Happy Independence day

Couple of things to catch up on here.

First, It's independence day and I am dependent on a British bike.  I found that quite odd on my way in this morning.  Almost unpatriotic, but satisfying in a world peace kind of way.  In the end, I don't care, I love the bike and 1/2 of its bits and pieces have been put on in the US anyway at this point.

Speaking of "in work", I'm working today to make up for the day off yesterday for the fork/suspension service and parts bonanza.  One more farkle discovered.  Expected to buy the racetech 1.0 springs and have them installed as an upgrade from the factory .6, and they were already in there.  I liked the suspension setup, but it dove like crazy on braking which I did not care for at all. Figured I would do the upgrade since I had to get new seals anyway.  Turns out it already had racetech 1.0 springs in there, but whoever did it, didn't cut the dampening tubes down correctly and left them at stock length.  Had the tubes chopped about an inch and it is night and day.  Also lowered the front since I lowered the rear 25mm and they needed to be lowered anyway for the tube cutting.  I was told that was part of my handling issue and why my front tire looks new but cupped compared to the nearly destroyed rear. Special thanks to Jim Hamlin at Branchville Motors in Connecticut for doing the work, and letting me assist start to finish and giving the bike a thorough once over for the trip.  Now I have to install a lot of crap I just bought.  19T sprocket, clutch cable, thermostat, radiator cap, tires.  Most of the loose crap he found shouldn't fall off now at least.

I firmly believe I have one of the best commutes in the mid-atlantic.  20 miles of twisties and farm roads each way, though I do have to pass the dump which can at times be an assault.  Getting behind a garbage scowl is worse, but both are typically short lived.  Today, my heart sank as I turned on to Applebutter road.  Cinders EVERYWHERE.  Cinders still there through the first chicane pair.  I have no idea what happened, but my beautiful banked asphalt must have had one too many cracks and pothole repairs (almost none were in the line).  I really hope this is just a base layer. It looks and behaves like tar and chip and it keeps going and going and going for 5-8 miles with the top 1/4 inch being just cinders.  It was kind of heartbreaking.  Also pretty impressive since I rode it friday and they didn't even have signs up and now there is not a construction vehicle in sight and no signs other than "No Road Lines" here and there.  They couldn't have just gone right over the road surface could they?

Please join me in a deep prayer/meditation/seance that this is just a perfectly rolled base layer and I will be getting my country road moonlighting as a racetrack asphalt back.

Happy Independence day to all, especially the veterans in my family and yours.

Non Sequitur Alert

LDRider is having a moose vs meeses nonsense discussion, as they do so well. This brings me to my non sequitur of a point. I still have never seen a moose in the wild. I tried desperately for 3000 miles last year, even following a moose tour bus for a bit. I really hope I see one at a safe distance next month, or maybe on Saturday, when I go for lunch in Montreal.

Karma in the age of cell phones

Yesterday was a great day. Little girl had been after me for a month to go see Brave, and it was only to be in 3D. Disney is wise in their promotional abilities, and they start early. "Coming Soon" means 6 weeks. 9 year old girls don't always get that, but with age, comes the understanding of calendars. Perhaps age will also bring patience. She has hit a home run so far in everything else so far. Perhaps patience is more of a necessity for fathers than fair maidens.

It was hot, and McDonalds was cool and within eyeshot of said matinee movie, so I threw out the offer which was eagerly accepted.

We always have a great time, and I mean always. We were chatting about what we thought the movie would be like, and how magnets make the kids meal toy cool. I then spotted a very lonely cellphone in the empty booth adjacent to ours. After a bit, I grabbed it as it was clearly abandoned. Much like a woman's purse, I was reticent to explore it. I can run a lot of my life through mine and the thoughts of a stranger fondling it don't sit well. My thoughts turned to me in South Dakota in a few weeks and what my feelings would be should the same happen to me. I guess I am a serial LD rider because I wondered if he had spot enabled through Google latitude...

It was android like mine, and a top of the line 4G HTC at that. I flicked the screen and found the number for home and dialed. Fax line. Tried again various times with fax or just dead air. Phone number was a 704 area code which was NC and 600 miles away at least. This person was screwed. I waffled a bit on whether I should take it with me and keep calling, or take it to an AT&T store and drop it off, or donate it to a high school kid who moonlighted as a cashier at this establishment. If it was me, I would retrace my steps and adding extra steps to the puzzle would not be appreciated, especially if the Samaritan was holed up in a high priced theatre. It must stay.

