#travel mindens the broad

[perrydowning]

Go East, Middle-Aged Woman!

Hello, Lovelies!

After Mr. Downing's memorial/anniversary of his death, I knew I wasn't ready to stop moving. It's difficult to imagine building a new home when my home has passed away. I'll get there, just not yet.

Because I am a lucky, lucky thing, a beloved friend, @thedarkside-and-thelight invited me to come stay with her and her husband. So I'm driving to the mid-Atlantic, checking off four more states of the current 50.

Because Mr. Downing absolutely loved Americana, I had to go to the Idaho Potato Museum, where I discovered a baked potato with all the fixins' is a pretty fabulous breakfast.

And I found this!

Darth Tater! On the back it says, "Welcome to the starch side."

Then one of my teeth went rogue and I had to have an emergency tooth extraction in Billings, Montana. Which is why I'm writing this now, as I'm recovering in a hotel today.

Tomorrow, Deadwood, South Dakota!

Space Cupcakes for everyone; y'all really came through for me when I needed you most.

Thank you, thank you, thank you ...

[perrydowning-unplugged]

Europa

I keep putting off posting until I can do it ‘properly.’ Well, I’ve been across the pond for six days, so I better just go for it. 

Reylo continues to change my life by bringing the amazing @silvergrain-in-the-dark into my life. She has been exceptionally generous by opening her home and her family to give me a safe haven while I bop around central/eastern Europe (apparently the distinction matters). Her whole family made me feel welcome and though we couldn’t understand each other most of the time, there was a genuine ribbon of warmth threaded through it all. I mean, I was graced with home-cooked spaetzle (thank you Mutter Silvergrain), so I’m not sure what else one could ask for. 

I have learned that I am 100% messy American. However, I have also learned that California Mess is a tiny bit charming. At the end of the day, we’re all people and all it takes is a moment of risk to make that connection.

It’s a trick I learned from Mr. Downing. I’m still more timid than I’d like, but now that he’s gone, I must do the Downing clan proud. I wish I’d put his wisdom into practice sooner, but he was pretty adamant that he wished he would have taken his kindness off the bench earlier, so I think he’d understand. 

As ever, thank you all. I love you.

[kayla1993-world]

Defence Minister Harjit Sajjan's military assistant is an army reservist who was suspended from the Vancouver Police Department for having an inappropriate relationship with a subordinate. Maj. Greg McCullough was recruited by the military, according to Sajjan's office, and neither the minister nor his staff was informed of the complaint or disciplinary action taken against him while he was a sergeant with Vancouver police.

In a statement, spokesman Daniel Minden said, "Neither the minister nor his staff were aware of the complaints to the Office of the Police Complaint Commissioner or the disciplinary actions taken by the Vancouver Police Department. We expect all members of the Canadian Armed Forces to conduct oneself in the most professional way imaginable. The Canadian Armed Forces are in control of hiring military assistants. That is something we're looking into further.”

The announcement of McCullough's hiring came as Sajjan faces calls from the opposition to resign over his handling of top-level sexual misconduct allegations and concerns about a "Old Boys network" that protects senior officers from retribution. McCullough is a senior member of the British Columbia Regiment (Duke of Connaught's Own), the same army reserve unit that Sajjan led before entering politics, but they both served on the Vancouver Police Department.

While asked about the two's relationship, Minden said: "At the Vancouver Police Department, the minister did not cooperate with Maj. McCullough. They met as reservists in the British Columbia Regiment after becoming buddies."

Questions about McCullough's appointment, why the job was founded, and the process was referred to the Department of National Defence by Minden. Defence Department spokesman Daniel Le Bouthillier said in an email that Sajjan now has six military assistants. They all work collaboratively with the minister's office to offer a broad array of service.

"For instance, this support includes improving information flow between the CAF and the (Defense Minister), giving logistical support for travel and communications, scheduling military briefings, and overall liaison services," he said.

McCullough was hired on a two-year contract in March 2020 "to support (Sajjan) while he is in his home riding," according to Le Bouthillier. "The hiring was done on the basis of a Reserve Employment Opportunity, which is a nationwide advertised employment process available to eligible Reserve Force members across Canada."

Le Bouthillier did not mention whether military or the minister's office recommended the position be created. "We have no formal record of such a circumstance," Le Bouthillier said that when asked how often military assistants are engaged outside of Ottawa.

When reached by phone on Wednesday, McCullough told The Canadian Press that his present employment is with the military, not with Sajjan. He further claimed that the minister had nothing to do with his employment.

He stated, "Minister Sajjan had nothing to do with my recruiting process. Because of the amount of time he spends on the West Coast, he needed a military aide, and that was it. I did not discuss this procedure with Minister Sajjan, and I am a member of the Canadian Armed Forces.”

When questioned about his connection with Sajjan, McCullough gave the same response. According to media reports from last year, McCullough was suspended for 15 days in 2018 after an external inquiry determined he failed to disclose a connection with Const. Nicole Chan and joined the relationship despite knowing she was in a vulnerable position.

The OPCC annual report for 2018-19 does not mention McCullough, but it does call for a five-day punishment for a cop who "was in a personal, intimate relationship with a cop who was under his direct supervision" and "failed to disclose this relationship to his supervisor."

The OPCC also recommended a 10-day suspension for the same officer for "entering into a relationship with another police officer knowing that the police officer was in a vulnerable mental and emotional condition."

The suspensions might be served simultaneously, according to the commission. the first officer had since resigned, according to the report, and had "completely cooperated in the inquiry and engaged in all necessary processes." The officer sought professional assistance in comprehending his conduct and apologized to the other officer.

