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News from Scott and a story
I received word from Scott that he may make the rtr. He's looking forward to camping no with "The Renegade Group - his peeps"

I cut and pasted this story from him:

When we talk about Nomads outside of culturally nomadic people, we are usually talking about hobo’s, leather tramps, or more recently rubber tramps. Hobos were famous, or perhaps infamous, for train jumping. In my research of this new nomadic lifestyle, I couldn’t help but compare it to the original train jumping hobos. They lacked the means, outside of the railways, to travel. They couldn’t jump in a van and go seeking adventure.

What about before this? Could these rail car jumping adventurers be further compared to the first type of long-distance nomads? The Stowaways.

Could the fact that many of the first, non-native, Americans and Canadians were indeed stowaways be an influencing factor in our behaviour centuries later? Geese have no classroom education about flying in a rotating Delta configuration to reduce fatigue or a schedule to fly south in the winter. This encoded information is carried at the gene level and passed on like feather markings.

Humans like to believe they are superior to our other earth room mates. This illusion is usually shattered when a traumatic event lands us firmly on our ass in the great outdoors. Then, with fur, claws, traded for a few hundred years of domestication we see how ill-adapted we have become to surviving in the real world.

But this isn’t the real world, is it? No! These people argue the real world is the one of ‘safe spaces’, and online shopping that delivers perfect size satisfaction in hassle-free packaging. Follow the rules, politics is right or left, and if you work hard, you can be anything you desire.

Then, one late Monday morning you’re enjoying an ethical coffee in a good neighbourhood park watching your children chase a group of “dumb” Canadian Geese as a transformer explodes on the telephone pole. Being a good responsible citizen, you take out your phone to call 911. The phone is dead. The electrical grid is dead. It doesn’t matter why, just as it doesn’t matter that FOX news will say it is the neglected infrastructure and CNBC will blame the Russians. No one will watch another magic box, and those dumb geese will be alive years after you watch your children starve.

The real world just got tired of being ignored. The Emperor’s suit is the colour we have all been told it is and we have lost our beloved overlords. Shocked by the naked face of reality, many will die in the first week.

Dark observations? Might it be better to take the rainbow view that we can continue to grow exponentially, like cancer, without having a negative outcome? The right and left can come together, as John Lennon demanded. But what if it isn’t just right and left? What if I told you politics is also up and down, over and under? That your domestication has been deliberate, and you have traded a ‘floating bath’ of comfort conformist life over the real world. Except you didn’t actually trade it. The programming passed on to you, told you to continue flying north till you found the Dodo Bird.

When you are locked away below a rolling ship deck for days, it is hard for the mind to grip any rainbows. Rainbows can’t be where the light can not reach. The rhythmic banging of the powerful diesel motor was constant and completely drowned out the usual ringing in my ears I’d had since Africa. My space was as small as it had been expensive. Forced by a clerical error my avenues for leaving the country had become as constrictive as my new accommodation.
I could have risked rail or bus travel. The issue is if my current circumstances came with an order to detain I would have been detained until answers arrived. This could have been days or weeks. Having an expired Visa and expired VISA card had combined into a perfect storm of circumstances, landing me most perfectly right in the middle of the road with my pants behind me.

The Chicago School of Criminology made the theory of Goals and Means popular. This perhaps best describes the new Federation, that I now found myself trapped in. Everyone has goals, and if they have a legit way to achieve those goals, most will choose those means. If they lack those resources, they will try to achieve the goal by other means.

This is how I found myself standing on a cold dock at two in the morning, in a remote Northern city. The temperature was a dangerous beast, threatening to do more than just freeze seawater to a slippery dock. It howled as if hungry for the warmth I was hiding under my heavy coat.,

The man I was meeting was equally as dangerous. He had been banished to this location by the very Cossack descended gangsters that had arranged this meeting for me. I knew he could exact his revenge, and still get paid by simply taking the jacket hiding my warmth from the howling storm. The concept of respect was the only thing providing safety. This idea of ‘respect’ here as hard for a Western person to understand as the idea of ‘face’ in Eastern cultures. I knew enough to swallow the fear I was feeling and keep it hidden beside my balls.