I sent the guy an email from his own device in case he checked it from a hotel, letting him know it was found and where, and that I was leaving it with great reticence with the restauranteur.

I hope he has found it by now, and wish him well on his travels. Nice phone dude. "Android lost" is free, hopefully you have that installed. I hope Karma is a beautiful mistress for you, I know she has been for me.

Learnins' from my Saddlesore 1000

I have now had 3 months to reflect on the saddlesore ride and have had the opportunity to test out some items that were niggling away at me during the ride.  Writing the series itself was more than somewhat cathartic. It also allowed for a thorough lessons learned session as I reviewed my notes and replayed the sequences of the events.  This edition will focus on those thoughts, solutions implemented, and new variables that were subsequently introduced which need further testing.

"Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.."

My dad was doing a lot of commuting back and forth from Philly to Western VA about 15 years ago after his employer of 25 years locked the doors one night and moved to china.

He found a "new" song on his ride with the title above.  He thought I may like it.  I stopped short of telling him that was the "pot smoking hippie music" he railed against for 20 years when I lived at home back in the day.  I was the bigger man and smiled, knowing I won the music taste battle.  The song does have a point though when taken out of context.  Whether it is a long commute in a cage, or 700-1000 mile stretch on 2 wheels, company in your noggin is good.  In my truck, I have Sirius radio and love it. I like music that isn't necessarily standard after burning through the classic rock stations for so many years.  Jam on, blues, dead, bluegrass it's all in the variety and country in the morning.  Singing east bound and down 40 times in a row to yourself may be fun, but pulls the sanity question into play after a while.

Solution is unquestionably the Sena smh-10. I purchased one a few weeks after the trip and can't even fathom how I did without. Pairs easily with my phone, great sound and phone calls work if I need them. I'm a buyers remorse kind of guy, not here, not a bit.  My friend Drummond got one as well and it excels in coms mode as well.  Highly recommend.  Sold my brother on one as well for his new scooter. Now I just have to haul on up to NH to check it out.

Lights, cameras, action.
Tiger lights suck as documented earlier.  Got some 1600 lumen led's from Komy on ebay. Mounted low and outside on the sw motech crashbars. Love them.

Iron butt?
Not so much. I love the stock seat. I can move on it and no real pressure points.  1000 miles showed the weaknesses. I resolved to make a big purchase if I finished successfully. I'd need help if I was going to do 5,500 in 7 days this summer. Researched extensively and founds lots of options for custom builds. Everything kept pointing back to the Russell day long if you wanted to for it right.  Figure there was no chance for finding a good used one so resolved to drop $600 plus dig around for a blown out seat for the pan. In my search for the pan, lo and behold I ran into a guy willing to part with his. It was exactly what I was looking for and saved likely $350 in the end. Seat is all it is cracked up to be. Longest trip so far was 750 miles in a day for a tag on the Ohio border.  Felt as good as I did when the day started.

Worlds toughest riders...
Not sure what I think about that line. I'm not one of the toughest by a longshot. Part of me suspects some tough dude is going to take exception to it. I used to be physically tough when I played rugby in college,  now, not so much, though I haven't dared to test that assumption in quite a while. Saddlesore is a mental toughness thing however,  and that I still have.

MotoMorphosis (Conclusion)

"My god, look at all of this destruction."

I had not been on 81 long at all after my breakfast stop when I went through the town of Pulaski, NC.  Mother nature had been here, and she had been pissed.  A tornado had been through here last year I later learned and left an indelible mark on these people's lives and their homesteads.  Not a tree was left in tact, though the piles of debris were still abundant.  Treetops co-mingled with bunk beds.  It had crossed the highway where I now sped and continued its' destructive ways up over the next hill.  Amazing and humbling how fickle she can be.  I wish these fine citizens of this town the best of luck.  They didn't have much that harrowing night for sure.

Mile marker 0.

I cross the Tennessee line to little fanfare other than my own nuisance making efforts.  No bands, no ticker tape.  Only Fasmart 471 and its decrepit pumps and a convenience store parking lot stacked with vehicles in even worse shape.  The time was 10:35 and the odometer read 14,747.  529 miles from home and all I could do was smile like a guy who just got laid for the first time.  3.665 gallons in 172 miles.

The only note on my trip log was this ->>  "I WANT MORE!!!"

That pretty much sums it up.  No literary finagling necessary.

