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Getting a Tattoo? Try Black Panther Tattoos!

Craving for wild tattoo designs? Do you want a design that can show your personality? Then, consider choosing black panther tattoos. Tattoos have been considered a form body art which allows one to express his/her inner persona. Animal designs were among those that people love to choose to represent their personalities. Choosing black panther tattoos is not that easy, though. You should at least make a thorough research about its meaning, the design to choose and where to place your tattoo.

Here are a few tips to add in your research before getting inked:

• Know what they symbolize. It is a requirement before getting a tattoo that you should know what your chosen design symbolize and what is its significance. Black panther tattoos, for instance, symbolize strength, power and leadership. This design is rather rare, so, seeing one inked in a person's body means that he/she is brave enough to choose the design. For women, this tattoo design is also considered because of this animal's distinctive personality of being loving and being a fierce protector to its cubs.

• Designs for this tattoo may vary, depending on how you want it inked on you. The eyes can be colored if you don't want it purely black. You can also place a background to make it more natural.

• Locations can be a dilemma, but most people prefer to place the design on the arms, legs, back or the neck. Black panther tattoos can even cover for your old tattoos or scars. A panther's head can cover round tattoos, climbing panther can conceal a vertical line tattoo or scars. And a crawling panther can cover for a horizontal scar or tattoo.

Why spend more time thinking about it? Be courageous and get your own black panther tattoo.

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Chasing Adventure Via Motorcycle in Latin America

On the pampas the horizons seem to flee. The llamas are golden, the clouds impossibly white. We let the bikes run. Suddenly, the view changes. The lead bike rises above the line of the horizon, a rider flails through the air 10 feet above the ground. This is not good. Jeff has gone off the road at 70 mph. Katie goes into paramedic mode, calming Jeff, running her hands up his spine, probing, checking ribs, legs, arms. The fall has ripped his touring jacket from shoulder to waist, peeling the back protector to reveal the We-Build-Bridges T-shirt. He is scuffed, but within moments is giggling, flashing the "I Can't Believe I'm Still Alive" grin that is his default expression.

Ryan pulls the bike up and starts collecting the bits scattered across the desert. The luggage is destroyed. The right handlebar is bent almost to the tank. Mirrors, turn signals, front fender snapped off in a microsecond. Both wheel rims have dents. Incredibly, it still runs. He puts the parts that still work back on the bike, takes it for a test ride. It will last another 7,000 miles. Our motto: We Will Make This Work.

Jeff tells what happened. A small bird had hopped into his path. The next thing he knew he was off the road, launched into a culvert. "I thought, wow. I'm Superman. Oh look, there's the bike. Oh look, there's the bird..." In a field strewn with jagged boulders, he had landed on sand.

THE BEGINNING

The trip came up long before I was ready. A phone call, an invitation to tag along with a group of BMW riders embarking on a five-week, 8,000-mile journey from Peru to Virginia. I would document the ride, a fundraising effort for a group that builds footbridges in remote areas of the world. I'd been thinking about a long ride, something open-ended, without support vehicles, the experience of being totally "out there." This seemed to fit the bill. A third of the distance around the world with complete strangers. I had a brand-new BMW F 800 GS and it was thirsty. If there was a point of no return, I crossed it before I hung up the phone.

First, the riders. Ken Hodge is an insurance benefits specialist and member in good standing of the Newport News Rotary Club. He discovered motorcycles late in life, when he bought a bike, rode it across country in 48 hours, then began to dream of a bigger adventure, something for a good cause.

He recruited his daughter Katie (a fire department paramedic), his stepson Ryan (a mechanic and dirt-bike rider) and Ryan's best friend Jeff. I'm impressed by their preparations. They ride old BMW R 1150s and F 650 singles. Ryan had spent a year renewing the bikes, poking about the inner recesses, memorizing the shop manuals for each machine. They would bring enough tools and parts to handle almost every emergency.

INTO THE ANDES

We stop at Nazca to view the ancient figures scratched in the rocky desert. From the top of a tower we can see a figure with raised hands. Just to the north, the Pan-American Highway bisects the figure of a lizard, decapitating the creature. Bound by the tight focus of brass transit levels, the surveyors who laid out the road were not even aware of the sacred relics, discovered when aerial flight became common.