The Black G Wagon appeared without sound. Its headlights were off, and it expertly tracked across the frozen slippery docks as if it were on rails. Oddly it stopped right beside me, and the driver's window came down.


“Yes,” I answered above the wind.

“Give it to me and get in.” The darkness responded as if I were talking with Faust.

The interior of the German automobile was bathed in red light, and the figure driving was still a mystery. He was wearing a hoody, and I knew without seeing a logo it was Adidas.

“You were told I would get you through the Customs Zone and into the Free Zone, Yes?”


“Good. You have to get onto the ship yourself and meet ‘our friend’ on the aft deck when the ship starts its journey.”

While this was new News to me, I could do little more than accept it. Renegotiating a deal at this point over definitions was simply not possible to do. This ride was one way. Though the border into the Duty-Free Zone of the port city. Then to a ship leaving in ninety minutes.

“Good thing I just brought carryon.” The tight laugh from my companion indicated I’d said it out loud. “Get me close ok I can’t read Chinese.”

“I will do better than that. I will get you right to the rope and then speed past the Officer watching the boarding gate. He will watch me, and give you time to climb the rope.” My cloaked Faust added helpfully.

No one had said anything about climbing ropes, into pitching boats, riding on frozen seas. I am getting too old for this shit. I will never know if I said that out loud or not. We rounded a corner, slowed, and my driver said; “Get out!”

I did a semi-graceful moving dismount from the vehicle and moved quickly to the darkest shadow I could see. The edge of the dock was a few feet away, and I could see a slack five-inch stern-line tied to a dock anchor. The white-hulled ship was stained yellow with rust streaks as if Fate had pissed on it just as she had pissed on me.

I put my arms through my carry all bag and moved to the line. It was old. I wasn’t afraid of the line breaking but I knew the cheap synthetic rope would tear my hands raw without gloves. I had mittens, the lobster style that are great for cold weather and useless for scaling boat lines.

Proper Planing Prevents Piss Poor Performance. The words of a long-dead RSM echoed in my head. Piss Poor in this scenario meant a frozen popsicle; I knew the cold of the seawater below this line would steal my breath and my life in seconds, not minutes. I forced myself to focus on what had to be done. Over or Under. Hanging under the line was safer, as I four points of contact and my legs a better wrap on the rope. Over was easier as I could use my legs to push me up the slack end of the line to the ship. Easy Day it is; I thought to steal a line from another dead friend, and hoping I wouldn’t be seeing either of them anytime soon.

The ice on the rope helped slide my more Walrus than Seal body along the line. I closed my eyes and just focused on trying to keep my hips centred along the line, and wishing not for the first time for a prehensile cock. Imagining it working its’ own way through the trap door built into every mans underwear and used by none of them, and then around this rope like a monkey tail. The ice-covered hull made me open my eyes. The deck was slippery, but thankfully not high. My worn out shoulders were long past allowing me to press up and over anything higher than my chin. I dropped my knees, slid my ankles as close to my butt as my fifty-one years would allow, gripped the line with my ankles, and Walrus’d myself onto the aft deck and face first into a frozen bucket.

“Wake up Dorothy, this isn’t SeaWorld, and you ain’t got on Ruby Slippers.” My subconscious, asshole, self-told my currently semi-unconscious self. I tried to roll over and couldn’t. Confused, I thought ‘Am I stuck on the fucking deck?’ I remembered my carry all and slipped it off and sat up. The ship hadn’t moved, and I was sitting, relatively in the open, taking in my surroundings like a fucking tourist. “Get in the game or find out why morning sex isn’t always fun Covey…In prison!” My motivating asshole subconscious chided me, and I moved into an anchor bulkhead, becoming a shadow.

The adrenaline wore off, and the burn from my rope climb was chased away by the scything gusts of wind. I pictured Jack in the final scene of The Shining, and figured that wasn’t quite as bad a look like a frozen boat Gargoyle. Jack was still sexy. Scary, drinking imaginary boat drinks with spooks, psycho sexy, but sexy none the less. ‘Hypothermia setting in you hairless monkey. Do some isometric exercises and keep the core warm, I don’t want to die, sexy or not. Squeeze the Smarty like you’re trying to dodge Ivan’s meat pole…in prissson.’ The internal voice trailed off in an evil hiss. I tightened my jacket, shifted slightly, and did the isometrics as ordered.

