Golf Show Video

The Twin Cities Golf Show is a done deal, with a lot of vendors showing everything from the latest in down-filled pillows to special wallets designed to cure sciatica. (Leave the money out, and you won't have that aching bulge.)
Oh, sure there were golf products galore. I videotaped the Smart Stick, a twin-laser stick designed to help you get the correct swing plane, and the Tee Towel, a handy piece of fabric with the correct foot positions and ball placement marked to make a repetitive swing easier.
This is the first golf show I've videotaped. In fact, it's only the second show I've done: the first was the TC RV Show earlier in the month.
I videotaped at this one all three days it ran. When I checked the tape after the second day's work, the camera had totally messed up the sound. There was endless static, and instead of outputting 6 or 7 complete clips into the editing suite, each burst of static fooled the software into thinking it was a new clip. By the time I turned the equipment off, the software showed 150+ individual clips.
Sunday I went down with new equipment, and a new tape. After reviewing it during the show, and last night, it appears to be good. Once I get it edited, I'll put it on this website.

Airboarding the Eelpout

Wikipedia defines waterboarding as "a form of torture that consists of immobilizing a person on his or her back, with the head inclined downward, and pouring water over the face and into the breathing passages. Through forced suffocation and inhalation of water, the subject experiences the process of drowning in a controlled environment and is made to believe that death is imminent."
Every year in February (this year beginning Feb. 15), during the International Eelpout Festival in Walker, Minn., fishermen and women will practice the technique of airboarding.
That is, they will drag unwary or unlucky fish to the surface and throw them onto the ice until they can be weighed en masse. The choicest of those fish will end up hanging from racks near the festival tents during the festivities, gasping for oxygen for minutes if not hours before they die. Take a look at the photos at www.eelpoutfestival.com to see.
I don't believe it's torture, any more than the Justice Department believes it's torture when they subject a person to waterboarding. After all, festival-goers are trying to win prizes for the most fish, or the greatest weight or something, and they're just eelpout, after all. While the Justice Department is just trying to capture the most terrorists, or the greatest terrorist or something, and they're just Muslims.
It isn't that the eelpout, or burbot, is valuable. Even though, again according to Wikipedia, the burbot's liver--which is six times the size of the average freshwater fish's-- is also 3-4 times more potent in vitamin D, and 4 – 10 times more potent in vitamin A than 'good grades' of cod liver oil."
Apparently it's such an ugly fish it deserves to die by slow strangulation, hanging, gasping its life away. Because for these critters, death IS imminent.

RV Show is over, Golf Show coming!

The Minneapolis St. Paul RV show was held at the Convention Center in frigid Minneapolis from 2/8-2/10, with vehicles from $1500-$450,000 on display. I attended Friday night and videotaped various units and some interviews, then did some rough edits on Saturday, following up with another session Sunday to try and fill in necessary information.
All of this footage I plan to assemble into at least one show for Minneapolis Telecommunications Network, and I'll probably break that down into a number of shorts to plug into the 'net.
In the next few weeks I will get together with some of the vendors to add extra information.
Meanwhile, I'm going to try and get permission to videotape the Minneapolis Golf Show starting 2/22. This will allow me to interview some of the pros and course managers from a wide variety of venues, both in the Twin Cities and outstate as well. Plus, perhaps I'll get a chance to play with some of the new equipment.
Again, I'll put together a show for MTN and some shorts for the 'net.
Keep an eye here.

The Layered Look

When the cold weather hits in Minnesota and other northern tier states, we begin to apply layers of clothing. If it's clean, the air spaces trap warmth next to the skin. That's the same reason a birdbath gets so much traffic in winter: the feathered friend must keep his or her feathers clean because if they should get oily or matted their thermal factor disappears.
If you don't believe this, wear your down jacket in the rain until it gets soaked. All the thermal ability disappears. And if you wash it the wrong way, you may mat the down and remove the fluffiness. (Use a down-friendly detergent, and toss a couple of tennis balls in to keep the feathers from matting.)
Layers, however, must be applied in the correct order, and pulled up or down over the previous layers.
In the case of a male, at the bottom is the underwear shorts, followed by the t-shirt.
Next in order of appearance are the socks (optional, now or later), then the long underwear bottom, followed by a long underwear top.
Now, if you didn't put your socks on before your long underwear bottoms, pull on warm socks and bring the ankle part up over the long underwear legs.
Drag your shirt on and button it.
Last, climb into your pants and tighten your belt over the bottom of the shirt.
There, now you should be proof against the stray spare zephyr or other.

