Digital Action Photo Tip

This is a photo of my buddy Len from www.repairmanual.com you will notice he is on a motorcycle. The problem with a middle of the road digital camera is that when you press the button to activate the image capturing process there is a time delay. So what happens is you end up with a lot of fragmented photos like this one. Great for an art exhibition but not really what I had in mind while I stood by the roadside in my biking garb patiently waiting for him to round the corner in a Supermotard style slide and...well, action photos require great timing and with a cheap camera a sixth sense.

A First Hand Account of Phone Sex

  A friend of mine sent me this email I had dispatched to a number of friends
shortly after the call on Feb.15th I had almost fogotten this event. Here is
 the email account of what happened to me one dark evening in the deep
dark winter way back in 05. 


Feb. 15 2005
Tonight the phone rang and despite the caller id
warning me it was a private caller I picked up. A
Lady's voice said to me " do you want me to bend over"
I naturally said "what"? She repeated this a few times
I laughed and said if you want to...She then asked me
to "pull it out" I said "pull what out" she kept
asking me so I finally said I had and "it was
frighting the neighbors". She then asked me to "stroke
it" she indicated that you enjoyed listing to men
"stroke it" I said "I finished" she said "what"? I
said " I came already" she hung up. Should I have
handled (pun?) this differently I dunno, I aint never
had an anonymous obscene phone call, I felt flattered
but a little inadequate, I think I may have left her
unfulfilled. Gotta go I'm clogging my line and she may
call back, there is still time for me to prove myself!
JW

Pith Helmets and Hula Poppers

Crappie's Cove Thirty Years Later

If you visit www.roscoestuff.blogspot.com you will get Roscoes version of the tale.
Or scroll down past my account of what really happened that day and see what my brother Chuckles memory conjures.


Abandon all hope ye who enters these paragraphs. I have a tale from the sea so terrible that upon first reading you would beg to have your most personal uncharted parts dry shaven daily with the splintered skull cap of Blackbeard himself for all eternity, rather than reading the tale again!
The story, based on fact but rendered inaccurate ,hobbled by my memory, I think it happened a long time ago. I may remember it as a tale of my courage and grace under fire, that is how my memory best serves me.
Memory I have found is not a servant called upon to dutifully reply to my every need but a jester that makes me look silly and the fool without effort, without fail and without thanks.
Around 1975 myself ( a man of uncommon courage) Roscoe , Roscoes twin brother Joe, my brother known as Chuckles and Roscoes big brother known as big John. Ventured fourth on the devils waters of Eagle Creek Reservoir on a small 14 ft. pontoon boat, an experience that would change us all, even my memory. We borrowed the boat from my dad and it was not in the best of shape, powered by a10 horse unreliable aka "Johnson" motor. In today's dollars I would guess he paid around $2.00 large for the entire vessel.
We somehow launched the boat and went to Crappie cove as I will call it because we were going to catch some Crappie. I was sitting at the head of the boat, the front part not fenced in, sitting in a aluminum chair cushioned with nylon straps next to "Joe" he sat proud and ready to pitch in and help with the lines if need be, an able seaman if ever one lived. We were jointly in charge of watching for stumps and such and I also had the highly esteemed job of anchor boy. Not a small responsibility when you consider that an anchor can keep a boat from falling off the edge of the earth and such. Never mind that it was a small mushroom shaped anchor which even in my young mind I considered to be of little prestige but I was still in charge of something, my peeps trusted me!
Again I sat at the head of the boat, huge tackle box at my side saddled with duties and responsibilities, I was proud and maybe a little cocky. My brother "Chuckles" was at the helm, or holding onto the outboards tired and trembling arm. "Roscoe" was in his chair and "Big John" was sitting beside him in his chair I have to think it was not made of aluminum and nylon because even at 16/17 the boy was not suited for a mere mortals chairs, hence the name "Big John".
We anchored off a likely spot for crappies, bass, krakens god knows what else but there was structure and anyone worth their salt knows that where lie structure there lies fish. I tried every lure in my arsenal and nothing, not a soul on the boat got a byte so I was given the order , pull anchor and lets "move on up away". I did so with much theatrics , a determined look in my eye, a certainty of purpose , feigned muscle strain and finally laid the anchor beside my chair calm on the exterior but barely able to contain my excitement about the coming order to drop anchor.
Brother Chuckles had the old Johnson wound out and we had to be doing nearly 7 knots when all the world became confusing. The boat began to dive nose first into the water, my legs were wet all the way to me bum, I looked behind me and first saw the Johnson's propeller spinning in dead air, I could count the spin of the blades , my brother looked very confused trying to shut down the power, "Roscoe" was holding tight to his pith helmet with both hands and his brother "Big" was holding on to Roscoe with one hand and the side rail with the other.
Funny thing about big brothers they can treat you like hell your whole life and all at once in time of need they are protecting you from plunging into the depths of the devils waters...God this is a long story! GAW!
Here is what happened . Ole Anchor boy set the anchor to close to the edge of the boat and it fell off while we were speeding down the cove, the wimpy mushroom anchor gained a tight purchase on something and almost made us end over end the 14' pontoon boat. My tackle box was swamped with water, I lost a hula popper out of my tackle box, the boys would not help me fetch it as it drifted into the stumplands, and to this day I curse their names. I lost some other priceless items but will refuse to hold a grudge, I think the boys where just frightened , an emotion I am unfamiliar with. However I did recognize the look in my friends eyes.
We figured out what happened, I was chastised for no good reason and then we went back to the ramp and loaded the boat, most of the crew a little shaken, as I remember I was calming them with cheerful words and distractions. Since Chuckles and Big John were around 16/17 we went to Shakeys Pizza afterwards. The elders ordered a couple of their famous pizza pies, with black olives and a couple of pitchers of beers, the youngin's (13/14) snuck sips of the beer when the help was not looking. We may have even sang along to the "If you knew Suzy" follow the bouncing ball prompter on big projection screen. All of us changed one way or another, all of us trying to forget or make light of our brush with death, all the while I tried to distract my friends and sibling so as not leave their psyche's damaged for life, I needed them to grow up normal and responsible, hell one of them might need to bail me out of jail sometime, keep em sane was my thinking, no need to molly coddle the poor bastards just keep them sane.
Consider this tale of the sea and tell me it does not rival, if I may be so bold the "Flying Dutchman" ? Dare ye counter? I thought not.
It is said even to this day that if you venture onto Crappies cove late in the afternoon, you can hear a ghostly popping sound, said to be my lost hula popper searching for a safe purchase in my beloved tackle box. Copyright Josh Williams 2006

