BE A MAN #17) Build A Fire

Fire is perhaps the greatest power to be harnessed by man, and it is the most influential in the progression of society. Having the skills to make a fire could save your life, or at the very least your date...


The key to making a civilized fire is to start small and dry. Start by using small pieces of dry kindling, about the size of your finger. You can typically light these pieces without paper. The shape of the kindling stack differs; the most important thing is to allow for air flow. Once the kindling is burning well, add larger dry pieces. Go slowly allowing the fire to grow.

Tips: Buy cedar shims from the lumber yard, normally sold in bundles, to use as kindling. They’re easy to light, smell good, and burn hot. The best matches I’ve ever found are Ohio Blue Tip. They're damp proof, and strike anywhere (great for lighting on year jeans like the Cowboys in the movies). They can be made “waterproof” by dipping the tips in paraffin wax. I keep a few in my glove box in a waterproof match case. You can pick one up at REI.
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SPORTING: Silver State Classic Challenge Pt. 4

Toni took me by the arm and led me to the back.
“This is my apartment where I stay.” she said.
On the nightstand next to her bed was a picture of a little boy.
“This is my son…”
This is all I remember of what she said. My brain turned off.


There were rooms with bath tubs, rooms with showers, rooms with heart shaped beds. I had brought my camera but I didn’t want to shoot any photos. The pink tub and green carpet reminded me of the Beverly Hills Hotel.
The tour ended. I thanked Alma for the beers and the tour and said I’d be back.
Back out into the blinding light of day I headed back to my room for a quick nap.
When I woke it was dark and cool. The radio was playing in the office, and I could smell dinner cooking. In the dark I thought I was somewhere else, I forgot I was in Ely…I felt like Cpt. Willard. I lay there in bed with the ceiling fan turning in the dark listening to the muffled voices coming through the walls, but they only came from the office. The hotel was full, and the parking lot was full, but there was no sound coming from the other rooms. Maybe everyone else was out gambling, or visiting with Toni. I opened a beer from the cooler and it was cold and delicious as I lay there in the bed, on my sleeping bag. This was the dream, this was what I wanted, all I ever wanted, in that moment…to be somewhere, anywhere with a purpose…the purpose of living it, breathing it, feeling it, tasting it…life. My purpose was to take in every moment and that feeling made that moment, on a sleeping bag, on a bed in a piece of shit motel, drinking ice cold Pabst, listening to radio in an unfamiliar language, smelling someone cooking…it was all I wanted, all I ever wanted, and I lay there soaking it in, until that beer was gone, and it was time to be somewhere else.

I showered and dressed and walked down the street to the Bristlecone Center where they were having the driver’s safety meeting. The place was packed with men and women from all walks. There were teams from Japan, the UK, and Fresno. It was boring and I payed no attention. After the safety meeting for the drivers there was a safety meeting for the press…equally as boring, but I met some compadres in our folly…

From there, the press was invited to a dinner with the race promoter, the Grand Marshal John Schneider; Bo Duke from TV’s Dukes of Hazzard, and the manager of the Hotel Nevada. Dinner consisted of surf and turf, rubber and gray, served in a banquet room in the basement of the hotel…and as much Wild Turkey as I could order, but it was to be a late night, and I needed to keep my wits about me….relatively.

I was full of lobster and filet and a few wild turkeys, and this meant it was time to go. I buddied up to some racers and we headed back to the Stardust. The bar was half full, and Toni was out working the floor, mingling. The new girl was there, the one they brought in to take up the slack. She was in her late twenties, but had the body of a woman who'd reached her physical prime at about fourteen. She was wearing a black dress that showed lots of décolletage. Her face didn't help much, but what she lacked in physical appearance she made up for with charm....some of the guys liked her over Toni, or maybe they just didn’t care. She made Toni look like a prom queen. Toni was quiet and sweet.

I was reminded me of an old German saying my friend used often..."A hole is a hole, but I still have my dollar." But in this case, you were paying for it, so I guess you had to give up your dollar for the hole. Toni smiled at me, and my new friends figured I'd already dipped into the well. I just grinned.

"Three Pabst please Alma."
"Dude, what do you own this place?" My new friend asked me.
“No, I'm just good with names.”
“Did you say Hi to Kathy?” Alma asked.
“No, we haven't been formally introduced.”
Kathy came up beside me.

I tried to do a quick headcount and before I turned back around, Kathy was leading one of the racers to the back room. I tried in vain to monitor how many people came in and out of the door to the back rooms.

