Greasy Rider: Two Dudes, One Fry-Oil-Powered Car, and a Cross-Country Search for a Greener Future
Greg Melville
Language: English
Pages: 257
ISBN: 1565125959
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Their expedition on and off the road includes visits to the solar-powered Google headquarters; the National Ethanol Council; the wind turbines of southwestern Minnesota; the National Renewable Energy Lab; a visit to one of the first houses to receive platinum certification for leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED); an "eco-friendly" Wal-Mart; and the world's largest geothermal heating system.
Part adventure and part investigation of what we're doing (or not doing) to preserve the planet, Greasy Rider is upbeat, funny, and full of surprising information about sustainable measures that are within our reach.
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Likable, but they didn’t sway me. In the parking lot, Iggy stood beside the Mercedes, smiling. “How’d it go?” he asked. “Okay. I’ll tell you in the car.” He tossed me the keys, and we got in. “It’s a good thing my nose is plugged, because this car smells awful,” I admitted. “I know.” Iggy laughed. He actually laughed. His mood was brightening. I almost wanted to hug him. But of course Iggy and I never hug. I flipped the blinker up and down and turned the car onto Minnesota Avenue. “I’m.
Achievements at the time. Someone forgot to consult nature on these plans, though. Lake Powell is so large that more water evaporates from it each day than Los Angeles consumes, and it’s shrinking rapidly because of severe, prolonged drought in the Southwest. Marinas built decades ago now rest miles from the shoreline. Lost rapids on the Colorado River that vanished years ago beneath the lake are emerging owing to the receding waters. Is it possible that Lake Powell could disappear entirely? Is.
Apparently the only breed Fort Collins people own is Labrador retriever — leash optional. We had given the fairgrounds a thorough walk-through before we sought out Matt Jaye, a twenty-seven-year-old inventor and auto mechanic who operates a local biofuel conversion business. Over the phone, he had offered to provide fifteen gallons of filtered fuel at the fair. We found him at his booth, which was surrounded by the largest flock of fairgoers outside of the beer garden and Zen Zone. Jaye had a.
With a sudden unexplained hankering for french fries. First tracks From the first mile of our trip until it ended, H. Nelson Jackson never crept far from our thoughts, almost as if he was our silent third passenger. His story began in May 1903, when he got into a friendly argument with some gentlemen at the University Club in San Francisco who said no one could possibly drive an automobile all the way across the country. I bet I could do it, he told them. We’ll bet you fifty dollars you.
Best atop whose dresser was too painful, so I told him I’d grab a table in the coffee shop and wait for him there. The coffee shop turned out to be a bit of a jolt to my eastern sensibilities. The hostess walked me past the lunch counter to a high-backed burgundy-colored leather booth seat in a dimly lit dining area that was anything but feng shui. No bright lighting or colors, no mirrors, and no soft, curving furniture or open space for chi to flow. Above me on the wall hung Western-scene.