. Something called “Top 40” with “Rock ‘N Roll” music was the latest trend in radio. Changing with the times was KOMA. On May 1,1958, KOMA ended its long affiliation with CBS. The station affiliated for a brief period with NBC, but station management decided KOMA would be more effective as an independent.
<p>
KOMA began the first mobile news coverage by a radio station in Oklahoma City in 1958, and also became a true “Rock” radio station during this time when it was purchased by the Storz Broadcasting Company. It is interesting to note some important points about Storz Broadcasting, the “top 40” concept of radio, and the format system employed by most successful radio stations was developed by Todd Storz and Gordon McClendon who owned stations all over America including KLIF in Dallas and KILT in Houston.
<p>
Todd Storz became the President of Storz Broadcasting Company until his death in 1964. His innovative spirit and feeling for the public was carried on by corporation president, Robert B. Storz. The Storz chain of stations consisted of KOMA, Oklahoma City, WHB, Kansas City, WTIX, New Orleans, WDGY, Minneapolis, KXOK, St. Louis, and WQAM, Miami. All of these radio facilities served their communities with the finest in contemporary broadcasting.
<p>
In 1961, the KOMA studios and transmitter were permanently combined at one site on the south side of Oklahoma City. KOMA then became a pioneer totally automated station for a period of three years. In 1964, it was determined that KOMA could better serve the public by returning to “live” programming. Automation proved to be too sterile and impersonal, so “personality” was returned to KOMA.
<p>
Throughout the 60’s and 70’s, KOMA was the favorite of teens all across the western US. With the big 50,000-watt signal and the relatively few rock-n-roll radio stations across the plains, KOMA was the main station for the hits. KOMA (along with handful of other legendary stations including 890 WLS, Chicago; 1090 KAAY, Little Rock; 1060 WNOE, New Orleans; 770 WABC, New York; 800 CKLW, Windsor/Detroit; and 1100 WKYC, Cleveland) could be heard on car radios, in homes, and everywhere a kid could tune in. Often teens in New Mexico, Arizona, Wyoming, Kansas, Colorado, Nebraska, and other western states would eagerly await sunset when the mighty 1520 would come booming through with the newest hits of the day. They would sit in their cars on hilltops, turn it up at parties, or fall asleep with the radio next to their beds as they listened to Chuck Berry, the Supremes, Paul Revere and the Raiders, and the Beatles. Soldiers in Viet Nam even reported tuning in KOMA to give them a little feeling of being back home.
<p>
Led through the 60’s by Program Directors Dean Johnson, Dale Wehba, and Perry Murphy, some of the best-remembered DJ’s spun the hits each day and night. Charlie Tuna, Dale Wehba, Don McGregor, Paul Miller, John David, Chuck Dann, J. Michael Wilson, Johnny Dark, Buddy Scott, John Ravencroft, and many others were among those who played the hits from the studios in Moore, Oklahoma. And everyone remembers “Yours Truly KOMA” and the “kissing tone.” This was definitely an era where radio was fun. It was more than just the music. It was a magical blend of personality, jingles, contests, and fun mixed with the greatest music that defined the era and continues to live today.
<p>
These were considered by many to be the best years of radio. And for baby boomers across the western US, KOMA was king.
</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-66767760910675649622018-08-05T16:34:00.000-06:002018-08-10T13:02:32.961-06:00MARTIN NIEMÖLLER: "FIRST THEY CAME FOR THE SOCIALISTS...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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First, let me say that the Nazis of the first half of the twentieth century were about as evil as it gets. I don’t agree with most modern statements comparing some current group, Republicans, Democrats, school teachers (just kidding) with Nazis. The Holocaust was both real and very, very evil, as was World War Two in general (started by the Nazis). I hope that evil of that type does not show its nasty face again. (And no, both sides don't have "good people." Racism is not something "good.")
<p>
I am quite concerned about recent events here in the US. So I borrowed this article as an introduction to my short, and certainly inadequate tribute to Niemöller's lecture.
<p>
This is an article from the Web Site <i>Holocaust Encyclopedia</i>. Most Americans are familiar with this quotation.
<p>
<blockquote>
Martin Niemöller (1892–1984) was a prominent Protestant pastor who emerged as an outspoken public foe of Adolf Hitler and spent the last seven years of Nazi rule in concentration camps. Niemöller is perhaps best remembered for the quotation:
<p>
<p><i>
First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
<br>
Because I was not a Socialist.
<p>
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
<br>
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
<p>
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
<br>
Because I was not a Jew.
<p>
Then they came for me—
<br>
and there was no one left to speak for me.
</i>
<p>
The quotation stems from Niemöller's lectures during the early postwar period. Different versions of the quotation exist. These can be attributed to the fact that Niemöller spoke extemporaneously and in a number of settings. Much controversy surrounds the content of the poem as it has been printed in varying forms, referring to diverse groups such as Catholics, Jehovah's Witnesses, Jews, Trade Unionists, or Communists depending upon the version. Nonetheless his point was that Germans—in particular, he believed, the leaders of the Protestant churches—had been complicit through their silence in the Nazi imprisonment, persecution, and murder of millions of people.
</blockquote>
<p>
It isn’t this bad … yet. But I am starting to worry. There aren’t any concentration camps so far, unless you count the camps setup for what is callously called “illegals.” It starts with a little hate combined with ambition and an opinion that one is right and all others, therefore, must be wrong. More than wrong …. fake!
<p>
With that as an introduction, I will now give my poor representation of his point and my view of the current claim of “FAKE NEWS.” Certainly in this modern world of 24-7 news coverage and the pressure to be first with an exclusive, mistakes happen and incorrect things are reported. Proper news organizations always print or report retractions when that is discovered.
<p>
Further, in the days of newspapers, it was clear the difference between the news on the front page and the editorials on an inside page. Many of today’s television news blur that line between news and opinion and the common format of a discussion group on a news station blurs it even more. Adding opposing views for “balance” was ridiculed years ago on <i>Saturday Night Live</i> ("Jane, you ignorant slut."), but now it is hard to tell news from entertainment. Perhaps because the line is even blurred by the news organizations themselves.
<p>
Then throw in the modern business competition. Back in the '60s and '70s, network news wasn't even a profit center. In the days of Huntley-Brinkley, Walter Cronkite, Harry Reasoner and Barbara Walters, the nightly news was short (30 min. or, later, 60 min.) and was fairly non partisan. Walter Cronkite once said that the fact he got grief from both the Republicans and Democrats made him think he was reporting from the middle without bias.
<p>
As cable and the Internet grew, 24 hour news stations or networks started to appear, and the goal of these services was to make money through advertising and market share. I suspect it was the high ratings that Fox News gained with their strong right-wing bias that caught the attention of some of the other cable network news services. Soon CNN and MSNBC were copying this political leaning, although choosing the left to focus on rather than Fox's focus on the political right.
<p>
In addition, there has been a long held view in American that the so called "main-stream" media has a liberal focus. It is a fact that a majority of reporters vote Democrat. However, that does not mean that all these reporters don't understand the rules of journalism and allow their personal bias to slant their coverage, at least to the extent they are accused of.
<p>
Again the issue is often the failure on the part of viewers to separate news from opinion. Although it is true, that it is becoming harder and harder to make that distinction as we watch these highly competitive broadcasters cater to what will bring them eye balls. Perhaps the issue is more of an economic and business problem than a political problem, but it has led to this situation where the President and his followers and accomplices are spreading about the term "fake news." It may have started with Rush Limbaugh and his "Drive By Media."
<p>
But the claim that anything negative about the president is ipso facto <b>FAKE</b> just doesn’t deserve even a serious reply. It doesn't matter if you are a conservative or a liberal, a republican or a democrat, or just a plain old citizen who has mixed views and opinions. You must see the danger to our democracy when government starts claiming news is fake, and news organizations (at least those that disagree with you and your policies) are fake and soon facts will not even be part of the political discussion and all kinds of falsehoods and conspiracy theories will reign supreme. We are nearly there now.
<p>
It is very serious. Not Holocaust serious, at least I hope we haven't reached that point.
<p>
Here is my response, borrowing from Herr Niemöller.
<p>
<blockquote>
First they blocked CNN from news conferences. They wouldn’t call on CNN reporters or answer their questions. Then they closed down CNN. Said it was fake news.
<p>
But I didn’t care. I never watched CNN.
<p>
Then they stopped the New York Times, Washington Post, Reuters, Boston Globe, LA Times, Chicago Tribune from publishing. Closed USA Today and Wall Street Journal. All fake said the government.
<p>
I didn’t speak out. I don’t read the papers anyway.
<p>
They shut down NBC, CBS, ABC, and the Public Broadcasting System. Took away their FCC licenses. Said it was all fake news.
<p>
But I didn’t care. I never watched TV.
<p>
Then they deleted Huffpost, Politico, NPR, Time, Associated Press. All fake the president said.
<p>
I never got news off the Internet, so I didn’t even notice.
<p>
Finally, one day, they closed Fox News.
<p>
But there was no one left to protest except Breitbart, Infowars, Rush Limbaugh, and Hannity … and they didn’t say anything.
</blockquote>
</span>
Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-84164653037690620642018-07-25T09:11:00.000-06:002020-04-01T10:55:23.196-06:00Bonneville Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
This year Bonneville Speed Week sponsored by the S.C.T.A. will be held August 11-17. In an earlier note I described the context of this dissertation, the various motorcycle speed records during the ‘70s. It was during the lapse from 1970 when Cal Rayburn beat Don Vesco’s record and 1975 when Vesco had his revenge that this story occurs.
<p>
I mentioned Robert Leppan and his 245 mph record in 1966 on a dual Triumph powered streamliner. That victory was celebrated by the Triumph corporation naming their most recent dual carborated twin 650 the “Bonneville.” Prior to that Triumph’s top model was called the "Thunderbird," but they had licensed that name to Ford. The ultimate evolution of the Triumph Trophy or TR-6 became known after that flat area of earth in western Utah.
<p>
In ’73 I worked for a large Triumph dealer in Denver. He planned to retake the record for Triumph and built a streamliner with engines from two 750cc Triumph/BSA triples. He gathered a team, built a bike, collected vehicles and crew, and headed for the Salt Flats that August of ’73. I was the most junior mechanic in his shop having just been hired, and I got to go along. As he said, “Mickey knows the electrics better than anyone else, and we all know Bonneville salt can be bad on electric stuff.” That’s what he called it, “electric stuff,” like points and spark plugs, alternators and batteries. Yeah, I was the only grease monkey that really understood that “stuff.”
<p>
We were staying in Wendover, a dozen or so miles from the Flats. I loaded my Honda XL250 thumper in the back of the truck for personal transportation, and rode shotgun in a U-Haul all the way to Wendover. We drove over 600 miles down I-80 and arrived in the evening, checked into an old motel, ate a hearty meal at a local truck stop, and prepared for the next day out on the salt.
<p>
We were soon set up on the flats erecting tents and making practice and qualification runs. But there was a problem. We were getting high speed loss of power. The tach would quit rising, and start to sink just when you were near the top speed. Now our bike was very high geared and took a bit of time and distance to come up to top speed. That’s typical, and there’s plenty of room on the six mile run to get up to speed. But that slow going seemed to foul up the engines and they couldn’t get to full rpm in the speed run.
<p>
Most of the mechanical geniuses were focused on the carbs, jets, float bowl height, fuel flow, air cleaner plenum, exhaust system, and other fuel/air related issues. I was pretty sure it was the ignition coils. Triumph never was famous for their Lucas electrics, and I was almost certain that was the problem. But no-one would listen to me. After all, I was the most junior guy on the team and they mostly brought me along to hand them tools or get them cold drinks.
<p>
The driver didn’t think it was electrical because of some story he kept telling about throttle response. The mechanics were all focused on the fuel. So I had to figure out some way to prove my theory. I got an idea.
<p>
I rode my little bike into Wendover and went looking for a Radio Shack. Sadly, there wasn’t one. Locals told me the nearest was in Salt Lake City, some 125 miles away. So I made my plan. I was supposed to be around during the day, although I was just a glorified go-fer, driving into Wendover to get some cold drinks or something. Besides, it was a long hot ride to Salt Lake City across the dessert. I told my boss some story to excuse me for the next day, and headed out on my solo adventure. I waited for the cool of nightfall. I bought a little two-gallon gas can in Wendover to extend my range, filled the tank of my little Honda and the gas can, and set off about mid-night. I don't think there was an open gas station the whole path of the trip and the XL had a rather small gas tank, so I was prepared to make it the whole way with gas to spare.
<p>
I couldn't really keep up with the traffic on my little 250cc dirt bike, but there wasn't a lot of traffic and it was a four lane with a wide shoulder, so that didn't matter. The ride across the cool night dessert was without surprises, and I eventually arrived in Salt Lake where I waited patiently for a Radio Shack to open. There I bought my needed gear: wire and connectors and six little gauges. Another stop at a local hardware store for some metal brackets, and I was soon headed back to Wendover and the Salt Flats.
<p>
This time the hot sun made the trip less than pleasurable. I soon stopped at a rest stop and slept in the shade on a picnic table for several hours as I was also approaching over 36 hours awake. I got back on the Interstate by 6:00 PM and made it to the motel by late evening. I spent a couple of hours in my room soldering and building my little test rig, and even got some more sleep.
<p>
So I was ready when I got back to our little camp on the Salt the next morning. The bike was under a wide tent like roof and the mechanics had the side covers off the fiberglass shell and were working on the carburetors. They were poking and prodding various bike parts and arguing about the fuel lines and sand and other minutia.
<p>
I started explaining, for the fourth time, my theory that it was the ignition coils and now I had a way to prove it. I showed them my little test rig with six connecting wires and six meters. I explained that it would show the average electrical output of each individual coil.
<p>
My theory was that, since Triumph had reused the dual coil design from the Bonneville, combining that with a single extra coil for the third cylinder, this was a weak point in the ignition. The Triumph Bonneville (how ironic a name considering where we were) used a dual coil. It was two ignition coils in a single body. That saved size and weight and probably cost. They reused that in the triple with a more regular, single coil to fire the three spark plugs. The whole assembly was housed in a small triangle shaped void under the gas tank near the front to get lots of cooling air. Our special designed, double engined bike moved the coils behind the second engine where there was little air flow, and I knew it was a hot spot.
<p>
I expected to show that cylinders 1 and 2 of each engine would drop off at high rpm under the high temperature experienced inside the aerodynamic shell and cause misfiring, yet cylinder 3 that used the single coil was not as affected. The double coil was more sensitive to the heat due to working twice a hard with little extra external area to bleed off heat. I already knew from the driver comments that ventilation inside the shell was poor and engine heat was extreme. In fact, that heat was one of the suspected causes of our very problem, but they were looking for ways it was affecting the fuel system.
<p>
My meters were coupled to the ignition circuit inductively. That means they read the magnetic field in the plug wires when the pulse of electricity made the spark plugs fire. The coils produce a high voltage pulse each time the points open. The collapsing field in the little transformers that were the ignition coils jumps the simple 12 volts of the battery to hundreds of volts to create a strong spark. The faster you go, the more frequent the pulses. As long as the energy content of a single pulse remained relatively constant, my meters should show an increase due to more frequent pulsing at higher rpms.
<p>
My theory was the dual coils lost efficiency due to heat, and I expect my instruments to show a difference between the electrical power produced by the dual coil compared to the single coil. I had built a simple circuit with rectifiers and capacitors to produce a small DC current representing the average power of the spark plug pulses and fed this DC to the little dials. This is how many of the instruments in a car are designed, hardly rocket science, although this bike was closer to a rocket than a normal motorcycle. If the pulse energy was dropping at high rpm (and temperature), then it is likely the plugs will fire poorly acting like fouled plugs. The two cylinders connected to single coils were not as effected, and confused the symptoms. Otherwise the experienced mechanics would have realized the problem was spark and not fuel.
<p>
Soon I was explaining to our rider how he would check the gauges at speed and look for certain symptoms shown by comparing the six meter readings. He said he didn’t understand what I was talking about, and since it was my idea, why don’t I take the bike out on a qualification run and perform the test myself.
<p>
I thought he was kidding, but he was as serious as taxes, and soon I was clothed in a full leather racing suit and full coverage helmet and being locked into the claustrophobic cockpit of an approximately 500 horsepower rocket. In the first place, I was the same small size as our pilot and fit in his clothes. Apparently I was also just as reckless (or crazy) as him because soon I was zooming across the salt at a speed that I’m sure approached what our modern astronauts experienced just before leaving the confines of gravity and this earth. Now I knew what it was like to fly a jet plane less than a foot off the ground.
<p>
Zooming along just six inches above the salt, I barely remembered to watch the six dials as the engine moved into the top rpm range as I entered the measured mile. Just as I had suspected, dual coil for cylinders 1 and 2 (as well as second engine cylinders 4 and 5) showed a lower reading than the single unit coil. By the time I’d positively determined that my theory was proven, I’d gone the measured mile and started to decelerate. This was not a record run, so I didn’t have to turn around and make a second run. As soon as the bike slowed, lacking ventilation, it got very hot and I was glad when the crew popped off the top with the window and let in some air. I unstrapped and began the acrobatic process of climbing out of a bullet, sort of like exiting the birth canal.
<p>
After a ride in the back of the pickup with my racing leathers unfastened and tied around my waste, I finally stopped shaking. Funny how, after the danger is over, you get all butterfly stomach and queasy. At least I didn’t throw up.