I realize that we are as blinded by focus, by concentration as the surveyors were by their instrument. The trip will be a series of images, sidelong glances, captured at speed.

Descendants of the people who built the Inca trail, Peruvian builders know their stuff. But it's the tracery, the managed flow of momentum, that has our respect. The road ascends ancient seabeds, hills covered with talus, fractured dry ridges with cornices sculpted by landslides. Midday, we find ourselves on a high pampas inhabited by thousands of vicuña and alpaca. In the distance, our first sight of snowcapped peaks. There are stone corrals on nearby slopes, one-room huts. In the middle of this giant nowhere, a lone shepherd walking on the side of the hill.

We discover that the distances on maps are those of the condor. We travel incredibly twisted roads that sometimes take a hundred turns (and several miles) to get from one ridge to the next. The map indicates towns, but to our dis-may not all have gas stations. We buy gas in a small outpost from a woman who ladles it out of a bucket with a coffee pot, then pours it through a plastic, woven kitchen funnel into our tanks. The whole town watches. We push on into the descending night. We make it to the next set of lights, 20 or so buildings on two streets, find a hotel, and park our bikes in an enclosed backyard with dogs, chickens, dead birds, plastic bottles and an animal hide tanning on the wall. Instead of the usual exit signs, the restaurant in our hotel has green arrows that say "ESCAPE." It is not a criticism of the food. The forces that drive the Andes skyward have been known to demolish whole towns.

The next morning we fire up the bikes, and ascend into the Andes on a perfect road. We are fluid, going through hairpins, double hairpins, squared-off turns-climbing the flank of a single 4,700-meter peak. I can think of only one word: delicious. We move through mist and low-hanging clouds, with shafts of sunlight slanting into rainbows. The valleys below are green and fertile, a mix of old Inca terracing and more modern farms. Slender eucalyptus trees line the road, providing shade for huts with red tile roofs. A girl tends a flock of goats (identified with colorful ribbons) on a green meadow, book in hand. At one point I think the clouds above have parted to reveal patches of blue, but when I look up I see that it is snow-covered rock, another 3,000 or 4,000 feet of mountain. On a turnoff near the top of the peak we find a dozen or so tiny shrines, little churches decorated with flowers and ribbons and photographs of loved ones. The site of a bus plunge. On a hillside across the valley paragliders work the thermals, the canopies looking like bright-colored eyebrows, or ostentatious angels.

We share the road with vicuña, alpaca, llama, sheep, goats, dogs, roosters, pigs, horses and cows. On a narrow lane near Abancay, a bull tries to gore me as I pass, charging and making a hooking motion with its horns. One night after the sunset, I round a corner and a beautiful roan stallion wheels in the light from our bikes, filling the lane with wide eyes and flashing hoofs, inches from my head. I realize that riding sweep poses a risk. The novelty of our passing bikes wears off, and the local wildlife has time to react.

Entering Cusco, Ryan asks directions, a girl directs us onto a narrow cobblestone street, slick with rain, as steep as a bobsled run. The rocks are turned on their side, like teeth. The knobbies have no traction whatsoever. The people on the sidewalks frantically wave their hands, indicating that the road gets steeper. I touch my brake and the bike goes down, pinning my leg against the curb, a quarter of an inch shy of a fracture. The bike behind me goes down. It is harrowing. The locals help us lift the bikes, get them turned uphill.

A police escort leads us to a hotel that lets us store the motorcycles in the lobby. Without bothering to shower, we make our way to the Norton Rats Bar on the northeast corner of the central plaza. The owner, an American expatriate, once piloted a Norton to the tip of the continent. The walls are lined with photos from the trip. Above the bar are mounted heads, the four past American presidents, with their best known soundbites: I am not a crook. I did not inhale. I do not recall. We will find WMD in Iraq. We sip beers, trade stories, trying to reassemble the past few days. The dead battery. The punctured radiator. The roadside repairs. The incredible rush of unrelenting beauty.

