"It's All Fer Me Grog..."

Anytime someone asks for a campfire song, I can't help but think back to one of the more formative times of my youth: Outward Bound Colorado.

The time was the summer I graduated from Sabino high school and to commemorate the achievement my mom and dad asked if I wanted anything special. In very short order, I'd replied that going to Outward Bound would be a terrific life experience. Plans were quickly set in motion to attend.

I hopped a flight to Denver the day after school ended and was off on a strenuous trek where we spent some 3-weeks above 14,000 feet in the Rockies. One of the trail songs that I recall we sang a lot went a like this:

Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog
It's all for me beer and tobacco
For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin
Far across the western ocean I must wander

The trouble is, I'm sure there were more lyrics but can't for the life of me recall any. I mean, we sang that bloody song for days on end! Maybe it's time for a deep hypnotic trance, or... GOOGLE!

A ten-second search on the first line of the song and I'm listening to "It's all for me grog" on the site Irish-Song-Lyrics.com. Well... blow me down! Unbelievable. Click here to listen to a lo-fi streaming version of the whole song below... Thanks Google (and Marc Gunn) - I'm complete now...

"It's All For Me Grog"
Background: Traditional sea shanty and a rousing drinking!
Chords: KEY D

Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog
It's all for me beer and tobacco
For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin
Far across the western ocean I must wander

Where are me boots, me noggin', noggin' boots?
They're all gone for beer and tobacco
For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about
And the soles are looking out for better weather

Where is me shirt, my noggin', noggin' shirt?
It's all gone for beer and tobacco
For the collar is all worn, and the sleeves they are all torn
And the tail is looking out for better weather

I'm sick in the head and I haven't been to bed
Since first I came ashore with me slumber
For I spent all me dough on the lassies movin' slow
Far across the Western Ocean I must wander

Where is me bed, me noggin' noggin bed
It's all gone for beer and tobacco
Well I lent it to a whore and now the sheets are all tore
And the springs are looking out for better weather.

Where is me wench, me noggin' noggin' wench
She's all gone for beer and tobacco
Well her (clap) is all worn out and her (clap) is knocked about
And her (clap) is looking out for better weather.

Red Barchetta

Those of you familiar with the Canadian powerhouse trio Rush will no doubt recall a sonic gem of theirs from 2 decades ago called “Red Barchetta.” The name refers to a famous classic sports car built by Ferrari, but later was also the name for a lame Fiat drive. The former car earned its stripes by being fast and sexy.

The lyrics of most all of Rush’ songs, penned by drummer god Neil Peart, have often strayed – strike that – plunged into glorious sci-fi epics, which endeared the band to many free-thinking youth over the last 30+ years. Red Barchetta was a song on their "Moving Pictures" album about one such young man living in a distant future age where socialism at least and fascism at most reigned. It was also, as an entry in Wikipedia described it, a “post-petroleum future in which the ‘primitive’ gasoline-burning sports cars are prohibited by ‘the Motor Law.’” A controlling society, the youth were compelled to rebel in ways that the State could only hope to contain by vigorous use of the police.

This particular boy would escape to his “Uncle’s country place that no one knew about” and drive a perfectly preserved Ferrari every few weeks. One such time took immense effort to realize a narrow escape from the robotic “alloy air car” minions of the totalitarian society in which he was irresistibly trapped.

While on vacation in Ohio last week, I was delighted to learn that my father had his own version of an older exotic foreign sports car – red, of course – for me to drive: a well-preserved, daily driver of a convertible 1991 Jaguar XJ-S, V-12. Huzzah! This baby purrs… but also roars when pressed.

The ’91 makes 318 horsepower under a longish hood, replete with muscular lines arcing down to a fine pair of headlights. The switchgear, I would say is customarily British…which is to say that a reasonably intelligent American driver can figure out about 95% of what is needed; the other 5% is anyone’s guess.

To fire up that glorious 12-cylinder engine, one turns the key and an array of lights glow up the walnut wood dash. After a few seconds electric fuel pump whine, the engine roars to life, then settles into a soft exhaust burble directed with authority out two gleaming tailpipes.

My wife Kim and I had the pleasure of taking the Jag to Amish country, where the car drew an unexpected amount of attention amongst mini-vans, Honda sedans and – dare I say? – buggies. The weather was not too cooperative, raining off and on during the day; just enough to force top-up driving. Still, even at speeds approaching 100mph (dancing with a Mini Cooper S), the cabin noise was minimal.

Handling was good for a heavy luxury-touring convertible, but compared to my Miata M of a few years ago – a veritable go-kart – it was heavy to steer and rolled over on bulbous tires.

We capped off a day of driving on twisty two-lane country roads and antiquing with a pretty good Italian meal at a restaurant in Zanesville, a town made famous as the birthplace of famed Western author Zane Gray. Now Zane would have appreciated the risks our futuristic youth took to escape the suburbs of his youth for the wide-open countryside in his Uncle’s Red Barchetta.

