(Slightly) Skewed Perspectives

The Inane Ramblings of an Off-Bubble Viewpoint

August, 2017

MARK TWAIN AND THE ART OF MOTORCYCLE MAINTENANCE

By on August 23, 2017

             I have recently returned from a bike trip with my friend, Super Slab Steve.  For some reason, unknown to most bikers, Steve likes to ride the interstate.  He likes the four-lanes; the big concrete ribbons that can take you where you want to go quickly without the useless bother of actually seeing anything.  I knew this going into the trip, but sometimes friendship and a short ride window cause you to do some strange things.

              “How about a ride to Hannibal, Missouri, Steve?  We have 3-4 days and I always wanted to visit Mark Twain’s beginnings; hometown of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn.  I thought we could take the direct route down and meander back along the Great River Road.  What do you say?”

              “Sure,” says Steve.  This is what Steve always says.  Steve’s agreeable until he sees curves.

              I took off from central South Dakota on a Monday morning and maximized my time by taking I-29 at a south-east angle before cutting over to a paved side road by-passing construction and the interstate.  I rejoined I-29 before Sioux Falls for the diagonal trip to Council Bluffs where I picked up Steve.

              After a quick planning lunch we headed out, again on I-29 South toward St. Joseph, MO.  While a trip on the interstate is, well, a trip on the interstate, we did experience a short rain delay when we stopped for gas in Mound City, MO and found the whole town was out of power because of a brief but apparently harsh thunderstorm.  Sadly, the young fellow at the helm of the fuel stop we chose was new and would not sell us a cup of coffee while we were waiting for power to return:  no computer, no sale.  Thanks to the technology of the day, I was able to establish that nearby towns had NO power difficulties.  Without the deterrent of a neighborly cup of coffee, Steve and I checked Mound City, MO off of our list of places to stop and rode to the next town where we took our break, filled gas, and went on our way.

              It should be noted at this gas stop that I ride an old, carbureted 2004 Kawasaki Vulcan Classic with a bullet-proof shaft drive (positive attribute) and a dinky gas tank (negative attribute.)  While this configuration may hamper travel speed due to frequent stops, it’s excellent for reliability and seeing the country-side.  Steve straddles a fuel injected 2002 Harley-Davidson Road King with obligatory belt drive, nearly as reliable and hardly as thirsty.  We have logged many miles together on this combination of steel steeds and likely will turn many more.

              At St. Joseph we parted from I-29 to take US-36 East, still a four-lane but at least not the interstate.  At Chillicothe, MO we refueled and ended our day at a convenient motel next to our fuel stop.  A comfortable room, an in house restaurant and pub combined to end our first day in fine style.

              Day two began with a fruitless search for a local breakfast restaurant, which led us to the highway and the next town.  This murderous delay of my morning coffee was a lucky turn and one of the gems of the trip.  Off the road in Brookfield, MO we found the Simply Country Café.  We were treated to friendly service, good coffee and wonderful food.  After an extended break, we again hit the eastbound road, stopping only for fuel on our way to Hannibal.  A quick informational break at a visitor center and we were off to the old part of town and Samuel Clemens’ boyhood home.

              ‘Charming’ is the most definitive word to use for this part of the Hannibal experience.  We spent several hours in the historic section of what was once a primary part of town, close to the lifeline of the mighty Mississippi.  The original structure of the Clemens’ house and those of neighboring buildings have been kept in original condition to offer a more complete picture of the childhood that sourced the stories of Americana many of us grew to know.  The scene makes it easy to visualize Tom Sawyer whitewashing the fence or Huck Finn pushing a homemade raft into the current.  After wandering the neighborhood, museums and attractions, we stopped for a quick bite and headed for the return portion of the trip: the Great River Road.

              Now, what I’ve come to find about the Great River Road in my brief and passing research on the subject, is that there really isn’t one.  Well, there IS, but there isn’t ONE.  The Great River road is, much like the Lincoln Highway or Route 66, an amalgamation of connecting roads which change as the roads and conditions of those roads change.  In addition to its constant change, the GRR is not one collection of roads, but TWO – one on each side of the river.  For those of you who like everything planned in a concrete and laid out manner, like Steve, for instance, this makes for a difficult, stressful trip.  For you other adventurers who carry your tent and sleeping bag on every trip and use your GPS only when you want to find out where in the heck it is you’ve lost yourself to – such as myself – it’s an escape to long for.

              Since my ability to find and hold these trails has proven itself repeatedly in the past, Steve takes little offense to allowing me to birddog our track.  His dislike of the curves is normally tempered by the scenery.  My plan, sketchy as it was, was to access the scenery quickly, thereby distracting Steve from his inherent anxiety at following small, winding roads with nothing to look at.  As near as I can tell, this causes his mind to wander to the end of “Easy Rider” at which time he wants to make a break for wide concrete and greater population density.

