This past week there were two accidents involving motorcycles and in both cases the men died. There were no other vehicles connected to the mishaps so these guys were the authors of their own demise it seems. With these types of incidents happening frequently over the summer people constantly ask me, "Why do you continue to ride with so much danger lingering on the roads for those two wheel coffins?" (or something similar). The simple answer is, "I love my Harley! and I love to ride it!" A more detailed answer would include several other things such as I love;
-The sound of the 1450 CC engine with Samson duel pipes roaring down the highway in top gear
- The feel of the bike as it leans and hugs the road as you wind around the "S" curves in the road
- The joy of hearing Toby Keith or Willie Nelson blaring in your ears as you thunder down the highway
- Running through the gears from 1 to 5 as you accelerate from a dead stop.
- Juicing the speed from 65 mph to 85 mph in 3 seconds as you fly by a semi on the interstate
- Feeling and hearing the rumble of the Harley engine as you idle at a stop sign
- Leaning back and resting your legs on the highway pegs as you roar down a straight-a-way.
These are a few of the reasons I love/live to ride but don't get me wrong I know there is an element of thrill built in because there is no iron cage between you, the road or any other vehicles. Danger of some sort has always driven men in one way or another toward activities or sports that test your will and courage to overcome your own fears. Women usually forego this desire although that seems to be changing these days.
Finally there is the look of that hunk of steel and chrome shining in the noon day sun with the leather bags black as coal and their studs sparkling in your eyes. As you mount the beast and bring the engine to life I can truly say there is absolutely nothing better ( ????). Ok ok ok ok.
Rest in peace boys.

If you think back 40 or 50 years ago the general population had certain values and principles that were reaffirmed daily by the media in the content of the news they covered. Basic rights, good and bad, right and wrong were all things that were very clear and could be understood by almost everyone. Common sense also was a predominate factor in the logic behind most occurences in the day to day lives of our citizens. Then the Liberals and social engineers began to usurp power within the media and things began to change whereby simple logic became passe and every issue had a complicated series of factors that was responsible for every act. For instance, criminals were not bad people who did bad things. No they were misunderstood, mistreated victims of society who were crying out for help and needed the rest of the world to take them under their arms and provide comfort and care. Heroes became the enemy of this group of intellectuals because in their minds they glorified war. The flag, the love of Country, the honour of serving your nation in the Military and dying on the battlefield were things they felt should not be publicized so began the slow process of changing the public appetite from the John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart types to the Michael Jacksons and the Rosie O'Donnells of the world. Trashing our moral standards and diminishing the love of Country became the rallying cry of the left wing elites. In this way they hoped we would become less violent and then less likely to go to war. Of course their logic was off base because our nation wasn't a warmongering group of idiots. The only time we ever went to war was in defense of our rights and freedoms and those of our allies. But that made no difference to these god-like people (at least thats how they saw themselves). Finally after all these years things are starting to turn around. Of course 9/11 was the impetus which shook people up and since that time our military, which had been demonized for years, suddenly became respected and the soldiers honoured as they should be. While the media still spends an inordinate amount of time on the Lindsay Lohans of the world the news networks led by "Fox News" are forced to report on other things that our citizenry holds dear. Although it is a start it will takes years to reestablish moral codes and principles and only if we have leaders in politics and in the media that will offer a rebuttal to these left wing "know-it-alls" who try to push their ideology on to all of us. Patriotism and freedom are at the core of our Countries greatness and if we don't realize that, the loss of these things will bring us down to the level of the rest of the world and our lifestyle as we know it, will cease to exist. I am optimistic however as I view the upcoming generation that the changes initiated after 9/11 are still underway and will eventually be the menu of the day once more.