Camping & Football Father's Day

Father's Day 2009 will go down as an especially sweet one indeed; several things conspired to make it so:

iPhone 3GS - she'd ignored several of my not-so-subtle hints, so it was entirely unclear whether wife Kim would agree to me joining the "cult of the iPhone" when I called her last Friday. Two work colleagues had shiny new phones on their desks and reported the line was only 20 minutes at the Apple Store Fashion Valley!

I called Kim from my formerly state-of-the-art BlackBerry and pressed the point, asking "Can I go get one dear?" (and trying ever so hard to keep the desperation out of my voice). She drove a hard deal: Birthday gift and Christmas 2008 gift which I'd never cashed in on. Ouch! Still, the smart phone has got plenty of giddy up!

Hurkey Creek Motorcycle Camp - It's long been a goal of mine to test out the F800GS on a short "shake-down" camping trek. Well... this weekend I ticked that one of the 'ol checklist with an overnighter up at Hurkey Creek County Park near Lake Hemet with my good friend Mark "DL650" Myers. We left from Mark's place in Rancho Bernardo about 1pm on Saturday, taking almost exactly the same route I had back in Nov. 2008, heading towards Idyllwild, CA.

After jaunting through Ramona, Santa Ysabel, Warner Springs, Aguanga, and Anza we found ourselves at a park hopping with families and friends camping for the holiday weekend. Awesome riding too numerous to mention (OK, ya twisted my arm: the 6 miles on 371 from Anza to the Pines-to-Palms turn-off are spectacular in their twistyness, as is the Lake Hemet-to-Idyllwild blast). Plus all the riding to get there! ;-) Enjoy some pics.

What - No action shots??!!

Ethan Mows the Lawn - Perhaps it was sheer glee at seeing me home again safely, or a Father's Day gift from a cool young man, but the most amazing thing happened about an hour after getting home from the camp: Completely of his own volition, Etho came outside to help me with the yardwork! OMG - the boy is growing up.

Yahoo! Finally some help in the yard!

Dads vs. the Boys - In preparation for the upcoming Rancho Penasquitos "Stampede" Junior Pee Wee Pop Warner football season, the league is holding weekly 2-hour conditioning clinics in June and July. In August the pace cranks up to 5/week - whoa!

For Father's Day, the coaches decided that an hour of conditioning, followed by an hour of 2-hand touch ball with the Dad's would be a good idea. Right they were! On the field of glory that is the Westview Wolverines home stadium (artificial turf and proper running track and all); on this one Sunday afternoon, 2 sets of men came together in heated battle. The brash upstarts vs. the seeming giants of the field: the DADS. The boys played valiantly, but "age & guile baby!"

Fun playing on a "real" field!

The weekend ended with a dandy family dinner at Sammy's Woodfired Pizza, a last splurge for a weekend already engorged with good times.

PS: And last but certainly not least, Carl La Rue (my dad) is recovering nicely from having partial right knee replacement surgery - hope he'll be up and about when we get there for the 2009 Family Reunion in 6 short days! (Hi Pop!)

Fail Blog

Hands down my favorite new irony-is-comedy site on the web is www.failblog.org. A community site that crowdsources idiocy from around the world, failblog is an unending ribbon of social inanity. You know, like this one:


See what I mean? This is quality. OK, how about another?

Ouch - and her parents will wonder about that pole-dancing hobby at age 14. ;-) Here's another goodie:


You get the idea... If you happen to have a few minutes to surf, paddle on over to www.failblog.org and hang ten on some giggles.

Credit: Thanks Morneé Sherry for sharing this gem with me...

MVRTV Takes on the F800GS

Over the past week or so I've been taking in an excellent video review of the F800GS on YouTube. It was shot by Bill Wolf of "Motorcycle Video Review" with a cool helmet cam. I love this angle because you experience exactly what he sees when he sees it.

Starting at the Fall North American BMW press intro of the bike, Bill goes a step further and continues the "real-world" review on his journey home. He takes in some amazing back-roads in Utah and Colorado, and narrates them with the ease of a seasoned rider.

What a great adventure and all done solo! In many of the comments, Bill said the whole task of editing was grueling but the comments he's received since posting in February makes it all worth the effort.

Did I mention this is an 8-parter?! All of the segments weigh in over 9 minutes meaning I will have basically been watching an entire MOVIE on the F800GS by the time I'm done - wahoo! ;-)

My favorite episodes thus far were number 6 & number 7 where Bill says, "I don't even know where I am; I don't care its awesome..." For the record, where he was is absolutely gorgeous riding for big and heavy dual-sport bikes: dirt roads through the forests, small water crossings, rocky patches where the torque of the F800GS shines. All the while, a near-constant well-considered narrative that illuminates both the ride and spirit of adventure touring.

How about the quote "when they find my body, please tell my wife it was a GREAT ride! And make sure you tell her I love her as well - ummm... you get in trouble if you don't do that!" ;-)

During episode 7, the temperature cruised past 42.8 degrees on it's way into the 30's - you can tell when he talks, he's got that cold speech slur. And... the GPS read 11, 385 feet elevation which is nothing to sneeze at (or maybe it is!).

