Escape! From Cubicle 13

Things to do on a Friday evening...

2009-02-14T01:23:00.002-05:00

I just discovered this site and burned up two hours creating my "Citizen Kane". Best not give up my day job, I suppose...

GoAnimate.com: And Slipped The Vale Of Tears - Part 1

Like it? Create your own at GoAnimate.com. It's free and fun!

Obama's Healthcare IT Stim-U-Less Plan

2009-01-25T16:59:00.009-05:00

Yesterday, President Obama released the details of his economic stimulus package and immediately went in to marketing mode, promoting it on the Sunday political roundtables. Unfortunately, the plan is more an outline than a solid breakdown of expenditures. Further information is promised via the www.recovery.gov site as the final version of the plan is blessed by Congress and the Obama Administration. Predictably, the right side of the aisle is already clamoring for changes of the tax cut variety. What the final product will look like is anybody's guess, but one major goal, in particular, deserves further scrutiny by whomever assumes the mantle of Chief Technology Officer:

"Computerizes every American’s health record in five years, reducing medical errors and saving billions of dollars in health care costs."

Having worked in healthcare IT for several years in a previous life, I can tell you that this is, in my opinion, a highly optimistic target at best, and completely unattainable at worst. First, let me say that I did vote for President Obama and I think that the widespread adoption of Electronic Medical Record (EMR) systems is a great idea. So what's the problem? Before I get to that, let's review what an EMR is and what it provides.

In short, EMRs put detailed patient information at the fingertips of healthcare providers. Everything from a patient's basic demographic information, to diagnostic images (x-rays, MRIs, etc.), allergy information, surgical procedure history, current medications is available via a secure (more on that in a moment), likely web-based, portal. In principle, clinical errors are reduced since the provider has all information on which to make a determination. A fully integrated EMR would insure that no matter how many specialists a patient might visit, their most current information would be available to each of them. But integration...ah, there's the rub.

EMRs have been the Holy Grail of healthcare IT for almost two decades, but even in our highly connected age, the hurdles seem no less daunting. Chief of these obstacles is the integration between the myriad of clinical software products. If you think making Microsoft and Apple place nice with each other is a challenge, try getting solutions from healthcare information technology (HIT) vendors to speak the same language. Granted, efforts such as HL7, do make the implementation of interfaces much easier, but this is still a voluntary effort. Vendors are not obliged to meet any mandates, except those promulgated via HIPPA. Medical centers rarely rely upon a single vendor to provide all IT toolsets (indeed, few vendors offer a portfolio which encompasses all clinical areas), preferring a best of breed approach.

Then, there is the question of security. Who has access to patient data once it is on the wire or airwaves? Who should have access? What information exchanges must be approved by the patient before data is collected or care is given? As has been seen with numerous breaches of private consumer data, the task of keeping unauthorized eyes from sensitive information is difficult in any setting. HIPPA, the Healthcare Insurance Portability And Accountablity Act of 1996, offered a framework for addressing security concerns, but generated more questions than it answered. Even in the case of authorized access to patient information, there are grey areas. While insurance companies generally have fairly free access to your information as a result of the HIPPA form that you sign at your provider's office, can this information be used to refuse coverage? Could prospective employers use the information in hiring decisions? Can healthcare provider afford to keep abreast of the latest security measures in the current economic climate? Many questions, no easy answers.

The issues that I see with President Obama's 5-year goal for the EMR are twofold:

No amount of money can be thrown at EMR solutions until standards for information interchange between HIT vendors are mandated and enforced.

Costs for security measures to protect patient data will likely offset any savings generated by the deduplication of said data and collection efforts.

Again, this is not to say that a national EMR is not an admirable goal and one that we should not proceed upon with due diligence, but to make it a cornerstone of an economic stimulus plan that needs to be immediate in impact seems a bit disingenuous. Better to lay the groundwork by establishing a group to study the possibility of a single, national EMR system (something along the lines of Google Health, but more broad-ranging in capabilities) to which all HIT vendors can implement appropriate interfaces to, rather than have them try to build connectors to multiple EMR solutions. I would also STRONGLY suggest the final EMR solution be developed by a private consortium with regulation by HHS.

Let's keep the stimulus focused, manageable and accountable by not turning it into Doctor Obama's Magic Elixir for all of our nation's ills.

Avoiding The "D" Word

2009-01-24T11:39:00.003-05:00

Over the past couple of weeks I've noticed a curious trend among the talking heads who wax eloquent on the economic woe du jour, namely the resistance to invoke the term "Great Depression".

Back in the Fall of '08, pundits seemed to be falling all over themselves to draw parallels between the current recession (remember how long it to them to declare it officially as a recession?) Each announcement of another bank in trouble nearly brought the mainstream media to break into a chorus of "Brother Can You Spare A Dime?". Yes, most of the more market savvy observers were quick to point out that bank failures and unemployment levels had not nearly approached those of President Hoover's days, but that was small comfort to those who had been laid off or seen their retirement nest egg lose 40% or more of its value in less than 12 months. Even as late as December, Kiplingers, assured its readers that the darkest days were not upon us.

As the Christmas shopping season reflected the lack of confidence that consumers felt in the marketplace, the phrasing changed ever so slightly. Gone were the references to the Depression, replaced by obscure references to "the 30s" or "the worst financial crisis in 70 years". Were the news outlets chastened for their earlier fearmongering or are we now trying distance ourselves from something that may just be a little closer to reality than the day before?

I Predict That The History Channel Will Vanish In 2012

2009-01-05T00:33:00.004-05:00

For the past week or so, the History Channel has been promoting the 2012 prophecy special which aired for the first time this evening. Since childhood, I have had an interest in the strange, the paranormal, etc. As I've "matured", however, I find my willingness to suspend disbelief much more tempered by common sense. Still, I listened to my inner child once more and, M&Ms at the ready, plopped in front of the idiot box for the litany of doom to come. That I spent two hours watching this piece of drivel was just one of many catastrophes that Nostradamus never saw coming. I was hoping for at least an attempt at credibility. Where were the dissenting viewpoints?

Humans have an innate desire to know about the future and writers/hucksters/psuedoscientists/et al, have played upon this drive, many times in "coded" language. Seemingly plausible reasons are given for the lack of clarity. Early Christians had to disguise the meaning of the Revelation to avoid reprisals from the Roman Empire. Nostradamus, we're told, would have been in hot water with the church if he let his true talents be known.

Suppose instead of dressing such writings up in the finery of prophecy, divine or otherwise, we accept a more straightforward understanding - that these texts were either the work of charlatans or were used as coded descriptions of events which were happening in the lifetimes of their respective authors? Has anyone yet come forward with a verifiable claim of precognition? Perhaps they have and are being sequestered in a hangar at Area 51 along with the Roswell debris and the collected recordings of William Shatner.

