When I changed the oil recently in our Ranger, I used a “kit” put together by Polaris — two quarts of oil, a filter and a copper crush washer for the drain plug. The all-in-one package is convenient, for sure, and considering the relatively odd oil specified for the 570 (full-synthetic 5W50), I don’t consider the $45 price tag unreasonable.
(Yeah, I’m that guy. I tend not to riff on manufacturers’ service specifications — whatever the manual calls for is what I use unless there’s a compelling reason not to.)
It’ll be a while before the buggy is due for another oil change, but I wanted to have a fresh kit on the shelf for next time. The closest Polaris dealer is in Harrison, 30 miles away, so a week ago yesterday I ordered the item through Amazon.
It shipped on Monday via USPS from West Plains, Missouri. That’s where the second-closest Polaris dealer is, coincidentally, 60 miles from The Mountain.
I tracked the parcel to Springfield, Missouri, 110 miles to the west. Knowing how the Postal Service employs distribution hubs, I kinda expected something like that. What surprised me, however, was where the shipment went next — 300 miles east to Memphis, Tennessee.
After that inexplicable jaunt, it traveled to Little Rock, Arkansas (150 miles west and south), sat there a couple of days, then moved on to Fayetteville (200 miles northwest). From there it went 75 miles northeast to Harrison before the final 30-mile leg to Yellville.
My wandering oil-change kit finally was deposited in a parcel locker at 7:30am today — yes, on a Sunday. Gotta love the Yellville crew.
Let’s review: It took USPS eight days to deliver my package, dragging it over 850 miles to move it 60. Don’t tell me that had anything to do with the Christmas rush, either.
And who runs the Postal Service?
Right.
This was to be trim-a-tree day. Deb suggested that we make a run to the summit before getting into the Christmas spirit — just because — and that’s what we did.
I took the opportunity to bring up a bag of deer corn and scatter it around Mountain Two. Afterward I settled into my camp chair, maybe 30 yards away, and it wasn’t five minutes before the fresh feed attracted a good-sized whitetail doe.
She caught our scent, I think, and didn’t stick around long. Neither did we, really, but the change of scenery did us good.
Back down at the shed, we pulled a couple of boxes of decorations out of the loft and carried them up to the cabin. We didn’t have a table on which to perch our tiny tree, so we made one from a couple of sawhorses, an empty box and a scrap of plywood.
Perfect. We made a memory that’ll last as long as we breathe. Merry Christmas.
Again today I’ll close with a word to my like-minded friends and readers.
We’re told constantly that America is a divided country. Because politics, news, entertainment and culture are dominated by progressives and their interests, the message is clear about who’s to blame for the rift.
It’s us — you and me.
We’re hateful. We’re intolerant. We’re unable to accept change. We refuse to “go along to get along.” And we must be stopped — or, preferably, eliminated.
None of us wants to be hated, but we are. We don’t much like it when the Left lies about us, but they do (and they always will).
Way, way too many on the Right overcompensate — not necessarily trying to prove progressives wrong, but bending over backward to demonstrate that we’re really not bad people. If that’s you, a word of advice.
Don’t.
You’re a born-free American. You’re under no obligation to either go along or get along. You don’t have to live up to someone else’s standards or accept change that’s at odds with your principles. And you don’t have to tolerate the intolerable.
Fuck ’em. Live your own life.
The divide in our country is real. You’ve decided which side you’re on. Now stand your ground and let the other side signal their own damned virtue.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB