Cold Ale - The Blokes' Thread!

Alright then, as previously promised, during our discussion of the four-stroke internal combustion engine (which Bastable tried to hijack into a discussion about Duchamp’s art, but was quickly reigned back in), a quick post about the importance of top-end lubrication.

http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/a...uno/marvel.jpg

Need I say more? It’s a toolbox in a can. It lubes valves, frees up sticky lifters, helps seat piston rings, unclogs carburetors and fuel injectors, and does oh so much more. You can put it in gas (petrol as you blokes say). You can put in oil. You can put it on your morning oatmeal. Marvel Mystery Oil works in mysterious ways. I just used a capful of the stuff to coax the reluctant engine on my wood chipper back to life.

We used to have something called Red-X to keep our Minis and Hilman Hunters in tip top condition. I remember getting some for my moped (Puch MS 50D) It still only did 26mph flat out.

There's probably not as much need for Marvel now that we're burning unleaded. Although it still comes in handy for a small engine that's been sitting in the barn a while and has a gummed up carburetor. Or in a small airplane engine that burns 100 low lead, which despite its name has a lot of lead in it compared to car gas.

As for speed, I've always thought it to be relative. In aviation, it's relative to altitude: things happen a lot faster at 100 knots in the treetops than at Mach 2 up at 40,000 feet. 26mph ain't bad on a Moped, and I'll bet you'd be somewhere inside of an hour over there on a scooter. Over here, by contrast, I could drive a '67 GTO with a 455cu V-8 flat out for 4 days on Interstate 20 from Georgia and I still wouldn't be to the West Coast. I might not even be out of Texas. The only exciting road feature happens somewhere between Abilene and El Paso where I-20 merges with and becomes I-10. Woo-Hoo.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Sancho

There's probably not as much need for Marvel now that we're burning unleaded. Although it still comes in handy for a small engine that's been sitting in the barn a while and has a gummed up carburetor. Or in a small airplane engine that burns 100 low lead, which despite its name has a lot of lead in it compared to car gas.

As for speed, I've always thought it to be relative. In aviation, it's relative to altitude: things happen a lot faster at 100 knots in the treetops than at Mach 2 up at 40,000 feet. 26mph ain't bad on a Moped, and I'll bet you'd be somewhere inside of an hour over there on a scooter. Over here, by contrast, I could drive a '67 GTO with a 455cu V-8 flat out for 4 days on Interstate 20 from Georgia and I still wouldn't be to the West Coast. I might not even be out of Texas. The only exciting road feature happens somewhere between Abilene and El Paso where I-20 merges with and becomes I-10. Woo-Hoo.

---

The size of your place is difficult to comprehend being from such a small country. 15 minutes one way brings me to Warwick - on a Sunday morning without the traffic anyway. 30 minutes the other way and I've passed the international airport and arrived in our third largest city - (the second, Manchester, and the first, London, are 2 and 1 hours drive away respectively). It's 45 minutes to Stratford, and probably, as we're slap in the middle of the country here, 2 and a half to three hours will get you to a coast in two directions, four hours to the south, but considerably more to the North through Scotland. If someone drove for four days from here, they would be deep into Europe - (as i'm no driver, then I've reached the end of my speculations).

I may have told you this before, but anyway. A teacher friend of mine once went to Florida on holiday, and before she went I asked if she was going to "pop" up to see her sister in LA. She laughed - she may have even scoffed - and informed me that the distance to Florida from the UK was about the same as the distance from Florida to LA. I'm from a small town in a small country. What can I say?

Haha. Yep, the scale of this place can throw you off. Florida to L.A. is a fur piece. And even Americans who are accustomed to driving in the East, are thrown off when driving out West. When you're used to crossing a State line every couple of hours, the Western States can seem absurdly big.

Here's a regionalism: There is another L.A. that's a lot closer to Florida than Los Angeles; in fact, it's part of Florida. The panhandle of that state is sometimes affectionately referred to (by a certain set of folks) as L.A. - Lower Alabama - also known as The Redneck Riviera. There, you can feel comfortable fashioning a pair of swim trunks out of an old pair of camouflage army trousers. High fashion on Fort Walton Beach.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Sancho

There's probably not as much need for Marvel now that we're burning unleaded. Although it still comes in handy for a small engine that's been sitting in the barn a while and has a gummed up carburetor. Or in a small airplane engine that burns 100 low lead, which despite its name has a lot of lead in it compared to car gas.

