Little Bits and Pieces are what I’m throwing into this post in order to get caught up. Little bits and pieces are also what happens to your car when you drive across Mesa’s Bermuda Triangle.

After my last post, I got a message back from a country commissioner that those tracks were not in the county’s jurisdiction and therefore not their responsibility. I also got a call from Matt the county road engineer that basically said the same thing. Isn’t it interesting how governmentors are much more adept at dodging the responsibility than solving the problem? Even when solving the problem is easier than doing all the dodging?

I look at this tendency as a sort of virus that you catch as soon as you go to work for The Man.

Matt also mentioned that he would have no problem posting some SLOW DOWN FOR TRACKS signs even though it wasn’t their prob. That’s all I’ve ever asked for. Why don’t they just do it instead of prolonging the agony and danger?

A few months ago one of my next-door neighbors named Tom got a brand new Tundra pickup. I was kind of surprised since his “old” Tundra seemed to be in fine shape. I figured he must have just wanted to upgrade and must have had a bunch of extra cash since that is always required whenever you upgrade.

Yesterday, he and I were talking and it came out that the reason he is driving a new Tundra is his “old” Tundra got totaled. Guess where? Yep, the Sheffield Road/Mesa railroad tracks.

Oh, the untold damage and pain that relatively small but deadly speed bump has inflicted!

Here’s what happens when innocent citizens turn onto Sheffield and head for Basin City: They kick their vehicle up to 30 miles an hour in hopes of reaching the posted limit of 55 miles an hour. Just before they reach the 55 mph sign, they get the surprise of their life.

And it is an ugly surprise.

Cops don’t get called because people can usually drive their bent and destroyed rigs home. The county doesn’t get complaints because the insurance company usually foots the bill. The owner of the wrecked vehicle figures it’s all his fault because he was driving and was stupid for going over the tracks at 20 or 30 miles an hour instead of 5.

My recommendation is y’all c’all the Franklin County Road Department at 509 545 3514. Ask for Matt. Matt is a nice guy but needs a little pressure from the tax payers. Ask him to post warning signs on both sides of the tracks on Sheffield. This little act of yours will save innocent individuals thousands of dollars on their auto deductible and thousands more as they will eventually have to buy a new car.

It will add years to their life that otherwise would be swallowed up in PTSDam, otherwise known as Post Track Sure Demolition at mesa. PTSDam will continue to run rampant until you call. It is also the word most people use after they hit the tracks.

Just before we had the nasty incident in Mesa, we were on a family reunion with our kids and their kids in Idaho. My son-in-law Todd, who was driving our van when it crashed on the tracks, thinks he’s the Candy Man. In fact, whenever he signs a check or a ticket for going over the railroad tracks too fast, he signs it The Candy Man. 

A few reunion highlights:

1st scene. Youngest grandchild wets his lips before going after the Candy Man.

2nd scene. The Candy Man

3rd scene. Oldest grand daughter got more candy than any of her cousins but was empty-handed when the contest ended. How’d she do that?


Another little bit for the blog:

Middle of the summer. Over 100 degrees. A WA DOT snowplow in my rear view mirror is out looking for a road to plow. Maybe he should head for Mesa and use that plow on the railroad tracks.


Another little bit for the blog:


Per my visiting mid-daughter’s instruction, I cranked the hot tub up. There was a bunch of nasty flakes in the water. Within a minute or two, the flakes had completely coated the filter. I cleaned it out and got the same result again.

I borrowed a woman’s nylon hose from my wife, pulled it over the filter and it worked like a champ! In one rinse, all the particles and flakes were gone. This hot tub filter will never be used again without my wife’s nylon stocking.

Another little bit for the blog:


After making a deal with my son at Christmastime that I could get down to 200 lbs., I started riding my bike to work. Dogs chased me every time I went past a certain house. So I finally carried a large iron rod with me toward the point of attack.

The canines arrived at the normal point of attack and as usual, started nipping at my heels. I swung the rod, missed the closest dog, lost my normally excellent bike-balance skills and went down hard. The asphalt was unforgiving. Luckily, the wind was blowing away from me so the dogs didn’t pick up the scent of blood.

