Travels with The Rayman

That’s what cooking in an RV is like.  And that’s what I’ve been doing this a.m. while Rayman is away in Tahoe Donner playing one of the prettiest golf courses known to man (in this neck of the woods).  Coyote Moon.  Don’t you just love that name for a golf course?  Think of the logo possibilities, for heaven’s sake.  A coyote howling at the moon, anyone?  Coyote jumping over the moon?  Maybe not.   Dancing around a moon?  That might work.

But I digress.

Today I’m making black bean chili and this requires a shout-out to Margaret Fox who owned the restaurant in Mendocino, Cafe Beaujolais   http://articles.latimes.com/2006/sep/27/food/fo-fox2/ for more info.  Anyway, I bought her cookbook years ago.  It has been reduced to frayed pages, juiced-spotted pages, a paperback without the back, essentially.  They just don’t bind books the way they used to.  This cookbook has been falling apart for years.  I am guessing it is about 40 years old.  Maybe 30.  Who’s counting?

There I go again.  This recipe is fabulous.  There is no meat in it.  None.  Zip.  Yet, it tastes like it does in a way.  That’s because of the black beans.  I bought organic black beans from a food co-op in a town up the road.  Portola is the town and it is inhabited by 2500 people and they have a co-op which I find amazing.  However, there must not be many Mexicans around because these beans have been cooking for quite a long time and they aren’t completely soft…and, yes, I soaked them all night.  I would guess they have been in the bin quite a long time.  But be that as it may (BTAIM), the dish is worth waiting for.  Served with shredded cheese, fresh green onions, cilantro and sour cream…yummy.

You are probably wondering if I have that cookbook with me.  Well, no I don’t.  But I do have the computer and googled the recipe and now it is time to give a shout-out to Russ Parsons of the L.A. Times food section for publishing the recipe in the newspaper.  So, there you have it.

Now about this pin stuff.  In order to chop, chop, chop the onions, the garlic, the bell pepper, the jalapeños, one must use a cutting board and in order to use a cutting board, one must make space in the kitchen to lay the thing down and this requires that I cover up half my sink to make room.  And I must neat and tidy or the place will end up looking like Camp Poody.   Ah, another skill set being developed here.  At home I just fling things around with free abandon.  And at home I have oodles of space.

The other thing is this.  There is limited storage space and so I have already run out of Hungarian paprika (the red can), cumin seeds, cayenne and olive oil (not EVOO).  Oh, and I’m dangerously low on peppercorns.  Good thing Rayman is in Truckee.  I’ve already sent him a list of necessities including rum for mojitos.  Found a “muddler” at a local little gift store and made it a gift to myself and I’m dying to try it.  Yikes.  I need to add mint to the list of groceries.  Also, the refrigerator is quite small and while at Costco, I espied a bag of limes and it was such a good buy (read going broke saving money) that I bought it and it takes up approximately half the refrigerator.  Perhaps a slight exaggeration.  But it does take up one whole drawer.  Mojitos anyone?  Come on by and I’ll fix you up!!

Hi dearie,  Along with all the other groceries I need, add fresh mint to the list.  For the mojitos, a good cause if there ever was one.  Hope you are making some birdies.  (kiss up, kiss up).  That’s how I’ll compose my email to him without the kiss up part.

I just hope I don’t run out of propane before these darn beans are cooked.  That’s the other thing about RVs.  You have what I refer to as a “heightened awareness” of all things utilitarian.  Like propane, water, gray sewage etc.  Never give that stuff a second thought at home unless PG&E turns off the juice.  And if that happens it is a great excuse to go out to dinner.  Here, I am stuck.  No car.  And I certainly don’t want to drive to restaurant in the RV.  That would require messing around the sewer hookup.  Nah.  Not doing that!!  And anyway, it might look a bit weird to pull up to a restaurant in a 33-foot behemoth for a plate of spaghetti.  Just saying.  I am, however, very glad I know how to drive the thing.  If I needed to go somewhere I could.

I’m giving the beans 5 more minutes.  They are finally getting soft.

Well, I waited for 5 minutes and they still are al dente.  Drats.

