The Land of Sorrow

Before I get started, I want to say there is no right or wrong way to grieve.  It is a sacred and personal experience for everyone it touches. What I am recounting is and has been MY way of grieving and my experience.

Grief will take you many places and show you many things, if you are courageous enough to walk through that door and become one with the all consuming fire. 

There are two grief processes that I found myself working with.  There are of course the spontaneous ones, and they speak for themselves.  A sight, a scent, or a sound can take me there immediately.  Pictures of my grandson are enough, and most music these days can light my heart on fire.  Even some rap.

And then there are what I call initiated sessions, where I go there purposefully.  Why on earth would I do that?  

Because a spontaneous session might only last two to three minutes. In the car.  In the store.  In the bleachers during little league practice. Usually not too convenient. Most of the time that is just not enough time to fully release either. Nor are those spaces good to fully let it rip.  So I go to meet that emotion head on in a space that is good for me and away from the bustling crowds.  

When I start a session, essentially I go where my feelings take me, and they keep taking me to exquisite, excruciating depths.  Just when I think I can't possibly go any deeper, like where's the end of this bottomless pit, there I go. And go. And go.  Eventually time and space stand still, and I am one with everything.

I will assume this is what happens when one meditates, which I could never do.  I am way too easily distracted.  But in this moment, I can never be distracted from the love I felt and still feel for that child.  And so his beacon shines bright and beckons through the veil to the massive well within. 

Yeah. There's a parallel, for sure.  But it seems to me everyone is trying to convince with merely words.  What does it take to actually pierce the dream and open the heart? 

My ritual has evolved over these last ten months, let's go for a ride, shall we?

It was roughly two months after Cash's death that I found myself in our bedroom looking at a couple pictures.  We of course have pictures of Cassius and all our other grandchildren all over the house.  He was pretty much everywhere I looked.  And as soon as I would see his handsome face tears would start.  

I figured that I will most likely be looking at pictures of him for the rest of my life, so maybe I had better get accustomed to doing that. There's actually a psychological term for this: exposure therapy.

I knelt down and placed a couple pictures of Cassius before me. It didn't take but seconds before the tears came. And I began, then, to really lean into the grief.  Let it literally tear my soul apart.

It was during my second solo session that the deep grief came. It was almost as if the preceding couple of months of tears had been a warm up, tearing down a few of the walls that still held part of me (whatever that concept might be) in check.

Grief itself is ordinarily overwhelming, especially with the loss of a child or grandchild, deep grief is all that and more. What is deep grief?  I would say it is the act of forcefully leaning into the pain and becoming one with it.

As I mentioned, it takes me to an altered state.  Maybe it was because my kundalini had been awakened and a channel had been opened within me.  I dunno.  But the energy that was within me then and now is quite active and very wise, and its work was just beginning.

I started weeping initially, and with each successive intake of breath the outflow became greater.  All of a sudden, I started singing.  Not do re mi stuff, but a one note soliloquy, emanating straight from my heart.  It felt soft, like an angel was whispering through my vocal chords.  I don't think I've ever hit an on key note that high.  Ever. I found that my grief had a voice and wanted to be heard. 

It was about this point in time I found a local therapist/shaman.  There was a LOT going on and I needed some guidance. I saw Amata's face in an advertising picture in Psychology Today, her eyes resonated with my soul.  Turns out she, too, has also voyaged, and works with folks to transcend the magical realm and this reality.  It was a perfect fit.

In my first session with Amata, I could feel her heart.  It wasn't hard.  Of course I cried, and she cried with me.  She also asked what my heart looked like.

And I said a rock. A big, cold stone. Remember that one.  We'll come back to that stone later.

I would combust to some extent pretty much daily, and then I would initiate sessions two to three times a week., whenever I had the house to myself.  I knew what I was doing would scare the hell out of my lovely wife.

The initiated sessions would generally last from twenty to thirty minutes, sometimes up to an hour, whereas the spontaneous ones as I mentioned only last a few minutes.

During these sessions, I would usually start combusting fairly light.  And then, with each successive intake I would go deeper.  Around the fourth or fifth dive I would begin to drift into that altered state, a place very similar to where I have been on dmt.  The bright flowing geometric patterns weren't there, but the drifting feeling in space was quite present.

While in deep one time, and during a breathing moment, my beautiful black and red Shakti snake appeared and entered my heart.  I have named her Nefertiti by the way, after the Egyptian queen.  It seems fitting.  I had to name her because referring to "my snake" all the time might send the wrong message.

