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Wheels joins Australia's premier tarmac rally to discover it's not just about the competition.
IT'S fitting that a group of nutters has congregated at the base of The Nut, an extinct volcano that overshadows the Tasmanian fishing village of Stanley.
Assembled are the hardcore racers, wannabe Ricciardos and diehard car enthusiasts, all turning the usually quaint and quiet village into a bedlam of idling engines and flat-out chatter.
This is a street party without the dining tables and chairs associated with royal silver jubilees, though this year is a 25th-anniversary celebration.
Targa Tasmania was born in 1992. It was inspired by Sicily's Targa Florio, and has grown to become Australia's – and one of the world's – premier tarmac rallies.
There's as much emphasis on participation as competition, though. A broad range of categories includes those with varying relaxations of rules to allow owners of both classic and modern sports cars to enter without having to fit roll cages and fire extinguishers, or even wear helmets.
Maximum speed limits are applied, though – enforced either by the installation of the same Rallysafe GPS systems used in the competitor vehicles, or by course observers.
The 2016 field is the largest yet, with 382 entries spread across 13 competitive and non-competitive categories. Categories are further divided into the likes of Vintage, Classic, and Early Modern to help create a semblance of parity for vehicles of a certain age, with a relatively small group typically comprising the very latest performance cars aiming for outright honours.
Overall, it makes for a wonderfully eclectic field of automobiles.
As we wander around Stanley's main street, it's a virtually complete visual A to Z of star cars – from a 1955 Austin A30 to a 1961 Ford Zephyr.
There's almost countless Porsche 911s, but standing out is one of their forefathers: a beautiful, ivory-coloured 1958 356 A Coupe.
Owner/driver Wayne Hevey bought it 10 years ago, adding to an already slightly obsessive collection of Porsches that includes or has included a 1955 Speedster, a Boxster, and a couple of 911s.
Hevey, who was president of the Porsche 356 Australia Club for 15 years, has done four Targas with his Porsches, but this is his first Targa Tasmania.
"It's a very well-organised event, the roads are fantastic here, the countryside is beautiful, and the camaraderie is fantastic," he says. "I drive the 356 hard, though it's very agricultural – no power power steering, no power brakes, no ABS – so you have to drive it on the brakes and on the gears.
"The most restrictive things are the drum brakes – they do start to overheat and fade down steep hills, and we missed a corner yesterday as we couldn't brake in time. All good fun."
The oldest competitor is a 1935 Lagonda Rapide from pre-Aston days. We're driving one of the newest – the BMW M2 that's being launched, somewhat unorthodoxly, at Targa as part of the German brand's own special, localised anniversary celebrations. BMW was founded exactly 100 years ago.
We're taking part in the second half of the event, which started at Symmons Plains Raceway before focusing on Launceston and its surrounds before reaching Stanley.
As we 'race' through day four's stages, it's clear the community embraces the spirit of the Targa. Tasmanians young and old are intermittently spread throughout the courses, standing on grassy banks, on top of utes, or just simply outside their houses – waving and cheering enthusiastically to competitors as they speed past.
The winning driver of the first ever Targa Tasmania, Greg Crick, has returned as an event 'flag bearer' with his victorious Honda NSX. As a proud Tasmanian, he's well placed to comment on its importance to his state.
"There's maybe two per cent of the community that doesn't support the event, because they don't want the interruption to their life. But I think it's a bit short-sighted and selfish as it gives huge benefits to our state," says Crick.
"It brings a lot of revenue and a lot of media attention to Tasmania. And as a spin-off from that, you get the car clubs that want to come over and drive the Targa roads [at other times of the year]."
Having followed up with a win in 1993, Crick also clearly knows the huge challenge Targa presents to drivers.
"It's like a mini enduro … the challenge of getting up and doing six little races every day, and doing it over six days and [maintaining] a level of concentration needed to get through it all without making a single mistake. Those trees don't move far, and there are all sorts of conditions, all sorts of surfaces. It's a very challenging event."
