Weight

Ron Wanttaja wrote:

I don't think I'd hesitate to pack
in a few more brewskis.

Ron, are you talking about increasing the weight of the cargo or the
pilot here?

Mark Hickey

"Mark Hickey" wrote in message
...
Ron Wanttaja wrote:

I don't think I'd hesitate to pack
in a few more brewskis.

Ron, are you talking about increasing the weight of the cargo or the
pilot here?

Reminds me about the time in '78 when we flew a PA-28R to Idaho to pick up a
keg of Coors for a party. Strapped her right there in the back seat! Kids
around here don't remember when you had to smuggle Coors into the state.

Rich "Oh that? It's a ferry tank. . ." S.

On Thu, 23 Sep 2004 06:13:27 -0700, Mark Hickey wrote:

Ron Wanttaja wrote:

I don't think I'd hesitate to pack
in a few more brewskis.

Ron, are you talking about increasing the weight of the cargo or the
pilot here?

Oh, cargo, of course. You see, my Norwegian ancestors used to live at the
very top of the fjords. It was a hardscrabble existence, with very few
luxuries. The only source of supplies was the tiny village at the base of
the fjord, and when the weather closed in round about October, they were
cut off for about five months.

Being relatives of mine, the thing they missed the worst was booze. They'd
stockpile as much as they could, but the bottles were a tough haul to the
top of the fjord. Being relatives of mine, they usually ran out in
November.

Coupled with the short days, the lack of aquavit and beer really brought on
the depression. The people would fantasize about March, when the weather
would clear enough that they could reach the village below for the year's
first monumental bender.

The two things they HAD in abundance were spare time and wood from the
local forests. So it was natural, I think, that they'd build skis in
anticipation of the first trip downhill to the tavern. They were called,
"brew-skis."

These weren't ordinary skis. With months to lavish on them, they were
ornate in the extreme. Inlays of contrasting wood, ermine-fur straps, iron
blued to a rich blue, and gleaming metal trim hammered and worked from old
coins. Everyone had their own wood stain, with the formulas guarded
jealously. Colors ranged from Coors Light beige to a rich Guiness brown.

But appearance wasn't the only thing. Speed was paramount. Long before the
first wind tunnel, the urgent drive to get down the hill fastest had driven
ski design to its evolutionary peak. They were streamlined, glass-smooth,
and tuned to perfection. And they were fast. There were occasional
exceptions (for instance, Einar Rutanson's odd design with the turned-up
part at the *back* end of the ski), but for the most part, they would blow
past any of the skis used in today's winter olympics.

So when I talk about "packing in a few more brewskis," I am, of course,
referring to these wooden marvels of my heritage.

Ron "Mmmmm....beer....." Wanttaja

They were called,
"brew-skis."

These weren't ordinary skis. With months to lavish on them, they were
ornate in the extreme. Inlays of contrasting wood, ermine-fur straps, iron
blued to a rich blue, and gleaming metal trim hammered and worked from old
coins. Everyone had their own wood stain, with the formulas guarded
jealously. Colors ranged from Coors Light beige to a rich Guiness brown.


And the Pulitzer for Best Creative Tall-Tale Telling goes to... (the crowd goes
wild)