Mark

Hi Pezzy, Mzxtreme, Precise, Slick and Vsicks. Long time no hear. Fueler, Casey and Redpath, it's a pleasure to e-meet ya. I didn't "acquire" the streetsign (tempting though it was). I'm working as a part-time truck driver and part-time TV/Home-Cinema installer. It's okay but the money sucks compared with what I used to make in the Navy. (The Australian Navy pays really well) but I don't have to put up with any more crap and I'm my own man now, for the first time in years. I'm in the early stages of starting my own business (stay tuned) and also in the early stages of planning the undisputed-mother-of-all 4x4 trips. It wont be for at least 36 months and maybe even 48! As plans solidify a bit, I'll start a thread here. Until then, I'll enjoy my mystery. I'm still 'wheeling every weekend. There are a few country roads around here (gravel roads) that flood for miles every time it rains. You can drive for about ten kilometers in axle-deep or deeper water. And none of the local 'wheelers seem to turn up except for me and the poor people who live on these roads. Last time I went out there after a storm I had to turn back about halfway 'cuz the water in places was getting about 3-feet deep. (These are public roads!) Now, I don't mind wading through 3' for short distances but when it's 3' deep for about 200 yards, I start to worry about my trans electrics (I've made that mistake before). I wish everyone well and I'll be in contact a bit more frequently again now. Cheers, Mark. PS: Should I lose the pic from my tag-line? Is it too dorky? PPS: Is anyone interested in seeing a pic of my handmade air-deflector on my cargo rack? I painted it flat black with silver lettering, using a "Pathfinder" stencil I made. If there's any interest, I'll take a pic and post it. If there's not, I won't take it too hard. PPPS: What the hell ever happened about the NPORA T-shirts? I really want one.

Hi again, Glad you got her back okay. That's the main thing. I carry snow chains (don't laugh) for mud like that. I haven't had to use them yet but friends that have done it reckon that they work a treat.

Hi everyone, Sorry I've been offline for a few months. I quit my job, moved interstate took an 8-week vacation then got a new job. I've kept the pathfinder, though. Here's a pic I took earlier today at my local airport. Check out the street sign. Talk to you all again soon.

A note to NPORA members. Please don't think that Vsicks speaks for everyone in Australia. He's right that the 'real world' comment was kinda dumb. (Australia's almost the same size as the USA, has a much lower crime rate, a higher average standard of living and superior accessibility to affordable public education and healthcare). I'm pretty surprised that he took offense to the 'real world' comment when his sig line insults the heritage and culture of a couple hundred million people. Folks who know me will know that I'm both an Aussie and an American and I love both countries, so I'll never take a side against either one. Bad behaviour, though, from either side of the Pacific, should be kept off this forum. If anybody wants to reply to me, feel free. But try to keep any flaming off the board, just PM me instead. Yours sincerely,

Slick, I share your pain. I've been having problems the last couple months with the auto tranny on my '96 not shifting properly. So the expert reckons it's the Throttle Position Sensor. These things cost 200 bucks. So we plug in a new one and it's still not right. So now he reckons it's one of the solenoids in the valve body. These little darlings cost 300 bucks a set. So he pulls out the sump, ready to replace the solenoids and finds the oil filter all jammed up with debris. The whole dammed tranny has to come out and be rebuilt. It's costing me 2000 bucks. I'm running out of cash...fast.

Oh you poor bastard. It always hurts the most when you know it's your own fault, doesn't it? I've been there, too. Is it an insurance job, or you gonna fix it yourself?

Hi everyone, Sorry I've been offline for a couple months. I've just quit the Navy and moved from Sydney NSW to Maroochydore QLD. There, now you're all cought up with things on my end, sooooooooooooo, What's up with the NPORA T-shirts we were gonna get made? Just curious Cheers, talk again soon,

Looks awesome. How's it feel to drive now? Betcha it barely fits under that garage door, too. Cheers,

Disturbed1, That is one of the coolest avatars I've seen in awhile. made me laugh. Cheers,

Wow. A Pathfinder pickup. What a rig. Is the owner a member?

This seems like a great quote. I'm in. I agree with Jason about long-sleeved, but I reckon we should go the short-sleeved for the first run. Put me down for one in any color. Cheers,

I see that my work here is done.

Yeah, no worries. Just bolt it onto a 'borrowed' frame. -alcohol-

ROTFLMFAO I just spat my drink onto my keyboard...

Hey 88, Don't s'pose you've got a web address handy for the 6" Japanese lifts?? I'm in Australia and the postage here wouldn't be as bad. Maybe. I know some guys who may be interested. Cheers,

Shoot down the satellites and see if your radio still works?

C'mon folks. We can't let this thread die. Share your shame...

The VG33 can be had with a Supercharger on the Xterra, but I've heard that for the trouble of converting your engine, it would be the same price and less trouble to buy a new one and swap it out. I think there's a thread on XOC (see my sig) about this...