As I watch my grandsons grow up and observe their lifestyle in this day and age I often compare it to when I was their age or a bit older. There are definitely some positives to living in 2010 but I wonder if they are enough to offset the things that we enjoyed as kids in the 50's. First there is no comparison to the amount of toys that my grandchildren enjoy and the ones that I had back in those times. In fact I would venture to say that they get more at one Christmas morning than I ever received during my entire first 15 years on this earth. On the positive side I could walk out my door and go to any one of 10 neighbours on my street and find a friend to play with outside either in our backyards or more than likely in the farmers fields at the back of our subdivision or the bush at the end of the street. The only instructions I received were to be home for lunch or dinner which ever was the upcoming meal on the itinerary. Sadly today, my grandsons cannot leave the sight of a parent or a designated supervisor while they are outside of the house. Today kids are taken to school by a parent or driven by bus after being dispatched from the bus stop by their supervisor. I walked to school beginning in kindergarden and every grade thereafter and it was about 3/4 of a mile. It's not the distance that is the difference it is the freedom of fear in those days that anything bad could happen during the walk to classes. My grandsons have fantastic imaginations and I try to encourage them by playing along with them wherever, whenever and whomever they want me to be. It could be in outer space, fighting monsters in the jungle or at a fire scene as a fireman it doesn't matter because they provide the commentary and the necessary prompts for my actions. I don't think the imaginations of the kids today differ any from my time it is just where they are manifested. Today they tend to be inside the house or the backyard, in front of a TV screen (WI or Xbox) or using a handheld gaming device where in my day they came to life outside with pieces of wood and other made up accessories. I could go outside with my friends and play baseball or street hockey for hours without seeing a single adult whereas to day most if not all children's sports activities are organized and controlled by adults. If you play baseball on Tuesday night then the glove and ball sits in the hallway until that night rolls around. I started playing organized baseball at 11 and hockey at 15 but from the age of 7 until then, I played hundreds of pickup games with my pals on the street, the farmers field or the frozen over creek at the edge of the bush. The other thing that I question is the speed at which kids develop now a days. Because there is so much information easily available to everyone, kids find out adult type things at a much earlier age. You may supervise what your kids watch on TV or the internet but there are those that don't and their kids take that info and spread it around at school or at the playground. There is no question that the children of today are smarter and more advanced than we were years ago but I sometimes wonder if the price they pay is worth it. I admit I don't remember a lot of details from those times but I do remember they were the happiest of times spent with my buddies in that little town in rural Ontario.I just hope my grandsons develop the same memories of these years.

Reeking" Is His Business Model: Homeless New Jersey man Richard Kreimer said in February (2006) that he had settled, on undisclosed terms, part of his most recent lawsuit, against a transit company and two drivers, for having denied him rides because of his foul odor. Kreimer's history includes a $150,000 settlement with the public library in Morris County, which had tried to keep him out because of his odor, and, by his count, $80,000 in additional lawsuit-related income (though some went for legal expenses). Kreimer filed another foul-odor lawsuit in February against a transit company and a train station in Summit

People who live or work in New York City believe themselves to be among the world's toughest and hardiest, but at least 51 of them are apparently legendarily soft: the 51 city bus drivers who between them took 3,200 days of paid leave last year to "heal" over the single workplace "injury" of being spit on by passengers. (Thirty-two other spit-upon drivers did not request leave.) An official with the Transport Workers Union called spitting "physically and psychologically traumatic" and requiring "recuperat(ion)." [New York Times, 5-25-10]

Vying in recent years with Washington, D.C., as the nation's "district of calamity" is Detroit, whose previous mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick, was in May ordered to prison to serve 1-1/2 to 5 years after repeatedly violating his probation on his conviction for obstruction of justice. In June, Detroit's school board president Otis Mathis resigned under fire, then tried to un-resign by offering to cure himself of the behavior that started his downfall, specifically, Mathis' touching and fondling himself during several one-on-one meetings with the school system's General Superintendent, Teresa Gueyser. [Detroit Free Press, 5-25-10] [WXYZ-TV (Detroit), 6-17-10

