Ich habe vor 4 Wochen einen netten kleinen Vollverstärker von Musical Fidelity erworben. Dieser kleine Engländer ist rund 10 Jahre alt und es sollte an der Zeit sein, ihn frisch zu machen. Bevor ich das anging, hörte ich mir den E1 erst einmal einige Tage an. Verglichen mit einem Technics SU-V660 klang der Musical Fidelity dynamischer, erschien weniger gebremst und spielte mit mehr Räumlichkeit und Rhythmus. Nach einigen Tagen, die ich mir nahm, um mich an den Klang des Musical Fidelity zu gewöhnen, ging ich die erste Frischzellenkur an.  Die erste Modifikation betraf alle Kondensatoren. Musical Fidelity hat hier durschnittliche Standardware von Nichicon verbaut. Typen mit normalen ESR Werten und in 85°C Ausführung. Ich entschloß mich alle Kondensatoren gegen 105°C Ultra low ESR Typen zu tauschen. Zuerst tauschte ich die beiden originalen 10000µF/35V/85°C Kondensatoren gegen 10000µF/50V/105°C Typen von Jianghai. Danach kamen alle kleineren Kondensatoren an die Reihe. Hier verbaute ich die Ultra low ESR 50V b.z.w. 63V (105°C) Typen. Zusätzlich bekamen alle Kondensatoren Bypass-Kondensatoren parallel verpasst. Hier kamen WIMA MKP Folienkondensatoren zum Einsatz.

Weiter ging es mit der Verdopplung der Netzteilkondensatoren von 20000µF auf 40000µF. Hierzu musste ich Löcher für die Kondensatoranschlüsse der beiden Zusatzelkos in die Platine bohren, was sauber zu bewerkstelligen war. Die beiden zusätzlichen Kondensatoren habe ich einfach mit dem ersten Paar zusammengeschlossen. Das 2. Kondensatorenpaar besteht aus einem anderen Typ der Firma Richey mit Sitz in Nashville, Tennessee USA. Grund für diesen “Typen-Mix” sind technische und klangliche Gründe. Optisch wäre es vielleicht schöner gewesen, wenn die 4 Becher gleich aussehen würden, aber um die Optik ging es in diesem Fall nicht. Was am Ende zählt ist nur der technische und klangliche Aspekt.

Da nun die Arbeit mit allen Kondensatoren erledigt war, konnte es an anderen Stellen weiter gehen.

Mir fiel auf, dass Musical Fidelity die Kabel, welche von der Platine zu den Lautsprecherklemmen führen, angelötet hatte. Problematisch hierbei war, dass die Klemmen für Schraubmontage und nicht für Lötung ausgelegt sind. Die Materialoberfläche ist nicht sehr gut zum Anlöten von Kabeln geeignet. Das zeigte sich, als ich nur leicht an einem der angelöteten Kabeln zog. Es löste sich komplett mit dem Löttropfen von der Klemme. Wahrscheinlich war hier zusätzlich die Temperatur der Lötung zu gering. Das Lötzinn konnte daher keine richtige Verbindung mit der  Klemme herstellen und platzte einfach sauber davon ab.

Ich löste die übrigen Lötstellen und stellte fest, dass auch diese mangelhaften Kontakt zum Material hatten. Die Lötstellen an sich sahen sauber und glänzend aus, hafteten jedoch nicht ausreichend. Ich entschied mich dazu, die Kabel nicht mehr an die Klemmen zu löten, sondern sie mit vergoldeten Gabelschuhen zu versehen und bombenfest mit Kontermuttern zu verschrauben. Das hält nun bombenfest.

Die nächste Stufe der Modifikation wurde in der Signalverbindung von den Vorverstärkerstufen zum Lautstärkepoti gezündet. Hier verwendete Musical Fidelity ein sehr dünnes, abgeschirmtes Kabel, welches unten an der Lötseite der Platine geführt wurde. Dieses Kabel ersetzte ich durch ein dickeres Koaxialkabel und verlegte dieses weiter weg von den Baugruppen des Netzteiles.

Das original verbaute billige 50KOhm Lautstärkepoti in offener Bauweise ersetzte ich mit einem hochwertigen, gekapselten ALPS Poti (Das Blaue). Da mir der Regelbereich des

Originalpotis zu grob war, wählte ich das ALPS als 100KOHM Ausführung. Jetzt habe ich einen feineren Regelbereich und die Haptik des ALPS beim Drehen ist sowieso legendär.

Der nächste Schritt war das Gehäuse des Musical Fidelity E1 selbst. Hier versah ich innen den Gehäusedeckel, den Boden, die Seitenwände und die Rückwand mit Bitumenplatten. Diese sind sehr leicht in der Verarbeitung und sorgen nun dafür, dass das Gehäuse schwerer und resonanzberuhigt ist. Klanglich macht das keine Unterschiede, aber die Anfassqualität des Verstärkers erhöht sich ungemein.