As for speed, I've always thought it to be relative. In aviation, it's relative to altitude: things happen a lot faster at 100 knots in the treetops than at Mach 2 up at 40,000 feet. 26mph ain't bad on a Moped, and I'll bet you'd be somewhere inside of an hour over there on a scooter. Over here, by contrast, I could drive a '67 GTO with a 455cu V-8 flat out for 4 days on Interstate 20 from Georgia and I still wouldn't be to the West Coast. I might not even be out of Texas. The only exciting road feature happens somewhere between Abilene and El Paso where I-20 merges with and becomes I-10. Woo-Hoo.

---

You are quite right Sancho, that 26mph Puch represented freedom to me in a way nothing before or since has. Instead of being trapped on a remote farm, the world was my oyster thanks to my Hog.

http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k7..._1974_MS50.jpg

That's a good-looking machine, Mick. And I think we're in agreement and have had similar youth experiences - going mobile meant pure freedom.

Oh great, now I've got that tune by The Who stuck in my head:

I don't care about pollution
I'm an air conditioned gypsy
That's my solution
Watch the police and the taxman miss me
I'm mobile

Sheesh, I can't seem to remember to buy my wife flowers on our anniversary, but I can remember thousands of lyrics from the 70s. So let's tilt a cold one to all the miles we've traveled as "air conditioned gypsies."

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Paulclem

The size of your place is difficult to comprehend being from such a small country. 15 minutes one way brings me to Warwick - on a Sunday morning without the traffic anyway. 30 minutes the other way and I've passed the international airport and arrived in our third largest city - (the second, Manchester, and the first, London, are 2 and 1 hours drive away respectively). It's 45 minutes to Stratford, and probably, as we're slap in the middle of the country here, 2 and a half to three hours will get you to a coast in two directions, four hours to the south, but considerably more to the North through Scotland. If someone drove for four days from here, they would be deep into Europe - (as i'm no driver, then I've reached the end of my speculations).

I may have told you this before, but anyway. A teacher friend of mine once went to Florida on holiday, and before she went I asked if she was going to "pop" up to see her sister in LA. She laughed - she may have even scoffed - and informed me that the distance to Florida from the UK was about the same as the distance from Florida to LA. I'm from a small town in a small country. What can I say?

---

Old Brit gag about Americans....

American in Somerset: So, this your place, bud?

West Country Farmer: Yerrs, that it be. Arl of it, from the tree down there boy the riverr, roight up to the cattage on the hill o'er yonder.

American: Man, my spread back home, you can step outta the house after breakfast, get in the truck and drive west - come lunch, you'll still be on my property.

Farmer: Aye - we used to have a truck like that.


--------------------------------------------

America, yeah - it's huge. When you fly over it, looking down for hours at the huge expanse of the place, you realise that, in statistical terms, the entire country is unpopulated. There's near as dammit no one there.

A couple of years ago we drove - or rather my American wife drove - from New York to South Florida. There's one long road that goes all the way. (I48? 68? I dunno...) Because the highway's so straight, and because there are so few other cars on it, Anne flicks on the cruise control and then sits with one leg bent underneath her, and the other bare foot on the dash, and a single finger hooked over the bottom of the steering wheel. It drove me nuts, it looked so casually dangerous.

And that road, apparently, is a really busy one compared with those that cross the mid-West.

However, for a real comparison of big, check this out....

http://0.tqn.com/d/goafrica/1/0/b/Q/...-of-africa.jpg

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by MarkBastable

Old Brit gag about Americans....

American in Somerset: So, this your place, bud?

West Country Farmer: Yerrs, that it be. Arl of it, from the tree down there boy the riverr, roight up to the cattage on the hill o'er yonder.

American: Man, my spread back home, you can step outta the house after breakfast, get in the truck and drive west - come lunch, you'll still be on my property.

Farmer: Aye - we used to have a truck like that.

---

I've still got a truck like that, which brings us full circle back around to the importance of top-end lubrication...

You guys probably took I-95. It runs down the East Coast. It's also a cash cow for Southern States whose state troopers make it a habit to harvest speeding tickets from folks with New York or Connecticut tags. Anyway, the interstate highway system goes like this: even numbers run east-west and odd numbers run north-south. The long ones are counted in tens from west to east and from south to north. So I-5 runs up the West Coast (California, Oregon, Washington) and I-95 runs the Eastern Seaboard. I-10 runs through the Southern states out to Los Angeles and I-80 runs across the Northern Tier. Loops around cities take their name from the through route and add a 2 onto it: I-85 runs through Atlanta and Loop 285 goes around the city. Spurs are numbered like Loops except they start with a 5 or a 6.

