Stop the Deadly Retreads

Catherine was feeling safe and happy last Friday night, after a long day on the road. She was cruising down Interstate 95 doing a legal 70, looking forward to arriving home to her beloved husband (me). Suddenly a large truck tire retread appeared in the middle of her lane. Too late to swerve and too much close-following traffic to stab the brake, she hit it. Thank goodness she was OK! But, this is the SECOND time this has happened to us and damaged the plastic shield, air dam, spoiler, or whatever it’s called under our flimsy front bumper. Anyway, she pulled off an exit and into an Arby’s parking lot. She crawled around on the ground tying up the remaining pieces of plastic panels so they wouldn’t drag, and made it home safely.

Big dangerous retreads are all over the highways everywhere and I’m ##^&**#* sick and tired of them. I can only infer that there are no regulations forbidding retreads or shedding of them. If there is any regulation pertaining to this, enforcement must be meager with no significant fines levied. That is a travesty. In addition to the two above incidents we have had other close calls when we’ve witnessed a flying retread close to us or had some retread crumbs hit our windshield. Fortunately we’ve never been injured in any of these incidents but we have sustained several hundred dollars damage to our car. Of course you have to think twice about making a claim on your collision insurance for this. A couple of no-fault claims and your insurance company drops you like a hot potato or jacks your rates up.

There is something called the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration. From it’s name, it sounds like it ought to regulate this. I don’t know why it’s not doing its job. My Republican friends will of course say it’s guvmint, therefore intrusive, incompetent, and inefficient, so it should have its budget cut or be eliminated. What a crock! I’d speculate that it’s either already underfunded to do what needs to be done, or more likely has been captured by the powerful motor freight industry lobby to do their own bidding.

Has anyone else had bad experiences with the forest of retreads that trucks liberally sprinkle on our highways? Do you know what laws and regulations exist for retreads and the shedding of them? If so, please comment below and tell your story.

Funny Superbowl Commercials

I watched the Superbowl XYZ (or whatever the Roman numeral for 45 is) along with the rest of you. The commercials were truly entertaining. There was one where a fellow fell through a rotten wooden bridge and smashed his testicles. There was another where a whole bunch of different guys were getting violently kicked and kneed in the testicles with near lethal force. There was one where a baby got smashed into a glass window and another where a giant log smashed into an elderly lady. There was one where a robber had a gun in the face of a guy in a convenience store threatening to take his life while another guy lay writhing in agony on the floor with a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Ha ha ha ha! Isn't it fun to watch other people get painfully injured?! Oh oh, another great one was the one where somebody threw a pop can with such force that it smashed a young woman in the face and completely knocked her off her park bench. Oh, crack me up! Ha ha, get it? CRACK me up. How will they top this next year? I can’t wait. Maybe they can have people getting their eyes gouged out or actually killed completely dead. Sooooo funny!
Actually I’m being sarcastic, which is supposed to be the lowest form of humor. That’s probably why you aren’t laughing. I miss the gentler more refined commercials of a few years ago like the Budweiser one where the greatest violence was when a couple just got singed a little when they accidentally ignited a brewery horse's bowel gas. And wardrobe malfunctions! That one with Janet Jackson was GREAT. I know that was the half time show but why can’t we have more of that in the commercials?

The Model Airplane Family

As a child in Columbia, SC in the mid-50's, Owens Field was but a short bike ride from my home. I loved to go there and study the airplanes up close. I marveled when they defeated gravity as they took off or gently floated in for landings. The big airplanes were fascinating, but so were the model airplanes that hobbyists came to fly on weekends near the old Curtis Wright Hanger. Eventually at age 12, I built my own model, which was frankly a rather disastrous performer.

On Sunday afternoons an African American family frequently appeared to fly their models. That seemed a bit unusual to me in those Jim Crow days where everything was segregated. What I remember most about the family was that the model airplanes they built and flew were superb. They looked as if they should be carefully displayed in a museum rather than flown about over the hard asphalt. They were excellent replicas of actual aircraft including even spectacular multi-engine bombers. The whole family worked together to fuel them, start their engines, and set them into flight. They performed as well as they looked.

The family was as memorable as the airplanes they flew. They arrived in a late model Dodge that always gleamed from a recent wash and wax job. The family was always dressed as if for church. Even the young boys wore suits and ties. At the time, I wondered why they arrived so spotless and formally attired for an afternoon of play. Did they feel they needed to go the extra mile in appearance and decorum to assure being accepted among all the white people? Did they take just pride the fact that they far exceeded their comparatively advantaged neighbors in their craft? Did the parents feel resentment that they had to go to such lengths to demonstrate their competence and respectability? Were they encouraged and heartened by the acceptance and admiration shown to them by onlookers like myself? I suppose I shall never know.

Ten years after my idyllic Sunday afternoons of aviation admiration, I was designing real airplanes for Boeing in Seattle. My skills had improved since my first crash and burn model. I received tremendous support in improving those skills. In South Carolina I was allowed to go to good public schools and encouraged through my university years in a tough engineering curriculum. Those advantages were not available back then to the family with those fine models.

Over 40 years since I left South Carolina to seek my fortune in the great northwest, I have maneuvered myself back home. The other day I walked by the old Curtis Wright hanger at Owens field. It still sits there, windows broken and vines crawling over it. A cyclone fence surrounds the hanger and grass grows high from all the cracks in the asphalt around it. The carcass of an old B-25 bomber or something of that ilk sits like a ghost inside it. Jim Hamilton Blvd. and a skateboard park occupy the space where people flew the model airplanes. As I looked over that memorable space I wondered what became of the nice family with the perfect model airplanes. Are the parents all wizened and gray somewhere enjoying their golden years? Have the children grown up and realized their dreams? I sure hope so. I wish I could thank them for entertaining and inspiring me with those cool model airplanes.