Well thanks, Jon, I will too. I'll try to add some comments about our vagabonding with bikes. There are three distance ranges that I intend us to ride:
1. So close that we can leave home on the bikes.
2. Nearby, but we load the bikes into the car, drive to an area or town, ride, then return home again that day.
3. Far enough away that - after driving there and riding, we would rather stay in the area another day and see more stuff.
I'm "exploring" various towns and trails using a combination of Travel Advisor, Yelp, and Google Maps. I list areas, things to do, places to eat, and places to remain over night (RON). For now, I'm avoiding cities and sticking to small towns. Some towns so small they don't even have a Mc Donald's! So, we look for something like "Fred and Ethyl's Burger Joint".
Around here the planes are using out roads as landing strips.
Last week and this week we have had a small plane ( each week ) make a forced landing on different roads. Last weeks did not fair to well for the place or the pilot. This weeks both were OK and made the landing without a scratch.
Sorry to hear of the forced landings. They seem to have a habit of it?
Commonly, when making a forced landing on roads, the obstacles aren't very evident until it's too late. Wires across a road are pretty much invisible until you are already there. Along side of roads are bothersome things, like utility poles, msil boxes, signs, etc. And, we haven't even mentioned vehicles - or a kid on a bike.
I had thought that a field, lush with corn or hay or other greenery, would be a pillow to landing. Turns out - not so. The Duck has a fixed landing gear, meaning it sticks out there all the time, and doesn't retract. The wheels catch in tall greenery, and the plane flips upside down. A belly landing would be much better in that stuff.
The Duck went through its annual inspection very well. No surprise there. The buyer is buying. A couple of interesting side points - at a pilots' breakfast that I couldn't get to, sale of the Duck came up. Friends vouched for her being in very good condition. Separately, the fellow who did the annual spent time with my buyer, explaining how good its condition is. And then added, "It's a sweet airplane. If you don't buy it, I WILL!"
Now, we're wading through the paperwork. It seems that the finance company's philosophy involves "when the weight of the paperwork equals the weight of the buyer, we're nearing completion." Administrivia sucks.
Thanks, Bob. I enjoyed sharing some experiences here. There are much better pilots on here than me. But learning to fly at age 70, and then doing it for almost 10 years was, as you say, a good run.
I've heard - and believe - that we shouldn't arrive at the grave all sad and decrepit. But should come in skidding sideways, with a big grin on our face, and shouting, "That was one HELL of a ride!"
I'll jot notes about our biking trip experiences. I cut quite a dashing figure atop a 2-wheeler. Red and white striped blazer, white straw bowler, etal (NOT, no fancy duds). But then, you shoulda seen me on my Honda Super 90 in Nam, with our monkey - Emmet - on the gas tank, his hands firmly clasped around the windshield supports. We looked flashy both on the flightline, and riding into the officers club at Bien Hoa. (Just for the curious out there, some thought that Emmet L. Monk looked sharper than me.)
Our first squadron commander over there (416th Tactical Fighter Squadron, the Silver Knights) was Major Emmet L. Hayes. He wasn't a popular leader at all. So, we named our mascot monkey after him. Which didn't make us popular with him either. Then when, of all things, the human Emmet got a line number to be promoted to lieutenant colonel - that got us spring-loaded to a disgusted position. So, one night in the club, the Wing Commander was drinking beer with us at our table. I proposed to him that he grant our Emmet, the monkey, an immediate field promotion from our honorarily granted rank of major, to lieutenant colonel. This would give the monkey date of rank ahead of the man, meaning he would outrank the man. The Wing Commander proclaimed it so right on the spot.
When Emmet the man learned of it a few days later, he was roundly p!$$ed. Too late, we'd already won the race. Emmet L. Monk, Lt Colonel U.S.A.F. ranked him.
An administrative transfer of command ceremony occurred today. The Ruptured Duck now has a new manservant. I need to walk Greg through my checklists - greatly expanded from the original short list that Cessna published.
Tomorrow, we will inaugurate my bike as a "Ruptured Duck", and take up travels on and with it.
One time, at one of the Rendezvous, I'd had a couple of beers, and dozed off in the sunshine. That cotton picker came up behind me - quietly, I might add - and let out a loud wail with that Scottish saxophone of his. HOLY COW! I went 20-30 feet straight up.
It's hard for a fella to play the bagpipe when he's laughing that hard. I miss those Rendezvous.
Keith was honored in D.C. by the Marine Corps, because he had provided bagpipe music at so many funeral services for Marines. He's an honorable guy.
Years ago, a friend hit me between the eyes with, "Right now are the good old days." I didn't get it, and asked him to 'splain it.
"Well, we look back at incidents of a few years ago, and lament, 'those were the good old days'". Maybe a few years from now, we'll remember todsy, and say the same thing about it. So, it's better if we thoroughly enjoy todsy as today, first. And then enjoy it agsin in a few years. "
This report marks the first of some tales where the Ruptured Duck is a bicycle rather than a plane. The view is now from about 5 feet above ground level, rsther than 1,000-2,000 feet up in the air. And, speeds dropped from an aversge of 110 mph, to something more like 9-10 mph. That's about 0.012 Mach, or 1.2% the speed of sound. A real turtle chaser.
It seems to be common street knowledge that "the difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut is about two weeks". It seems to work out about the same, no matter which way you're going in the transition phase. Being an undapper gent (lacking in both koothe and swave), I push it out an extra week. A couple of days ago, it was THE day!
