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Stunned in the Desert

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rec.sport.unicycling
Published
19 November 2006
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21 November 2006
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Mikefule
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  1. Your scribe will, I trust, not be without sympathy from the reader as he
    sits here, crack-ribbed and somewhat despondent. It is fortunate at
    least that, as a man of a certain age who lives alone, I am not without
    experience of one-handed typing.

    This morning dawned bright and clear. The sky was pale blue, but the
    roofs of the bungalows in front of my house were white with frost - an
    excellent day for a unicycle ride, and yet, had I known what misfortune
    lay ahead, perhaps I would have retired to my armchair with a stiff
    whisky and a Laurel & Hardy DVD.

    I arrive at the Forest Pines car park to find no sponsored rides,
    mountainbike races or car rallies in progress. Instead, there are
    large and gaudy signs advertising a Christmas tree sale. Given that it
    is mid November, this ought to be one of the deliberate mistakes, but
    unformtunately, it is true.

    It's still bitterly cold, and I do a few stretches and some half
    hearted warm up movements before mounting the KH24. I ride out of the
    car park, past the Go Ape! adventure course and soon I am on a long
    easy trail through pine forest. Within a couple of hundred metres, I
    meet an elderly man walking his dog. He greets me with a cheery
    "Hello!" then comments as I ride past, "That's unusual." Maybe for
    him; not for me.

    At the first opportunity, I turn left, and start to climb an easy path,
    my tyre almost silent on the carpet of pine needles. Then I turn right
    and ride through broad leafed woodland, losing height until I meet one
    of the hard-surfaced main tracks. I go straight across, wallowing a
    little in a patch of soft sand, then climb up a rough sand and gravel
    path, gaining height fairly rapidly. I hear mountainbikers on the easy
    trail behind me, and one of them shouts a comment about me to his
    companions.

    Just past the top of the hill, I find the pond - I have no idea whether
    it is natural or not, but the pond is about the size of a swimming
    pool, and has no obvious feeder stream. It is well established, with
    reeds and rushes, and a path that goes all the way round it. I ride
    round the back of it, looking for a way into the forest, and find one,
    and set off down a gentle slope through woodland. The sun is bright,
    and the air is clear, so that the tree trunks are quite harshly lit on
    one side, and very dark on the other, with clear sharp shadows. The
    leaves that are still on the trees are gentle yellow; the ones on the
    ground are richer shades of orange and gold. It's a beautiful place to
    be.

    Half a mile later, I find an unexpected feature: a clearing, with quite
    a steep slope down to a broad path below. The grass in the clearing is
    long, tussocky and wet. The ground is bumpy, and the long grass makes
    it difficult to read. I swoop down the hill, at some moments too
    confidently, at others, wrestling to regain control of the uni. I make
    it to the bottom with a "Whoop!" of success, and start to plod my way
    through the wet grass towards the main path.

    Suddenly, the wheel finds a concealed obstacle. I react too late and
    UPD. At first I think I can run out of it, then I decide to roll. It
    all goes horribly wrong. I fall on my left side, the back of my hand
    towards the ground, the palm towards my chest. The hard plastic palm
    of the wrist guard hits the buckle of my Camelbak, and as I hit the
    ground, the buckle is driven into my rib with the full force of my
    fall. I am stunned and winded, and lie on my side panting like a
    wounded doe for 30 seconds or more before I realise that the wet is
    soaking through my shirt. I clamber to my feet, wincing at the pain in
    my rib.

    A minute or two later, I remount and carry on my way, taking easy
    trails through mixed woodland, struggling a little to regain my rhythm.
    It was a silly UPD, at low speed on a soft surface, but it has entered
    the charts at about number 5 - which considering this is my 19th year
    of unicycling, and I've been in Accident & Emergency twice as a result
    of unicycling, is pretty bad.

    A mile or so later, I find a familiar junction, and make the effort to
    turn the opposite way to usual. That takes me along an easy undulating
    path for a few minutes until I pop out onto a wider forest road. As I
    consider my options, my wheel finds the only large loose stone for 10
    seconds' ride in any direction. The stone is triangular in section, so
    it won't roll. It slides for an instant, then stops. I UPD, the shock
    of my foot hitting the ground is transmitted up to my bruised rib.