According to a May report by Seattle's KOMO-TV, former Oregon National Guardsman Gary Pfleider II is awaiting the results of his latest appeal to end the garnishment of his disability checks to cover $3,175 for gear he supposedly "lost" when he was shot in Iraq. Pfleider was hit in the leg by a sniper in 2007, bled profusely and was evacuated (and is awaiting his ninth surgery on the leg), but the Oregon Guard apparently believes that, despite the trauma, Pfleider somehow should have paused to inventory the equipment he was carrying and to make arrangements for its safekeeping during his imminent hospitalization. [KOMO-TV (Seattle), 5-28-10

Catholic Youth Organization coach Michael Kman, 45, was charged in May with various misdemeanors regarding an alleged attempt over a several-month period to fix kids' basketball games for Kman's Our Lady of Lourdes church team in East Pennsboro Township, Pa. According to police, Kman sent multiple text messages to referees Jay and Jon Leader, offering them as much as $2,500 if certain games reached the "right outcome." The Catholic Diocese of Harrisburg has suspended Kman from coaching. In Kman's day job, he is a financial consultant. [Patriot-News (Harrisburg), 5-14-10]

British mechanical engineer John Tyrer told an audience at the annual meeting of the Institute of Physics in Brighton, England, in March that he and his colleagues were using lasers to design a more comfortable bra. "A breast imposes various load distributions ... and vibrational problems as the woman walks," he said, and he criticized the "strap design" that "transmits the load to the wrong places." According to Tyrer, the technology, "Electron Speckle Pattern Interfermometry," analyzes the way a three-dimensional surface (like a bra) changes when a force is applied to it.

Yesterday I completed my first volunteer assignment for the Dog Rescue Farm I had mentioned in one of my earlier posts. My "assignment if I chose to accept it" ( listen to the Mission Impossible music in the background) was to drive a cargo van to Fort Erie, cross into the USA and meet some folks in a park in Buffalo to pick up several dogs. Once situated into their crates and loaded onto the van I was to re-enter Canada and proceed to take the dogs to their new home at the Rescue Farm. These animals come from somewhere in Ohio and are basically strays who have been abandoned by their owners for a variety of reasons , none of which justifies their actions, in my opinion. As someone once said," we humans have domesticated dogs to the point where they are dependant on us for their survival and therefore we should take this responsibility very seriously." However I digress. Once I hit the US border I was ready for a series of questions about why I had all the empty crates in my van, where was I going and who was providing these dogs. Then I would be dinged with a charge for each empty crate which, apparently, was a fee to raise money for government coffers, "C'mon Barrack loosen up a bit and give the dogs a break". Anyhow, the customs and immigration officer did not seem to be aware of this rule and proceeded to let me through and even helped me with directions to my rendeavous spot. Ring one up for me! Once there I met up with the folks waiting to pick up dogs and finally the transporters from Ohio who were bringing the animals to the park. The first gentleman I met was my advocate and really helped me get through this, my first dog exchange of which I appreciated very much, believe me. I was impressed by his thoughtful care for animals as his SUV with empty cages was sitting idling with the air conditioning on to keep the vehicle cool for his upcoming guests. It was 34 celcius outside. Each cage had a cushion or padding in it as well as some dog treats . He also brought lots of water and bowls to let all of the dogs (ended up being 22) get a drink during the transfer stage. Once the two SUV's carrying the dogs from Ohio arrived the job was to get them sorted out, match up the paperwork (breed & health info, verification of rabies vaccinations, vet authorizations and general information about the animal) and then reload in our cars. In between the move from one vehicle to another each dog was allowed to have a drink of water and to have a brief walk in the park to stretch it's legs and do any business required. Once this was finished I had to get each one of "my" dogs into their new crate in my van and make sure they were secure. This was hard work and I was soaked with sweat when I was done. I also had two large scrapes on my arms from some of the cages that I had to maneuver around in the back of the van. I now had war wounds to flaunt! As I think about it now the people I met here were very unique for a lot of different reasons some of which would solicit a few laughs I'm sure, but the real neat thing was that none of us were being paid (other than costs) for putting in all of this time and effort for a few dogs and you just don't make fun of that. Next came the re-entry into Canada and I ended up being pulled over for inspection. After about 20 minutes I was on my way albeit with a distinct unpleasant odor in the vehicle. Because of the heat outside I had to keep the air conditioning on and of course the windows closed so eventually I became "one with the smell". So much for the old saying that dogs don't crap in their own surroundings. Eventually I returned to the Farm safely with a new adventure successfully completed and bragging rights to being an active volunteer not just a talker. What I did realize however was that my job was the easiest part, as now the folks at the dog camp had to absorb these dogs into their family, feed and care for them and hopefully find a home for each one. I gain more respect for these people everytime I see them. Next time though I'm going to make sure each dog gets enough time walking during the transfer phase so I don't have to bring a mask and live with 2 hrs of delightful and aromatic odors permeating the vehicle.