Perhaps it was my state of mind, but I took one of only 3 pictures on this trip in the Fasmart parking lot so I could prove I was really in Bristol, TN.  This may be the worst picture I have ever taken.  I had other things on my mind and I was gettin busy livin. The other bonus of this trip was that this ride was no longer the miserable trip I used to take with my ex.  It now belongs to me.  I will own this memory and this road in a positive light from this day forth.

The trash bag liner went into the top box, along with the neck gaiter. The Gerbings gloves were replaced with ventilated leather.  It was march and it was time for some summertime riding.  I may be the luckiest guy on earth at this particular point and time.

New song for the ride home.  It's cheesy and predictable but it's a classic, and it fits my buoyed spirits.  I will have a Coors in Texarcana, likely in 2013 on my trip to Needles, CA if anyone has any suggestions.  For today, I will just sing it to myself a couple dozen times and laugh at Buford T Justice quotes as I count up to 323 from 0.

208.6 miles later and a solid  20 miles past 0 miles left till empty, I pull myself away from the 50th "Boy when I get home.." and slide off of exit 205 into Raphine, VA, under full Triumph power at 13:01, into Smileys Fuel City.  Smileys sign out front informs me it is the home of the "Best BBQ in VA".  There is some question if that is really 13:01 or 14:01 as daylight savings happened the previous weekend, but I didn't care.  The sun was shining, the jiggly weather girls were right, it really was the perfect day to be doing anything other than sitting in a cubicle.

It was perhaps a foolhardy decision at the time, but I was getting cocky.  I remember Jim's advice to "have fun, THAT'S the bottom line".  I sprayed the chain with some dupont teflon, put in 4.18 gallons (DOH!) and stripped off the fleece.

Mr Smiley, your ass is mine.  I'll be the judge of these here claims to the best BBQ.

Well, about 3 minutes after receiving my order of brisket and a dousing with a melange of sauces at the self service bar, this is what remained as I washed the goodness down with some good old fashioned, hot summer's day, caffeinated Coca-Cola.  Had I turned the camera around, my face would have looked similar to that napkin dispenser, only covered in Texas style mesquite sauce.

 

I will do the rest of this trip on my own terms.  I was no longer worried about the clock.  I have now ridden further than any other single day of my two-wheeled career and I yearn for more.  My only regret is that I didn't have a Dr Pepper to stick with the theme.

45 minutes later I have my camelback refilled for the second time this trip and bugs removed from the visor.  East bound and down has been fun for the last couple hours, let's stick with that you maniac as Chiron fires up with as much vigor as its' better half.

225, 250, 275, 300, 323. A honk, wave and and an ADV style salute to West Virginia, and the same goes for you Maryland shortly thereafter.

Maybe I should have held off on the ADV salute to MD.  My credit card at the Hagerstown Shell station was declined since it was the 4th time I used their network today.  Hah, you have to do more than that to stop me. It's all good, I don't care, that girl at Falling Waters WV returned my backup plan to me many miles and smiles ago.  Here's an Andrew Jackson.  You can stick him where you will once I leave, I am riding and my face hurts from smiling.  I have another gas receipt from a new state and the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania can be seen just over the next rise.  I am east bound and down.

PA gets more of the same minutes later as I return to my homeland.  A statey is in his hidey hole right across the line looking for guys like me. Guys who aren't paying attention and are bitching on their cellphone about their shitty day at the office to their old lady who doesn't give two shits except when he will be home. I'm going the speed limit with a smile that says it all beneath my lifted lid to let this day fill my every pore. Today ain't your day pal.  I swear I see him laugh at my antics across the line behind his Buford T Justice specs.  Perfect.  I may be an idiot, but there is no law against that and he knows it.  Yet another memory to file away, maybe someday I will write about this experience. 

19:37 on the day of my departure and the light is quickly fading across a lightly streaked pink and purple sky.  These are my little girls 2 favorite colors and I have thought of her often today.  I hope some day she can enjoy a passion to the extent her father does.  I can't wait to squeeze the living shit out her tomorrow when I pick her up from school.  