Follicly-challenged

It isn't as if my being follicly-challenged is of recent origin. I remember 15 years ago attending a Halloween party, and being offered my choice of tacky wigs out of a large punchbowl. From the lime green, blaze orange and mange brown offerings, I selected a bright red nylon hairpiece on a stiff fabric back that perched as snug on my slick pate as a baseball in a dimestore leather ballglove.
The part in this assemblage began over my left eye, but when I turned my head suddenly, the part remained the part of the first part, while my head became the part without the first part. I had turned west, but like some stubborn furry compass card the hairpiece kept its original position, the part a fabric needle that pointed north and south, bisecting my head from ear to ear.
Then there was the time in a local discount store when a Latino gentleman explained in broken English that he was looking for something to prevent hair loss. I walked down the pharmacy row, looking at the various products, and helped him choose among two or three Rogaine goos. My last act was to pull off my baseball cap, point to my scalp, and offer glumly "I don't know whether I'm the right person to ask, though."

Recently I walked into a warm hallway from the frosty outdoors, pulled off my stocking cap and then...I tossed my head.
Was I waiting for the sensation of hair brushing back and forth across the back of my neck, the way it did in the psychedelic 70s?
Was there some sense of recovering long-gone follicles, waves of hair gone by?
Perhaps I was enjoying a sensation of "phantom hair", the way an amputee gets an itch in a dearly-departed limb?
I don't regret the lack of hair. Instead, I live in hopes it may portend the future, sort of a reverse take on reading the future in the entrails of a chicken.
After all, my father and brother were graced with full heads of hair, which they both took to their graves at 56. My paternal grandfather, on the other hand, enjoyed the sun on his bare scalp as long as I can remember, and died at 96. Perhaps the resemblance in hairlines foreshadows a resemblance in longevity. One can only hope, can't one?

No more roller derby

So far, in my roller-skating career, I have:

Novice Skate

1. Skated around a falling buddy, laughing at him, then when I looked up, saw I was going out the back door. I flew across the alley behind the rink, unmoving, scaring the devil out of a driver in the alley, and myself


2. Hit the rails at the edge of the surface in an attempt to stop, at which point I flipped upside down and over, to land in an elderly lady's lap


3. After those two occurrences, I thought learning to stop would be wise. Told the toe stops on my skates were actually brakes, I put them _both_ down at speed and suffered the consequences
   


Experienced Skate


4. At a rink in Long Beach, I was hit from behind by a shipmate in the Navy who was doing a crack the whip in a low crouch. He knocked my feet out from under me, I landed on my derriere. I made it back to the base all right, but could barely get out of my bunk in the morning. After walking to the hospital ship and climbing the long gangway, I ended up in traction for a week


5. A few weeks later at the same rink, gliding regally along, I saw a skate wheel sail across the floor in front of me, and wondered what poor soul had lost it. A split second later, my front-wheel-deprived skate hit the floor and I realized who the afflicted party was. Between insight and impact, I got my arm up to protect my face. Next morning saw another struggle out of my lower bunk. Cupping my right arm in my left hand to protect it, I traveled to the hospital ship docked three piers away. Two bones in my elbow had broken, so the doctor gave me a sling, and told me to exercise it for 30 minutes every day "so the joint doesn't calcify". For two months while it healed, I was the designated compartment cleaner.

All before I was 19.

So, when you pencil in names for your roller derby team, I beg you: LEAVE ME OUT!

Solve Anxiety and Panic Disorder

Walking from work at my stressful job in 1973, I had no idea my life was going to change so severely. I was 31, had a pretty fiance, and I was in good health. Clambering into my old black Beetle, I dropped my keys...

and suddenly I began shaking...and sweating...and this feeling of foreboding, of impending doom, filled me.

I had never ever felt this way before. I had been an iron man, a street wizard, a silver-toned devil. I had hitchhiked my way around the country, sold art and string art to stay solvent, slept in cars and tents and, once, in a burned-out gas station.

Finally I gathered myself together and drove to my apartment, and made my first mistake: I stayed home from work for a couple of days. I telephoned my boss and told him what had happened, and he gave me good advice ("Just keep going. Don't let it affect you.") , but I ignored it. By not keeping on, I became sensitized to anxiety.