An overnight stop in Strahan is another chance to experience the automotive allsorts, with the Targa fleet gathering en masse once again – this time in the waterside car park.
The smell of fuel and hot brakes pervades the air as drivers and co-drivers lift bonnets, jack-up cars and remove wheels to check various essential mechanicals and liquids.
Teachers, parents and kids raise money for their local school by hosing down the cars, getting their assorted liveries shining once more.
Some will take less time to wash. Among the more diminutive entrants are a 1955 Fiat Abarth 750 and its Austrian twin, a 1961 Steyr-Puch 500, plus a Mini Cooper S and Hillman Imp, both of '64 vintage.
We're also drawn to a yellow and black 1972 Ford Escort Mexico. We learn it's not only the car inspired by the Escort's win in the 1970 London to Mexico World Cup Rally, but also features the bigger, pushrod 1850cc Kent engine (rather than the twin-cam 1.6-litre borrowed from the RS1600) that powered the famous endurance victory.
"The engine in this car is so rare; I can't find another one in the world," says driver-owner Gerry Bashford, who's onto his third Targa having participated in his first as a co-driver for Jim Richards.
"The Mexico's got about 160hp and really motors. We blotted our copybook today, though, by messing up the last stage and dropping a place. We're still first in the Classic [category] but we also want to beat some of the more modern cars."
Strahan harbour is thriving in the evening as its visitors enjoy the fine food of Tasmania, though it's generally another early night for those who have yet another pre-dawn rise.
Day five is the day for many, with arguably Targa's greatest stages. The Strahan stage itself is a driver's dream, before the mainly forest-enveloped course opens up for the famous '99 bends' of Queenstown where second and third gears are never more popular.
Targa officials step up the fancy dress for Mount Arrowsmith – the longest stage at 52km, and also one of the most scenic, especially when the stunning, jagged ridgeline of Cradle Mountain comes into view.
En route to Hobart, more transport stages allow us to take a breather from the blur of the competition stages to marvel at Tasmania's remarkably diverse landscape of rolling hills, sprawling forests, steep gorges, and rugged mountains.
It's almost a shock to exit the wilderness and return to civilisation in the form of the state's most populous area, Hobart.
The Targa field brings another dimension of colour to Tasmania's capital, the palette of differently hued vehicles merging once more at the Princes Wharf shed.
For Targa's final pre-comp evening, the shed effectively transforms into a motorsport motorshow called TargaFest, where both locals and tourists are encouraged to ogle.
The growl of Porsche flat-sixes, the burble of Aussie V8s, and the throb of Subaru boxers fill the air next morning, as the field makes a relatively short trip to the first of the final day's stages.
They include the likes of Tinderbox, Cygnet and Longley, each made more treacherous today with persistent precipitation.
And Targa claims a few more scalps, including 997 911 Turbo and Cayman GT4 Porsches.
They're further reminders that, above all the fun, Tasmania's roads can bite. Hard.
Two competitors have died racing in Targa, the most recent in 2013 when NSW driver John Mansell crashed his Porsche.
Steve Richards went off the road in a V8 Monaro (before managing to resume) during his first Targa in 2002 – the year dad Jim recorded the sixth of what would become a record eight victories.
This year Richo was driving a regular M6 as part of BMW's Tour group, and says he'd rather be driving such a modern performance car than an older sporty car like his replica 1970s Ford Escort.
"It's noisy, has no ABS, and I wouldn't have wanted to be doing some of those slippery stages in it. It's amazing how far safety has come even in the past 10 years.
"I was having fun in the M6, and the electronic diff was incredible. If you got a bit sideways, it would direct torque to the inside wheel to pull you straight."
Jim was back pedalling another Porsche – this time a Cayman GT4 rather than a 911 Turbo, GT3 or GT2. He made into onto the last step of the podium, with Matt Close taking outright victory – in a current GT3 – at his 12th attempt.