    I walk through a gate, then remount and follow an easy ballast path up
    the hill, approaching one of the highest points in this area of forest.
    Near to the top, things have changed. It appears that forestry
    lorries have carved away at the verge on the outside of a right hand
    bend. My plan is to turn left onto a narrow path at a junction on the
    very crown of the bend. The ramp up is far steeper than I remember it,
    and I toy with the idea of carrying on round the bend. I decide to go
    for it, and impress myself when I make it up the little ramp very
    easily.

    But now, a problem: this is beech forest, and there is a uniformly
    thick layer of autumn leaves. The path is seldom used, and the fallen
    leaves are undisturbed. There are no clues as to the direction the
    path takes, and I have to improvise, zigzagging between tree trunks
    until my wheel sinks through the dry leaves into deep mud and I UPD. I
    stop to get my breath back, and admire the way the sunlight filters
    through the trees onto the golden forest floor. Some people see the
    beauty; others see dead leaves, the end of summer, and the approaching
    winter.

    --
    Mikefule

    If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
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  2. The next path is a difficult one. It is dead straight for a mile or
    more, sometimes descending, sometimes climbing fairly steeply. In
    places it is firm, in others there is deep gloopy mud. Parts are
    smooth, and others are rutted. Unfortunately, from a unicyclist's
    point of view, it is almost completely concealed by a deep bed of dried
    oak, beech and chestut leaves. Every 100 metres or so, the wheel
    discovers a hitherto unsuspected obstacle - sometimes a log, or a deep
    pool of mud, sometimes a wheel rut, and sometimes near to the edge of
    the trail, the gaping mouths of animal burrows - mainly rabbit and
    squirrel. I UPD more times than I can remember, my language becomes
    informal, and any passers by could be forgiven for thinking that there
    was a loyal and vocal group of cyclists from the Cotswold village of
    Bucking Farstead somewhere in the forest. Possibly even members of the
    Bucking Farstead Hunt.

    --
    Mikefule

    If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
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  3. Finally, I make it to the top of the next hill. From here, it is a
    fairly easy descent, with caution, with the only obstacles being
    patches of loose sand and gravel, and occasional tree roots. At the
    bottom, I dismount and clamber over a bank, a ditch and a bank to get
    to the track that leads to The Desert. After a short walk, I climb
    over the obstacles placed to keep people out of The Desert, then mount
    and ride under the graffiti-decorated railway bridge and out onto the
    rough area next to the Black Lagoon.

    Long-standing readers of my wride ups will perhaps recall the Black
    Lagoon: a disgusting oily pond with burned out cars and rusted chemical
    drums in it, and surrounded by dried quicksand, with the dead branches
    of willows and the charred skeletons of cars and scooters protruding,
    frozen in a tormented dance of the damned. It is an evil place.

    Well, it was evil, anyway, but now The Authorities have filled it in
    with sand. It will win no prizes for beauty, but appears marginally
    less evil. Anne Robinson after her platic surgery springs to mind.

    I ride past The Sandpit Formerly Known as the Black Lagoon, then
    scramble over deep gravel and wheel ruts towards The Desert. In doing
    so, I do some of the most technically demanding riding of the day so
    far. Much has changed since my last visit. The wheel ruts are deeper.
    there is severe erosion from flooding. Parts of the road have
    completely collapsed, with crevasses opening up to hollow chambers a
    metre or more down. This is no exaggeration. It's as if there had
    been an underground stream following the course of the track and the
    track had fallen away during heavy rain. Weird.

    A few metres later, I am on an easier track. The Desert is to my left.
    I can hear the frantic chainsaw rasp of 2 stroke trail bikes.
    Normally there would be cars and vans parked all along here, but there
    is only one big 4 wheel drive car. Two men are standing by it, and
    they grin and make daft but friendly comments for me to overhear as I
    ride past. To my left is an artificial earth bank about 2 metres high
    designed to keep the off roaders off The Desert. I am scanning this
    bank looking for a gap, and I see a tiny little quad approaching. It
    has two young children on it,and I hear one of them shout out in
    wonderment as he sees me ride past.

    At last I find a gap: there is a short and easy climb over the bank,
    and a gradual drop down onto the sand of The Desert.