<p>
As we sped back to the crew tent, the fresh air dried out my sweat soaked t-shirt and I quit trembling. I think it is like parachute jumping. They say the first time isn’t bad. The hard part is doing it the second time because now you know just how bad-ass scary it can be.
<p>
I quickly reported my results. Then they asked, “Now what do we do?” I had an answer for that too. Back when I was hopping up my own custom Triumph when I was in the Navy, I had swapped out the Lucas ignition coils for good old GM parts. A quick trip back to Wendover and we had six large automobile ignition coils which were soon squeezed into the small space within the bike and one problem was solved. I installed them in front of the hot engines, which would also help reduce any heating problem. That fixed the problem of the moment.
<p>
Sadly there were other problems that week with chains, sprockets, and transmission that weren’t so easy to fix, and we left the salt two weeks later without a record. When you link two motorcycle engines together, you have to fabricate a lot of parts and systems to marry the power plants together. That can be very difficult to get right without several tries and we didn’t bring a machine shop with us. On a positive note, my ignition coil fix did solved the dropping rpm problem and I was a hero, at least for fifteen minutes.
<p>
That was the only year my boss tried for a record, so that little bit of history and a new land speed number for the Triumph brand was never entered into the books. The Vescos didn’t have any luck that year either with their Yamaha four-stroke powered bike. The engines performed fine, but handling was the issue. Back in Denver my new reputation added some credibility to my standing among the shop personnel, so it wasn't a complete failure.
<p>
After we got back to Denver, when one of the crew members handed me a little piece of paper that looked like it came from a cash register. This was the official results of the qualification run I had made when testing the coils. Produced by the Southern California Timing Association with time and speed of the measured mile: 226.395 miles per hour. There you have it folks, Not a land speed record, but faster than I’ve ever gone in anything short of a United Airlines plane. Now drink up your beer and shake my hand as the fastest person you've ever known … on two wheels. (Unless you've met Don Vesco.)
<p>
<i>
One final comment, in case anyone important (such as an executive from Triumph Motor Corporation or Don Vesco) is reading this, I write fiction. Sure, some of this story may be true, a little bit, but in general you have to know how to tell when I’m lying. It is simple. My lips are moving.
</i>
</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-68502485219130491922018-07-23T10:49:00.000-06:002018-07-24T10:02:21.089-06:00Bonneville<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
I was hanging out in some pub with a line of motorcycles parked outside drinking suds and telling lies. (That is, "we" were drinking suds and telling lies, not the line of motorcycles!) As often occurs on such occasions, the topic of conversation turned to the fastest one had ever ridden a bike. Plenty had done the ton (100 mph or more accurately 100 kmph) and numbers such as 120, 140, and even a 150 or 160 were being thrown out by the slightly inebriated crowd.
<p>
When it became my turn I said “226.395 mph.” The conversation stopped. Maybe it was the three decimal places. Maybe it was just that everyone was preparing to shout “bull shit!” But I stood my ground. “Hey,” I stated, “I’ve got the slip from the ‘Southern California Timing Association’ to prove it.” You see, they are the official timers at the Bonneville Salt Flats. Well, you didn’t think I went that fast on some two-lane highway, did you?
<p>
Soon the soddened crowd was coaxing the story out of me and buying me more beer to loosen my tongue. Now this may just be “bull shit” or the musings of a fevered mind who had a little too much “you know what” back in the sixties, but I swear this is exactly how it happened. Let me provide a little background to my personal tale and describe those early seventies adventure when I was too young to know any better and ready for any adventure, no matter how fast it meant I had to travel.
<p>
The Bonneville Salt Flats, the dry lake bed to end all dry lake beds, is a flat (very, very flat) hard surface that mother nature seems to have prepared just for us speed demons to practice our craft. Ever since 1955 when Jahn Allen rode his 650cc Triumph to 192 mph at Bonnie, beating the record set earlier that year by Russell Wright riding a Vincent-HRD 184 mph (or some speed in kilometers per hour) at Christchurch, New Zealand, the flats near the Nevada border and close to Wendover, Utah have been synonymous with land speed records. In fact, you can go back to 1914 when Teddy Tezlaff hit 141 mph in his Blitzen Benz for a four-wheel record, the flats have been the place.
<p>
A lot of earlier motorcycle speed records were made on beaches such as those in Florida or somewhere in England or Europe, but as speeds approached 200 mph, the stretch of scenery in western Utah became a beacon for those, mostly southern Californians, seeking to ever increase their speed in pursuit of the numerical goal of a land speed record.
<p>
Roland "Rollie" Free was famous for breaking the motorcycle land speed record there in 1948. He was on an open bike and became convinced the wind resistance of his clothing was preventing him getting the final few mph to break the record. So he stripped down to a pair of Speedos and laid prone on his Vincent to accomplish the feat. The picture of Free, prone and wearing a bathing suit, has been described as the most famous picture in motorcycling.
<p>
But it was in my time that the Salt Flats became the one and only place to be if you were interested in top speed. In 1966 Robert Leppan pushed his 1298cc Triumph powered bike to 245 mph. It was the age of the streamliners, motorcycles built within rocket shaped bodies. Leppan’s bike consisted of two 650cc Triumph twins taken off the popular TR-6 Tiger (similar to one of my favorite bikes I owned around this time).
<p>
He was a Detroit Triumph dealer and he was back at the flats in ’70 pushing the record, but crashed at 280 mph.
<p>
After Leppan's successful run, the land speed record, much like many traditional motorcycle competitions, moved aggressively to Japanese produced engines. In 1970 Don Vesco drove his Yamaha “Big Red” streamliner made out of an old airplane fuel drop tank to beat the 250 mark with a two-direction run of 251 mph power by twin 350cc two-stroke Yamaha engines. (In fact, I also owned a Yamaha RD-350 at that time which was the basis of his 700cc combination.)
<p>
Like many land speed record pilots, Don was a successful racer and had won the AMA Grand Prix 500cc class in 1963. The Vesco family is pretty much synonymous with land speed records. Father John Vesco ran hotrods on the various California dry riverbeds, and sons Don and Rick raced and set a number of important records.
<p>
To allow for tail winds and other situations, to obtain a record, you had to race two directions within a time limit. The average of Don’s run in ’70 was 251.924. However, just a month later at the Flats another racer, Cal Rayburn, riding a single engine Harley-Davidson 1480cc machine powered by a Sportster engine on nitro moved the record up to 275 mph.
<p>
In 1975 Don Vesco was back with the "Silver Bird" powered by two, four-cylinder engines based on the Yamaha TZ750, another two-stroke racing engine, and he was back again in 1978 with "Lightning Bolt," a 318 mph record maker based on twin turbo charged Kawasaki engines from the KZ-1000: king of the hill at that time. (I own a Z-1, 900cc Kawasaki four, the predecessor of the KZ-1000. Do you sense a pattern here?)
<p>
(Harley did recover the record with a 3,000 cc twin HD engine run by Dave Campos who went 322 mph in 1990.)
<p>
But this story is centered between the 1970 record and the 1975 record. Those five years saw many attempts including brother Rick Vesco driving a machine with dual Yamaha four-strokes based on the new at that time 650cc DOHC design which the Vescos added turbo-charging. (I also own a Yamaha XS-650 from which that engine came … I seem attracted to those fast designs.) That attempt was unsuccessful due to stability issues. It was while the Vescos were working their magic that I showed up on the scene.
<p>
Following years saw the top motorcycle speed pushed to 376 mph by 2010 and the last few records were mostly on bikes with Suzuki engines. (The current record holder roars on the strength of twin Suzuki Hayabusa in-line four-cylinder engines, with a 30 psi turbocharger boost. The maximum engine speed tops out at 12,000 rpm with an incredible net horsepower of between 700-900. This "Ack Attack" monster turned 394 mph in one run, so can 400 mph on a <b>bike</b>, albeit a streamlined, carbon-fiber paneled body with chrome-moly tubing bullet/rocket of a <b>bike</b>, be far away?)
<p>
These days the news often comes from down under as dry lake beds in Australia have seen some attempts of late and a push toward higher numbers, but currently the 376 mph holds. 2016 saw a serious attempt at Bonneville by a Triumph powered team, but their luck and the weather didn’t hold.
<p>
But getting back to my personal story in 1973 … oh wait, I think we’re running out of time. I’ll have to continue this tale in part two. That’s all for now, folks.
</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-55810185219619915382018-07-20T17:26:00.000-06:002018-07-20T17:57:06.937-06:00Permutations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
Permutations have always interested me. Ever since I was a baby mathematician bouncing on my dad's knee, I liked permutations. That's even if I didn't know that was what they were called.
<p>
Later I learned the big word and its meaning. The mathematical term is defined as the act of arranging all the members of a set into some sequence or order. The number of unique permutations of a given set of size n = n! called “n factorial” which is the product of 1, 2, 3, …, n of the terms. The exclamation sign is the symbol for this mathematical operation.
<p>
For example, the number of permutations of a set with four members is
<p>
<center>
4! = 1 x 2 x 3 x 4 = 24.
</center>
<p>
There are 24 unique ways (or orders) that four members of a set could be arranged.
<p>
Permutations and partial permutations (sub sets with less members than the overall set) are very important in certain math areas such as statistics. (I’ll keep it simple and not address partial permutations. Fell free to google it and learn more.)
<p>
I said permutations have always interested me. Growing up there was a beer brewed in nearby Great Falls, Montana called “Great Falls Select.” I don’t know if it is still available or not. I sort of imagined a big pipe stuck in the Missouri River where it flows through Great Falls that goes to the brewery. Not exactly Coors “Rocky Mountain Spring Water,” but probably not that different.
<p>
Their motto was “Always Brewed Carefully.” The neat thing about the phrase is that all permutations make sense and they used them all in their ads. Notice you can abbreviate the three words as “A,” “B,” “C.” Isn’t that elementary? Good advertisement copy!
<p>
Since there are three terms, then the number of possible permutations is
<p>
<center>
3! = 1 x 2 x 3 = 6.
</center>
<p>
Here they are:
<p>
A B C</br>
A C B</br>
B A C</br>
B C A</br>
C A B</br>
C B A
<p>
Let’s try the permutations to see if they all make sense:
<p>
Great Falls Select is
<p>
ABC = Always Brewed Carefully</br>
ACB = Always Carefully Brewed</br>
BAC = Brewed Always Carefully</br>
BCA = Brewed Carefully Always</br>
CAB = Carefully Always Brewed</br>
CBA = Carefully Brewed Always
<p>
Maybe that’s where I got my love of math … from beer!!
</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-63047154631357286902018-07-19T16:05:00.000-06:002018-07-19T23:28:23.446-06:00Little Deuce Coupe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<blockquote>
Little deuce coupe</br>
You don't know what I got</br>
Little deuce coupe</br>
You don't know what I got
</blockquote>
<p>
"Little Deuce Coupe" first appeared as the b-side to The Beach Boys' 1963 single "Surfer Girl.” After the success of "409” the previous year, (a song written by Brian Wilson, fellow Beach boy Mike Love, and musician Gary Usher), the Beach Boys added car songs to their repertoire of surf singles. At only a minute, 38, it is relatively short and perfect for AM radio play at that time.
<p>
Brian commented on the song in the liner notes of the 1990 CD re-release of the original <i>Surfer Girl</i> album: "We loved doing 'Little Deuce Coupe.’ It was a good 'shuffle' rhythm, which was not like most of the rhythms of the records on the radio in those days. It had a bouncy feel to it. Like most of our records, it had a competitive lyric.”
<p>
"Little Deuce Coupe" became The Beach Boys' highest charting b-side, peaking on September 28, 1963 at No. 15 on the Billboard Hot 100. It was released on the <i>Surfer Girl</i> album and then again as the title track of the album <i>Little Deuce Coupe</i> which collected many of the BB car songs.
<p>
The music was written by Brian with the lyric by local radio station DJ Roger Christian. Its main melody is a twelve-bar blues. The song typified the Beach Boys' car songs which along with surfing, glamorized the teenage 1960s Californian lifestyle later called the California Myth.
<p>
Roger "Hot Dog Rog" Christian was a radio personality and lyricist who co-wrote several songs for The Beach Boys, mostly about cars, including "Ballad of Ole' Betsy," "Car Crazy Cutie," "Cherry, Cherry Coupe," "Don’t Worry Baby," "In the Parkin' Lot," "Little Deuce Coupe," "No-Go Showboat," "Shut Down," and "Spirit of America," all with Brian Wilson.
<p>
He also co-wrote many songs recorded by Jan and Dean, including "Dead Man's Curve," "The Little Old Lady from Pasadena," "Sidewalk Surfin'," "Drag City," "Honolulu Lulu," "The New Girl In School," "Ride The Wild Surf," and "You Really Know How to Hurt a Guy." Christian, along with Gary Usher, collaborated on several songs that were either featured in or specifically written for the films <i>Beach Party</i>, <i>Muscle Beach Party</i>, <i>Bikini Beach</i>, <i>Ride the Wild Surf</i>, <i>Beach Blanket Bingo</i>, <i>Ski Party</i>, <i>Beach Ball</i>, and <i>Catalina Caper</i> — including three songs for Dick Dale.
<p>
(If you don’t know who Dick Dale is, then you probably don’t know much about surf music or Fender amps. I’l try to explain in another blog. For now, there’s always Google!)
<p>
<blockquote>
Well I'm not braggin' babe so don't put me down</br>
But I've got the fastest set of wheels in town</br>
When something comes up to me he don't even try</br>
Cause if I had a set of wings man I know she could fly
<p>
She's my little deuce coupe</br>
You don't know what I got</br>
(My little deuce coupe)</br>
(You don't know what I got)
</blockquote>
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<p>
The car referred to is the Ford Model 18. Deuce coupe is a slang term used to refer to the 1932 Ford coupe, derived from the year "2" of manufacture. (32 … three twos, three deuces, … get it?) In the 1940s, the '32 Ford became an ideal hot rod, being plentiful and cheap enough for young men to buy, and available with a stylish V-8 engine, although it could possibly be a ’33 or a ’34 model. The car on the cover of the Beach Boys album was customized extensively including dual headlights, although I prefer the original “long” grill myself.
<p>
Ford produced three cars between 1932 and 1934: the Model B, Model 18, and Model 40. These succeeded the Model A. The Model B continued to offer Ford's proven four cylinder and was available these years. The V8 (Model 18 in 1932, Model 40 in 1933 and 1934) was succeeded by the Model 48. The latter models were the first Ford fitted with the flathead V‑8. The same bodies were available on both 4 cylinder Model Bs and V8 Model 18/40s. The company also replaced the Model AA truck with the Model BB, available with either the four- or eight-cylinder engine.
<p>
<blockquote>
Just a little deuce coupe with a flat head mill</br>
But she'll walk a Thunderbird like it's standin' still</br>
She's ported and relieved and she's stroked and bored</br>
She'll do a hundred and forty with the top end floored
<p>
She's my little deuce coupe</br>
You don't know what I got</br>
(My little deuce coupe)</br>
(You don't know what I got)
</blockquote>
<p>
The Ford flathead V8 engine or "mill" (often called simply the flathead when the context is implicit, such as in hot-rodding) is a V8 engine of the valve-in-block type designed and built by Ford and various licensees. During the engine's first decade of production, when overhead-valve engines were rare, it was usually known simply as the Ford V‑8, and the first car model in which it was installed, the Model 18, was (and still is) often called simply the "Ford V‑8", after its new engine.
<p>
Although the V8 configuration was not new when the Ford V8 was introduced in 1932, the Ford Flathead was a market first in the respect that it made an 8-cylinder with V configuration engine affordable to the emerging mass market consumer for the first time. It was the first independently designed and built V8 engine produced by Ford for mass production, and it ranks as one of the company's most important developments.
<p>
A fascination with ever-more-powerful engines was perhaps the most salient aspect of the American car and truck market for a half century, from 1923 until 1973. The Ford flathead V8 was perfectly in tune with the cultural moment of its introduction, leading the way into a future of which the Ford company was a principal architect. Thus, like the model T, it became a phenomenal success.
<p>
The engine design, with various changes but no major ones, was installed in Ford passenger cars and trucks until 1953, making the engine's 21-year production run for the U.S. consumer market longer than the 19-year run of the Ford Model T engine. The engine was on Ward's list of the 10 best engines of the 20th century. It was a staple of hot rodders in the 1950s, and it remains famous in the classic car hobbies even today (right John Barr?), despite the huge variety of other popular V8s that followed.
<p>
The Thunderbird is probably one of the most iconic cars of the 60s. However, it only shows up in one line in this song, even if it would later factor prominently on 1964’s “Fun, Fun, Fun.” During “Little Deuce Coupe”, the lyrics uses it as a way to demonstrate the speed of the hot rod: “She’ll walk a Thunderbird like she’s standing still.”
<p>
The T-Bird, which made its debut in 1954, wasn’t really a sports car, but a sporty, personal luxury coupe aimed at upper middle class professionals, From about 1955 to 1965, the T-Bird was in its heyday, outselling even the Corvette. The earliest models beat out the 'Vette in part due to a roomier interior, roll-up side windows, a V8 engine, and the option of a 3-speed manual or automatic transmission.
<p>
In 1958, Ford turned the Thunderbird into a four-seater and added more amenities, like air conditioning, power windows, and a more powerful V8. Ford tweaked the car again in 1961, adding a low-slung, pointed front end and even more features, like a swing-away steering column. The Beach Boys’ Thunderbird was most likely one of these heavy models.