              With this in mind, and knowing that in an effort to promote the distribution of your tourism dollars, most of the states sharing the Mississippi as a border place signs which, while not always completely up-to-date, offer an excellent guide to the GRR.  Using this information as a template, we headed north from Hannibal and I followed the first sign that promised to guide us to the Great River Road…and after a quarter mile we encountered a sign that informed us that this portion of the road was closed ahead due to construction.  The fix was simple: turn around and head further north to the next access point.  Sadly, before we reached the next sign, Steve had to stop to plug in his phone and expressed his apprehension.

              “Maybe we could head northeast to Des Moines,” he offered. “There are a couple good brewpubs there.”  He was offering alternatives and falling back on the familiar, the comfortable. 

              Looking at the surrounding countryside and imagining the level, straight, uneventful ride back through Iowa and Eastern South Dakota, my enthusiasm faltered a bit.  Still, we had time to ride only a small portion of just one side of the river and the dullness of the return was going to have to happen eventually.

              “Sounds like a plan,” I agreed, “Any ideas?”

              “Well, I don’t really know how to get there from here.  You got your map?”

              “Steve,” I smiled.  “Saddle up and follow me.”  It’s good to be appreciated for something.

              From this point we snaked our way across the map past Mt. Pleasant, IA, the home of the first woman in America to practice law, west through Ottumwa, most importantly, home of fictional character “Radar” O’Reilly and northwest past the beautiful Dutch community of Pella and into Des Moines.  During State Fair week! 

              Distancing ourselves from the fairgrounds we found a motel which still had rooms, primarily because it was located off an interstate exit that was under construction.  This issue didn’t bother us much since we were out to ride and we were tired.  We checked in, dropped our gear and made our way to the brewery I can’t remember.  An excellent meal and a few good micro-brews took the edge off of my disappointment at missing out on the Great River Road experience.  Steve has his own talents and, from my experience, knowing and finding a good Brewpub is a much underappreciated skill.  We retired to our room for a recap of the days’ events and some needed rest.

              The final day of our trip found us at the local Cracker Barrel for breakfast and a beautiful day for a ride home…even if it was on the interstate.  I stopped at Steve’s house for a cup of coffee and then followed a slow, circuitous road home.  

              Pondering and planning my solo Great River Road trip the whole way.

THE HUNT

By on August 15, 2017

My dad called me on the phone the other day.  Do I want to go deer hunting this year?  Sure…but I thought I missed the application deadline.  After all, there’s no snow on the ground anymore – I was sure the last day to file was long past.  I never even think of putting in for a tag until at least 2 or 3 weeks after the last day.  No, says my dad, we’ve still got a week.  Sounds great, said I…Maybe I should go get a basic hunting license?!

I enjoy hunting, probably because it’s something I do with my Dad.  More than that, I enjoy the outdoor activity.  Still, it’s something I plan for about as much as an appendectomy.  Also, unlike pheasant season, deer hunting is not something you can write in ink on your calendar since your application may not be drawn.  Then you’ve got a weekend set aside for nothing and you’ll probably wind up doing chores or going shopping.  Of course, you could just not mention the fact that you didn’t draw a tag and take the weekend to go out and play cards with the guys.  But then, now that I’ve mentioned it and your wife may have seen it, I would advise against that plan.  Sorry.

I usually give the meat to other family members since I don’t have much use for the venison.  Neither my wife nor children care for it, commenting it tastes similar to “Goodyear” steak no matter how I prepare it.  I don’t think this is true, but then I have never sampled or prepared “Goodyear” steak before.  Maybe it’s something my wife makes when I’m gone hunting.

Since I don’t use the deer myself it would be useful to employ a recently popular fishing method, but I don’t think it would transfer well to hunting.  After all, there are some vital differences between “catch and release” and “shoot and release”.  Perhaps tranquilizer guns could be used.  The hunter could have his picture taken with the incapacitated deer as proof of a successful hunt after which the unharmed deer could stagger off with a glassy look in its eyes.  Of course, this wouldn’t do anything for the control of deer populations and it could cause a previously unheard of wildlife drug problem with deer standing around waiting to be shot.  Maybe somebody could work on that.

Anyway, I generally have pretty good luck in drawing a deer license.  I’m sure the fact that I don’t apply in the years that I wouldn’t get one is a factor.  In addition, my application is always for the most remote areas on the map.  These areas are sometimes so remote that you can’t even find them except on the map.  Should this strategy continue to be successful, we will receive our tags and preparations can begin.