    The Desert may need some explaining for newer readers. This is near
    Mansfield in mid-north Notts, which was coal mining territory until
    about the mid 1980s. In the background of The Desert is a massive ugly
    black spoil tip. The Desert itself appears to be related to a sand and
    gravel quarry. The main area is undulating sand, probably a kilometre
    in each direction. On the far side is a deep pit where I think the
    sand is still extracted, or was until recently. At weekends, the whole
    area is used unofficially by dozens of 4 wheel drive cars, trail bikes,
    quads and, er... about one unicyclist.

    So, onto The Desert, where the sand is just right: it is damp but not
    too wet. Where the land Rovers have left tyre tracks, it is packed
    hard and easily bears the weight of the unicycle. On a bad day, the
    sand is either too dry to ride on, or so wet that I sink in it. Today
    is a good day, and I am making easy progress, whilst conscious that I
    am impressing some of the trail bikers who are racing past me.

    To my left, I see a big 4 wheel drive car, stuck half way over the hump
    that separates the access road from The Desert. It is the one that I
    passed earlier, with the two young chaps who made friendly comments.
    I see that the two lads are standing on the rear bumper, jumping to
    rock the vehicle as a third sits at the controls and spins the wheels
    wildly. The car is completely beached, rocking on its chassis, with
    the wheels dangling and barely making contact with the ground.

    I stop to offer assistance. We find bits of rope, patches of old
    carpet, some broken pieces of abandoned vehicles, and try to build up
    the ground under the wheels to aid traction. The driver revs the
    engine. The wheels spin until the tyres smoke. I keep to one side,
    not wanting to be crushed if the vehicle tips back. The two lads are
    less cautious and are simply pushing on the back bumper. I am rewarded
    for my caution with a mouth full of grit as the tyre bites momentarily
    and sends up a shower of sand and gravel.

    A few minutes of this results in the vehicle finally clawing its way
    forward enough to make traction, and it scrapes over the hump. Just as
    it it goes, I see that it has collected a large rock with its chassis
    and is dragging it forward. I shout. The vehicle stops. One of the
    lads removes the rock.

    Moments too late, a Land Rover turns up. The driver offers assistance.
    "It's all right thanks. This bloke on the unicycle has helped us to
    sort it out!"

    There are smiles all round. As I am about to remount, I say, "Four
    wheels looks way to complicated. It's difficult enough on one." I
    ride away across The Desert in classic "Who was that masked man?"
    style, with friendly laughter and amazed comments following me. I am
    relieved that I make it over some difficult bits of soft sand and some
    impressive little bumps and hollows and it is a good couple of minutes
    before my first UPD.

    Ask anyone you meet in the street and they will tell you that riding a
    unicycle on sand is hard work. Listen to them. They are exactly
    correct in every detail. It is physically and mentally exhausting.
    The wheel slips sideways at the slightest provocation. Every little
    uphill is an opportunity for it to lose traction. Every little
    downhill is a chance for it to slip away from beneath you. All you can
    do is stand on the pedals and pick your way along step by breathless
    step. Add a badly bruised rib to the mixture and it is even worse - I
    am still suffering from my fall right back near the beginning of the
    ride.

    A couple of UPDs later, I am almost at the bottom of a sand, earth and
    gravel bank that is too steep to ride up. I push and carry to the top
    then stop to recover my breath. I am now starting to regret that I
    brought no food with me. I have only the cold water in my Camelbak. I
    decide to take a long rest, admire the view (the beautiful spoil tips
    on the horizon...) and ring Ruth. I sit on the ground, my phone to my
    ear, the unicycle unceremoniously dumped to the side of me. A 4 wheel
    drive pulls up behind me, the driver checking if I am hurt, which is
    kind of him. I wave him on with a rare smile.

    Back in the saddle, I plod up a long gradual slope of mud, sand and
    puddles until I reach the highest point. there are two motorcyclists
    there, and one points me out to the other. Perhaps his friend is
    eceptionally unobservant: there is nothing in my direction for 500
    metres except sand and gravel and one unicyclist. I would like to
    think that someone who rides a motorcycle has better observational
    skills than to need to be told about the unicyclist.

    As I ride past, the first biker grins and says, "That is the maddest
    f***ing thing I have ever seen!" I thank him politely, then choose the
    steepest descent I dare and make it to the bottom without incident. As
    I pick my way across the sand towards the quarry, I hear him say to his
    (presumably unobservant) companion: "Did you see that?"