According to media sources, McCullough retired from the Vancouver police department in 2018. Chan committed suicide in January 2019, after having a connection with another higher officer who was later dismissed from the Vancouver police department.

A request for comment from the Vancouver police department was not returned in time for publication on Wednesday. “I do not dispute the (OPCC's) conclusion, it is a matter of record,” McCullough stated via text message, disputing some of the prior media reports about what transpired, but he did not offer specifics.

“I was a proud member of the VPD and am still serving in the military for our country."

[neighbourart]

STROHNER MÁRTON - designer

A komolyzene teljesen ellazítja és segíti ráhangolódni a munkára, kedvenc városa Bologna, mindig magánál hord egy négyzetrácsos fekete Moleskine noteszt, az utazás, a kiállítás-látogatás, a főzés és a zenehallgatás tölti fel őt a leginkább, nagyon szereti az olasz konyhát és a sushit.

Classical music completely relaxes him and it helps him to get in tune for work, his favorite city is Bologna, he always has a black, squared Moleskin notebook, he is recharged by travelling, going to exhibitions, cooking and listening to 6music the most, he loves the  Italian cuisine and sushi.

Marci asztala/Marci’s table.

1. Milyen típusú emlékek inspirálnak jobban: a jók vagy a rosszak?/What kind of memories inspire you the most: good or bad ones? Csak a pozitív emlékek inspirálnak, nem hiszek abban, hogy egy negatív emlék közvetlenül forrása tudna lenni egy alapvetően teremtő jellegű folyamatnak.

I am only inspired by positive memories, I don’t believe that a negative memory could be the direct source of a basically creational type of process.

2. Ha újjászülethetnél egy ma élő vagy már halott művész személyében, kit választanál?/If you could reincarnate as a living or dead artist, who would you choose to be? Jó kérdés, mondjuk Jeff Koons (:

Good question, let’s say Jeff Koons (:

3. Gyűjtesz valamit?/Are you collecting something? Sok tárgyam van, de nem tartom magam nagy gyűjtőnek - szeretem azokat a tárgyaimat, amiket az általam nagyra tartott művészbarátaim készítettek.

I have plenty of objects. However, I don’t consider myself a collector – I love those objects of mine that were made by my highly appreciated artist friends.

4. Kedvenc tárgyad?/Favorite object?  Nincsen egy kedvenc tárgyam, de vannak olyanok, amiket különösen szeretek, mint például a kedvenc kis fekete késem, amit a munkáim készítésekor használok (megvan már vagy 10 éve), vagy például a noteszem. Mindig magamnál hordok egy négyzetrácsos fekete Moleskine noteszt, hogy ha eszembe jut valami, kéznél legyen.

I don’t have one favorite, but there are a few that I like very much. Like my favorite little, black knife that I use when I am working (I have it for over 10 years now) or my notebook. I always carry a squared, black Moleskin notebook with me. When I’m struck by an idea, it comes handy.

5. Hogyan fogsz neki egy új munkának?/How do you get started on a new project?  Kitakarítok a műhelyemben (: Aztán pedig nem nyugszom, amíg nem lesz olyan, mint amit elképzeltem. Mindig pontosan látom magam előtt azt, hogy milyen lesz a tárgy a folyamat végén, csak elég türelem kell hozzá, hogy fizikailag létrehozzam.

I clean my workshop (: Then I cannot rest until it is like how I wanted it to be in the first place. I always see in front of me exactly how the object will look like at the end of the process. All I need is patience and to create it physically.  

6. Van egy jól körülhatárolható hangulat, amikor könnyebb számodra az alkotás?/Is there a particular mood that makes creating and working easier for you? Az az ideális számomra, amikor egyedül vagyok a műhelyemben és komolyzenét hallgatok. Teljesen ellazít és segít ráhangolódni a munkára.

The ideal situation for me is when I am alone in my workshop and I listen to classical music. It makes me relax completely and it helps me to get in tune with work.

7. Sör vagy bor?/Beer or wine? Az adott hangulatomtól függ, de inkább bor-párti vagyok. Nyáron, fehér, télen vörös (:

It depends on my momentarily mood, but I am more of a wine kind of person. White in summer, red in winter (:

8. Kutya vagy macska?/Dog or cat? Egyértelműen kutya, nagyon szeretem őket, volt is egy Boxerem gyerekkoromban. A macskákat nem igazán szeretem, szerintem kiszámíthatatlanok és kissé félelmetesek (:

Dog, obviously. I love them, I also had a Boxer as a child. I don’t really like cats though, I think they are unpredictable and a little scary (:

9. Mit szeretnél kifejezni az alkotásaidon keresztül?/What would you like to express through your artwork?  Szerethető, izgalmas és jól funkcionáló tárgyak készítése a célom. Olyan tárgyak létrehozása, amik képesek megszínesíti a hétköznapokat és mind a szemnek, mind pedig a kéznek élményt adnak. Rendkívül fontos számomra a minőség.

My goal is to create loveable, exciting and well-functioning objects. Objects, that make everyday life more colorful and that are not only a pleasure for the eyes but also a nice experience for the hands. Quality is very important to me.

10. Mi az, ami a leginkább feltölt?/What can recharge you the most?  Az utazás, kiállítás-látogatás (szeretem a műtárgyakat eredeti valójukban látni), főzés és a zenehallgatás.

Travelling, going to exhibitions (I like to see artworks in their original state), cooking, listening to music.