The first thing is to do the fall check on the rifle, which can be found in the gun cabinet where I placed it after the last time I went hunting – three years ago.  The firearm is not loaded.  I always unload it at least three times before I bring it in the house, as much to keep a loaded weapon from an irate spouse as to have guns and ammo locked away from the kids.  I find this practice can settle the mind a great deal when your wife finds out you bought a different boat trailer instead of a new dishwasher.

At any rate, the clip is removed and the chamber is empty – except for the dirt, grit and residue left there from the last outing.  Now is the time when it occurs to me that I haven’t cleaned the rifle since before the last time I sighted it in for deer hunting.  Now is when I remember that I told myself last time I would clean the rifle when I got home from hunting.  Now is also when I tell myself that I’m going to clean the rifle as soon as I get home from…you see where this is going, don’t you?

Once the firearm is cleaned and prepared for sighting-in, it’s necessary to decide which ammunition to use.  You may find some half-shot boxes left over from past hunting excursions – some of which may actually fit modern firearms.  It’s a good idea to use this ammo for something other than big game hunting.  While it’s nice to have old ammunition as an excuse, er, reason for not being totally successful in your hunt, it’s not worth the stress of a misfire while standing 50 yards away from that buck no one has ever shot ‘cause it was so big they thought it was an elk.

After you have chosen your ammunition, you’re ready to sight in your rifle.  Most hunters use 100 yards as a target distance when sighting for deer.  By use of some little known neo-algebraic formula, this same 100 yards is often recalculated to equal anywhere from 250 to 600 yards after the rifle is fired at an actual deer.  I believe this is the same formula used by politicians at election time when they tell us how much they’ve done for us and how much money they’ve saved us.

When sighting in your rifle you should use a seated bench rest position, if possible.  Obviously you won’t be able to fire from these ideal conditions in the field, but this will allow you to adjust your firearm to its greatest accuracy.  Also, you will be certain that it’s not your rifles’ fault when you can’t hit a 300-year-old oak tree at 50 yards.

Since wild game is not aware that it is supposed to appear at precisely 100 yards from a given hunter, it is a good ides to understand the principals of windage and projectile drop for your particular rifle and cartridge.  Even if you memorize the statistics tables it’s still necessary, in the field, to determine your distance from the target.  Some people have great difficulty with this task.  If you think the average automobile is 50 feet long or the distance between Tucson and Tuscaloosa is a spelling error, perhaps you should consider acquiring a focal range finder.  This item, which works on the same principle as binoculars, will tell you the distance to the point of focus.  Of course, by the time you dig out your range finder, set your focus, check your distance and raise your rifle, the deer will be gone and the other wilderness creatures will be standing in a rough semi-circle, staring, wondering what the heck it is you’re trying to do, anyhow?!  Let’s face it; this would look rather foolish if any other hunters saw you.

There are other technological advances, which are designed to assist the hunter.  The laser sight is one such invention, but laser light tends to drop less in 400 yards than the average metal projectile so distance is still a factor.  Your long range shooting may not improve with such a system, but your outfit will really look impressive to other hunters – some of whom can hit a prairie dog at 400 yards in a stiff wind without ap scope.

For those of us who still have trouble, perhaps further advances are warranted.  Maybe something in the line of a radar-based, deer-identifying mine system.  Or tactical nuclear hunting rounds for your 30-06.  Just think…not only would you get your game without a direct hit but the venison would already be cooked and you’d have cleaned out the shelterbelt at the same time.

THE SPICY OF LIFE

By on August 1, 2017

I sat near a guy at the bar the other day…  And yes, considering my orientation that’s not optimum positioning, but all I was after was a beer, so there’s that.  Anyway, it was a common, national brand BWWing place and the guy ordered wings with the feature sauce which, I can only imagine, surprised him by its, um… veracity.

Now, he consumed them in a manly manner.  And by this I mean he was sweating profusely and refused to accept any soothing fluids or suggestions, choosing rather to suffer in macho muteness rather than allow others (this primarily means “pretty young women”) to see him exhibit any weakness.  This is almost always a poor approach; mostly because it doesn’t work.  Instead of showing an attractive machismo it simply spotlights a pathetic idiocy…  But then, those terms are basically synonymic; you know…the same.

As interesting as this episode was, in a hilarious sort of way, it set me to thinking… yeah, don’t make fun of that.  If it weren’t for my thinking and putting this crap through a keyboard, you would revert to making fun of handicapped people and geeks, which now days is, for the first, politically incorrect and for the second, not a good idea since it will result in you never again owning a working computer.  Anyway, it got me to thinking about why.   As in, why would anyone add battery acid to their tortilla chips and decide, “Hey, that’s pretty good!”  So, since you didn’t research this stuff and send me an email to fill me in, I determined to ferret out this information.