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Deep Sea Fishing

My brother Chuckles somewhat twisted take on the great pontoon adventure:

It was the best of times, we were all young and free full of hope and promise. This day we were going fishing, in hopes of landing the big one. Our father had purchased a pontoon boat. In retrospect it was a second hand garbage scow with new indoor out door carpeting and some latex paint. But like I said, we were young, and this was the shit.

We were in search of Nessie, the big one, lunker bass. We were on Eagle Creek Reservoir in central Indiana. I had an intimate knowledge of the lake because just a few years before, while the reservoir was being constructed, My dad had taken us motorcycle riding in the soon to be lake. We crossed the creek many times, so I knew the lake from below and being 16 years old, I knew everything from above too.

When I say "We", our crew consisted of my self, who every one addressed as Captain Quint, my first mate and the owner of the car we used to get here, Big, so named because of his ginormus proportions. Then there were the kids, Roscoe and Josh and Joe, hardly deserving of our company, but we had to take them if we were going to use the boat.

Joe and Josh sat out in the area in front of the railing, in their lawn chairs with humongous tackle boxes between them, they both had on short pants bib overalls with white leather shoes. Beats me, that's just what they wore this day. Unrelated twins. Josh had on his Derby and claimed to be Thames Bond. Joe wore a handkerchief on his head with a knot in each corner, Aunt Jamima style. Trust me Big and I considered not going at all if we had to take these goons with us.

Roscoe sat amidships, his chair secured by Big's foot. He did have the railing on all four sides so there was little chance of him rolling over board. Rosoce's mandatory as well as compulsory life jacket worked it's way up during the cruise until the shoulders were over his ears and all you could see was his white pith helmet sitting on the shoulders of his life jacket, quite the sight.

Big and I were dressed sharply and looked cool, no one would confuse us with our charges, WE were obviously "In charge", and a heap cooler than these children our mothers made us tag along.

So we pulled from the dock with no problems, again being 16 years old and used to paddling a plywood row boat, I had full control of this power boat and the 10hp Mercury just pulsed at my command. We headed due west to an area I knew as Crappie Cliff.