So, while I am composing this blog, I am hearing a bit of racket outside.  I looked out the door and this is what I saw.  This park needs more trash bins.  Last night when I went to dump my garbage (did I mention that our garage can is about 5 gallons?), I couldn’t get it open.  Turns out they lock them up because of bears.  So, while I was struggling with trying to get one of them open, a man and woman sauntered by with an empty pizza box (I guess empty based on their sizes).  I enlisted their help.  They were forthcoming.  The bins were completely full.  Now, this morning they are bulging and hence, the owner of the park, is now jumping up and down on them.

The beans needed more water.  Need I say more?

The thing is, this park is full of RVs and short on people.  Many sites have RVs hooked up and locked up.  No one is home.  The people to our right haven’t been here since we arrived.  The people on our left, well, left.  That was after we introduced ourselves and discovered in about 1 minute of conversation that they had spent the afternoon “in that brewery up at the end of dirt road nearby”.  And then she proceeded to praise Cliven Bundy, the crazy rancher near Mesquite, NV because “enough is enough”.  And he pointed to his beer, a Negra Modela, and said he was drinking the Negra in honor of our President, wink wink.  I said, “Ouch.”  Then as she went on about Cliven’s point of view and how she thought he was right, I interjected, “Well.  Here’s the thing.  I love Obama.  So let’s just agree to disagree.  We don’t need to talk politics.”  And he said, “Or religion.”  And while having a discussion sans politics, we discover that he is a retired truck driver and doesn’t have to pay for health care because he gets it through his union (but his union is not like those rotten unions back east) and she hates Obamacare and she retired from a school district  ((lordy, I hope she wasn’t a teacher)).  And that was that.  Except  did I mention that he sat there all afternoon outside the RV drinking beer and smoking cigars and playing his playlist on their outdoor speakers?  So, after dinner while the Rayman and I were engrossed in a challenging game of Scrabble while listening to Roy Orbison croon from the speaker next door (actually his playlist isn’t bad), we kept hearing him tell her to “shut up and sit down” and “we’ll discuss it in the morning” and “you are drinking too much, sit down”, and “don’t drink so much”,  and “I’m not picking you up off the floor again”.   OMG.  So, the next morning, the poor guy slinked out of here with his wife and we haven’t seen them since.  He knows we have to move spots on Thursday and my money is on them not returning until the next people move in.  Just saying.

So, the beans are done, we still have  propane,  and I’m going to sign off for now.  It’s time to read by book about Lewis and Clark(e)?  Want to get it done before we hit Oregon on July 20.

Good day.

 

 

You can tell we’re winding down.  My blogs are short and sweet.  Today we drove to our next parador.  We are in love with paradors.  This one sits on a hill.  Cardona is the city is which it is located.  You can see far and wide.  It was a military installation that was begun in the 10th century.   iI’s architecture is a direct result of wars.  It is an ancient fortress that had been built to be a small city fortress.  Charlemagne stopped the Muslims here in the 6th century.  Quite unbelievable if you think at all about it.  Catalanyan lords lived in the castle through the middle ages and renaissance.  They were considered to be kings without titles because the fortress was completely impregnable and siege proof because of underground wells that couldn’t be contaminated.  And now it is a hotel.  Actually, it has been hotel since 1979.  The army used it as a depot after Franco went to meet his maker.  Finally, the government designated it a national monument and a tourist hotel.  And here we are installed on the top floor, right above the bar!!  A view from our room.

 

It is fabulous.  Of course it was also used as a church at certain points in time and Rayman found out that St. Ramon was the first patron saint of the place.  St. Ramon is reported to have been born caesarian and his mother died but he lived.  And so he went on to help women give birth to healthy babies.  I don’t think I am exaggerating here to say that his chest is puffed out a bit!!

Great way to spend our last “in the countryside” adventure of this trip.

We only got lost once while driving.  This may be an official record.

After driving for several hours we stopped at a “cafeteria” associated with a gas station and ordered coffee drinks, one fresh squeezed glass of OJ, and a croissant.  (spanish croissants don’t even come close, sorry, dear Allan).  As we’re sitting there an odor take over.  I said, “I must have stepped in something.”  Rayman added, “It smells like the toilet overflowed.”  “Let’s take our stuff outside.”  And we did.  Only to discover a truck of pigs parked right next to the cafeteria.  I made a video of the poor pigs.  More pigs in Spain.  This time a really bummer.

So, it’s time for wine.  Time to reflect and wait for dinner which doesn’t start seating until 8:15.  Ah, viva la Spain.