A few days later, 15 minutes into the performance, I walked out of "The Nutcracker Suite" at the local university and sat waiting for my girlfriend outside, chain-smoking, in agony over what was happening to me.

I went to a clinic, and talked to my doctor, but no one had an answer. I began to hate to leave the apartment. I had to force myself to go to the store, or to the dentist. I would stand in the front porch, looking at the people playing in the park across the street, wanting to join a group but unable to force myself to do so.

A couple of years later, I read a newspaper article about agoraphobia, fear of the marketplace, and recognized my symptoms. At last I had a name for it.

Over the next few years, I tried psychotherapy, tranquilizers, biofeedback...none of it helped much.

I became a freelance writer so I could work at home. I started a magazine, starred on a local radio talk show for a couple of years, held seminars, gave speeches...all while holding that dread at bay. I didn't want it to affect my marriage, but...

one day in 1989 my wife announced she wanted a divorce, and moved out. Suddenly I was faced with a jarring reality. I had to either break out of this trap, or become a hermit, with only my dog for company.

About this time, I came across a book: "Hope and Help for your Nerves" by Australian author Dr. Claire Weekes. (It's still in print today, 17 years after her death in 1990, and continues to help sufferers worldwide. Reviews in Amazon.com almost all give it five stars.)

I read that, particularly her comment that you learn to "float" through anxiety. To overcome my aloneness, I joined a singles group and "floated" my way through uneasiness, "sense of impending doom", and the like.

Now, as you can see by this blog, I'm restored from my agoraphobia after 16 years. Oh, I still get nervous, but I just let it wash over me. You can, too.

Two Lizards
When you have two lizards in your cage, and they both want the same cricket, that is a reptile dysfunction.

Strangling the baby bird

Sam Snead suggested that the way to visualize your grip when you're getting ready to swing is to imagine you're holding a baby bird. Poor baby.
When I start, I picture a little sparrow nestled under my right hand. By the time I'm done with my followthrough, my grip has squeezed it into an infant ostrich.
As a result, I'm going to the two (center and ring) finger grip with my right hand. That should ease my pressure on the sparrow. If not, I'm turning it into a dead duck.

Revisiting Voyager Village

I played Voyager Village near Siren, Wis., last year, and two friends and I renewed our acquaintance on Saturday. In a way, it was bittersweet: sweet in getting out with two buddies on a warm sunshiny day in October in the upper midwest. Bitter in the way my game fell apart after the first 9.
It certainly wasn't the course's fault. Fallen leaves were at a minimum, and the greens were in fine condition. Temperatures were in the 60s. My various aches and pains were at a subdued level most of the time.
No, it was probably my grip. Apparently I had gone to a stranglehold on the club, so my right hand overpowered my left. Once my pal had clued me in, I eased up to only two fingers from my right hand during the swing, and I lengthened and strengthened.
Just another thing to remember in the golf swing. For instance, a pro suggested that since I tend to sway, I should put my weight on the left foot and use my right toe for balance. (I'm replacing the polo player insignia on my golf shirts with a stork on one leg.) I have to line up the vee on my left hand, then remember to grip with only two fingers on the right, "like picking up a baby bird." Remember, long club, ball forward, short club, ball back. Limit my turn to having my left arm horizontal. Keep the right arm close to the side on the swing. Stay down on the follow through. And so on.
The golf swing takes a fraction of a second, but the mental checklist I go through takes half an hour. I'm going to write a list and tape it to my toe.

Cubicle Mallets

My job at the USPS entails sitting in a cubicle and writing necessary entries for a knowledge base. That's a central bank of information to help folks solve particular thorny problems.
During the day I sit alone in a long row of cubicles, but occasionally I stand up to stretch, or gaze out a window a half-building away. It could be worse: I might be in the catacombs, with no window or anything that even remotely resembles sunlight for eight hours a day.
When I stand up from my cube to stretch, it probably appears to an onlooker like that arcade game where the gopher pops its head up out of a hole in the ground...and you hit it with a mallet. Gazing out across the sea of cubes, I see other heads pop up now and then as coworkers commune with each other.
Then to read about all those souls who've hung up the cube life and hang their cowboy boots from the rearview mirror of an RV? It purely breaks my heart with envy.
My time will come, however. My body will be free of this "inside the box" lifestyle.
Then I'll get back on the road, as free as I was 30+ years ago, researching the first article I ever sold: "How to hitchhike."
I'm a little grayer, but the wanderlust is just as strong. Only this time, I'll take my golf clubs with me.
Oh, if you have the same urge, read "Blue Highways" by William Least Heat Moon, for the story of how a man travels the quiet backroads of America in search of himself, in an old Ford van.