The origins of the use of excessive spice application are kind of muddled, at least in the easily accessible information found on the internet.  Granted, there could be some highly classified material in a highly secure database that would be in simple 12 keystroke reach of a fourteen year old digital wizard, but I can’t think of any good reason to keep this information from the public at large.  We’re already stupid enough as it is and I can’t imagine any weaponizable reason not to tell the public why some ancient civilization chose to give themselves mouth blisters.  What I DO believe is that academia simply hasn’t found the answer because, unlike the discovery of the Ark of the Covenant, it wouldn’t make a good movie (hash tag, Indiana Jones).

What I DID find, however, was a combination of solid scientific discovery and educated guesswork.  Basically, the scientific community is kind of sold on the idea that the use of spices was due to the need to preserve food, since very few prehistoric cultures had iceboxes, refrigerators or freeze-drying technology.  The thought is that early civilizations found that food which was treated with certain herbs would inhibit bacterial growth and remain palatable for longer periods.

Okay, while they didn’t really know anything about bacterial growth, they did know that, as the food aged, some of it got to tasting really sketchy.  If you treated the foodstuffs with peppers, salts maybe some herbs you hadn’t smoked last night, it got rid of the questionable taste and even made the meal more interesting – kind of.  Eventually, someone noticed that fewer people were dropping dead from gastrointestinal issues… or whatever they called it at the time.  But then again, maybe they just didn’t have many choices in what to eat:

”We’ve got these shell-things we dug out of the sand by the water.  Just pry it apart with a sharp rock and swallow this snot-stuff inside.  Try it!”

“Uh, no, that’s okay.  I’ll just eat these green things that burn off the inside skin in my mouth and make my teeth soft.  I’m good…”

Modern scientific research finds that there actually is some anti-bacterial benefit to using many of the culinary additions cultures have derived over the years.  Physically, there are proven anti-obesity, anti-inflammatory, anti-oxidant and anti-carcinogenic benefits resulting from the use of many spices, particularly some of the hot ones.  There is also a verified correlation as an aid against pregnancy.  I think, however, that has more to do with an increase in eye-watering halitosis than an actual method of contraception.  Just a guess on my part.

While science hasn’t unearthed the exact reason humans began incorporating these flavors into their diet, they have amassed a great deal of quantifiable data regarding the sales figures of these foods and current contemporary use of these flavors.  Also just general information, but, ya’ know, if there’s no money in it…  For instance, the chemical that causes the heat you feel when eating that habenero is capsaicin.  This is a chemical that the plant developed over time as a protective method to keep you FROM EATING IT!!!  This shows, along with social media, politics and the popularity of the Kardasians, that evolution doesn’t always work.

As would be expected, once there was notice that one pepper seemed hotter than another, someone had to construct a numerical scale to use as a comparison base in order to have a scientific way to win bar bets.  That task was accomplished in 1912 by Wilbur Scoville, a pharmacist in the employ of Parke-Davis Pharmaceuticals.  Wilbur’s scale measures the chemical results in a subjective way using Scoville Heat Units or SHU’s.  This scale runs from 0 (basically, water) to “AAARRHHHH!!!!!” (Infinity).  Presently, the highest rated source on this scale is the Dragon’s Breath pepper at 2,480,000 SHU’s.  This statistic could, however, change before I reach the end of this sentence.  To put this in perspective, a jalapeno, at its hottest, is about 20,000 SHU’s and a habanero chili tops at about 350,000.  2.48 million is basically airplane paint remover…except more noxious.

This glimpse into the science behind the heat leads us naturally back to the question alluded to at the beginning – why would anyone want to eat this stuff if they didn’t absolutely have to?  Well, cultural upbringing is one reason.  Those cultures in which the foods in question are traditional are more likely to be desensitized to their effects.

“Eat your jalapeno casserole or I’ll let your brother have your Cayenne cake!”

This is popularly known as the “Pink Floyd Effect”, and if you don’t know what that is, it may take you some research.  Here’s a hint:  play, “The Wall.”

Culinary psychologists (no, I am absolutely NOT kidding.  There are people who have managed to sell themselves as “Culinary Psychologists.  And you thought being a “celebrity chef” was a useless, made-up job!) have found a correlation between spicy foods and a risk-taking personality.  So I can conclude that my bar-mate with the over spicy wings was actually a risk-taker.  A man with a need for excitement.  A “James Bond” type personality without the exacting job.

He shouldn’t have listened to his “culinary psychologist.”   His risk-taking personality would have been better served if he had jumped out of a perfectly good airplane instead.