11. Kedvenc város?/Favorite city? Talán Bologna. Kellemes méretű város, minden megvan benne, ami kellhet: kultúra gasztronómia és az elhelyezkedése is kiváló. Emellett egyik fő erénye, hogy nincs meg benne a nagyvárosok idegesítő zsúfoltsága.

Bologna, maybe. It has a favorable size. You can find anything there that you need: culture, gastron-omy and it’s situated marvellously. One of its best traits is that it lacks the annoying crowds of big cities.

12. Hol leszel 10 év múlva?/Where will you be in 10 years?  Remélem, addigra egy sikeres céget és egy nagy műhelyt vezetek majd, és már csak azzal kell törődnöm, hogy megvalósítsam a legújabb ötleteimet.

I hope by then I will be managing a successful company and a big workshop and all I will have to deal with will be to make my newest ideas reality.

13. Kedvenc étel?/Favorite food? Olasz konyha és sushi miden mennyiségben. Nagyon szeretek enni, új ízeket felfedezni és főzni is.

Italian cuisine and sushi in any quantity. I love to eat, to discover new flavors and I also like to cook.

14. Kedvenc évszak?/Favorite season? Egyértelműen a nyár. Utálom a hideget (:

Summer, obviously. I hate cold. (:

15. Mi a legrosszabb tulajdonságod?/What is your worst characteristic?  Talán a makacsság...

Stubbornness maybe...

16. Ha egyetlen tanácsot kellene adni más, esetleg még kezdő tehetségeknek, mi lenne az?/If you could give one piece of advice to someone else, maybe to a beginner talent, what would it be? Azt gondolom, hogy a legfontosabbak ahhoz, hogy valaki művészként elérjen valamit a kitartás, az alázatos és fáradhatatlan tanulás képessége és a rendíthetetlen hit abban, amit csinál. Ezek be- és megtartása előbb-utóbb pozitív eredményre vezetnek.

I think the most important thing for someone to become an artist is persistency. The humble and painstaking skill for learning and the uncompromising belief in what you do. Keeping these at hand and in mind, will sooner or later result in success.

------------------------------------------ NÉVJEGY - Strohner Márton:

"A Mastro márkát Strohner Márton designer alapította 2012-ben. A fiatal tervező termékei széles érdeklődési körének megfelelően, az egyedi tervezésű kézzel készült kis szériás használati tárgyaktól, az ékszereken és home decor kiegészítőkön át, a kutya-pórázakig terjednek. Minőség és funkció - tárgyaiban keveredik e két alapvetően fontos érték. A részletek gondos kidolgozása mellett, kortárs-klasszikus hangvételével sajátos karakterű tárgyakat hoz létre."

‘The Mastro brand was founded by Strohner Márton designer in 2012. The young designer’s (thanks to his broad horizon regarding his interests) creations vary from custom designed, hand-made small-scale household objects, through jewelry and home-décor accessories to dog leashes. Quality and function - these two important qualities collide in his objects. Besides putting a lot of effort into details, he creates objects with very specific and unique characters thanks to his contemporary-classical tone.’

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// MARCI MUNKÁI ITT TEKINTHETŐK MEG/CHECK OUT MARCI’S WORK HERE: http://www.mastrodesign.eu/ https://www.behance.net/mastrodesign https://www.facebook.com/Mastrodesig.eu

[eddiejpoplar]

All-Lexus Ice Racing Is a Thing, and We Did It

When one pictures cars racing across a frozen landscape, what most often comes to mind is something like a pack of bright-blue Subarus wailing away, all four wheels clawing for purchase in a swirling tempest of blown snow.

Likely far less common are mental images of automatic-transmission, rear-wheel-drive Lexuses drifting nose-to-tail around a corner, their battered bodywork bearing testament to both the realities of narrow-track, low-friction racing as well as their bargain-basement Craigslist origins. And yet here I am, 400 miles from home in Minden, Ontario, Canada, strapping into a stripped-out IS300 that I’ve rented for the day from Russ Bond, owner of the Lexus Cup Challenge.

“Remember,” Bond says as he cinches my five-point harness in the cockpit of Lexus, which has a stock passenger seat next to the racing seat I’m in. “Make sure that the traction-control is set to off, and that the transmission is set to snow mode.”

This advice is repeated on a pair of stickers set at eye level on the car’s sun visor. I dutifully push the “SNOW” button next to the automatic transmission’s gear lever—each vehicle in the series runs in the slush with a slushbox—and verify that the TRAC light is on. Finished with my belts, Bond leans in semi-conspiratorially.

“Listen to the studs, Benjamin,” he tells me, imparting a smidgen of his hard-earned wisdom as a seasoned ice racer. “And stay away as far away from that car as you can,” he continues, finger pointed at one of my fellow competitors for the day. “They’ve put two cars out for the season already this year.” He raises his eyebrows. I nod, the message received.

‘IS’ Is for “Ice”

This year marked the second campaign for Russ and his fleet of rent-or-buy first-gen IS ice warriors, and he runs the series as a complement to his national KartStart racing school. The cars are available for either a full season or a modest daily fee as turnkey racers to anyone willing to make the trek up to Minden and pay the $10 temporary licensing fee to the Canadian Automobile Sport Clubs – Ontario Region.

This wasn’t my first time out on the ice, but it was my initial foray into door-to-door ice racing. I was also a studded-tire virgin, as my youth spent spinning wheels on frozen lakes and canals in Quebec had all been done on traditional winter rubber rather than the spiked Hankook IpikeRS tires the Lexus Cup cars feature (Hankook is also a series sponsor).

