10 Hours Before Implosion

Demo guru studying the Implosion soon to take place, very soon. In fact it is done.

Color Infra Red Photo Taken 1986

Photo taken on North Meridian street across the street from what was Shortridge High school.Deep red filter and color infra red film, before I thought digital was in the near future...Kinda lost interest in special effects, just to easy.

Dang those phoenix'ses...

I have not blogged in a while so I am posting this just as a test.Flaws be it grammar, spellin', facts and if you recognize a tendency towards racing thoughts...You know its good ol' me. I am back, me being Josh often mistaken for Sir Richard Burton. (Not the actor but the many language knowing, adventure guy".) Peace and beer be wid ya JW

Sleeping behind the wheel and other tall tales

I have been absent from blogger for awhile now.I spent about a year editing the blog, loosing interest because of a serial nuisance who felt compelled to comment negatively and with gusto about any post or comment.I copied and pasted long posts to bore the poor fool...I then realized I could have been copying and pasting my own posts, and so it goes. The lunatic is on the grass. I move on, shaking off the dust,throwing dog treats to the rabid few, and always with comment moderator to keep me company. Peace Trails JW

I got nuthin' Its all Roscoe...

Location: Arkansas

Stood still on a highway. I saw a woman by the side of the road with a face that I knew like my own, reflected in my window. Well she walked up to my quarter light and she bent down real slow. A fearful pressure paralyzed me in my shadow. She said, "Son, what are you doing here... My fear for you has turned me in my grave." I said "Mama I come to the valley of the rich... Myself to sell." She said, "Son, this is the road to Hell. " - Chris Rea

The road with a chimpanzee and a 300-pound carnival ride operator, conversation of an intellectual nature expired 400 miles earlier. Tater shakes the TV Guide and points to Larry King who will interview Janet Reno. Freak Show's response is enthusiastically oppositional. The Man Show will host a Wet T-shirt contest. When we bivouac for the night and align the satellite dish, I'll cast the deciding vote. Prey we spy Janet Reno in a wet T-shirt contest.

Strange and amazing places like Bald Knob, Beaver, Dogpatch and Toad Suck are called home in Arkansas and thrill my traveling companions. The two-story out house at the Booger Hollow Trading Post, along Scenic 7 Byway, in Dover creates quite a splash. (Rivaled by Bell Plaine, Minnesota; Gays, Illinois; and Phelps, NY all home to the world's one and only.) At Fouke/ Texarkana, you hear the tail of the Boggy Creek Monster. My pilgrimage follows Robert Johnson, master of the blues. Written in song and legend, we make for the junction of 49 & 61 near Helena. "It is the Crossroads to Eternity." accounts Willie Coffee, Johnson's life long friend.

Night fell and time to eat. To make up for the TV show commotion, Freak Show wanted to treat us to dinner. He knew of a great truck stop. We topped a hill in the full moon light to come upon the Moldy Dumpster Slop & Fuel. On a good day it could be described as a roach house - a shack with a half operational neon sign buzzing and popping away in the parking lot. Freak Show rubbed his hands together and assured us that it would be great. As we entered the fly covered screen door, Freak was welcomed with hardy handshakes and pats on the back. "Come on in, we're monkey friendly!." Show commented on how the area had changed. They replied, "When they closed down the slaughterhouse, the neighborhood turned to crap."

After a nice visit and a Chili Bucket with Mushrooms, it was time to hit the road. Show offered to take over my driving duties.

It might have been 20 minutes later. Who knows? An odor wretched from the belly of Hell enveloped the camper in a green/yellow mist. My vision blurred as the caravan shook violently. I yelled to our pilot, "Be careful! You're going off the road!" He responded, "Which side!" Within the cyclone, I felt like I would purge my gut. We stopped and as I extricated myself from under the dashboard, I looked at Freak Show. His eyes blazed ruby red. His beard moved, entwined by reptiles. In a voice unheard before he growled, "Your soul to become the best rider of all."