Pow pow.... another banger bites the dust in the big city. Two things then happen almost immediately. First we hear about the traffic in illegal guns and how it must be stopped in order to end this violence and second we hear about "what a good boy the victim was". This is usually accompanied by a picture of the victim, his mother or both on the front page. The next several things usually happen but not always. We see a local organizer speaking to a group of people about regaining control of their community and saving their children from a similar fate. Next is a police officer pleading with the public for help in finding the "perp". Then the outrage and sympathy quickly fades away after it is overshadowed by the next gunshot that finds the chest of a inner city youth. So much huffing and puffing and nothing ever changes except the faces of those gunned down in the streets of our city. If anybody was serious about correcting this situation it would have been done by now because common sense and history have always had the answers. Accountability and responsibility are the simple corrective actions. Make people accountable for the severity of their actions which interprets to a jail sentence that is clearly a deterrent not just a slap on the wrist. Any crime commited with a firearm should carry a minimum 20 year sentence and shooting someone should start at 25 years with no chance of parole. Knowing these are the consequences of using a gun the then would be shooter is sending a clear message (I don't care) to society and then becomes solely responsible for his/her actions. Responsiblity means "YOU" are to blame not your mother, not the welfare system, not your abusive Dad, not the wrong crowd etc etc. Therefore suck it up put on the orange suit and slippers and head for your cell without any tears or pleas for leniency. Unfortunately our politicians and judges are of a Liberal slant and therefore see this type of answer too abrupt and simple and doesn't take into account all of the psychological, heredity and environmental factors that are the real cause for these misguided victims of society. They prefer to put these people's rights ahead of the law abiding folks who are always the real victims of these crimes. Sure the prison population would rise at the outset but it will even out after the shooters decide to lay down their arms for another weapon of choice. Nothing is 100% affective but this type of action has proven time and time again that when implemented it can almost eliminate its intended target. Take Thailand for instance, they have some of the toughest drug laws on the books anywhere in the world and you rarely hear of any problems with smuggling etc except once in a blue moon when a foreigner is caught and the Liberal media rushes to their assistance. How about chewing gum in Singapore? I know this isn't as serious as gunplay but it illustrates the type of action required if a society truly wants to put an end to a particular practice in it's community. Hey I have an idea, put me on the bench and then watch the prison vans line up for new tires on a very regular basis.........................