Targa is clearly not an easy nut to crack.


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When I was little, we loved this record. My mom used to wake us up singing this song. And perhaps, just maybe, I might have woken up my stepsons a few times by singing it to them, too.
Helpful phrases on the play yard wall
Posted in a Santa Monica play yard. Originally posted at Abundant Life Children.
My little boy, who is two and a half now, calls ice cream sandwiches "domino flavored ones".
Stepmom links
Stepfamily Central: Establishing Clear Boundaries in your Stepfamily – an interview with Jenna Korf about learning to figure for yourself where you need boundaries (everyone's boundary needs are different) and how to create them.
A Healthy Stepmother . . . plants her feet and stands tall. – It's amazing how good standing in "Super Woman" posture feels. This is an easy pose. Give it a try!
Crushing Glass: Silence Blended – A mom with mixed feelings for the stepmom (or stepmom figure) who came and then went from her son's life.
Suburban Turmoil: Facing Off Against the Food Police – This stepmom watched her stepkids develop as eaters over the years and is relaxing a lot more about food with her younger kids. I had a similar experience, so I want to give this entire post a big virtual high five.
An old favorite
Playing World of Warcraft with the Kids
Following my youngest stepson through the countryside on our way to the big city.
The first time I logged into World of Warcraft, I felt like a newborn. I saw colors and shapes moving in front of me, but my brain couldn't make sense of them. There was nothing to latch onto.
"You're facing me," my oldest stepson told me. "Those are my legs."
Then it clicked. I was looking through my character's eyes, and what I saw were knees. We were standing in a snowy clearing. I was three feet tall, and my stepson was the size of an adult.
Gavin and I had picked gnome bodies, so we were both very short, and the kids — as elves and humans — were comparatively huge. They were strong, too. They had months — maybe years — of experience on us, and they had both traveled to where we would first enter the game to protect us while we got our bearings and to show us around.
But first they had to teach me how to walk. I couldn't figure it out on my own.
When we could finally maneuver and sort of fight anything that might attack us, my youngest stepson took me on a tour of the countryside and the big, underground dwarf city nearby. I kept losing him and he came back for me over and over. I felt like a little kid — impatient, helpless, confused, and safe all at once.
You know how when you watch a movie, after a minute or two, something happens in your brain and you don't think about watching the movie anymore — you're so absorbed you feel like you're in the movie? The same thing happened for me in this game. After a few minutes, I wasn't just watching my gnome run around on a computer screen — I was in the game, running through snowy forests in leather boots hunting wolves, smiling at Gavin in his gnome body with his green eyes and green hair, or tilting up to look at the kids, trying to keep up with them. I still have memories of things we did together there — swimming, gathering herbs on the side of the road while Gavin called me to hurry up, walking through grassy plains, exploring cities, and fighting off trolls and giant spiders and strange things under water. They feel like real memories, of real places in real, other bodies. Or like dreams — vivid dreams — that we dreamed together.
After the first week or so, I think the kids got a little bored with us. You can make your characters kiss and dance and hug, and Gavin and I kept smooching in the game and looking into each other's eyes and jumping up and down at the sight of each other. Plus, we traveled slowly and died easily. The kids moved on to quests with their friends in more dangerous territory while Gavin and I stuck together, figuring out things they already knew how to do and exploring places they'd already seen. When we really needed their help, they came back down to walk us through the hard parts.
I met one of the kids' friends for the first time when the kids were busy on a tricky quest. Instead of coming to bail us out one of them asked — we'll call him Brian — to help us.
A huge, experienced warrior, he swooped in to protect us while we fought off the raiders we couldn't handle on our own. When they were all dead, we thanked him and he swooped off to wherever he had come from. It was like having a superhero drop in.
A week or so later when I picked one of the kids up from school, he pointed to a boy sitting at a table nearby. "Remember that guy who helped you last week? That's him. Brian."
"You're Brian?!?!" I walked over, awestruck.