Prowling for Golf

I've been prowling the 'net today, trying to see what makes a blog and/or website attractive. One of the changes I've made is to the list of blogs I have on the right side, from "Links" to "RV and Golf Links". I've added two of my favorite blogs to it, and changed it so that, if you click on one of them, you'll see the linked page in a new window. Whhops, strike that. The new Blogger layout doesn't allow me to add a blank page; at least, I haven't found out how to do so.
Tell me how you like the new layout, now that only one article appears per day.
It appears that video is becoming more popular, so I'll try to add some of that in the future as well. I'll start with short ones from an old Sony digital camera, then work my way up. I have ideas on this.
Now I need to figure out how to add people to an email list, so I can send them an update when I change the website. Won't that be exciting? Leave a comment for me, if you'd like to be on the list. I won't be selling anything, don't worry.

Fall Golf

I get disgusted with Blogger at times: this is another time I've written something, then when I preview it everything disappears. Ridiculous.
Inver Wood was great. Not much wind, nor many leaves.
For a state that was mostly sanded flat by 2-mile-high glaciers during the last ice age, Minnesota still has a few ups and downs. Inver Wood enjoys some of them, from its tee at #1 to that same hole's raised green, doglegged left from a valley.
Lightning must be ferocious in this locale, if the number of warnings against it is any indication. The rain hut on #5 was more the size of a cattle shed, with two rows of seats. At the far end was a soft drink machine and "Restrooms", which consisted of one portapotty.
It's a very pretty course, however, and not expensive at $31.50 for 9 and half a cart. With all the hills, and my bad knees, I'm glad we took one.
It's only a few minutes from the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport, so if you're in town on business and have a little time, you can get there for a quick round.

50ish Weather for Golf in Minnesota

The layered look is in for golf in the great northwest at this time of year. In fact, anytime after Labor Day, you'd best be prepared for the cold.
My friends and I are going out today to Inver Wood, a course in Inver Grove Heights, Minn., and I hope I've got enough layers: about four layers, plus gloves. Only wore one pair of socks, though, white cotton ones, and that may not be enough.
It's the wind that gets to you. Every zephyr of air lowers your body temperature, that dreaded "windchill factor". It has no effect on anything but flesh and blood: an auto engine doesn't get colder when the wind blows, but your fingers and ears sure do. That's why I've got both a cap with earflaps and a hooded sweatshirt: I blame a cold wind blowing into my left ear one April outing for my Bell's Palsy.
Inver Wood is supposed to be a pretty tough course, so I'll let you know what happens when we're through.

Free campgrounds in Minnesota
Or, if they aren't free, they are low cost.

View Larger Map
This is just the first version I've put together, so I'll be adding to it as I continue.
Some are for RVs only; others offer tent camping.
Hidden Greens Golf Course
Just south of Hastings, Minn., on Hwy 61, is a challenging yet inexpensive course named for the way so many of its greens are tucked away in a heavily-wooded area.
I played the back nine yesterday, and thoroughly enjoyed it. The narrowness of the fairways through the surrounding woods is the major obstacle on this nine, as there wasn't much sand or water. Errant shots, however, are accompanied by the sounds of "swish" as they burrow through leaves, or a sharp "crack" when a ball slams into an elm or maple. (I saw at least two shots bounce back past the golfer when they hit a tree too squarely.)
At $18 for 9 plus a cart at twilight rates, it's very affordable. Part of the reason for the low cost is its distance from Minneapolis/St. Paul, and its close proximity to another course, Bellwood Oaks, which I'm told is longer and tougher.
At this time of year, leaves begin to be troublesome, but they are certainly beautiful as long as they know their place. The little chill in the air hints of things to come, but for now the wise Minnesota golfer enjoys the moment.

Google Mapping
Here's my first effort to see whether readers are interested in the venues Golf Today Magazine writers visit. Look at the large version of the map to see their coverage, from Calif. to Alberta, Canada. What do you think? This is from the August issue.

