Want To Learn How To Drive a Model T Ford? This Museum Will Teach You

by Sean McLachlan on

The Model T Ford was the most successful car design in history. From 1908 to 1927, more than 15 million were sold at a price so affordable that cars went from being playthings of the wealthy to a common item for any middle class household. For better or worse, today’s car culture is a direct product of the Model T.

Now the Collin County Farm Museum is offering courses in driving the Model T Ford. This isn’t just your standard stick shift. It takes up to fifteen minutes and a fair amount of strength to start, and has all sorts of peddles and cranks unfamiliar to anyone accustomed to driving modern cars. The license will allow you to drive the museum’s very own restored Model T, part of its large collection of vintage vehicles.

The Model T appeared at a time when paved roads were rare, and it was made tough enough to stand driving over fields and up steep slopes. They could take a lot of abuse, which is probably why there are so many left today. There’s a limit to what they can take, though. Don’t drive them like they did in this slapstick comedy or you’ll fail the course and probably get arrested.

No Frills Airline: 1970s Sitcom Predicts The Future Of Air Travel

by Jessica Festa on



Do you think economy class passengers deserve better treatment? Apparently, they also did in the 1970s. This 10 minute clip from the Carol Burnett Show pokes fun at the differences between the ambiance of business class/first class and economy, also known as the “No Frills Section.” While outlandish – hopefully you’ve never been kicked by a stewardess for putting your feet on the floor, had to use a rope as a seat belt or been forced to exit the plane midair – it does have some relevance. And, as Boarding Area points out, the show even anticipated all the extra charges fliers incur. While the video is a little long, it’s definitely worth a look for a good laugh.

Vagabond Tales: How to Survive a Coup On Your Honeymoon, Part 1

by Kyle Ellison on

With the radio crackling from the speakers of his rusty old cargo van, Juan’s furrowed brow indicated a greater focus on the newscast than on shuttling us to Pululahua Crater.

My wife and I being the only two passengers on his 11am tour, Juan had begun to speak to us as friends, not customers.

“I am very scared for Ecuador” he confessed. “I am sorry you must be here for this.”

Through a combination of the semi-blown speakers and my once-fluent Spanish not at it’s sharpest, I wasn’t able to pick up from the radio broadcast what had suddenly made Juan so sullen and concerned.

I imagined, however, that the crowd of chanting people we had seen when leaving Quito earlier that morning must have had something to do with it.

The second indicator that things were amiss was the way in which all of the taxi drivers once we had returned from Pululahua Crater were refusing to give us rides back into Quito.

“Está demasiado peligroso” they all would claim. “It’s too dangerous.”

In talking with Juan I had learned that President Rafael Correa had announced a plan to cut the bonuses awarded to the National Police. This, as you might imagine, did not sit well with the National Police. In response to the removal of their bonuses the National Police opted to walk off of their job and instead engage in a raucous strike. Due to this collective decision, for the entire day of September 30, 2010, there were no policemen in the entire country of Ecuador.

Having only arrived in the country the evening before, this was, as fate would have it, the first day of our honeymoon.Having spent the morning straddling the Equator at “La Mitad del Mundo“, a have-to-do-it type of tourist trap just north of the capital city, we were now apparently stuck in the outskirts of Quito with no one willing to drive us back into town.

“You can try and take that bus over there”, offered one of the timid taxi-drivers. “It’s leaving in ten minutes and going downtown.”

Going into this trip I was aware that Ecuador had gone through seven Presidents in the preceding 13 years, a statistic indicative of its political volatility. Revolts and strikes are common in Ecuador, I thought, so why should this one be any different?

Little did I know that our afternoon bus was about to drive straight into the heart of the uprising.

Apparently, while my wife and I were taking obligatory pictures of the Equator and hanging with Juan in mists of Pululahua, thousands of protestors had meanwhile gathered in the streets of downtown Quito. In response to the absence of a police force and in an effort to stem looting, Correa had activated the military to be helicoptered in from jungle outposts in order to patrol the streets and keep order.

The police, it seemed, were now in a stand off with the military, which might just rank as the most heavily armed intra-government squabble possible. Military helicopters circled overhead, tens of thousands of people chanted in the streets, and chaos was brewing and percolating fast.

The international airport had been taken over by the military, the border crossings were completely sealed off, and the entire country was suddenly put on lockdown. Trapped inside of Ecuador, I still had little idea of what was about to happen.