But next time I’ve got a surprise for them.

To make a long story short on the weight, Mike moved up the date of my weigh-in so I had to lose pounds fast.

I lost 24 lbs in 6 days. I did the Mixed Martial Arts diet and drank 2 gallons of water the first day. Then I tapered off dramatically. The last two days I went without food or drink. (This had the added benefit of less blood spilt in case of dog attacks.) I made it to 200 just before we headed for the airport on our way to my son and Phoenix.


Just to make sure, at the airport in Pasco when no one was looking, I hopped on Allegiant’s baggage scale. It weighed me at 207. I got a little concerned because if I didn’t hit the 200 lb criteria at PHX, I would be out $500. I walked down to the Delta counter and hopped up on their scale. It weighed me in at 193.

The last weigh-in made me feel a little better about my weight. It also made me wonder how much Allegiant makes from their faulty scales and the extra baggage charges they assess.

We got on the plane. I was borderline delirious from no nourishment. Allegiant had my wife and I sitting apart, hoping we would pay another bundle so we could sit together.

My wife is not a fan of my storytelling. I was bugged all the way to Phoenix because she was so enthralled by the stories of the guy she was sitting by. Check out her reaction! Never once have I gotten the kind of feedback this guy enjoyed all the way down.


And just by chance, the young man sitting next to the storyteller is the grandson of Ken Benson, a friend of my family from 1958 on. Ken was about the only neighbor we had during the first few years of my childhood growing up in the Basin.

Made it to Phoenix and was finally able to eat and drink. I’m sure by the time I walked out of this establishment, I was back up to 210, at least by Allegiant’s calculation.


The actual reason we went to Phoenix was for another grandchild’s baptism.


This is how my doggone knuckles looked in Phoenix:


But I’ve solved that problem. I decided to get some mosquito spray. But then I figured it might not cut the mustard.

So I thought about some pepper spray but then again was not quite sure of it’s potency.

So this is what I ended up with…


Image result for bear spray

Image result for bear spray

I can’t wait to get back on my bike.

Those dogs are toast.

There’s a little hamlet called Mesa located a few miles away from a big hamlet called Basin City. Mesa has been there forever. I went to kindygarten there. Burlington Northern Railroad tracks go through Mesa but the choo-choo train never stops unless they have a derailment.

They stopped there once a few years ago. It was a mess.

In 1982 I was working for my dad on the farm. Neither one of us was getting much job satisfaction from my efforts. I began looking for something else to try so I joined the sheriff’s reserve for 3 years.

One night I was riding with a deputy named Richard Lathim. There was an armed robbery at the Arco Mini-Mart on Court Street just around midnight. Richard and I were racing around dark streets trying to find the perp. We jumped out with our guns drawn whenever we found something in the dark that looked suspicious as we searched for the dude. I still remember the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

I would guess the pointy end of my 357 magnum was jumping around at about the same rate as Barney Fife’s empty one-handed musket used to do whenever he got in a jam. At least I had bullets in my gun. We came up empty that night.

I got off the shift at 3:00 am and headed home to grab a couple hours sleep before the farm day’s work began. I turned west at the Sheffield intersection in Mesa and as I crossed the tracks, I suddenly became aware that my Nova was catapulted skyward from the first railroad iron just before it slammed face-first into the asphalt on the other side of the tracks.

I remember that this demolition-type incident was the basic reason I traded the Nova in shortly after the Mesa landing. In the decades since, I’ve always slowed to a cautionary crawl of three inches per minute when attempting to cross the Sheffield chasm. The locals have averaged 1.0 totaled vehicles per capita as they have learned this same lesson. There is no doubt that this is strictly a one-episode learning experience.

I’ve wondered why Franklin County leaves this road in this condition. I finally decided that maybe because the rails make a slight turn, maybe there needs to be a bank in the tracks. Without the bank, maybe the train might be less stable. If all these maybes aren’t the reason for the treacherous spot, then what is the reason?

So a couple of years ago, I called the head of the county road department. We’ve always been on good terms and he is a nice guy. I told Matt about the problem. He was well aware of the situation.