It was partially for these reasons that I brought along a co-pilot in the form of my father, himself an experienced time-trials driver but equally new to the world of studs. Given that the low speeds associated with ice racing made it friendly for passengers (in fact, they are encouraged), having his extra set of eyes spotting from the right seat felt like an excellent strategy. Also, what better witness to your potential failure in motorsports than the man who raised you?

Learning Curve(s)

The first two eight-lap morning heats are intended to serve as qualifiers for the four races later that afternoon. I am entered in two classes—Street Stud I and II—which gives me the most track time for my money, even though I won’t be sticking around for points competition on Sunday. The plan is to hang out near the back, keep an ear out for the studs as I had been advised, and get a feel for the car’s dynamics.

All of the above goes out the window almost immediately when, on the second lap, one of the Lexuses ahead of me tags another on the front fender, plowing them both into the snowbank and sending me pirouetting around the ensuing carnage in the nine-car field. It becomes clear that survival trumps all else, and for rest of the session—and the one that followed—I focus on threat mitigation as much as acclimatization.

I do learn a few things, however, most notably that the sound of both the studs and my father’s voice are effectively drowned out by the IS300’s 215-hp inline-six rattling the carpet-free interior. I also discover that two-foot, rally-school-inspired driving is effective at reducing push when rounding a corner in full drift mode, although my hefty winter boots aren’t exactly right-sized for the pedals.

Wet and Wild

One more thing: My butt ends up completely soaked after that first eight-lapper, causing momentary concern that each and every one of the sweat glands in my body have relocated to my posterior to celebrate my ice-racing debut. It turns out, however, that the seat cover had been covered in snow and frozen overnight, which meant I would have to run the four afternoon races in a bare metal seat, with the folded wad of the wet trousers I peeled off as my only cushion.

As I line up on the grid for the first race, sixth out of nine cars, I ignore the aluminum digging into my ribcage but flub the start when the green flag drops with my camera still in my hand trying to get a shot of the grid. ‘Stand on it!’ is not an effective recovery when digging in to ice—a gentle roll into the throttle after releasing the lightest of braking pressure is literally the only way forward—and I find myself losing position while marginally beginning to move.

Still, far back from the crowd ahead I’m able to explore the Lexus’s willingness to flick left to right, and I learn that a broad arc better preserves momentum than does an apex-focused approach. Despite the added traction afforded by an army of metal studs, it’s almost impossible to close the competitive gap on the ice unless the person ahead of you makes a mistake—as I do in the second heat when an unseen ice-hump under the snow launches the left side of the car skyward and causes my father to very vocally question his decision to ride shotgun.

The third session is a write-off. The track worn is slick after a previous street-tire session polished it to a sheen and I overdrive the studs enough to loop the car three times and elicit a helpful “whatever you’re doing, it’s not working” analysis from the man responsible for half my genetic code.

By the fourth stage, things have fortunately become more natural. I engage in some cat-and-mouse, bumper-on-bumper antics with a few of my fellow Lexuses, avoiding the car that’s high-sided itself on a snowbank at the apex of the fastest corner and turned the thing into a delicately approached touge.

Further shenanigans ensue when the car Bond warned me about—and which had yet to actually finish a heat without requiring an all-hands push from the snow—spins on the last lap just inches from my front bumper. This sends me and a fellow competitor into tail-wagging fishtails that would have been disastrous on a road course but which were drama-free on the ice—we’re traveling a mere 35 mph. “If you’re not sixth, you’re last,” I tell myself, having conceded no positions in my final session.

Leave Your Ego at Home

There’s little more humbling to an experienced asphalt driver than ice racing, where track conditions can change from lap to lap and being willing to allow the car to slide gracefully past the edge of traction is just as important clawing back onto the racing line once the corner is in the rearview.

Above all, having the patience to make methodical, smooth, and deliberate decisions behind the wheel and with the primary controls is key, although my mid-pack performance won’t see me signing any autographs for the surprisingly large crowd any time soon. Still, the car is in one piece—that’s always nice, especially when it’s not your own—and there’s a smile on my father’s face as he tells me that he regretted not renting his own IS as soon as we turned our second lap. I’ll take that over P1 any day of the week.

The post All-Lexus Ice Racing Is a Thing, and We Did It appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

from Performance Junk Blogger 6 https://ift.tt/2WlsPbT via IFTTT

[jonathanbelloblog]

All-Lexus Ice Racing Is a Thing, and We Did It

When one pictures cars racing across a frozen landscape, what most often comes to mind is something like a pack of bright-blue Subarus wailing away, all four wheels clawing for purchase in a swirling tempest of blown snow.

Likely far less common are mental images of automatic-transmission, rear-wheel-drive Lexuses drifting nose-to-tail around a corner, their battered bodywork bearing testament to both the realities of narrow-track, low-friction racing as well as their bargain-basement Craigslist origins. And yet here I am, 400 miles from home in Minden, Ontario, Canada, strapping into a stripped-out IS300 that I’ve rented for the day from Russ Bond, owner of the Lexus Cup Challenge.

“Remember,” Bond says as he cinches my five-point harness in the cockpit of Lexus, which has a stock passenger seat next to the racing seat I’m in. “Make sure that the traction-control is set to off, and that the transmission is set to snow mode.”

This advice is repeated on a pair of stickers set at eye level on the car’s sun visor. I dutifully push the “SNOW” button next to the automatic transmission’s gear lever—each vehicle in the series runs in the slush with a slushbox—and verify that the TRAC light is on. Finished with my belts, Bond leans in semi-conspiratorially.

“Listen to the studs, Benjamin,” he tells me, imparting a smidgen of his hard-earned wisdom as a seasoned ice racer. “And stay away as far away from that car as you can,” he continues, finger pointed at one of my fellow competitors for the day. “They’ve put two cars out for the season already this year.” He raises his eyebrows. I nod, the message received.