<p>
(An aside: Thunderbird was a brand name on certain Triumph motorcycles before the famous "Bonneville." Triumph licensed the name to Ford.)
<p>
Although the T-Bird may of had a larger and more efficient V-8, it is likely the Deuce had been stripped of sheet metal and anything adding weight. That would give the edge to the older engine design and truth to the brag. Besides, the older car engine has been modified. That is, it had been "souped up."
<p>
“Ported” means taking a small grinder and a steady hand to remove extra material inside the intake manifold and exhaust passages to improve breathing. “Relieved” is a similar process, but around the valve seats themselves.
<p>
Porting is common in drag racing, especially with the use of nitrous oxide (yes, the same stuff that is used to push out whipped cream from the can). It just makes more room for the air to go in and out.
<p>
A valve seat is where the valve opens and closes. It’s usually a small mound of metal, but it doesn’t need to be. Relieving just removes the extra metal to make more room for bigger valves.
<p>
If you look at the valve locations on flathead engines (Ford, Cadillac, etc) — you'll see that the valves are canted toward the bore …. the angles differ between manufacturers and even years of manufacturer. What the canting does is it requires a depressed "pocket" on the cylinder side of the valve … usually about 1/8" to 3/16" deep. The most important flow area of the valve (by the cylinder) is buried below the deck surface. This means that the intake charge has to go up/over the area between the valve and the cylinder and make two turns: once to go up, then another time to turn back into the cylinder. This is bad for flow.
<p>
Henry Ford accounted for it by making a rounded trough in the head — to let the gas/air mixture go up, over and around. It actually hurts the flow in the "transfer area" — which is the area between the valves and the cylinder.
<p>
This is what relieving is all about — to ADD a new transfer area between the valve and the cylinder bore. Not only is it to give space for flow, it is also to enable the intake charge to take as straight as path as possible to the bore (no going up, over and around as is the stock designs).
<p>
Bore and stroke determine the displacement or “size” of the engine. The bigger the cylinder volume, the more fuel and air that can be “intaked” and “fired” and the greater the horsepower. “Stroked” increases the length of the combustion cylinder and therefore lengthens piston travel to increase volume, while “bored” means to bore (machine or drill) out the diameter of the cylinder to increase displacement. All seek to gain interior volume to create more power. The original flathead engine displaced 221 cu in, with 3.0625 by 3.75 in bore and stroke. Most modern “small block” engines today are closer to 300 cu in.
<p>
The combination of more horsepower engine and lighter weight allows the Deuce to top 140 mph when the accelerator is pushed to the floor. In fact, these cars were much more likely to be run for top speed on a California dry lake bed than in a true drag race. Still, power is power regardless of the kind of race, and power wins in most cases although don’t take a Deuce on a road course as we’ll see in following verses.
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<p>
<blockquote>
She's got a competition clutch with the four on the floor</br>
And she purrs like a kitten till the lake pipes roar</br>
And if that aint enough to make you flip your lid</br>
There's one more thing, I got the pink slip daddy
</blockquote>
<p>
The modified clutch is needed to match the increase horsepower and the close linkage of a “four-on-the-floor” makes the fast shifts required in drag racing possible. Of course, the original ’32 only had a 3 speed, so obviously not only the clutch but also the transmission has been modified and upgraded, probably with a new transmission out of a “modern” car of the times.
<p>
Proper “breathing” of a automobile engine isn’t just dependent on the intake (which had been ported and relieved), but also on the exhaust. In order to move the fuel/air mixture into the cylinder quickly, you have to move the exhaust out quickly. Restriction in exhaust flow creates “back pressure.” Mufflers increase “back pressure.” Sharp twists and turns increase “back pressure.” Small diameter exhaust pipes and long exhaust pipes increase “back pressure.” This is more complicated in the cars from the thirties due to large underbody or carriage structures and frames.
<p>
A consequence of the problematic nature in adaptation of large diameter exhaust tubing to the undercarriage of ladder-frame or body-on-frame chassis architecture vehicles with altered geometry suspensions, lake pipes evolved to become a front-engined vehicle exhaust archetype crafted by motor sport engine specialists of the 1930s, 40s, and 50s.
<p>
Besides performance, a further preoccupation was optimization of the acoustic effect associated with high output internal combustion engines. To quote a motorcycle saying, “loud pipes save lives.” Well, maybe a loud engine doesn’t save lives, but it sure makes them more exciting. The “song of the highway.”
<p>
The name "Lake Pipes" is derived from their use on the vast, empty dry lake beds northeast of Los Angeles County, where engine specialists of yore custom crafted, interchanged, and evaluated one-piece header manifolds of various mil thicknesses, a function of temperature, humidity, elevation, and climate they anticipated. Lots of work for a pleasing sound as well as good performance.
<p>
Even with no intrinsic performance gain to be derived, per se, lake pipes evolved a function of practicality. Common instances, their manifolds routed straight out the front wheel-wells posing an asphyxiation issue to the race driver breathing the exhaust, "lake pipes" were fashioned, extending from the header flange along the rocker panels, bottom-side of the vehicle, beneath the doors, thus allowing (1) suspension tuners a lower ride height sufficient for land speed record attempts, and (2) engine tuners ease and flexibility of interchanging different exhaust manifolds without hoisting the vehicle, thus precluding having to wrench under the undercarriage of the vehicle on the hot sand.
<p>
As body-on-frame chassis architecture was replaced by modern unit-body and monocoque styles, in tandem with smog abatement legislation rendered lake pipes, as a bona fide performance prerequisite, obsolete. No meaningful performance gain to be had for contemporary vehicles, lake pipes persist into the 21st century as a superfluous, retrograde aesthetic, usually chrome plated with various options, allowing the driver to control whether exhaust gas is routed the standard exhaust system (… purrs like a kitten) or through lake pipes (… roar). They are commonly terminated by "laker caps" which, affixed by fasteners at the terminal end of exhaust tips, serve to (1) "cap" the straight and loud exhaust system when not in use, and/or (2) signal authorities that the presence of lake pipes is merely cosmetic.
<p>
We suppose the Deuce in the song purrs like a kitten through standard exhausts, but makes a roar when the lake pipe caps are removed.
<p>
<blockquote>
And comin' off the line when the light turns green</br>
Well she blows 'em outta the water like you never seen</br>
I get pushed out of shape and it's hard to steer</br>
When I get rubber in all four gears
</blockquote>
<p>
The reference to “cumin’ off the line” shows the discussion is about a drag race. That’s a short race in a straight line. Getting a good start is essential. There could be a flagger who would start the race, but by the 60’s the “Christmas Tree” had taken over at formal drag race tracks.
<p>
Any drag racing history buff worth his or her Wynn's Winder decal probably knows that the Tree made its official NHRA debut at the 1963 Nationals in Indy, where Don Garlits famously red-lighted away the Top Eliminator to unheralded Bobby Vodnik, who had "Big" covered by about a tenth going into the final.
<p>
Of course, for years, the colorful and acrobatic "flagman" had signaled the start of each race, but the flag starter system, popular with fans and racers alike, had its flaws. Foul starts were rampant as drivers flinched and left if the starter so much as accidentally blinked his eyes, and each starter had his own unique personality … and his "tells," as Garlits himself pointed out in his book "Tales From the Drag Strip," "We had all gotten pretty good at reading the flag starter just by watching his eyes. We could read the muscles in his arms and how they tightened up just before he threw the flag. … The older guys hated it when the Tree came in. We eventually adjusted to it, but we really didn’t want it."
<p>
Then again, the “green” might just be a stop light and "two cool shorts stand-in’ side by side.” — “Shut Down.”
<p>
Drag slicks (the wide rear tires) give better contact with the asphalt to improve traction “comin’ off the line when the light turns green.” However, the low weight and powerful engine of these cars made it possible for the tires to break loose with each shift. Since the higher gears had less torque or twisting force, it was a sign of a powerful (and light) vehicle to squeal the tires in the upper gears.
<p>
Difficulty steering and brakes shows the modified hot rod was best just going in a straight line on a dry lake bed or a quarter mile drag strip. The Stingray (or XKE) referenced in other car songs would be better on a twisty road course.
<p>
“There's one more thing, I got the pink slip daddy” — short for “daddy-oh.” (Had to fit the meter you know.) If I have to explain “daddy-oh,” then I give up!
<p>
In those days, the ownership of a motor vehicle in California was shown by a pink colored government paper you carried in the car. Today we might call such a document ”registration,” but it was also somewhat like a title, you could buy or sell a car just using it for proof. In the song the indication is that the lucky driver of the Deuce Coupe is the owner, perhaps clear owner with no loan. "Racing for pink slips" (which means that the winner keeps the opponent's car), inspired the 2005 Speed Channel series <i>Pinks</i> and is the primary wager shown in <i>The Fast and The Furious</i> films.
<p>
<blockquote>
She's my little deuce coupe</br>
You don't know what I got</br>
(My little deuce coupe)</br>
(You don't know what I got)
<p>
She's my little deuce coupe</br>
You don't know what I got</br>
(My little deuce coupe)</br>
(You don't know what I got)
<p>
She's my little deuce coupe</br>
You don't know what I got
</Blockquote>
<p>
“You just don’t realize what I possess!” Bye-bye!!
</span>
Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-7081757265299970912018-07-03T07:00:00.000-06:002018-08-06T14:46:14.442-06:00Bittersweet, Broken Hearted Savior<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The phone rings. I look at the alarm clock. Two AM. I know who it is. She’ll have her story. She’ll need my help. Again.
<p>
After a short conversation, I’m up, I’m dressed. Hot coffee poured into my traveling cup. I start up my Toyota FJ and soon I’m cruising down the serpentine road next to Boulder Creek. From Nederland to Boulder to DIA. She’s sleeping on the floor, waiting for me to be her savior … again.
<p>
It’s April, but the twisting road can still be treacherous. Fields are white in snowy spring, and I can't remember the last time that I've seen her. The highway is still cold and wet, and I can't forget the way I had to leave her. And every passing day, she flickers and she fades.
<p>
My thoughts go back to the beginning. Many times I’d spend the night in her small apartment. We both went to CU. I was learning engineering while she studied dance. I would rise early in the morning. Her eyes are closed. She can't see me watching. A little light looks through her bedroom window. She dances and I dream, she's not so far as she seems.
<p>
I remembered all the times we drove up Boulder Canyon to Nederland, Peak-To-Peak Highway, Estes Park. These were our favorite places. We’d find a bright meadow and watch the sunset. She’d run across the grass and I’d watch her hair blowing in the breeze, but now only in my dreams. What was I thinking? Love, love. Now she seems so far away.
<p>
Later, after graduation, we moved to the city. That was the start of the drifting apart. I worked in the city. We lived together. But it was different than my dream. Now when the morning light fills the room, I rise and she pretends she’s sleeping so we don’t have to talk. This is what we wanted: love, love.
<p>
We didn’t talk about it. We didn’t tell each other all the little things that we needed. We would work our way around each other rather than speak. We’d tremble and we’d bleed. It was bitter sweet. Sweet, yet bitter; more bitter than sweet. One day she left.
<p>
And I'll love her yet, though she has done me wrong. I'll bring her back, though she has been long gone. I'll always be her broken hearted savior.
<p>
We had drifted apart. She moved to L.A. to follow her dreams. At first there were phone calls. Letters. But soon nothing. I worked for a while before starting my own company. I was busy all the time and just lost track of her. Eventually I sold my little company for a few million and moved up to Nederland.
<p>
I bought a farm and still do some work on the computer net. Yet I think of her every day. She’s come back before. It always seems the same. I pick her up at the airport. We go out for breakfast. Some times she comes back to the farm with me. We spend some time talking about our dreams. She might stay a week or two, but she always drifts away. A little talk. I'd hold her hand. Sometimes I'd give her some money. But then she'd leave. Love, love.
<p>
Maybe it’s back to New York, some times back to L.A. It’s always the same. She’ll tell me her story. How every heavy night takes out the little life that's left within her. Every man she gives her love, he takes it, and leaves her with a dinner.
<p>
Our love was once a flame, now I'm just a forgotten name. Am I the only one to blame for having loved her? And I'll love her yet, though she has done me wrong. And I'll bring her back, though she has been long gone. And I'll always be her broken hearted savior.
<p>
The sun starts to rise as I leave the Canyon and the city of Boulder behind for the turnpike and DIA. It will be the same this time. Yet I love her. It's bittersweet, more sweet than bitter, more bitter than sweet. I have no choice. It’s a bitter sweet surrender. Is someone to help her when she falls from the heavens? Yes. It will always be me. I arrive at DIA. Park in the near lot. She said by door 204. Yes there she is.
<p>
Her eyes are closed. She’s sleeping. Is she dreaming of brighter meadows, melting sunsets, her hair blowing in the breeze? She dances and I dream, she's not so far as she seems. She can't see me watching. And I'm thinking love, love. I’ll always be her broken hearted savior.
</span>
Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-23703348855551183002018-06-20T10:27:00.002-06:002018-06-20T10:39:27.534-06:00How I Met Your Mother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was Friday, August 15, 1969. I had four days off from the USS Vulcan. I loved those long weekends that allowed me to take a distant ride north or south or even west. This time I was headed north. My usual riding buddy, Woody, had duty that weekend, so I was solo. I set my sites on upstate New York. I’d ridden further on other occasions, clear up to Laconia, NH in June for bike week and races. For those that think Sturgis is the be-all, end-all, you just haven’t seen the East Coast bike scene. Starting way back in June 1916, when a few hundred motorcyclists gathered at Weirs Beach in Laconia to today’s official AMA races in Loudon, New England was a bike Mecca.
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The trip to Woodstock, NY, actually Bethel, was shorter, a little over 400 miles. I heard there was a big outdoor concert going on and it started that morning. I would miss the first day, but it should be fun to spend the remaining weekend grooving to what promised to be an excellent scene.
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I packed for typical bike camping. Besides some food and clothes and other necessities, I had a tarp that would turn the bike into a mini tent or lean to. That plus some blankets and a sleeping bag were all piled on the back of the bike and secured with bungie cords to the sissy bar. I was ready to roll. I thought I could make it in about 10 hours with just a few stops for fuel for me and the bike, and leaving at 8 AM, I hoped to be there before nightfall.
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I headed north across the Bay Bridge Tunnel and followed US 13 to Philly where I picked up some four lanes through Allentown and further north. I ended up running into some heavy traffic on the thruway, and at one point the traffic just stopped. Fortunately I could keep going on the shoulder and ended up arriving at the festival around 9 PM.
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By then there was no admission. It was a free concert. I rode around abandoned cars and onto the grounds, although I was way back from the stage along the trees near the rear of a fenced field. Still the sound system was good, and I was able to park my bike and settle in for some listening pleasure.
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Tim Hardin was performing when I got there. About midnight, when Ravi Shankar came on stage, a gentle rain began to fall. Not that I could see Ravi from where I was, but I heard. I quickly attached the tarp to handle bars and sissy bar and settled out of the rain resting against the still warm motor. I had a little wine I had brought to take off the chill and soon heard Arlo Guthrie proclaim the famous, “The New York State Thruway’s closed, man!” It continued to rain throughout the night as people kept arriving. My little area quickly filled in with music enthusiasts.
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I was dry under my tarp, although the ground was turning very muddy. I ended up falling asleep to the soprano voice of Joan Baez some time around 2:00 AM, my leather jacket serving as a pillow. I awoke to an ocean of people navigating a sea of mud. Fortunately, my little campsite remained dry — relatively dry.
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I had slept right through whoever was the opening act on the second day. The ride, and the late night, and the wine required more than 40 z’s to digest. I remember waking up to Country Joe. At that point I figured the bike and stuff was safe as my neighbors all seemed pretty mellow. In fact the whole crowd, who somewhat resembled drowned rats, seemed very mellow. The music in the background and general vibe was cool and inviting.
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Some folks were throwing frisbees and there was a giant beach ball being batted around in the slight valley between my vantage point and the stage. There was a girl dancing to the music and blowing bubbles from one of those kid’s toys. It was a festival atmosphere and there was a herbalist smoke raising over the gathering crowd. Lots of laughter and applause, singing along and dancing.
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I walked down near the stage and saw Country Joe and Santana. Wow, the Santana set was awesome. At that point I was getting hungry and headed back to the bike. I had brought two loaves of bread and a jar of peanut butter. That’s survival rations for those not in the know.
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When I got back to the bike, there were some new people around. A small group in a VW bus and also a couple of good looking gals laying on top of their sleeping bags. They both were wearing shorts and one had tied her shirt to expose her bare midriff. I started a conversation with my award winning line, “Hey, want a peanut butter sandwich?”
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To my surprise, they said yes. Then they said, “Would you like a cold beer?” Would I! (Peg leg, peg leg — old joke!!) Seems they had a small cooler with cool ones.
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We introduced ourselves. You all know me — the author. The ladies were Linda Lincoln and Cindy Smith. They were from Fall River, Massachusetts. They had all kinds of goodies in that ice chest including potato salad from the local A&P.
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Soon the group from the VW van had joined us and they had watermelon. The concert served as a nice background to our conversation as we all got to know each other while enjoying the strangest picnic lunch ever served.
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We talked and enjoyed the sun that had come out to dry up the rain, and I really enjoyed talking to Linda (the one with the bare midriff). We didn’t really pay much attention to the music until evening approached. We were then treated to Canned Heat and Mountain, a couple of very good sets. That was followed by the Grateful Dead, and we migrated back toward the stage expecting some good jam time. Sadly they didn’t give their best performance. Technical glitches and other problems were taking their toll on the performers and audience alike.
