To Gary for having the guts to venture into the unknown and start this forum.

To Hepcat for kicking in and helping. 

And to all of the members that are actually near and dear to my Pacemaker assisted Heart.

Gunny.

My rig is a 2002 Class C that I bought used and changed everything pretty much. The little swivel
chair was taken out yesterday and replaced with this:


Little by little it's all coming along.

I just finished getting the entire set up done.

1. Cricket Wireless unlimited plan for $55 a month with autopay. I paid $149 for an iPhone 5, but you can bring your own phone. Cricket uses AT&T towers.

2. Verizon unlimited MiFi hotspot, 3G, bought off of eBay for $59 and the service is $5 a month.

3. Wilson Sleek 4g-s cradle signal booster. Purchased off of eBay refurbished for $129.

4. Yagi Directional antenna mounted on a painters pole with low loss cable. Less than $50 for the antenna and pole and $35 for the cable.

5. An SMA male to N female coax connector. $5 on eBay.

So after all equipment was purchased my monthly cost is $60 for unlimited phone and hot spot service using both Verizon and AT&T.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Just wondering if there is a time limit on editing posts and if so how much time?  Don't  need to edit anything but just wondering for future posts.

We've noticed a seemingly random case of the forest green color scheme reverting to the default blue and white on some threads, sometimes.  There may also be formatting issues when that happens.  I'm trying to troubleshoot it.  It may have started with the install of the Tapatalk plug-in, and/or the "Thanks" plug-in.

So, if you're seeing this happen, please let me know in this thread what thread you were on... when it happened, and what operating system and browser you're using.  For the time being I'm leaving the plugins turned on and leaving the forest green/forest theme up to see if this is just a very occasional issue, or it's a major problem.

Thanks everyone!!!

one of the first things i did after making the forum was to email Bob tell him what i have done and invite him to come over and check it out

he replied that he wished us the best of luck

so there is no negativity or hostility between the sites and i would like to keep it that way

  Had some trouble registering.  

I've been reading posts and couldn't respond.

Those that know me know you might as well shoot me if I can't talk.

I'm glad to be here.  Happy Happy Happy

Jewellann

I did not see one of these.
 My avatar is sideways, can anyone help me?
bLEEp

This is an unedited off the cuff response to requests for 'the story'. The pacing isn't professional and it really isn't helpful advice unless you find yourself surrounded by idiots. But it is a funny read. 

The take away is some people should not be allowed stuff that can explode. "Oh The Murphy is strong in that one." 

   The sleepy little logging town of Nakusp British Columbia had hardly woken up. Despite the fact they woke up earlier than most of the sleepy little towns found south of Revelstoke and North East of Kelowna. The growing and harvesting of BC unofficial cash crop had not changed Nakusp. No logs and logging was the official crop and discussion to the contrary was met with displeasure. A displeasured lumber jack, prior to having his coffee, after sleeping off a fifth of Jack. Kind of displeased. 

   We rounded the corner into town, filled up with water and fuel, and various adult beverages from the type of corner store gas station later to be made popular in a TV series. The Barth was silver old, and drank fuel like a Russian sea captain sipped vodka. We had in fact stopped twice to climb under and look for leaks. Surely a fuel gauge you could see moving in a tank the size of a swimming pool was not right. We had found none, and were rotating our newly acquired credit cards to prevent an early end to our grand adventure. Shawn’s father owned the beast and so he was driving. Keith was riding shotgun, and I was sitting in the back trying to perform advanced math and work out dive tables. Three things were wrong with this. I always drove whenever we went anyplace. I was not a better driver; I just had the Scott factor and the wiggle. I was nobody, and I was at least twice as lucky as I was stupid and had a strange ability in being able to know just how much wiggle we had on the outside bits of any vehicle. Shawn should be riding shotgun, as he always did, years of forged immunity prevented him from looking for the brake or reaching for the Jesus handle. Keith was good at math. We were doomed and we had yet to really begin. 

The idea had been concocted late at night and it was an adventure. Arrow Lake is not a natural lake. It was flooded to make upper and lower Arrow lakes. It is in about 100 feet of water and while the residents at the time had warning many coins and relics are found. But what had really made this adventure Grand was a bit of new information we had discovered. Reports of an elderly miner had surfaced. A miner who had made his fortune in the gold fields and fled to the townsite after the death of his wife, by thieves looking for gold. We had discovered a diary written by his only daughter. In it she discounted her fathers gold, insisting he made a decent living writing articles for papers and running his print shop. We had found the submerged print shop!! 

    The tanks clattered as we drove the aged Barth down a road better suited for a wagon. We had 22 tanks on board for the dive as each dive would be a decompression dive and we had no way to refill them. I would also be the solo diver. This was breaking the cardinal rule of diving, but I lasted a lot longer on a tank of air than anyone I knew and despite being a porky kid could dive US navy dive tables without getting bent. 

Arriving out our camp location just before nightfall filled us all with wonder and curiosity. I was felling a little more upbeat as we shared dinner and beers around the campfire. Tomorrow I would crash dive to the higher side of town and the water level was lower than previous years so our depth might only be 65 feet. Keith had finished inflating the rigid inflatable we would be using and most importantly we had avoided all eyes in getting to our spot. It wasn’t far from the spot populated in the summer months by tourists. But it was “out of prying eyes.”