‘IS’ Is for “Ice”

This year marked the second campaign for Russ and his fleet of rent-or-buy first-gen IS ice warriors, and he runs the series as a complement to his national KartStart racing school. The cars are available for either a full season or a modest daily fee as turnkey racers to anyone willing to make the trek up to Minden and pay the $10 temporary licensing fee to the Canadian Automobile Sport Clubs – Ontario Region.

This wasn’t my first time out on the ice, but it was my initial foray into door-to-door ice racing. I was also a studded-tire virgin, as my youth spent spinning wheels on frozen lakes and canals in Quebec had all been done on traditional winter rubber rather than the spiked Hankook IpikeRS tires the Lexus Cup cars feature (Hankook is also a series sponsor).

It was partially for these reasons that I brought along a co-pilot in the form of my father, himself an experienced time-trials driver but equally new to the world of studs. Given that the low speeds associated with ice racing made it friendly for passengers (in fact, they are encouraged), having his extra set of eyes spotting from the right seat felt like an excellent strategy. Also, what better witness to your potential failure in motorsports than the man who raised you?

Learning Curve(s)

The first two eight-lap morning heats are intended to serve as qualifiers for the four races later that afternoon. I am entered in two classes—Street Stud I and II—which gives me the most track time for my money, even though I won’t be sticking around for points competition on Sunday. The plan is to hang out near the back, keep an ear out for the studs as I had been advised, and get a feel for the car’s dynamics.

All of the above goes out the window almost immediately when, on the second lap, one of the Lexuses ahead of me tags another on the front fender, plowing them both into the snowbank and sending me pirouetting around the ensuing carnage in the nine-car field. It becomes clear that survival trumps all else, and for rest of the session—and the one that followed—I focus on threat mitigation as much as acclimatization.

I do learn a few things, however, most notably that the sound of both the studs and my father’s voice are effectively drowned out by the IS300’s 215-hp inline-six rattling the carpet-free interior. I also discover that two-foot, rally-school-inspired driving is effective at reducing push when rounding a corner in full drift mode, although my hefty winter boots aren’t exactly right-sized for the pedals.

Wet and Wild

One more thing: My butt ends up completely soaked after that first eight-lapper, causing momentary concern that each and every one of the sweat glands in my body have relocated to my posterior to celebrate my ice-racing debut. It turns out, however, that the seat cover had been covered in snow and frozen overnight, which meant I would have to run the four afternoon races in a bare metal seat, with the folded wad of the wet trousers I peeled off as my only cushion.

As I line up on the grid for the first race, sixth out of nine cars, I ignore the aluminum digging into my ribcage but flub the start when the green flag drops with my camera still in my hand trying to get a shot of the grid. ‘Stand on it!’ is not an effective recovery when digging in to ice—a gentle roll into the throttle after releasing the lightest of braking pressure is literally the only way forward—and I find myself losing position while marginally beginning to move.

Still, far back from the crowd ahead I’m able to explore the Lexus’s willingness to flick left to right, and I learn that a broad arc better preserves momentum than does an apex-focused approach. Despite the added traction afforded by an army of metal studs, it’s almost impossible to close the competitive gap on the ice unless the person ahead of you makes a mistake—as I do in the second heat when an unseen ice-hump under the snow launches the left side of the car skyward and causes my father to very vocally question his decision to ride shotgun.

The third session is a write-off. The track worn is slick after a previous street-tire session polished it to a sheen and I overdrive the studs enough to loop the car three times and elicit a helpful “whatever you’re doing, it’s not working” analysis from the man responsible for half my genetic code.

By the fourth stage, things have fortunately become more natural. I engage in some cat-and-mouse, bumper-on-bumper antics with a few of my fellow Lexuses, avoiding the car that’s high-sided itself on a snowbank at the apex of the fastest corner and turned the thing into a delicately approached touge.

Further shenanigans ensue when the car Bond warned me about—and which had yet to actually finish a heat without requiring an all-hands push from the snow—spins on the last lap just inches from my front bumper. This sends me and a fellow competitor into tail-wagging fishtails that would have been disastrous on a road course but which were drama-free on the ice—we’re traveling a mere 35 mph. “If you’re not sixth, you’re last,” I tell myself, having conceded no positions in my final session.

Leave Your Ego at Home

There’s little more humbling to an experienced asphalt driver than ice racing, where track conditions can change from lap to lap and being willing to allow the car to slide gracefully past the edge of traction is just as important clawing back onto the racing line once the corner is in the rearview.

Above all, having the patience to make methodical, smooth, and deliberate decisions behind the wheel and with the primary controls is key, although my mid-pack performance won’t see me signing any autographs for the surprisingly large crowd any time soon. Still, the car is in one piece—that’s always nice, especially when it’s not your own—and there’s a smile on my father’s face as he tells me that he regretted not renting his own IS as soon as we turned our second lap. I’ll take that over P1 any day of the week.

The post All-Lexus Ice Racing Is a Thing, and We Did It appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[jesusvasser]

All-Lexus Ice Racing Is a Thing, and We Did It

When one pictures cars racing across a frozen landscape, what most often comes to mind is something like a pack of bright-blue Subarus wailing away, all four wheels clawing for purchase in a swirling tempest of blown snow.