Driving to Barcelona, we spotted these.  Montserrat.

So, the last two days we’ve spent a bit of time being lost.  And we are starting to conclude that all further travel outside the U.S., Canada or Mexico must be done with a chaperon.  We need help, people.

It takes a tremendous amount of energy to do this travel stuff.  Couple that with language differences and by the end of the day you end up pretty well feeling like you just went through the wringer.  Twice,  Thrice.  Quatro times.  Our traveling companion ( for the week near Durango) Allan has a map for a brain.  Gifted with a keen sense of direction, he was amazing.  But…Rayman and the traveling princess are not blessed in that department.  And presented with two ways to go, we pretty much will pick the opposite of each other’s every time.

But I digress.

Last night we braved driving into to Barcelona to meet Ali, my cousin’s daughter, and her beau for dinner.  A tapas dinner.  OMG.  We narrowly escaped with our lives.  At one point I wanted to get out of the car to see if anyone had painted a bull’s eye on it when we weren’t looking.  One driver barreled across a roundabout and as you can tell by the name of the circle (roundabout), it means you go around it.  Not through it.  Multiple crashes almost materialized with not only our car but two others.  And then there was a motorcyclist who ran a red light.  Luckily I was asleep at the wheel.  Had I not been slow to cross the intersection, the motorcyclist would have been dangling from a tree.

Now this is interesting.  They just announced (I’m at the El Prat aeropuerto waiting to board our plane) that we should watch our screen for boarding instructions as they do not announce instructions.  Now that is a new one.  And I like it because it is relatively quiet for an airport.

That was a giant digression.

So, there we were, back in Barcelona, the city of the robbery.  We have resolved not to speak of THAT unpleasantness again.  But Barcelona has a variety of ways to fleece the tourist.  Firstly, the airport is a long way from the city.  So, if you take a taxi, it is 35 euros.  We stayed all night last night in a hotel that was about half way between the city and the airport.  We asked the lady at the check in desk at the hotel how much it would be to take a cab to the city.  30 euros.  Well, we had our zoom-zoom car.  How much would it be to park it?  18 euros.  Upon receiving that information, we decided to keep the car.  The hotel did not have a shuttle to the airport.  You could walk a couple of blocks and catch a local bus and the local bus would be 4 euro each to the airport.  But our flight was at the crack of dawn and we were not feeling safe about walking with our luggage to the bus stop to wait in the dark.

With the decision to keep the car, that meant we had to drive in.  Driving in Barcelona is difficult.  Everyone knows where they are going…except us.  Glenda was, of course, totally useless.  And anyway, we forgot to bring her.  And I left all the directions which I had written down based on an email from Ali.  That’s because the Rayman and I had a “disagreement” which I will tactfully leave unexplained.  Even with all that, we only got mildly lost.  There are degrees of lostness.

1.  Mildly  2. Hopelessly 3. “We never got there” lost.

So we parked the car in a garage that ultimately cost 18 euro.  Price fixing at it’s finest.  And it’s not cheap given the exchange rate.
So, no more travel to Europe until and unless the dollar gets stronger.   We just felt used and abused.  Although, I guess money was saved by not doing the taxi to and fro.  But still.

Dinner was delightful.  The kids were great.  We had a great time.  I did not drink but one glass of wine since driving sober was a nightmare.  What would it be like a little tipsy?   As you can see from this text, we made it back to the hotel.

An aside.  Ali took us to the mall in the center of Barcelona that used to be a bull ring.  Beautiful building.  But when the Barcelonians decided to ban bullfighting the ring became a shopping center.  Here’s some pictures.   Top picture is the Rayman enjoying a tidbit in a beer bar in Barcelona.  The next two pictures are the bullring inside and out.

Now I must back up and say that the night before Barcelona, we had a completely different experience in the small town of Cardona, about an hour northwest of Barcelona.  We stayed in another parador that sat atop a tall hill.  Here are some pictures of the view and the place.

 

 

I told you about it in the previous post.  Neither one of us had ever slept in such an old building.  After dinner we took a stroll as I wanted to photograph the outside of it with the uplighting.  This is when we heard the beautiful music.  There was a choir singing behind one of the doors.  We don’t know why they were doing this, but it was beautiful and so befitting the setting.  The next morning we saw them all at breakfast.  With their instruments.