Once clear of the No Wake Zone, I rolled the throttle on the big 10 open wide and we were gaining speed. Soon hands were being raised over head to hold on to their pith helmets and derby's. We were just like Bass Pros on TV skimming the surface at a break neck speed, unknowing Crappies enjoying their last moments of freedom, here comes Quint.

Oh it was beautiful a captain and his crew skipping free across the water, the sun was low and the light was golden, my hair blew in the breeze, I had arrived. Then it all went wrong, trouble in the forecastle, noise, drama, shrieks of children filled my ears and my feet were getting wet.

What had happened, was one of the kids, either Josh or Joe dressed in those stupid white shoes had kicked the anchor off the front of the boat. It drug along like a giant fish hook until at last it grabbed the solid bottom. This combined with the enormous speed of the boat caused a horrible reaction, the front of the boat dove deep in the water as the rear of the boat lifted towards the sky.

With the motor out of the water the propeller ran wildly and it;s noise was ear shattering. I watched in terror as the two kids on the front submerged to the point all I could see was Joshia's Derby floating on the surface. I watched as the water ran up the side of Roscoes chair, his arm ratcheting the pith helmet down over his ears. Water came up past Roscoe's waist and I finally got control of the run away motor.

As quickly as it happened the boat backed it's self towards the anchor and settled in the water. Equipment and gear floated around us, we quickly fished Jo shies tackle box out of the soup and luckily only lost a few prized lures. Joe's smaller tackle box was gone. Joe wrenched around in his chair and life jacket to give me the evil eye which is a sight I will never forget.

The front blamed the back and the back blamed the front, Rosoce in the middle didn't blame any one, just insisted that it did not happen again. It took us a while to actually figure out what had happened and when we did, the back blamed the front and there was no argument from them. The front nearly killed us all.

The rest of the trip is lost in memory, no Crappies were sacrificed this day, we all made a pact and swore we would not tell our parents, and now, some 30 years later I don't think they know why we all came home wet and never wanted to go fishing again.

A post from my brothers summer vacation

2005 Mexico Trip

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A Palenque Night By Charlie Williams Mar 25, 2005, 10:47

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I´m lying here in my own sweat, or blood, or urine, or
bile. Well I can only assume it´s my fluids sticking
me to the sheets. I was awoken by screams of pain
from down the hall. It is hot. Lizzards crawl over
the walls. I decide like Hunter, it´s time for a
sleeping pelet. I reached for my gun, it was missing.
I could see in the darkness Chuck already had my
pistol. He was sitting cross legged on the bed with
the barrel of the gun in his mouth. His Occedential
eyes just bulge up at the ceiling.
I cursed:
¨Hurry up, I want to use it next!
He takes the gun out of his mouth and starts firing at
the lizzards on the walls. He empties the chamber and
keeps firing.
My ears are ruined from the noise a large caliber hand
gun being fired in a small concrete room. My hearing
is boxy and ringing, I tell him:
¨Stop firing, you will mess up the pin.¨
He looks at and arond me and mouths the words:
¨I need more bullets!¨
Some one in the hall makes the ¨shhhh¨ noise. How
absurd is that, some one ¨shhhhing¨a 45 caliber gun?
I look for a way out. The fan is just spinning it´s
guts out. If I stand on the bed and stick my head in
it. It will surley chop off my head. Oh Oh Oh Oh,
not tall enough, just a series of welts on my head and
the fan stops and fills the room with acrid smoke.
I know, I´ll crush my head with the toilet seat, Arlo
Guthrie style. Damn, no toilet seat! They knew!!!

Eventually daylight came again, its ugly here, tourist
fill the streets. We have made the decision to bypass
the ruins, it is Festival here and just a zoo. Now
I´m, pissed at all the Birkenstock wearing gringos who
think thier trip is the best trip.
¨Busses and hitchhiking from Manhatten¨
Gag.
¨Then we camp at night.¨
Shoot me! Please! Lying on a bed with a fan and a
cold shower is tough enough, but to crawl into a
sweltering tent and letting bugs crawl all over me?
Oh yea, your trip is a lot better than ours. Besides
our room was $15 bucks last night, how roughing it do
you need? At some point don´t you flaunt your flush
gringo hand and get a room? We sure did and it was
still more than we could stand.
We leave in a few for the coast. Balize, and the
Atlantic. We hope to do some diving, some gaming and
speaking of the English. Another night here and.....