Likely far less common are mental images of automatic-transmission, rear-wheel-drive Lexuses drifting nose-to-tail around a corner, their battered bodywork bearing testament to both the realities of narrow-track, low-friction racing as well as their bargain-basement Craigslist origins. And yet here I am, 400 miles from home in Minden, Ontario, Canada, strapping into a stripped-out IS300 that I’ve rented for the day from Russ Bond, owner of the Lexus Cup Challenge.

“Remember,” Bond says as he cinches my five-point harness in the cockpit of Lexus, which has a stock passenger seat next to the racing seat I’m in. “Make sure that the traction-control is set to off, and that the transmission is set to snow mode.”

This advice is repeated on a pair of stickers set at eye level on the car’s sun visor. I dutifully push the “SNOW” button next to the automatic transmission’s gear lever—each vehicle in the series runs in the slush with a slushbox—and verify that the TRAC light is on. Finished with my belts, Bond leans in semi-conspiratorially.

“Listen to the studs, Benjamin,” he tells me, imparting a smidgen of his hard-earned wisdom as a seasoned ice racer. “And stay away as far away from that car as you can,” he continues, finger pointed at one of my fellow competitors for the day. “They’ve put two cars out for the season already this year.” He raises his eyebrows. I nod, the message received.

‘IS’ Is for “Ice”

This year marked the second campaign for Russ and his fleet of rent-or-buy first-gen IS ice warriors, and he runs the series as a complement to his national KartStart racing school. The cars are available for either a full season or a modest daily fee as turnkey racers to anyone willing to make the trek up to Minden and pay the $10 temporary licensing fee to the Canadian Automobile Sport Clubs – Ontario Region.

This wasn’t my first time out on the ice, but it was my initial foray into door-to-door ice racing. I was also a studded-tire virgin, as my youth spent spinning wheels on frozen lakes and canals in Quebec had all been done on traditional winter rubber rather than the spiked Hankook IpikeRS tires the Lexus Cup cars feature (Hankook is also a series sponsor).

It was partially for these reasons that I brought along a co-pilot in the form of my father, himself an experienced time-trials driver but equally new to the world of studs. Given that the low speeds associated with ice racing made it friendly for passengers (in fact, they are encouraged), having his extra set of eyes spotting from the right seat felt like an excellent strategy. Also, what better witness to your potential failure in motorsports than the man who raised you?

Learning Curve(s)

The first two eight-lap morning heats are intended to serve as qualifiers for the four races later that afternoon. I am entered in two classes—Street Stud I and II—which gives me the most track time for my money, even though I won’t be sticking around for points competition on Sunday. The plan is to hang out near the back, keep an ear out for the studs as I had been advised, and get a feel for the car’s dynamics.

All of the above goes out the window almost immediately when, on the second lap, one of the Lexuses ahead of me tags another on the front fender, plowing them both into the snowbank and sending me pirouetting around the ensuing carnage in the nine-car field. It becomes clear that survival trumps all else, and for rest of the session—and the one that followed—I focus on threat mitigation as much as acclimatization.

I do learn a few things, however, most notably that the sound of both the studs and my father’s voice are effectively drowned out by the IS300’s 215-hp inline-six rattling the carpet-free interior. I also discover that two-foot, rally-school-inspired driving is effective at reducing push when rounding a corner in full drift mode, although my hefty winter boots aren’t exactly right-sized for the pedals.

Wet and Wild

One more thing: My butt ends up completely soaked after that first eight-lapper, causing momentary concern that each and every one of the sweat glands in my body have relocated to my posterior to celebrate my ice-racing debut. It turns out, however, that the seat cover had been covered in snow and frozen overnight, which meant I would have to run the four afternoon races in a bare metal seat, with the folded wad of the wet trousers I peeled off as my only cushion.

As I line up on the grid for the first race, sixth out of nine cars, I ignore the aluminum digging into my ribcage but flub the start when the green flag drops with my camera still in my hand trying to get a shot of the grid. ‘Stand on it!’ is not an effective recovery when digging in to ice—a gentle roll into the throttle after releasing the lightest of braking pressure is literally the only way forward—and I find myself losing position while marginally beginning to move.

Still, far back from the crowd ahead I’m able to explore the Lexus’s willingness to flick left to right, and I learn that a broad arc better preserves momentum than does an apex-focused approach. Despite the added traction afforded by an army of metal studs, it’s almost impossible to close the competitive gap on the ice unless the person ahead of you makes a mistake—as I do in the second heat when an unseen ice-hump under the snow launches the left side of the car skyward and causes my father to very vocally question his decision to ride shotgun.

The third session is a write-off. The track worn is slick after a previous street-tire session polished it to a sheen and I overdrive the studs enough to loop the car three times and elicit a helpful “whatever you’re doing, it’s not working” analysis from the man responsible for half my genetic code.

By the fourth stage, things have fortunately become more natural. I engage in some cat-and-mouse, bumper-on-bumper antics with a few of my fellow Lexuses, avoiding the car that’s high-sided itself on a snowbank at the apex of the fastest corner and turned the thing into a delicately approached touge.

Further shenanigans ensue when the car Bond warned me about—and which had yet to actually finish a heat without requiring an all-hands push from the snow—spins on the last lap just inches from my front bumper. This sends me and a fellow competitor into tail-wagging fishtails that would have been disastrous on a road course but which were drama-free on the ice—we’re traveling a mere 35 mph. “If you’re not sixth, you’re last,” I tell myself, having conceded no positions in my final session.

Leave Your Ego at Home

There’s little more humbling to an experienced asphalt driver than ice racing, where track conditions can change from lap to lap and being willing to allow the car to slide gracefully past the edge of traction is just as important clawing back onto the racing line once the corner is in the rearview.

Above all, having the patience to make methodical, smooth, and deliberate decisions behind the wheel and with the primary controls is key, although my mid-pack performance won’t see me signing any autographs for the surprisingly large crowd any time soon. Still, the car is in one piece—that’s always nice, especially when it’s not your own—and there’s a smile on my father’s face as he tells me that he regretted not renting his own IS as soon as we turned our second lap. I’ll take that over P1 any day of the week.

The post All-Lexus Ice Racing Is a Thing, and We Did It appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[perrydowning]

I just had a magnificent stay at the Hillbrook Inn in West Virginia (I only have five more states to visit to have the whole set!) I mean, look at it. It’s as if I stumbled onto a Hallmark movie set!

After I weathered a truly humiliating handful of days where I discovered parts of me haven’t learned even one bit since I met my beloved and are still fully capable of spinning into outer space—not even just suborbital—I needed to get out of my head.

Thus, the Mr. Downing who chills with my muse in my subconscious informed me that I required pampering and should therefor pick a good B&B for him, since he’s a figment. Oh, and I was to get a massage because he can no longer rub me. He's such a thoughtful husband, even in death.

This place was just stunning. Absolutely top five lodging experience of my life. Everything was impeccable—the staff, the inn, the grounds, and oh lord the food! I had planned on investigating the region, but I just couldn’t bring myself to leave this little land of the fae I lucked into. 

While I still feel like an utter numpty who is not fit for human consumption, I was able to retrieve my logic and reason from its little jaunt to the moon, so I feel like me again.

You never, ever, ever want to spend time vividly experiencing just how messy you were when you were younger.

*shuddering in horror*

[perrydowning]

I ❤️ Poland

Poland is stunning. It’s so gorgeous and ridiculously ... cool? I mean, I have never been cool a day in my life, but Poland has it goin’ on!

My view from my hotel room in Lublin:

Sculpture just down the way:

Fantastic cafe:

Every meal I’ve had has had a splash of something extra and just so delicious. I haven’t had a bad meal yet. Seriously, Poland should be on everyone’s bucket list!

[perrydowning]

What’s Next for Mrs. Downing

Housekeeping: For a bit, I probably won’t be posting/reblogging Reylo content. If you’d prefer not to read, I’ll be tagging everything of this nature as #personal so folks can hide my posts.

Hello, Beloveds-

The first thing I must do is attempt to express my gratitude for everyone’s msgs of support. The reminder that Mr. Downing is thought of fondly throughout the world is deeply comforting knowledge. Though he presented himself as a confounding puzzle of a person, his needs were few and simple. What made him happiest was when I was happy. He considered himself a gardener and I was his prized flower; he liked nothing more than tending to his favorite bloom.

Writing made me incredibly happy, having my writing read by you folks made me even more happy, so y’all were some of his favorite humans. You were never internet strangers to him because you liked his wife. Anyone who liked his wife was instantly considered a quality person in his book.

In other words, your thoughts, prayers, and words of support mean more to me than you can know because in addition to your kindness, it would have comforted Mr. Downing that so many people are here for me. Thank you.

Now, onto what’s next for me as I sit in the middle of a shattered life. The honest answer is I have no freakin’ clue. The practical answer is that I’m moving back to California. Right now, I can’t handle being alone for more than a couple of hours, and though my sister has managed to schedule one to three people being with me in New Orleans since the day my love passed, I don’t feel right asking people to keep flying to the deep south (during sauna season, no less) indefinitely.

I will begin the drive to the Bay Area on September 20th with one of my dearest and oldest friends. My house is being packed up, furniture sold etc. by my generous friends. I participate as much as I can, but unmaking my life with Patrick is exceptionally painful.

My furbabies will be re-homed because I know I don’t have the ability to care for four kitties as they deserve right now, nor can I keep the physical space to do so. The house is paid for in full, so all of my resources are tied up in the roof over my head. I’m in no shape to find a job let alone actually do said job. Thus, I’m selling the house. Letting go of the kitty family I gathered with Patrick is a looming dark cloud of even more loss, but sometimes the best cat-mom you can be is to find them better homes than you can provide.

For the next *mumble* I will be itinerant. Almost ten folks have offered to host me for, “As long as you need.” I hope I’m able to balance my current state of not-really-sane neediness with remembering that taking too much emotional energy from someone is really not something I want to do.

At first, I’ll be staying with an older friend I’ve had since I was 12 and she took me under her wing. I used to live at her house during the summers while I was in university, so her guest room really does feel like one of my homes.

That’s all I have worked out at this point; I feel pretty good about the decisions I’ve made so far.

Thank you, my friends, for reading this overly long summary of Perry. I intend to post updates about where I am and how I’m doing. And eventually I’ll post when I begin writing again, because it would devastate Mr. Downing if I gave it up out of grief and we can’t have that.

Take care of yourselves, beautiful souls

[perrydowning]

One More Week in the Home the Downings Made

It’s strange to want to run as fast as I can away from New Orleans as well as feel such sadness at the prospect of leaving. But I know that sadness comes from looking back instead of forward. It would be terrifyingly easy to stay, stay, stay, in this place of mourning, leave all his things as he did, and live out my life slowly fading away. I am 100% the kind of drama queen to wander our home in a silk robe, touching everything, haunting my own house.

Though donating most of his clothing, selling the tools and materials of his projects unfinished or only ever dreamed of—letting go of any bit of it, really—is about as fun as you’d expect, it’s also revealed something surprising. That I need to move in a timely manner is saving me from myself.