My receipt spits out from the Bethlehem Pennsylvania Exxon 4 minutes later as the tiger drinks her final cocktail of 3.162 gallons of super. My sidestand has gone down each time, my gloves are in tact.  I have all my receipts, and I even have my wallet.  Home is only 0.36 miles away as the crow flies.  I snap a picture of the GPS for posterity. On the 2 minute ride home I begin to ponder if I can do this several days in a row and maybe, just maybe, if the stars align and I can recreate this, if perhaps Grand Teton would be so kind as to bless me with her shadow this summer after I cross the Mackinaw bridge.  If she doesn't, that's fine with me, because as you may have noticed by now, for me it's about the journey, not the destination.

http://spotwalla.com/tripViewer.php?id=42504f5e0c54bb99c

Respectfully submitted,

GrimeTime

MotoMorphosis (Part 9)

"Buuuurp, flitch, schlup, schlup, schlup", says Phase 1 reluctantly.

"Err, that's no help", says I.

The mile markers to Roanoke are ticking down like the shot clock in an NCAA Final 4 cinderella game, and I needed to pick my shot.  I was nursing a lead but my opponent was showing signs of life.  Computers usually help me out of these kind of binds.  Teetering above my tiger  there was no hope of that familiar crutch helping now.  Phone a friend wasn't an option.  Even if phone a friend was an option, I would have gotten a "My suggestion is to have a PBR and find a 24 hr strip club" in response.  I was alone on this fools errand.  I guess that's the whole point.  Can you keep your shit together in good times and bad?  Not a bad lesson to be learned regardless of the final grade.

Phase 1 had been in solid hibernation now for almost 5 hours.  It was as slow to awaken as it was this morning in the confines of my shower.  Irish Spring hadn't made much of a dent. Flashing dotted centerlines and wind-noise wasn't helping the rejuvenation process at the moment.  Come on buddy, you can do it.  I could really use some help here.  What the heck am I supposed to do?

Two diametrically opposed options were on the table. "Plan your ride, ride your plan" or "Improvise, Modify, Adapt and Overcome"? I always found it fascinating that the latter is attributed to the United States Marine Corps.  Military organizations for 3,000 years have been founded on the principles of do what you are told, when you are told, how you are told according to a strict chain of command. Leap without looking. My old man and brother were both US Navy men and knew this chain well.  My father floated above the seas and my brother below. The battlefields of Gettysburg, to which I passed so closely this morning, and countless other stretches of farm land in this great state where my current journey has led me have seen 100's of thousands of my forefathers meet their end in this way both for and against this Union.  The Lee-Jackson Highway which I passed this morning was a good attempt to keep their memories alive, but a paltry reward in comparison to the price paid by the men who served under them. History seems to canonize the Atilla's, Green Mountain Boys, George Washington , Erwin Rommel and his arch nemesis and my own personal hero, Gen. G.S. Patton. All had a knack for improvisation and were attuned to the art of guerrilla tactics.   When the global fan starts spinning out of control due to some poopie buildup on the blades, who gets called?  The Marines who honorably wear the Stars and Bars of their fathers.  Thank you to all who serve, regardless of branch, or flag, so I, and your countrymen and women, can undertake silly journeys of 1000 miles in 24 hours on their motorcycle.

I digress... but I am the author.

I needed to pull off of this ribbon of quandary my tax dollars have subsidized, and Improvise, Modify, Adapt and Overcome.  Good to have you back old friend.  Decision made.

Roanoke traffic was building, but I could dutifully keep to the speed limit or just below as I steamed through.  Not so bad, minor crisis averted.  I need some grub and a plan for the daddy mac.

I leave the city limits of Roanoke without incident and begin to see the signs for my current terror as I look for an exit where I can get a McBurrito.  Blacksburg, VA serves as the gateway to hell, and 81 has become my solid version of Styx.  In the distance I catch a glimpse of the first big 8x6 ft square orange roadside trailer that the DOT uses to let travelers know they are screwed beyond all recognition.  I had 3 miles to my exit and now I am stuck in the left lane with JB Hunt's finest to my right.  I need to see this sign to aid in my planning stop and make this nightmare a reality I can dissect with facts, not fears.  The GPS affixed to my handlebars will set the mark for max speed for the trip at this juncture.  I apologize to the LEO community for what I have done, it only lasted about 10 seconds.  Err, it wasn't me, I'm holding it for a friend? Just between you and I, that Kenworth didn't have a snowball's chance...

As I clear the fender of the Kenworth and make my calculations to get over to the right I see it.  I blink my eyes and shake my head to be sure what I think I saw is actually there and not some mirage of fatigue.  The message remained the same.