Your Virtual Vicarious Tour Company
Charlie and Chuckie, propieters
© Copyright by Trail Rider Magazine

Last Exit to Brooklyn

This review was to bring me a good deal of respect among my peers but did not put a scrap of food on my plate! Damn that Amazon and its reviewing scam! I am beginning to think they are expecting me to review books, music and products for free! Are they out of their gourd? All my passion, all my sweat and all for nothing! Well here it is for you gratis and if they sue me? Well if you read this you may be involved in a huge class action case, cause I aint rolling over for no Amazon, lest of course she asks me in a lady like manner.

		Last Exit to Brooklyn by Hubert Selby Edition: Paperback Price: $10.40 Availability: Usually ships in 24 hours		45 used & new from $1.89
20 of 22 people found the following review helpful: Time will tell..., February 26, 2005 The characters who inhabit the book are unforgettable: Harry, the strike leader, who during his weeks of power discovers something of his true nature; Tralala, who rejects the only love she is offered and sinks swiftly to the lowest level of prostitution; Georgette, the 'hip queer' with pathetic aspirations to culture; Abraham, the 'cool ass' black stud, with his girls, his 'bigass' Cadillac, and his undernourished family; the debris of American civilisation, for whom the author ultimately makes us feel a profound compassion. Last Exit to Brooklyn was found obscene at the Old Bailey in November 1967, a decision which was reversed by a historic Appeal Court judgement in July 1968. Now this 'honest and terrible book', as Anthony Burgess descrbes it in his Introduction to this new edition, can take its rightful place as one of the major books of our time. A friend of mine gave me this book to read, you never really borrow books unless the lender threatens you that your life depends upon its return. I believe Mr. Selby first published this book in 1964 so its a little dated but for the time it was shere madness which even today you have to admire how much profanity can be fit into so few sentences. I enjoyed the book, it kinda makes ya feel dirty but, ya can always take a bath if ya want, unlike many of the characters.Read the book it stands the test of time, Mr. Selby does not understand the concept of built in obsolescence. It reminds me of the time when I lived in Lizton Indiana and my brother Charles Chadwick and our buddy big John, Roscoe and Joe, all gathered to watch Charles pogo stick over the creek behind our house.We had taken some scaffolding left over from our new home construction and laid it across the creek, it was about twelve inches wide and reinforced with 2 x 4's on each edge. 5/8" plywood and 2x 4 's...Charles as I recall had the most confused look on his face when he made it about two hops across the bridge and then fell about five feet into a gravel creek bed, a great look, I think he said "Wha happen"? He laid in the gravel, pogo stick still in position and at that moment I think he realized that not everything works out as planned.He lost interest in this stunt real fast, unlike you will in Huberts great Novel. About this time we were reaching an age when my folks felt we were old enough to be left alone for short periods of time while they went to Air-Way and such, these opportunities we seized carpe diem style! Empty the two car garage and stage indoor short track races on our dirt bikes, sure we would leave tire tracks on the concrete, sure the nobby tire marks on the walls were tell tale signs of mischief but my folks where young and inexperienced and did not suspect that we would race motorcycles in a two car garage.We would put the garage back together and other than the lingering two stroke haze, and the above mentioned clues, none was the wiser. Best I can remember I always won these races because I was the superior rider. How we managed not to hit the water heater and tear it from the wall proves there is a divine being watching over us. Which also reminds me of how my da showed me the hot water release valve on the water heater for what reason I dont know, but I retained this knowledge. Unfortunately for Elmo and Myrtle our beagles I had just enough knowledge to cause them great pain. You see Elmo was a walk up dog who adopted us as was myrtle, the two quickly became lovers and engaged in Hubert Selby style liaisons as often as myrtle was in heat.They often became stuck and we all know the best way to separate two beast who are stuck is to throw cold or is it hot water on them? At the time I thought it was hot so one evening while my folks were at Air-Way our two beagles became stuck and were in obvious pain, one faced north the other south and like a compass in a tempest they changed directions in a passionate union. I went to the water heater and filled up a glass with water directly from the unit just like me da showed me and threw it on the two lovers, and contrary to my expectations the two just yelped like scalded wild animals. Eventually they separated on their own.They were fine no burns and such but shortly there after Mrytle took up with the neighbors German Shepherd and Elmo hit the road, never to be seen again. Kinda like a Hubert Selby character. I miss my dogs and I miss dominating the two door garage indoor short track circuit. Enough for now, read the book its dirty. ">

Big Joe Polka

Does anyone ever watch the Big Joe Polka show? My friend Roscoe (see my link section) can give you all the particulars. Big Joe Rocks!