Making an appearance outside of a downtown police hospital, President Correa addressed the rowdy crowd of rioters with a speech which can be classified as anything but diplomatic. Though I wasn’t quite close enough to hear the words in person, here is a verbatim quotation of what Correa decided to say:

“I’m not taking one step back! Gentleman, if you want to kill the president, here he is, kill him if you have the guts.”

Taking Correa up on his offer, police responded by firing tear gas canisters at Correa’s chest, attempted to rip off his gas mask, and then proceeded to hold him hostage inside of the hospital by blockading all of the entries and exists. A coup d’etat, it appeared, was slowly beginning to take place.

Guarded by loyal security forces yet trapped nonetheless, President Correa issued a national state of emergency. The situation, it would appear, was not going the way he had planned.

In a bold rescue mission staged by the Ecuadorian military, however, elite special forces soon engaged the police in a firefight which would ultimately whisk Correa away to safety.

Meanwhile, in a poorly timed sequence of events, not five minutes earlier my wife and I had been forced to depart from the bus due to a massive road closure. Essentially stopping in the middle of the freeway, the driver impatiently opened both sets of doors and mandated that this was far as he could take us. Not knowing where we were or which direction our hostel was located, we instinctively began to follow the crowds.

Strolling down the streets of Quito with my new bride by my side, rumors continued to circulate as to what exactly was happening in the city.

“What’s everyone saying?” asked my wife with a tremble in her voice, her level of Spanish not quite having reached “eavesdrop on an uprising” level.

“Umm, they’re talking about a big crowd, and they are saying there are men with rockets.”

“Rockets?”

“Yeah, well, tear gas. There are men firing rockets of tear gas. And something happened to the President.”

“The President! Where is this all happenning?” she quickly asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far.”

Like cattle in a herd we followed the crowd. My plan was to hail a taxi and somehow find our way to our hostel across town. Amidst the road closures and the level of uncertainty, however, no taxis were anywhere to be found.

Then, like firecrackers popping on New Year’s Eve the sound of gunfire began to slowly pepper the sky. Apparently, completely unbenkownst to us we had walked to within a couple hundred yards of the same hospital where Correa was taken hostage.

Guns clammered and reverberated against the hillside. The whir of helicopters thumped overhead. All around us the stench of burning tires wafted malodorously on the breeze. Women screamed and the crowd began to rush towards us. Shocked that it had actually come to this, it was starting to become apparent that people were going to die…

Does Kyle live to survive the coup? Find out in the next installment of Vagabond Tales…

For more photos of the September 30, 2010 coup, check out this photo album from the BBC.

Roman Fort Attacked By Moles, Archaeologists Benefit

by Sean McLachlan on

When you stroll through a museum, you generally assume that all those ancient artifacts you’re seeing were dug up by professional archaeologists or found by accident by some farmer plowing his field. Mostly you’d be correct, but researchers into England’s Roman past are getting some unexpected help. . .from moles.

Moles at the site of Epiacum, a Roman fort dating from the first to the fourth centuries AD, have been getting busy digging holes in the soil and turning up all sorts of archaeological goodies. The site is protected by English Heritage and nobody, not even the local farmers, is allowed to dig on it. The moles have apparently never heard of English Heritage and have been tossing out Roman pottery, jewelry, and even a bit of old plumbing.

Volunteers have been sifting through the moles’ backdirt, under the watchful eye of English Heritage, and the artifacts are being sent to a nearby museum.

Epiacum, known locally as Whitley Castle, lies twelve miles to the south of Hadrian’s Wall and protected some nearby lead and silver mines. Click here for more information about visiting the site.

Photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

Video: Bones And Art In The Paris Catacombs

by Sean McLachlan on

You’ve probably seen videos or photos of the famous Paris Catacombs, with their miles of ossuaries holding the bones of some six million Parisians. The catacombs were created in the 18th century from existing underground quarries, and these quarries, tunnels, and other mysterious underground spaces create a network under Paris measuring more than 180 miles. It’s truly a city under the city, with its own secret life.

This video, created by some intrepid urban explorers, shows parts of the Paris Catacombs you won’t see on the official tour: rooms filled with graffiti and giant murals, even a large stone model of a castle. Despite their reputation as burial places, the tunnels and rooms beneath Paris seem to have a lot of life in them.

The Parisians who make these works of art, called cataphiles, also sponsor underground parties, meetings, even a cinema. To learn more about these interesting folks, check out this article.