Netzseitig habe ich nichts verändert, außer das ich den Anschlusspunkt des Schutzleiters verlegte. Im Original wurden lackierte Gewinde und Muttern zur Befestigung verwendet, was sicher zu keinem optimalen Kontakt führte. Ich verlegte den Anschluss des Schutzleiters an eine andere Stelle mit optimalem Kontakt.

Evtl. werde ich noch den originalen Ringkerntransformator gegen einen größeren mit 300VA tauschen, was ich dann natürlich auch mit Bild und Text dokumentieren werde.

Resümee:

Klanglich haben diese Modifikationen immens viel gebracht. Das gesamte Wiedergabespektrum hat sich erweitert. Klanglich also von allem mehr als vorher. Klarere Höhen, sauberere Mitten, strafferer und schwärzerer Bassbereich. Sehr erstaunt war ich über die Räumliche Abbildung des Musical Fidelity nach diesem Umbau. Schon im Original löste er sehr schön auf und verwöhnte mit einer sehr ausladenden Bühne. Was aber nach dem Umbau geboten wird ist wirklich mit Worten sehr schwer zu beschreiben. Am ehesten kann man dies mit mehr Echtheit, mehr Livehaftigkeit beschreiben. Auch bei Zimmerlautstärke ist jedes Schallereignis im richtigen Verhältnis vorhanden. Die Autorität der Wiedergabe ist atemberaubend.

Ich spreche hier von einem kleinen Vollverstärker mit irgendwas um 30 Watt pro Kanal an 8 Ohm, aber er klingt fast wie ein ausgewachsener Accuphase, Krell, oder McIntosh. Die ungebremste Dynamik, die explosionsartige „aus-dem-nichts“ entstehende Wiedergabe und Geschwindigkeit beeindrucken. Was vorher irgendwie mit Ankündigung kam, kommt jetzt ansatzlos mit aller Wucht, Geschwindigkeit und Kontrolle. Natürlich haben Verstärkerboliden a la Accuphase, Krell, McIntosh u.s.w. mehr Leistung und können lauter, aber wenn man diese und den kleinen modifizierten Musical Fidelity mit gleicher Lautstärke an technisch durchschnittlich anspruchsvollen Lautsprechern vergleichen würde, dann täte man sich sicher schwer, sie zu unterscheiden. Man spürt seine ungebremste Dynamik selbst in leisen Musikpassagen.

Auch sehr auffällig ist das mehr an Luft um einzelne Instrumente herum. Beispielsweise die Oboe d’ amore in Bachs Oboenkonzert BWV 1055 (MDG) steht genau fokussiert und atmend, in realer Größe im Klangbild. Das ist nur eines von vielen Beispielen, die eine Aufnahme zum Leben erweckt.

To be continued…

Find out at the 26^th annual National Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Elko this year happening January 23-30, 2010. It’s literally the Sundance of ranch speak as cowboys, range mamas, and buckaroos get off their horses to wax poetic about life on the land.

Famous stage hounds include Baxter Black, Texas rancher and large animal vet turned tale spinner whose essays on National Public Radio have regaled cityfolk for a decade. And this year’s roster brings a riot of notable ranchlife women including singer-songwriter Adrian, Utah poet Jerry Brooks, Doris the plaintive sounds of Cowboy Celtic, Canadian Cowgirl poet Doris Daley, Grand Dame Dakota poet Elizabeth Ebert, the wit and wisdom of Georgie Sicking and many others.

Sleepy, unpretentious Elko springs to life for a week as festivals, shows, gatherings, workshops and anything cowboy lands a spot on the schedule and becomes a celebrated event. Basque restaurants turn on the heat with prodigious family-style meals and the saloons keep the space between performances and workshops buzzing. Enjoy the dining, galleries and libation comforts of the Western Folklife Center in the center of town and the center of action.

Working guest ranches around town, such as the 71 Ranch in the shadows of the Ruby Mountains, are ready host as are the town’s many hotels and casinos. And there is certainly a plethora of Super 8’s, Econolodges and even a Red Lion to take up the slack. And although little Elko does book up for this event it often enlists the generosity of residents to fill in the missing room inventory.

At dead center of Elko’s cowboy culture is the Western Folklife Center, launched in 1985 by a small group of folklorists and poets. It’s a gathering place in full period ambiance with a bar and a museum and a small hall attached for many of the week’s events.

Each year some obscure version of cowboy culture is brought to the fore, and this year that happens to be the Seminole and “Cracker” cowboys from Florida and swamp cowboys from Louisiana. Cattle ranching on the Florida panhandle dates back to the 16^th century when Spanish explorers introduced horses and cattle to the region. Louisiana’s cattle business has flourished since the mid-18th century where locals maintained “anyone can herd cows on dry land!” Regional poets, storytellers, cooks, Creole zydeco musicians, craftspeople and Seminole Indian cowboys will be there to tell the tale.