WWYD- What Would You Do

I remembered this brain teaser from years ago and it goes something like this... You are in a swimming pool full of vomit, you are on your tip toes and the vomit is just below your lower lip, the acrid smell of vomit fills your nostrils. You look at the subject walking to the pools edge, the subject has a bucket, it is full of snot. The Subject throws the bucket of snot at you...Do you dive out of harms way?
Some of the finest minds in history have been asked this question and everyone of them said , ehhh yuk! WWYD

Hippy Cow

I discovered this Hippy cow not to long ago, the thing was just wasted! I said you know dude, lets just chill and think about things and the cow said moo. Thats when I decided to sell it to the highest bidder. Donald Trump purchased the cow. His motivation I am unsure of but I think he liked the idea of owning a hippy cow . I do not think Donald likes hippys and love's the idea of eating them at will. God save the moo's. Me I cashed his check and then felt guilty , tried to buy ole moo'ie back but Donald would not have it! I am out of funds and am afraid Donald will eat my hippy. Donald have mercy on my little hooved hippy! Distraught in the fields. JW

That aint no cow!

Had I not bitten into its composite material flanks and gained these extra spaces in my mouth I would have guessed this was a real cow and ready for eating! Live and learn, or just live and loose teeth.

We got some issues

What did the artisans of these mosaics think when they laid their head on their pillow of lice at days end? Halloween is cool but this was real life and still is for a larger portion of our population. Maybe edgeamacation aint all that bad?

My Gal ! This post has a great link to haunted places.

With all her sheen, and the thought of infection, isnt my gals complexion just perfect? Acne she don't need no stinking acne she is perfect! With this I will leave a link to a scary web site for you that have children. Its kinda cool but not to creepy, I guess I only read a fraction of the pages.

Here is the link. Use it with caution: http://theshadowlands.net/places/

So I'm not a morning person

Ok so I dont look all that good in the morning, but given a good nights rest and some time to gather myself I am not so spooky looking. Halloween is coming up and all I have to do is convince people to let me trick or treat when I first drag myself out of bed. We all have our own cross to bear I'm just trying to distribute the load so I am more comfortable. JW

On Any Sunday

Malcom Smith and Bruce Brown discussing something at the 35 year reunion of the making of the best motorcycle film to date. I saw the movie in 1971 when it came out it's main star was Steve McQueen but Malcom Smith made quite a name for himself in the industry and this movies still stands the test of time, yes of course it is dated but you can still feel the passion in the film making and the riders/racers featured.