Three days of desert north of Lima generate a few details. The total absence of life, the three colors of sand. Young boys pedaling tricycle ice cream carts in the middle of nowhere. We enter a <I>zona de nimbleras</I>, but instead of fog we find a 60-mph crosswind that sends a layer of grit skittering across the road like a special effect in a Steven Spielberg movie. Two lanes narrow to one covered by blowing sand, thick enough to swallow the front tire, deep enough that a road grader prepares to clear the drifting sands.

We decide to try a secondary route through the hills. We turn onto a dirt road and everything changes. We pass through villages alive with people, dogs, tiny three-wheel taxis fashioned from old motorcycles. Kids on motorscooters ride past, snapping pictures with their cell phones. The road throws split-finger fastballs at the bash plate that clang as loud and adamant as the sound of an aluminum bat. We slosh our way through gravel, gray dust on everything, parts falling off, teeth rattling. Oh yes, this is what we wanted.

ECUADOR

In Macara, we sit on the sidewalk near a minor town square, eating pork cooked by a rotund woman in a yellow dress. Her daughter brings us three beers (giant) at a time, and keeps the empties in a milk crate for accounting later. Boys on motorbikes cruise the quiet streets, the lucky ones with girls on the back. Across the square, girls sit on benches. Jeff experiences a cultural revelation, that South American girls have breasts, and wear tight pants...and "Hey, I think she likes me."

Our dinner companion is David McCollum, an American expatriate that Ryan had met on ADVrider.com. He tells us stories about riding the Ecuadoran Andes, and gives us tips on handling roadblocks. "Act Stupid. Do not try to communicate in Spanish. Say 'No fumar Espanol' (I don't smoke Spanish). If all else fails, have Katie cry." Er, Katie does not do "cry." The next day he leads us into the Ecuadoran Andes.

Impressions: Razor-sharp ridges. Lumpy, conical outcroppings. Monasteries on top of hills. Slopes so steep they will never be worked by machine. A couple standing above dark earth, the man holding a wooden hoe, the woman a bag of seeds. A woman on horseback, black and red cape, a whip coiled in one hand. Trees. Cloud. Mist. The feel of a Japanese block print, the ones that suggest the road goes to infinity.

I had introduced the group to a family tradition. When we travel, we end each day by recounting high point, low point and funny bone. After this day, I will add "Pucker moments." Trucks hurtle out of the fog, running without lights, signaled only by the ghostly wave pushed before. They appear in our lane without warning or reason. We go through construction sites where the road narrows to one lane that offers no escape route. One side seems hideously close to the new concrete, studded with rebar fangs. The other side is precipice. Pucker moments? Take your pick.

Sometimes it's the surface, a half mile of muddy bobsled run, of loose gravel, of gushing water, the bike handling like a loose bowel. Twice, we round a corner and find no road, the surface having caved in, sucked away by underground torrents. Katie's moment comes when a cow, with no footing, scrambles into the path of her bike. For Jeff, it is passing a truck that suddenly swerves to avoid a pothole, the trailer swinging toward him like a baseball bat.

We spend two days in Cuenca, a 500-year-old city surrounded by mountains. Ken phones ahead and discovers that the ship that was to have taken us and the bikes from Ecuador to Panama doesn't exist (had we had drugs or been illegal aliens, no problem, but there are no accommodations for <I>turistas</I> with motorcycles). We ask David for help. While we ride to Quito, he will work the phones. He finds a contact, a guy known for getting things done when no one else can. We meet up with this air freight magician at The Turtle's Head, a biker bar in Quito. At midnight.

The next morning we ride our bikes to the military section of the airport, then into a refrigerated warehouse. The steel floor is covered with embedded ball bearings, across which slide steel palettes. For the next three hours we wrestle with tiedowns. A skinny man dressed entirely in black oversees the operation, taking pictures of the bikes with a digital camera, making sure batteries are disconnected, tires are deflated. Drug-sniffing dogs poke their noses into every recess.

Then, just like that, our bikes are gone, on their way to Panama in the belly of an airplane.

CENTRAL AMERICA

Central American countries are the size of postage stamps. You can cross them in a day and a half, only to spend a half day at customs and immigration. Ken had prepared Xerox copies of all our documents (passports, licenses, titles, registration, VIN numbers) and had them notarized. As he works with the official in the air-conditioned office, we sit in 100-degree heat and watch ants carry grains of dirt from beneath the ground. We will become used to the demands for more copies, the freelance currency traders waving bills in front of our faces, the young hustlers willing to facilitate the process, the food vendors waiting for starvation to overcome caution about local cuisine.