In my brain he was that big warrior. But at the same time, here he was also a fifth grader. I knew he was one of the kids' friends, but still I felt… surprised. It was like something out of a fairy tale — like he was under some kind of body morphing spell. He was both things at once, but it almost seemed like the warrior part was more real.
I walked closer to the table where he sat. "It's nice to meet you," I said. I felt respectful. "Thank you so much for helping us."
He encouraged me about what we'd done so far and gave me advice about the kinds of quests Gavin and I should take on next, and how to go about them.
I listened and nodded, trying to remember it all.
And it felt like while I was seeing him as a warrior, he was seeing me — not as a Charlie Brown sort of adult — but as a person who could use his advice and encouragement.
I looked up to see Brian's mom, who had come to pick him up, watching from a few feet away. "I was so glad to see it was you guys that Brian was playing with online, and not weird people," she told me with a sparkle in her eyes.
Here's the really weird and wonderful thing, though: something shifted between the kids and us for a little while. Like that moment with Brian, I saw them not just as kids, not just as people who I could help and take care of in this world, but as people who helped and took care of me, and who knew more than I did in that other world. I think they saw me a little differently, too. When we came back into this world, the "real" world, we came out fresher and more tender. I came out with more respect for them — not theoretical respect, but respect I felt at my core.
I came out feeling — remembering? — that our sizes and ages and experience levels in this world weren't really who we were. Who we were was something else. It felt like we were all spirits together — all sparks of self. How tall or how old our bodies were or how much we knew about this particular world felt less important.
It was exhilarating to switch places with the kids. To be small while they were big and to need their help to navigate and function. I think that while we were switching places, maybe they saw us not so much as quasi-alien adults, but as people, too. Just being people together for a little while was bliss. It felt gentle and glow-y and new. It felt good.
When I think of World of Warcraft, I think of meadows and plains and forests and adventures. I think of getting a taste again of what it's like to be a kid. I think of seeing — really seeing — and being seen by the kids.
And I think of Gavin's green eyes and shock of green hair, and I think of him smiling and dancing at me.
Please, Thanks and Sorry, Part 2
As I think about it, there are other reasons I don't push saying please, thanks or sorry.
Sorry is the one I feel strongest about. Saying sorry when I don't actually feel sorry feels humiliating to me. It feels like submitting — collapsing who I am inside — for the sake of avoiding having something bad done to me. It feels like letting down my defenses for a wave of awfulness to avoid an even worse wave of awfulness that might come if I don't. It feels like being over-ridden, being wiped out, being not okay fundamentally. Being shameful. Being bad inside.
I never want that for my kid. I don't want that for myself, either.
It's one thing to say I'm sorry when I feel sad about someone's situation, or when I bump into them or step on their toes, or when I see looking back that I hurt them and I didn't realize it at the time, or I understand the situation differently now and I would definitely do things differently if I could go back in time.
The thing is, I can't make my little one feel any of those things by telling him to say he's sorry when he has done something socially unacceptable. I think the straightest route to helping him figure out what is and isn't okay to do is to gently coach him, to keep him and the kids he is with safe, and to avoid humiliating him at all costs. Humiliation makes me defensive. I think that's true for my kid, too. When I'm defensive, I'm stuck in my own head. I'm not learning new things. I'm not tuning into the people around me. I'm not feeling like good connection is easy or even possible in that moment.
What I want for my kid is good connection. I want him to be able to see how what he does affects other people, and to be free care about how they feel.
I imagine writing thank you notes for Christmas and birthday gifts together in the future. (I like writing thank you notes, so when I picture doing it together I imagine it being fun.)
But other than that, please and thank you are things I'd rather skip prompting on. He hears me and Gavin talking politely to each other, to him and to other people. He joins in. He knows how to do it. I'll let him speak for himself.
If the way he's asking for something is annoying me, I let him know. "Could you please stop screeching? That bugs me." Or, "You don't need to yell. You can ask more quietly. I can still hear you." Generally, that seems to work pretty well so far.