NO BLASTING TODAY.  NO BLASTING TODAY it screamed in 900 font every 4 seconds in all of its amber glory. A message conveyed as eloquently as Kate Smith belting out God Bless America.  I was 7 years old and still remember Kate's performance on UHF like it was yesterday.  That started a losing streak for my Flyers which continues to this day.  As I type this today, the message from that Virgina Department of Transportation sign is my most vivid of the trip, by a mile.   I was wound up tighter than a banjo for the last hour or 2, time no longer matters except for 02:36 tomorrow which was just a hair over 18 hours away. The pressure release delivered by that sign was tremendous.

I screamed back at that most beautiful of inanimate objects.  Pretty much...well...EXACTLY like Henry Hill in the Shower in Goodfellas .  I didn't look at myself in my mirrors, but I can guarantee that's what my facial expression looked like as I rounded that Kenworth's  fender.

After all the worrying, I decide to delay the breakfast stop and get through the construction before the sign changed its mind.  I never did cut that Kenworth off and good thing too as my mind was where it should be to mess with that much iron.  I had enough gas to make it to Bristol, now that I wouldn't waste it in neutral.  The construction was really a site to behold.  They were taking a pretty good sized mountain they had cut through to lay the original road and were widening it another 20-30 yards.  Caterpillar had some serious profits on the books from this job.  There were massive yellow vehicles swarming everywhere, but the lanes were clear and it's all I cared about.

At 08:55 I found my McBurrito and a cup of pansy-ass decaf in Dublin VA, mile marker 96.  I felt fantastic as I lubed the chain on the tiger who was running without a hitch, as it has done for the last 8 months and 10,000 miles.  How the PO only put 5K on her in 4 years I don't know, he was pretty busy farkeling though.  His loss and my gain.  At McDonalds, there was a guy riding across country on his bicycle. He covered in religious prison tattoos, and his bike trailer covered in "Jesus Saves" signs.  I was curious about what made this dude tick, but sensed there was no hope it would be a 2 minute conversation.  His iron was tougher than mine I am sure and I wish him luck.

After a 20 minute respite and some bodily fuel only, then it was back at it.  Get busy living, or get busy dieing were some pretty famous words uttered by Red in Shawshank Redemption.  Today I was choosing to live, and live on my own terms.  No one will care if I make it or fail miserably. Today, only I care about the outcome and that was enough.

As I merged back on to southbound 81, I sensed the half-way turnaround was now well within my sites.  Bristol, TN is just over the border  I tried to temper the foolish sense of invincibility that was growing inside me to no avail.  I had no idea what the rest of this adventure had in store for me today, but I relished the opportunity to experience it.

"Southbound" by the Allman Brothers was the song stuck in my head most of the morning, guiding me down the highway in dark and in light.  I missed a lot of classes in college and more than a few days of work seeing them more than 50 times in concert over the years.  I just put an acoustic version of those sweet sounds on now to put me back in the moment of this incredible (for me) journey to allow me to finish this installation of the story, while remembering both periods of my life with great fondness.

Giddy up.

MotoMorphosis (Part 8)

I know I am firmly entrenched in phase 3 because the proverbial ass kicking over the wallet subsided about 5 or 10 miles outside of Falling Waters, WV.  Had this happened at Wawa at 02:30, it would have been a different story.  Live for the moment and take Jim's advice and enjoy every mile.  I was certainly heeding that sage advice thus far.

No shit.  I'm not tired, not even a little.

After the rough start to the day and the nonsense that led up to it, I was sure I would be fighting the sleepy eye about now as I sizzled through the darkness, respectful of the radar gun buffer of the posted speed limit.  I knew I would be ok once I could see the sun. The only way for me to sleep during the day is to have a medium sized hangover and put on my own personal Ambien which is the Masters or NASCAR.  I haven't had a hangover in years, but that's how I remember it. I wasn't thinking about staying awake.  In retrospect, I wasn't thinking about anything at all.  It was as if I was just sitting there and sub-consciously reading and reacting to my surroundings. It was 05:20 and and sunrise was in 1 hour 55 minutes.  I can DO this.

"Virginia Welcomes You" the sign announces. Right back at-cha.  I wave and beep at the greeting, as is my custom, and get on with the business of shagging this big bitch.  Mile marker 323 of a descending pattern lets me know just how much is ahead of me.  646 miles out of the 1048 will occur in this state with so much history for my nation, of which I am so proud. Hopefully I don't make much history of my own and am able to pass through unnoticed in my bidirectional assault. I make a mental note of the 323 since on the way back I will be counting up to do my 'figgerin.