I'll pass. I'll shoot for mediocrity and take my chances. Besides that, the chili was lousy. Quit screwing around!" The demon looked past me to the chimp. "How about you?" Tater convulsed.A horrific screech burst forth, the wind swirled. . . silence.

posted by Roscoe @ 8:26 PM 14 comments
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Its time to go.

At 8:10 PM EST US, January 15, 2006 I determined that my blog name, Roscoe, was used to comment maliciously on other blog sites. In recent weeks I’ve seen many bloggers attacked unfairly or maligned for apparent sport; a chance one takes when you present yourself to the public. I extend my apologies to anyone harmed.

My intent with Roscoe Stuff was, for fun, to re-post stories of a character’s adventures, originally written for a website which in part promoted motorcycle safety to kids. Anonymous posters then inferred that this blog was part of the My Mule blog. It is not. Josh is a long time friend who encouraged me to start writing again.

For now, to all who were encouraging, Thank you.

posted by Roscoe @ 10:17 PM 12 comments
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Location: Observation

The wheels of justice roll slowly and the alignment is off. Freak Show's plea-bargaining abilities did not rise to my expectations. The jailhouse shrink report carried more weight than I anticipated. One condition to my release was to participate in a court-ordered observation period of 72 hours. Afterwards, I would spend a minimum of two weeks in group therapy at the city's finest Nut-bin. I would find my inner feelings looking at inkblots and answering questions like "Aren't you afraid to touch doorknobs?" I'd seen it before. In my family, interventions happen at Christmas when everybody gathers to tell you how you’re screwing up . . . Good times.

It is uncomfortable learning your "doctor" is straight out of school. Doc tripped over his feet fumbling with a clipboard. He described the battery of tests I would take in the next three days and quipped, "I hope you stick around. We hate to tell the court that you were not cooperative." I replied that I was not Harvey Mushman and this was not "The Great Escape ". The young fellow scribbled notes and asked, "Who is Harvey Mushman?" Sensing this was test number one I told Doc that racing motorcycles was more than a gimmick to Steve McQueen. He was a serious motorcycle racer who often registered as Mushman because he did not want to draw attention to himself. With a bewildered look and a shoulder shrug, my newly graduated, smart as a whip, wet behind the ears Doctor asked, "Who is Steve McQueen?" . . . I was in trouble.

Things were not going well. The staff would congregate at my door and whisper. Internal resentment festered - that monkey put me here. One nurse understood my frustration and extended an understanding hand. Her advice . . ."Don't fight the medication." Then I remembered a quote by William Jefferson Clinton . . . "If you find yourself in a big hole, stop digging." I had to agree with the hippie. I kept my stories quiet, took their tests, and told them what they wanted to hear. I had fun the next couple of days finger painting but I kind of missed Tater, Leelee and our adventures. Visiting day arrived. Freak and Tater showed, bringing gifts. Doc saw the bonafied monkey and released me to Gen-Pop, a whole new world and a whole bunch of new friends. With a bare-assed hospital gown and a restored sense of freedom, I was ready for Gen-Pop.

The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step. . . In my case, twelve steps and a pair of pants. Twelve step programmers are natural moochers. Most anonymous support groups take the alcoholic steps, remove the word alcohol, and insert the habit necessary. Alcoholics, Sexaholics, Gamblers, Food Addicts, and Cocaine users jump in. There is a support group for you. In Gen-Pop, the first thing you do is sign up for the Substance Abusers Softball League. It is supposed to introduce you to the rest of the gang and their problems. No bats or ball, just a bunch of crazies standing in the yard screaming "Hey Batter, Swing!" Al Unser said Robert Downey was last year's MVP. Not THE Al Unser, this Al was a 6 ft. Jamaican and his racecar was, in fact, an old office chair. Man, could he hot lap the bases.

