Grom Idiocy

In case you EVER feel bad about yourself or your riding skills, bookmark this video and no matter who you are you’ll probably be reassured. These Honda Grom nitwits are a whole new level of incompetent.

The Death of DP?

Hard to know, but it’s harder to find people who think off-pavement riding is even interesting, let alone worth risking life, limb, and savings on this kind of adventure. All of the economic reasons listed are valid and likely contributors, but I think the biggest problem is the price of motorcycles vs. competitive means of transportation.

• HONDA XR650L: $6690
• KAWASAKI KLR650: $6599
• SUZUKI DR650S: $6499
• HUSQVARNA FE501S: $10,599
• BETA 500RS : $9799
• KTM 500EXC-F: $10,399
• BETA 430RS: $9699
• HUSQVARNA FE350S: 10,399
• KTM 350EXC-F: $10,199
• SUZUKI DR-Z400S: $6599
• HONDA CRF250L: $4999
• YAMAHA WR250R: $6690
• YAMAHA XT250: $5190
• SSR XF250: $2999
• SUZUKI DR200S: $4499
• YAMAHA TW200: $4590

Maybe these prices look reasonable to you, but for a kid looking for a recreational vehicle he/she might ride for 3-4 months a year, 3-4 times a week, this is nutty money.

#148 Creating A Baseline

 All Rights Reserved © 2016 Thomas W. Day

In my Geezerdom, I'm always trying to find baselines for measuring my decline. My daughter is fully on-board with my concerns and she's recommended putting black throw rugs around the house because, apparently, old farts will mistake black carpets for bottomless pits and that is a tactic used to keep dementia patients in their rooms. Sooner or later, I'll end up trapped in the bathroom and that will be the winter my wife escorts me to the front door during a sub-zero blizzard and sends me on some sort of grocery store errand.

Like the Minnesota drivers' license "exam," the nation's motorcycle competency test is a low-bar baseline evaluation. While it is true that you don't need to be "perfect" to pass the license exam, you will need to be able to perform every one of those simple skills perfectly to stay alive on the highway and in traffic. Living in tourist town Red Wing provides me with plenty of evidence as to why motorcyclists are thousands of times more likely to die per mile travelled than cagers: most motorcyclists barely contribute more to the direction and speed of their vehicle than do handlebar streamers. It's a Village People clown show out there, folks! Nothing about being able to take a low speed left-hand turn and stop with the front tire in a box is demanding in any way to a competent motorcyclists, regardless of the bike. Nothing about weaving through some widely spaces cones and making a right hand turn should confuse or confound a half-decent motorcyclist. Making a moderately quick stop from 12mph in first gear is not complicated. A 12 mph "swerve" around a huge fake obstacle ought to be second nature. If anything on that test baffles you, either your motorcycle or your skills are totally out-of-whack.

This season was my "decompression and re-evaluate" year for my career as a motorcycle safety instructor. Since 2000, I've taught twelve to thirty basic and intermediate riding classes a year, but this year I signed up for only four and two cancelled. Other than a trip to the Rockies in July, I didn't do much riding this year, either. My usual 12,000 to 20,000 miles a year has withered down to about 3,000 so far this year. I'm retired, so commuting to work is no longer a habit. That accounts for about 6,000 miles a year gone from my Cities' routine. Leaving the 88dBSPL noise level of my old Little Canada/I35E home took away substantial motivation to "get away from the bullshit," too. Most summer mornings, I can sit on the back porch with a cup of coffee watching the hummingbirds and listening to mostly nature. There isn't much that I feel the need to get away from here. If the second half of this summer is much like the last couple of weeks, I might get in more bicycle than motorcycle miles in 2016.

I started this season out like I have every year for the last 15, with a couple hours of practice time on the class range at Southeast Tech. My spring habit since I started teaching safety classes has been to do the usual beginning of the season maintenance stuff, then ride to the range and go through the entire sequence of course exercises until I can do it all comfortably. In Red Wing, after that bit of practice I head south and drop off of the pavement for 100 miles or so of gravel roads and lightweight dirt bike practice and go home. This year, I went through that routine three times before my first Red Wing Basic Rider Class (BRC), which cancelled due to a lack of students, and once more before my first Intermediate Rider Class (IRC) in the Cities. We talked about that a bit in the discussion portion of the IRC and a couple of students said they'd consider adopting my springtime season-tune-up routine and at least one thought it was "way unnecessary."