The bottom line to this local problem is that drivers from everywhere around the world except the 99343 zip code are unfamiliar with the topography of the asphalt/steel combination at this particular point. They should definitely be made aware of the hazard before steering down Sheffield Road. A simple flashing florescent billboard for vehicles going each way would be sufficient. Stick some lettering on a couple of signs like…


I told Matt he needed to get two signs up there. He agreed and said he would do it. I ended the conversation by musing about how many strangers to Mesa in the last 40 or 50 years have demolished their vehicles on this 10-foot stretch of road. I guessed it has been in the hundreds of vehicles and billions of dollars damage. Matt didn’t argue. Maybe billions is an exaggeration but hundreds probably isn’t.

I couldn’t and can’t understand why such a road hazard could be so overlooked by so many county road people. Maybe they can’t fix the road but they could sure make more people aware of the nightmare ahead.

The next year my brother Brent had a friend from Colorado visit him in his new 3/4 ton pickup and even newer fancy camper. Guess what? After crossing the tracks in Mesa and seeing just how fast his airbags could inflate, he limped into Brent’s place with a pickup that had a brand-new showroom paint job in places but overall looked like it had just completed the Baja 500. The camper was in even worse shape.

There had to have been at least $30,000 damage to the camper combo of this formerly proud owner. His cab was smashed down by the front of the camper. It was a twisted mess.

I called Matt. I told him about the incident. I asked him why he hadn’t erected the billboards. He had no answer but assured me that it would be taken care of. It was at this point that I began to have suspicions that perhaps Matt might be a stockholder in one or more of the local tow-truck or body and fender shops in the area. Maybe the signs I was requesting would put a damper on his investment portfolio. Thus, no florescent signs.

That was last year. So this year, we went to a family reunion in Idaho. My son-in-law Todd drove my van home from Idaho while I drove my pickup. As we approached Mesa, I told my relations in the pickup about the problem and the efforts I’d made to stop the carnage.  I wondered aloud whether Matt had erected the signage. And did I mention that the Todd-driven van was in front of the Ben-driven pickup by a couple of miles?

Because my wife was riding with Todd, I figured she would alert him to the treacherous ravine they had to circumvent. To my misfortune, she was occupied with grand kids and oblivious to the impending lifetime guaranteed 4-wheel misalignment and instantaneous bendage of the unibody frame this poor Honda van was about to undergo. Todd is from Mesa AZ and hadn’t yet experienced his Mesa WA 1.0 rig demolition per capita number. But he soon learned. On my dime.

Everyone in the van, including the baby-faced toddler that Michele had been attending to, was pushed down in their seats to the tune of at least six G-forces. A loud BANG! then sounded with an immediate Apollo rocket-like upward thrust affecting all occupants. I’m pretty sure every seat belt in the rig stretched a good 50% past Ralph Nader’s comfort zone. And what are all those head-shaped convex cones in the roof of the van?

Todd and crew limped home. I arrived home a few minutes later and was immediately greeted with the latest Mesa Tracks accident report. My weekend was demolished. I just couldn’t accept the fact that a public servant that makes a nice living didn’t do what I, HIS EMPLOYER, had asked him several times to do.

The damage? I’m sure my van will start wearing tires like crazy due to the severe impact and damage. A dog-gone sign from Matt warning Todd from Mesa AZ was sorely needed.

A watermelon in the back of the van will never be the same again. (See below)

Gosh, even if Matt had posted a couple of stakes with plastic flags fluttering in the breeze  Todd might have known something was amiss in front of him.

Michele had three musical instruments in the van that are now messed up. She just discovered today that her violin won’t stay in tune now. It always did before. These instruments cost far more than the signs Matt should have erected.

Matt! Why?

How much time does it take to write up an order for a couple signs with the word “SLOW!!!!” imprinted on them.

I imagine there’ll be more casualties discovered as we go along.


So this is Monday night. Tomorrow I’m going to call Matt and ask him to meet me at the Mesa/Sheffield intersection in his family car. I’ll bet it’s a late-model town car that’s never been off-road. I am then going to ask him to slide over and let me in the driver’s seat. I’ll mildly accelerate for 468 feet west on Sheffield as any stranger to this country will do, seeing nothing but open road. My speed in Matt’s rig, by the time we encounter the road hazard will be between 30 and 40 mph.