Time flies when you are on behavioral modifiers. During my stay I wondered how to make twelve steps work. "1.We admitted we were powerless over alcohol-that our lives had become unmanageable." Okay, I admit I am powerless over monkeys -that our lives had become unmanageable. "10.Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.". I have three motorcycles and a monkey. I was wrong about the monkey. The rest of the steps rely on God for help. While God might have made both man and monkey, history shows you don't mix monkeys with religion. It didn't work for Darwin.

The Salton Sea

The Salton Sea is a saline lake, occupying the lowest elevations of the Salton Sink, part of the larger Colorado Desert in Southern California, USA, north of the Imperial Valley. The salinity of the lake is about 44,000 mg/L, greater than ocean water but less than the Great Salt Lake; the salinity is increasing by about 1% annually.[1] The lake covers a surface area of approximately 376 square miles (974 km²), the largest in California. While it varies in dimensions and area with changes in agricultural runoff and rain, it averages 15 by 35 miles (24 by 56 km), with a maximum depth of 51 feet (15.5 m), giving a total volume of about 7.5 million acre-feet (9.3 km³). Sea inflow averages 1.36 million acre-feet per year (53.2 m³/s).

The Salton Sea falls within both Riverside County and Imperial County. Like Death Valley, it is located below sea level, with the current surface of the Salton Sea at about 220 ft (65 m) below sea level. The deepest area of the sea is 5 feet (1.5m) higher than the lowest point of Death Valley. The sea is fed by the New, Whitewater, and Alamo rivers, as well as a number of minor agricultural drainage systems and creeks.

Dakar in South America and The Breakfast of Champions!

Visit the Blue Ribbon Breakfast of Champions ISDE AUCTION!

2009 Dakar Click for official site.

Follow the race: The following was borrowed from the Official Dakar Website

The Dakar spirit is found at the crossroads of several passions. Beyond being an impossible to avoid and unique event in the motor racing world, it is also a unique human experience. The rally’s history, the performance of some and the struggles of others, remind each of us that the Dakar is above all else a sentimental and emotional affair. The competitors are most attached to this dimension. This is what explains, for example, the survival of the idea of mutual aid within the caravan.

A world class sporting competition

More than a simple motor race, the Dakar requires off-road navigation capabilities and rock-solid consistency. In rally-raid, endurance is primordial; the least mistake can be costly. This mix of physical rigour and technical performance has been an attraction for champions from diverse horizons for nearly 30 years, all of whom desire to measure themselves and learn about this original event. Former WRC world champion, Ari Vatananen found the winning formula; Stéphane Peterhansel, who tried his hand at all sorts of exceptional challenges early in his career, became the uncontested expert of the event; world enduro champion, Cyril Despres has stepped onto the top step of the podium; world ski champion, Luc Alphand was a fast learner of the desert; American NASCAR stand out, Robby Gordon, the king of ice racing in another life, Yvan Muller, Carlos Sainz and now Carole Montillet or Guerlain Chicherit have also turned towards the ultimate goal: win the Dakar.

A human experience apart

Like the mountains or the oceans, wide-open spaces inspire “adventurers”. Entering the Dakar is in some ways like climbing your own Everest, complete your sailing or rowing around the world trip. The finish podium represents an extraordinary challenge; sometimes it’s a life’s challenge.

Beyond the standings, all the competitors are motivated by this tenacious desire, this nearly insane dream. Whether they are motorcycle riders or drivers in cars or trucks, they share this ambition, a feeling that nears. The tradition of mutual-aid, the buzz word that is a pillar of the “Dakar spirit”, born from this shared passion. No matter their origins, they all speak the same language.

An international nomad event

Born in Africa where its legend was created, the Dakar is by nature attracted towards the unknown. The discovery of territories, one of the event’s reasons to be, now pushes the Dakar to head in new directions. The Sahara fascinated the competitors for nearly 30 years and in the future will, once again, become a regular meeting point. For now, it is the conquest of other continents that the Dakar seeks with the desire to surprise intact. The Dakar has always been an international nomad event. It is based on the need for exchange and on its competitors’ capacity of openness. They all have the desire to explore the deserts of the world.