On the way back home, I thought about the ambivalence or resistance many riders have toward any sort of competence evaluation (something that should be, but isn't, a part of the Intermediate Rider Course). About the time I got to Hastings and into some motorcycle traffic, it became fairly obvious why many motorcyclists would resist a serious competency test and regular skills evaluations. After watching my father's driving skills deteriorate from barely-competent in his prime to life-threatening by his eighties, I have become a firm believer in regular (every 3-5 years) re-licensing skills tests for over-60 drivers who want to cling to their driving privileges. I'd drop that number to 50 and up the testing interval to every two years for motorcyclists. Since motorcycle, car, and truck licensing is mostly about putting butts on seats (selling vehicles) and has little to do with actual highway safety, we all know that won't happen. That resistance to reality and health cost-containment has nothing to do with my life, though.

I have never considered my motorcycles to be an important part of my self-image. I don't name my bikes and I don't identify with any brand's lifestyle bullshit. My motorcycles are transportation first and last. If I'm not using my bikes to go places, I'm not keeping them. The only things I've ever hoarded have been tools and microphones. The microphones are mostly gone with the retirement move and downsizing and I re-evaluate my tool ownership with every declining aging phase. If I haven't used something in the last year, the next step is Craig's List or eBay or the garbage can. Ideally, when I die the only thing my kids will have to worry about in an estate sale is getting rid of a bed, a few dishes, towels, and an empty house. So, like that dementia-test black throwrug, I needed a go/no-go evaluation tool for when it's time to hang up the Aerostich. Lucky for me, I had one already laid out and it was totally familiar: the MSF's BRC course.

I've already said that I consider the BRC to be a lowest-bar standard for the skills needed for riding on the street. However, for my own self-evaluation I need it to be a little more demanding. Likewise, I already had a self-test routine established. I just need to write a scorecard for the test. The first day of the BRC is mostly about introducing a motorcycle to newbies, but exercises 6 (a small 2nd gear oval), 8 (offset weaves), & 9 (quick stop from 2nd gear) demonstrate actual riding skills. Likewise, all but the lane-change and obstacles exercise from the second day's BRC exercises 10-16 are useful evaluations. A more practical obstacle is a reasonably tall curb that I have to navigate from a 45-degree angle, so I added that to my spring warm-up. So, every March from here out I'm going to go through the old routine but after an hour or so of practice, I'm going to run through every one of the nine BRC exercises and the day I can't do all of them "perfectly" (no cones hit, no lines crossed, fast enough, and clean enough) the bike goes up for sale and I'll fill the space in the garage with a small convertible. I might buy a trials bike, but that will be the end of my street riding days.

Of course, your mileage will probably vary. In fact, I'd bet most of the riders I see in Red Wing couldn't pass the Minnesota license test in a dozen tries. If you think that has no correlation to your riding skill or survivability, you are statistically very likely to join the ranks of the "dead wrong."

MMM September 2016

Motorcycle Death Spiral

This is turning into a record year for me. I scheduled only five MSF/MMSC classes for the season and all but one (so far) have cancelled due to lack of student interest. My local motorcycle dealers are pretty much giving up on the sales season, too. Our Victory/Indian dealer is stuck with a bunch of Victory blimps and hasn’t committed to Victory in anything resembling the same financial resources as in past years. They are hoping Polaris sales of 4-wheel farm vehicles and snow machines will turn into a viable business. The local Honda/Suzuki/Yamaha dealer barely bothers with a show salesperson on the motorcycle floor. If you are there looking at a bike and ANYONE is out on the lot looking at boats or 4-wheelers, you’ll be abandoned faster than an empty beer can at a frat party.

The Boomer hippobike bubble is done. The only “hope” the blimp manufacturers (and dealers) bhave of clinging to a business model is through slippery finance games. Harley is fooling Wall Street with its floor planning scheme, but that will soon collapse like it did in 2008.  When Harley goes, so goes Polaris and Indian. Harley’s desperate attempt to get in on the Ducati sale will probably mean that HD will pay too much, if they win the bid, for the Italian brand and that will just add to the company’s downfall. (Remember, “we lose money on every sale but we’ll make up for it in quantity.”) The Big Japanese Four gave up on the US market as a serious motorcycle business in 2009. They have far bigger fish to fry in functional economies. where small motorcycles are still a viable means of transportation.