And then we have the "ending" of the Mayan calendar in 2012. While the calendar might indeed end on 12/21/2012 (depending on when Year 0 really occurred and whether or not the Mayans took leap years into account), there is no consensus that the end of the calendar was the end of time. It might have just heralded the beginning of a new calendar cycle.

Come on History Channel! Nothing wrong with entertaining with speculation, but if you want your audience to arrive at their own conclusions, try giving them more than one viewpoint from which to choose.

Two Days In The Big Easy - Part 1

2008-12-30T00:21:00.022-05:00

The last of the beignet gone, generously provided by Wendy and Jasa during a quick jaunt to the Quarter this evening, it's time to brush the powdered sugar off of the keyboard and catch up a bit.

Yesterday was a non-stop exercise in sightseeing. After grabbing a breakfast of bacon and eggs downstairs, we signed up for a city tour offered by one of the local tour companies (and likely provided the concierge with a handsome kickback to boot!). The afternoon planned, we made our way up Julia Street to get our bearings in the Warehouse District, ultimately ending up at PJ's coffee shop, nestled beside the sprawling World War II/D-Day Museum. Our caffeine fix secured, we wandered back to the hotel to catch the tour bus.

Our tour director, a man of Creole descent, delivered facts (laced with a heavy dose of opinion), in a rapid-fire, yet friendly manner. His views were never more apparent as when we crossed the river into the still heavily damaged Lower Ninth Ward. Speaking highly of Hollywood icons such as Brad Pitt, whose "Make It Right 9" initiative seeks to transform the area into eco-friendly neighborhood of the 21st Century, he pointed out some of the homes that have already been constructed. This reminded me a lot of a similar program that is underway in Greenburg, KS, a city that for all intents and purposes was wiped off of the map during a 2007 tornado. One can only hope that such projects actually take root and thrive.

Soon, the narration turned to the subject of the rampant mismanagement and outright fraud inherent in FEMA's attempts to provide a measure of relief to the stricken residents. The tour guide opined that the people of New Orleans weren't angry with FEMA as much as they were with the donations from various groups that never seemed to trickle down to those in need. Also, with school back in session, the pool of available volunteers for reconstruction has dried up. The country may have moved on, but the scars of Hurricane Katrina remain.

The next stop was at one of the parish's final resting places, Saint Louis Cemetery #3. While I was familiar with the reasons for the above ground method of burial (the water table is so high in the area, that things tend not to stay put when buried underground), I was a bit taken aback when the tour guide stated that hundreds of people could be buried in a single tomb. The process utilizes the unrelenting heat of the Gulf summers to perform a sort of natural cremation. When Uncle George shuffles off the moral coil, the plaque covering the family vault is removed and the brick wall behind it is broken open. The coffin of dear Aunt Sally, who passed away two years ago is removed, and her remains, which have since turned to dust and bone fragments, are scooped up and deposited in the bottom of the tomb, mixing in with the rest of the family. George and his coffin now take the preferred parking space and the whole affair is sealed up until the next member of the family passes on.

The remainder of the tour took us up to Lake Pontchartrain, the French Quarter and the Garden District before finally returning us to our hotel. Not wanting to rest our heels, we made for the Riverfront streetcar line and found ourselves in the Quarter in fairly short order. To say that the area is a mix of sights, sounds and smells is an understatement. Even if one never ventures up to the notoriety that is Bourbon Street, the Quarter is an eclectic mix of tourist shops that would be at home in Myrtle Beach, along with an ample selection of watering holes and dining establishments geared to every taste. After breezing through some of the shops, we visited the open air market which featured a variety of, mostly new and mostly touristy, trinkets.

A chilly breeze ultimately drove us in to one of the eateries where I tried a local sandwich, known as a Muffaletta or Muff for short, an ungodly sized and monstrously good combination of Italian bread, various cold cut meats and cheeses, garnished with "olive salad" (olives, olive oil, celery, cauliflower and various seasonings). I loved it - perhaps almost as much as the beef on weck I sampled in Buffalo, NY earlier this year. Wendy opted for a similarly delicious gumbo, while Jasa chose fried shrimp. By the time we finished dinner, many of the shops had begun shuttering their doors for the evening. Wendy chose to return to the hotel, while Jasa and I made our way to the meeting place for the Vampire Tour.

Now, when it comes to vampires, I'm not much into the Twilight / Lestat / etc. romantic take on bloodsuckers. I like my villains secure in their evil, not conflicted. Black and white. One dimensional, perhaps. Truthfully, I'm not a huge fan of the genre at all, with the exception of the classic Lugosi portrayal and the less stylish, but equally entertaining "Night Stalker" telefilm which spawned the series starring the uncomparable Darrin McGavin as intrepid reporter Carl Kolchak. I wasn't really looking forward to another two hours on my feet listening to the history of the undead roaming the streets of the city, but my attitude quickly changed as the tour progressed.

Our guide on this journey was Anthony who, given his attire (more Hellraiser than Interview With The Vampire) and fangs, appeared to relish his role in more than a "dress-the-part-to-frighten-the-kiddies" mode. I would say that he and his wife, also sporting a set of poined canines, live the part. As we walked through the darkened streets of the Quarter, he delivered stories of Jack The Ripper killers, blood-drinking fiends from the early 20th Century and origins of the vampire mythos in a wisecracking, yet at the same time, deadly mysterious manner. Thoroughly entertaining. The tour ended in the courtyard of a small bar where further tales of people who saw themselves as vampires were shared.

Rather than heed the admonishion to "keep to the lights", lest the we fall prey to the all sorts of ghouls, living and undead, Jasa and I proceeded up the Quarter to see the lights of Bourbon Street. When we arrived, the party was in full swing, although I'm not sure that it ever lets up. Mostly twenty-something revelers were doing their dead-level best to destroy what few brain cells had survived college. We skipped the libations, preferring to take in the voodoo shops and gift vendors. An intermittent rain began to fall, but this did little to dampen anyone's spirits. Hurricanes, Hand Grenades, Huge Ass Beers and Female Impersonators. Whatever your kick or kink, you can likely scratch the itch somewhere along this stretch of pavement.

Having gotten an eyeful of N'awlins nightlife, we pointed our weary dogs in the direction of the Warehouse District and headed for a well-deserved rest.

Arrival In N'awlins

2008-12-27T23:49:00.009-05:00

After a day filled with many, many miles and a variety of musical genres (everything from T.A.T.U., to Pete Shelley, to a spot of the Moody Blues), we made landfall in New Orleans around 6:30p. While the ride was uneventful, we were glad to finally see the lights of the city just to the south of I-10. A short while later we were comfortably ensconced in our home for the next three days, the Embassy Suites on Julia Street.

The hotel staff took care of the truck and our bags with cheerful efficiency and we soon made our way down to the hotel bar, where the daily Manager's "Happy Hour" was in full swing. Jasa nursed a Coke, while Wendy made short work of a couple of Long Island Iced Teas. For my measure, three bourbon and cokes were on the menu. I've heard the bartenders in this town aren't shy about the amount of spirits they dispense. I, for one, can attest to that fact.