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RAIN!! I mentioned the mud. It was everywhere. I had a towel and there was some water down by the potties, so I just wiped it off with the wet towel. The girls had flip-flops and I had engineer boots, so we slogged through the stuff ok, and it wasn’t that bad.
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Mountain was followed by Creedence and Sylvester Stewart (Sly) and the Family Stone. By then it was after midnight — way, way after midnight. Although there were two more great acts following, we all retired to our respective beds, and I quickly fell asleep the second night. I woke early the next day to The Who and the Jefferson Airplane. It seems the rain and other complications had made the whole concert schedule so late that the last evening acts were actually the next morning. Yet there were many bleary eyed aficionados grooving to the great music at some ungodly hour of the morning.
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By then the girls were awake and looking for breakfast. They were both wearing swim suit tops with shorts. Probably a good costume for the weather and environment. We ended up with more peanut butter sandwiches — and a warm beer. At that point I would have loved a cup of coffee. Some people wandered by passing out doughnuts.
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Linda and her friend walked down to where there was some fresh water and got cleaned up from the night before. When they got back, we talked for another couple of hours before wandering down toward the music. Joe Cocker was on stage and he was the best performer I saw so far, although I did sleep through The Who. After Joe we wandered back to our little camp. The VW bunch had been on a beer and food run, and they were again happy to share their goods with all of us. I gave them the last of the peanut butter and a loaf of bread, which they appreciated because the local grocery store was all out of bread. I also gave them a 20 to help with their expenses since they had so generous with us.
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The concert scene had become a sea of mud, and we pretty much gave up keeping clean. It was a warm summer day and it was time for some exploring.
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Linda and I took a walk down the road and looked at all the cars parked everywhere. I wish I’d had a camera to take some pictures of the giant gaggle of cars parked every which way one could park. Some were on the side of the road, and some were in the road. No one seemed to care.
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We eventually got to town and stopped at a park with a fountain. Linda took off her shoes and sat on the edge of the fountain with her feet in the water. There was a drinking fountain nearby, and I slacked my thirst heavily. This was before bottled water, and there was little of anything left in the tiny town of Bethel at this point of the half million visitors. It was nice to walk on the grass at the park and on the sidewalks. There was a bench under the trees in the park where we spent some time just talking.
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We talked the whole way into town and back about our plans. I told her that, once I got out of the Navy, I was moving to Colorado. The amazing coincidence is that Linda said her dad was thinking of moving her family to Colorado too. We laughed that we could meet up again once we both got to Colorado (although I’m sure we both thought we’d never meet again.)
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When we got back to the concert, we grabbed a couple of blankets and headed back to the stage. Ten Years After was on with Alvin Lee. Apparently appearing at Woodstock launched the already experienced blues band to great popularity here in the US.
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They were followed by the Band and Johnny Winter. Now that’s a contrast. Then came Blood, Sweat, and Tears, one of my favorite bands. Finally, around 3 AM, Crosby, Stills, and Nash appeared starting an acoustic set with Suite Judy Blue Eyes. I don’t think they had even cut a record yet. It was the first time I had heard them. I was blown away.
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But it was late again, so we wandered back to our little camp where I ended up crashing rather quickly, hardly getting to say good night to Linda. I awoke on Monday morning. Jimi Hendrix had just taken the stage. I looked around for Linda and her friend, but they must have left earlier that morning. I too needed to head for home since I had a long 10 or 12 hour ride ahead of me. As I packed up and started my Triumph, Jimi Hendrix was just starting Foxy Lady. I thought to myself: “exactly!” I threaded my way through the awakening crowd, a bit numb and shellshocked by three days of music and camaraderie.
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On the ride back south to Norfolk, that lady I’d just met was very much on my mind. As the miles rolled under my tires, my thoughts replayed those three special days of special company. Most heavy on my mind was my memories of Linda and the way we had connected.
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Nothing happened but conversation. We hadn’t even kissed. But I replayed every word, every sentence, every comment made during that short time together. We may not have kissed, but I did hold her hand on several of our walks, and I just couldn’t get that girl out of my thoughts. Who knew we would meet up again out west in Colorado. Lightning can strike twice.
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And that, kiddies, is how I met your mother.
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So, there’s one thing you have to ask yourself, punk. Does this author of tall tales with a dubious reputation for voracity ever tell the truth? Is this an actual fact or just the made up musings of a fevered mind? Well, it was the sixties. And anyone that can remember the 60s, probably wasn’t there.
</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-27259460826937368592018-06-09T08:46:00.000-06:002018-06-09T08:58:57.105-06:00Pearl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I’ve written before about the “Blue Bus.” That’s our 2009 Ford Flex. We bought it a year before I retired with the goal of it being our main road machine on the highway adventures we had planned once I was free of the nine to five.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Longmont, Colorado</td></tr>
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I had been thinking about a new car for some time and had decided on the Ford Flex for many reasons including the fact that I loved the looks and style. It doesn’t strike everyone as a good-looking automobile. Some love it, and some hate it. I’m definitely in the first group.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A speedometer "roll-over" moment somewhere in Oregon</td></tr>
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Plus it has a lot of advantages from seven-passenger capacity to an easy entrance and wonderful road-worthiness. It is a pleasure to aim it down the highway and enjoy the ride. It has one of those modern six cylinder engines mated to a trans-axial front wheel drive and gives good gas mileage. But most impressive and important is the comfort it provides to two to many passengers. We’ve driven that<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>bus long hours on four-lanes and country roads. It is always a joy.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Blue Bus in Virginia City, Montana on her maiden voyage</td></tr>
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As proof of that flexibility, we once loaded it up with six adults and one two-year old child for an adventurous trip to Dallas. With all the seats folded up, there was just a little room for luggage, so we rented a small U-Haul trailer to fit our suitcases. The three person capacity middle seats are very comfortable in a limousine sort of way and the middle rider isn’t crowded like most back-seat third parties. The back two seats also fit adults comfortably and have good visibility over the heads of those in front.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crater Lake, Oregon</td></tr>
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Shortly after that trip we folded all the seats down making it a two-seater. We then filled the spacious storage area with more furniture and belongings than you can imagine and drove to Alaska to deliver things to family. We drove to Washington, took a ferry to Haines, AK, drove around the great state, and then back down the Alaska Highway after delivering the goods.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Columbia River Gorge, Oregon</td></tr>
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Flex is a great name for such a flexible vehicle. We drove that car over 200,000 miles and across 35 states. We’ve driven from Alaska to Florida and California to Virginia. She took us an uncountable number of times from home to Oregon to visit my dad. Those were some of the best trips because of the company at the end of the journey. We drove up and down the coast with dad, and even took him back to his home in Alabama. That was one of the greatest trips and he greatly enjoyed that final journey to see family and friends. He was 90 and concerned the trip would be too tiring. The Flex came through again offering him a comfortable ride and he (as well as we) enjoyed that trip and the memories it made.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad and my sister, Lincoln City, Oregon</td></tr>
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We hitched up our small trailer and drove the Flex to Minnesota, Kansas, Texas,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Illinois, and clear to Pennsylvania picking up motorcycles. We drove to Vegas and to most of the National Parks within 1500 miles of home. We toured the great state of Colorado and drove around most of Montana too.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the road to somewhere to pick up a motorcycle</td></tr>
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The Flex has a wonderful sound system with CD, radio, and Sirius to provide accompaniment for our travels. I plugged my large iPod into the system and selected personal favorites from the thousands of tunes stored there. We drove the Blue Bus to Casper, WY and slept in the back for the total solar eclipse.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dawson Creek, British Columbia</td></tr>
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And we drove a hundred trips with the grandkids to Colorado Springs, Durango, Utah, Mount Rushmore, and more.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffrLltIoru-KRzQ0nw8lB6Dw5dwoGo2n_QbsRT6r70aJgrcTciucKSSUAffgYl1RkE8S8ZD_ZPPnZV4UoFgCycFDPrBf45wzKvrSNvbP1T2un-k00b_XezEdHqOtgWt1v5BPGz9iCIWQ/s1600/IMG_0935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffrLltIoru-KRzQ0nw8lB6Dw5dwoGo2n_QbsRT6r70aJgrcTciucKSSUAffgYl1RkE8S8ZD_ZPPnZV4UoFgCycFDPrBf45wzKvrSNvbP1T2un-k00b_XezEdHqOtgWt1v5BPGz9iCIWQ/s320/IMG_0935.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bonneville Salt Flats, Utah</td></tr>
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She was a faithful companion. A big truck rear ended us once on a draw bridge and dented the back fender. Ford and insurance quickly healed that wound, although my rear license plate still has a small dent from that experience.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere in Alaska of Canada</td></tr>
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However, our faithful transportation was starting to show her age and miles. At 205,000 it was starting to get addicted to the repair shop. I replaced a cooling system controller ($700) and six months later revisited the problem with a whole new fan assembly ($1,400). Regular maintenance and tires were forgivable, but I sensed it was time for a new ride.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDndb4b_0sor2sMaPB3yElJxUqQ7gAxZCv8OhMNb4Oq_Br2_IpyDggDlay8sVJVKB2k-k-EXc4aM2lgLerHLpx4i_ZPj_Rhl5I8qTyB4k9Zf8rlm4Q2GEtJsdOoXzZ5Kb21brMq75PgbY/s1600/IMG_0461.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDndb4b_0sor2sMaPB3yElJxUqQ7gAxZCv8OhMNb4Oq_Br2_IpyDggDlay8sVJVKB2k-k-EXc4aM2lgLerHLpx4i_ZPj_Rhl5I8qTyB4k9Zf8rlm4Q2GEtJsdOoXzZ5Kb21brMq75PgbY/s320/IMG_0461.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Longmont, Colorado</td></tr>
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So what did I choose? Another Flex, of course. We loved our blue color, but we had started envying the metallic white color Ford calls Oxford White, but we call it Pearl. We had named our first Flex the “Blue Bus” based on its color. I was thinking of calling our new conveyance the “Great White Whale,” but decided that name might be mistaken as a description of me in a bathing suit. So we’re going to call her “Pearl.”<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Longmont, Colorado</td></tr>
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She’s almost identical to the Blue Bus except for typical high-tech updates. This new one is keyless, you just keep something in your pocket so she’ll recognize you. That’s nice. Also has more electronics including a video screen and backup camera and the voice command seems to recognize my voice better than the old Flex.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Longmont, Colorado</td></tr>
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The interior is two-tone mixing black and “dune.” Our old ride was pure black leather inside. There’s a few more buttons and automatic features, but — in general — it’s exactly the same car inside and out. That’s a plus. We loved the old Flex and now we love the new Flex.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Longmont, Colorado</td></tr>
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I can hardly wait to get her out on the open road. Not sure when or where the next adventure will be, but I’m ready to start adding memories to all the good times we had in the old ride. I sold the Blue Bus to my son’s girlfriend, so we sort of kept it in the family.<br />
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Life is a road you travel down, discovering new things at every turn. We now have a new ride down that road, and we will soon be putting the miles on Pearl. May she serve us as well as her predecessor. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-3158985538048642102018-01-14T18:42:00.000-07:002018-01-14T18:51:41.617-07:00Car Songs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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She's real fine my 409<br />
She's real fine my 409<br />
My 4…0…9<br />
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Well I saved my pennies and I saved my dimes<br />
(Giddy up giddy up 409)<br />
‘For I knew there would be a time<br />
(Giddy up giddy up 409)<br />
When I would buy a brand new 409<br />
(409, 409)<br />
Giddy up giddy up giddy up 409<br />
Giddy up 409<br />
Giddy up 409<br />
Giddy up 40…<br />
<p>
Nothing can catch her<br />
Nothing can touch my 409<br />
409 ooooo<br />
(Giddy up giddy up oooo)<br />
(Giddy up giddy up oooo)<br />
(Giddy up giddy up oooo)<br />
(Giddy up giddy up)<br />
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My four speed, dual quad, Positraction 409.
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The result of a random discussion between Brian Wilson and Gary Usher about cars and joking about the 409 being based on a truck engine block, a song and possibly a whole new song craze (often described as a sub-genre of the surfing genre) was born. California culture was praised and worshipped by all of us in the other 49 states. To a teenager in love with surf boards (all right — skate boards) and cars, these songs filled my head with dreams of California life, cars, girls — the standard teenage angst and desires.
<p>
Sure there had been car songs before "409." “Beep, Beep” by The Playmates in 1958 told the story of a little Nash Rambler that surprised the big boy ("I’ll show him that a Cadillac is not a car to scorn"). Or the original “Hot Rod Lincoln” ("son you’re gonna drive me to drinkin’") by Charley Ryan recorded in 1955, but more familiar now due to the cover by Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen on the album <i>Lost in the Ozone</i> released in 1971. (And many others stretching back to the Ford Model T), but “409” added cars to surf boards, beaches, and sun as the way blond haired kids enjoyed the California way-of-life.
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"409" was written by Brian Wilson, Mike Love, and Gary Usher for the Beach Boys. The song features Mike Love singing lead vocals. It was originally released as the B-side of their second single, "Surfin' Safari" (1962). It was later released on their 1962 album, <i>Surfin’ Safari</i> and appeared again on their 1963 album, <i>Little Deuce Coupe</i>.
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The song is credited with initiating the hot rod music craze of the 1960s.
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"409" was inspired by Gary Usher's obsession with hot rods. The title refers to an automobile fitted with Chevrolet's 409-cubic-inch-displacement "big block" V8 engine. The song's narrator concludes with the description: "My four speed, dual-quad, Positraction four-oh-nine." This version of the engine — at 409 horse power, achieving 1 hp per cubic inch — featured twin "D" series Carter AFB (Aluminum Four Barrel) carburetors ("dual-quads"). It was offered in new vehicles Impala SS (“Super Sport”), Bel Air, Biscayne and as replacement units in the 1962 model year.
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The group's treatment of this song, one of their first major releases recorded April 1962 (released June 4), reflects the influence of black R&B acts popular on Los Angeles radio stations at the time and shows a more raw approach to rock and roll than their much more polished releases continuing in 1963. It stayed one week on the Billboard Hot 100 at number 76 in October 1962.
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This song describes the Chevrolet 409, named because of its huge 409 cubic-inch engine. Dubbed "Turbo-Fire," production began in January 1961. The engine had a single Carter four-barrel carburetor that supplied enough fuel-air mixture to generate up to 360 horsepower. With a bit of hot-rodding such as adding a second four-barrel carburetor and headers, more than 400 horsepower was easily available, making the car a big hit among street racers.
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Chevy produced a later SS version with two, four-barrel carbs standard and advertised it at a conservative 425 HP in ’63. Look for the “QB” suffix code used by GM to ID 409 blocks that were to get the high performance 425 HP package of dual carbs, including high performance heads and manual transmission. Replace the stock exhaust manifolds with tuned headers plus some cam and lifter modifications and horse power could reach 460.
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This full-size family car with a 409 did the quarter mile in 13.58 seconds at 105.88 miles per hour. It could go from zero to 60 mph in under 6 seconds. This song describes the Bel-Air sport coupe version of the car equipped with the "4-speed, dual-quad, Positraction" (Chevrolet and GM brand name for a limited slip differential rear end) equipment. It could do a 12.22-second quarter mile at 115 miles per hour. Zero to 60 miles per hour in 4 seconds flat.
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An early Beach Boys release and their first on Capital records preceded only by their first hit, “Surfin’,” Brian Wilson wrote this with his early collaborator Gary Usher. Wilson knew very little about things like surfing or cars, but Usher did, and he was able to help Wilson tap into the California culture. In 1971, Usher said in an interview, "Dennis Wilson was the first Beach Boy to pick up on surfing. Brian was aware of Dick Dale [King of the Surf Guitar, the Del-Tones, and motivation for the Fender Showman amp with JBL 15” speaker], the Pendleton jackets, and that whole shot. It just rubbed off. I never surfed. I was a hot rod freak. I loved the 409. One day we were driving up to Los Angeles looking for a part for my car, and I said 'Let's write a song called ‘409.’ We'll do a thing ‘giddy up, giddy up,’ meaning horses for horsepower, just kidding around. We came back and put it to three simple chords in five minutes, and it developed into a million-dollar car craze."
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It was released as the B-side of "Surfin' Safari." The group didn't have a record deal at the time (their first label, Candix, folded), so the group's manager and Wilson trio father and band manager, Murry Wilson, made a deal with Capitol Records, selling them both sides of the single, and anther song, "Lonely Sea," for a total of $300, with the band getting a small royalty of 2.5% of the sales. After the single was released, Capitol signed the Beach Boys to a deal.
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Usher stated, "My car was a 348 Chevy, but it was always my dream to have a ‘409.’ We recorded the car sounds outside the Wilson family home in Hawthorne. We (meaning Brian, Carl, Mike and me) ran a 100-foot extension cord out of the house. Driving my car, I made about four passes past the house and the tape recorder, and after the fourth, the neighborhood lights suddenly went on, and there were sirens everywhere. So I ‘decked’ my lights and got out of there."
<p>
Ironically, after the song was recorded, Gary purchased a Plymouth 426 Hemi Superstock, not a 409!
<p>
“409,” the song that launched the car craze and, in some manner, the Beach Boys, was recorded April 19, 1962. Originally released as the B-side of the single "Surfin' Safari,” their second single after the first hit: Surfin’. As the biographers often state, “The rest is history.”