It was around 1971/72  that I first discovered an
alternative to how to determine if your motorcycle had
spark or not. I credit my brother Charles Chadwick
with this revelation and I will soon explain. This was
in the days of Nixon’s Watergate, Hunter S Thompsons
prime, Dark Side of the Moon’s debut and me learning
once again that my brother cared so much about me as
to teach me to trust no one.
 I had been riding bikes for awhile and being a
child of nine/ten I cant blame myself for being
ignorant of the workings of a two stroke internal
combustion engine. I knew how the  method of testing
for spark if your bike would not start, just take the
plug out lay it on the head and kick her over, you see
spark you have spark.
Good ole Chuckles ever mindful of my education taught
me a shocking method of discovery.
   This was along time ago so patience please, my
bike would not start, I did everything I knew
mechanically to diagnose the problem. The bike had
gas, the fuel petcock was turned to the on position. I
checked for spark…nothing. Chuck came to my rescue and
started to work on my bike kicking it over and over as
if it could be flooded, mumbled a number of ridiculous
hypothesis why my bike would not start, then I should
have recognized that dreadful glint of discovery in
his eyes, he had a solution. "Josh hold onto the plug
while I kick it over I need to check
something"…Although my last Doctors visit did not
indicate I am in imminent peril of going into cardiac
arrest  , I learned  from my beloved brother at the
tender age of nineish what it must feel like when you
hear from the cold distance a paramedic yell CLEAR! A
shocking revelation, and a lesson well learned.
  Travel through time abit to 1976 and I am riding
in North Carolina with me Da and my brother, we always
visited in the summers and Christmas since this was
where my grandparents lived. Always a good time and
always a good story , if I could only remember them
all. This year it was Christmas and me da had the
state of the art  Yamaha 1976 360 mono-shock motocross
bike. Set him back a pretty penny, I agreed not to go
to college so he could indulge himself. The bike was
awesome! I being a prime example of neoteny could only
ride the bike if someone would start it for me and
then I would run along side  it and jump on when I
felt I could balance the beast.  The thing was a brute
but my god what a blast, I can still can feel the
power and glee piled upon glee and…Where was I?…Yea
North Carolina, me da, Chuckles (Charlie does not like
this nickname, nor do I like being shocked by a live
spark plug, paybacks)  were out   riding on  public
land, a big sand field really, I dunno, this was 1976
for crying out loud and lawyers/environmentalists  had
not gained a foothold on the proper methods to bleed
us of our freedom to ride around and have fun. Me da
took a break, gassed up his new 360 and then promptly
could not start the thing. So being the father of my
gene pool he naturally pulled the plug on the bike and
laid it on the head to check for spark, which it did
indeed have and the bike suddenly fired up, not in the
traditional sense but in the way when kicked over a
bike reeking of gas and you set a live spark to it
will fire up… I missed all the excitement , the futile
efforts of throwing  sand on the burning pyre of sport
, the profanity and the facial expressions, National
Geographic cover  worthy facial expressions one can
imagine. I road back only to find that the nitrogen
shock had exploded and it was pretty cool but not
worth the price of admission me da assured me.  We
drug our bikes  home that Christmas the blackened
carcass of the 360 among them and listened to the
truckers and the hip crowd with CB’s make comments on
the two bikes with the charred remains of something.
My mom was a good sport , my da did not cry (at least
in front of me) and for awhile ole Chuckles and myself
had to share our bikes with Da. 

Bottle Tree

A great landscaping idea, never needs watering although late at night you can pee on it, just don't tell the Mrs. she will think your weird(er). Guys a plant you can never kill! For further insturctions consult me. JW

My Lake House

My lake house is a small Clipper Marine Sailboat. Its mostly work, you work on the small motor for when you are stuck in the doldrums, you work on keeping the damn thing clean so if you have a guest they don't vomit at the bilge odor, owning any kind of boat is a ton of work even if it just sits in the slip. It is easier for me to sail my boat by myself than to take out friends because I am always running around on the boat pulling lines asking guests to get off lines, duck, change sides of the boat how to work the head etc. All this and I still love the thing, I have a bean bag chair and most of the time I just go sit on the chair on the boat and watch the sunset, if some of my cronies are about I will sip some beer and chat and if I have to many sips I will sleep among the heap of life vests and other soft things I can find. I love my boat the "Western Flyer" and by god I am not much of a sailor but I sure do like to chill on the water. If you look real close the "Western Flyer is the fourth boat on the right from the end. JW

Tyre be gone

Note Len leaning against his bike. Note the tread on the tyre. Note that in my previous post that it was going to be destroyed. I did not do it, but it was done and in short order! Supermotard tyre stock, buy now, be rich later! JW

Supermotard

While visiting a friend of mine owner of www.repairmanual.com North of Asheville NC (forgive the plug for his site but he and the Mrs. were good hosts )we took off on a ride on a couple of his bikes, he loaned me his newly modified Honda XR650 with Supermotard tires and rims, he said about the tires " ruin them I dont care" I was not sure what he meant. Me not being a road bike person felt a bit uneasy at first but began to get the hang of the whole "supermotard" style of turn. You go into a corner and downshift a couple of gears to low, then you ease out on the clutch and the bike's rear end slides abit sideways (cool tire screeching sound, which ruins the tires designed for just this purpose) and then you reach the apex of the turn and crank on the power and prepare for the same at the next turn. Very hard on tires and nerves for a dirt bike guy, but I got used to it, not good or even competent but at least I began to understand the concept. We cruised into a small town that was in a county that was not dry (they sold beer) bought a six pack each put them in our day packs and headed for home. We did a little trail and all of a sudden I felt loose and at ease and ready to really ride but had been warned not to bend the high end rims which had not been designed for banging into rocks, but boy it felt good to be back on familiar terriotory. At days end we stopped dug in to our packs and celibrated with a luke warm Yuengling beer. Great day and glad I did not get kilt.