While there, in my heart, Nefertiti gently tapped two places, like a chisel into rock, and then departed. 

It was around this time, four to five months after Cash's death, my ritual changed.  I now had a packet of a dozen or so pictures of him from age two to nineteen and everywhere in between,.  I also added music to my performance.  I had a couple of warm up songs to place my head in a good place, and then I have some songs that were special for Cash and me as well as a few that might simply electrify me.

My hands, who I have named "Yin" and "Yang" were off the hook.  It was a little difficult in public sometimes, I'd have to pocket them or sit on them so folks wouldn't think I was crazy.  Especially if my heart is active, they are active.  There is a connection there, to the energy emanating from my heart.

Early on with Amata, and continuing forward, crazy was a primary concern.  She was my sanity barometer. As I was traveling this sacred territory, I needed assurance that I wasn't going insane.  Fortunately, according to someone who should know, I was not.  And I have since learned, nothing, and I mean NOTHING is insane when you walk in the sacred territory of loss.

As I look back, it is very apparent the initial awakening blew right through my upper three chakras, which makes sense.  They are much lighter in density than the lower four.  But it is the lower four, primarily the heart and abdomen, where grief and past traumas are stored.  The initial work of the awakened kundalini is to open up all the chakras, get rid of any past trauma, blockages and grief, and completely open the channel from the base of the spine through the crown.  And boy howdy, turns out Nefertiti is a busy goddess.

When in session, sometimes I get the dry heaves, so deep and so painful I feel the need to puke. I can feel blockages are erasing. Most of the time I don't intellectually correlate the pain with a past event when in the moment, many times an "aha" comes later.

I cannot tell you how many times I have gone to the land of sorrow.  A hundred?  Maybe more.  Sometimes the feeling would be a little lighter, sometimes my body would writhe in agony as I expelled whatever toxic nonsense was at the fore.  

I came to discover the "lighter" sessions paved the way for the deeper ones.  I was just a hacking and hewing away.  At one point somewhere in this process I began to notice the grief seemed to flow (quite painfully) through my right lung.

During my next session with Amata I mentioned that, and she said many times grief and trauma can be stored in the lungs.  She suggested that maybe we go to the "table" next time.  

What on earth is the table you may ask?

It's pretty much like a massage table, only Amata does somatic therapy with it.  If you have never heard of somatic therapy, it is a body-centered psychotherapy that combines talk with physical techniques to help release tension, stress and trauma trapped in the body.  Turns out Amata is a somatic magician.

After a few wafts of burnt sage, and a few sacred words of intention, I laid down face up on the table.  Amata started at my feet, just holding them with my heels in her palms, feeling the energy flow. She slowly moved around my body, gently placing her hands in various locations around my legs and back, and then over to my right side.

All of a sudden I convulsed and my body went wild.  I started dry heaving as I did the wounded walrus watusi on the table.  She was a little concerned I might fall off, but held me in check as my body contorted and wildly danced.

Ever since then, months ago now, my grief flows straight up and through the open channel my awakened kundalini has provided.  I no longer have any pain whatsoever in my right lung.  No intellectual correlation needed.  My body seems to know the way.

I have been on the table two more times since then.  The next time we went with absolutely no intention whatsoever, kinda like a "let's fool around and find out" moment.

I need to backtrack for a minute.  When I first started this process, I named the altered reality I entered while grieving the title of this post, "The Land of Sorrow".  

During one of my earlier sessions I actually felt a glimpse of an unfettered heart, a heart that had transcended, flowing free. A place maybe that existed somewhere in my future? So I co-named this place "Heartland".  

Heartland lasted about a day.  After that, and mostly ever since, I have referred to this place as "TLOMFEP".  So what the heck does that stand for?

The land of mother fucking excruciating pain.

Armed with that knowledge, let's go back to the table.  After several minutes of heel work and fooling with my energy, my heart suddenly burst open in a kaleidoscope of love and energy.  My hands went parabolic.  I was dancing with the divine again.  No tears.  No drugs.

I remember Amata kept repeating after I took off, "What's happening?  What's happening Dave?"

And all I could utter through waves of ecstasy was, "Heartland."  As she held me there, she started lightly humming.  Sometimes I would hum with her. Most of the time I just swam in an ocean of love.  This lasted about ten minutes.