One of the things being a stepmom for so many years has left me with is a sense of how fantastically fast kids grow up. People say it all the time. Now it's something I feel.
Kids figure things out. They learn what they need to learn to go where they want to go.
I don't want to spend my little one's childhood poking and prodding him. I want to enjoy it, to have fun with it, to play in it together. I want us both to bathe in the good connection we already have and to spin it on and on.
Related: Why we don't tell our little one to say please or thank you or sorry
Why we don't tell our little one to say please or thank you or sorry
The other day we went to the beach after dinner to watch the sun set and to let our son play with trucks on the sand. He looked up at us on our way back to the car, calm and exuberant, and said, "Well, thank you for going to the beach! It was very helpful!"
He says thank you when he's especially joyful — when he's satisfied and close and connected and feeling good all at once. We don't tell him to say it. We just say it to him and to each other whenever we feel it. When someone does something nice for him, we thank them ourselves.
When he looks up at me and says thank you, it feels like the sun is rising in my chest.
I never want any other kind of thank you.
When I'm talking to another adult, I almost never say please. If I'm asking for something, I might say, "Would it be possible…" or, "Would you do me a huge favor…?" or, "How would you feel about…?"
I figure my son has been learning to talk all this time by listening to us and imitating us and using the phrases we use, and I figure he'll keep on doing that as he gets better at communicating.
Sometimes if he's being demanding and it bugs me, I'll tell him, "Sometimes people say 'please' when they're asking for something, because it feels good to hear and it makes people especially want to do what you are asking for." But I don't push it. He doesn't have to say please to get what he wants if it's something that feels right to give him or to do for him. And if he's demanding something he can't have, I'll try to empathize with him. That's about the extent of how we're teaching him manners. As he gets older and more sophisticated, he'll master the finer points of communication.
We treat "sorry" the same way. If my little one does something to hurt someone, I'll stop him from doing it again, and I'll check with the other kid to see if they're okay. I'll remind my kid that the other kid doesn't want to be bumped into or have sand thrown at them, and I'll tell the kid and/or their parent that I'm sorry, but I don't tell my little one to say "sorry" himself.
And if I bump into my son, or if I hurt his feelings, I tell him I'm sorry, because I am.
I want him to care about how other people feel. I want him to say how he feels. And in the meantime, while he's still developing a sense of empathy and experimenting with what's okay to do and what's not okay, I'm working on making sure he and the kids he's playing with are safe and I'm talking about how I feel.
Related: Please, Thanks and Sorry, Part 2
What anxiety can look like in little ones
"A video of a child of about 18 months using a hammer and peg game in play with his mother shows the mom pretending to be hit by the hammer. The child laughs, and playfully hits her again, but when the mom pretends to cry he looks worried and kisses her finger. Some observers interpret the child's initial reaction as one of aggression. However, others familiar with observations of young children see the response as one of anxiety.
"Often when young children get an unexpected response to their behavior from an adult they are unsure about what caused it. They may repeat the behavior to try to figure it out. It is as if they are asking a question, 'What happened? What did I do?' A familiar example is when a child bites someone for the first time. This brings such a strong reaction from the adults on the scene that it is almost a given that the child will do it again to try to understand the event and its response."
"If it's not fun, you're not doing it right."
"It's fun to satisfy our intellectual, emotional, and physical curiosities, in fact that's the only way we can do it. Fun is real. Fun is not frivolous, it's central. Fun is the most valuable thing there is. I'm here to tell you, if it's not fun, you're not doing it right.
"My hope…is that it's the anticipation of fun that puts your feet on the floor each morning, because that's the real life for which we should be preparing our children."
— Teacher Tom, The Real Life For Which We Prepare Children

subset: commoncrawl


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Grant Application Process
The 2020 grant period is now closed. Grants will be distributed late May/early June time frame, and you will be contacted to let you know if your grant was approved or not. Also, please check back on our website and like our Facebook page to be informed of future scholarships, grants, and upcoming fundraisers and events.