Armed with our instruments of mass confusion, Glenda and the maps, we jumped on the road and headed toward Barcelona.  We managed to get there with only two bad turns but we recovered quickly.  Not nearly as quickly as last night when we left the restaurant and headed back to our hotel.  It was dark, we were tired.  And we were hopelessly lost.  Rayman resorted to the iPhone to help us find our way out of the Port of Barcelona, past the train station that had no trains?, to a dead end road.  Oh, and down a one-way street the wrong way.  Before returning to the hotel, we also managed to have a tour of the zona commerciale, a drive by of a shuttered sports arena and the UPS regional distribution center.  It was about 11 p.m.  We returned to the world’s narrowest car park.  Our zoom-zoom barely fit inside the drive down to the bowels of the building, the underground car park.  And this driveway was 1.  steep.  2.  involved 3 sharp turns  3.  narrow as hell.  But because we had done it earlier in the day, it was easier.  That’s because when we were leaving the garage to do a dry run to the airport earlier in the afternoon, we started out only to be met by a small van coming in.  That’s right.  The going out and the coming in utilized the same driveway.  And given that there were only two cars down there to begin with, what were the chances we would be met by an oncoming car?   And the other thing was that the garage was guarded by a big swinging gate.  You had to be buzzed in.  And, as it turns out, you also needed to be buzzed out.  And the buzz box was mounted on the wall before the last turn.  We missed it.  So, Rayman got out and looked for it, pressed it, got buzzed, raced back to the zoom-zoom car, jumped in and I tried to get up the steep ramp past the gate… in reverse.  Well, that didn’t work.  So, there I am with the hand break on to keep us from rolling backward into the wall while I am simultaneously revving the engine, engaging the clutch and eventually lerching out of the hole in the ground to the street.  It wasn’t pretty.

After bidding fond adieus to our lovely friends, we jumped in the car, stepped on the peddle and zoomed off down the road toward the Pyrenees mountains.  Our destination was a parador located on a very long dead end road (about 10-12 miles).  While the parador was lovely and our dinner delicious, the drive was spectacular.

There were several ways to get to the parador.  We opted out for the route that took us to the south of France.  And so it was that we were driving along and mentioned that I needed to relieve myself.  We saw a sign that indicated services.  So we took that exit.  And we encountered an unmanned toll gate.  It wanted money.  Euros.  We didn’t have enough euros.  But there was a place to put your credit card.  So, Rayman inserted the credit card.  The machine did not like the card no matter how many and what direction we inserted it.  Oddly, there were no people queuing up behind us.  So, out of desperation, we pressed the big red bulbous button and someone came on in french.  The Rayman was impressive with his french.  He mentioned that he spoke very little french.  The lady switched to english.  After giving her all our credit card info, she said it was not accepted and she just buzzed us though.  Yahoo.  That is when we discovered that we were nowhere.  We turned left, went under the freeway and there was no on ramp.  We turned around and headed back and discovered there was no on ramp there either.  So we headed toward to river.  There was a beautiful river which the road followed but we didn’t see any services.  So, we headed up the hill back toward the direction we had come from sort of and came across a french village with a boulangerie.  OMG.  The croissants.  Best thing we had eaten since we arrived.  In France!!

We got lost in the village of about 300 people, and headed back down the hill to the river.  And with trial and error, we finally found an on-ramp miles and miles down the road.  We clamored onto the toll road and continued on our way…until Rayman asked me to look at the GPS on the phone which I did and that is when we discovered we had missed our turn toward Spain.  So, off the toll road we went and paid $14 euro for the privilege of getting lost and this is when we discovered there was no way to get back on at the same off ramp.  Again.  History repeats itself.   “Luckily” the bill was so high, we could insert paper money and get change.  Unlike the previous encounter with an unmanned machine.

Interesting comments were uttered like, “Where the hell are we?”
“Look, the river is pretty.  If we have to be lost, this is a pretty place to be lost.”
“God, damn it, we’re losing time here.”
“We never would have seen this if we hadn’t messed up.”
“Take this road, I think this will lead to the freeway.”
“ Oh, great, we’re passing over the freeway and we can’t get on.”
“I’m sick of being lost.  What’s wrong with us?”
“Get a grip.”

And on and on.

