On the Road as a Survivalist

She bugs me when I pack for a trip. Always, it's with the, "Really, do we need a thousand rounds of ammunition? Why do you need a coil of rope. What's with the small ax? Really, two jugs of water...."

And on, and on. But in reality she'd never climb into our SUV without all 'my stuff.' Smart lady I married.

I'm an old time survivalist. Been whacking away at this weird extreme hobby since before many of you were born. I'm a Mel Tappan kind of guy. As such I tend to over plan. If travel arraignments require a drive of over two hours I lean heavily on the side of safety.

For instance...I travel with three firearms, four if you count the wife's carry piece, all chambered for the same ammunition. This trip it's nine millimeter. My folding critter getter and two sidearms. Commonality of caliber is important.

I also pack both of our 'get home bags,' and a small and very light backpack tent with room for two. Two gallons of water, and of course, our med kit. Just makes sense to me. Hey, you never know when the critters will attack.

Our drive consist of hours along wilderness two lane highways, and cell signals, even in the best of conditions, are erratic to none existent. Vehicle breakdowns, are very bad. Lord forbid Allah decides an EMP attack should take place while I'm out of town.

We stay (vacation) on an island situated in the Gulf of Mexico. Storms, love this place. Just last evening we had winds exceeding forty knots. Power, kaput. This year I made changes to my gear requirements.

I brought along a new piece of equipment.

It a small lightweight folding solar panel by GoalZero. This isn't a paid endorsement so Google it. Anyway, mine is the Nomad 7. I also purchased a companion piece, the 'Switch 8 portable recharger. I highly recommend the set. With the Nomad one is able to charge cellphones, laptops, Kindle readers and those silly little pads, and it'll give your laptop a fifty percent boost. Not bad.

If you want portable recharge power one simply connects the Switch 8 to the Nomad. After the Switch is powered to capacity one is able to pack it separately for a quick portable power boost to your cell phone or pad. Neat.

I took both of these pictures this morning.  Above, note the shadow...well that's me blocking the sunlight...sigh.

Give it a try. The set is very affordable.

Stephen

   

Contentment

We've arrived. It's hot and humid with just a slight breeze from the Gulf. I've several good books, the cell signal is spotty, and as I write, a thunderstorm brews offshore. I'm content.

As is the cat...

Later. Maybe.

Stephen

Standing By to Stand By

I've made at least five different lists of items I need to load in our car.  I bet about half way to the Gulf I'll slap my forehead, sure to have forgotten, something.

Our vacation begins tomorrow. A week of rest and good food and books await. I might even wet a line. Then again why let a little fish interrupt a nice nap.

Now if you'll excuse me I have gear to load.

Stephen

I Tried My Best

It took him a good ten minutes to exit his car and walk the five or six feet to the shop's front door. He'd left his walker in the car. Pride. I've seen it a hundred times over the last thirty-one years of business.

The old man is bent, gray and likes battered fedora hats and blue shirts and smells like pipe tobacco, kinda brambly. He's tanned and wears a weary face full of creases and smile lines. His sharp blue eyes hold a minefield of trapped intelligence. I like and respect him. The old man's name is Lem.

I had the air set at meat locker and the smell of coffee was rich and thick when he finally achieved entrance. "Hey, Stephen."

"Morning, Lem. What's up?" He propped on his cane and pointed at one of the chairs and I came around and we both sat. I asked if he'd like a cup and when he was settled comfortably and had exchanged recent family news he went into silent mode. I went about my business and waited.

After a few minutes I stepped back into my office and jerked another cup of coffee. I heard, "Stephen."

"Yes, Sir."

Back on the floor I took a seat. "Ah, listen. I've got this old shotgun that belonged to my father. It isn't much. Just an old sixteen gauge and I haven't shot it in years cause the firing pin is broke. I think."

"No big deal, Lem. If we can't find a replacement I'm sure a nail would work." He smiled.