Rt 81 is such an easy ride.  Especially once you hit WV and VA where the posted speed bounces manically between 65 and 70 for no apparent reason.  Just as the sky took on that awesome shade of purple that marks the official start of a new day, I noticed Exit 205 had a large yellow and black billboard boasting the "Best BBQ in VA".  I wondered how many smoker toting pickup drivers took that as a personal offense when driving this interstate.  No mention of awards and their dates, just plain old best 'cause his momma said so I guess.  Too bad it was so early, too early for even BBQ which I usually cannot be denied.  Today was about making tracks, not sightseeing.  The real Iron Butt folks have a saying "Plan your ride, ride your plan".  BBQ was certainly not anywhere in my plan for today so on the Pilot Road 3's spun.

It seemed the next tank drained to the amber warning light pretty quickly.  Traffic picked up a bit with the morning commuters cursing themselves for being in a cage on what all the bubbly and busty weather girls were predicting to be the definition of a perfect day.  How did Al Roker get that job?? I of course was smiling about my predicament, so much so the cheeks on my face were about the only area of unusual discomfort.  The cheeks on my seat made nary a whimper.

"Here comes the sun do-do-do-dah.."

Buchanan, VA 07:40.  VA mile marker 168.  357 miles into this adventure and I successfully made it through night 1 about 20 minutes ago.  Miles to empty said 0 for the last 4 miles. I broke my own rule a couple miles back and exited without actually seeing the Marquee for the gas station and was jolted by the "3 miles thataway" sign at the bottom of the exit ramp.  Screw that, I am on a schedule.  Tached it back up to 5K and kept looking until I saw what the Tiger so desperately thought that it needed. 178.1 miles since Falling Waters.  4.328 gallons of Shell V-Power later I am cursing the ECU of this beautiful beast I occasionally refer to as Chiron.  Technically, we are both Chiron, but I'll let my readers figure that one out if they are so inclined.  There was another gallon in there and I swear to run deeper past 0 since the greedy bitch holds out on me for  80-100 miles in her thirst for more of the good stuff. The thought of pushing my top-heavy partner to the finish line somewhat tempered my enthusiasm for the plan as I chewed it over throughout the day.

I ask the lady inside about the construction that's about 1.5-2 hours ahead of me.  It's my biggest worry of the trip.  For days I have seen google traffic light up with red for extended stretches on the other side of Roanoke, sometimes for quite a ways.  It's a nondescript part of the state with not much in the way of population centers anywhere near.  My old girl at the counter tells me "oh yeah, that's bad, they're blastin' the mountains away on both sides and they start 'bout 8:30 quarter-a-9.  Lady in my church sat there in park for almost 2 hours on monday."  Thanks lady, it's 07:50 now, it's about 80 miles away, and you just mind fucked me.  This whole goddamn adventure may now come crashing down due to some Obama spending.  Whelp, nuttin' I can do about it now other than turn the key and get rockin down the highway.  I thank her politely as I return to my ride with thoughts of getting rock rained on my head from the blasts being more palatable than sitting there for 2 hours.  I was only 31.5 inches wide at the handlebars. Between he handguards and the polycarbonate coconut on my head, that should provide enough protection from the shrapnel right?  Maybe I can lane split and blast past the flagger in hopes the odds are in my favor.

Goddammit.

To add insult to injury, the original plan was to do breakfast at this stop (time, not place).  I was 30 miles from Roanoke however which was a little closer than I had planned.  If I were to hit commuter traffic anywhere along the line, it was likely to be Roanoke and I was now in a pinch.  I decide to push on through Roanoke and hope the work force there is more 9-5 than 8-5.  Hopefully I can catch breakfast on the other side without too much damage to the clock. It is abundantly clear i need some recon for alternate routes around the blasting which won't screw me too badly.

"Breaker-breaker 1-9, this is Joel.  Scuba-Conscious, you got your ears on?"
"This is Scuba-Conscious, go-head"
"Rumor has it we're crawling with care bears up ahead.  I need you to send up phase 1 pronto"
"That's a negative ghostrider, the pattern is full."
"Don't give me that shit, just do it, or I'll make you listen to rap when we get home."
"Uh-uh-uh, yes sir, right away sir, please don't ever mention that again sir"

Buh-bye phase 3.  You were awesome, I hope to have you back soon.  Every man has a job to do, and for the next hour of my life, I'm gonna need a pro.