    --
    Mikefule

    If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
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  4. I notice that only 50 metres further on, the rails are missing. That is
    fairly conclusive proof that the railway is no longer in use! I
    remount and ride until the concrete sleepers give way to wooden ones,
    with sharper angles. This is too much like hard work and I walk the
    next 20 metres or so to a bridge, then scramble down through gorse
    until I reach the top of a low brick wall, about a metre and a half
    above the bridlepath that runs under the bridge. I know where I am
    because I've ridden under this bridge a few times over the years.

    Picture the scene, gentle reader: I am in cycling shoes, short socks,
    Lycra cycling shorts, and a proper cycling top. I am wearing a cycle
    helmet and wrist guards, and scrambling down a steep railway embankment
    through gorse and briars, carrying a unicycle with a 3" section knobbly
    tyre and pinned pedals. The image is pretty hardcore, is it not? Even
    at a cursory glance, I could not be mistaken for a novice. So when I
    see four bicyclists riding along the trail below me, why does one of
    them say, "Where's the rest of your bike, mate?" with a hint of
    derision in his tone.

    I have thought long and hard about this, and I have reached the
    conclusion that the answer involves him being a complete and utter
    pillock.

    The other three cyclists seem equally unamused by their companion's
    foray into comedy, and make polite comments. They are waiting to go
    through a gate, and wonder whether I wish to go ahead of them or to let
    them go first. In fact, I am going in the opposite way, but I thank
    them for their courtesy. I drop down off the wall, mount and ride
    under the bridge, hearing three lots of comments expresing mild
    amazement, and one lot of forced laughter. The guy may not know it,
    but he is only one inadvertant "Dit dit diddle iddle..." from an 18
    speed, disc braked, twin shock suppository. Well, I suppose that
    would be three shocks, but you know what I mean.

    I soon find myself at one of the BMX areas. There are no BMXers around
    to impress, but I do a traditional lap of the bumps just for the sake
    of it, then pop out onto the main path, and cross behind the bench seat
    and into the narrow path that leads into the woods.

    50 metres later, I reach the place where I spoke to some amiable
    mountainbikers a week or two ago. One of them had urged me to ride
    down one of the steep sections. Cunningly, I had ridden down one of
    the easiest, but hammed it up a bit for the audience. Today, for my
    own amusement, I rode up the bit that I rode down on that day - which
    shows how easy the descent really was! I am still chuckling to myself
    as I reach the top, then I stop chuckling with remarkable suddenness as
    I sit back down with eye-watering clumsiness.

    My left knee has been hurting for some time. My right leg was
    scratched by the gorse. Now I don't know which hurts most: my left
    leg, my right leg or something in between.

    Boom boom!

    Regaining my composure, I ride along the narrow single track, about 5
    metres above the main track below. I hear the macho shouts of
    mountainbikers, and at a crossroads ahead, one passes from my right to
    my left, takes off and flies down the steep bank. To be fair, it's
    quite impressive. Another appears and does the same, more cautiously.
    The third appears and hesitates. I look down the slope and see that
    the first has his camera out and is urging the third to ride down the
    slope. As he does so, I pass behind him, amused that the photo of his
    "great deed of daring" will have a cross country unicyclist in the
    background, apparently riding the same route.

    The photographer is one of those irritating people who, unable to think
    of anything amusing to say, laughs anyway in the hope that people will
    join him. When they don't, he intersperses his laughter with comments
    like, "Look! Look!" I ignore him and ride down a fairly steep
    gravelly ramp - steep enough to be genuinely impressive, I think - and
    am rewarded with the comment, "You, Sir, are a legend!" He spoils this
    with more forced laughter, and is still forcing it as I crest the next
    hill and turn a corner and pass out of sight, although not earshot.

    By now, I am really running low on fuel. My rib is hurting. My left
    knee is giving me gip. It is definitely time to turn towards the car
    park. I follow well-known paths through the pines until I reach the
    watchtower. Although this has nothing whatsoever to do with military
    plans against glider borne invasion forces (see a previous wride up) it
    really does exist. As usual, I climb it and enjoy the view, such as it
    is. Around me there are uniform rows of spruce and pine. The pines
    are just coming to the end of their season, with only a few pineapples
    remaining on the floor more or less eaten away by the crows.