On returning to the hotel after my first day at the Ukrainian factory I slowly made my way up the stairs thinking about how nice it would be to hit the sack. As I opened the door I thought I heard a noise but after walking in and looking around there was nothing to be seen. The bed had been made and the window was left open to allow a cool night breeze to permeate the room. As I plopped down on the edge of the bed a large furry black mass leaped out from under the headboard and with a loud screech flew up to the window sill, turned to stare at me for a moment and then jumped to the tree branch almost touching the window. Needless to say I was stunned and found myself frozen to the bed with my mouth wide open but speechless to say the least. As I stared at the animal in the window for a split second I realized it was a large black cat that had apparently climbed up the tree into my room and spent part of the day relaxing in my quarters. Once my heart started beating again and after I changed my pants I quickly closed the window thinking about what else might have found its way into my private abode while I was away at work. After a thorough search of the room and an hour of watching for any slight movements I was finally able to fall asleep. The next morning I made sure, using sign language and broken English to let the floor lady know to keep my window shut all day. The next few days at the plant were extremely interesting in that we were able to observe their manufacturing process from start to finish without the encumbrance of vodka. The only thing I couldn’t understand was why their cost sheets contained so much labour to produce their annual quantities of cotton. Our Company’s plant in Massachusetts produced 32 million pounds a year with a staff of 38 people running 24 hours a day 7 days a week. This plant produced 40 million pounds a year 24/7 but their employment role indicated 900 people to do it. What I found out was that they actually had only 300 people working at the factory but were receiving payment from the government for 900 people. You see they received funding from the government based on the combination of the number of people on the payroll and the amount of cotton produced. Pretending to have more people working provided them with more money to keep the plant running and also gave them each a few extra rubles. This actually wasn’t such a big deal because there wasn’t anything to spend it on anyway as the only valuable things to be purchased could only be obtained on the black market with US dollars. The way they kept the numbers on the payroll was to never eliminate anybody’s name when they left, which more than likely was because they had died. Even in the Communist bloc there was always a way to cheat the government although if you got caught doing it in the USSR the penalty was a bit more than a fine. All in all it was a tough life and outside of chocolate and vodka there didn’t seem to be a lot of enjoyment to be had outside of family and friends. The consumption of vodka was so prevalent that one afternoon while walking back to the office area from the factory I found a set of false teeth lying on the ground and was informed that one of the men had lost them in a stupor as he was leaving work. It seemed like everybody needed a buzz on to survive the daily hum drum of life behind the curtain. One night I had a long talk with our young interpreter over a few drinks and was surprised to hear the sad saga of his young life. But that’s for another chapter.

The first morning I awoke at the hotel in Cherkassy, stretched then decided to take my shower in the compact bathroom, shave and get ready for work. Everything went well until I was standing at the mirror and caught sight of something on the wall behind me. I looked twice and said ‘Damn”! It was the biggest cockroach I had ever seen and believe me when I say huge as I almost mistook it for a mouse. It slowly climbed down the wall impervious to my presence and made its way to the floor where I had finally come to my senses and proceeded to squash it. Thank goodness I couldn’t find any others so I went about disconnecting all of the electrical plugs as advised and went downstairs to meet my compatriots where we boarded a small bus. The drive to the factory took about ½ hour and the town was just waking up as people were opening store doors, sweeping sidewalks and getting ready for the day to come. When we arrived at the plant we met the Plant Manager and his staff and with the help of the interpreter got set up to tour the facility. It was a massive place with a lot of heavy equipment of which I won’t go into because it wouldn’t make sense to anyone unless they were in the cotton bleaching business. As I had mentioned before it was very different to see women working at all the manual labour jobs throughout the entire factory. I had to look twice at some of them though to be sure of the sex as they were not very petite as one would say. Tearing open and slinging cotton from 1000 lb bales seemed to be no problem for these ladies and I thought, I’d hate to get in a street fight with any of these babes. As we toured around I asked questions about spare parts, repairs and the technical knowhow to keep the plant running if there were any problems with machinery or the building and such. I was told that it was almost impossible to get parts in the Soviet Union and therefore they had to make do for themselves. The engineers were very innovative people and could fix anything given the time and some scrap metal or wire. You could see their handiwork everywhere and it was very impressive to see what they had improvised in the most difficult of situations. Everyone was friendly and helpful although communication was always difficult with only one interpreter. At lunchtime we all gathered in the cafeteria where the Plant Manager had his own table seating at least 20 people made up of our team of 4 and his staff. As the meal was served I noticed that there were no menus and thus no choices to make so I focused on my “water with gas” sipping slowly as the main course was put in front of me. To this day I am not sure what we had but the texture of the meat made me envision some sort of tongue but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. About ten minutes into the meal the Plant Manager, who was at the head of the table, stood up with his glass of vodka and made a toast that was very loud and boisterous. Then everyone lifted their glasses, which had been filled with vodka by the server, and completed the toast by gulping the drink right down. As soon as I finished and put my glass down the server was right there refilling it along with all of the other guest’s glasses as well. After two more toasts by his staff it became clear that everyone at the table would have to make a toast and there were 20 people there. Needless to say the afternoon was shot as I staggered away from the lunch table to find a place to lay down. I found out later that guests were supposed to drink only a sip of the vodka and quickly fill up the glass with water so the server couldn’t add more vodka and I surely remembered this trick for the rest of my stay at the plant. After waking up from my afternoon siesta we completed our tasks in the plant and met the Plant Manager and his staff in his office about 7:30 pm that evening. He proceeded to take out several bottles of cognac and a dozen boxes of chocolate. Apparently this was a nightly ritual after the day’s work was done. These folks didn’t have much entertainment in the town but booze and chocolates were in large supply so that became the favorite pastime. It was sad but understandable given the conditions in the country. Trust me I learned quickly to sip and chew slowly. On the way back to the hotel I could hardly wait to see what was awaiting me when I returned.

The ride to Cherkassy from Kiev was about 4 hours in duration and the countryside was beautiful and not much different than any drive in the farmlands of the USA or Canada. I did notice something unusual however, as we passed railroad junctions and track couplings. At each one was a little hut about the size of a double outhouse with a door, a small porch and a large 45 gallon drum of grease and oil. As we passed one of them an Old Ukrainian woman came out of the hut, put down her knitting needles and wool and went to the drum. Here she took what looked like a large mop and dipped it in the grease. We had passed by then but I was told the old woman would take the mop covered in grease and lubricate the railway couplings, gears and other moving mechanisms for the track. When I expressed dismay about the old woman and the problems she must face with bad weather and loneliness I was told no it was just the opposite. This was looked upon as a plum job in that it wasn’t physically demanding and allowed for other activities such as knitting etc. As we arrived in town I began to see how the socialists could brag about zero unemployment. I saw one person on each side of the street one walking in one direction and the other in the opposite direction. They each held a broom and were sweeping the sidewalks and curbs which as it turns out was their job and the work that allowed the government to pay them 20 rubles a month. In fact throughout the town there were many of these types of jobs which one might say resembles the maintenance staff in some of our own towns. The difference however was that it seemed there was one of these people assigned to every street block. They did not rush and did not appear to be concerned that they would be sweeping the same spot several times during the day. Once again most of these people were women and in fact when I eventually did get to the factory most of the manual labour was done by women as well. The reason was because most of the healthy men were in the armed forces and probably fighting the war in Afghanistan. Once in the middle of town we were taken directly to our hotel which could hardly be compared to a Holiday Inn. It had 4 floors and it had been around for a long, long time as was evidenced by the state of disrepair and the overall need for paint and wallpaper. Our communist party guide took us through registration which meant turning over our passports and visas to the hotel management. I wasn’t too happy about this but had no choice if I wanted to stay. My room was on the 3rd floor with a window that overlooked the backyard and just outside was a large tree with some of its branches almost touching the sill. This was to be a bit of a problem later on during my stay. The room was not very big but it had a TV, a bathroom, a bed, a desk and a phone. I was told to unplug all of the electrical cords when I left the room because the wiring was very shoddy and there was always a risk of fire due to loose connections. Once unpacked I laid down and drifted off to sleep about 10 pm and was awakened by the phone ringing just after midnight. A woman was on the line asking me something in Russian or Ukrainian I’m not sure, all I know is that we couldn’t understand one another so I hung up only to receive 3 more calls like this over the next ½ hour. I found out the next morning that these were the hotel prostitutes trying to raise some business, so to speak. I found out that each floor had a floor overseer that would stop them from calling if you provided them with a few niceties like toilet paper or cigarettes. Yes toilet paper was a luxury item in this part of the world and I had been forewarned so I had several rolls with me of which I gave one to my overseer and voila'I wasn’t bothered for the rest of the trip. Even so I had trouble sleeping because of the partying that seemed to go on all night. It appears that this hotel was a stop for the troops heading home from Afghanistan after their tour of duty and they had plenty of steam to blow off. First night in Cherkassy and already I began to wonder “what the hell am I doing here?”