It was an even split between Toni and Kathy, on average they were gone for no more than 15 minutes each time.

The night progressed and beer flowed, and at about two I realized the bar was almost empty, save the few new friends I'd made, as we sat shooting the shit.
“I’m going in.” one of my new friends said, as he got up and met Kathy at the door.
It took a few minutes for my brain to navigate the beer fog, but the gears kicked in and the thought came to mind, “Why wait so long? Why wait until the end of the night to take your turn?”

Toni sat down beside me.

“Hi."
“Busy night.” I said. I was nervous and drunk, but tried to maintain my composure.
She spoke softly and sweetly, and I felt a spell coming over me.
“Maybe I could take some pictures.” I thought to myself. “Maybe this would be good for the story.”
The brain is capable of convincing itself, and the body, of anything. Like a siren she was calling me to the rocks.
"What time do you get off?" I asked, thinking I was being funny.
"Do you want me to go with you to your hotel?"
“You can do that?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes, were allowed to leave.” She said with a laugh. “Where are you staying?”
“The White Pine..." I hadn't meant to divulge where I was staying. Things can get weird in these high desert towns. My mind flashed through unpleasant scenarios. All this paranoia and I wasn't even stoned...just a bit too drunk.
“I can go with you for the rest of the night for $300.” She offered.
The gears ground and the mind drifted through the turn until my friend came back out and a finally the tires caught.
“I'm not ready for that kind of commitment, but I appreciate the offer.” I said.

We stumbled out onto the street and somewhere on the way back to my room I realized I was talking to myself and walking alone...and I was a lot more drunk than I realized.
Back in the room I undressed and fell asleep on the sleeping bag.

In the morning I woke and felt great and couldn't figure out why. According to the laws of physics I should have felt like shit. Maybe it was that the adventure was continuing, that I was living my dream, that I felt bulletproof, that I hadn’t paid a prostitute who had just been with thirty or more (I lost count) men, that I still had my $300...I felt happy to be alive.
I got dressed and went out to find some breakfast. There was a note on the windshield of my car.

"Nice car cop." The note read, and there was phone number.

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SPORTING: Silver State Classic Challenge Pt. 3

“Toni, this man is writing about the race and wants a tour. Would you show him around?” Alma asked.

“Sure” she said.

She smiled and took me by the arm...

Fourteen hours ago I was sitting in my rental car taking inventory of the equipment I had packed for covering my first “assignment”…albeit self-assigned. A now defunct online magazine was looking for content, and in exchange they would secure me access and press passes to Sporting events. This was uncharted territory for me, having never really written anything, much less having done zero reporting, but they had nothing to lose and I had everything to gain.

Frankly, I had no idea what I was doing. I borrowed some camera gear; lenses, filters, etc., from a friend who writes for the car mags…I needed something capable of high shutter speeds for shooting cars doing 100+, filters and shades for the bright sun, and telephoto lenses for any long shots. I packed a duffel bag with three changes of socks, four pair of underwear, two t-shirts, a pair of levis, a pair of khakis, a blue oxford shirt, blue blazer, a pair of brown loafers, and a pair of Rod Lavers. I also packed two marble composition books, a few pencils with a sharpener, and my Mossberg pump field gun and five boxes of heavy target load Winchester shotshells. There was supposed to be a trap range on the outskirts of Ely if I had some time to kill.

I sat there idling in front of my building, listening to KKJZ, taking inventory of the contents of my car, and my life. It was still dark and the streets were empty. I flipped a U and made a left up Broadway to the Winchell’s @ 6th, for a large Coke and two chocolate raised-glazed doughnuts for the ride. I like the nugget-style ice cubes at Winchell’s, but I hate the Styrofoam cups…”Oh me, Oh Life.”

I dropped back down to Fourth and made a left, on up the hill to the on-ramp to the 10. I mashed the pedal and got the Gran Prix up to 80 before I merged. I backed it down and set the cruise control for 72 and settled in. Dave Frishberg’s “I’m Hip” came on the radio.

“This dude is goofy as hell…but I bet he’s had his share of STRANGE.” I thought.

“ 'Cuz I'm hip.
Like, dig! I'm in step.
When it was hip to be hep, I was hep.
I don't blow but I'm a fan.
Look at me swing. Ring a ding-ding.
I even call my girlfriend "man," 'cuz I'm hip.
Every Saturday night with my suit buttoned tight and my suedes on
I'm getting my kicks digging arty French flicks with my shades on.
I'm too much. I'm a gas.
I am anything but middle class.
When I hang around the band,
Popping my thumbs, digging the drums,
Squares don't seem to understand
Why I flip. They're not hip like I'm hip.”