After we experience the very nasty change in terrain, take off and finally land again, I will hand him back the wheel to his now pretty much worthless beater. I will then ask him about the billboards he’s been promising.

Stay tuned for my oncoming Matt dialogue.

Seems like whenever I drive a Corvette, I end up in trouble. This was the aftermath from the other night…

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But before we get to that particular Corvette trouble, let me share this Corvette trouble…


I needed to go to town the other day. Since I like a challenge and the empty gas gauge presented one, I headed south for the 30-mile trip running on fumes. This was likely to be the first time in history that a Vette would end up on the side of the road with it’s 8 hungry pistons sucking air and it’s 8- fingered driver holding a remaining thumb out for a ride.

Made it.

A day or two later, we headed back to the T-Cities with a relatively full tank. We work a half-day every week in the LDS temple in Richland. It’s a time that helps me to make sense of everything else in this crazy world.

As we cruised home, I snapped a picture of a gorgeous sunset to the west. Because of the sunset and the fact that we had just stepped out of the temple, I gotta throw in a line or two about God. There is no doubt in my mind that we all have a Father in Heaven. He has made everything we enjoy and experience and yet so many of us spend no time or effort doing what He has asked us to do. None of us can, even for one second, escape the blessings that He has made possible to each of us.


Approaching the crest of the hill northbound on Taylor Flats where it intersects with Cypress Drive, we were snapped out of our religious reverie and greeted by 4 headlights. The headlights on our left were basically normal and not a problem. The headlights directly in front of us, oncoming at a  70 or 80 mph clip, were a big problem. I had a full half-second to react. Luckily, there was a fairly wide shoulder that we swerved on to to avoid a sudden stop with a driver who was suddenly on my bad side.

Usually when I make a sudden U-turn and begin a pursuit to teach someone concerning some Driver’s Ed tips, Michele doesn’t like it. However, she didn’t say a word on this turnabout. In fact, she told me later that she was in favor of the pursuit.

As I caught up to and passed the car that would have been involved in the wreck through no fault of his own, he gave me a thumbs-up signal and then a clenched fist. He was equally bothered at the idiocy of the driver just ahead and I could tell he was glad I was going to confront the problem.

I got behind the rig and started flashing my lights. I wanted him to pull over so I could give him the educational lecture I had suddenly prepared. He kept going, essentially cutting class. So I decided to call the principal.

I dialed 911 and explained the situation. By the time we pulled into the business district of Road 68, a Pasco cop had pulled in front of me and behind the offender.

After the lights were activated, he pulled off and in just a bit, a county mountie and another Pasco car showed up. I figured since I was the only one who saw the incident, they would do nothing but give him a lecture and let him go. In my vast experience, this is usually the outcome if the cops don’t witness the incident.

But this time was a pleasant surprise.

After a few minutes, one of the Pasco cops walked back and said he knew how I felt but I probably shouldn’t have tried to pull him over. The guy was drunk and he had a loaded pistol in the front seat.


I explained that that could have been problematic but if I hadn’t done something, the guy would have continued on his merry way. The cop said he understood.

As they cuffed and brought the guy back to the sheriff’s car, he and I shared a few choice personal feelings with each other.


We made it home intact but somehow missed the last few minutes of the beautiful sunset that night. Oh well, the flashing red and blues were almost as pretty.

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In my last post, I promised a few stories from last week but I’m going to have to postpone. I must lay out the last few hours history before something else happens tomorrow and I forget what happened yesterday.

So this post has to do mostly with the upkeep of my piping. I’d advise anyone who get squeamish at the sight of a reconstituted hay bale leave this post immediately. You’ve been warned.

At the get-go, I think I better substitute a few words for some other few words as I do not want to make anyone uncomfortable.

Actual Word Used              Politically Correct Term
Co****scopy   –                      Pleasure Trip (PT for short)
C**p         –                              Shinola
Co****scopy Doc  –               Travel Agent

I took a Pleasure Trip 11 years ago in Kennewick. It had a few memorable moments but I’ve probably shared them previously. Since cancer had reared it’s ugly head in our family lately and a guy at church said he’s never going on a Pleasure Trip himself, I thought I would relay my experience so everyone gets reminded to do these things from time to time.