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A quick follow up to "409" was “Shut Down” by the Beach Boys recorded January 5, 1963 The song details a drag race between a Super-Stock 413 cu. in.-powered 1962 Dodge Dart and a fuel-injected 1963 Chevrolet Corvette Sting Ray.
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The car song craze was quickly followed up with many more car songs by the Beach Boys either directly or indirectly through their associations with other California artists such as Jan and Dean.
<p>
Although Jan and Dean had been in the business since 1959 originally performing as the Doo-Wop group the Barons, William Jan Berry and Dean Ormsby reached their commercial peak in 1963 and 1964, after they met Brian Wilson. The duo scored an impressive sixteen Top 40 hits on the Billboard charts, with a total of twenty-six hits over an eight-year period (1958–1966).
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Jan Berry and Brian Wilson collaborated on roughly a dozen hits and album cuts for Jan and Dean, including "Surf City,” written by both Jan Berry and Brian Wilson in 1963. Ironically “Surf City” went to number 1, a feat not yet achieved by the Beach Boys with their earlier songs “Surfin’” and “Surfin’ Safari.” Brian Wilson’s father was very upset that Brian gave “Surf City” to Jan and Dean rather than recording it with the Beach Boys. The song was initially titled “Two Girls For Every Boy,” but once Jan (along with Dean) tweaked it and finished it up, it became “Surf City.” Thus was a born a songwriting partnership between Berry and Wilson.
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After the success of “Surf City,” as the concept for the next Jan and Dean LP came together — thanks in no small part to the success of The Beach Boys’ hits “409” and “Little Deuce Coupe,” respectively — Berry and Torrence made a decision. They wanted to do an entire album about the car industry. Unlike the Beach Boy albums <i>Little Deuce Coupe</i> or <i>Shut Down</i>, which were just marketing, named and collected albums put together more by Capital Records than the Beach Boys, Jan and Dean wanted a true concept album, which, by the way, might be the first concept album in rock history.
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Another very important element of the material that they began to compile was lyricist Roger Christian. Christian was a vital piece to the songwriting team. Of the 12 songs to appear on the <i>Drag City</i> LP, Christian co-wrote 10 of them, chief among them, The Beach Boys’ “Little Deuce Coupe.” With Brian Wilson, Roger Christian, Jan Berry, and Artie Kornfeld, the sessions commenced in September 1963 and wrapped in late November. As a new and innovative artist, Wilson was learning from Berry, and they were grooving on Christian’s entire car vibe. It worked to everyone’s benefit.
<p>
Roger Christian was a radio personality and lyricist who co-wrote several songs for The Beach Boys, mostly about cars, including "Ballad of Ole' Betsy,” "Car Crazy Cutie,” "Cherry, Cherry Coupe,” "Don’t Worry Baby,” "In the Parkin' Lot,” "Little Deuce Coupe,” "No-Go Showboat,” "Shut Down,” and "Spirit of America,” all with Brian Wilson. He also co-wrote many songs recorded by Jan and Dean, including "Dead Man's Curve,” "The Little Old Lady from Pasadena,” "Sidewalk Surfin’,” "Drag City,” "Honolulu Lulu,” "The New Girl In School,” "Ride The Wild Surf,” and "You Really Know How to Hurt a Guy.”
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Subsequent top 10 hits for Jan and Dean included "Drag City" (1964), the eerily portentous "Dead Man's Curve" (1964), and "The Little Old Lady from Pasadena" (1964). On April 12, 1966, Berry received severe head injuries in an automobile accident on Whittier Drive, just a short distance from Dead Man's Curve in Beverly Hills, California, two years after the song had become a hit. He was on his way to a business meeting when he crashed his Corvette into a parked truck on Whittier Drive, near the intersection of Sunset Boulevard, in Beverly Hills.
<p>
“Drag City,” recorded October 1963, written by Jan Berry, Roger Christian, and Brian Wilson; and “Deadman’s Curve” recorded on December 4, 1963 were hits for Jan and Dean. The latter song was written and composed by Brian Wilson, Artie Kornfeld, Roger Christian and Jan Berry at Brian Wilson's mother's house in Santa Monica. It was part of the teenage tragedy song phenomenon of that period, and one of the most popular such selections of all time.
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“Hey Little Cobra” by The Rip Chords in 1963 was produced by Terry Melcher and Bruce Johnston, who also sang vocals. Bruce was a member of the Beach Boys and Terry Melcher was a musician and record producer who was instrumental in shaping the 1960s California Sound and folk rock movements, particularly during the nascent counterculture era. Melcher is also known for his involvement with cult leader Charles Manson, being one of the targets of the Manson Family during the late 1960s.
<p>
Melcher was the son of actress/singer Doris Day. Most of his early recordings were with the vocal surf acts the Rip Chords and Bruce & Terry. Melcher's best known contributions were producing the Byrds' first two albums Mr. Tambourine Man (1965) and Turn! Turn! Turn! (1965), as well as most of the hit recordings of Paul Revere & the Raiders and Gentle Soul. In the 1960s, Melcher was acquainted with the Beach Boys, helping connect Brian Wilson to <i>Smile</i> lyricist Van Dyke Parks. Melcher later produced several singles for the Beach Boys in the 1980s and the 1990s, including "Kokomo" (1988), which topped U.S. record charts.
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The Beach Boys recorded “Little Deuce Coupe” June 12, 1963, and Jan and Dean recorded “Little Old Lady from Pasadena” in March 21, 1964. Joining the genre were Ronny and the Daytonas with “G.T.O.” and “Bucket T” in 1964.
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“Little Honda” by the Beach Boys was recorded in April, 1964, covered by the Hondels and many others that same year. Although about a motorbike rather an a car, it is also part of the California car and beach theme.
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“Fun, Fun, Fun” released in 1964 is one of many by the Beach Boys that virtually defined the California myth. Its lyrics are about a teenage girl who tricks her father so she can go hot-rodding with his Ford Thunderbird. At the end, her father discovers her deception and takes the keys from her. The narrator then comes to the girl's rescue with his own car. I still remember where I was when I first heard this song, sitting at a stop sign by the county court house across from the library (where I told my folks I was going), waiting to pull onto Main Street in my blue ’59 Chevy, six-cylinder, stick shift. Sigh … the envy!
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Even the Beatles joined in with “Drive My Car” recorded October 1965, and released on <i>Rubber Soul</i>. Not to be left out, Motown — literally Motor Town — offered “Mustang Sally” by Wilson Picket in 1966.
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Not gone entirely, the car genre (or sub-genre) did pretty much die out by the end of the ‘60s, although car songs continue on including “One Piece at a Time” by Johnny Cash, a country novelty song written by Wayne Kemp and recorded by Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Three in 1976. It was the last song performed by Cash to reach number one on the Billboard Hot Country Singles chart and the last of Cash's songs to reach the Billboard Hot 100, on which it peaked at number 29. The song told the story of a Detroit auto employee workin’ on the assembly line who stole car parts one part at a time and built a rather unique Cadillac from the many years of miss-matched parts.
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The transmission was a '53<br />
And the motor turned out to be a '73<br />
And when we tried to put in the bolts all the holes were gone.
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So we drilled it out so that it would fit<br />
And with a little bit of help with an A-daptor kit<br />
We had that engine runnin' just like a song<br />
Now the headlight' was another sight<br />
We had two on the left and one on the right<br />
But when we pulled out the switch all three of 'em come on.
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The back end looked kinda funny too<br />
But we put it together and when we got through<br />
Well, that's when we noticed that we only had one tail-fin.
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⋮
<p>
Uh yow, Red Ryder, this is the cotton mouth<br /> In the Psycho-Billy Cadillac come on, huh,<br /> And negatory on the cost of this mow-chine there Red Ryder<br /> You might say I went right up to the factory<br /> And picked it up, it's cheaper that way.
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⋮ <p>
Uh, what model is it?<br />
Well, it's a '49, '50, '51, '52, '53, '54, '55, '56<br /> '57, '58' 59' automobile<br /> It's a '60, '61, '62, '63, '64, '65, '66, '67<br /> '68, '69, '70 automobile.
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Zoom, zoom.
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</div>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-33299858290570402382017-10-17T20:18:00.000-06:002017-11-07T08:27:11.232-07:00The Edge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hunter S. Thompson. I don’t recall exactly when I read Hunter’s <i>Hell's Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs</i>, but it was probably in the early seventies. I know I was very interested in motorcycle tales around the time I first read <i>Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance</i> which was published in 1974. Maybe I read <i>Hells Angels …</i> before that. Anyway, I found Hunter’s book on his experience with the Hells Angels quite enlightening in many ways.
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I appreciated how he captured to a great extent the actual motivations and attitudes of outlaw bikers, as well as debunking some of the silly stories that drew from the old <i>Wild One</i> movie. For one example, Hunter accurately describes the small size and influence of the outlaw bikers in the mid-sixties and the apparent view of law enforcement of these bikers, at least in California. The cops were concerned about a bunch of bikers coming into town to rape and pillage. Mostly they just came into town to get high.
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Never mind the public conclusions about bikers from <i>Easy Rider</i>. At least that movie didn’t involve motorcycle gangs.
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I was also aware of the AMA (American Motorcyclist Association) negative opinions of “outlaw bikers” in general. They called them the “one percenters” to emphasize that most bikers were “the nicest people” to quote a famous advertising slogan. On the other hand, it was a label the Angels wore with pride, often sporting a patch on their trademark, sleeveless denim jackets.
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As Thompson states in that book, he was offered several bikes by the Angels. He was worried that the free bike would have stolen parts. Besides that, he was more a Harley Sportster type of guy, and that wouldn’t work with that bike gang that rode exclusively big Harleys. Thompson said he had owned a few scooters prior to his experiences with the Hells Angels, and he ended up purchasing a 1967 BSA Lightning. He also commented on the Japanese bikes of that time and on the Honda Superhawk.
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Anyway, he ended up with a BSA, although his adventures with the Angels was usually with him in a car. The book describes one three-day weekend run he participated in. He ended up on the beer runs because he had a car.
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After reading and enjoying his book on the Hells Angels I was drawn to his best selling <i>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream</i>. I had heard a lot about it, and I wanted to read more of his work. Although it was Hunter’s best selling book, I found it very disappointing. To begin with, part of the book was supposedly about the “Mint 400.“
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<blockquote>
In some circles, the "Mint 400" is a far, far better thing than the Super Bowl, the Kentucky Derby and the Lower Oakland Roller Derby Finals all rolled into one. This race attracts a very special breed …”
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— Hunter S. Thompson
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The Mint 400 was a dessert race during the 60’s and 70’s sponsored by the Las Vegas casino, “The Mint.” It was founded as a PR stunt in 1961 — a two-car death race through 600 miles of Nevada hell-fury to promote, of all dissipative American traditions, a deer hunting contest. The brainchild of the owner of the now-crumbled Mint Hotel by the name of Del Webb, the event was inspired by the famed Baja 1000, and its inaugural running’s success led to dozens of racers attending the second running: a 400-mile loop through the Las Vegas desert open to all sorts of vehicles including bikes.
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Desert racing attracts a special breed, indeed. The glitz and glamour that surrounds motorsports like Formula 1 is a long way from the crippling heat and desolate conditions of races like the Mint 400. It takes a unique variety of maniac to welcome a venue that so actively discourages the vital necessities of life, but in the heyday of the Mint 400, it was one of the largest motorsports events in the US, boasting a staggering $100,000 purse by 1975. Competitors came from far and wide, with racers like Steve McQueen lining up alongside Joe Average all vying for the win. The race was pandemonium, bikes and dune buggies flying in reckless disregard to the rules of racing, and nature.
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So I was very disappointed when I read the book since about all Hunter described was his frequent comment to bystanders that he was part of the Vincent Black Shadow racing team. Rather than sit outside in the dusty old dust of the race, he spent all the time inside at the bar consuming various strong liquors until he couldn’t stand up. Zero about the race. Didn’t even mention the winners.
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Without spoiling the book for those who haven’t read it, part of Thompson’s story is about him abusing all sorts of drugs in expensive hotels rather than really attending the race. The second half of the book is about him abusing all sorts of drugs in expensive hotels while attending a D.A. conference on drugs. The story is sort of a distorted autobiography of his time in Vegas, and it was not appealing to me at all. The truth is it was a combined tale of two visits to L.V. sponsored by various publications to write stories about the events. Somehow this turned into this drug addled exposition on his life style. That’s what “gonzo” journalist means. The writer becomes part — if not the central character — in the tale.
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I’m no “drug prude,” and you know I've smoked a lot of grass, O' Lord, I've popped a lot of pills, but I’ve never touched nothin’ that my spirit could kill. Yet I never thought about snorting ether (the gas that puts you to sleep)! I suppose Hunter was making some point, but he failed in my case to make it.
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Hunter, meanwhile, seemed to have smoked, ate, dropped, snorted, and otherwise consumed about every drug then extant. It really came across as boring and juvenile. I realize he won critical acclaim for this book, and sort of based his career on its success for the rest of his life, but I didn’t think much of it. (I never saw any of the movies either, but don’t feel that is a great loss.)
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His Hells Angels book, however, did leave me with a strong impression of his literary skills. It also convinced me he was a bit of an impossible drunk, and I think history pretty much shows that opinion to be valid.
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I have not read any of his other books. After being turned off by <i>F&L NV</i>, I didn’t pick up another of his books, although the ones on politics might be useful in today’s environment. He was no lover of Nixon (to understate the facts), but had little regard for LBJ either.
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As a journalist, it does seem he was everywhere there was to be during the revolutionary sixties. He was in Haight Ashbury during the summer of love. He was in South America and the Caribbean. He was in Vietnam at the end. (Not sure what ‘copter ferried him out as Saigon fell.) He worked for dozens of different publications from Rolling Stone to the local shopping market weekly news and jokes. His biggest successes were as a sports reporter. Not really gonzo at all.
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As I said, I did enjoy greatly his Hells Angels book. He literally lived with the Angels for over a year and reported pretty clearly and accurately their lifestyle and motivations.
Best of all, IMHO, was his descriptions of the Angel’s bikes. Their skill both in maintenance and in riding. Although they seemed perpetually drunk, most of the time they rode in tight precision with expert skills splitting lanes and dodging death, although they didn’t always avoid the grim reaper. One chapter of his book describes a Hells Angels funeral.
<p>
Of course there were other times when, drunk as skunks and high as mountains, they couldn’t even bring the V-twin beasts to life or, if they could get them to start, rode off in a roar and into a tree … or each other. Yet Hunter exhaustingly describes their personal love affairs and ability with the freedom of two wheels. That’s really the plot of his HA book, the love of freedom.
<p>
At one point the Angels meet Ken Kesey (<i>Electric Kool Aid Acid Test</i> and many more … also consumed by this avid reader … your truly) and Allen Ginsberg (I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked). Drug use on a higher plane and anti-war tactics were discussed, but the Angels were much more interested in getting high than exploring the philosophy of conscious expansion. If only the middle class bikers could have connected with the elite class intellectuals of Berkley. Where did H.S.Thompson put his personal view? He didn't say much about that either. Just a journalist telling other's stories.
<p>
That part of the tale adds interest to his stories for me. The summer of love (and L.S.D. meets the bar fighting Angels). But then the Angels would have beat the shit out of the intellectuals if nature had taken its normal course. It’s probably best that the Berkley elite and the Bay bad boys ended up going their own separate ways.
<p>
But the bottom line … the subtle subplot … the glaring truth of Hunter’s whole book on the outlaw motorcycle gang was about the freedom of their lifestyle and how motorcycles represented, augmented, presented, and made obvious their goal, their desire, their life. It was about freedom.
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I was saddened when I learned Hunter had ended his own life, but then, based on what I’d read about him and his personal lifestyle and his books, I’m not surprised he didn’t grow old gracefully.
<p>
But I’m not here to bury Hunter, I’m here to praise him. Never visited his “Owl Farm” property during my frequent Aspen sojourns, but I was always aware he had left the California lifestyle described in his earlier works for the Colorado high. Another John Denver crying out from the wilderness on the misdirections of mankind and American life. All we need is love … and drugs … and guns?
<p>
Oh, I was impressed with some of his writing, and especially his reporting on motorcycles. He got it. When I first read the following excerpt from near the end of his book, his coda, his summation, his connection. He got it. The reason many (most) ride. Here’s his answer. From the ending of his Hells Angels story is this description of him out for a jaunt on his red BSA.
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<blockquote>
Months later, when I rarely saw the Angels, I still had the legacy of the big machine — four hundred pounds of chrome and deep red noise to take out on the Coast Highway and cut loose at three in the morning, when all the cops were lurking over on 101. My first crash had wrecked the bike completely and it took several months to have it rebuilt. After that I decided to ride it differently: I would stop pushing my luck on curves, always wear a helmet and try to keep within range of the nearest speed limit … my insurance had already been canceled and my driver’s license was hanging by a thread.
<p>
So it was always at night, like a werewolf, that I would take the thing out for an honest run down the coast. I would start in Golden Gate Park, thinking only to run a few long curves to clear my head … but in a matter of minutes I’d be out at the beach with the sound of the engine in my ears, the surf booming up on the sea wall and a fine empty road stretching all the way down to Santa Cruz … not even a gas station in the whole seventy miles; the only public light along the way is an all-night diner down around Rockaway Beach.
<p>
There was no helmet on those nights, no speed limit, and no cooling it down on the curves. The momentary freedom of the park was like the one unlucky drink that shoves a wavering alcoholic off the wagon. I would come out of the park near the soccer field and pause for a moment at the stop sign, wondering if I knew anyone parked out there on the midnight humping strip.