It feels like 1982 all over again, but this time there may not be a comeback.

Perspective Is Everything

A lot of motorcyclists apparently see this incident as being a justified action by the biker. I’m not convinced. It could be that the car driver intentionally attempted to hit the bike after the biker threw a temper tantrum and kicked the car when it crossed into the HOV lane. It could also be that the car driver simply panicked when his car was kicked and screwed up. Either way, the biker should be charged for hit and run and, probably, assult with a vehicle.

#147 Avoiding Nature

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The Geezer with a Grudge Columns
(Originally published in Minnesota Motorcycling Monthly Magazine.)  

All Rights Reserved © 2015 Thomas W. Day
If you didn't know me you might suspect the title of this essay is saying something about my dislike for good 'ole Mommy Nature. That's not the case, of course. I'm a certified/certifiable tree-hugging, semi-environmentally-conscious guy and one of the many reasons I continue to call Minnesota "home" is the spectacular abundance of live-and-in-color nature we have here. However, I would rather not impact more than fresh air, the occasional rainstorm, and the more frequent hoards of bugs while I'm riding my motorcycle.

On top of my list of nature's gentle creations that I particularly try to avoid are deer ("hooved-rats" or whatever insulting nickname you've given these moving targets). Over the years and miles, I've developed a few tactics that I like to think have contributed to my survival while riding through some of the country's densest deer populations. I'm not claiming that luck hasn't played a terrific part in my avoiding death-by-fur-ball, but I do think some of the observations and statistical tactics I've collected, developed, and practiced have helped. I'm going to try to pass on a few of these in this article and I encourage our readers to object to, add to, or refine anything I have to say here.

First on my list is practicing braking and swerving skills on a regular basis so that I have the tools necessary when I need to make a major maneuver or apply my motorcycle's braking system near the limits of traction, braking horsepower, and stability. When I talk about this in my MSF courses, I suspect most of my students think I'm either joking or exaggerating . . . but I'm not. While all of my riding skills are far from perfect, I think I have pushed my ability to haul my motorcycles to a stop harder than anything else I know about riding. That would be, mostly, because it's easy to practice using the brakes well and often: at every stop light, stop sign, or any other time you need to bring your bike to a standstill. Use both brakes correctly and precisely and you'll be ready to do something with those skills when you need them.

Watching deer cross the road in front of my house, I've learned that deer travel in groups, predictably. I don't know if I've ever seen a single deer in our neighborhood. The most common group number appears to be four, but three through six has been the regular pattern in Red Wing. So, if you see one: assume three more and make your speed appropriate for threading several animals in the near future. Don't be a stupid as a deer, speeding up in the insane hope that going faster will reduce the chances of impact makes you into uncontrolled prey.

Now this tip is purely my own statistical analysis and personal observation. There is no real science, other than observation and experience, to this piece of advice. On two lane roads, travel near the middle of the road as often as is practical. In the MSF's BRC, we break a highway lane into three sections: left, right, and center. During the active time for deer (and at night) I believe that you can statistically improve your odds of either chasing the deer out from the edge of the road and into your path or give yourself a little more time to avoid deer coming from the near (right) side. By sacrificing a little margin from the left side of the road, you can create a little space and time for yourself hugging the centerline. If the road is crested, you even get a slight line-of-sight advantage into the ditches from this position. There is no science to this. I haven't read any studies that prove or disprove my theory, but the number of times I've had this tactic work for me is way into the hundreds, so it might work for you, too.

This tip is useless for Iron Butt'ers, for for the rest of us it's just a minor sacrifice. When it comes to suddenly-appearing 100 pound animals with no traffic sense, your time to evaluate and execute road hazards is a fraction of a second. With that in mind, my advice is don't ride at night. Once you're riding on your lights and intuition, deer are unavoidable.  You just don't get enough warning from your headlights. Worse, the damn headlights often paralyze deer right in your path of travel. If you are stuck riding at night, stay on the biggest road you can find, well-lit freeways are best, stick with traffic as much as possible, and slow down. Trying to make up time when your sight-line is only a couple hundred feet is close to suicidal.