I know, that's more than you ever wanted to know about the U.S. Interstate Highway System. But just in case you ever get a hankering to take the most boring road in the world, try I-40 between Oklahoma City and Amarillo. It's straight as an arrow and it's as boring as watching the grass grow. In fact, it's exactly like watching the grass grow. The road builders were kind enough to put buzz strips on the shoulders though. That way you can sleep the whole way - when the road buzzes, you snap awake and straighten out the car. No problem.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by prendrelemick

... the world was my oyster thanks to my Hog.

---

This is how I'm imagining Mick back in the day... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4Siszu8rxc

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by MarkBastable

....Farmer: Aye - we used to have a truck like that.

However, for a real comparison of big, check this out....

http://0.tqn.com/d/goafrica/1/0/b/Q/...-of-africa.jpg

---

Great story and Africa...well I can't even begin to imagine how long that Puch would take from top to bottom.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Sancho

...But just in case you ever get a hankering to take the most boring road in the world, try I-40 between Oklahoma City and Amarillo. It's straight as an arrow and it's as boring as watching the grass grow. In fact, it's exactly like watching the grass grow. The road builders were kind enough to put buzz strips on the shoulders though. That way you can sleep the whole way - when the road buzzes, you snap awake and straighten out the car. No problem.

---

That’s is a pretty long stretch. The occasional thud from a Jack Rabbit or Armadillo, will shake you awake as well.

For the history buffs, Sancho’s stretch of Interstate 40 generally follows historic Route 66.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/U.S._Route_66 (Scroll down and you’ll see the leaning water tower at Groom - I honked at the tower once when passing by)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tg2EbJy-9dc

As you approach a town, the Interstate bypasses the town, but the side road to go into town is typically the original Route 66. A perfect example is found in Shamrock Texas.
Sancho next time you make that run, be sure to drive into Shamrock and feast your eyes on a Route 66 architectural wonder; the U -Drop Inn at the corner of Route 66 and Hwy 83

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/U-Drop_Inn

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedi...U-Drop_Inn.jpg




Our firm, along with another architect that specializes in historic preservation, was involved in the restoration. I was fortunate enough to be involved in the project and made several trips out there.

I remember trips out west took even longer in my 1966 VW Beetle. When driving in Colorado, I was forced to stay on the shoulder going up the mountain. Downhill was no problem.

More like this to be honest.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKnoffPV8m0

And no sign of Karen Black either.


Ah, Get your Kicks on Route 66. Probably the most famous road in the world.


Talking about wide open spaces, I read in a National Geographic about a reporter in Australia who pulled up at a gas station/local store and asked for the Smith's place. The owner told him to go down the road a way, take the first right and you can't miss it. A hundred miles further on he saw an oil drum at the side of the road with "SMITH" painted on it next to a rough track. Two Hundred miles later he arrived.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by MarkBastable

Old Brit gag about Americans....

American in Somerset: So, this your place, bud?

West Country Farmer: Yerrs, that it be. Arl of it, from the tree down there boy the riverr, roight up to the cattage on the hill o'er yonder.

American: Man, my spread back home, you can step outta the house after breakfast, get in the truck and drive west - come lunch, you'll still be on my property.

Farmer: Aye - we used to have a truck like that.


--------------------------------------------

America, yeah - it's huge. When you fly over it, looking down for hours at the huge expanse of the place, you realise that, in statistical terms, the entire country is unpopulated. There's near as dammit no one there.

A couple of years ago we drove - or rather my American wife drove - from New York to South Florida. There's one long road that goes all the way. (I48? 68? I dunno...) Because the highway's so straight, and because there are so few other cars on it, Anne flicks on the cruise control and then sits with one leg bent underneath her, and the other bare foot on the dash, and a single finger hooked over the bottom of the steering wheel. It drove me nuts, it looked so casually dangerous.

And that road, apparently, is a really busy one compared with those that cross the mid-West.

However, for a real comparison of big, check this out....

http://0.tqn.com/d/goafrica/1/0/b/Q/...-of-africa.jpg

---

I was watching some news report last night and the minister for houses - or something - was saying that less than 10% of the landmass in England has any kind of development upon it. To listen to people here you'd think that we were in danger of squeezing each other into the sea. You can see it when you go by train - fields- fields -fields - fields - fields - town.