Through simply moving energy around in my body we went where the dmt also took me, to HEAVEN, right there, in my heart.

What did this tell me?  That all this divine love is innate, this energy and light is in each and every one of us.  It's right there, in our hearts, for the taking.  All we need do is open our hearts to let it flow.

Easy in words, again, words. A little bit different in practice.  

Next up: Wheels of Fire 

 

 

 

Deep Water

I started writing this in January, 2026, a couple months after Cash had died, when my lovely wife and I traveled to Hawaii for a little respite.  Deep grief and heart song had already begun.

Deep Water

 

I’ve traveled tough terrain before, crossed rough and stormy seas,

Been to the top of the mountain, the depths of despair,

I thought peace had come to me.

And then a tragedy unbidden, the worst or so they say,

A child lost before his prime, before he ventured out to play.

I cannot help but think of all the things he’ll miss

A glide across the skating rink, a lover’s tender kiss.

Firsts of everything, yet to touch his world

All the hopes and dreams man has had not yet unfurled.

I’ll never see him marry, or a child to his name

I’ll never feel his joy again, now only feel this pain.

Every single question, all the time, but the answers never come,

His frame of mind, was I unkind?

Like the beating of a drum.

One day those beats will soften, for now there is no end,

Their pounding rhythm driving deep, far past unfathomable bends.

That road now coursing down, deep within the well,

Opening that sacred place where tears and sunshine dwell.

Beyond the walls where pride clings

Into the halls where radiance springs

Where love soars on silver wings

That sacred place where sorrow sings.

I’ll keep walking through this fire, every single day

That’s how much he meant to me, that’s the price I have to pay.

God speed to all who walk this road, I know I am not alone

May our kindred sorrow sooth somehow, the loss we all must own.

Ground Control to Major Tom

Several days after my eldest grandson's funeral, I took the first of many DMT voyages since his death. What is DMT you may ask?  

DMT (N,N-Dimethyltryptamine) is a powerful, naturally occurring psychedelic compound that induces intense, short-lived visual and auditory hallucinations.  It exists, pretty much, in all living things.

Quick Onset: When smoked or vaporized, effects begin within seconds, peaking quickly and usually resolving within five to eight minutes, with slight after effects for thirty to forty-five minutes.

Ayahuasca: The classic South American psychedelic brew. Oral ingestion requires combination with a monoamine oxidase inhibitor (MAOI), so a couple of plants are brewed together. This method extends the experience to several hours, but it is not as intense. 

Perceptual Changes: Users report profound alterations in space, time, and body identity, frequently describing vivid encounters with autonomous entities or alternate realities. 

I had voyaged on DMT a few times prior to this.  What I have always preferred with this particular vehicle is the short duration.  A twelve hour acid excursion might be a bit much for my constitution anymore.  For Pete's sake.

DMT had always been a very pleasant, cerebral and colorful experience for me. Many folks have encountered any number of different kinds of entities, the only thing I had encountered (until recently) was a white serpent.  She was not frightening, she was not aggressive.  She kept her distance, but she also watched me very closely.  Geometric patterns flowed within her.

The incredibly bright colors and amazing geometric patterns you see while on DMT look extremely similar to Huichol Indian art.  Pretty sure some of these folks be time traveling...

                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Keep in mind, all the patterns move in an amazing concentric cosmic dance.

The DMT I had in my hot little hands I had been sitting on for a while.  I hadn't voyaged for probably six or seven years.  It had the consistency of moist sawdust, with a very pungent earthy smell.  And it sat, in a dark vial. Tucked away.  For a rainy day. Which unfortunately arrived.

I had no idea what to expect. Several days earlier I had wandered up to the greenhouses, again, spaces where Cash and I had spent an enormous amount of time prior to his death.  I had read a poem at his graveside service, four lines of which:

"I will look for you always in the bright autumn leaves,

I will feel your presence within a small breeze

I will seek your spirit in the sky above

I will see you always in the faces I love..."

As I sat on a large boulder, facing the greenhouses and weeping uncontrollably, a soft breeze suddenly came upon me.  I looked up and there was a hawk circling above.

It was then Cassius came to me and said, "I am God. So are you."  

Totally Cassius. Layers upon layers. And maybe a little humor. Smart ass kid. We had shared many conversations about psychedelics and the spiritual realm, and here he was, actually in the realm, talking to me. To me, that was an invitation to come see and be.   