Seeking recommendations for dinner, the hotel staff recommended Mulate's cajun restaurant, just a couple of blocks down the street. While the place was quite busy with guests, we were immediately seated. The sounds of a Zydeco band filled the establishment and a small dance floor was filled with patrons performing some sort of routine that looked like one part square dance and one part box step. The mood was festive and we wasted no time in diving into the menu with wild abandon. For appetizers we ordered Zydeco meat pies, Cajun Bodin and an item new to Mulate's menu, Zydeco bread - think thick crust pizza slices topped with cheese, andouille sausage and shrimp to get the general idea. For the main course, we ordered a variety of fish and shrimp platters. While we didn't know enough about the local cuisine to know if this was the "real deal", everything was absolutely delicious.

After dinner, Wendy chose to retire to the room while Jasa and I explored the Warehouse District, peering into closed art galleries and capturing the still-bustling city via the camera's eye.

En Route To New Orleans!

2008-12-27T10:14:00.004-05:00

Wendy, Jasa and I packed up the family truckster yesterday and hit the road, bound for the Big Easy. Going to spend a few days checking out the sights, sounds and smells of that Cajun enclave. We spent the night in Gwinnett, Georgia, a suburb of Atlanta. The room is currently filled with the sounds of Jasa screaming (overly hot water and too powerful hair dryer), alternating choruses of old TV themes and Joe Cocker ditties. Soon, God willing, we will be moving further southward. Should be in N'awlins by late evening. Excellent!

Your Sleepy-Eyed Commentator

Plan 9 From Overweight

2008-12-12T09:12:00.003-05:00

The Great Lardwell Speaks...

My friends…

You have come seeking knowledge of the future. For THAT, is where you and I will spend the rest of our lives; eating things that we should not.

CAN YOUR HEART WITHSTAND THE SHOCKING SIGHT OF A MAN WHO FELL ASLEEP WITH HIS CLOTHES ON AFTER AN EVENING OF TWO BELGIAN BEERS AND AN ORDER OF CHICKEN WINGS AT HOOTERS, ONLY TO FIND HIMSELF IN THE SAME STATE THAT VERY NEXT MORNING???!!!

My friends…

I predict that this very same sad individual will have mumbled somniloquistic somethings to his girlfriend on two separate telephone calls on that fateful evening. ARE WE DOOMED TO THE SAME FATE AS HE WHEN OUR LIPS CARESS A BOTTLE OF A FINE BELGIAN ALE??? Will WE, too, GAIN FOUR POUNDS WITHOUT EVEN TRYING????

My Friends…

This, I predict, is the fate that we face, if we fail to heed the whispered warnings from the corridors of time.

Feets, Don't Fail Me Now

2008-11-23T18:55:00.003-05:00

During the storm chasing adventure with Silver Lining Tours back in June of this year, we found ourselves just a tad too close to the debris field of a rain-wrapped tornado. I had purchased a HD vidcam just before the trip and was shooting when Roger's excited voice broke over the radio. One ruined pair of underwear and a few ounces of rubber left on Kansas blacktop later, we were clear of the approaching maelstrom.

Upon returning home, I found that my trusty Windows workstation wasn't up to the task of playing, much less editing, the footage. Thanks to the new Macbook Pro, the story can now be told...

Mothman Festival 2008

2008-09-23T00:32:00.007-04:00

What began as a local legend 40 years ago in small West Virginia town has become an annual rite of late summer.

The Seventh Annual Mothman Festival was held on Saturday, September 20 in Point Pleasant, WV; a city of approximately 4,600 located along the banks of the Ohio River. Activities included Q&A sessions with eyewitnesses to the events of that strange time, appearances by ersatz Mothpeople, games, vendors and late night hayrides into the area where many of the tales took flight.

In November 1967, numerous sightings of a mysterious flying creature dubbed, "The Mothman", occurred in and around the area of Point Pleasant. An outbreak of UFO reports was also noted in the months leading up to the first encounter with the man-sized entity with glowing red eyes.

Less than a month after the Mothman's initial appearance, tragedy struck the close knit community. On December 15, the Silver Bridge, which carried U.S. Highway 35 across the Ohio River, collapsed, killing 46 people. While the cause was later determined to be a failed suspension component, some believed the Mothman had a role to play in the disaster.

The events were the subject of a book, "The Mothman Prophecies", by paranormal researcher John Keel. The text was later adapted into a 2002 film starring Richard Gere.

These days, the Mothman keeps a low profile, preferring to make his appearance for the curious who seek him in daylight for one afternoon in September each year.

Storm Chasing / Day 6: Dust Devils And Farewells

2008-06-13T23:59:00.000-04:00

Start: Wichita, KS
End: Denver, CO
Distance: 566.5 miles

More details to follow...

Storm Chasing / Day 5: I'll Have That Change Of Underwear Now, Please

2008-06-12T23:59:00.005-04:00

Start: St. Joseph, MO
End: Wichita, KS
Distance: 571.8 miles

We awoke to a sunny morning in St. Joseph, MO; a sharp contrast to the supercells which continued to pound the area well into wee hours. The bright mood was somewhat dampened by discussion of the deaths of four Boy Scouts in the Little Sioux, MO tornado of the previous evening. Details were still trickling out from the media at a snail’s pace and no official rating of the storm had yet been assigned. Still, no measurement can quantify the suffering being felt by the family members of the dead and injured. Little did we know how close we would come to experiencing Mother Nature’s fury for ourselves over the course of the next twelve hours.

Our own hopes for seeing tornadoes were boosted by favorable predictions from the weather models and related observations. By 9:30a, our bags were loaded in the van and we clambered into our respective vehicles (our informal group moved to van #1 today) bound for Kansas. Wayne, our driver, shared some of his blog posts to WeatherNut.net, which document in great detail and smooth prose, the places and events along the Tour 6. By 10:30a, we had crossed the state line into Kansas.

The sharing of personal anecdotes and family stories kept us occupied for the next hour and a half. Given the slightly twisted sense of humor present in the group, the conversation inevitably turned to the comical names of the convenience stores spotted along the way: Loaf & Jug, Kum & Go (not a joke), Whoa & Go. Thrown into the mix were our own versions…

Roger’s first weather update crackled over the radio at 11:50a. Things were shaping up to be very active in the late afternoon. Pulling into a mall in Topeka, KS we grabbed a relatively leisurely lunch in the food court, followed by a later layover in the parking lot of the Burger King in El Dorado. It was here that the four members of our party (Andrew, Barbara, Diane, & Melinda) with upcoming birthdays were feted with Burger King crowns and a photo session.