Before embarking on this trip, I'd read State Department travel advisories. The section on Peru warned that five Americans had died from liposuction in Lima. OK, was that consensual liposuction, or were there gangs of thugs wielding vacuum cleaners with sharp pointy attachments? Virtually every entry on Central American countries warned about fake checkpoints, bandits in uniform, soldiers in the middle of nowhere.

Along the roadside are signs with a blood-red eye and the warning <I>vigilantes</I>. We round a corner to find two soldiers walking patrol, miles from the nearest town. They ask for paperwork. A surge of adrenaline turns my mouth to cotton. David, our friend in Ecuador had given us good advice: Act stupid. Smile. We seem to have a natural talent for that. <I>No fumar Espanol</I>. After inspecting our paperwork, they wave us on. In the next few weeks we will be stopped repeatedly, sniffed by dogs, x-rayed, wanded with devices that look like carving knives with car antennas where the blade should be. At border crossings, guys in jumpsuits and facemasks spray our bikes with liquids designed to kill stowaway bugs too lazy to cross borders under their own power. There are soldiers at every gas station, armed attendants at convenience stores and restaurants, guys with shotguns on Pepsi trucks. We are aware of poverty, a culture of criminal opportunity. The night air can strip your bike naked, if you don't find a hotel with secure parking.

These countries are linked by soil to the United States, and our culture has rattled its way through. Central America is a motorbike culture. Whole families whiz by, perched on narrow seats, wearing helmets with missing visors. In Panama City we run into a group of Harley riders. The bikes have exhausts the size of howitzers, the horns blare a soundtrack of special effects. They surround us, and ask if we want to join their regular weekend burger run. We follow them to an exclusive country club just beyond the Mira Flores locks on the Panama Canal. They send us off with directions to a bed-and-breakfast up the coast. I fall asleep that night in a hammock, a bottle of beer still clutched in my hand, the blades of a fan whirring softly overhead.

Central America has a different feel than Peru and Ecuador, a different gravity. We move through verdant countryside at a speed that would be natural in Virginia or Colorado or California. The vegetation looks like fireworks, only green. Here clusters of one plant have taken over a hillside. There a different species explodes. A slow war.

We have been in the saddle for three weeks. Nothing can break our pace. We abandon the Pan-American Highway and find roads that make it seem like you have two flat tires, ones that seem like you're riding on an oil spill. There are narrow, one-vehicle-at-a-time bridges of mismatched narrow-gauge rails, or on lesser roads, steel plates tossed across rotting timbers. The terrain is a geological mash-up, without the power of the Andes, but enough unexpected elevation change and tight corners to make for an interesting ride. Towns announce themselves with speed bumps and potholes that can swallow bikes whole. I see road signs unique to the country, silhouettes of odd animals. A snake crossing. A jaguar crossing. In Costa Rica we hit a 30-mile stretch of gravel road, and the world becomes dust. The bikes come alive. We romp, skitter, wander, trusting the gyroscope. I try to read the strange shadows that appear in the dust-bicyclists, ATVs, huge trucks with no lights-not always accurately. There are breaks in the dust cloud when I see fields filled with white cattle and at their feet white egrets. The sky tinges pink with light from a setting sun. A feeling almost like peace.

We spend a night in Arsenal, a destination resort for adrenaline junkies with discretionary income. Posters advertise canopy walks, zipline rides through the rain forest, the chance to rappel down waterfalls, night hikes to lava flows, kayaking, canoeing. We ignore the offers, saddle up and ride into the rain forest. A group of meercats swarms down an embankment onto the road. Monkeys cavort in the trees overhead. A tourist zips by on a steel cable casting a shadow on the road, a blur of color in the sky. It looks like someone was hanging laundry and forgot to take his or her clothes off.