My darling sweet niece Ashley had come up immediately after hearing about his death and pretty much stayed with my daughter for weeks. They are very much sister cousins. And my darling sweet niece Ashley became the lucky psychonaut sacred space sitter for her uncle me. 

We chose a very ordinary place out at the farm.  There was still family commotion inside the house, so we wandered a bit away and sat on an old desk and office seat.  It was not fancy, it was kinda littered.  But Ash and I both maintain any place, EVERY place can be sacred.  It's all about what's in your heart.

All I knew was that my heart was open and raw.  It was from this space that I entered the holy realm, NOT consciously thinking about it. I took three long, deliberate hits, and within seconds I started drifting and was immediately hit by a lightening bolt right through my head and into my heart. The electricity and energy surged through my entire shaking body. I slowly drifted into soft chambers of down, bright blue and purple colors swirled about me.  A breeze came and I felt Cash's energy, the pulsation of his heart and spirit.

I lingered as long as allowed, and came back to my sweet niece sitting across from me in the classic lotus pose.  Soft blue, green and purple shafts of color still swirled as I re-entered this reality, taking another twenty minutes to assimilate and completely come down. 

Several days later I voyaged again. With Ash holding space, I blasted off.  This  time was similar, a lightening bolt entered through my head, filling my entire body with bright white light. My body trembled and shook as all the light and energy surged throughout my being.  It felt like I was being fuel injected with copious amounts of love.  

While I definitely believe it is safer and quite possibly more beneficial to voyage with a sitter, nevertheless, primarily because of scheduling conflicts, I felt compelled to venture forth a couple times on my own.

The first time I had the distinct feeling and impression that I was awakening, that I was waking up after a long, long sleep.  Like centuries long sleep.

The second time, I was hit again by that damn bright white light, and it completely ripped my heart open.  As I sat there, sobbing on my front porch, an ally, friend and healer appeared for the first time.  She was a beautiful black and red serpent, and she hovered over me like a very patient and protective mother as I wept.  Maybe she was the original white one I saw, but now that she was a part of me her colors had changed.

I knew my dear Ashley would eventually have to go home, so I sort of enlisted the assistance of another close friend of my children's. I approached Michelle with the the thought of voyaging with me, or at least space sitting, and she was at a perfect moment in life for a little spiritual adventure. She said yes.

I usually set sail with eyes closed, but this first time together I was looking at her as we  blasted off.  As I looked within her eyes , I saw and vibrated with her entire everything (heart, being, spirit, essence) completely. At that point I closed my eyes, and held her hand for the rest of the voyage.  During that time I could feel her heart and spirit and I could feel energy coursing through me and into her. 

The second time we voyaged together, with Ashley still holding space, we BOTH ended up together in the same amazing sacred space.  We wandered, in awe through HUGE, brightly colored rooms.  We were in a palace, with endless rooms as large as the Empire State Building. The colors were as bright as you saw above, all moving in incredible concentric, geometric patterns. 

It was then our paths diverged.  I ended up in a bright golden room with a dozen or more hummingbirds.  And she had a visit with a red eagle. 

I had no idea what was happening.  I knew I had touched the divine, had danced with the divine, and I wanted to share this love and energy with everyone.  At that point I had no idea my Kundalini had spontaneously awoke.  So what the heck is a Kundalini anyway?

Kundalini is a form of dormant spiritual energy that ancient traditions describe as a coiled snake at the base of the spine. My new girlfriend? When consciously awakening the kundalini through meditation, it usually starts at the base of the spine, or root chakra.

A spontaneous awakening, which can be triggered by trauma, deep emotional grief, psychedelics, or near death experiences, many times starts in the upper chakras. 

It was a rather heady experience for me, this spontaneous awakening.  I was dancing with the divine and was filled with a gigantic amount of love and energy.  I now know the awakening is just the beginning and takes a while to sort out, integrate and embody. But in the moment, I was thinking I could just do drugs and save the world. 

With the thought of sharing more energy and love, another friend sat in and held space for Michelle and I.  This time I opened my heart to the heavens and was bombarded with light and energy.  I became a part of the "crystalline grid, which is the invisible, multidimensional, architectural blueprint that connects consciousness, the physical earth and spiritual realms".  I sat there with arms out stretched to the heavens, once again trembling, bathed in pulsating blue and white light.  Michelle was with me all the way.  And by the way, the grid is not invisible when you're a part of it.  