As we chatted about his fathers shotgun I noticed his eyes well and tears slowly slide down his face. He'd turned his head aside but tears are very hard to hide. I switched gears, "I bet you've run many different firearms in your life."

"Yeah, a few."

"What was your favorite?"

His attention had turned to the street scene. I waited as we listened to the traffic, the background music, and our hearts. I took in his old weather beaten hands with their liver spots and the rough worn cuff of his blue shirt. I noticed he hadn't worn his sweater vest - a standard with Lem. He'd complained about my air's temperature so often I'd lost count.

Finally, "Oh, I guess my favorite was the twenty millimeter cannon. I fired many a round at those Jap planes."

"Hit many?"

He turned and locked his blue eyes on me and said, "I tried my best."

He then reached and gave me his empty cup and asked for a refill. When I returned his face was soaked in tears.

"Lem, what's wrong?"

"I had to put her in the nursing home. I had to." I sat my cup on the table and placed my arm around his shoulders, and waited.

Then, "I just can't handle her anymore, Stephen. I'm just too old and her Alzheimers has progressed beyond my capabilities. It shames me. I'm a failure."

I explained how much I disagreed with his self assessment and how I felt he'd tried his best under very difficult circumstances. He removed his checkered bandana and wiped his face and then turned back to me and said, "I tried my best."

Then, I understood.

We talked for another hour or so. Just before he stepped outside I hugged him close. Like I said, I like Lem. He's a national treasure and hero, in the best sense of the word.

I whispered in his ear, "You did try your best."

I received a pat on the back. 

Stephen   

They're Fired

A few weeks ago I was backed into the 'ole proverbial corner which resulted in our hiring a professional yard service.  Wife said I needed to slow down, didn't have the time, was too old (really?) and needed help. I reluctantly agreed.

We hired a young couple. I walked them around our home and described exactly how I 'liked' things done. Trim here. Cut this down to there. Edge this way and please don't do this - you get the drift.

One of my pet peeves is the height of my St. Augustine grass. I like it cut high. Otherwise it suffers and the roots dry far too quickly.

Their first day on the job, they scalped my lawn.  They failed to trim the hedges. Didn't edge properly, left leaves and debris. They screwed the pooch with me. 

They're fired.

Sweet Wife has given me instructions....I'm not to work in our yard without adult supervision. So, as she sits in church services with her mother I shall dress in my grubbiest and hit the yard. I've work to do.

Time to sweat.

Stephen

Bah, Humbug

Today, as you all are very aware, is the first day of summer.  Ah, yes. Watermelons, Independence Day, back yard cookouts, iced tea, and beautiful ladies in their bikinis - what's not to love.

Well, in fact, summer. I hate it. Bah, humbug. Tell me of its wonder as the season rolls into August when I can step from my cooled home into our garage and within fifteen seconds you've been turned into a puddle of sweat and your very breath could light a fire.

Okay, the girls in bikinis and the fireworks aren't so bad. You can keep the rest....

Stephen

Hey, Wanna Deal?

He's a player, always with a notebook in hand. He moves merchandise; jewelry, gold and silver bullion, firearms. You name it he'll find the stash and pass it along at whatever profit the market will bear.

I call him Grease Bear...short, hirsute and oily, forever trailing the scent of garlic. Grease Bear walks in this morning and begins with, "Hey, wanna deal?"

"What 'ya got."

He scratches his nose, flips his pad. "I got eight thousand five hundred rounds of .22. Can you move it for me?"

"How much?"

"It's a deal man. Only $1,400.00."

I held back the laughter.

"What. You think my price is too high...maybe..."

I cut him short, "Look man. I'm sorry but there's no way in hell I can move twenty-two's at that price. If anything I encourage everyone to wait and allow the market to settle. Supply and demand will correct these silly prices."

Him, "Okay. Sure man. How about some nine's?"

He gave me his price. Again, I held back the laughter.

Stephen