    The morning brought hash browns, bacon, strong coffee, and pancakes. We had all slept well, and the Barth hadn’t drank anymore fuel overnight. The fact it had been turned off had not seemed to factor into our surprise. We were on a sloped angle with the back of the Barth pointed toward the lake. This hid our work area, the picnic table and fire pit. It also allowed us to pull the rigid up out of the lake and into the trees. An aging pit toilet, (wooden outhouse) was a straight line down the slope from the drivers rear corner. Shawn was down at the lake getting the electric trolling motor working in the rigid and Keith was moving tanks from inside the Barth down and into the boat. I had twin tanks adapted with an older regulator, and my Viking drysuit laid out on the picnic table. I wasn’t diving with a buoyancy compensator, as they were uncommon then, and had just finished checking my rig when Keith returned from the boat. He was excited and happily helped me lift the heavy twin tanks and check the fit.

“Shawns taking a dump but the batteries are good and the boat is still full of air. It sits fine with the six tanks so we should be good to go.” He said taking the tanks off and placing them at his feet. “You good to get going?” He asked.  

“I am going to grab a smoke and see if the coffee has any effect before getting into that.” I said pointing to the galvanized rubber drysuit. “Where the f*&k did I put my lighter and smokes.”

“On the inside table.” Keith said moving down toward the boat. 

“Right” I replied heading back to retrieve them. 

When I returned I saw Keith had put the tanks upright on the end of the picnic table. A big no no in the world of diving. But, we weren't on a boat so the table wasn’t likely to move. I had slipped out of my cloths and the cool morning air was making me want to pull on the rubber suit and messing with my fine motor dexterity just a little, as I dropped my zippo for the second time. I pulled out my cigarette as Keith appeared around the other side of the Barth. 

“Whoa, that should come with a warning label.” He said pointing at the red speedo. 
I stuck the cigarette in my mouth flipped the zippo and lit it.
“Yeah? You Mom asked if it came with an ingredients…” My feet slid on the dewy grass down into a small depression behind the Barth. 
I dropped my Zippo for a third time. This time it was lit. 
I landed on my ass. The WHUMPF of this impact was significantly louder than the perceived impact on my ass. 
Louder and warmer.
I saw fire and Keith moving toward the lake, and I started rolling in a downward direction as well. Some how in this conflagration the “stable” picnic table got hit. Perhaps it was the explosion, perhaps Keith, or maybe I rolled into it. No one knows, or at least no one is saying. 

The result was known to all. 

The joined tanks tumbled off the table and struck the steel fire pit ring perfectly. Right at the top apex of the joining pipe. This sheared off both aging J valves. Around this time all the lower storage doors blow out, and quite a few, off the Barth. The lead filled plastic backpack does very little to slow the filled, till the stickers stretched, tanks. These become a missile and fire up out of the fire pit and back at the Barth. 

I am aware that my speedo is suffering from some fire abuses and that my hair must be too as I can smell it. 

Keith is yelling I am ok I am Ok I AM OK. Like some kind of mantra.
The fire gone. I pat my head and feel the frizz of burned but still present hair. Parts of my Speedo have melted thru in spots similar to how a tornado destroys some houses completely and spares others. Keith looks like a famous Boxing promoter, his eyes wide with shock. 

We both hear; “F#*K, F&*K< FUK” repeated loudly and then screaming. Small things are on fire. But nothing that would be the cause of this new mantra.

Then we both see it at once. The outhouse is destroyed. Pieces of its green exterior litter the area from where it stood to the lake. The sound is coming from the lower twenty inches remaining. We both start to run and I yell “rope”. 

Keith grabs the line I was going to use as a drop line and quickly catches up to me, as he has shoes on, and doesn’t have to contend with little spots of nylon pulling little pieces of flesh from his ass. 

Shawn is in the outhouse. Well, in the area of the outhouse one delivers to. We toss the line and he climbs up and heads for the lake. “What the f45k, I am taking a shit and you two retards nuke my F8&King outhouse. Boom missile strike Ha Ha very funny Motherf&^ers” 

“Stop talking you're going to get that in your mouth.”  Keith helpful advice was not met with kind observance. 

The doomed and downtrodden after action report.

Seems that the bouncing had created a slow leak in two 25 pound portable tanks used for the outside BBQ and fire pit adaptor. The fuel vapor had pooled in the lower areas of the Barth before flowing down to ground, following the slope to the lake. Pooling in lower ground depressions. My lighter had set that off. 

The air tanks had launched, hit the Barth and bounced up before crashing down onto the outhouse’s corner. Thankfully not the corner Shawn was in. The force destroyed the outhouse and wash of compressed air blew pieces around like an explosion. Shawn denied a solid structure to hold onto fell sideways into the pit. Luckily it was cold out.

stupid question...
How much solar and batteries do I need to run my vitamix? 120 volts 11.5 amps 
So far that and charging cells and iPads - maybe some light is the extent of my electric. 
Another stupid question....
Would flexible panels work on an old (1988) fiberglass high top?