I think what they're really referring to is available resources. We're supposed to be very densely packed as a country as well. You get this figure of 80 people per square mile or something - which is a misleading figure which sounds like a lot but takes up a tiny amount of a square mile.

When I have time I will be relating the tale of Mr Orifice.

So, my wife told me a few weeks ago about Mr Orifice. He's a bloke who gets on the local bus and sits near the front. My wife is not one of those women who are cleaning nuts - though she does of course like a clean house. Nor is she naturally squeamish by nature, having worked as a staff nurse fo a number of years. She is, though, particularly offended by the antics of Mr Orifice, and tries to either get a different bus or try to sit at the front so as not to view his particular ... eccentricities.

She has described, in rather graphic detail, what it is that Mr Orifice gets up to, and he basically sits at the front of the bus and picks at his head. He starts, relates Mrs Paulclem, with his scalp, fastidiously picking any bits off, rolling them between his fingers and dropping them into the aisle. He then progressese to each ear, picking and gouging out any loose ends and similarly rolling, dropping and flicking the detritus into the gangway.

Mrs paulclem has begun pointing out this unsociable behaviour to people she knows on the bus, (for which they are really grateful). I wonder, though, whether you blokes would notice? I probably wouldn't, as I usually have my nose up against the screen of my Kindle. I wouldn't notice, and I think I could barely raise a care about this obsessive picker who runs the risk of being lynched by irate ladies on a particular bus.

Yuk. Another argument in favor of automobile ownership. Here's my contribution to the strange-but-true real-life-public-transportation tales: About ten years ago I was riding the A-Train through Brooklyn, bound for JFK Airport, and I wound up sitting across from a mentally retarded guy with turrets syndrome. At least that was my nonprofessional opinion of his condition. Anyway, every once in a while he'd stare off in the distance and yell, "COKE," and the woman he was traveling with would reach into her bag and give him a can of Coca-Cola. It was good entertainment for a long ride on a local train. Well, somewhere along the line a gal with a huge set of fake knockers climbs on board and this guy zeros in on her chest like a laser. Everybody in the car is watching the show now. And it doesn't take long before the guy's pants start to grow. He was a big fella, I'm here to tell you. The woman he was traveling with wasn't a bit phased; she simply put her shopping bag on his lap and said, "hold this for me, Melvin."

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by prendrelemick

Talking about wide open spaces, I read in a National Geographic about a reporter in Australia who pulled up at a gas station/local store and asked for the Smith's place. The owner told him to go down the road a way, take the first right and you can't miss it. A hundred miles further on he saw an oil drum at the side of the road with "SMITH" painted on it next to a rough track. Two Hundred miles later he arrived.

---

I've never been to Australia, but I've heard similar tales of the Outback. Here are a couple of book recommendations, since this is, at least nominally, a website about literature.

The Songlines, by Bruce Chatwin

One for the Road, by Tony Horwitz

Both authors wrote about their travels in the Australian Outback, and although published 10 years apart, their trips nearly coincided (if I'm remembering correctly). They wrote about some of the exact same places. They've may have met some of the same people along the way. In fact, as I was reading along, I kept expecting them to bump into each other.

Anyway, it was an interesting contrast in perspective. Chatwin, British, mid-forties, was an established writer, probably already sick, and only a couple of years from death. Horwitz, American, mid-twenties, and just getting started in the writing business. Horwitz hitchhiked it (YGTBSM).

So there's an American and a British take on the Outback. The only other book I've read about Australia (also a recommendation) is by a guy who's sort of in between the two countries:

In a Sunburned Country, by Bill Bryson

It was only because of a train journey I took about 10 years ago that I discovered the true identity of the writer of all those Beatle's hits. It was a bloke called John from Castleford who sat next to me travelling from Blackpool to Halifax. After penning such hits as Love Me Do and She Loves You Yeah Yeah Yeah and then going on to more experimental stuff like Lucy (John's wife)In The Sky With Diamond (John's cat ) Paul MaCartney promised him he would see him right by leaving him the Island of Mull in his will. It was probably the most entertaining train journey I had ever been on. The last thing John mentioned was a trip he'd taken to London in the 60's where he'd seen a tramp in a cafe. "And that's how I came to write Streets of London by Ralph MacTell"he said.