The next time we voyaged together we did it with my skeptical but lovely wife sitting in and witnessing.  Cassius's father joined us as well.

The first round was light, but my hands, that I have since named Ying and Yang, had already kinda started their spontaneous kriya dance. What are kriyas you may ask?

Spontaneous kriyas are involuntary physical movements that happen during deep meditation or spiritual practice, when stored stress and life force energy release from the nervous system. Spontaneous kundalini can also awaken kriyas.  The hand dance is also a way for the body to release and express all the energy inside. 

I was beginning to give the spinners at a Grateful Dead show a run for their money.

My lovely wife commented on how the three of us reacted.  My ex son-in-law had been a stone, Michelle her beautiful, effervescent flowing self and then my lovely wife made fun of me and my wildly dancing hands.

The three of us decided to do it again, only more this time.  Once we set sail, I made the conscious decision to keep my hands still.  I think I sat on them. What happened next was wild.  That energy needed to go somewhere, so my heart decided to burst open in an incredible array of color, light and love.  It felt like a 4th of July firework finale that lasted forever, emanating from my heart.  Michelle was there too.  We were both sitting there, giggling, as our hearts exploded in love and light.

Ever since that first voyage I have been bombarded with personal spiritual insights. Synchronicity has been off the hook. Empathy, ridiculous. These are all symptoms of a kundalini awakening, and most of these were happening without any substance ingestion during my day to day.

One of the primary insights I had was how I was dealing.  I stopped thinking about everything early on, and let my body and intuition guide me.  

It became clear to me that I was not going to ever think or understand my way to heaven. Words only took me so far.  Comprehending only took me so far. I'd been trying understand my way to heaven for decades and only got lost in the woods.  Every single time.  As soon as I started feeling my way I was there, in heaven, through my heart.

I was also not going to think my way out of grieving my grandson.  I now know that grief lives in the body, and it is there that it must be met. But at this early stage feeling felt right, so I rolled with it.

There have been several voyages since, but here's where the story shifts. Again. While these voyages were incredibly sacred and I danced with the divine, there was more.  I could feel it.  

 

 

 

 

 

Paddles of Tears

The following is from "The Smell of Rain on Dust", by Martin Prechtel.  If you have recently experienced loss, any kind of loss, or know someone who has, I highly recommend this book.  The author presents a convincing argument that most of the world's problems are due to a lack of grieving and actually feeling, really feeling the heart.

                                                    

Excerpts from the chapter, "Paddles of tears, canoes made out of old songs", beliefs of Central American Indian tribes:

"The old understanding is that when a person dies, that person's spirit needs to begin traveling away from the shores of this beautiful flowering earth across the ocean of time, without ever looking back, to arrive on the concentric shores surrounding and facing this reality we live in called the Beach of Stars, where ideally they are met by their last happy ancestors. 

In order for the dead person's traveling soul to reach the opposite shore to be initiated and transformed into a life giving force from a human spirit, all their living friends and relatives must show how deeply they feel the loss of the deceased in a real and honest show of grief. 

The distance to the Other Shores cannot be calculated by ordinary human methods, its distance being more akin to something galactic, so the arrival over this ocean of time is not something the deceased's soul can ever accomplish unassisted. 

The energy that impulses the dead person's "seed heart" or soul over the ocean of time to the Beach of Stars has to come directly from the grief expressed by the living, by those who have honestly loved the dead person.  It is by the presence of their feeling of missing him or her expressed in a collective way that creates "paddles of tears, with canoes made out of old songs," that majestically and assuredly chauffeurs the dead person's disembodied life force right into the arms of the ancestral pool of souls. 

If enough friends and relatives give it their all, the soul of the one whose loss they feel so deeply is not only carried safely to the Beach of Stars, but like a baby chick, has enough of a spiritual yolk sac supplied by the spiritual worth of the beauty of the grief and praise expressed to maintain them during the first stages of transformation into an ancestral force."                              

I read that passage last July to an assembled group of mostly friends of my recently deceased Grandson during a portion of his celebration of life.  My daughter put this event together at her farm and mirrored it a bit after a couple of grief retreats she has personally attended since our lives were shattered October 14, 2025.  We held two short assemblies underneath the large heritage oak where he left this reality, and it all resonated quite extraordinarily with the forty or so attendees.