It would be a bummer to have to check out of this earth life just because you didn’t want to go on a Pleasure Trip and get checked out once in a while. I turned out fine and am planning my next PT for June of 2028. It’s reassuring (pun not intended) to know you’re ok, at least in that neck of the woods.

After rescheduling my PT three different times, I figured I better just dive in and enjoy the view as it passed by.

Back in the day on my first trip, I didn’t eat one day and did the tripping the next. It was simple and no big deal. This time around, it’s a five-day prep and so involved I think the government must be pulling the strings now.

So I skipped all the prelim checklists and joined the program the night before the day of fast. I had noticed all the things I couldn’t eat but that night as I complained about the oncoming fast, my wife said she thought it would be ok if I ate a little honeydew melon. Being hungry and with Michele Ok’ing it, I ate a honeydew melon even though it wasn’t little.

Immediately after, I looked at the PT menu and saw where it said specifically not to eat any raw fruit or vegetables. I got a little concerned as I didn’t want to let the Travel Agent down since I had already rescheduled three times. These PT’s are not all that cheap and I couldn’t afford to pay for a cancelled trip if my output wasn’t clear. I hope I’m not losing you.

I reminded my wife that once in a while she is wrong and this was one of those times.

The next day I fasted and then started chugging 50% of the dreaded solution beginning at six o’clock that night. Not much happened in the porcelain wastebasket. I began to fear my wife’s advice was leading down the road to PT failure. My Titantic was sinking and my smokestack plugged. I set my alarm for 3:30 am but didn’t get to sleep until 1:00 because of the worry. At 2:30 am I woke up from a nightmare.

I dreamt that Curt Didier (a local guy of large stature in the community) and I were preparing for a PT together. Just as we were headed out the door for our joint PT appointment, I mentioned I was hungry. Curt said “Here, let’s grab some of those Sugar Frosted Flakes. I’m pretty sure those are OK for a PT.”

I wasn’t so sure but since Curt is a big guy and I’d hate to get cross ways with him, I asked where the cereal was kept. We grabbed a box and after stuffing a few handfuls down our throat, we….

That’s when I woke up. I couldn’t sleep so I got up and Googled what happens if you eat the forbidden fruit or Frosted Flakes before a PT. There was no good news on Google. I found out 25% of all PT’s get cancelled because people don’t prepare correctly. Stuff like honeydew melons and Sugar Frosted Flakes.

They end up paying thousands for the cancelled appointment, get totally depressed because of all the wasted angst and starvation they’ve endured and are left to begin the process all over again.

I began sweating. By then it was time to start chugging the rest of the solution. It wasn’t that bad. Kinda like any bad habit. You get used to it.

My problem was once I got a little action going, it remained in it’s normal everyday state. What I was shooting for by the end of the prelims was pristine, clear, mountain spring water. You know, something I wouldn’t mind drinking if you threw in a little ice.

But all I was getting was similar to Iowa Beef fertilizer or Ringold Clay, the mud we changed sprinklers in when we were kids. It was not looking promising. I had chugged a gallon of ClearYourPipes and another half gallon of water earlier that eve with no change.

I knew there was some pipe-cleaner still in the system but I only had a half-hour left before I couldn’t drink anything. The PT was in 3 1/2 hours. I was in trouble. It was 4:30 in the morning and I did the only thing I could think of that would help.

I woke Michele up.

I informed her that her honeydew advice had sunk my ship. She wasn’t all that delighted to have been roused from her slumber. I reminded her that ever since Adam and Eve, women have been giving men fruit to eat that often creates all kinds of trouble.

Here’s the jist of our conversation…

Michele: “So you think just that honeydew caused your problem and you woke me up to tell me that?”

Ben: “Yes.”

Michele: “Your problem is all that other Shinola you ate.”

Ben: “You’re so full of Shinola.”

Michele: “No, you are.”

We both paused, examining what had just been said. Then, we both laughed.