<p>
Then into first gear, forgetting the cars and letting the beast wind out … thirty-five, forty-five … then into second and wailing through the light at Lincoln Way, not worried about green or red signals, but only some other werewolf loony who might be pulling out, too slowly, to start his own run. Not many of these … and with three lanes on a wide curve, a bike coming hard has plenty of room to get around almost anything … then into third, the boomer gear, pushing seventy-five and the beginning of a wind scream in the ears, a pressure on the eyeballs like diving into water off a high board.
<p>
Bent forward, far back on the seat, and a rigid grip on the handlebars as the bike starts jumping and wavering in the wind. Taillights far up ahead coming closer, faster, and suddenly — zaaapppp — going past and leaning down for a curve near the zoo, where the road swings out to sea.
<p>
The dunes are flatter here, and on windy days sand blows across the highway, piling up in thick drifts as deadly as any oil-slick … instant loss of control, a crashing, cartwheeling slide and maybe one of those two-inch notices in the paper the next day: “An unidentified motorcyclist was killed last night when he failed to negotiate a turn on Highway 1.”
<p>
Indeed … but no sand this time, so the lever goes up into fourth, and now there’s no sound except wind. Screw it all the way over, reach through the handlebars to raise the headlight beam, the needle leans down on a hundred, and wind-burned eyeballs strain to see down the centerline, trying to provide a margin for the reflexes.
<p>
But with the throttle screwed on there is only the barest margin, and no room at all for mistakes. It has to be done right … and that’s when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms. You can barely see at a hundred; the tears blow back so fast that they vaporize before they get to your ears. The only sounds are wind and a dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white line and try to lean with it … howling through a turn to the right, then to the left and down the long hill to Pacifica … letting off now, watching for cops, but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge … The Edge … There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. The others — the living — are those who pushed their control as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between now and Later.
<p>
But the edge is still Out there. Or maybe it’s In. The association of motorcycles with LSD is no accident of publicity. They are both a means to an end, to the place of definitions.
<p>
— Thompson, Hunter S. Hell's Angels: A Strange and and Terrible Saga. Random House Publishing Group.
</blockquote>
<p>
Was Hunter S. Thompson a good writer? Well, you can now decide for yourself. My mind is made up.
<p>
P.S. Of course, what’s not to love in a writer who mixes "ellipses"(…) and "dashes" (—) in the same paragraph. (Who else does that? Hadn’t you noticed?)
<p>
P.P.S. Did I tell you I also have a red BSA Lightning. I don’t ride by the beach. My destinations are mountains and river canyons. And I don’t ride at night. (Old eyes don’t do as well at night.) But I’ve “Bent forward, far back on the seat, and a rigid grip on the handlebars as the bike starts jumping and wavering in the wind.” Oh yes, Hunter got it. Do you?
</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-85304217210287134972017-09-05T14:54:00.000-06:002017-09-06T06:54:38.839-06:001947<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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1947
<p>
That was the year that was! For me, it was my first year!! But a lot of history had already happened. There had been two world wars, a canal dug in Panama, the airplane was invented, rockets and missiles weren’t far behind, and India won its independence. The propellor would soon be replaced by jet engines and radio was giving way to television. Oh, there was a lot more to happen. Since the turn of the century transportation had gone from the earlier horse to the steam engine to the gasoline engine and transportation, both two-wheel and four-wheel, had evolved and improved. And that’s where we will start the story of this important (at least to me) story.
<p>
The fall of 1947 brought the end of the Kuucklehead, Harely-Davidson’s first Overhead Valve (OHV) production engine. Harley’s magazine teased that the new news would be the “biggest motorcycle story of the year” and that the new OHV model would carry The Motor Company into a bright new future.
<p>
Yet the change, like much of Harley-Davidson history, was more evolutionary than revolutionary. An updated top end for the popular OHV engine consisting of aluminum cylinder heads, hydraulic valve lifters, redesigned cylinders with internal oil feed and return lines replacing the often leaky external lines, and a chrome plated, stamped steel “pan” cover that completely enclosed the rocker arms and valves of each head. This new “top hat” quickly became the common moniker for what we now affectionately refer to as “Panhead Harleys.”
<p>
These updates produced a motor that was smoother, quieter, more oil tight, cooler running, and more maintenance free, yet no lighter or more powerful than its predecessor. (History will repeat with the introduction of another new engine design, now called the Shoveled, some eighteen years later. Again, better and requiring less maintenance than the Panhead, but still heavier and even slower.)
<p>
Other than the top end, little else was changed for 1948. Even the styling was almost exactly the same as on the 1947 Knucklehead. Regardless, the new model was an instant success and even more popular than the previous model.
<p>
The gradual changes continued in the years that followed with hydraulic forks replacing the old springer front ends in 1949. This new bike, for the first time, was given a name by H-D, rather than just a set of initials; branded as the “Hydro-Glide.” During the next decade things were slowly modernized. The hand shifter was replaced with a foot shift and hand clutch, and, by 1958, the hard tail suspension was replaced with a hydraulic swing-arm yielding another new moniker from Harley, “Duo-Glide.” Ultimately the kick starter would be replaced by the “Electro-Glide” electric starter. The modern era had arrived.
<p>
The legacy and designs that these new models were built upon were based on the old Knucklehead design slowly improved since its release in 1936. (Really more like 1937, as it was a slow start for Harley at first). Their major rival, Indian, never did go OHV and slowly disappeared, partly due to the competition of this new technology from Harley.
<p>
In 1947 the war was over and the soldiers, sailors, and airmen were returning home. Over one million former servicemen entered college on the G.I. Bill and prepared for a more prosperous future. Business was booming, but prices were going up too. The new Harleys that began rolling off previously part shortage limited production lines jumped over $150 in price from around $450 to $600. It was during this jubilant time that the Motor Company began the design and preparation for the next generation of OHV machines. Although Indian wasn’t much competition for Harley’s more state-of-the-art machines, overseas manufacturers were.
<p>
When the Knucklehead was first sold, biplanes were still the main stay of the U.S. Army Air Corps. Now the sleek P-51 Mustang was becoming obsolete through the introduction of jet airplanes. How long could Harley’s rapidly aging design of push rods and air-cooled twins survive. That’s the odd part of the story. They did survive and thrived right up to today’s computerized world. Part of that story is due to nostalgia and the undeniable “style” that Harley continues to exhibit. But it was also the result of continual, albeit rather slow improvement.
<p>
Although Harley-Davidson sales were booming, our allies from England and Europe were having even a better time. A flood of sophisticated and lightweight bikes from England, Italy, and even war torn Germany were hitting our post-war shores. The young and reckless who had been the primary marketplace for motorcycles — which in that era included thousands of discharged fliers, sailors, or soldiers who were looking for a new high to replaced the terrifying thrills of combat — were not going to be satisfied with Harley’s old “biplane.”
<p>
In the next ten years, British bikes in particular were to completely dominate the American scene. At the same time, Harley was consciously shifting its target audience from thrill seeking, testosterone loaded young men to making motorcycles that would appeal to a broader segment of society. And H-D wanted to make them repeat customers for life.
<p>
This was a good long term strategy, but didn’t do well in the short term. While the British alone were selling tens of thousands of motorcycles, Harley hoped their long term plans would come to fruition.
<p>
As I said, prices were going up, there was a housing shortage for the millions of returning military who quickly started families, there were several labor strikes and the U.S. entered a cold war with Russia and the communists. Soon we were worried that the commies were in Hollywood and under every bed. In one of the saddest events, the father of the A-bomb which quickly ended the war with Japan was stripped of his security clearance primarily because he disagreed with the current Atomic Energy Commission’s strategy of development of a more powerful H-bomb.
<p>
Technology was just beginning its boom. Medial science found cures for diseases, Edwin Land invented the instant camera, and commercial air travel bloomed. Television took its place in the center of post-war homes and shows like <i>Howdy Doody</i> entertained we baby boomers. Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier and Jackie Robinson broke the race barrier. What would come next? Rock and roll and selfies. It would only take time.
<p>
This all started at some point in 1947. In March of that year, a first-born boy was delivered at St. Joseph’s hospital in Lewistown, Montana. That boy would grow up in this modern world and end up typing these words to you on a modern Mac.
<p>
But what of the Harley Panhead? It would spawn everything from baggers to choppers. From bikes fully equipped with windshields, saddle bags, and ultimately satellite radio and cruise control road bikes to fantastic works of art rendered in steel and chrome. Whether stripped down to duplicate the British style or dressed up for a 1500 mile journey, Harley fit the bill. Harley outlasted the British invasion and the later Japanese invasion. The latter required a little help from Uncle Sam in the form of tariffs on large displacement imported bikes, and ultimately the Japanese motorcycles started to copy the Harley big V-Twin.
<p>
The Panhead spawned the Shovelhead, each step an improvement. In 1984 it was the EVO for “Evolution” engine that fulfilled the promise of 1936. This new engine was lightweight and reliable and as maintenance-free as any of the completion. Yet it could be improved further. Largely under the pressure from Uncle’s EPA, major changes were made to improve the emissions and sound output of the venerable big Twin leading ultimately to the modern Twin-Cam Harly engine with electronic fuel injection and a master computer in charge of everything from fuel input to spark timing and exhaust output. There’s even a model that shuts down the back cylinder when idling to keep it from overheating. GPS navigation and anti-lock brakes round out the modern Harley. Yet the sound goes on and on.
<p>
Will environmental concerns finally force Harley-Davidson to become water cooled, jacketing the great cylinders and probably toning down the “rump, rump”? Only time will tell. For now I’m just celebrating that magic year of 1947 when the greatest became even greater.
<p>
Even though it has been many years of change, 70 of which I’ve born personal witness, and the world today has exceeded the imagination of that young boy growing up in a little town in central Montana, I am able to look back and see how the small changes were made toward perfection. Back then, it was “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” For example, Harley modified the clutch four times on the old Knuckle until reaching a design that was used unchanged until the ‘80s. That’s Harley for you. If it breaks, make it bigger. Pretty soon it quits breaking. Then you have that problem solved. The Knucklehead was version 1. And as all software consumers know, don’t buy version 1. The Panhead was version 2 of the overhead valve designs. Now we’re getting somewhere.
<p>
Some 70 years after the Panhead, we are on version 6 of the OHV and, in a sense, Hareley's version 8 of the V-Twin called, quite appropriately, the "Milwaukee Eight."
<ol>
<li>1909 First V-Twin
<li>1929 Flathead
<li>1936 Knucklehead
<li>1947 Panhead
<li>1966 Shovelhead
<li>1984 Evolution
<li>1999 Twin Cam
<li>2016 Milwaukee Eight
</ol>
<p>
Evolution, not revolution. (See where number 6 came from?) Meanwhile Mac is on version 10 and Windows plans to skip 9. So it seems OK for HD to claim “eight.” Maybe we should look for a computer operating system out of Milwaukee. Which would you prefer?
</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-83730318605535820562017-02-02T11:54:00.000-07:002017-02-02T12:04:35.296-07:00DKW Motorcycles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It’s time to practice your German — auf Deutsch:
<i>Des Knaben Wunsch</i> — "the boy's desire” — a two-stroke engine produced by the German manufacturer that became known as DKW. (You see where that name came from — right?)
<p>
The year was 1916 and Danish engineer Jørgen Skafte Rasmussen founded a factory in Zschopau, Saxony, Germany, to produce steam fittings. That year he attempted to produce a steam-driven car he called the DKW. That was followed in 1919 by his first two-stroke gas engine.
<p>
He put a slightly modified version of this engine into a motorcycle and called it <i>Das Kleine Wunder</i> — "the little marvel.” This was the beginning of the DKW brand: by the 1930s, DKW was the <b>world's largest motorcycle manufacturer</b>.
<p>
They made cars and motorcycles, and in 1932, DKW merged with the brands <i>Audi</i>, <i>Horch</i>, and <i>Wanderer</i> to form <i>Auto Union</i>. The four interlocking rings are not representative of the Olympics, but rather of the four manufacturers that merged. After World War II, <i>Auto Union</i> moved to West Germany. <i>Auto Union</i> came under <i>Daimler-Benz</i> ownership in 1957 and was purchased by the <i>Volkswagen Group</i> in 1964.
<p>
The <i>Audi</i> company name is based on the Latin translation of the surname of one founder, August Horch. "Horch," meaning "listen" in German, becomes "audi" in Latin. (That’s also where the english term “audio” comes from.)
<p>
Before all this happened, during the late 1920s and early 1930s, DKW was the world's largest motorcycle manufacturer. In 1931, Ing Zoller started building split-singles and this concept made DKW the dominant racing motorcycle in the Lightweight and Junior classes between the wars. This included off road events like the International Six Days Trial (ISDT) where the marque scored some considerable inter-war year successes alongside the <i>Bavarian Motor Works</i> (BMW). At the same time, the company also had some success with super-charged racing motorcycles which because of their light weight were particularly successful in the ISDT.
<p>
The split-single ("Doppelkolbenmotor" to its German and Austrian manufacturers), is a variant on the two-stroke engine with two cylinders sharing a single combustion chamber. The split-single system sends the intake fuel-air mixture up one bore to the combustion chamber, sweeping the exhaust gases down the other bore and out of the exposed exhaust port.
<p>
The rationale of the split-single two-stroke is that, compared to a standard two-stroke single, it can give better exhaust scavenging while minimizing the loss of unburnt fresh fuel/air charge through the exhaust port. As a consequence, a split-single engine can deliver better economy, and may run better at small throttle openings.
<p>
A disadvantage of the split-single or “Twingle” as it was called is that, for only a marginal improvement over a standard two-stroke single, the Twingle has a heavier and costlier engine. Since a manufacturer could produce a standard twin-cylinder two-stroke at an equivalent cost to a Twingle, it was perhaps inevitable that the latter should become extinct.
<p>
However, from the 20’s to the 70’s, DKW and the Austrian manufacturer, <i>Puch</i>, had many successes with Twingle engines. Sears marketed considerable numbers of the <i>Puch</i> SGS split-single fitted with both these innovations as the "Allstate 250" or "Twingle" in the US.
<p>
Meanwhile, The motorcycle branch of DKW produced famous models such as the RT 125 pre- and post-World War II, and after the war with production at the original factory in GDR becoming MZ it made 175, 250 and 350 models.
<p>
As war reparations, the design drawings of the RT125 were given to Harley-Davidson in the US and BSA in the UK. The Harley-Davidson version was known as the “Hummer,” while BSA used them for the “Bantam.” IFA and later MZ models continued in production by DKW until the 1990s, when economics and environmental regulations brought production of the two-stroke to an end.
<p>
Other manufacturers copied the DKW design, officially or otherwise. This can be seen in the similarity of many small two-stroke motorcycles from the 1950s, including from Yamaha, Voskhod, Maserati, and Polish WSK.
<p>
DKW was once the world’s largest motorcycle company, and a major building block of some of today’s most successful companies. The car branch, Audi, is one of the largest luxury companies in the world. August Horch and Jørgen Skafte Rasmussen and these other early pioneers may not be as famous as Henry Ford or the Dodge brothers, but they are integral to the origin of motor vehicles too. And now you know the rest of the story.
<p>
Another storied European Motorcycle brand is NSU. Once called "Neckarsulm Strickmaschinen Union," (Neckarsulm knitting machines … remember Suzuki started as a knitting machine company too!) the company eventually shortened its mouthful of a name to NSU and became one of Germany’s most famous marques along with BMW and DKW. Annual production grew to more than 350,000 units in 1955, making NSU one of the world’s largest manufacturers of two-wheeled vehicles at the time.
<p>
But by then, the company was already on its way to losing the distinction. Through the 1950s, NSU became increasingly preoccupied with developing the Wankel rotary engine as well as a line of automobiles. Motorcycle production ceased in 1963, and <i>Volkswagen/Audi</i> swallowed the company by the end of the decade. In 1969 <i>Auto Union GmbH</i> amalgamated with <i>NSU Motorenwerke AG</i>.
</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-38790395621192177822017-01-01T15:00:00.001-07:002017-01-01T15:13:29.400-07:00Read the Book<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Read the book. Always good advice. Books are warm and involving and work in the theater of the mind. However, especially in the case of Science Fiction, I enjoy watching the movie too to find out what was in the mind of the creative folks in Hollywood.
<p>
This time of year I get several peeks at one of my favorite movies. That’s <i>A Christmas Story</i>. Ted Turner owns the rights to the film and so it is usually played back-to-back for 24 hours around Christmas on one of his networks. That’s OK. I like the story. I’m crazy about nostalgia, and it does bring back some memories of a time long ago and how magic Christmas can be for a young boy.
<p>
As most know, the movie is based on a book, <i>In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash</i>, written by Jean Shepherd. It isn’t the normal adaptation. Rather it takes parts from the book and even a little from Shepherd’s second book, <i>Wanda Hickey's Night of Golden Memories (and Other Disasters, The Ferrari in the Bedroom, and A Fistful of Fig Newtons)</i>, the source of the "hillbilly" neighbor Bumpus and his hounds. Both of his books are made up of independent chapters or short stories, sometimes with an introduction involving some conversation in New York City or the imaginary town of Hohman.
