Brian's Morning Newsletter

February 8th 2010

Good Morning
I'm even amazing myself with my painting skills. Perhaps it is beginners luck, if so I'll take it, and love it just the same. I don't know if I need to explain all the ways my painting differs from Renoir's, I think you can see when I post them side by side. Mainly he has talent, I have no idea what I'm doing. Don't worry I'm not going to let a lack of schooling slow me down, indeed, I've always been a very quick learner, and more so when the prospect of going to back school looms. Figuring things out on my own is how I learned every thing I know about computers and electronics, which isn't to say I look down on my three years at NMHU. It took everything I did in my life to get me where I am today.

Hi Brian

Today I wrote about the need to increase the top tax rate.

http://ericrogersviews.blogspot.com/


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Peace & Love

Eric

Keep it simple!  It's easier that way.
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Re:  Patriot Act: Here we go again!

Thank you for contacting my office.  I have received your email and will be responding to your message soon.

Sincerely,
Rep. Ben Ray Lujan
United States House of Representatives
NM-03
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Great letter to the editor from Bob Pearson in the 5 Sept. 2010 Optic.

Way to say it Bob,
Thanks, and please ignore the descent to useless white noise when a few people try and dissolve a valuable discussion into another egotistical argument.
What those judges did was a slap in the face to every individual citizen. If we can not see this insult then maybe we are too dumb to save.
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Snow-Shovel Racing Went Downhill, but It's Getting a Second Chance

Speed Demons Really Dig It; The 'Shovelmeister Waxes Nostalgic

By MIGUEL BUSTILLO

ANGEL FIRE, N.M.—When life gets complicated, some happy-go-lucky souls like to hop on a shovel and hurtle down a mountain.

But now that lawyers are looming, snow-shovel racing is not as carefree as it used to be.

For three decades, the Angel Fire Resort here high in the Southern Rockies hosted an unusual competition: a poor man's luge of sorts, in which daring (and sometimes drunk) riders from around the country rocketed down the ski slopes on metal shovels at speeds topping 70 miles per hour.

Yet the irreverent tradition came to an abrupt end in 2005 because of growing liability concerns. The New Mexico resort got spooked by the reckless growth of a "modified" shovel racing subculture, which over time had turned some of the simple digging tools into death-defying speed machines, replete with roll cages and hydraulic braking systems.

This past weekend, Angel Fire resumed shovel racing's "World Championship" for the first time in five years, but with a big catch: Only old-fashioned metal grain shovels were permitted. Customization was confined to paint and wax.

To the sport's rabid garage tinkerers, who had begun attracting Formula One and dune-buggy enthusiasts with wind-tunnel-tested snow dragsters, it was akin to asking a NASCAR driver to take to the track in the family sedan.

"So it's just a sledding day," said John "Shovelmeister" Strader, a husky wild man who is the sport's most outspoken personality. "They've taken the teeth out."

To traditionalists, however, it was a welcome return of sanity for a pastime that started with bored ski-lift operators, got taken a tad too seriously by kamikaze competitors, and was careening out of control.

"People get worked up about losing the modified shovels, but at least we don't need an aircraft-carrier net anymore to stop people from crashing into the resort," said Gail Boles, a 47-year-old pharmacist from Taos and former world-champ shovel racer in both the modified and traditional competition.

 

Shovel Daredevils Shoot Downhill at 50 mph

1:46

The "World Championship" of shovel racing was banned in 2005 because of security concerns – now the competition is back with a surprising twist. WSJ's Miguel Bustillo reports.

He returned to defend his reputation Saturday in a lime-green speed suit and Chuck Taylor Converse high-top sneakers held together with duct tape. "This just makes more sense."

A spectacular wreck by Mr. Strader during the first Winter X Games in 1997 fueled fears that it was only a matter of time before a shovel racer died. That proved to be shovel racing's one and only appearance in the extreme-sports competition put on by broadcaster ESPN, and its last real moment in the limelight.