We finally made our way back to the Espagne” sign and turned toward the mountains.  And then the trip took on a whole new feel.  The mountains were spectacular.  We made very bad time because I was at the wheel and I kept stopping for photos which didn’t even come close to capturing the magnitude of the vistas.  Oh, and we were in search of a money machine so that we could get more euros.   And I had packed two absolutely horrible sandwiches for lunch that we tried to eat.  Too darn dry.

The french side of the mountains are sheer with switchbacks.  7% grades were common.  And then there was a tunnel at the summit which was miles long.  And it dropped us about 1200 feet in elevation so that when we emerged on the spanish side, it was more sloping and completely green.  Almost looked like a rain forest.  And not far from there is where we turned right and headed up a canyon to spend the night at the lonely parador.

We ordered “a leg of lamb” to split for dinner.  The leg of lamb was from a baby lamb.  I have never seen such a small leg.  It was superb.  But small.  And we shared a mint flan than was about 2 inches square with raspberries and chocolate shavings.  Wonderful.  Oh, and we shared a duck salad.  We were hungry and it hit the spot.

Then we walked the stairs to our room and settled in for the night.

Well, it’s been a ride.  And today the last full day in Basque country.  It went so fast.  As usual.  I’m being boring.  Vacations are always like that especially when you’re having a great time.

So, after a leisurely breakfast, Rayman and I decided to take a walk.  On our walk we visited a lizard of unnatural beauty.

We visited mom horse and her colt.

Stopped in to visit some sheep.  See FB.  It’s a video and you know my success rate sucks.

We talked to some true free range chickens.   That’s a video.  Drats.

My, oh, my.  What a great place for walking.  No wonder all those families were out for a stroll on this walking path (for those on the central coast, it’s like Bob Jones Trail only longer).  The kids like me love this kind of thing!!

When we returned it was lunch time and by that I mean 1:30.  We grabbed the clothes off the line as rain was coming.

Okay, I need to interrupt myself at this point.  Two observations.  One is that I pity the poor motorist that encounters mechanical problems or a flat tire because while the infrastructure is great, it does lack one thing.  Shoulders.  The roads don’t have shoulders.  There is no place to pull over.  Anywhere.  Okay.  Almost nowhere.  Don’t know how they cope with that.  And because there are no shoulders, it is also very difficult to turn around if one needed to turn around.  It is for all practical purposes impossible.  So, Spain is without shoulders.  Who knew?  However, they do have a plethora of roundabouts.  So, if you miss a turn or need to make a turn, you can always hold out for a roundabout.  You may go miles out of your way.  But there will be a roundabout right around the bend.

The other observations is that the weather changes on a dime.  We hung out our clothes and took them back in within about an hour because rain was coming.  And the wind.  It too starts and stops on a dime.  One time is was calm when we left for an outing.  We came back.  Plastic lawn chairs were littering the lawn.  The patio umbrella was prone.  A potted plant had blown over.  And the cows were gone!!

We went to lunch as I mentioned earlier.  We arrived and stood in the entrance of the restaurant.  People kept running up and down the stairs.  I thought the bano must be upstairs.  Wrong.  The main dining room was there.  Why people ran up and down remains a mystery.  Anyway, we had not called for reservations so the lady told us to come back at 2:30 which we did.  And had lunch.  Here’s a shot of those stairs.  And Janis.

But I digress in a new and interesting way.

Rayman was banging on all cylinders today.  When Terry got up this morning, Rayman asked him how he was.  “Absolutely wonderful.”, Terry responded.  Rayman, without missing a beat retorted, “Well, we’ll take care of that.”  Then, when we were having coffee while waiting for our table at the restaurant, Terry was “reading” a Basque newspaper.  Soon we were all joining in trying to translate or figure out what the stories were about.  There was a picture of this guy who had jumped in the air holding a ball.  The question before the group was, what sport was this guy playing?”  Allan had his phone with a translation app.  You hover over the words and it translates for you and that how it was figured out that the guy in the air was playing handball.  At this point, Terry asked, “What in the world is handball?”  Rayman immediately replied, “You don’t want to know.”  Snickers around.  Then Allan googled something and found out this.  “The Spanish national handball team is the national handball team of Spain”.  Shocking news.  We had a great time.  Here’s Mr. Funnybones himself.  Looks like the Barcelona police station but it in fact was the restaurant “foyer”.