Pathfinder54, Okay. *Draws deep breath* I think this is what's most popular (standing by for flaming): Back (pale colors): Back (dark colors): Front (enlargement of logo on left breast - colors reversed for dark tee): For the first run, I'd reckon plain (no pocket) tee shirts. About 50. Mix of S, M, L, XL, XXL. For the first run, I'd reckon only black, white and grey tees. With red, green and blue offered in the second run if there is one. BTW: The truck in the pic is Mr. Jim's. As it should be, seeing as it was he who founded NPORA. It'd be great if you could ask for a quote. Someone needs to make the printing happen or all the planning is for squat. I'm sure you don't want me to be getting these printed in Sydney and shipped overseas. It'd double the cost, per shirt. Thanks '54.

Marcel, For Xterras, check out Xterra Owners Club (XOC). It's a big board with links to about every Xterra club in North America. The membership includes folks from all over the world. Cheers, Mark

ROTFLMFAO You win Pezzy. (Nice truck BTW)

:oops: Psych...Fooled you. *grins, evilly* PS: I know that I'm a b@st@rd, but if it makes you feel better, you can remind me....

Pickles, That EXACT thing happened to me! Except that as I slid home, it was a small, razor-sharp chip of concrete, not a nail. And it didn't get me in the knee. It got me directly in the left buttock. Was with the same friends as the other baseball game, above. They REALLY thought this was funny. I sympathize, dude. I really do. I went home and Dad stuck a band-aid on my butt. Probably should have had stitches. Still have the scar. (Now that I think of it, I have a few scars, actually......) Someone else's turn:......

A quick wincer... I'm about 13(ish) and playing baseball with my friends across the street. Andrew hit the ball on the roof and I'm the tallest, so I volunteer to climb up and get it. The house is single-storey with a flat tin roof. So I climb up and chuck the ball down. Then I try to jump down. The roof is about 12' high. I'm about 5'5" tall. So the exercise goes like this: 1. Sit on the edge with lower legs hanging over. 2. Place hands flat on edge or roof, either side of butt. 3. With hands, push butt off of roof and drop and try to land on feet. I'm sure you've all done this, yeah? ANYHOOW, I don't realize that a galvanised roofing nail is protruding about a quarter-inch, beneath my left hand. I PUSH and drop and STOP! I'm dangling by my left hand. Not hanging on. I'm actually hanging from the roofing nail that's stuck in the palm (heel) of my left hand. I hang there for a couple of minutes before I manage to dislodge myself. There wasn't a neat hole in my hand, either. It was a big, angry tear, about 2 inches long and a half-inch deep. I lost a lot of blood from it at the time. I'm 29 now and I still have the scar, plain as day. My 'friends' thought it was hilarious..... PS: Am I the only one here who's broken their nose while sitting in the drivers seat, trying to remove a stuck steering wheel that suddenly became un-stuck? C'mon, someone else must have? Surely?