Back in the vans, the chase was on! Supercells began popping up in a line near Elmdale, KS. We pulled off a dirt road to take in a powerful storm, with an almost textbook perfect structure. Also well defined was the lightning which accompanied this particular disturbance. Our photo-snapping reverie was shattered by a sizzle directly overhead, as a powerful bolt of lightning ripped through the sky. I can’t say that I’ve ever heard such a unnerving sound. It was as if an electrical field was playing all around us. “Stay out here at your own risk”, Roger advised, as he dismounted his camera from the tripod. We wasted little time in beating a hasty retreat to the relative safety of the vans, where we continued to watch the storm for a few more minutes. Bands of rain sent us on our way to punch the core of the storm in search of hail. A fitful spurt of golf ball sized stones was our only reward for the effort, so we turned back to the interstate to find our fortunes elsewhere.

It was just south of the town of Cottonwood Falls, KS that we hit paydirt - or , perhaps better, the paydirt almost hit us. Spotters and other chasers were perched at the ready along the few turnoffs outside of town. Roger had detected an area of rotation in the current storm and in short order, we had found our own vantage point. Out of the van once more, the sound of wind was mixed with the click of camera shutters and muted, but nonetheless excited, conversation. While there was definite rotation, any tornado was likely to be hidden by the band of rain and hail which wrapped around the HP beast. Given the uncertain nature of what we were watching, we were herded back into the vans. We continued to watch the bands of rain, circling ever more quickly around the storm. I had panned my video camera from the red-smeared radar displayed on the PC mounted in the front to the side window, when all hell broke loose.

Suddenly, the radio sprang to life, “Get the hell out of here! There’s a tornado coming right at us!” The urgency in Roger’s voice was unmistakable. “Debris falling! Debris falling! We've gotta book!" “I don't see it, Roger.”, Wayne calmly replied to no one in particular as his eyes scanned the landscape. “Seatbelts, everbody! NOW!”, Andrew ordered as he slammed the vehicle into reverse. Video gear was cast aside as everyone scrambled to grab their restraints. "Jesus H.Christ!”, I swore in a less than reverant manner while attempting to free my own belt from the stubborn retractor and a leaning suitcase. Andrew floored the accelerator upon reaching the pavement and we sped on the heels of van #1 in a southerly direction. Racing down the narrow rain-slicked two lane at speeds approaching 78 MPH, we continued away from the path of the twister for two, maybe three miles, before pulling to the side of the road.

Thinking that assistance might be required in the stricken town, Roger directed the drivers to turn the vans back to the north. After a mile or so, he thought better of the idea and we resumed our trek to the south in search of other storms. As we later learned, a tornado was confirmed, with video from a spotter featured on the Weather Channel. While the cyclone spared Cottonwood Falls proper, it did inflict damage on a couple of farmhouses outside of town. Thankfully, no injuries or fatalities were reported.

It wasn’t long before we found an even more impressive storm system in the town of Mayfield Green. Cameras were unloaded while the group shared their experiences from the narrow escape. Nightfall was rapidly approaching and with the exception of those with tripods or very steady hands, great photos were at a premium. Surprisingly, point and shoot cameras delivered images at least as good as the digital SLRs in our group. The lightning show was the most impressive yet on the tour, with streaks of energy backlighting the inflow bands. Other chasers soon arrived on the scene and began recording the event.

“There’s a tornado. Right there.”, Derrick pointed out to Roger as he took time-lapse still images. While we didn’t realize it at the time, he was absolutely right. Upon later review, Roger found the twister in a single image. A nice wedge, behind and just to the left of a farmhouse on the horizon. Probably five miles or so distant, but a tornado nonetheless. We had earned our steaks after all.

After a final stop down the road for yet another spectacular atmospheric light show, we made the comparatively short drive back to Topeka, reaching the local Holiday Inn around 11:30p. Upper-level storms were still rolling through the area, delivering a short-lived downpour as we pulled into the parking lot. While the hotel’s restaurant was closed, the night clerk informed us that Chicago’s, a sports bar just down the street, stayed open until two. With the exception of Peter and Diana, the occupants of van #2, adjouned to the aforementioned establishment for a few rounds of brew (Fat Tire on draft – WooHoo!!!), birthday toasts and general merriment. By the time last call arrived, we were ready to make our way back to the hotel.

I spent the next hour or so downloading photos, uploading GPS tracks and firing an e-mail reply to Wendy’s latest missive. The gentle wheeze of my CPAP was occasionally drowned out by the crack of thunder as I finally turned my brain cells to the business of sleep. A great end to the best day of this whirlwind (sorry, I couldn’t resist) vacation.

Storm Chasing / Day 4: Tragedy In Little Sioux

2008-06-11T23:59:00.000-04:00

Start: Chamberlain, SD
End: St. Joseph, MO
Distance: 692.6 miles

Today we locked in on a set of supercells near Sioux City, IA. Rotation was apparent and a few funnel clouds were spotted, though none touched down during our observation. Unfortunately, one of the storms we were following did put down a tornado in the community of Little Sioux, through which we had passed perhaps 15 minutes before. Roger estimated that we were less than five miles from the tornado when it did strike. Being a rain wrapped cyclone, the Boy Scout campground where it touched down never had a chance. Recent reports indicate that four persons were killed and 40 were injured.

Shortly after this storm struck, we ran into the 80+ MPH rear flank downdraft of an adjacent HP supercell, which battered the van and brought us to a standstill while we dealt with whiteout conditions from rain and hail.

We take photographs, but these things take lives. A sobering reminder of how deadly serious this business can be.

Storm Chasing / Day 3: There's Always Room For Jell-O

2008-06-10T23:59:00.001-04:00

Start: North Platte, NE
End: Chamberlain, SD
Distance: 715.4 miles

Another long distance, late arrival, short posting day. Two storm systems, one in central Kansas and one in western South Dakota, looked promising. Bet on the SD option and did encounter an HP supercell with attendant tornado watches along the I-90 corridor between Sturgis and Rapid City. Bounced between those locales and points in between MANY times, incorrectly timing snacks and dinner time in the process. The whole dining "experience" became a running joke in Van #2 (aptly numbered, considering the subject matter of the joviality), which helped to diminish our disappointment at missing the major hail producing portion of the storm. We did manage to catch a few minutes of ping pong ball-sized hail before the system moved out.

On the plus side, we worked in a trip to the famous Wall Drug in, naturally, Wall, SD. Then it was on to Sturgis, where we spent the better part of a hour browsing the offerings at the Harley-Davidson store. Well, when in Rome...

Storm Chasing / Day 2: Clear Skies And Many Miles

2008-06-09T23:59:00.002-04:00

Start: Weatherford, OK
End: North Platte, NE
Distance: 508.5 miles

Weather clear. No severe storms. Used today as a travel day to set us up for some supercell potential in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Getting in too late to post any details. Hopefully will get some time tomorrow night to catch up.

Storm Chasing / Day 1: Burgers, Hail and Supercells

2008-06-09T00:39:00.010-04:00

Start: Denver, CO
End: Weatherford, OK
Distance: 795.6 miles
Link To Photos

We awoke to a cool and rainy Denver morning, a bit unusual for this time of year, according to Roger. After a quick rundown on what we would be tracking during the day, we hopped into the vans and left town around 7:45a.

Exhaustion demands brevity in the entry for this evening. 12+ hours of seat time in a 15 passenger van is taxing both mentally and physically. While we did not encounter a tornado during today's journey, there were some hairy moments in a supercell thunderstorm near Pampa, TX. Doppler radar was showing a good deal of rotation in the storm which was pumping out 50+ MPH winds and driving a hail/rain mix to the point that we could not see the other van in front of us. It was at this point that Roger sent us a rather ominous message via radio. "Keep an eye out for power line flashes. We may be within five miles of a rain-wrapped tornado." or something to that effect. I managed to capture the whole sequence on video, but alas, either my laptop has decided to take a nap or perhaps pulling anything down from a Canon HF-10 vidcam via USB is a exercise in futility.

Besides the atmospheric effects, which included a dramatic lightning show as we drove to Weatherford, we were treated to a collection of small prairie towns with names like Hugo (Home of World Champion Bullrider Kid Flecher), Campo (where an overeager sherriff gives tickets for 1 MPH over the speed limit) and the painfully named Dumas, TX, which features the "Museum of the Plains". A sign out front proudly proclaims, "Tourists Welcome". Well, I can't imagine that anyone else would be beating down the doors, but tourists. Guess the town might have been aptly named, after all.

Storm Chasing / Day 0: Does This Seat Make Me Look Fat?

2008-06-08T00:52:00.008-04:00

The early morning air still had that "wet blanket" quality so well known in the Southeastern United States as I lugged my modest quantity of luggage out to the truck. Probably the lightest I've ever packed for a week, but I decided to take the admonitions about excess baggage to heart after reading the information provided by Silver Lining Tours. Still, my trusty backpack contained enough electronic equipment to make the NSA jealous. Boys and their toys, I suppose.

Speaking of the Feds, I had the august pleasure of being given the "Full Monte" at the Greensboro TSA checkpoint; an experience made all the more enjoyable by the moist, stagnant air that seemed to pervade that section of the terminal. I'm not sure if it was the skirt, random luck or the contents of my backpack which granted me a front row seat at the pat down follies, but in short order, I was on my way to the gate.

Dunkin Donuts might have a reputation for good coffee, I can't say for sure. I will state that the brew being served in the food court smelled as though it could have run for office and beat the stuffing out of the competition. The talking heads on CNN were all a-buzz with talk of Hillary Clinton's decision to bow out of the Democratic Presidential campaign. That and wondering just how high gas prices will go with the advent of $139 barrels of oil. Tell you what, how about just turning off that TV, thanks. I think I'd rather crawl back to my Hummer and wait for the end to come.

For the time being, travel by air, still equates to a bargain as opposed to covering the same distance by car (or preferably a VW bus). There is the comfort factor to consider, however, and when you happen to be as gravitationally challenged as yours truly, a little comfort can offset a lot of gas pumps. United Airlines offers what is known as "Economy Plus" seating. After being offered the upsell ($40) when checking-in online last night, I did a bit of research into what you get for the plus. Apparently, United's regular economy seating is slightly shorter in the legroom department than most other airlines. This gives them the chance to offer seats rows which are spaced a little further apart (maybe 5 inches) in the Plus section. In any event, I took the bait and was glad that I did.

Legroom is only one factor in the comfort game. There is the "butt-room" angle, as well. On United's 737s, you had better hope that the Plus, doesn't extend to your derriere. If the young lady described by Flo Rida in the song "Low" ever decided to fly in the Economy Plus section, there would be no slapping of the booty. In fact, shawty would probably need the jaws of life get her Apple Bottom-enshrined tailfeathers out of the seat.

After a quick jaunt down Concourse C in Chicago, I was on board a 767 for the last leg of the trip to Denver. In the larger aircraft, Economy Plus really was worth the money, as I plopped without need of a shoehorn into my assigned seat. Flipping through the in-flight entertainment guide, I noted the offering on Audio Channel 0, "The Quiet Channel". This is a channel that provides, you guessed it, silence, much like a set of noise-reduction headphones. The strange thing is, it is only offered in First and Business Class. Apparently, the loud, stinking masses crammed into the Economy (it really sounds better than "Coach", doesn't it), have no need for peace and quiet.

My seatmate, a woman of 20-odd years, alternated between fitful attempts at sleep and turning pages in "The Other Boleyn Girl". Giving up on my copy of "Reason" magazine, I began flipping though the Duty Free catalog. "Flipping" is a bit of a stretch since the pages, laden with winsome beauties hawking the latest fragrances, were stuck together. I sincerely hoped it was the result of a spilled drink as I returned the book back to the seat pocket.

After landing at DIA, it was a fairly quick trip via hotel shuttle to the Red Lion Denver Central. Comfortable enough for what looked like a remodeled 1980s vintage Holiday Inn. The rest of the afternoon was spent seeking out lunch at the nearby shopping center and catching a few hours of shuteye.

At 7pm, the members of Tour 6, met in one of hotel's conference rooms for the orientation briefing. The discussion was led by Roger Hill, co-owner of Silver Lining Tours and a candidate, to hear him tell it, for the Guinness Book of World Records as a result of seeing over 300 tornadoes in the field. His enthusiasm for storm chasing was readily apparent as he introduced himself to the group. There was the obligatory round of "Hi, I'm Joe Smith from Saginaw, Michigan" before getting down to business with the logistics of the tour; the most important of which, involves finding peace and harmony with one's bladder.

Chase days are classified by a simple color system. Green days are issued for periods of little mesoscale activity within driving range. Such days might be used for driving to locations at which activity is expected in the next 48 hours or sightseeing might be the rule. When conditions seem "right" for storm activity, the Yellow day is called. Here's where the mastery of one's internal plumbing begins to factor in. When rushing to get to Point B, it is very inconvenient to have to make pit stops every hour or so. Roger related a couple of stories of promising storm chases ruined by the overconsumption of beverages. Bathroom breaks on these days are sort of catch-as-catch-can. Then comes the Red day, when supercell thunderstorms and attendant tornadoes are materializing. Here, the "drink little after lunch" rule applies and it is not unusual for the menfolk and the ladies to line up on opposite sides of the vans to make their peace offerings.

Tomorrow looks like a Yellow day. We have 8 hours of driving to put us into Central Kansas by 3pm. Think I'll skip that morning Coke.

Thunder Road

2008-05-25T21:34:00.030-04:00

Roadtrip I - NC/GA/SC

And there was thunder, thunder over Thunder Road
Thunder was his engine, and white lightning was his load
There was moonshine, moonshine to quench the Devil’s thirst
The law they swore they'd get him, but the Devil got him first.