It turns out I have far more agency in this than I thought possible. I feel myself choosing to fully embrace my grief, letting myself cry so hard I can’t breathe. Then washing my face and continuing the process of realizing I really don’t need 50 pairs of Mr. Downing’s mismatched socks to remember him. And it’s okay to give away his truly magnificent collection of shoes; someone should enjoy his rainbow wingtips. I can’t hug his shoes.

Though I worried I was rushing things by letting go of the majority of his objects, instead I’m so grateful I’m doing it. I mean, it’s completely soul-rending, but storing it to handle it later was never going to change that. Maybe that’s my current guiding principle: face it, Perry, take the body blows, because time won’t make it one bit easier. The only way out is through, as they say.

I’m letting go of nearly all of the furniture as I try not to think about how much we spent on brand new furnishings for our home only three years ago. Some items folks are purchasing, others are being donated. On the last day I’ll be in this house, Saturday, 9/17, we’ll have to throw away anything I can’t fit in the moving pod or dispense with. I can’t believe I’m hiring that hauling company from the show ‘Hoarders’.

One of my kitties is in a new home, another has a temporary placement, leaving me with Rey and Jot. I’m beginning to suspect that they might be road-trippin’ with me west, where I’ll continue to search for suitable caregivers. I’ve had them since they were kittens so all they’ve ever known is love and having appropriate staff. My heart cannot take the thought of them in cages, so even a no-kill shelter isn’t a possibility.

We’ll be driving along I-40, taking us through Albuquerque. The last time I drove this route back to California, the sunset there was the most vibrant I’ve ever seen. Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to get another glimpse.

Every day I find a reason to laugh, and every night I fall asleep to good—soothing—memories of our life together. I’m finding my way.

I’ll write another update once I’m safely back in Palo Alto, California. Take good care, my friends.

[perrydowning]

Time Traveling Home

Hello, m’dears. I’ve missed you. 

I (and my elderly chihuahua who looks like a house-elf) arrived safely in Palo Alto, CA this past weekend. The drive took five days; I needed bit of time to recover physically from the trip, the mad rush to finish packing, and all those little details one forgets about, even when you think you’re prepared.

Though the friend I’m currently staying with—henceforth referred to as ‘Auntie Downing’—offered to have my car shipped, I felt the drive itself would help me process the profundity of this change. This was the fourth time I’ve driven across the country, and there really isn’t another way to fathom just how massive and varied this land is. Not unlike the thoughts and feelings that course through me on a schedule only they know.

My traveling buddy, other than Dobby the Chihuahua, did about two thirds of the driving, leaving a lot of time to look out the window silently crying, make nostalgic playlists from our college years, and update each other on the smaller details of our lives—plus tell our new hilarious stories since we last spent real time together.

Mr. Downing had always wanted to take me to the Grand Canyon. On our way to New Orleans we had to choose between that or seeing the London Bridge (yup, the actual bridge) in Lake Havasu. Neither of us had seen it, whereas he’d already been to the Grand Canyon. And, really, you kinda have to walk across a bridge built 200 years ago in England, that had been built to replace the old, 1,000 year-old bridge … especially when the ‘new’ bridge is now in the middle of … Arizona? Because it totally makes sense to ship and rebuild an entire freakin’ bridge. Americans are weird.

At the time, we decided we’d make a proper trip to the Grand Canyon in the future. Clearly, that was no longer possible, but it had been so important to him that I experience it that I needed to see it, almost like a pilgrimage. 

So, I took his urn with me while I looked out on its vastness. In a way, he did take me to see this magnificent place. I cried—a lot. But I’m so very glad I went. It proved something I’d suspected—that when I experience something new, in a way, he does, too. There’s just too much of him wound through me for it to be otherwise. 

Two days later, we arrived back in the Bay Area; I played ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ as we crossed the border into California. It seemed only right to warn them. It felt really good to know where I was going without having to have my phone tell me.

Now, to the time traveling part. When I last lived with Auntie Downing, I was 22 and beginning my ‘grown-up’ life. First real job, finding my first place, all that. In many ways, it feels like I’ve traveled back to that point in my life, that place of not knowing. It’s been a very long time since I haven’t known the general shape and direction of my future, and, man, it is weird.

This time, however, I know myself a hell of a lot better and have more resources. So, even though I’m grieving, I’m also a tiny bit … eager to find out what’s next.

It’s been two months since Mr. Downing’s death and I think my brain is beginning to come back online, a little bit. My memory is improving and the fog is starting to recede. The mountain is still steep, but I’ve finally figured out what kind of shoes I need to wear for the climb.

It’s time for me to shift these sorts of posts over to my non-Reylo blog, @perrydowning-unplugged. I’ll post a link on this blog to new posts about how things are going for me, but the content here will revert to mostly Reylo.

As always and ever, thank you, so very much, for being such supportive and kind people. 

All my love,

Perry

[perrydowning]

My Most San Franciscan Moment on This Trip

Last night during the intermission of ‘Phantom’ I waited in line for the ladies’ room. And waited. And waited. I finally got fed up, went to the men’s room and called into it to see if there were any men in there. Nope, no men. So in I popped. When I came back out, three Italian women were entering stalls. I guess it just took one pushy broad to start the trend.

[perrydowning]

Good news! They moved me to a direct flight!

Bad news, I have six hours to kill at Heathrow.

[perrydowning]

12-year old Perry is LOSING HER MIND!!!! My shipping evolution: Labyrinth (Sarah/Jareth) -> Phantom (Christine/Erik) -> Harry Potter (Snaaaaaaape oh my god Snaaaaape) -> Reylo. So, 12-year old Perry, I hope you're proud of yourself.

[perrydowning]

Tea at the British Museum