Nicaragua has its own feel. We ride past volcanoes so large they make their own weather, the crowns hidden beneath wide-brimmed clouds. Don Quixote in his barber bowl hat. The streets are clogged with horsedrawn buggies. We find a hotel near the town square. Across the street from the hotel is a shop offering galactic Internet. The traditional culture is slowly losing ground to bandwidth. Relay towers compete with church steeples, billboards for cell service block oversized statues of saints on nearby hilltops.

We visit a bridge, built by Ken's organization, in a remote area of Honduras. At the turnoff from the main road I think we are entering a drainage ditch. Indeed, during the rainy season the road is impassable, the clay surface too slick for traction. Now, the bikes tackle a road gouged by erosion, working their way around rocks exposed by the force of water. This is by far the most technical riding of the trip.

The 40-mile road will take five hours to cross. The clawmark gullies pull Ken's bike out from under him; Katie rides into a ditch and smashes her bike's windscreen. Even Ryan has trouble. The river, when we reach it, is intimidating. I take pictures of the bikes as they come through, pushing a bow wave over front wheels, jouncing up the rocks on the other side. If a trip can be reduced to 1⁄250th of a second, a single moment seared in memory, these pictures would be it.

We cross into Guatemala, and spend the night with Hemingway impersonators and Jimmy Buffet wannabes in Rio Dulce. The hotel has a wonderful tacky feeling. The overhead fan showers sparks. The power goes off at regular intervals, as does the water. If you want a shower, step outside. We spend a long day riding through rain. The water destroys one of my cameras, turning the LCD into an aquarium. Hey, I have enough pictures.

ALMOST THERE

At the first town over the Mexican border, we stop for directions on a crowded street. A truck sideswipes my bike, snags a sidecase, and drags me down. I'm unhurt, but the windscreen and instrument panel lie in fragments. The police, when they arrive, are the opposite of helpful. We collect the broken bits, duct tape everything in sight, and fire it up. We are unstoppable. We ride on, but the mood of the ride changes and the calendar beckons. Katie, Ryan and Jeff have to be back by a certain date, or they lose their jobs.

The ride becomes time vs. distance, a push that blurs most of Mexico, and a final border crossing into the United States.

We hurtle across long roads, nursing bikes that are showing signs of wear. Ken's bike is missing a sidestand. Ryan's helmet a visor. Katie treats her BMW's busted windscreen like a badge of honor, but still, a 75-mph headwind is exhausting. Jeff's bike has chewed the rear sprocket to nubbins, the chain is beginning to slip. It will wind up in a U-Haul 100 miles from home.

Five weeks after departing, we see the lights of Newport News. As they enter the city, Ken, Ryan and Katie spread across the road, side by side, arms raised. The long ride is over.

Crash Test 2007 - 08 Volvo C70 IIHS (Side Impact)

Volvo C70 2006-08 models 2008 Top Safety Pick 2008 Volvo C70:good performance in front, side, and rear tests and standard electronic stability control SIDE IMPACT TEST WITH STANDARD SIDE AIRBAGS OVERALL EVALUATION: Good Injury measures Head protection Structure/safety cage Head/neck Torso Pelvis/leg Driver Good Acceptable Good Good Good Rear passenger Good Good Good Marginal Important: Side impact crash test ratings can be compared across vehicle type and weight categories. Test details: The Volvo C70 was redesigned for the 2006 model year. Injury measures: Driver — Measures taken from the dummy indicate that rib fractures would be possible in a crash of this severity. The risk of significant injuries to other body regions is low. Rear passenger — Measures taken from the dummy indicate a low risk of any significant injuries in a crash of this severity. (Note: during the test, injury data from the head were not obtained, but after the Institute reviewed comparable test data from Volvo, the head/neck injury risk was rated good.) Head protection: Driver — The dummy's head was protected from being hit by any hard structures, including the intruding barrier, by a side curtain airbag that deployed upward from the door and a side airbag that deployed from the seat. Rear passenger — The dummy's head was hit by the interior side trim. This impact did not produce high head injury measures, but the head protection is inadequate.

Horse and Rider Safety

There is no beating around the bush - horse riding is a risk sport. Apart from the obvious dangers of falling off when mounted, these large animals have always got to be treated with respect when handling them on the ground and in the stable.

Riding need not be any more dangerous than any other risk sport, as long as certain precautions such as those listed on this page are followed. Horse Rider Safety should always be borne in mind when riding or near horses.