<p>
Jean Shepherd was a disc jockey and humorist who performed on radio in the decades after World War II. Beginning in June 1964, he began adapting many of his radio stories for publication in <i>Playboy</i> magazine. He focused primarily on those stories which depicted his childhood in the fictional town of Hohman, Indiana (a stand-in for Shepherd's real home town of Hammond, Indiana).
<p>
<i>Playboy</i> regular, author Shel Silverstein, had long encouraged his friend Shepherd to write down his radio stories, but Shepherd was reluctant to do so because he was not a writer. Eventually, Silverstein recorded Shepherd's stories on tape, transcribed them, and then, together with Shepherd, edited and developed them. Fellow WOR AM radio personality Barry Farber said Shepherd came to enjoy writing, as it allowed him to develop themes, and Shepherd began to work on written stories by himself.
<p>
<i>In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash</i> was the first book Shepherd wrote, and contained his most popular radio stories taken from early segments that appeared in <i>Playboy</i>. Although they are often described as nostalgic or memoirs, Shepherd rejected these descriptions. He argued instead that they were fictional stories about childhood.
<p>
Whether the stories are truth or fiction is not entirely clear. Shepherd denied that he was merely remembering his childhood, and repeatedly asserted in interviews that his stories were entirely fictional. However, at least some elements of the stories draw on the real world. For example, the names of many of the characters in Shepherd's book can be found in his high school yearbook, "Hohman" is the name of a major street in Hammond, Shepherd's younger brother was named Randy, and Hammond has a Cleveland Street and a Warren G. Harding elementary school. Certainly much of the tale is drawn from his boyhood experiences.
<p>
Books made into movies often contain much more detail than what can be portrayed on the screen. In this case, I’ve found the answers to several questions, some of which I didn’t even realize needed asking, by comparing the book to the movie. Plus, I find the movie much better than the book and I’ll explain why.
<p>
Have you ever wondered why the “leg lamp” was the prize his “Old Man” won? There is an explanation in the book. Ralphie explains that his dad was a big contest player. That made it into the movie in the kitchen scene where he asks the name of the Lone Ranger's nephew's horse. In the book Ralph describes a certain contest sponsored by the Nehi company, purveyor of a particular orange soda drink. (In some of their advertisements they would show a pair of sexy legs. Not sure why. Maybe a play on the name, “knee-high.”)
<p>
Ralphie’s dad had entered the Nehi contest that had a sports theme. His dad was not only an expert on all kinds of sports, but he also had an extensive collection of sports books and almanacs. His dad did very well in the early stages of the contest and moved on to higher rounds. As the contest continued, the questions got tougher and tougher. As mentioned in the kitchen, the prize was $50,000, so the Old Man kept on. The final round was very tough with questions about esoteric sports such as water polo. So Ralph's dad finished the contest and sent in the final questions. It is assumed his dad didn’t win first prize, but got a consolation prize.
<p>
Most of that detail was skipped in the movie, but there are some clues. Remember when Ralph’s mom asked what it was when his dad read the telegram? He said maybe it’s a bowling alley. But they don’t deliver bowling alleys. It seems that the Old Man was a very good bowler. Recall that he got a bowling ball present for Christmas. If he’d won the $50,000, he would have bought a bowling alley. Instead he got the lamp.
<p>
But that didn’t matter to him. It was the greatest present ever: “A Major Award.” You all know the rest. And now you know the rest of the story.
<p>
And speaking of presents, in the book you learn that Ralph gave his dad the can of Simonize car polish. Seems his dad was an avid car polisher. The dirigible that his kid brother loved was also a present from Ralphie that he complained about wrapping. He bought his mom a fancy bottle of perfume for Christmas, but that present doesn’t appear in the movie.
<p>
In the book, Shepherd is very negative about his home in Northern Indiana. He talks about the steel mills and refineries and how the snow was always covered in dust and dirt from the Bessemer ovens. He goes on and on about how cold it was in the winter with the arctic wind blowing over Lake Michigan at gale force and you see some of that in the movie with the dressing for school. He describes the scarf wrapped around your head until only your eyes show.
<p>
In the book he also describes the Indiana summers as hot and humid in his chapters about the stinking mud lake where the old men fished and the bugs and beer. Of course, none of the summer parts are in the winter story. The main premise in the book is he has returned to Home (Hohman / Hammond) from his job in New York, and is at the bar owned by his childhood buddy, Flick. He doesn’t have much good to say about his old home town. But, then again, he doesn’t have much good to say about New York either in his introductions at the automat and coffee shops. In his discussions with Flick he would get into the details that make up the Christmas Story.
<p>
You do recognize some of his excellent lines in the movie, although there are subtle changes. For example, in the scene where his mom “accidentally” breaks the lamp while dusting, the dad comes storming out of the bathroom. In the movie he’s in the basement struggling with the furnace. The book does describe the dad as a “fearless furnace fighter” going after clinkers. I suspect the movie deemphasized the bathroom for the sake of the children. (And talk about special effects: check out that black smoke rolling out of the basement when the Old Man opens the door!)
<p>
One line I like describes “a blue cloud of obscenities still existing somewhere over Lake Michigan.” In the movie that’s how Ralphie characterizes his dad’s cussing, but in the book that line is from when Ralph fought the bully and swore a blue streak. In both cases, his mom doesn’t tell his dad, much to the relief of both siblings worried that "dad will kill Ralph." Besides, we know his dad "worked in obscenities like other artists worked in paint or clay."
<p>
All in all, the movie had a softer tone and represented a more pleasing view of childhood, while the book was very negative on the town and its meteorological and economic conditions. I think that’s why the movie is better. It has a caring, nostalgic tone that resonates better with viewers than the tough — “happy I’m outta there” vibe of the book. Still the book allows the author to more clearly present his views. But I’m glad the movie came out the way it did. Most our childhood memories have softened and even the tough times with your tongue stuck to the flagpole are now fond memories.
<p>
Two of my favorite scenes are at the very beginning where the narrator (grown up Ralph) first sees his old home on Cleveland Street. I know that feeling. Your boyhood home is a place of many fond memories. The second is the very ending where the boys are in bed with their favorite presents and mom and dad are together on the couch, arms around each other, watching the snow outside with only the lights of the Christmas tree to illuminate the scene. Now that I'm "mom and dad" I get that too.
<p>
Plus I like all the fuse blowing and crazy electrical wiring scenes. That’s just fun. “My Old Man could replace fuses quicker than a jackrabbit on a date.” Think about that line for a moment, and then realize that director Bob Clark’s filmography includes “Porky’s,” well known for sexual innuendo. The movie may have downplayed the adult content and bathroom scenes, but it is fun reading through the book and spotting famous lines from the movie; at least famous now that <i>Christmas Story</i> had entered the nation’s psyche through simple repetition.
<p>
Still, after all my study and reading, there are several points of confusion between the two. The book states numerous times that it is in the “middle of the depression,” which would have dated it in the mid 1930s. But the look of the movie is definitely 40s, based at least on the automobiles. <i>Little Orphan Annie</i> is no help since that radio show ran from 1931 to 1941, although that would preclude mid forties for the time frame.
<p>
Neither the book nor the movie make it clear what Ralph’s Old Man did for a living, although it did appear he had a job, which was fortunate during the depression. His care with money is demonstrated in the scene with the flat tire where a quick observer will note the spare is bald. Or, as Ralph said, "These were only tires in the academic sense. They were round and made of rubber." But then again he did get the big Christmas tree, although we never heard what it cost, and he got the rope thrown in free.
<p>
In any case, it has been useful for me to read the book. I did that after I first saw the movie on TV, and that’s still OK. There are many other movies that I’ve also read the book. <i>2001, a Space Odyssey</i> is a favorite of mine. It was based on a short story by Arthur C. Clarke written in 1948 called <i>The Sentinel</i>, yet that was only about the monolith, not the voyage or HAL.
<p>
There is a book of the movie <i>2001</i>. It was developed concurrently with Stanley Kubrick's film version and published after the release of the film. Clarke and Kubrick worked on the book together, but eventually only Clarke ended up as the official author. Of course, I’ve read that book too. Since it is based on the movie, there are few differences, but it does explain the final scene where the fetus is seen floating in space above the earth.
<p>
The book has an explanation for that final scene, but I’m not going to tell you. You’ll have to “Read the Book.”
</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-5659459671608067192016-12-30T18:14:00.000-07:002017-01-17T03:45:35.342-07:00BSA Rocket 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The history of the British Motorcycle Industry is a long and storied tale. However, by the 60s, it had fallen on hard times. Multiple mergers and government involvement and support was basically unable to save it. Many famous brands went under and really only one survived. Triumph has had a good come back, but one of the 50s and 60s favorites, BSA, is gone forever.
<p>
The causes of the death of these great British brands including Norton, AJS, Vincent, and so many others are also numerous, but one main cause was an inability or lack of updating the designs and the factories that produced these legendary bikes.
<p>
There was a glimmer of hope near the end. The merged companies of Triumph and BSA actually beat the Japanese to the punch in producing what became known as super bikes. Before Honda released their game changing Honda CB750 four-cylinder, the British delivered on a new design moving beyond the twins. They were triples sharing much in common in their basic design, yet they were also different mostly due to the rivalry between the two famous British brands.
<p>
These were both 750cc Triples — three cylinders. They were good designs, although the styling could have been improved — that’s part of the following discussion. The BSA version borrowed from their famous brand name and was called the <i>Rocket 3</i>.
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<p>
Starting in 1968 and introduced to the press and public in March of that year as the A75 Rocket 3, along with the similar Triumph T150 Trident. Both had a 740cc three-cylinder engine set across the frame and in unit construction with a four-speed gearbox. Although many of the internals were common, the design owed much to the Triumph Twins that preceded it. Yet the BSA design was distinguished from the Triumph by having its cylinders inclined forward and its timing cover shaped to blend to the gearbox. These relatively major design changes had delayed the project and may be one of the ultimate causes of failure of these brand new competitors from the British Isles.
<p>
The frames were also different, following the lines of the two firms’ respective twins, so that the BSA had an all-welded type with duplex downtubes. The forks and wheels were common and taken from the earlier twin designs, the front brake of the dual-leading-shoe type. A four-gallon tank was fitted with an oil cooler mounted beneath it at the front.
<p>
It was a most impressive motorcycle which reached its home market in 1969 and soon built up a fine reputation. Unfortunately, its production had been delayed, and late in 1968 the Honda CB750 burst upon the scene to steal much of the triple’s thunder. For all that, the British machines sold well and works racing versions had considerable success in 1970 and 1971, winning the Daytona 200, the Isle of Mann TT, the Bol d’Or, and the Truxton.
<p>
The overall design of the BSA triple was not met with much regard. The oddly shaped tank and other features were not well received. One interesting story was an attempt to improve the looks in the X-75 project.
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The Triumph X-75 Hurricane was a 'factory special' motorcycle designed by fairing specialist Craig Vetter. The X-75 had swooping glassfibre bodywork, a three US-gallon petrol tank, lowered gearing, and a distinctive triple exhaust on the right-hand side. The motorcycle is credited with creating a new class of motorcycle, the cruiser.
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The X-75 was ultimately released as a Triumph model in 1973, the BSA factory having closed its doors in late 1972. Vetter was commissioned by BSA's US distributor to customize the BSA Rocket 3 to appeal more to American tastes.
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When, in 1968, the new BSA Rocket 3 / Triumph Trident triples were shown to the American BSA-Triumph management, they were underwhelmed. They knew Honda had an important bike (the CB750) coming along, and they felt the triple's price of $1800 was too high and that technical details (like vertically-split crankcases and pushrod OHV valve train) were far from "cutting edge".
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However, they acknowledged that the bike was fast, and a sales team led by BSA Vice-President Don Brown decided to launch the bike by using a Rocket 3 to set some records at Daytona, records which were broken in 1971 by the Kawasaki Z1.
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Brown felt that the BSA / Triumph triples needed a different look to succeed in the USA, and he engaged designer Craig Vetter to give the BSA A75 a customized face-lift, with a brief to make it "sleeker and more balanced.”
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Vetter created the Triumph Hurricane in the summer of 1969, and in October 1969 he unveiled the prototype with "BSA" on the tank as the new <i>Rocket Three</i>.
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Thornton and the American officials were impressed, and Vetter's bike was then sent to the UK, but the bike arrived in England just as the BSA marque was about to end. At BSA-Triumph's design facility at Umberslade Hall, the design was seen as too "trendy" by chief designer Bert Hopwood; but after very positive public reaction to the design when it appeared on the front of US magazine <i>Cycle World</i> in September 1970, the UK managers changed their minds. They realized they had a large stock of obsolete BSA Rocket 3 parts that could now be turned into a premium-priced motorcycle.
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Engineer Steve Mettam was given the job of supervising production for the 1972/3 season; and the Vetter BSA Rocket 3 became the Triumph X-75 Hurricane. 1,183 engines were put aside for X75 production. However, BSA was facing bankruptcy and the design went into a limited production run of 1200 as the Triumph X-75 Hurricane in 1972. Production stopped in 1973 after the X-75 was unable to meet new American noise standards.
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An odd side note to this tale is that Vetter was not paid for his design work for several years. Brown revealed the Vetter project to Peter Thornton, President of BSA/Triumph North America, but as Brown's initiative had not been authorized by BSA, Vetter had problems being paid, waiting two years for his fee.
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This was the last gasp by BSA. By 1972 BSA had quit production, although some Triumphs continued on. It was the end of a great and storied brand. BSA to be no more. There’s an X-75 for sale at the Mecum auction in Las Vegas at the end of this month. I don’t think I’ll be bidding on it, but I’m curious what it will sell for. BSA lives on in the hearts and minds of we enthusiasts.
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</div>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-81298829746618132872016-12-23T10:36:00.000-07:002016-12-23T11:04:57.321-07:00Foundation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Those that read my blog know that science fiction was a key part of my childhood and continued interest. Further, SciFi was one of the factors that led me to a life and a career of science. I am still consumed by the fires of speculative fiction, and reading this genre is a major part of my leisure time activities.
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Regular blog readers also know my three all-time favorite authors of this style of literature are Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clark, and Robert A. Heinlein. Isaac, the “good doctor,” is probably the greatest of the three in my estimation. He was a doctor. Ph.D. in biochemistry and a professor at Boston University. But his life was soon absorbed in writing, and he is one of the most successful American authors of all time, regardless of the genre. And not just in Science Fiction. Plenty of nonfiction too. His books have been published in 9 of the 10 major categories of the Dewey Decimal Classification.
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I’ve read just about everything he ever wrote, both fiction and nonfiction, and that’s quite a boast since he authored over 500 books. He wrote so much that even the total number is in doubt and depends on how you count it. But no matter how you perform the math, that is a prodigious output and it wasn’t just SciFi, but books on science, physics, chemistry, astronomy, even the Bible and Shakespeare. The “good doctor” indeed!
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I don’t know when I first read the <i>Foundation Trilogy</i>. Probably some time in the late fifties or early sixties, but conceivably I didn’t read the three until I was in the Navy in 67-73. I don’t remember exactly when. Like all of his work, I was very impressed by the story … the scope and expanse of a tale that included the entire galaxy (what we would call the Milky Way). He imagined mankind expanding and colonizing the entire galaxy. A civilization of millions of worlds and trillions of people. Although it isn’t clear, especially in the first three books, ultimately the series was expanded and we learn what we always suspected. All these people are descendants of the men and women of Earth.
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<i>Foundation</i> was originally a series of eight short stories published in <i>Astounding Magazine</i> between May 1942 and January 1950. According to Asimov, the premise was based on ideas set forth in Edward Gibbon's <i>History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire</i>, and was invented spontaneously on his way to meet with editor John W. Campbell, with whom he developed the concepts of the collapse of the <i>Galactic Empire</i>, the civilization-preserving <i>Foundations</i>, and psychohistory.
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Psychohistory was a branch of science developed by Hari Seldon at a time when the Galactic Empire was in decline. (Compare this idea to the fall of the Roman Empire and the dark ages that followed its collapse.) Psychohistory combines history, sociology, and mathematical statistics to make general predictions about the future behavior of very large groups of people. Seldon, a mathematician, had developed the method. It could not predict the actions of an individual, but collectively and with statistical accuracy limits well known to those that follow election polls, it would describe the actions of nations, worlds, and the entire empire.
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Seldon foresaw a complete collapse that would last for 30,000 years. Repeating the dark ages after the fall of the Holy Roman Empire. His plan was to establish two “foundations.” These core organizations would work, using psychohistory, to reduce the collapse to just 1,000 years and leave a reborn (and much improved and stable) galactic civilization.
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The magazine short stories were collected, along with a new story taking place before the others, in a single volume published by Gnome Press in 1951 as <i>Foundation.</i> The remainder of the trilogy were published in pairs by Gnome as <i>Foundation and Empire</i> (1952) and <i>Second Foundation</i> (1953), resulting in the "Foundation Trilogy," as the series is still known.
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Much later, in 1981, Asimov was persuaded by his publishers to write a fourth book, which became <i>Foundation's Edge</i> (1982). Four years later, Asimov followed up with yet another sequel, <i>Foundation and Earth</i> (1986), which was followed by the prequels <i>Prelude to Foundation</i> (1988) and <i>Forward the Foundation</i> (1993). During the two-year lapse between writing the sequels and prequels, Asimov had tied in his <i>Foundation</i> series with his various other series, creating a single unified universe.