Somewhere along the road to Florida or Myrtle Beach or any of the other family vacation destinations of my childhood, I would wait for my dad to launch into those Robert Mitchum-penned lyrics with abandon. Usually, the precipitating event, pardon the pun, was a thunderstorm or other deluge from the heavens. Maw, owing to her better eyesight, would navigate the car through the storm while dad, much to her dismay, would get his money's worth out of the tune. After a few bars, she would have had enough and put the kibosh on his musical quest. A beat later, I would pick up where he left off. Well, you know how kids are. They repeat EVERYTHING...

Today is the 16th anniversary of my dad's passing, which was the indirect result of the brain tumor that had been his albatross for some 35 years prior. When first diagnosed in 1957, the physicians gave him 5 years at best. Surgical removal was not an option then. I'm not even sure if it is now. Radiation was the only alternative. After treatment, he received a medical discharge from the Air Force and began a career with the Post Office. Retiring from his position as a Station Manager (and occasional Postmaster) in Winston-Salem in 1987, there was little doubt that his will to live was much stronger than the predictions of the medical community.

Granted, there were a lot of nights spent pacing the floors at Duke University Medical Center over the years in between as the tumor made its presence known. Through it all, however, dad maintained a sense of humor, cutting up with the medical staff and joking about his newly-shaven head. Because I had seen him come through so many of these surgeries, I thought little about the last one in 1992; a relatively minor procedure to drain the tumor. He emerged from the operating theater as he had so many times before - swollen and disoriented, but already on the road to recovery.

Two weeks later found dad back at home, recuperating as expected. I had tentatively made plans to go with the Q's and David to the beach for Memorial Day, but was waiting to see how things went before committing. "Go. I'm fine. Get out of here.", my dad said as I checked on him one afternoon after work. I told him that I loved him and left his bedroom with a "Bye", not knowing that those were the last words that I would ever speak to him.

A couple of days later, I was rousted from a fitful sleep by a knock on the door of our trailer at Barefoot Landing Campground in Myrtle Beach. My eyes adjusted almost instantaneously to the bright morning sun as they took in the figure of a SC Highway Patrolman standing outside. After asking me my name, he notified me that there was a "family emergency". My blood ran cold as I hurried to the nearest payphone. My father had succumbed, not to the brain tumor, but a hemorrhage, most likely a result of the final operation.

As I write this, I'm still amazed at how all of the old emotions come flowing back. The lump in the throat, the tears, for sure, but also the memories of those highway sing-a-longs. As I guided Ganesh along a winding road to the ersatz German burg of Helen, Georgia this afternoon, those old lyrics came to mind. I sang them (badly), but with enough gusto for dad to hear; later raising a tall glass of dark German lager in his honor.

Dad, wherever you are on Thunder Road, I miss you!

Late Night Theology

2008-05-20T00:22:00.018-04:00

After viewing "For The Bible Tells Me So", Wendy and I exchanged emails on the topic of homosexuality and the Word of God. She is a fairly devout Lutheran (or perhaps very devout - who am I to judge?), while I see myself as a former Baptist turned agnostic (but, still seeking). Still our views on this subject are pretty much the same. When it comes to the topic of the Bible and faith in general, however, our viewpoints are much more divergent:

Once again, I can't argue with you, my dear. I've just spent the past hour and a half reading studies of the story of Sodom from both sides of the fence. At the end of the day, it all seems to boil down to what you believe certain words and passages to mean. For many (most?) of the early Jewish rabbis, Sodom was punished for following the strict letter of the law, which required townspeople to provide hospitality to guests. If someone who was poor came to the city, they would give them gold bars, but no food. When their guest died of starvation, they would take the gold bars back - that sort of thing.

That the men of Sodom (all men, according to Genesis), wanted to have sex with the two travelers who were staying with Lot, seems to be agreed upon by most. But what was their motive? It is hard to believe that ALL of the men of Sodom (young and old) were homosexuals. That would have made it hard for the young to be there in the first place. Also, why would Lot have offered his two daughters in exchange, if he knew that the menfolk wanted male flesh? So is it that homosexuality (an attraction for someone of the same sex) is ok, but acting upon it in a sexual manner is not?

Apparently, Ezekiel also notes that the sin of Sodom was a lack of hospitality in addition to other unnamed atrocities. Other Bible passages speak of the men of Sodom going after "strange flesh". Was this sex with those of the same sex or sex with angels (the "Sons of God")?

Just when we think we might think that homosexuality is kosher, Leviticus 18:22 states:

"You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; such a thing is an abomination."

Are we speaking of non-loving/non-consensual same-sex relationships or all such relationships? Which rules apply to us? Case in point, we have guidelines about how to build a house in Deuteronomy:

"When you build a new house, put a parapet around the roof; otherwise, if someone falls off, you will bring bloodguilt upon your house.

My house does not have a parapet. Am I in trouble? And my favorite:

"A woman shall not wear an article proper to a man, nor shall a man put on a woman's dress; for anyone who does such things is an abomination to the LORD, your God."

Well, maybe that doesn't apply, since I'm (was) Baptist, not Jewish. Some folks, such as Phyllis and my mother, would say that Jesus' sacrifice did away with our need to be slavishly responsible for each and every tenet of Jewish (Old Testament) law. But, Jesus himself said:

"Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. I tell you the truth, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. Anyone who breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven."

Now, of course, the Pharisees were the classic example of those who know the Bible explicitly, but don't do a terribly good job of seeing the "big picture". They were all about not working on the Sabbath, judging others, etc. Sound familiar? As Jesus states:

"Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it. Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets."

You said that some who take the Bible very literally, take the pieces/parts that they want to use to prove a point. I agree, especially since I've done that very thing in this email. That's probably my biggest problem with the Bible - the fact that it can be used to support just about any position that you need. That and the fact that you can find scholars who have studied the Bible for years and have arrived with total different perceptions. What hope does the average Christian who opens a Bible once on Sunday have to "get things right"? Yes, there is that thing called "faith" again. But is faith enough? Do you need to sprinkle a few good works in there, too? Perhaps if you're saved/chosen/redeemed/etc. you will automatically do what is right, without worrying about all of the details. Maybe.

Granted, any book that is as old as the Bible is likely to be distorted over time, but this just makes it less credible as a source for a defense of faith, in my opinion. Some Christians will argue that it is the very fact that the Bible is still the most popular book in the world after 2,000+ years that proves its authenticity as the Word of God. I have to wonder who we would be worshipping had Constantine not endorsed the Council of Nicaea. Mithra? Allah?

EveryBus X

2008-04-19T18:55:00.013-04:00

Click Here For EveryBus X Gallery
Dinner’s done for everyone except the ants which have laid siege to Ganesh. Despite the best efforts of Raid (aerosol and bait traps), the little buggers continue tirelessly in their search for comestibles. Similarly, the revelers at EveryBus X continue to persevere in spite of the bands of rain which have made a slight dent in the otherwise perfect weather this weekend.