Safety for Visitors on the Yard

Horses are large prey animals and have been designed through evolution to protect themselves from things they do not understand! Anyone standing behind them is in danger of being kicked. Horses characters can vary greatly - some can bite (either if they are in a bad mood, or if they genuinely believe the hand reaching out to stroke their nose is actually a carrot!) Visitors to a Riding Stables or Livery Yard, especially with young children, are asked to remember this, and keep their children under control at all times! Riding stables are not playgrounds, and children running round corners unexpectedly can cause a horse to rear.

Riding Hats

Riding hats or helmets MUST be worn at all times when riding, and are paramount to horse rider safety. They are also advised to be worn at other times when handling horses. Riding hats come in various designs - some designs suit one shape of head better than another, and of course some designs are more appropriate to your favoured riding discipline.

The most important thing about a riding hat is that it much be fitted correctly ideally by someone who had attending a hat fitting course. It must also conform to standards PAS 015 or EN 1384. Hats cannot prevent serious injury in all circumstances, but help in the majority of cases. Your skull is fragile - it is not worth taking a risk with.

If the hat suffers a severe impact, either as a result of a fall or a drop onto a hard surface it MUST be replaced. Riding hat prices start from around the mid £30s, and you can spend up to over £100.

Hats do not last forever as the protective padding gradually compresses with use, and the hat becomes looser on your head. You should purchase a replacement hat as soon as this happens.

Riding Hats and the Law

It is a legal requirement that children under the age of 14 MUST wear a riding hat which conforms to the appropriate standard when riding a horse on the road.

Body Protectors

Horse rider safety can be helped by a body protector which can give protection to the chest and back area if you fall from your horse. These are particularly useful if you fall onto a hard surface (such as a jump), or if your horse stands on you after a fall. Body protectors can help prevent serious injury.

There are three standards of protection, and each has a different coloured label in the shops to identify the level of protection offered.

Level 1 Black label

Protectors providing a lower level of protection that is only considered
appropriate for licences jockeys.

Level 2 Brown label

Protectors providing a lower than normal level of protection that is only
considered appropriate for use in low risk situations. These DO NOT include riding on roads or other hard surfaces, riding over jumps, riding young or excitable horses, or riding while still inexperienced.

Level 3 Purple label

Protectors providing a level of protection that is considered appropriate for normal horse riding, competitions and for working with horses. Protectors to this level should:
Prevent minor bruising that would have produced stiffness and pain.
Reduce significant soft tissue injuries to the level of bruising.
Prevent a limited number of rib fractures.

When first using a body protector it will feel very strange and restrictive. Most protectors mould to your body's shape, and do so more easily in warm weather than in cold. Although the body protector feels uncomfortable at first you really must persevere with wearing it. After a few times of wearing it when riding you will find you feel naked without it, and it will become second nature to put it on and use it every time you ride.

Body protectors cost from £60 up - a good investment for something that may save your life!

Body Protector Fit

Fitting is of paramount importance and a visit to a properly trained retailer is recommended, for example anyone displaying the BETA Safety course attendance certificate.

Ensure that you are wearing the correct size of body protector and that it is adjusted to give a close fit to the torso, and that no RED VELCRO is exposed at the shoulder or waist closures. If RED VELCRO is visible the protector is too small or is incorrectly fastened.

The body protector should be tried on over light clothing. Check that is comfortable to wear in all simulated riding positions. The garment should fit securely and reasonably tightly to avoid movement during activity and to ensure that it is in place in the event of an accident.

Footwear

It is essential that you ride in appropriate footwear. Serious injuries can be caused if you fall off and your foot gets stuck in the stirrup. Proper riding boots are recommended - these have a heel to stop your feet sliding through the stirrups. Boots can be short (jophur boots) or full length. The most comfortable footwear is often short boots and half chaps - chaps keep the stirrup leathers from chaffing and bruising your legs. However, what you choose to wear is personal choice and how much you can afford (long leather riding boots can set you back around £100 up).

It is not appropriate to ride in trainers as they have no heel and can be dangerous.

Safe Tack

You are now equipped with riding hat and body protector, and proper footwear. Now it is time to turn to your horse!