This is a long story. Please bear with it. It's my best, I think... Setting the scene: It's the mid 1990s and I'm in my early twenties. It's not been very long since I left the USMC and returned to Australia to live (again). I'm in pretty good physical condition at this point. Supposedly. I was looking after my mother's house while she was away on vacation in Europe. Remember that. I've decided to rent some B-grade horror movies and spend an evening watching them and getting drunk with my best buddy, Dallas (We're still best buds, despite his once accidently shooting me in the face with a .22, but that's another stupid story). Anyway, I'm a few six-packs in (and Dallas is on his second liter-bottle of Bundaberg Rum) when I decide to grab another coldie from the kitchen. I stand up, sway slightly, and walk across the loungeroom in a surprisingly straight line. The door into the kitchen opens inward. I grab the door handle and give it a good yank. The door opens violently. Problem is, my front foot's too far forward and the door hits it doing about 70 and bounces closed again. Problem now is, I've already got my head through the doorway and the door slams on my head. Hard. It's a dazzling blow, and I'm seeing stars, literally. All I can hear is a 'whooshing' sound in my ears and Dallas (he sounds very far away) laughing his @$$ off. My vision returns and I'm standing there, swaying slightly and blinking at him as he sits in my Mom's armchair trying desperately to laugh, breathe and not spill his drink. He's going quite purple. Unsteadily, I walk balk to my armchair and sit down (before I fall down). Dallas get his laughing under control and we continue watching the movie. After a few minutes I feel better. About 15 minutes later, Dallas looks across at me and says "Jeez, Mark. Did you know that you're bleeding like a stuck pig?" I didn't. I reach up and touch the spot where the door hit me, just above my temple. My fingers come away bloody. I know that you're wondering why I didn't feel it running down my face. It's because I lost the feeling in my facial skin about 8 beers previously. "Bugger," says I, stoicly. So I go into the bathroom and sure 'nuff, the whole left side of my face and neck is covered in blood. I grab some gauze and tissues to clean it up and sit on the corner of the sink, looking into the mirror. Dallas is standing there, too, about 6 feet away. After a minute or two of cleaning up I realize that I'm getting cold and my vision seems a little dim. Shock. I say to Dallas: "Mate, the problem with having naturally low blood pressure (I do) is that you feel faint every time you lose a bit of blood." In the time it takes for the soundwaves carrying the word 'blood' to travel from my mouth to his ears, I faint. *Interlude: From Dallas' account of events, told to me later: Apparently, he saw me faint and thought I was going to fall forward, hitting my head (again) on the edge of the bathtub. So he tried to catch me. He missed. I crumpled straight down, with my head lolled backwards. I hit the back of my head on the edge of the sink at 9.8 meters per second per second and the impact bounced my whole body forwards. My head next struck the edge of the bathtub (still accelerating at 9.8 meters per second per second) and finally, hits the floor with a loud splat. Dallas was horrified. There's blood everywhere and his mind kept replaying the three loud bangs that my head just took. Seeing me unconscious on the floor, he sprung into action and made sure I was still breathing (I was). Then he tried to pull me into the 'Recovery Position' (same as 'Coma' position). The only problem there was that at this moment, still unconscious, I had a Grand Mal (sp?) seizure and start flailing around wildly. (I'm 6' tall, 200 lbs, and physically strong, remember?) End of Interlude.* A couple minutes later, I come around and I'm really disoriented. I can see that I'm lying on a bathroom floor, but I have no idea how I got there and I really have no idea why Dallas is in the corner of the room, flat on his @$$, with his legs pulled up to his torso, his arms crossed in front of him defensively, and a look of Real Fear written large across his face. "You okay?" he asks. This is the original Dumb Question. Don't laugh, you've probably done it to someone, too.. I know that I'm not. I know that I've got a head injury happening here and that's bad. "Are you okay to drive?" I ask him. "No, I'm pissed". (charming Aussie expression meaning 'drunk-out-of-my-small-at-the-best-of-times-brain') "Better call an Ambulance mate". He does. Then he returns, carefully helps me stand, helps me walk out to the loungeroom and sits me in an armchair. He gets me a glass of water and a cool wet towel to wrap around my head. The next thing I remember is the Paramedics walking in. They look surprised to see Lawrence of Arabia, sitting calmly in an armchair, drinking a glass of water and bleeding quietly into his turban. Dallas explains to one of them what happened while the other one checks me out. He's shining the torch in my eyes and looking at my head. Then he says to his colleague something along the lines of "He seems okay, surprisingly. Pupil dilation is fairly normal. Might be concussed, though." The next thing he said would rock my world: "What's your name?" I had no idea. My heart stopped and my blood froze. (Even now, a decade later, my throat closes as I type this). With the realization that something so ingrained and automatic as my name was not immediately within my mental reach came the next thought: Brain damage. Oh holy siht, Jesus Christ. I've got Brain Damage. You cannot possibly imagine how frightening this is, unless you've experienced it. The two paramedics exchange a look I hope to never see again. Oh@!*% oh@!*% oh@!*% oh@!*%oh@!*%oh@!*%. Now you've done it Mark. Mark!! "Mark!!" I say a bit loud. "My name's Mark." The paramedic looks at Dallas for confirmation. He nods. Then the paramedic starts with the questions again: "Is this your house?" "No. It's my mother's." I marvel that I remembered that when I didn't know my own name a moment earlier. "Where's your mother?" he asks. I draw another blank. Brain Damage. I'm scared. "She's out," I manage to say. "Where?" The second paramedic and Dallas are standing about 10 feet away, silent. I'm thinking really hard. I'm concentrating like hell, trying to remember something that I should just automatically know . Then I remember. "She's in Norway!!" The paramedics look at each other and say: "Let's get him to the hospital". Dallas pipes up and says: "NO! She really is. She's there for a holiday." They take some convincing. Dallas is starting to laugh at their reaction. They keep an eye on me for another few minutes before they have to go because someone, somewhere, needs them more than I do. Dallas and I finish watching the video. We laugh like lunatics, remembering the looks on the paramedics' faces when I said 'Norway'. (We still laugh about this). Neither of us drank any more that night, though. In fact we both cut down a bit after that. In the morning I had a spectacular headache. I had angry bruises to both temples (from the door and doorframe - one with a nasty gash in the center), another on the back of my head, dead-center (from the bathroom sink), another across the forehead (from the bathtub) and a mild one on my cheek (from the floor). Dallas had various minor bruises from trying to help me during my seizure. He forgave me, though. I didn't do any permanent damage, thankfully (not so's you'd notice, anyway). It was, at the same time, one of the funniest and most frightening events of my (fairly eventful) young life. I experience a whole range of emotions just remembering it. It's pretty funny though, I reckon. Peace, Out,