The cityscape of downtown Los Angeles rose on the horizon with the sun coming up behind it. It dawned on me (no pun intended) that in the five years I’d been here, I had never seen this view. It was beautiful and magnificent, and the smog makes for great sunrises as well as sunsets. Once past downtown, “civilization” dwindles…strip malls, strip malls, shopping centers, tract houses, strip malls, industrial facilities, a train yard, the original In & Out Burger, tract houses, and then nothing but desert. The wave of humanity reaches back onto the shore and leaves behind a scummy foam residue, a few bits of trash, and then the sand.

Heavy.

I had reached the end of the world, the land of milk and honey, Manifest Destiny! But, there was more to see and more living to do. I had made it to a soft and comfortable place in the world, and I was not happy. It was time to throw myself back into the fray…”Once more unto the breach!”

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SPORTING: Silver State Classic Challenge Pt. 2

“What time do you get off?” I asked
“Six.” Red said.

After a few more hours of trolling the back streets and alleyways looking for trouble, and finding none, and not really in the mood for starting any, I decided to check out the other reason people come to Ely.


The Stardust Ranch is an oasis from the heat and bright light of the afternoon. The wave of cold air and a waft of vanilla perfume met me at the door. There was a man sitting at the bar. He had a hundred pounds and six inches on me, and a bad right eye. It was cockeyed and small and dead. He had a thick moustache and looked a little bit like Jim Harrison. He also had an inch deep hole, the size of my thumb, in his right bicep just below the edge of his farmer tan. He was wearing gray work pants and matching shirt with a patch on the pocket that said “Nevada Energy”.

My eyes were slow to adjust to the dim light.

“I got shot.” He said when he caught me looking at the scar on his arm.

“I got shot four times…once in the arm, in the back twice, and in my right leg.” He lifted his shirt to show me the scars on his back. They were the same dark holes as the one in his arm.”

The little old lady behind the bar asked if I wanted a beer.

“What do you have?” I asked.

“We have Pabst and Miller and Bud Light and…”

“I’ll have a Pabst.” I said, cutting her off.

She opened the can and put it on the bar.

“I was up a pole disconnecting a bootleg when I heard a crack…and then my arm went numb. I thought I’d shocked myself, but then I heard another crack and my leg jumped and pulled the spike out…and then I saw the blood. Then I blacked out.” He said, and sipped at his beer.
I concentrated on looking at his good eye when he talked, but it was hard to not look at the rotted one. I would have worn a patch over it, but I don’t think he was much concerned about his looks anymore.

A cherubic girl came from the back room and said something to the old lady behind the bar. Alma nodded towards the lineman.

“When I woke up, it was dark. I was hanging upside down by the strap of my spur, covered in blood. I was a lot stronger then so I pulled myself up and climbed down and drove to the Dr.”

The girl had put her arm on his shoulder and was smiling sweetly. He turned and smiled at her.

“I still work for the power company…now I just drive around and check the meters on the oil wells.”

“Sounds a lot safer…anybody shoot at you yet?” I asked.

“I don’t get out of the truck much anymore. They have this laser gun that you point at the meter and it reads it for you. I run my route and whatever time I have left over in the day is mine.”

He took another pull from his beer and went to the back room with the girl.

“That’s Toni, she’s real nice.” Alma said. “We got another girl comin’ in for the racers…You here for the race?”

“Yeah, I’m writing a story for a magazine, and shooting some pictures.”

“All the racers come here…should be a full house tonight.”

“How many people do you expect?” I asked.

“Oh, we usually get about fifty to seventy five people a night during the race weekend.” She said.

“What’s an average weekend?” I asked.

“Oh…about ten or fifteen. We do pretty good through the week. Lots of truckers.”

“How long do the girls stay here?”

“Most of them are here for a month or two, and then they go home for a while and then some come back. Some of them go to the other brothels.” She said.

There was a system. I had never thought of how it worked before.

“Can I take a tour…for the story?” I asked.

“When Toni comes out, she can show you around.”

Toni was about five-four and about a hundred and forty pounds, with a platinum bob hair-do and a round face. She was wearing tight black Capri pants, a black tank top, silver heels and had thick ankles.

The Lineman opened the door and held it for Toni as they came back to the bar. He ordered a beer and Alma opened it and gave it to him in a paper bag and he left.

“Toni, this man is writing about the race and wants a tour. Would you show him around?” Alma asked.