Now I am not exaggerating when I say that Janis has saved our bacon all week and Allan has not been far behind.  These two linguists did most of the talking, if you get my drift.  Lord knows how many mistakes would have been made if they had not been there helping us out.  (An aside.  Basque is completely different than spanish.  I will show you what I mean in a minute.)  And I am also not exaggerating when I say that Janis and Allan spent a lot of time while we were waiting for our table tackling the Basque menu.  Papers were dug up.  Pens were found.  Translation software was used.  Notes were taken.  No stone went unturned in the quest to decipher the code presented on the menu.  But when it came time to order, I couldn’t figure out which set of words were veal, fish, or fowl.  So I did the only thing I could do.  I sucked my lips together in the center and did my fish impersonation.  The funny thing is, the waitress knew what I meant!!  And then Rayman went into a small panic when wine was ordered and he didn’t hear riojas.  He heart tinga which is basque for riojas.  He seemed upset.  And I learned that if you ask for pimonton (spelling suspect), you could get pepper.  The spanish do not put pepper on the table.  The food is almost bland because of lack of pepper and spice.  And thank you Allan for looking that up!!  Here’s the name of the restaurant.  Spanish on top.  Basque underneath.

Other things happened.  A big party (25 peolple?) presented itself midway through our lunch.  And I volunteered to take a picture.  I was applauded after I counted down, “Uno, dos, tres.”  Snap.  Rayman muttered something about taking away the microphone.  I have no earthly idea what that was about.  This is the table before they arrived.  And that’s my fish dish.

I also don’t think I am overstating anything when I tell you that they could have rolled me out of the place.  A huge tuna salad, a big piece of perfectly cooked hake on potatoes, bread, cake, vino.  All for about $12 euros/person.  Didn’t eat another thing.  I hope I am not betraying anyone’s trust when I mention that a late snack was enjoyed by the others.  We had a lot of leftover chicken.  And ham.   Although I did make an exception for the cause of politeness to polish off the port.

And this is a mask and geranium by the garage of our villa.  Seems entirely suitable to end this portion of this trip with it.

Artwork at the train station.

After flitting all over Barcelona, it was time to hit the trail.  We had booked the high speed train from Barcelona to Madrid, the capital of Espana.  Having taken the high speed TGV t rains in France, we could not resist the thrill of the ride again.

Really, people.  What is all the fuss about in CA re: the high speed train.  It is the only way to go.  Our trip averaged about 300km and that is fast.  No time at all to get from say, LA to SF if we had this service.  And all other modern countries have them.  And Europe is comprised of different countries and yet they still figure out a way politically to provide this service to their citizens.  The farmers in the dell (read San Joaquin valley) are doing everything they can to stop this form of modernity.  Heck they have horses to ride.  Who needs high speed rail?

But I digress.

So, no sooner had we embarked on our train trip then my eyes closed and I slept through most of the trip.  Tried as I might, I could not stay awake.  It was disappointing.  But in my defense, Ali and Bernat kept us going at a wild pace (probably just regular pace by their standards).  And we were up late, late, late at night.  And the apartment we rented was located on a narrow street populated by brick buildings about 5 stories high with cobblestone streets.  On the first floor, there were commercial establishments including bars and restaurants.  So, all night long…noisy revelers reveled.  And we took to tossing and turning in our bed.  So, that train just lulled me to sleep like a baby.  It was a good, delicious sleep.  But by all accounts from the Rayman, I missed some beautiful countryside.  When you leave the city, the landscape emerges and it has a similar look to CA.  Except the trees are different.  Not so many oaks.  Or conifers.  Lots of rolling hills.  Mountains are to the north and we did glimpse snow in the distance.

The trip took a couple of hours.  I think.

I guess I’m getting old because I find much more enjoyment in the countryside.  The cities are teeming.  But it is harder to connect with people.  Thank goodness for Ali and Bernat.  I told them they should start a tourism company.  They gave us an excellent tour.  Fun.  Interesting.  Delicious.  We never would have seen or done half the things we did were it not for them.  In fact, we would never have found that apartment.  We’d still be looking for it.  And the most wonderful of all is that Bernat grew up in Barcelona and Ali is a history teacher, so we got a lot of information that is not in a guide book.  Bueno.  Muy bueno.

Really, if it hadn’t have been for that good looking son of a bitch that ripped us off, it would have been perfect.