Last week I was back at the farm helping with harvest.  It has been extremely hard for me to go back into those spaces.  The echoes of his footsteps were everywhere, as was the tender, joyous sound of his laughter. But this time I noticed his presence was missing from the large shop area we had worked in together for the last couple years.  He wasn't there anymore, where I felt him just a scant month or so ago.

The next day my daughter brought up the "Paddles of tears" passage that I had read, and through the soft, bitter tears I have grown accustomed to she commented that he was almost there, to the Beach of Stars.  

I said, "I know."

We both could feel this, that he's almost gone, and through our combined tears we were feeling good-bye, again.  He's now in the wind, but forever a part of our hearts.  

I see Cassius taking flight near the end of this song and video:  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GZyyrnEDDOw&list=PLDq9PQ39JpU3LKyopuETAVWbGAzkKbrZf&index=2 

Is it just that we have grieved so much that our hearts feel a little lighter?  Or has he truly reached the Beach of Stars?  I think both.  Does it all sound a little crazy?  Maybe, but I can tell you this with unfortunate clarity, NOTHING, and I mean nothing is insane when you've lost a loved one and start walking into this sacred territory. Nothing.

Cassius's death has completely altered my life's course. Instead of piddling around and watching James Bond and Leave it to Beaver reruns for the duration of my silver years, looks like I am becoming a warrior of the heart, or a grief walker if you will.   What are those you may ask?  I suppose you could say it is someone that faces the exquisite pain in the heart, actually leans into the exquisite pain in the heart, rather than turn away.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not running around out here pushing myself to grieve, it comes pretty naturally.  Still.  But when it does come, I don't turn away.  I lean into it, going in as hard and deep as I can.  And the more this happens, the deeper I go.

I personally have no choice.  My Grandson beckoned me from beyond.  A parent or grand parent will many times state that they would lay down and die for their offspring.  I certainly did.  If that's the case, yet he's already gone, then I suppose this could be considered a cake walk.

Of course, the walk is filled with alligators, anacondas and fire.  Searing hot, piercing the heart fucking fire. Over and over and over again. 

I suppose I could try to ignore that flame. Many do. Push it down. Eat it away. Drink it away.  Pretend it never happened. Deny. Deflect.  But it will always remain, waiting to be heard.

I had no idea how deeply this body can feel.  And grief is a body thing, NOT a mental thing. I stopped thinking about it early on, and have allowed my intuition and body to guide me through these turbulent waters. No one will ever understand their way out of grief, or think their way out. Grief lives in the body, and it is there it has to be met.

My daughter and I have both chosen to face the fire, to be consumed by the flames.  The pain is agonizingly intense, how could all that lost love be anything other?  

Fortunately the body is wise.  It will only let you endure the pain for so long. And then it stops.  Until the next time.  A sight.  A scent.  A sound.  It doesn't take much to trigger when you're so open and raw.

There has been another element involved in this for me, which I will get into in a following post.  Yeah, I guess I'm back.  It's been about three years since I've been writing here.  Lol.  I have three unfinished posts, I guess I ran out motivation and things to say.  I just did not want to prattle on, although I can do that very well.

But these truths that are a part of me now MUST be told and shared. And it all boils down to one thing, love.

Choose love. Be love. It is what we are and what we are meant to be. 

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w99NAM1eMsg&list=RDw99NAM1eMsg&start_radio=1

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Big's Safety Rangers

I've decided I'm forming a club.  If y'all want to join me you're in.  There's no membership fees.  No dues.  There's no silly hazing requirements, like standing on your head and eating a plate of spaghetti.  Or drinking a bathtub full of beer.

There's no dress code, so you can wear whatever you want.  There's no drug testing either.  So fire one up and read on.

The only requirement of membership is your desire to see the roads and highways of America safer.  That's it.  To that end though I am a bit of a stickler to not necessarily rules but to plain old common sense!

I get to make up the grading system because I have a little bit of experience having pulled a few dead bodies out of cars.  Back in another life I was a firefighter for a few years at a couple different locations in California.  A state highway ran through both locations, so besides the ever fun loving fully involved structure fires I also got to experience the not so fun aforementioned activities.

BTW, one absolute law of vehicle collisions I have learned is that if it is a big vehicle versus a little vehicle the big one always wins.  Always.

This last September my lovely wife and I were on the road, like every single weekend. We had a lot of stuff going on and there was a lot of time whisking by on the highway.  But even prior to this I had taken a shine to grading drivers who had pulled over to the side of the road.  For whatever reason; engine trouble, flat tire, bathroom break, sex.  