The object of riding and of horse rider safety is to stay on top of your horse - your riding apparel may help protect you if you fall off, but really you want to avoid doing this at all costs! You do not want to part company with your horse due to faulty tack!

Tack needs to be checked regularly so you can spot a problem before it occurs.

Leather tack needs to be kept clean and well conditioned so that it remains supple - stitching needs to be checked to ensure there are no points of weaknesss. Buying quality tack in the first place is essential. You may find bridles costing little more than £20, and wonder why you should pay over £100 for the similar item. However, the more expensive bridle is undoubtably going to be made of better leather, and with good care will last you longer and be more reliable. The last thing you would want is for your reins to break when your horse is in mid gallop!

Tack can be repaired, but don't skimp here. If it is in bad condition, replace it! If your girth breaks you will fall off your horse and may suffer serious injury - is it really worth risking it?

Buy the right tack for your riding discipline. Also make sure the tack fits your horse properly for the comfort of both of you.

Finally it is good if you can develop a relationship with your tack supplier - for example, having the person who provides your saddle come out and check the fit regularly. They will be able to advise you on things that you may have missed.

Visibility on the Road

Wearing hi viz protective clothing when riding on the road can make you more visible to a car driver approximately 3 seconds earlier than would otherwise be the case. These seconds could be vital in saving the lives of you and your horse.

It is not always in poor or dark conditions that hi viz equipment is necessary - on a bright summers day the driver's vision may be hampered by bright sunlight!

Slogans on tabards, such as 'Pass wide and slow' also help remind drivers of the need to take care when passing horses. Unfortunately too many drivers nowadays seem unaware that horses cannot be depended upon in the same way as bicycles, and often come far too close and too fast.

Equestrian Road safety also includes thanking drivers who show consideration for horses and their riders - this encourages them to be as thoughtful in future. Sometimes riders do not help themselves if they ignore couteous behaviour! A simple 'thank you' can go a long way - so remember every time!

At any time in your horse riding career you may part company with your mount when you least expect it (or less politely get dumped!). Being prepared can help you get back into the saddle as quickly as possible, with little or no serious damage!
Horses weight half a ton or more - they must be respected!

ItaliaspeedTV - EuroNCAP Crash Test: Fiat Brava (1998)

The Fiat Brava was awarded two stars for frontal- and side-impact protection in 1998 by EuroNCAP but, with only a small improvement, it would have been awarded a third star. The car's structure became overloaded in the frontal impact and there were significant intrusion problems. However, even without a side airbag, the car meets side-impact legislation to take effect across Europe for new models from October. Finally, the bonnet's leading edge provided better than average pedestrian protection. Front impact The passenger compartment became unstable in the impact. The driver's door lost its strength and its aperture's stability was compromised by damage at the bottom of the front pillar. Head contact with the airbag remained stable and there was limited displacement of the steering. An energy absorbing block in the steering column shroud should prevent local damage to the knees. Footwell intrusion was excessive and the footwell joint split slightly, although this did not present an additional hazard. Side impact The driver's top rib was struck by the door, while his middle and lower ribs were hit by the door and the centre pillar. The lower rib received the greatest loading but protection remained above standards required for new models from next October. The driver's abdomen was loaded by the protruding armrest which contained a stiff plastic support. His pelvis was loaded by the centre pillar but protection still rated as adequate. Child occupant The recommended ...

Youth Catcher's Gear Adds Sticker Shock

Youth catcher's gear provided me with some serious sticker shock last week. Many of you have read and commented on my story about having to finally say goodbye to my old friend, my catcher's mitt. This companion for several years has endured numerous repairs until it finally gave out, sending me on a shopping trip for new gear.

Shopping for new catcher's gear was not for me, but instead for my team. I needed to upgrade our gear, and although todays catchers often show up to team day with their own equipment, a coach realizes he will have kids with zero to less than adequate baseball equipment.

Shopping for a catchers mitt got out of hand and turned into a quandary as to whether I should purchase the complete catchers set also. I don't really like doing this because I like to fit the gear to the player and pawing through the shelf items I could tell that what came in the set was going to take some work depending on the kid in that position.