Implied in some of my other deer-avoidance advice is buying time and space and that almost always means modifying your speed. I'm going to repeat this last piece of advice, since I think it is the real key to surviving deer encounters. Speed kills, especially during deer prime-time and those long hours of poor-visibility. When your lights and line-of-sight are limited, you have to make practical accommodations for what you don't have and set your speed appropriately. It's impossible to make up time ridding in the back of an ambulance, so consider that possibility when you are hauling ass through tree tunnels at dusk.

Be realistic about your attention capacity. It's one thing being on a short ride through a few of Wisconsin's letter roads and another being at the tailend of a 12,000 mile, month-long trip. If you are daydreaming, you are not scanning the edge of the road for potential moving obstacles. The moment you stop watching for Bambi will be the split-second you needed to avoid her. If you are tired, bored, or distracted, you are a moving target. The idea is to be the shooter not the target. Motorcycling is not a spectator sport. You don't get to enjoy the scenery until you are stopped.

MMM July 2016

#146 Do You Suck?

All Rights Reserved © 2013 Thomas W. Day

In his HBO special ("Fully Functional") one of my favorite comedians, Australian Jim Jefferies, asked his audience to raise their hands if their kids were "stoopid." Obviously no one raised their hands and admitted to having spawned one of the many half-pint-half-wits who are overrepresented in our school systems . So, Jefferies reminded them that, statistically-speaking, it was impossible for a crowd as big as the one he was performing for not to have at least one stupid offspring. He went on to rant about Americans being a nation intent on breeding "stupid confident people . . . the worst employees in the fucking world." When I hear motorcyclist revolt against the obvious truth that there are two kinds of motorcyclists--those who have crashed and those who haven't yet crashed--I can't help but think motorcyclists might be among the stupidest human categories on the planet. It's even worse when the revolutionist admits he's already crashed a number of times and still believes motorcycles "can be safe."

Assuming the "average" rider's skills are average, the usual bell curve indicates that about 70% of riders are on either side of "average" and about 95% fall into the 2-sigma area.

In his New Yorker Magazine essay, "The Bell Curve: What happens when patients find out how good their doctors really are?" Dr. Atul Gawande reminds us that doctors are no different than any other category of human activity, "What you tend to find is a bell curve: a handful of teams with disturbingly poor outcomes for their patients, a handful with remarkably good results, and a great undistinguished middle." If that is true for doctors, a profession that prides itself in its selectivity, high performance standards, and rigorous education and training regime, why wouldn't it be true for the rest of us who just become who and what we are out of attrition, general indifference to how we do our jobs, poor management, and luck? Studies have found that And if career statistics are this dismal, how could it be possible that driving, an activity that has such low standards of performance as driving could be lucky enough to have half-decent expectations? Motorcycle licensing is no different, with a variety of routes available to obtaining a license with minimal skill, no serious safety equipment requirements, and lifetime licensing that allows riders who have merely maintained the "M" on their license for decades to swing a leg over a motorcycle without the merest hint of riding abilities.

Due to the constant downsizing of the motorcycling public over the last 30 years (peaking in 1980 and in decline since) and, especially in the last decade, the Motorcycle Industry Council (through its "training" lobby, the Motorcycle Safety Foundation, MSF) has campaigned to keep licensing as simple and accessible as possible. Fighting progressive ideas such as graduated (or "stepped) licensing--an idea that has had substantial success in Japan, parts of Canada, England, and  some parts of the EU (likely soon to be all of the EU)--is a double-edged sword. On on hand, the MIC is ensuring itself the maximum number of customers by putting a motorcycle in every possible rider's hands. Likewise, the MIC has been barely on the fence about helmet laws with wishy-washy "freedom" arguments that hold exactly no water with the strapped-down-by-law cager public. There is some validity to the claim that if helmets are universally required, fewer people will ride motorcycles. On the other, our incredibly dismal mortality statistics are edging regulators closer to removing motorcycles from public roads, which will close the door on motorcycle sales forever. Damned if you do, double-damned if you don't. Something has to change soon, or something will change.

Using something more like a minimum acceptable "average" rider skill as the centerpoint, a left-skewed distribution curve would result with dramatically more riders in the "below average" category and a wide range of abilities in the "above average" group.