A light joined me on the aft deck, and it was accompanied by a voice. “Scat” “Scat”

I stood up.

The light fell to the deck with a gasp, and rolled off the side of the ship.

The voice had thankfully remained and said, “Dis Way.”

That was four days ago, and tonight I will be allowed to disembark with the crew onto one of the islands that make up Japan. Thankfully I don’t need a visa to enter Japan, and so tomorrow will be a quick customs stamp followed by sushi, saki, and traditional bath house massage. All paid for by those crew members silly enough to play Texas Hold em with me…
[-] The following 8 users say Thank You to Cammalu for this post:
  • AbuelaLoca (12-05-2017), Snikwahjm (12-05-2017), rvpopeye (12-05-2017), heron (12-06-2017), Gunny (12-06-2017), Putts (12-08-2017), Texjbird (12-08-2017), Scott7022 (12-12-2017)
Forgot to breathe. I hope you might have a bit of space for us, amongst the renegades.
One gloriously stinkin' badge. 
[-] The following 1 user says Thank You to heron for this post:
  • Scott7022 (12-12-2017)
Of course heron!

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[-] The following 1 user says Thank You to Cammalu for this post:
  • heron (12-06-2017)
I might be getting free soon although not as dramatic... probably not in time for RTR. Maybe next round.
[-] The following 1 user says Thank You to Snikwahjm for this post:
  • heron (12-06-2017)
Snik we will probably still be out there a while after rtr if you still might go west. We do have a tentative trip to the Baja for February and in March we will be back east for more dang surgery. Before I can get my other knee replaced I have to get the rod out that goes from one end of my femur to the other. Then it has to heal AWHILE. I'm sick of being crippled up.

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[-] The following 3 users say Thank You to Cammalu for this post:
  • AbuelaLoca (12-06-2017), heron (12-06-2017), Scott7022 (12-12-2017)
We may be on a short leash and unable to go very far. If you are home in KY we could look you up.

That surgery just sounds like a whole lot of ouch. You take care and heal.
Scott likes living on the edge. My kind of guy.

Thanks for passing the story along.

Once More Unto The Breach, Dear Friends, Once More.
[-] The following 3 users say Thank You to Gunny for this post:
  • bLEEp (12-06-2017), heron (12-06-2017), Scott7022 (12-12-2017)
(12-06-2017, 10:12 AM)Gunny Wrote: Scott likes living on the edge. My kind of guy.

Thanks for passing the story along.


I'm with you Gunny. I miss my days of edgy living. But I am too old and I am a marked man now. Good for him. I saw this at a local gas station this morning and it really got my blood pumping. The cat and mouse is about as close as I will ever get to James Bond stuff. I WAS very good at it though, so I have that and lots of good stories. This one man had 4 agencies I could count, two marked and four UC vehicles. A very well dressed man of about 30 who took it like a man, I saw the whole thing and called it before he got hit. No games just a quick "you got me" smile and into the paddy wagon he went.
[Image: f71b411e571893d1f619d3cb10a1c952.jpg]

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"Bertha" 27' Ford E450 Triton V10 Full time since 4/5/17
bLIp-bLOOp-bLOp -529 Forever- Will eat ticks for badges
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Happy Trails!
bLEEps Big Grin
[-] The following 4 users say Thank You to bLEEp for this post:
  • Gunny (12-06-2017), AbuelaLoca (12-06-2017), heron (12-06-2017), Scott7022 (12-12-2017)
My best friend is a retired U.S. Marshal and he said that most of the folks caught after a long time was that they were glad it was over..

Looking over my shoulder all the time would get old fast.

Undercover and clandestine types adapt to it.

Once More Unto The Breach, Dear Friends, Once More.
[-] The following 2 users say Thank You to Gunny for this post:
  • heron (12-06-2017), Scott7022 (12-12-2017)
Thanks, Camm. So looking forward to it. Sorry to hear you have to go back for more and more surgery. I hope these last ones will be it. Jeez.

Snik, hope we run onto you, for sure.
One gloriously stinkin' badge. 

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