For those immune to the insidious virus known as VW Bus Ownership, Everybus is an annual gathering of afflicted individuals in Hagan Stone Park, a 700+ acre county park just south of Greensboro, NC. Taking a stroll around the campground loop is like walking through an automotive museum. VW buses (officially known as Transporters) of every era are in abundance. Fully restored “splitties”, the split window version so commonly associated with the 60s generation, are parked in haphazard fashion beside of their not-so-restored stablemates. More common are the 70s variants, known as “bay windows” for their single-pane large windshield. Ganesh, my 1972 Adventurewagen, is one such beast. More refined are the accommodations afforded by the 80s contingent, represented by Westfalia Vanagons of various colors and conditions.

While most of the buses are camper conversions of one sort or another (and there were MANY companies who threw their hats into this collective ring), there are a few standard passenger buses, such as the lime green bay owned by my next door neighbor Berry. She is making her Everybus debut and, indeed, her first outdoor camping experience, with her daughter, Cory and friend Claire, in tow. The two teens have been a constant source of amusement as they cope with an invasion of caterpillars into their tent, the wanderings of Annie – the one-eyed Shih Tzu and the never-ending search for one toiletry/bath item or another.

On the other side of the “yard” is Zoo, a gentleman of 50+ years (a guess) who apparently is a regular to this event. He spent a portion of this morning recovering from the previous evening’s libations, which consisted of a fair amount of Tequila. Like just about everyone here, Zoo, who gained his name from his place of employment, is a convivial sort quite happy to strike up a conversation with a newbie.

Friendliness seems to abound in this little enclave dedicated to VW buses, the Grateful Dead and Tie Dye everything. I’ve stopped by several camps to ask owners about their particular vehicles, inquiring about such things as solar panels, camper interiors, paint jobs, etc. The only strange vibe I picked up was from a guy a few doors down who owned a later model Adventurewagen. When I appeared at his window to ask about his bus he acted a bit like I had DEA tattooed on my forehead. He was polite enough, but I just had this feeling that he was about to engage in something that his mother would not have approved of…

As far as illicit substances go, I have not witnessed anyone partaking, although it would be the height of naiveté to think that such an eclectic crowd was entirely populated with straight edge types. Officially, even alcoholic beverages are verboten at the park, but the “Red Cup” rule is considered sufficient deference to “the man”.

Cory and Claire just stopped by to chat. Her phone was charging in Ganesh’s overloaded electrical outlet when it began ringing. Josh, her boyfriend, had apparently bumped the call button on his phone while bussing tables at work. A cacophony of unidentifiable background noise was the only thing which greeted her attempts to get his attention. Now back to our regularly scheduled program…

“A beer in the hand is worth two in the fridge”, reads the cap on my bottle Magic Hat Circus Boy Hefeweizen. In this case, the fridge happens to be within arm’s reach of my seating position. While large motorhomes, which until the advent of $4.00 per gallon gas, were all the rage with the retiree set, have several legs up in the creature comfort department, the lowly VW camper features a coziness that cannot be duplicated. Granted, this quality was difficult to appreciate this morning when Wendy and I attempted to extricate ourselves from the sleeping quarters.

After some contortions, we managed to tackle the affairs of the morning. Wendy’s arthritic flare up due to the barometric change did her no favors, but in fairly short order we managed to whip up a pot of coffee and some freeze-dried eggs. She enjoyed an even greater protein intake when she chomped down on a Pop-Tart which had recent been claimed by the aforementioned ants. Ah, life in the wild…

That was hours ago. Now, darkness has settled upon Hagan Stone. From somewhere the sound of an acoustic guitar drifts in. In other quarters, the general bustle of items being stowed away in preparation for further rain takes center stage. A few tents away, Zoo’s rendition of “Plastic Jesus” is accompanied by the purr of an ancient air cooled powerplant.

Life IS good.

In The Wilds Of Stoneville

2008-03-22T08:47:00.009-04:00

The sun is shining, the birds are singing and I am freezing - morning springs anew at Dan River Campground in Stoneville, NC. Definitely a place for getting away from it all. The owner even gave me a slight admonishment to keep the speed down in the campground (I was running 15 and the speed limit is 10). Believe me, if you get caught speeding in a VW bus, you have really done something special.

Numerous 5th wheels, motorhomes and the like await their owners to return once spring settles in for good. While there are a few hardy souls spending at least a portion of Easter weekend here, it is mostly deserted. I decided to make this trip as something of a shakedown for Ganesh; considering that at some point I want to take the Big Blue Bus for an extended roadtrip. So far, so good.

The fridge has kept things nice and cold. The sleeping arrangements were quite satifactory and the engine has been running strong. I haven't dared to fire up the propane stove, yet; preferring to wait until the prospect of forest fires due to exploding microbuses has ebbed a bit.

The neighbors are mostly retired boomers by the looks of things. Most everyone has kept to themselves; at most offering a wave and a "Hello!" while walking down the gravel drives. The gentleman next door, however, will get points for the "Weird Guy Of The Year" competition. I mulled over his rituals while carving into a campfired steak and turning pages in "The Wishing Well"; a Doctor Who novel (what else?) When he arrived last night, he sat in his truck for the better part of a half an hour before trading the comforts of the front seat for his proper lodgings. Later on, he returned to his truck and repeated the ceremony before driving the 300 feet to the bathhouse. Once there, he, you guessed it, waited about 15 minutes, then went inside. Once he took care of business, there was another round of front seat meditation before driving back to his trailer.

I could understand an elderly gentleman not feeling up to making the trek to shake the dew off of the lilly, but this guy looks to be my age. Guess he just likes going out into the wilds of Stoneville to partake of his rich, Corinthian leather.

Katzenwagen!

2008-03-20T23:43:00.007-04:00

Sometimes, despite your best intentions, things don't quite work out like you expect...

For once I was going to be on time for something. No, I was going to be EARLY. Although I wasn't looking forward to three hours of education on the proper ways of eating (thanks to my physician), I had successfully navigated Ganesh through rush hour traffic and a stiff crosswind; making good time in the process. With only a couple of miles to go, there was nothing to do, but sit through umpteen PowerPoint slides extolling the virtues of portion control.

The Lizard King was wrapping up "Roadhouse Blues" on the iPod when I felt something brush by my leg. A stray piece of trash picked up by the drafts which are part and parcel of a 36-year-old bus, nothing more. Keeping my eyes on the approaching offramp, I reached down to scoop up the offender. I expected paper...I got fur. My focus quickly turned to the floorboard and the large orange cat looking up at me with a rather bewildered air. Not panicked, as most felines are in moving vehicles. Disdainfully curious, I guess you'd call it.

Deep within his cerebellum, somewhere between the impulse to eat and the need to stick his nose into anything that his butt would fit into, Morris sensed something was wrong...VERY wrong. The normally quiet confines of his occasional sleeping quarters had been turned into a roaring, vibrating (and drafty) place indeed.