View Larger Map

Camping tips

Wear dark socks: flies seem to be attracted to white ones, and bite through them. I switched, and wasn't bothered again.
Carry a little bottle of hand washing liquid in your pocket: The personal bottle of Curelle was wonderful when exiting a pit toilet.
Use Castile liquid soap (we got ours from Trader Joe's): I b'lieve it's biodegradable, works well on hands (when you have water), and also on pots and silverware. Smear a little on the outside of pots, to keep soot from getting on them.
Get that little led magnifying glass I mentioned earlier: It was a Godsend during our tenting trip to Gallatin National Forest near Bozeman, MT, both to read maps by and to use as a flashlight when heading for the biffy in the middle of the night.
KOAs will allow you to take a shower, for a slight fee. My long, hot one in Bozeman cost $5, but the hosts, bless their hearts, also ran a steamer over our clothes when the dry cleaners weren't working on a Saturday.
A multi-tool is handy: I used a Leatherman tool I inherited from my brother to take a tiny light out of a Maglite, and to carve a new tentpole section out of a fallen pine branch.
Having a good hatchet helps: Mine has a nail-pounding back that drives tent stakes in easily, while the sharp edge made clipping that tentpole down to size a lot easier.
Put that bar of soap into an onion bag: You know the type of mesh bag that holds onions, or potatoes. I put soap into one and tie it shut. The plastic mesh doesn't soak up water or get dirty, and it's rough enough to use to scrub yourself down. Plus, when you hang it up to dry there's nothing to get smelly or sour.
If your digital camera memory gets full of great camping photos, you can make a photo CD at a Wal-Mart or Walgreens rather inexpensively ($2.50 at the Bozeman Wal-Mart), then delete all the photos in your memory to make room for more.
All in all, we had a great time, and I'm hooked on camping once again.

Fulfilling a 50-year-old dream

I've got a grainy black-and-white photo of myself, eight years old, standing in Cub Scout uniform, hosting an enormous smile. It was taken just before I ran away from home the first time.
I had gotten bitten by the scouting bug, and was an avid reader of the Boy Scout Manual, devouring the tips on camping, cooking, woodcraft...everything. I also read a lot about fishing, and dreamed of going. My parents, however, were too busy for such foofaraw. They worked, and worked hard, raising three children in rural Hanford, Calif., in the central valley.
One of the first tips I learned was how to make a pack out of a pillowcase. (This was the '50s; pink backpacks and Spiderman backpacks were a long time in the future. I might have gotten a WWII rucksack from an Army surplus store...if I'd known about such things, and had had the money.)
To make a pack out of a pillowcase: lay the case flat. Take a pebble and place it inside, in one corner. Tie one end of a long piece of string around it. Take a second pebble and place it inside, in a second corner. Tie another end of another long piece of string around that. This will keep the pillowcase from slipping free once it's loaded. Then tie the strings to the top two open ends, so you can wear it with the open part up. This was my pack.
Now you can fill it. Maybe some clothes. Some comic books for sure. A couple cans of food, a can opener, some matches, and a spoon. Some string and a hook to go fishing with, I suppose. Naturally once it was filled it would sag down to the lowest part of your back, but who knew?
And I took my little outfit down to my mom's office to ask her for some money so I could run away from home. When I talked to her the other night, she remembered. She told me, "You go home, go to your room, and stay there." As a good little wilderness scout, I obeyed, and spent the rest of the day reading my camping books from the shelter of my brother and I's room.
Now, 50-odd years later, I recalled the thrill of camping, and I still enjoy it. More soon.

First Vacation in 30 Years

At least, it’s my first paid vacation. When I wrote and edited freelance and worked for myself, it was a case of “If I have the money I don’t have the time, and if I have the time I don’t have the money.”
Now that I’m gainfully employed writing about technical subjects for the U.S.P.S., I’m faced with the dilemma of dealing with a paid vacation. Such a problem.
I toyed for a while with getting my old ’86 Chevy van ready for a 2,000 mile trip. I bought a new battery, and haunted the various van websites such as vannin.com, or the Vandwellers group on Yahoo.com. A fellow from the chevyvan site on Yahoo also offered advice on sealing rust.
Then the Other Shoe dropped. (Actually, it hit the floor and did a wonderful imitation of the Irresistible Force plunking down on the Movable Object.) When I took the van in to an auto electric garage to find out about the fan blower, I was told I also needed a new starter…and by the way, they could patch up that wobbly steering column as well. Total for those two fixes, and a new blower motor? $501 and change.
When I bought my Honda CR-V in 2001, I offered to trade in the van. The Honda dealer’s paltry offer of $500 was to laugh at, so I did: “Ha,” I laughed. Now, why would I spend $501 and change today for a vehicle only worth $500 six years ago?
Soooooooo… no van camping on our trip to Montana. Instead, we’ll pitch a tent and drive the CR-V. We’ll head across from Minneapolis on Hwy. 212 without computer, blackberry, huckleberry…not even books. Get away from this communications arena for a few days (I’ll die; I know I’ll die).
We have a pup tent and some other oddments of camping gear, a Coleman stove, sleeping bags, and an open road. Custer National Park, free campgrounds and Bozeman, Montana at the end of the windy road. (Pronounced whine-dy, not win-dy.)