    I watch a small posse of mountainbikers pass beneath me. I gather my
    thoughts and strength for the last leg of the journey and climb down
    from the tower. It is now only a couple of kilometres back to the car,
    and I take pleasantly interesting paths through the wood rather than
    just taking the direct route along the main "yeller brick". By the
    time I reach the outside seating area near the café, my GPS shows about
    9.7 miles. It is only a number, and I head directly to the car, rather
    than making a point of clocking up the full 10. I've ridden further
    many times, but this has been one of the toughest physical rides I've
    ever done.

    Bizarrely, the GPS shows my maximum speed as 14.5 mph. That is strange
    because I can't hit that on the KH24 on a flat tarmac. I guess it's a
    rogue reading. The average for the ride is a less impressive 5.5 mph!

    Several hours later, typing this, my rib is very sore. Possibly
    bruised, possibly cracked. Who knows? The symptoms and treatment are
    pretty much identical. Due to other commitments I am unlikley to be
    riding for a week or two anyway, which is one reason why this wride up
    is longer than usual.

    There are two deliberate mistakes in there. Uusal rules: they are
    errors of general knowledge. You don't need to be a unicyclist or a
    regular reader of my wride ups to spot them. They are nothing to do
    with grammar or turns of phrase, and there are no deliberate tricks
    where I mix up my lefts and rights or ups and downs. They are things
    you could check in any general knowledge book or encyclopaedia. If you
    spot them, PM me. Please do not post the answers or comments about the
    mistakes to this thread - it might spoil it for someone else, even if
    you don't want to play. Answers and winners to be announced in a
    couple of days. For bonus marks, why the title?

    --
    Mikefule

    If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
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  5. Mikefule said:

    Moments too late, a Land Rover turns up. The driver offers assistance.
    "It's all right thanks. This bloke on the unicycle has helped us to
    sort it out!"

    LOL. Surely the bruised rib must have been worthwhile just for that
    moment.

    Quoted message said:

    The guy may not know it, but he is only one inadvertant "Dit dit diddle
    iddle..." from an 18 speed, disc braked, twin shock suppository.
    Well, I suppose that would be three shocks, but you know what I mean.

    Priceless.

    --
    Danny Colyer

    http://www.colyer.plus.com/danny/
    Subscribe to PlusNet http://www.colyer.plus.com/referral/
    "He who dares not offend cannot be honest." - Thomas Paine
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  6. I guess it was the day for it today. I hope you haven't hurt your rib
    too badly.

    Usual comments about your write ups apply.

    --
    cathwood

    Cathy
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  7. wow i could never type 3 pages

    --
    skianduniaddict

    dont hop onto tippy stuff
    ski sugarloaf uni bradbury
    my cat bob ate four kids😉

    Bear said:

    I am Bear. I can ride a unicycle. How are you dooing?

    bear is my new main man
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  8. nice read as always!!

    Chase

    --
    Unitik908

    All hail the exhaulted Sigpoose, for he is forever king...
    R.I.P Unibiker
    R.I.P Gazzaloddi
    R.I.P Paul Hester
    R.I.P James Doohan
    R.I.P Mitch Hedberg
    R.I.P Peter Jennings
    R.I.P Pope John Paul II
    R.I.P James_Potters_Cat
    YAMS

    -last edited by the dave and sigpoose on 2005-09-05 at 08:56 pm -
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  9. skianduniaddict said:

    wow i could never type 3 pages

    It was more than that - about 8 pages as a Word Pro document before I
    posted it. It took ages to slice it properly to post it as there is a
    maximum of 10 000 charcters per post.

    So far, only one PM with an answer to the "delibrate mistakes".

    There are two deliberate mistakes, and one bonus question (why the
    title?).

    Rib still very painful. I went to see Motorhead last night, and spent
    an uncomfortable couple of hours trying to protect it in a rowdy
    crowd.🙁

    --
    Mikefule

    If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
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  10. Seven entries so far. Most people have spotted the two deliberate
    mistakes. A couple of creative answers to the bonus question: why the
    title?

    I'm starting to think the title is a bit too obscure for the younger
    generation, but there is a big clue in the wride up if you look.

    Still suffering from the bruised rib, and struggling with things like
    moving the motorbike, putting on heavy jackets, and so on. That's
    another nice mess I've gotten myself into.