Mr. Strader, a 42-year-old radio producer, was the most seriously injured person hurt in the Winter X Games in 1997, having cracked his sternum, bruised his heart and broke his jaw, leg and back in three places in his wipeout. He said he had to declare bankruptcy because he couldn't pay his medical bills.

Chris Stiepock, vice president and general manager for ESPN's X Games franchise, said, "We really enjoyed having super-modified shovel racing in Snow Summit for the first Winter X Games," but ultimately decided it didn't fit the network's audience demographics.

For now, die-hards hope that the return of "production" shovel racing, the name given to competition featuring mass-produced hardware-store shovels, will spur interest in the more extreme varieties.

The spectacle of beer-bellied contestants in tights recklessly shooting down Angel Fire's 1,500-foot racecourse was far-out enough for some saucer-eyed visitors. "They must be completely insane," observed Wes Ferry of Austin, Texas, who was learning to ski at the resort for the first time.

For competitive reasons, aficionados are loath to reveal the finer points of shovel-racing technique, but the basics are simple:

Place your hindquarters in the shovel's rounded end, with the handle between your legs. Straighten your body and lean back as close to the ground as possible. Push off. Pray.

John A. Bowersmith

Shovel racer Jamie Fernandez prepares for a second run at the Angel Fire Shovel Race Championships Saturday.

Steering can be attempted by subtly lowering a hand into the snow to correct course, but a speeding shovel has the maneuverability of a shooting cannonball.

Cardinal rule: Never grab the handle, as it only veers you more wildly off track.

Goofballs have been shovel sledding for some time. But the racing subculture originated in New Mexico's ski resorts during the 1970s, when lift workers grooming divots on slopes discovered that they could really scoot from one to the next on their shovels.

"Talk about flying by the seat of your pants!" said Jeff Jansen, 56, a former lift operator at New Mexico's Pajarito Mountain.

The extracurricular activities led to friendly one-upmanship, with rivals tweaking tools to achieve ever-greater speeds. An early prototype fused a shovel with a tricycle. The sport morphed into a cross between soapbox derby and bobsledding.

It peaked in the 1990s with rival race teams and bubble-shaped snow dragsters with shovels grafted to their underbellies. Mr. Boles, who says he blew his student loan money on one contraption after getting caught up in the arms race, recalled a goliath made from a B-52 bomber's fuel tank.

The sport's tamed revival this weekend was comparatively sober, clean fun. More than 100 riders raced time trials beneath turquoise skies. As "Still of the Night" by the rock band Whitesnake blasted over a sound system and contestants blew past, a commentator shared tidbits such as, "He once raced in the buff."

Shovels flew, but no one got hurt. Even the modified racing nostalgists called it a good time. Jeff Hamblin, who clocked a time of 13.4 seconds and reached a top speed of 63 miles per hour, won the men's championship.

The lineup was dotted with AARP-aged riders, including rookie Charlie Orr of Taos, who was lusting for an adrenaline rush two years after open-heart surgery.

Wearing a helmet festooned with the star of his favorite football team, the Dallas Cowboys, the 72-year-old retiree explained that he now realized life's finality, and wanted to savor every moment.

"I'm just here in case I have to scrape him off the bottom," chimed in his wife, Shirley.

But most of the riders were families for whom racing on metal implements has become a generational rite of passage. Child competitors even spawned a subcategory: "little scoops."

Kelly Haukebo, 46, an Angel Fire real-estate agent who is considered shovel-racing royalty, imparts her wisdom to her three children—Sepp, 25, Niko, 15, and Gentry, 12—and dreams of creating a dynasty.

A grisly 5-inch scar—the remnant of a wrist fracture that required six screws and a titanium plate to fix—stands as proof that she understands the dangers of her oddball sport.

Yet as Ms. Haukebo watched daughter Gentry crouch into the family shovel, "Old Rusty," at the top of the steep run, the mother said she felt only parental pride. "I want her to feel the thrill of victory."

When the time trials were through, Ms. Haukebo stood again at the shovel-racing summit, as women's world champion. And she had company.

Son Niko won the junior world title, while Gentry placed third.

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