Since I had that attack of Bell's Palsy, I've had a problem with the eyesight on the bad side going in and out of focus. Nothing major, but I do find it more difficult to sight in on small type such as in medicine warnings, maps, etc., particularly when the light is bad. And when I start traveling around more, I do want to be able to read maps, even at night.
So when I bumped into a credit-card-sized 2x magnifying glass/cum 6x loupe inset that included an LED flashlight with an on-off switch at a local storage goods retailer, I decided to treat myself to the $9.95 gadget. It isn't anything fancy; in fact, it doesn't even have a name on it, just oriental country of origin.
The fact it's credit-card-sized doesn't mean much: this is eight or ten times the thickness of a card. Oh,there are such gadgets as The Owl I saw at Walgreen's that's much thinner, but that one doesn't have a replaceable battery, and this one does. The review I saw on Walgreens.com said that one was "not worth buying" and I think this one is.
I noticed the same item at Firststreet.com, but for double the price. At least, it looked similar, but used two batteries vs. the one in mine, and that promised a carrying case, where mine is nekkid.
It fits comfortably in a pocket, though, and if I find a little bag to carry it in it shouldn't get scratched. I like it.
I suppose you could also use it as a flashlight on your way back from the campground bathroom, or to read at night by. I am going to attach a strap to it, tho; it's awfully slippery. I was looking at it in the toilet and almost lost it to the ceramics. One wrong bounce...and splash. Lucky it bounced right.
Late addendum: I found a card holder and lanyard I'd been given at Giants Ridge golf course in Biwabik, MN. At 2-3/4"x4-1/2" for the heavy plastic card holder, the magnifier just slides inside, then the lanyard clips so it stays inside. It's transparent, so I can use the magnifier through it, and I can turn the light on with a little effort. It protects and gives me something to hang around my neck, hold onto or even wrap around maps or atlases. You may have something like this if you've ever gone to a trade show; or you may be able to buy one at an office supply dealer.
I had a bookmark magnifier that was handy before this one. It was a promotional item that fit inside a book to mark your place, and could be used to expand vision; it was small enough that it disappeared in my house. It'll turn up (getting ready for my trip to Montana a little later, it did); if something like that will work for you and you find one at a golf or RV show, keep your hands on it.
Either that, or tie it to your road atlas.

A map accessory was necessary for an upcoming trip. To use as an RV, I resurrected my old Chevy Beauville van, again: 215,000 miles, but I put a new battery in it, and it fired right up. It has a few problems, but I'm hoping there won't be a problem on my 2,000 mile trip.

There's a slow drain somewhere in the system, so the battery empties out if the vehicle sits. I bought a trickle charger last year, but it didn't seem to work.
This time, when I put the Diehard in, I made a couple of changes.
First, I inserted a post like the ones at left into the terminal I could get to. This just screwed into place, and I tightened it down with a wrench.

Next, I pulled the insulating cover off the terminal and put the bolt to a quick-connect battery connector, sort of like the one shown here.
Finally, I tightened the screw on the connector similar to the red one on the right here, so it would get good compression, slid the connector over the new post, and pushed the lever down. Bingo.
Now, when I don't expect to drive the truck for awhile, I can just flip the lever up and remove the connector from the battery terminal. No drain.

I also have some leaking around the roof, but there's a fix for that as well, I'm told. More on that later.

A lot of information is available on van options at vandwellers group on Yahoo, by the way. It may be worthwhile becoming a member, particularly if you're thinking of converting a van to travel in. Another site is on RV.net. More on this next time, as well.