What if it Snows?

Maybe the OM should get winter clothes?

 

I have no experience with oilfield equipment, but I was hauling an excavator to a job out of Pinedale Wyoming one time years ago and came across a flatbed loaded with drill pipe that had missed his road and decided to turn around by going out in the puckerbrush and trying a U-turn across the dirt road. Problem was the borrow ditches were a bit deeper than the driver calculated, and he hung the trailer on the crown of the road (gravel ish county road). I offered to unload and extract him, but he said he had already radioed for a winch truck. We waited for a bit and the winch showed up. Wow, impressive what those trucks you run can do!

 

That orange tabby looks peeved.

 

As long as there's some traction a guy can dead winch a pretty good load. Glare ice like it is today there's not much a guy can do, even chained up. That grader needs a crawler to pull him out of the snowbank.

 

Ready to fight.

 

This girl is married. I am confused about what he does for a living. He works for the Airport in Atlanta. I have never met this girl. I won't say the flight number, but she did get swapped. Then she will spend the night here and fly back to Atlanta on Tuesday. One of my neighbors is planning to go pick them up tomorrow. I'm physically not up to get out and I need Nurse Ratched to be here.

 

jeddi knight

 

Ha ha ha, gave stuff like that up after catching a tip near the bottom of Last Hoot at Keystone trying a daffy

 

a poem written by Dorothea McKellar in 1904 sums up Australia pretty good, particularly the bit in bold

MY COUNTRY

The love of field and coppice, of green and shaded lanes,
Of ordered woods and gardens is running in your veins.
Strong love of grey-blue distance, brown streams and soft, dim skies-
I know but cannot share it, my love is otherwise.

I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror- the wide brown land for me!

The stark white ring-barked forests, all tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains, the hot gold hush of noon,
Green tangle of the brushes where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops, and ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country! Her pitiless blue sky,
When, sick at heart, around us we see the cattle die –
But then the grey clouds gather, and we can bless again
The drumming of an army, the steady soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country! Land of the rainbow gold,
For flood and fire and famine she pays us back threefold.
Over the thirsty paddocks, watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness that thickens as we gaze.

An opal-hearted country, a wilful, lavish land –
All you who have not loved her, you will not understand –
Though earth holds many splendours, wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country my homing thoughts will fly.

 

Unless you bury yourself off the other side I suppose. Your truck probably outweighs that little Champion.