She went back to bed. I went back to Google. Nowhere did it have an answer for one such as I. So I invented a solution. I chugged another gallon of very cold water down in 30 minutes.

This last action saved my bacon. By the time we rolled toward the PT at 7:30, I was almost to the pristine mountain stream stage.

I grabbed a bucket as I went out the door. I figured with the behind-the-bushes call I was getting every three minutes, that bucket would be filled to the brim before the Kennewick city limits were crossed.

We didn’t stop once. By the time we arrived at the PT office, a mountain spring geyser was preparing to erupt. I had to sprint for the door. I ran up to the desk and asked the lady “Say, you guys wouldn’t happen to have a restroom in this facility, would you?”

She laughed and pointed. I didn’t laugh but ran directly to where her finger was pointed.

Once I got there, I saw that they had restrooms all over. I guess it’s a necessity in PT offices. In fact, they looked like they were severely overused. Because of the visible usage, as high as my liquid pressure had risen, I still had to prolong the agony for a couple of minutes while I did some deep cleaning of the porcelain Lazy Boy.

By the time I had seated myself, it felt like I was in heaven. And the mountain spring stream was still gurgling down, just like I had hoped and drank for.

When I finally got back out to the waiting room, Michele had checked me in and taken a seat. I sat down next to her in a padded chair that felt very unique. It was soft around the outside but there was no support in the middle. Very similar to a toilet. Very appropriate.

Much later, Michele took this snapshot while I was under the influence.










Lots of stuff in the next few posts:

  • Sent Danny Ainge some pilfered cherries. His people have been talking to my people ever since.
  • Bike ride in Wenatchee
  • Drank 16 lbs of water in 1 day
  • Lost 23 lbs in 6 days
  • Went to Phoenix
  • Gained the weight back the next week
  • Another bike crash

No more links to this site will be posted on Facebook. If you haven’t signed up as a blog follower, you won’t get a “heads up” link via your email to this site. I’ve picked up a lot of followers and want to see how many non-followers drop off with no link to follow.


I sent Danny Ainge some pilfered cherries. His people have been talking to my people ever since.

I’m going to be publishing a large run of books. The first run was 1200 a couple of years ago and I’m about out of stock. The next run will be 5000 as a few opportunities to sell have moved into place. I’ve reached out to some high-profile individuals for book endorsements and have been somewhat successful.

If anyone out there in cyberspace has a connection with a high-profile person that they could talk into reading my book; possibly endorsing it, let me know.

One of the people I was able to get in touch with was Danny Ainge’s wife, in hopes of getting his endorsement.

Danny was the only person ever to have been named high school All-American in football, basketball and baseball. He was an NBA star, coach and is now the Celtics General Manager.

I have a connection with the Ainge family thereby making our dialogue possible. We’ve talked and messaged back and forth. I sent her a book, hoping she and her husband could read it together.

I’ve got to say that she is a very nice lady, especially after I sent her some cherries I extracted from my brother.

She said that the pressure was greatly increased after the cherry bribe.

(The cherries were free, the next-day air service was not. Since I loaned Brent my forklift for cherry harvest, I doubt he’ll call the cops on me.)


I got a couple of nice thank-you’s from her after the arrival of the cherries but heard nothing for the next week concerning the progress of my book getting read.

The problem is: I am in a hurry. (B&B Print always called me Ben Hur-ry whenever I walked through their door.) So I turned up the heat, against my wife’s advice.

I messaged Mrs. Ainge, asking her if they had flipped any pages yet.

I got the response I expected. Nothing.

I decided to push a little harder.

This trait of mine to push things till the make or break ending usually doesn’t turn out well. But I thought “What have I got to lose?” So I sent them the following letter:

Dear Danny and Michelle,

After listening to the loud silence following my last text inquiry, I realized that maybe cherry pressure might not be as great an idea as I initially supposed. As my book explains, time after time, I am a master at taking an idea and running with it after zero planning or forethought.

Without this (usually) undesirable trait, my book would be 3 or 4 pages max. But with this trait? Add another 520 pages.