The primary grade is given for how far off the highway they have actually gone.  And if they could have gone further. Cause the further away from vehicles zipping along at 65 MPH the safer they'll be.   Higher grades are given for the further distance, lesser for the closer they are to the highway.

This is not to be taken lightly.  There was a Nevada County knucklehead a number of years back that got a flat tire on the driver's side of his van.  He immediately pulled over on the state highway during the very busy morning commute.  

The problem was, there was a steep up slope on the side of the road and there wasn't really any shoulder at all.  The left tires of his vehicle were actually on the right white line of the lane. Which of course would mean that in order to change the tire his body would actually be in the highway.  

He didn't last long.  I don't think he got a lug nut off.  

He of course would get an "F".  There was a steep up slope where he stopped so he actually did pull as far over as he could have.  There.  But if he limped forward about two hundred yards he would have had a turn out about the size of Bolivia to change the tire.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, he might have damaged the tire a bit more had he continued forward.  So?  He certainly won't have to make that decision again.

I have collected a number of cars on the shoulder photos which I am going to display, grade and then tell you why.  OK?  (You have to say OK if you want to be in the club.  I think this might be the only requirement.)

This car gets a "B".  He's about as far off the shoulder he can get there, BUT, it looks like the turn out might fan wider towards where the shot was taken.  This car should be back there.

This blonde, while pretty, maybe, deserves to have her legs shorn off by the next vehicle that passes by. She's got a lot more room on the grass.  "F"

This cop gets a "C".  Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.  Those right two tires should be at least a foot onto the grassy knoll.

This car gets a "B".  He could be over another foot.

"F".  Puhleese.  Look at that football field to his side.

"A".  This person is even over the outer boundary line of the turn out.

"C"  The door opens onto the highway, but considering the problem she did the best she could.  I'd still probably keep that door closed.

The only reason this car should be here is if it doesn't run.  And even so he should be over kissing that guard rail.  "D".

This cop, while probably trolling for speeders, gets an "A" for position.  Any car pulling over here should be right on the edge of that grass just like he is.

"A" Nice placement, slow road.

 

The white car gets an "A".  He's definitely off the highway a good distance, and that brings up another point.  Don't pull so far off the highway that it's going to take a tow truck to get you back on.  (Cop gets an "F".  Hell, he's already been ht!)

This van gets a "B+".  He's still got a little room over there.

"F".  Geez.  Brake lights are on.  He probably dropped a roach and his crotch is starting to burn.  Even then I think I'd pour a drink (if I had one-which I usually do) or pee my pants rather than stop there.  That's an accident or a cop waiting to happen, and either one will certainly harsh whatever mellow had been attained.

This van gets a "B".  It's a lousy place to pull over, and that's why he doesn't get an "A".  But he's up there kissing the guard rail, doing everything he can.

"B"  He's got a little more room.

Look at that row of cars.  FFFFFFFFFFFFF.  Look at the turn out where the photo was taken.  That's where I'm parking.  

Folks do that up here in the summer accessing the Yuba River.  They all get tickets.

 "A"  Can't get much further off the road than that. Plus this guy is really prepared.

Anyway, I think you get the idea on the safe pulling over aspect of the club.  

Now that I think about it, maybe there's two more rules to be a club member.  The Safety Rangers ALWAYS use their turn signals, even if a squirrel in a tree is the only living thing that sees.  And we always turn it on in ADVANCE of our turn because it only makes sense.  Those individuals that turn on their signal as they are turning are either an asshole or an idiot.

The asshole part is easy to understand.  The idiot part maybe not so much because, well, they're idiots.  But if they gave it half a thought, anyone following would already KNOW they are turning by the actions of the car.  They didn't need to know AFTER the idiot dropped them from 50 to 20 MPH and started their turn, they needed to know BEFORE all that stuff happened. 

And Safety Rangers don't tailgate.  Unless, of course, the proverbial asshole or idiot pulls out, cuts you off and drops you from 50 to 20 and then only speeds up to 30.  Tailgating IS allowed for a mile or so to get your point across, as is any form of vernacular that might erupt from your mouth.  

But then we let Zen and safety win.

However, if they giddy-up and go a safety ranger will usually forgive and forget with only a few minor  eruptions.

That's it folks.  Be safe.  Be polite.  Welcome to the club.