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The basic link is mentioned in <i>Foundation's Edge</i>: an obscure tradition about a first wave of space settlements with robots and then a second without. The idea is the one developed in Asimov’s <i>Robots of Dawn</i>, which, in addition to showing the way that the second wave of settlements were to be allowed, illustrates the benefits and shortcomings of the first wave of settlements and their so-called C/Fe culture. In this same book, the word psychohistory is used to describe the nascent idea of Seldon's work. Some of the drawbacks to this style of colonization, also called <i>Spacer</i> culture, are also exemplified by the events described in <i>The Naked Sun</i>.
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This complete work of seven novels, some sequels to the original trilogy, and some prequels in a sense merged all of Asimov’s work. This included his robot stories with the three laws of robotics as well as the “Spacer” tales and even his interesting SciFi detective stories that starred the “stay at home” sleuth Elijah Bailey and his robot companion R. Daneel Olivaw. The early exploration of the galaxy covered in these books and tales of the <i>Empire</i> which predated the Galactic Federation are fit into the overall plot. Places such as the planet Solaria and mental telepathy are all combined with a search for mankind's original planet, now all but forgotten by the Galactic Civilization.
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I had read the trilogy years ago, and read <i>Foundations Edge</i> over thirty years ago. I recently purchased the entire 7 book combination for the Kindle and read it all over the last few months. The collection was ordered the original three novels, which I re-read to remember the details, and then the sequels. Finally, at the end of the collection, came the prequels. Some what of an odd ordering time-wise, but it made sense reading it that way. Besides, with a Kindle, rather than individual volumes, it works best to just follow along the intended order.
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I won’t ruin any of the stories by repeating plots or climaxes, but I did finish the series just the other night and it was a pleasing capstone for this long time fan of Asimov. Now I really do think I’ve read everything he every wrote. I don’t know what will happen to my library after I’m no longer here to read and enjoy it. It isn’t fancy. Mostly just paperbacks. I hope that somewhere, an Asimov fan will get that collection whether from a second hand store that my heirs assign it to, or possibly he or she will find it in the dump. Words on paper. That’s all it is. (Sadly the Kindle works will probably just be deleted. A downside of electronic books. They don’t fit on the shelves.)
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In any case, it doesn’t matter. It is how those books and those words molded and shaped my life and career that is important. I assume there will always be libraries full of Asimov’s words for future generations to explore. After all, the Galactic Library and the Encyclopedia Galactica from the series give away Asimov’s own view of literature. A little study will quickly show that I’m not the only one influenced by the series or other of Asimov’s writings. Many a famous scientist and economist will tell of the early influence of this wide open tale.
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Sure there’s <i>Star Trek</i> and <i>Star Wars</i> … they’ve influenced a lot of people. But folks my age will probably tell you of their early influences that predated television and special effects movies. Reading is the theatre of the mind, and the effects and impact are only limited by the mind of the readers.
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I’ve had many mentors in my life and times. Asimov, although I never met him, was one of the more important ones. Some of my first exposure to deeper concepts of physics and astronomy, plus chemistry and many other physical sciences, was in books written by the good doctor. Thank you Isaac. Live long and prosper. (He died in 1992 at 72 years of age. But he still lives on in the hearts and minds of his gentle readers, including yours truly.)
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If you’ve never read the <i>Foundation Trilogy</i> or the expanded series, that’s still a great place to start. It isn’t hard to find lists of all the books that are now considered part of the expanded universe of Isaac Asimov. It won’t take that long for you to read them all. Oddly, very few movies have been made from his tales. <i>I Robot</i> was pretty good, but you really need to read the book(s)!
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Perhaps the biggest problem when tackling Asimov's work is what order to read the books. The author himself suggested this series. So this is a solid recommendation. He wrote in the <i>Author's Note of the Prelude to Foundation</i> that he is providing a guide for those readers that might appreciate it since the books "were not written in the order in which (perhaps) they should be read." Therein, he offers the following chronological order:
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<li><i>The Complete Robot</i> (1982) Collection of 31 Short Stories about robots.<br>
<li><i>The Caves of Steel</i> (1954) His first Robot novel.<br>
<li><i>The Naked Sun</i> (1957) The second Robot novel.<br>
<li><i>The Robots of Dawn</i> (1983) The third Robot novel.<br>
<li><i>Robots and Empire</i> (1985) The fourth (final) Robot novel.<br>
<li><i>The Currents of Space</i> (1952) The first Empire novel.<br>
<li><i>The Stars, Like Dust—</i> (1951) The second Empire novel.<br>
<li><i>Pebble in the Sky</i> (1950) The third and final Empire novel.<br>
<li><i>Prelude to Foundation</i> (1988) The first Foundation novel.<br>
<li><i>Forward the Foundation</i> (1992) The second Foundation novel. (Not in Asimov's list as it had not been written yet.)<br>
<li><i>Foundation</i> (1951) The third Foundation novel, comprised of 5 stories originally published between 1942-1949.<br>
<li><i>Foundation and Empire</i> (1952) The fourth Foundation novel, comprised of 2 stories originally published in 1945.<br>
<li><i>Second Foundation</i> (1953) The fifth Foundation novel, comprised of 2 stories originally published in 1948 and 1949.<br>
<li><i>Foundation's Edge</i> (1982) The sixth Foundation novel.<br>
<li><i>Foundation and Earth</i> (1983) The seventh Foundation novel.<br>
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</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-80872884343304946572016-12-19T16:22:00.000-07:002016-12-19T17:09:17.123-07:00Hacking Elections<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We’ve heard it on the radio. We’ve seen it on the TV. We’ve read about it on social media. Election hacked … likely by Russia with direct involvement of Vladimir Putin. What do you think?
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What do I think?
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Well, I think hacking is a very serious threat to our way of life, our democracy, our economy, our government and corporate information, and the US as a whole.
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What are we to do?
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Speaking as a computer professional, I believe key risk issues for our modern, computer dependent society are issues relating to trustworthiness and must be evaluated based on the entire system, and must address the entire set of requirements (not just safety or security or reliability or resilience or robustness or whatever is critical to the particular system).
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The number of key systems that depend on security is steadily increasing. This is in part the result of the reality that the systems we have to build upon are simply not trustworthy enough. (I'm referring to operating systems, network software, and Internet as a whole, etc.) However, it also results from a commercial factor that not enough commitment is made by developers and corporate users to significantly improve the situation. It also results from the fact that some government agencies such as the FBI and law enforcement in general have serious difficulties in dealing with even the already broken systems.
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Thus the preponderance of security-related stories in the journals and the press. Things are NOT getting better. Contrary, they are getting worse. The so-called “Internet of Things” has even less security (and much less update capability) than the networks and computers we’ve all become so accustomed to now. We need better system engineering and a realistic goal of trustworthiness.
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Whether it is stories of self-driven cars crashing, trains jumping off their tracks, spills (yes computers can be involved in these spills), or aviation disasters traced back to computer and automation failures, not to mention the loss of operator skills as “ease of use” leads our pilots and operators to depend too much on the automation tools built in modern devices. Remember those tales of drivers believing their GPS resulting in driving into lakes and rivers.
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Some times it is as simple as the large expensive summer home in Aspin, Colorado that had all its pipes freeze when the batteries in the programmable thermostats died leaving the furnace off during a cold snap. Sometimes it is just one line of inerrant or obsolete code in a 100 million lines of programming. Sometimes it is failure to consider the odd corner case in testing and reviews, but then humans are fallible and computer software suffers from these human failures.
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Yahoo just announced the largest hack yet and the loss of customer data — including poorly encrypted password files. And what about users that use passwords such as “password” or “S3CR3T.” (That’s secret with a numerical substitution.)
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It is important to remember that no evidence has been reported that the recent presidential election was hacked. By that I mean some entity modifying voting machines to change the outcome. The current news is really about the emails and other information stolen from the Democratic National Committee and candidate’s staff emails accessed, stolen, and then published in WikiLeaks and elsewhere.
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Very embarrassing for certain and, combined with the Hillary private server issues, created a drum beat against her candidacy. Further, it isn’t just these private communications being released, but the echo effect and constant drumming on social media combined with fake news and highly partisan news sites. Throw in the conspiracy theorists who are mostly certain the earth is flat and all those NASA pictures are fake and the moon landing was all Hollywood special effects. You certainly can “fool some of the people all of the time.”
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More subtle were results from search engine algorithm manipulation effect. The commercial advertisers know how to raise the level of a post on Google or Bing, and the political campaign staffs are well aware of these Madison Avenue tricks.
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Further, the proprietary software used by these commercial entities are protected by law and court rulings. We (and that may include the FBI and other responsible agencies) don’t even know what’s inside those black boxes.
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Do I think the election machines were hacked? Well, honestly, no. There doesn’t seem to be any evidence of that occurring this time. But then would there be evidence? In 2016 about 80 percent of the U.S. electorate voted using outdated electronic voting machines that rely on proprietary software from private corporations. Some of these corporations are led by highly partisan entrepreneurs from George Soros on the left to the Koch brothers on the right.
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A recent study by the Brennan Center for Justice at the New York University School of Law identified “increased failures and crashes, which can lead to long lines and lost votes” as the biggest risk of using these out of date systems, but it is important from a security perspective to realize that old software is riskier because new methods of attack are constantly being developed and older software is likely to be vulnerable.
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Some of these systems provide almost zero auditing trail and paper documentation, so it begs the question if we would even know if the actual vote was hacked. In this modern, automated world of high cost of human labor, even the paper ballets are usually not counted by a human, but rather by a machine. At least in the case of paper ballets (such as those used in Colorado), there is a paper trail to study and evaluate error rates and possible malfeasance and hacking.
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(In my opinion, this kind of auditing and recounting capability MUST be DEMANDED in all our voting machines.)
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There’s plenty of room for human error when you try to count the hundreds of millions of voters in a national election, and there certainly are some elements seeking to defraud the election through multiple votes, denying certain groups from voting, and other shenanigans. But as any office worker knows, humans are error prone, but to really screw up takes a computer!
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Will the next hack cause our entire electric grid to fail? Will the Russians or the Chinese steal the plans to our most advanced weapons? (Already happened.) And worst of all, even if we realize it happened, will we know for sure who did it?
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My advice, improve the trustworthiness of all our automated systems. It won’t be cheap. But it might be the best money we ever spent. Do I think it will happen? No, I don’t think it will. We are going to keep on keeping on our current path toward Computer Armageddon. Forget about Skynet. A.I. isn’t the threat. It’s the old fashioned human intelligence … or the lack thereof.
</span>Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6304939471831916677.post-71151292875542565262016-11-26T13:11:00.000-07:002016-11-26T20:09:23.390-07:00Kawasaki<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It seems strange that, with all the motorcycles I’ve owned in the last fifty plus years, I never owned a Kawasaki. Those big K bikes from the sixties and the seventies had engineering to equal the best of Honda and the other Japanese competitors, with sales that put it firmly in the big four Japanese companies.
<p>
It started when <i>Kawasaki Heavy Industries</i> as it is now known was <i>Kawasaki Aircraft.</i> They initially manufactured motorcycles under the Meguro name, having bought an ailing motorcycle manufacturer, <i>Meguro Manufacturing</i>, with whom they had been in partnership. It was later renamed when they formed <i>Kawasaki Motor Sales</i>. Some early motorcycles display an emblem with "Kawasaki Aircraft" on the fuel tank.
<p>
During 1962, Kawasaki engineers were developing a four-stroke engine for small cars which ended when some of the engineers transferred to the Meguro factory to work on the Meguro K1 and the SG, a single cylinder 250 cc OHV. In 1963, Kawasaki and Meguro merged to form <i>Kawasaki Motorcycle Co.,Ltd.</i> Kawasaki motorcycles from 1962 through 1967 used an emblem which can be described as a flag within a wing.
<p>
Work continued on the Meguro K1, a copy of the BSA A7 500 cc vertical twin, and on the Kawasaki W1. The K2 was exported to the U.S. for a test in response to the expanding American market for four-stroke motorcycles. Unfortunately, it was rejected for a lack of power. But by the mid-1960s, Kawasaki was finally exporting a moderate number of motorcycles. The Kawasaki H1 (Mach III) in 1968, along with several enduro-styled motorcycles to compete with Yamaha, Suzuki and Honda, increased sales of Kawasaki units.
<p>
Besides the “evil” triples, the Mach III and Mach IV, Kawasaki was developing a 750cc, four cylinder, four stroke bike in a late sixties project called hopefully "NY Steak," but they were surprised by the 1969 release of the Honda Four of equal displacement. So, they went back to their drawing boards eventually producing the Z1 in 1972, a 900cc, dual overhead cam competitor that pretty much beat the CB750 in all departments. Honda’s answers later in the decade were the Gold Wing and the CBX six. But this story isn’t about Honda.
<p>
As I said, I’ve never owned a Kawasaki … at least up until now. I am now the proud owner of two of the finest Kawasaki bikes ever made (in my not so humble opinion). I have a ’74 Z1, fully reconditioned that looks like it just came from the showroom floor all NOS parts and shiny new paint and chrome. I also have an H1, the infamous Mach III two stroke triple. This one is original and out of a museum. So it looks spanking fresh too.
<p>
When I told my good biking buddy, David “Woody” Woodman, about the H1, he brought up the name of Yvon Duhamel, perhaps the only rider who ever mastered the ill handling monster Mach IV, although judging by the number of crashes he survived, maybe master isn’t quite the correct term. More like “came to grips.”
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A little history of Team Green and the Famous Flying Frog — Yvon Duhamel:
<p>
The Kawasaki name has, over the decades, been inextricably linked to a handful of riders. Dave Simmonds, who brought the marque its first world championship title in 1969 on a Kawasaki 125, and its first race win in the 500cc class at Jarama two years later, Mick Grant who brought Kawasaki their only 500cc win at the Isle of Man Senior TT in 1975, the last year it counted as a world championship round, and Kork Ballington, who won both the 250 and 350cc titles on the company’s tandem twins for two consecutive years in ’78 and ’79 are all staunch Kawasaki men.
<p>
Across the Atlantic in the USA a diminutive little French-Canadian, Yvon Duhamel, known affectionately as the “Flying Frog,” brought the Kawasaki name firmly into the limelight in the market where it counted most. Through his sheer talent — and the number of crashes he survived on the evil-handling 750cc two-stroke triple, the Kawasaki H2R, he became forever linked with the big K.
<p>
Duhamel — father of the more recent top-level AMA superbike racer Miguel — was an extraordinarily talented fellow. He won the Canadian dirt track championship in 1963, ’65, ’66, ’67, and ’68. He scooped various motocross championships, was a successful ice racer, winning three Canadian championships, and finished second in the ’68 Canadian trials championship.
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He also had a talent for making money from all of his activities. in 1975 Duhamel, who earned a record $90,000 a year from Kawasaki to race their unruly triples in the USA, told an interviewer that he earned another $90,000 from product endorsements. “But I never count. Because I make money from snowmobiles too. I was making almost $100,000 with snowmobiles…”
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Snowmobiles? Yep. Duhamel raced the things in the winters in Canada, won the world 1970 World Championship as well as the grueling 800km cross-country Winnipeg to St Paul race, and the following year set a World Snowmobile Speed Record of 127 mph. Then again, maybe all that record breaking money was in Canadian dollars. You have to do the conversion.
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Despite all these accomplishments, Duhamel was most famous in the USA for his brave rides on the ill-handling 750cc Kawasaki two-strokes. As Kawasaki’s top rider in the early to mid-1970s he won half a dozen national championship races on the two-strokes, breaking down or crashing out of the rest. Note that he pretty much either won or crashed!
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Then, in late 1972, Kawasaki launched their 903cc four-cylinder Z1 four-stroke, and in March 1973 set out to smash a couple of dozen world records for various distances and times up to 24 hours. Off to Daytona International Speedway they went with a pair of showroom standard 903cc Z1s, and one mildly modified version with a fairing. Yvon Duhamel was to ride that machine around the famous track to establish a new world single-lap speed record, as well as 10 km and 100 km records. On the first of the three days he did so with ease, lapping for the single lap at an average of 160 mph, or just over 257 km/h — a new world record for any motorcycle. He also achieved his goals over the 10km and 100 km distances.
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Over the next two days and night the eight riders involved set another 49 records, including the 24 hour record at a 109 mph average for over 2600 miles, including stops for rider changes, fuel, and tires. Take that Honda!
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Whatever that little Daytona exercise cost Kawasaki, it was worth it. Motorcyclists around the world were in awe of the mighty Z1, and sales rocketed. The King had arrived, and Yvon Duhamel became even more famous worldwide — along with what Kawasaki claimed was the world’s first Superbike!
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Now let’s argue that last point. What about the Vincent? What about the original Honda CB750 … or the British Triples from BSA and Triumph that beat the Honda four to the market? Or maybe the Suzuki “Water Buffalo” (or “Kettle” as the tea drinking Brits called it), or Kawasaki’s very own H1 and H2 models? I’ll leave that argument alone and just go outside and ride one. They’re all pretty super to me, and I never thought I’d own one until the collector bug bit me. Now I want to own (and RIDE) them all.
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I don’t really care which was the first super bike. I just want to ride them. The previous paragraph is a pretty good shopping list for what I'm looking for. Got the two big Kawasaki's now, so I'm after bigger game. (Try to imagine bigger game than the Z1 … pretty scary … eh what?)
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Since no one is offering me a ride on their classic, vintage bikes, I have to buy my own. Ride 'em, don't hide 'em, that's my motto. That’s why I want to collect all of them. (Except the Vincent. I’m rich … but I ain’t THAT rich!)
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Mickey Cheathamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12707044884318587793noreply@blogger.com1