However, you’ll have to admit a couple of good things came from this situation:

  • You enjoyed some nice cherries from an even nicer guy in Washington State.
  • Fed Ex enjoyed an unexpected windfall on their P&L a couple of weeks ago, at least in their Over-nite Cherry Transport Division. I have no regrets sending them and hope you enjoyed each one.

I know you both must be very busy and my arrival over the telephone lines with a 500+ page reading request was not in your plans for the summer. In fact, maybe it is a request that has already found it’s way into the little basket under your sink.

But before I walk away from this moment, I thought I would just touch base with you and see what your frame of mind concerning me and my proposal is. This would nail down the path I will follow as I get ready to start the presses rolling on the second edition and determine who my cover endorser will be.

Just so you don’t have to spend a lot of time replying, here’s a few ideas that you might respond with: (If you prefer, you can send me back just a number and I’ll match it to one of the following):

  1. Ben, Thanks for the cherries! Sorry that you latched onto this endorsement idea. Please leave us alone. – D&M
  1. Ben, You can use the following endorsement and stick it on the front cover: “Looks like a good book even though there’s not one basketball story in it. I didn’t have time to read it. Maybe you do.” – Danny Ainge, NBA…
  1. Ben, I think you would be better off getting an endorsement from Dennis Rodman and Kim Jong-un. Better get a tattoo and a couple of piercings first. Best of luck! – Danny
  1. Ben, Give me a month or two. I’ll try to get it read. Go Celtics! – Dan
  1. Ben, Give me a year or two. I probably won’t read it. – D

If I didn’t nail it with one of these, you could write up your own, just so I know how to proceed in this, my careful planning phase, for the book.

I’ve been promised 3 endorsements so far…

Here’s the first endorsement I’ve gotten back:

“Ben lives life with gusto and an appetite for adrenaline.  He also marches to a unique and different tempo than most of us. This has resulted in many interesting and dangerous experiences that Ben shares with great zest and an entertaining story line. Growing up as Ben’s neighbor and friend, I always wondered what he was up to and how much the medical bill would be! 

Ben brings his stories to life and you are sure to get many smiles, chuckles and “What was he thinking?” during your journey along with Ben.  I highly recommend “Recovering Idiot”. Enjoy the adventure!”

Steve Phipps

19 Arm Wrestling World Championships – 9 Right, 10 Left (Including a rare “Double-Double” winning World Titles in Wrist wrestling and Arm wrestling with both arms the same year.)

Also, I might add that everything I’ve ever seen or heard from either of you, including our brief correspondence, has been top notch. Good luck with a healthier team next year!




So a few days of silence followed. I figured I’d burnt my bridges and there was no going back.

And then…

Here’s a note I got from her just this morning:


Sorry for delayed response.  I wanted to get some chapters read first.
I am enjoying the book, but am just on pg 167. It makes me laugh out loud at some of your antics.  I have raised a son with similar wiring.  My sympathies to your mom!
This is the busiest time of the year for Danny.  If he ever reads it, it won’t be for a month or two.  He just told me that he turns down all requests to endorse books. I would say the chance of him reading and endorsing is 5-10%.
The cherries were delicious. Thank you!
Michelle (Ainge)

So I was still in the hunt!

Just the fact that I’ve got a 5%-10% chance of success is great. Since my normal rate of success in life averages a little less than 1/2 of 1%. I’m figuring Danny Ainge is a shoo-in to endorse my book.

It’s interesting that Michelle is on page 167 and she expresses sympathy to my mom. Page 167 is right about the place where I meet my wife Michele. The next 367 pages detail a few of the travails my wife has had. I’m sure Michelle is going to be far more sympathetic to Michele than she was to my mom.

This coming week more posts will detail the following:

  • Bike ride in Wenatchee
  • Drank 16 lbs of water in 1 day
  • Lost 23 lbs in 6 days
  • Went to Phoenix
  • Gained the weight back the next week
  • Another bike crash


No more links to this site will be posted on Facebook. A picture here and there but no links.

If you haven’t signed up as a blog follower and you want to keep reading the news, you’d best sign up as a Follower on this page to get a “heads up” link via your email to this site. I’ve picked up a lot of followers and want to see how many non-followers drop off with no link to follow.

The link may or may not return on Facebook someday.