    --
    Mikefule

    If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
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  11. Ouch, hope you heal quick! I'm not a fan of wristguards, they seem to
    create as much potential for injury as they remove. Having one slide
    over the fingers of the other hand is definitely not fun, also I've
    heard stories of people suffering broken arms because all the force of
    a fall is transferred from the wrist to the forearm.

    --
    domesticated ape
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  12. My wristguards are Salomon - clearly a wise precaution - and are
    designed for snowboarding, I think. They have certainly saved me from
    injury several times. But not this time.

    --
    Mikefule

    If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
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  13. One person has now got the bonus question right, so it can be done!

    Answers posted around 17:30 GMT 21st Nov 2006. Keep 'em coming.🙂

    --
    Mikefule

    If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
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  14. Hmmm. Not the most successful quiz ever. With hindsight, I think the
    post was too long. It was an epic ride though.🙂

    OK, here's the first deliberate mistake:

    - <<and sometimes near to the edge of the trail, the gaping mouths of
    animal burrows - mainly rabbit and *squirrel*. >>

    Squirrels - at least the grey tree rats and red squirrels we get in
    the UK - do not make their burrows in the ground. They live in dreys
    in the trees.

    Here's the second one:

    - <<The pines are just coming to the end of their season, with only
    a few *pineapples *remaining on the floor more or less eaten away
    by the crows.>>

    Pineapples do not grow on pine trees. Pine trees grow pine cones.

    And the title? A bit tenuous, but:
    Stunned in the Desert.

    The clues are:
    From the wride up itself:

    - << I would have retired to my armchair with a stiff whisky and a
    *Laurel & Hardy* DVD.>>

    From my later post on the thread:
    << That's another nice mess I've gotten myself into.>>

    Laurel & Hardy's best known full length film was Sons of the Desert.
    In the film, Stan and Ollie were members of an organisation known as
    the Sons of the Desert. The world wide Laurel and Hardy fan club is
    now called The Sons of the Desert. Sounds a little bit like "Stunned
    in the Desert" if you squint as you listen.:p

    AND HERE ARE THE WINNERS IN THE ORDER THEIR ENTRIES WERE RECEIVED:

    - *Cathwood*: pineapples
    - *JerryAttrick*: squirrels, pineapples
    - *rob.northcott*: squirrels, pineapples
    - *Naomi*: squirrels and pineapples
    - *mark williamson*: best answer so far: Squirrels don't make burrows
    anymore in this part of the country - they prefer higher ground where
    they're less likely to get hit by falling pineapples.
    - *munidobs*: squirrels and pineapples. Most creative answer to the
    bonus question: As for the title, could it be a play on words - you
    were stunned to find pineapples, Stunned in the Dessert ?
    - *domesticated ape*: squirrels and pineapples
    - *brian.slater*: pineapples *and the bonus question* - after the
    extra clue, although he also picked up the DVD reference.

    *Naomi*: P.S. I am not sure that Anne Robinson's surgery was quite that
    extensive: you do know that a Platic is a model of welding machine?

    --
    Mikefule

    If there's one thing I've learned, it's that most people don't.
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  15. I figured out the pineapple one, but didnt notice the squirrels. =p

    Great write up.😄

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  16. Very nice. I didn't even venture a guess since I didn't find them both.
    The pineapple error was obvious to me since I live in one of the
    largest ponderosa pine forests in the world. But the squirrel
    reference eluded me, once again due to local knowlege. Here in the
    American southwest we have several varieties of ground dwelling
    squirrels. Congrats to those who did get correct answers. Keep 'em
    coming Mike.

    --
    underdog

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  17. http://www.sotd.org/

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  18. Only spotted the pineapples, so I didn't bother to enter this time.

    Mikefule said:

    I would have retired to my armchair with a stiff whisky and a *Laurel &
    Hardy* DVD.

    That sentence did raise my eyebrow; I suppose you'd find it difficult to
    watch a DVD when you don't have a TV.

    --
    gkmac

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  19. gkmac said:

    Only spotted the pineapples, so I didn't bother to enter this time.That
    sentence did raise my eyebrow; I suppose you'd find it difficult to
    watch a DVD when you don't have a TV.

    Ah, but I do have a computer with a DVD drive, and occasionally watch
    old black and white movies on that. I certainly know how to party!
    Well remembered, though!🙂

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  20. By the way, here's a link to an old gallery with some pictures of the
    Black lagoon and The Desert

    http://tinyurl.com/yxfb58

    --
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