Water

From the book, "Badass" on Amazon
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B004U7LZBC

“Not too many years ago few people worried about being hydrated.

Touring motorcycle riders would ride all day long and not have a drop of water.

Then they would wonder why they had near death feelings later in the day.

Mistaking their feelings for a thirst for beer they would swill a few bottles.

Then they would wake up the next day so dehydrated,

their urine looked like the Red River...

and their skin had a distinct sun-dried raisin look."

The Few and the Shop Bound

I took a ride on the Hog to Gold (Mark Twain) country for a late lunch. It's in adjoining California counties of Amador and Calaveras.

Pretty beautiful in "them there" hills.
It was about a 100 mile round trip.
Lunch was in the old mining town of Jackson.

Got there looking "bad" on the Harley, climbed off,
spit out a couple of bugs,
then went into the Rosebud restaurant for a
barbecue sandwich special.

It was a damn near perfect, lean and tender sandwich with a
side of home style potato salad.

After; I moseyed outside (you "mosey" in mining country you know).

Next; I lit a small Partagas cigar and squinted carefully

(Clint Eastwood style).

Then; I continued to "mosey" up and down the wooden walkway.
Enjoyed the shop windows but not so the women who, in midweek,
were pretty much limited to shop workers.
I think they are referred to as "The Few, The Plain and The Shop Bound."
(Not to be confused with "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly")

I know, I know; Deborah Kerr worked in a shop as part of a
Western movie once upon a time.
But Deborah was not there that day.

Then; I climbed back on the HOG,
revved the aftermarket (loud) pipes a few times and
roared out of town...

I left "The Few and the Shop Bound" shading their eyes
with their hands to get a better view of my back...
Wondering who that dude with the chiseled good looks
and distinguished gray hair was.  Or not.

Heh...Heh.

Cairo-Practica

A practice derived from ancient Egyptian customs. As often observed when erecting pyramids, the pharaohs would direct slaves to prostrate themselves over large logs and serve as buffers for the stones that were rolled to the top. While the squashing effect was unsettling to a few observers, it continued to evolve and remains today. Hence the classic expression “Cairo--practica” or, as its more commonly known, “chiropractic”.

Yea right... actually they are about to get rolled... literally.

Being raised as a medic from the pitiful age of 17, I have always been somewhat skeptical of chiropractic medicine, even though I have worked for a couple of Doctors of Osteopathy. They were good practitioners, or so I thought, even though they embraced the school of back-cracking. However, in recent years I have developed the habit of screaming while riding my Harley-Davidson; not from joy but from sciatic pain. As my trips got shorter and shorter and my complaints got longer and longer, folks around me found themselves wanting to be somewhere else.

Then, I found out my main Harley riding buddy, Al “The Coyote” Munguia (who is much, much older than me) was having similar problems but getting chiropractic treatment and having some success with it. I also found out Al’s wife, Norma (who, unlike Al is young and beautiful) was receiving similar treatments. Norma is an ICU nurse and most of us understand their backs have a very short shelf life.

So I made my first visit… to The Coyote’s chiropractor. They worked me over quick after I recited my pitiful condition. They put me on this table with a face-hole so my rather large nose would have a place to rest. Then they put an ice pack on my mid-back and attached an electrocution device to my lower back. If they would have hooked it to my temples they would have fried me like a mass murderer but on my back it felt pretty good. After about 15 minutes of this they led me to the executioner’s, or as they called him "chiropractor’s" office and he put me on this upright rack. Then he hit a button which made the rack and I assume a face down, prone position.

After he decided to let me live, he and the table did this simultaneous ‘whack him from above and below’ maneuver a few times around my lower back and voila’(!) I was cured for a few minutes. I went out the next day and made a test ride on the Harley and it took a lot longer for the sciatic screaming to set in so I may be on the right rack… or is it right track?

That’s it. This old medic is going to keep going in for electrocutions and rack whacks for a while. 

Band of Brooders

I just decided to write another book, "Band of Brooders".
It's about a bunch of chickens.
Dumb clucks with a lot of pluck but little luck.
There was not a road those "magnificent bastards" - (George Patton) wouldn't cross...
no matter the heavy casualties.