In pure population terms, it's pretty obvious that the "average" point in motorcycle skills is skewed data. If you plant yourself on any popular corner in most cities, you will observe cornering techniques that range from out-of-control to "not too bad," with a tiny portion of riders executing turns with decent technique and control. If we were to score lifesaving skills such as stopping quickly, swerving to avoid a hazard, turning precisely at a variety of street-legal speeds, quick combination maneuvers requiring these skills, and one or two low speed control skills on a scale of 1-to10, I think it would be safe to say that more than 70% of us would be substandard riders. That's probably being optimistic. In terms of your own survival, you need to be able to identify where you fall on this curve and, if you aren't where you want to be, find a way to upgrade your skills or admit that riding a motorcycle is either not for you or a high-priced suicide attempt.

I know that it's hard to be realistic about this. Studies have found that 80% of drivers think they are above average. More statistically impossible crap. It's one thing to be protected by crumple-zones, air bags, seat harnesses, and auto-piloting cars. It's another to be sitting on 200hp of two-wheeled instability in your wife-beater, flip flops, and pirate bandana. If you are one of the 70-90% of motorcyclists who suck, you should trade in your bike for a fancy lawn tractor and take the muffler off of that vehicle: just in case the lack of a loud pipe might cause one of your neighbors to run over you with his even fancier and larger lawn tractor.

On the other hand, if you suck and know it but have the patience, interest, capacity, and time to get better, work on it. Get some training. Spend a few days on a race track (on track days, not racing unless you really are one of the cool kids and decide to be a racer). Buy or borrow a few books on riding. Practice your riding skills at every stop light or sign, on every curve, and any other opportunity you may have where the results are not critical. And practice where you screw up you can just go back to the start point and do it again until you get it right. Do not be afraid to suck, but you should be damned nervous about being proud of sucking.

MMM August 2016

Genius on Two Wheels? Wait! On No Wheels.

We have some Grom geniuses/gangbangers in our neighborhood. I can totally see them doing all of this and more.

KR at Laguna

“You know he’ll go faster than he should otta go.”

#145 Back in My Day

All Rights Reserved © 2016 Thomas W. Day

When I was young enough to still have a little of that "magic and rubber" thing going for me, motorcycling was just about to hit its first economic snag (at least in my lifetime) in the early 1970's. As a Texas friend once told me, "Back then the moon wasn't born yet and the sun was a little tiny thing barely putting out enough light to read by on a summer afternoon." When I used this picture as my Facebook Profile Picture, I got more than a few inquiries asking "when, what, where, and how?"

So, for the when I was 26 years old, father of two, sole support of my family, going AGAT for the time with armored denim overalls, a Fury open face helmet with a snap-on face shield and Scott goggles, Justin roper gloves, Malcom Smith/High Point ISDT enduro boots, and a kidney belt. Today, all that sounds a lot like riding naked, but it was geared-up for the day. I was as fearless then as I would ever be. I drove a 1970's Ford E100 Econoline van an average of 100,000 miles a year covering a service territory from North Dakota to Kansas and Iowa to Colorado. The truck housed a work bench and cabinets holding at least three-quarter-ton of equipment and parts. If I had ever come to a sudden stop, I'd have been instantly crushed by all of that crap tearing loose and shifting forward in a contained avalanche. I was always late to every appointment because my boss couldn't say "no" to anyone, so he promised me in at least three places at once, 100-500 miles apart. My average speed in that truck had to have been close to 80mph because I kept the throttle pegged anytime the coast was clear. Motorcycle racing seemed pretty tame compared to my work week.

The "what" was a 1973 Rickman 125 ISDT enduro. The Rickman was my first real off-road motorcycle, a 1971 Kawasaki Big Horn 350 being the first half-ass off-road motorcycle I'd owned before that. If I were ever to want to "go back" and restore a motorcycle I once owned and loved, this bike would be it. I just pounded the snot out of that little Zundapp two-stroke and it kept ticking like a legendary battery bunny. I raced it in a half-dozen 100+ mile cross-country events, in several years of the Nebraska state motocross series, in a few enduros, and trail rode that bike almost every weekend for three years. When I wasn't riding it, my wife was, until I bought her a brand new 1974 Yamaha MX100. Even then we sometimes argued over who'd get to ride the Rickman. I had tweeked, modified, and engineered that motorcycle for me to the point that it was recognizable at almost any distance. If you knew me, you probably knew my motorcycle. From the solid bars to the custom-canted rear Boge Mulholland long travel shocks to the blueprinted engine ports to the hand formed and welded exhaust, my Rickman 125 fit me like a glove. It was the toughest motorcycle I've ever owned.