Mr. Wolf is a master of the inspirational one-liner: "Nothing better than being nowhwere." Another gem of a quote. "Good steering when you're standing." Also seems like knobby tires are the way to go - he's really sure-footed off road. When Mark Myers and I went up Nate Harrison Grade (on Palomar Mtn), I was really nervous about traction on my "Conti Battlewings."

Another great quote: "It's time for a headlight test" (yes, he's riding at night late in episode 7) and "I could do without the rocks at night...just think - if I make a mistake you'll get to see it and...well, I'll get to feel it."

View Episode 7

As I write this, episode 8 isn't on YouTube yet (#7 was uploaded about 3 weeks ago). I can safely say however that many of us anxiously await a safe outcome and Bill's final thoughts on our favorite bike.

Tap-tapping Away

My lovely daughter Emily was in the Canyon View Elementary School talent show recently, preceded by a "flag ceremony" in which my son Ethan participated along with other Scouts in his Pack.  Sadly...  due to work travel, I was not there to witness either.

Anecdotally, I hear the Scouts did an admirable job and - God willing - will be invited back next year.

More than just storytelling though, herewith find ye evidence that Emily can tap her little fanny off.  And to the Stray Cats to boot!  Take it away, Em...

Epic Commemorative Ride

Legend has it that 31 years ago, an erstwhile BMW rider named John Hermann was thwacked off his cycle by drunken "Injuns" whilst traversing the Barona Indian Reservation on Wildcat Canyon road.

The aforementioned Mr. Hermann, who was later named a "Friend of the Marque" after more than a million miles on BMW motorcycles, recalls said thwacking being accomplished by none other than a good 'ol fashioned 2x4 plank. I suspect an ass-whupping followed, but we'll have to get the rest of the story from John.

A million miles and counting!

Today ensued the Annual Wildcat Canyon Ride in which a great number of riders cruise through the reservation following Hermann's route of yore. I counted about 40-50 riders who left Giovanni's restaurant on Clairemont Mesa, en route to Fat Ivor's rib joint in Valley Center via Palomar Mountain. Loads of Beemers, plus a Norton, some Ducati's and a Cagiva. Yee-haw!!

Cool old "Steib" sidecar on an R90 (at Giovanni's). I later saw the bike at the Hideaway

With a couple of stop lights separating the group, I soon found myself hanging with 3 other riders, all on R1200GS's. They set a sprightly pace on the highway, but once we got to the twisties I hung back to keep an eye on a fella who didn't seem to know the road too well. The wind was blasting out there - gusts of at least 20-30mph kept us on our toes.

After the nice clean curves of Wildcat Canyon, we picked up Old Julian Hwy where I was passed with authority by the Ducati rider and a guy on a K-bike & sidecar (of all things!). Picking up 78 at the end of Old Julian, we flew through my favorite curves to a brief respite at Dudley's bakery. Having an apple turnover there in my Aerostich suit brought back floods of memories riding with Rod Baine & Jon Wright oh so long ago (well... early 90's). I snapped some photos, taking my time to savor the moment, then put a splash of gas in the F800GS before moving out to glorious Mesa Grande.

The gas stop meant everyone in the group was ahead of me - which turned out to be awesome! Mesa Grande was clean and clear. The bike and I were - forgive the trite expression - "one with the road." Leaning, accelerating, darting, up on the pegs over cattle guards, windscreen and face-shield pelted by leetle insects. All senses firing. The smells of the mountain meadows wafted. Slowed for the dirty corner that took out Jon on his VFR, and then into the tree-lined lane down the mountain to the Hideaway. Not a single car in front of me the entire time. OMG.

Me on Palomar Mountain, next to the Post Office

Not seeing anyone from the group yet, I knew they were up at Mother's Kitchen on Palomar, so I kept going... The East Grade up Palomar was superb. Again, a bit windy at the bottom by Lake Henshaw, but clean and clear of traffic. It was a 14-mile, twisty blast to the top with NOBODY in front of me. Incredible luck!

Not just any given Sunday... Mother's Kitchen with a lot of Beemers

The gang was very definitely at the top, kicking tires, drinking some coffee and looking forward to a smooth ride down the very intensely twising South Grade and ribs in Valley Center.

Artsy parking sign at Mother's

Not knowing exactly where the restaurant was, I snapped into a group of 4 riders and motored down via Valley Center road by Harrah's Rincon Casino, then by Bates Nut Farm, and finally to Fat Ivor's where the "King of the Alps" was holding court and signing official-looking certificates. I have another certificate from about a dozen years ago, but this one seemed sweeter.

The pulled pork sandwich sitting nicely in my gut, I finally broke loose of the wonderful food vortex that is Fat Ivor's and scooted for home, still keyed up, and a bit worn out and sore in the shoulders. I'd covered a load of miles, quickly, on a beautiful Spring Sunday in San Diego County. Truly epic ride.