“Sure” she said.

She smiled and took me by the arm.

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SPORTING: Silver State Classic Challenge

I hadn’t thought ahead to make reservations, or maybe I just thought it wouldn’t be an issue, but either way I needed a place to sleep.

I was resolved that if I didn’t find a bed, I could sleep in the car, although that was not ideal, it would add to the adventure I was already having. The Hotel Nevada was booked solid, even for a distinguished member of the Sporting press…and a soon to be close friend of the hotel owner and mayor. The only place that had a vacancy was the White Pine Motel. I have no idea why it was named the White Pine. The place was an “L” of two story stucco facades. The front office smelled of curry and cumin...the manager was cooking dinner in the back room which was behind an old dirty curtain...and they were listening to a radio program that sounded like farsi. I thought to myself “What would bring this person all the way here to the middle of the middle of nowhere to run a dive motel? What had they left behind? What were they running from? Was this an adventure turned bad and she was stuck here?” She handed me the key attached to a big gold plastic fob with a worn “#3” on it. “It’s the last room.” she said and pointed next door.
Room #3 at the White Pines Motel was next door to the front office and it was a filthy dump. It smelled like a New York City cab and through the paper thin walls I could hear perfectly the radio from the front office. What it had going for it was that it had hot water, a place to stand under it, a roof over it, and a soft place to stretch out. It was all I needed as I planned to spend as little time there as possible.

After I’d checked in and settled into my room I decided to go out and explore the greater Ely Nevada area. The only thing I left in the room was the rolled up sleeping bag. I kept the shotgun, cameras, and my bag of clothes in the car feeling it’d be safer with me than in the room, and I went looking for some fun.

There was a major shortage of attractive women in Ely…The one girl I did find worked at the Arby’s on the edge of town. I went through the drive through, and she was working the window.

"What do you do around here for fun?" I asked...
"You a cop?" she asked.
"No, I'm here covering the race."
"You look like a cop." she said.

I guess I did...in the rental car and sunglasses.

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CULTURE: Kids today...

"Chad McQueen stopped by the other day."
"Who's Chad McQueen?" the lad asked.

"He's the son of Steve McQueen." I said. "He lives a few houses down the street."
"Who's Steve McQueen?" he asked.
"Who's Steve McQueen?!?..How old are you?"
"Twenty Five. Who's Steve McQueen? Is he famous?"
"He was an actor. He's dead...the "King of Cool?"...Never heard of him?"
"What movies was he in?"
"The Great Escape."
"Never heard of it." he said.
"Bullitt?", I tried for the most obvious ones...
"Never seen it."
"Papillon? The Thomas Crown Affair? The Getaway?"
"Dude, I never heard of any of those movies."
"He raced cars, motorcycles, bad-ass dude...You've never heard of Steve McQueen...? Really?"
"Never heard of him."
"What about Ernest Hemingway?"
"Is he an actor? From that movie 'Ernest Goes To Camp?'" he asked.
"The Old Man and the Sea?"
"Is that a movie?"
"I give up..."
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SPORTING: A Note From Africa

This is a letter from our Safari guides in Africa...and as envious as I am that I'm not there living the Sporting Life, there is a Sporting Life here to be lived too...

Dear S and B,
Thought it was time for a bit of a catch up with you and to see how you are? We are all well and have been at the coast for a few days holidays, but it seems as soon as you leave your office lots of things happen so have been answering emails everyday!!...

Had a day in Mombasa buying materials for my stepmothers's business and as it is Ramadan, the place was chaos. Large bellied shop owners sitting on the counters of their shops staring listlessly out at the hot streets, while their assistants tried to show us samples. The market sellers had all their stuff on the road, and then a large white lorry made a delivery and everything had to be rolled up and stacked against the shops!! We dodged potholes, pick pockets and motorcycle taxis and Sofia's eyes were out on stalks. We had such lovely families on safari with us this season and were lucky enough to go fly-fishing up Mt Kenya one morning by helicopter, and be flown to Nairobi half way though our safari to watch M play in the finals of a big polo tournament, which luckily his team won, they were sponsored by Virgin and so called "The Red Hot Virgins!"
Lions coming through camp several nights, making so much noise we all woke up, and although we didn't go to Shaba much as the cattle were using the grazing, we had a wonderful time in Buffalo Springs and Meru national park instead. Huge old elephant bulls with fantastic ivory, so rare to see these days.
Am now trying to work out our safari to America? Probably early next year. It would be great to catch up with you.

Best Wishes,

M and C
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