"Where" was central Nebraska, probably a little northeast of Palmer, Nebraska. Weekends, I "lived" on limited-access roads between Palmer, Archer, and Fullerton, Nebraska. If I'd been on a bigger bike, I might have been single-handedly responsible for the 1970's gas crisis. As it was, I could ride pretty much all weekend on a tank-full of premixed premium and a spare three-gallon gas can. North of Highway 92 and south of Highway 22, there were hundreds of sandy abandoned roads between the fence lines of ranch land and a little farming. In 1975, some friends and I hosted a 125 mile cross-country race on those tractor-trails where about 40 riders experienced what we took for granted: miles of amazing trails, often crossing the Loop River, but never a single paved road. Two years later, I'd moved to Fremont for my first engineering job and my racing days were over. Once I left driving that truck, racing a motorcycle seemed a little crazy for a guy with a family to support.

"How" is a little confusing. Mostly, I just tossed on my gear and gassed up the bike and snuck out of town (illegally, since the Rickman was unlicensed) via farm roads until I crossed 92 into the trails. Sometimes, the whole family came along and we made it into a regular outing, even camping for a night or two a few hundred yards off of the official farm-to-market roads. I'd built a bike trailer out of angle-iron, expanded metal, and an old car axle, that could hold 3 bikes, two forward and one rear-facing. We'd load up the Rickman, my wife's Yamaha MX100, and my Suzuki RL250 trials bike and ride from early morning until the sun went down. The kids would play at the campsite with the children of friends who joined us and it was one big biker family party.

When I'd first moved to Nebraska, I was introduced to a kid, Mike, with a Suzuki TS250 Enduro by an employee and one of our neighbors, Randy, had a Kawasaki F6 125 Enduro. Those two, eventually, took us to their favorite trails, camping sites, and riding hangouts. When I first started riding with Mike, he'd panic and run when we found a rancher or farmer parked on one of the trails. Since I knew we weren't doing anything wrong, I rode up to there trucks and introduced myself. Mike would always hang back, expecting something awful to happen. Eventually, I got to know a lot of the ranchers who lived in the area. When we came on cattle loose or a busted fence line, I'd play cowboy on the bike and chase the cattle back into the pasture, put up the gate, cobble the fence back together, and stop at the ranch house to let the owners know their cattle had escaped, again. After a couple of years, we got to know the ranchers well enough that they helped with our one and only event.

We were all kids, then. Kids with kids, in fact. Now, we're all old. Some of us are dead. The fence lines have all been brought together and those limited-access roads are no more. Not only can you not go back, you can't even go where we went.

MMM June 2016

Postscript: I was wrong. On the way to Colorado in the summer of 2016, on Nebraska US Highway 20, I discovered there are still some amazing, rarely traveled, "unmaintained roads" that are absolutely worthy of exploration. They aren't on any state map or your GPS, but they are still out there and if you see 'em, you gotta ride 'em.

“A Nice Little Town,” Gone to Hell

A fairly desperate Harley Davidson promotion is hoping to turn a whole town, all 75 North Dakota folks, into motorcyclists. “We looked at the town and said, ‘Why don’t we turn Ryder (ND) into Riders?’ It sealed the deal when we saw their water tank,” said Anoop Prakash, Harley’s U.S. marketing director.

The residents of this dinky village are, apparently, “game?” What do they have to lose? After the first new rider in Riders, North Dakota gets killed they’ll have the distinction of being the most dangerous town in America. Based on HD’s dismal Riders’ Edge program record, I’d expect at least two Riders residents to bite the dust by October and a half dozen to be hospitalized for serious injuries, assuming any of those folks are silly enough to actually buy and ride a motorcycle after their promotional “training” is complete.

It would be funny and appropriate if it turned out that Harley trains a small town, the small town residents realize that if you want to go anywhere for a reasonable price you have to buy Japanese, and the few people who do decide to be motorcyclists all buy dirt bikes.

It’s hard to imagine how unpleasant this place would be if it were actually populated with the kind of Village People who actually ride HDs. At the least, it would be noisier than downtown New York City. Put all of that crowd pictured above in pirate costumes and cover them with prison tats and you have the perfect place for the Walking Dead plague to ferment.