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Have you ever watch a show and wondered, Would I manage to handle the daily life of the protagonist? Well, I asked myself this question while watching Fruits Basket, and the answer was a clear no. Just imagine if you had to live in an old tent somewhere in the ...read more
Via:: Anime Shinbun


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This coffee mug featues a quatrefoil pattern in the background with a monogram accent. As always, you can pick your favorite colors to personalize the look. Just leave a note if you want to customize the color scheme. The second picture shows the pattern as it will appear printed on the mug.


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LifeBook S7020 Basic, PM 750 1.86GHz, 80GB SATA, 512MB, DVD-RW DL, WXPP
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Michaele and Keiko Make a Splash at the Library
August 3, 2010 // Filed under Uncategorized
Bernardsville youth services librarian Michaele Casey and library volunteer Keiko Matsuura have done it again…yet another great display for the children's summer reading program!
This year's theme is "Make a Splash at Your Library" and the accompanying book display does just that. Read more about this beautiful display by clicking here.
Keiko constructed the sea figures and young diver from paper, fabric and paint, and it took her very special imagination to assemble them all into a magical underwater scene.
Michaele borrowed a fabulous papier mache coral reef construction from the Bedwell School and made it the base of this floating world. What a perfect match! All around the coral can be found interesting books for children to borrow.
The children have been very enthusiastic about the reading program at Bernardsville Public Library this summer, in part because of this gorgeous book display.
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Diane Kelly - Associate Broker
- NameDiane Kelly
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- Work Phone951-894-5556
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- E-mail Me
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About Diane
I am an associate broker with Allison James Estates & Homes. I have over 36 years of experience of real estate practice.This experience came from working with all types of buyers and sellers in many different real estate markets. First time home buyers, investors, VA buyers, empty nesters looking to downsize, and buyers wanting to move up to their dream home are just a few of my clients that I have been able to assist. My goal is to always have a seamless, stress free transaction from the beginning to the end. Buying or selling real estate requires a true professional who can navigate through everything involved in having a successful closing. I am that true professional. I am dedicated to my client's needs and welfare. It would be my pleasure to assist you with your real estate needs. References available upon request.


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The PSICOM Dragoon is an enemy in Final Fantasy XIII. It is encountered on the Palamecia.
Stats[edit | edit source]
Battle[edit | edit source]
The Dragoons utilize powerful attacks but have relatively low HP and can be easily Staggered.
Etymology[edit | edit source]
Though named "dragoon", the Japanese name (literally "PSICOM Aerial Dragoon") clearly refers to the historical mounted infantry units rather than the "Dragon Knights" of the Final Fantasy series.
Dragoon" is the traditional name for a special soldier type in classical European warfare. Unlike in Final Fantasy, the original dragoons did not fight with lances, that being the job of "lancers"—a different soldier class. Dragoons were infantry that rode on horseback, but fought on foot. Originally they fought with a musket called the "dragoon," giving them the name. The dragoons' arsenal expanded to include guns, sabres, and axes. During the Napoleonic Wars they became medium cavalry and reached the height of their popularity."
After the Napoleonic Wars, to make better use of the number of men the European military had, the dragoons were trained to use lances and lancers became obsolete. Thanks to the advances of modern warfare, dragoons lost their niche and modern dragoon units exist only for ceremonial purposes.


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Besides handwashing, there is something else that can be done to prevent the spread of germs. That is teaching children to cough and sneeze into their elbows, which physicians recommend. Check out this new drug-free and safe program: Germy Wormy Germ Awareness for Germ Transportation Vehicles ages 2 ""7. If you have and/or work with them, its priceless.
Give kids a PLACE to give their germs to "" instead of you!


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We have added a status page that will allow our customers to get important announcements from us in the event of a server outage. The status page is located at:
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