Getting the bike ready took LOTS of extra strokes on the tire pump. (Early onset of physical conditioning here). A long winter was deleterious to tire pressure. Riding the 2.3 miles to the barbershop is easy. Particularly that day, because the tailwind component was 8-10 mph. Coasting gaily along, feet spread wide to show the world that I'm not overworking myself, I went on my way. Whoops! Some darned fool put a hill here - and it goes in the wrong direction! Pre-breathe. Breathe deeply BEFORE I get to the hill, flush out as much nasty old CO2 as I can, gear it down, pedal in a dignified manner cause passing motorists are watching.
Pausing in the parking lot of the hardware, a block before the barbershop, I catch my breath. OK, now I'll finish up, and can walk serenely into the barbershop. "Hi, Jon. How ya doing?" Closely followed by the standard greetings used when guys enter a barbershop. HINT: if this puzzles you, rewatch Clint Eastwood in the "Gran Torino."
Julie was out running errands, so stopped to pick me up to go to lunch. We have lots of restaurants nearby, and a few favorites. T&D Coney is one of them. Their salads are always good. (HINT: the secret to good salads is good greens. If you have good greens - clean, and FRESH - a 3rd grader can easily make a good salad. However, if the greens are old or soggy or not clean, then God Herself couldn't mske a good salad!)
T&D has good stuff. A favorite of ours is served in a large bowl. The size you'd set on the table to serve a family. Stips of fried chicken, sections of hard boiled egg, and chunks of tomato adorn this creation, along with assorted other salad accessories. We split this thing, and I get the warm pita bread. JARVIS good eatin! burp
Back at the barbershop, I tecover the bike, and saddle up to ride home. Right away, I notice that now, there is a head wind, and - it's blowing in my face! And temptations border the route - ice cream shops, coffee shops, pizza joints. And a taco shop. But doggedly, I press on. Reviewing the record on my FitBit, it indicated that it took only one minute longer to get home, than it took to reach the barbershop. I might have to get this thing recalibrated.
Joy and I did a little bike riding a few years back until the traffic in front of the house got too dangerous ( 55 mph posted max is pushed to 65-70 in our neighborhood). We are in the process of moving to a quiet neighborhood with no through traffic. We'll probably be getting back into the bikes.
Sad to say, no restaurants close by. We live in the country and have to drive 6 miles to get a hamburger or a pizza. Jack, glad to see you and Julie are still active. The Grim Reaper picks off the slow targets. Keep pedaling and he'll find easier pickins.
You're right about the grim reaper to keep pedaling. A moving target is hard to hit. We went out for for a short one-miler this morning. First time Julie has been on a bike since her surgery last month. A tom turkey and a hen were out. He put up his fan 4-5 times. Neat!
Chuck, your analysis is right. Different spelling, but both give us fresh air and exercize. Exercize that heart muscle! And, our brain muscles too. Enjoy Life!
What experience have other riders had with the inner tubes that are "leak proof" or "self-repairing"? I'm using the ones with green slime inside. Their self-repairs are kind of hit and miss. Once in a while, it repairs itself permanently. Usually, a self-repair is only temporary. Meaning, it's going to leak again, but you don't know when.
I now carry a spare inner tube, and two of those little, plastic "tire irons". Since both wheels are quick removal types, and there is a (very capable) tire pump integrated into the seat post, I can change a tube and be back on the road in 20-30 minutes. While bike racers would snear at that, it fills the bill for us geezers.
The part of that scenario thst raises my hackles, is that as a kid, I rode a bike every day for 10 years, and had one (1) flat tire. ONLY ONE. Now, I seem to be enjoying about one per year, with 1/10th of the miles. Something is radically wrong there. What experiences, and what solutions are others having?
I agree with you about bike tires. As a kid I rode a bike to school every time ( Not raining ) I could. I had a flat one day when going down the drive to the road. The driveway was hard packed earth. Rode the School Bus that day.
After school I walked the one lane on the driveway and found the culprit that flatten my tire.......A flint arrowhead in the dirt pathway with just the point sticking straight up.
Some sneaky Indian a 100 or more years ago left it there just to flatten that bike tire.
The bikes I have today I carry the tire repair kit and a pump with me. I had a flat a while back and took the bike to the shop to get new tires and tubes. This was with the road bike I had a few years ago with about 1,800 miles on it. Might of been more since the sprockets and chain were worn , beyond hope , and needed to be replaced.
What caused the flat was the inside end of one of the spokes rubbed ( pinched ) the inner tube causing a hole in it.
Replacing the tires and tubes the guy at the shop lined both rims with a piece of rubber to protect the new inner tubes. It looks like a big rubber band that fits over the inside of the rim separating the ends of the spokes from the inner tubes. He said that was the best way to protect them. The tires on the mountain bike and both mine and the wife's recumbent bikes have had the same thing done to them.
Thanks, Chuck. The Indians around here took their flint and obsidian arrowheads along with them. But left behind nails and wire.
I'm familiar with the rubber band around the wheel. Before that's put on, you want to file off smoothly, all spoke ends and the tops of threaded nipples. A sharp spoke end will wear through the rubber band.
I do believe that bike inner tubes are made with thinner material now. The walls of them seem much more flexible (read flimsier) than before. sigh