Arising the next morning after my early morning ride from the airport I proceeded to hook up with my partner from Boston who flew in the night before as well but managed to get picked up and chauffeured to the hotel in the proper manner. He was an engineer from head office who was born in New Jersey and sounded the part to a tee. He was six ft four inches tall and had a litany of one-liners just like Rodney Dangerfield. We had breakfast and then proceeded to a van that was to drive us to the factory in Cherkassy. As I said before, a foreigner wasn’t allowed to travel by themselves inside the Iron Curtain so we had a driver and a Communist Party Member assigned to us for the duration of our trip. We also had an interpreter that I got to know quite well during the time I was in the USSR and I learned many things about life inside the Republic from him during various discussions. Foreigners weren’t allowed to drive in the Soviet Union and I believe it was because of three things. First there were no insurance regulations so, if you got in an accident may the best man win, so to speak. Second there were very few service stations or repair shops (if any) so if your Lada broke down you had to fix it yourself otherwise you were out of luck. Last and probably the most important was fact that road safety was almost non-existent. I actually saw trees growing out of manholes in the middle of the street. I asked my friend (interpreter) why this was so and he explained that manholes were stolen regularly and no one was assigned to check and replace them. This was true of signs as well as road kill etc so anyone driving had to have an idea of what lay ahead of him in order to survive behind the wheel. The next thing that struck me as odd was the number of apartment buildings in the city and their overall condition which was not very good to say the least. These building looked similar to those built in the 50’s & 60’s in Toronto with about 12 to 15 floors and balconies on each. The problem was that every balcony was piled up with furniture, clothes and any other thing you may find in a garage sale. There obviously weren’t any by-laws against this type of eyesore in the city because it was evident on every building. My friend explained that because of the housing shortage the government one day decreed that each apartment was to be split in half and turned into two apartments so they could house people. Therefore balconies became prime storage facilities so that the inside of the apartments could be used as living space. What was even sadder was the fact that most young people had very little hope of having their own place even after marriage. My friend was 29 and his wife and two children still lived with his parents. As we pulled out of the city and onto the highway I was very impressed with the tall trees lined up on each side of the road. They were straight as an arrow and rose majestically 40 to 50 ft in the air. I also noticed that the trunks were white about 8 feet above the ground on each tree. I commented that it was good to see that the government took care of the trees by putting insect protection on them. My friend then explained to me that this wasn’t an environmental thing it was a safety issue as there were few parts for cars available in the Soviet Union so most cars could not replace burnt out headlights and therefore the white paint was put on the trees so it would reflect moonlight and help drivers to see where they were going at night. The last thing that I learned on the ride to Cherkassy was to never stop at a roadside BBQ. There was no such thing as service centers or McDonalds in the Ukraine just roadside grills cooking “who knows what” at the side of the road. Even my interpreter said that eating their food was a risk he would not take. By now I was starting to understand why there was no free press in the USSR because a revolution would have started long ago if these people could see the outside world. They totally relied on the government to look after them for the last 60 years and this is what they got.