Lately I have been coaching 12 year old players and at that age, they come in all sizes. Most are quite big and will grow into sizable young ball players. There is always the young man who is going to be tall and lean. Long arms, perfect for firing a rocket to second, but these are also the ones most problematic in a crouch.The gear never seems to fit their lanky limbs properly. Chest protectors are usually too short for them too.

Last year our catcher was short and wide, perfect for a backstop, but he also had difficulty rising from a crouch. The gear on him had to be altered extensively as his wide girth stretched the limits of fabric. We added some Velcro because when the gear was properly fitted to this young man, he became a much better baseball catcher.

I perused the aisle, amazed at the prices for a lot of equipment that is not very good. All the major manufacturers were represented, Wilson, Easton, Rawlings. I would spend in excess of $180 for catchers equipment and I still needed to buy a mitt. The problem with a set is that you get what is in the box.

In the end, I elected to purchase the catchers gear separately. I bought 2 chest protectors, both sized differently and by different manufacturers. I have a buddy who owns a shoe shop and I could tell already he would be enlisted to add some padding under the rib perimeter area of one. The mask I bought had a throat protector and a wide frame with an open wire grid. I made sure the ears would be protected with the new styled wrap now available.

I don't buy the hockey mask type catchers helmet mask because these are too individual and sized for the player. Our budget does not allow for this so the team gear will be a helmet and mask combo. I still have not purchased a new mitt and this is an expense I am not looking forward to. The new soft leather is enticing, but I wonder if it is durable enough to last a lifetime, like my last glove. Then again, do I need a catchers glove to last another lifetime?

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When You Spar, How Hard Should You Hit?

When you spar, how hard should you and your partner hit?

The short answer is - as hard as you want.

If you're preparing for a full contact match, then at least part of
your training will need to be full contact. Most martial artist don't
compete regularly in full contact though, and many of them don't
compete at all. For them, sparring full contact probably isn't what
they want to do . . . but then they miss the benefits of full contact
training.

And what are those benefits? Well, hitting and kicking full power
requires better conditioning, better set ups, more exact use of
leverage, footwork and rotation and it conditions you to not freak out
when you get hit.

On the other hand, you're going to have injuries - jammed fingers and
toes top my list. Also, getting hit hard in the head is sort of like
getting x-rays: you should only get so many in a lifetime.

So how hard should you spar?

Here's how I like to spar in my school. We wear head gear with a face
guard, and a sturdy rib and chest protector. The rules are: VERY light
contact with punches to the head (anything more than that seems to
escalate), light kicks to the head. For some reason, they're easier to
control than punches, probably because the person is farther away and
you don't feel the pressure to back them off with power. Full contact
punches and kicks to the body wherever it's covered by the chest and
rib protector - again, I use the most solid ones I can find. Full
power (or close to it) leg kicks. They sting, but I've yet to see an
injury from a thigh kick. Take downs are allowed, and the fight
continues if it goes to the ground.

Following these rules, we've been able to have good matches, get a
great workout, and improve timing, power, combinations, and both stand
up and ground fighting.

Doesn't all the gear get in the way? Of course it does. The face
guard blocks vision, the chest guard is bulky and makes it difficult to
do some moves.

You don't have protective gear on the street, so why wear it in the
School?

Huh?

Who said anything about the street? It's a sport. If you want to get
completely "realistic" in your training, why not just go at it with
baseball bats, or guns? A sport is a sport. It has advantages and
disadvantages when you try to apply it to anything other than the sport
itself.

So, if you haven't sparred the way I've just described, you might want
to give it a try. I recommend that you only use a chest and rib
protector that is so strong you can let your partner side kick you full
power in the chest and you get knocked down but not injured or even
bruised in the least.

Being able to hit that hard is fun. Knowing that nobody is going to
get hurt keeps it fun.

Until next time, train like you mean it.

Rob LaPointe

P.S. In a few hours I'm heading into Washington, D.C. to teach a Tai
Chi workshop at a hospital's annual staff retreat. It's 45 minutes
long and they're paying my $675.00. I've got two other seminars in the
pipeline. If you're not getting bookings and paychecks like that, I
strongly suggest you check out my site http://indyinstructor.com/

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