Some days it just doesn't pay to be a cat.

Recovering from my initial shock, I burst into a fit of laughter. Who cares if I'm late for class? That would be nothing new. Besides, how often to you get to ride around town with a big orange cat in a 1972 VW bus? Thoroughly flummoxed by the turn of events and my reaction, Morris curled up in the aisle between the front seats and waited for the show to be over.

As I turned the bus around and headed for home, the haunting sound of Poe filled the cabin...

"Hey pretty, do you want to take a ride with me..."

No. Definitely not. Just fill the water bowl, feed me and empty the litter box.

Rock On!

2008-03-06T00:38:00.005-05:00

I always make a habit of christening each new vehicle of mine with a special song. Usually, I choose something from my all-time favorite band - The Dixie Dregs. With the arrival of Ganesh, the Big Blue Bus into my stable, I had another opportunity to engage in this little ritual.

This time, however, the band was Def Leppard and the song was the first single from their soon-to-be-released album, "Songs From The Sparkle Lounge". The track is named "Nine Lives" and it POSITIVELY ROCKS! Check it out.

Turn Back!

2007-12-30T20:37:00.000-05:00

As you've probably noticed, I've moved the "Escape" date back until February 29. No, not cold feet, although I must confess not taking the Appalachian Trail route as a first step has thrown my planning and direction into complete chaos. With that comes a certain wariness and a lot of second guessing.

The reason for the delay is that Wendy needs a bit more TLC before she's ready for the rigors of a 6-month or so road trip to God knows where. At the moment, I've pulled out all of the windows and am in the process of repairing seals, rust, etc.

Soon. Soon....

Wendy The Westy - Part 1

2007-11-25T10:21:00.001-05:00

So, here's Wendy. She's a 1966 Volkswagen Camper. For the purist, the official designation would be Volkswagen Type 2 Kombi with SO-42 Westfalia camper conversion. Wendy started out life on May 25, 1966 as chassis number 236160780 at the VW factory in Hanover, West Germany. Shortly thereafter, she was delivered to Westfalia-Werke to have the camper equipment installed. Cabinets were added. A hole was cut in the roof for the pop-top. Grey linoleum was laid down in the cargo/living area and birch paneling was applied to the walls and roof. The final step was to place the keys in the hands of some lucky owner.

VW had a number of destinations to which the final product could be delivered. One such port of call was known as the Tourist Delivery Program. Taking this route, the purchaser would book passage on the airline of their choice, bound for any number of European cities, to take delivery of their new vehicle. Buses were usually picked up in Hanover, but other arrangements could be made. The owner(s) would then spend the next several days, weeks or months traveling Europe via their new set of wheels. Once the holiday was through, they could either opt to sell the vehicle in Europe or for a couple of hundred bucks, have it shipped back home.

Wendy was designated as a USA Tourist Delivery model. She was built to US safety specs with left-hand drive. As to what adventures her owners encountered while traveling Europe, I can't imagine. Unfortunately, the trail goes cold after she left the factory on June 30, 1966.

Fast forward to 1998, when a certain road-weary camper turned up in the hands of a VW aficionado in Maryland. Wendy wore her age like Maggie Mae from the old Rod Stewart song. Rust in all of the usual places. While everything was pretty much intact, bondo patches testified to at least one rear-end incursion and one or more similar events in the front. Peeling paint and an rebuilt engine that had been pulled from another VW of some ilk completed the list.

The new owner had purchased Wendy for the princely sum of $700 from a gentleman who had acquired the bus as part of a settlement for "debts owed" and had little need of a 32 year-old camper. For about five months, the new owner's determination was strong, then he came across a camper in slightly better shape and decided that his restoration funds would be better spent on the new arrival. Wendy sat for a few months while waiting for a new owner. When she didn't get any immediate offers, the decision was made to "part out" the bus. The camper interior was sold. Then the seats and jalousie windows made their way to another bus in need, along with the interior paneling. Lastly the bumpers and speedometer found new homes. Wendy was pretty much a metal shell with an engine.

In 1999, the bus came to the attention of another VW fan from North Carolina who had exchanged several emails with the Maryland contingent on a Volkswagen listserv. He and his wife made the trek to Maryland and purchased the bus on the spot. It was during the trip back to North Carolina that she was dubbed "Wendy", since without windows, she provided a very "windy" ride indeed.

Over the next several years, many of the items that had been sold off were replaced by the couple from NC. Wendy was a camper once again, making trips to Phish concerts and the like up and down the Eastern Seaboard. During one such trip, her owners where denied entry into Canada since VW buses seem to be as much a part of drug paraphenalia as bongs and rolling papers.

In 2004, Wendy's owners were in the midst of a career change and could no longer justify putting money into the bus. In July of that year, she was listed on eBay where she caught my eye. I had wanted an old VW bus for as long as I could remember (sometimes I think I was born 20 years too late), so I made a bid just to see what would happen. Then came the final day of bidding. I was sitting at my desk at work, pretending to be about the company's business, all the while watching the price go up, up , up. At the last, I submitted an offer for $1750 which stuck. I was now the proud owner of a nearly 40 year-old rustwagon.

Wendy (my girlfriend, not the bus) and I made the trip to Durham, NC on a sweltering July afternoon to take delivery. Upon arrival we were greeted by a bus with a few layers of peeling white paint and a floorboard which had been reconstructed with roofing tar and pieces of sheet metal. Fairly common condition for buses, actually. We chatted with the previous owner for awhile and completed the necessary paperwork. Finally, we were off to the license plate office to get tags for the ride back to Winston-Salem.

Everything seemed to be going fine until I tried to back the bus out of the parking space at the license plate agency. I couldn't find reverse. The heat, which was stifling in the metal sweatbox, didn't help matters as I cursed with each failed attempt to find a solution. Wendy made several offers to help since she had driven a VW before, but male hard-headedness took control of my sense of hearing. I would have none of it. Of course, I knew the best way to handle the situation (yeah, right). Finally, I asked Wendy to hop behind the wheel while I pushed the bus out of the parking space. We made another stop at an Eckerd Drug Store to grab some cold drinks to replace the gallon or so of fluids lost in the Quest for Reverse. When I returned to the bus, Wendy proudly showed me how to get the bus in reverse. Show off!

The trip back to Winston was fairly uneventful given that a steady stream of rain tested Wendy's underperforming windshield wipers and sudden gusts of wind from passing semis threatened to blow the camper off of the road. Once home, I began firing off messages to various VW websites in the hopes of learning more about the ins and outs of old buses. I spent an afternoon pulling out the camping interior to get an idea of what I was working with. Rust, naturally, made its appearance in more places than I could count. Before I could start any sort of minor cosmetic work, I needed someone to perform a bit of magic with an arc welder.

That's when I met a gentleman who called himself Metalwizard...