“Ticketed” programs and workshops are sold separately from the majority of performances that take place during the four busiest days: Wednesday, January 27 through Saturday, January 30. A four-day Deluxe Pass provides admission to all “non-ticketed” sessions during this four-day period. Single Day Passes are available for Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. If purchased by December 18, a four-day Deluxe Pass is $50.00 and includes the Program Book. After December 18, the cost increases to $60.00 (if not purchased as a part of a Deluxe Pass, the Program Book sells for $5.00).  A single Day Pass for Wednesday, January 27, is $15. Single Day passes for Thursday, Friday and Saturday, January 28-30, are $20. Children under 12 are admitted free to all “non-ticketed” daytime events.

Historic, colorful Elko sits squarely in the middle of Northern Nevada, along Interstate 80, 230 miles from Salt Lake City, 295 miles from Reno, and 255 miles from Boise. The town is serviced by SkyWest Airlines (a Delta Connection) from Salt Lake City, Amtrak, and Greyhound Bus Lines. Find rental car service in Elko through Enterprise (775-738-2899 or 800-593-0505), Hertz (775-738-3147), and Avis (775-738-4426). Carpooling is encouraged. Find a ride on the Western Folklife Center’s online Discussion Board (http://www.westernfolklife.org/site1/index.php/Discussion-Board/).

Die-hard cowboy poetry fans be warned: Elko is cold in January with nighttime temperatures running about 20 degrees. Boots and hat: Strongly recommended.

Contact:

Western Folklife Center

888-850-5885; 775-738-7508

www.westernfolklife.org

Elko Convention and Visitors Authority

800-248-3556; 775-738-4091,

www.elkocva.com

Elko Chamber of Commerce

775-738-7135.

www.elkonevada.com

Baxter Black: Cowboy Poet and large Animal Veterinarian

866-717-7171

www.71-ranch.com/bandb.htm

(Six nights run $1250, double, for two adults, in modest accommodations including meals, rides and activities)

Read about what is happening in our RDEK meetings;

and then also…

Elko har laga en  design-serie som heter Elko plus. Lysbrytere og dimmere finnes i både aluminium, sort og hvit utførelse. Ganske så fine:)

Elko plus

About 40 km south of the Rocky Mountain adventure paradise of Fernie, British Columbia, lies the small, non-descript town of Elko. The town is like many others in southeastern B.C. – a sawmill, a gas station, and a stand selling fresh B.C. cherries. What makes Elko special is it’s setting in the midst of some of the finest mountains in all of the Rockies, surrounded by lakes that feed into the winding Elk River. While Fernie attracts hordes of visitors from Calgary, Edmonton, Vancouver, and everywhere between, Elko is known mostly by locals from Elko, Fernie, Sparwood, and Elkford for the deep, crystal clear waters of Silver Spring Lake and the cliffs that tower above it.

In the winter, people in this area can be found gliding down the slopes or flying through the air in the snowboard park at the Fernie Ski and Snowboard Resort. Backcountry riding and cross country skiing keep the locals busy in the mountains. In the summer, mountain biking and hiking are popular activities in Fernie, but lacking beaches in the area, a way of enjoying the summer Sun, which regularly supplies 30º heat in July and August, was needed. What better way to cool off and enjoy the sunshine than by plummeting 50 feet from the top of a sheer cliff into clear, blue mountain water?

Silver Spring Lake is only a few minutes drive and a 15 minute hike to the top of  a small stream. Here, the highest cliff can be seen for the first time. A flat rock face emerging straight vertically from the surface of the shimmering water meets those who think they can handle it, and those who know they can’t. Prospective jumpers stand at the top, cursing the heavens, pacing back and forth to the rhythm of “just do it,” and “come on, it’s easy,” coming from the onlookers, and foolishly peeking over the cliff’s edge to see the precise spot where the hope they won’t meet their untimely end. Finally, the crowd at the top and bottom watches as the jumper finally summons the courage and leaps over the edge. A second or two of flailing arms and legs finishes with a slap, a bang, or a crash, depending on how tight and straight the jumper could get their body before meeting the surface of the water. 

At the top of the hill, there are smaller cliffs lining the edge of the lake where groups can set up their camp for the day or overnight and take the plunge from a less daunting 20 feet. With the Sun baking the rocks and all life dwelling upon them, the smaller cliffs can be conquered by anyone who spends enough time at Silver Spring Lake. Entering the water after overcoming the initial doubt and fear is both refreshing and rewarding. Fernie locals who make this their Summer hangout will try to impress the crowd and outdo each other by performing stunts like hand-stand backflips, gainers, and corkscrew flips. For a less terrifying experience than cliff jumping, there is a rope swing hanging from a tree and launching people 10-15 feet through the air and into the water. Daredevils of all levels can find something here that will challenge them and allow them to walk away triumphant over their fears.

If jumping from the lower cliffs and rope swing doesn’t satisfy the adrenaline pallet, then it’s up to the higher cliff. Standing at the top, even the most extreme jumper can not help but think twice or several more times before taking that final step. The edge is a clear 15 feet higher than a 10 m Olympic diving platform. The water is clear to the bottom, and peeking over the edge reveals a cluster of rocks and fallen trees that lie at the depths of Silver Spring. As others jump, the heart pounds. Approaching the edge, scenarios of disaster run through the mind, and challenges are heard echoing from the survivors at the bottom. Which foot do I plant with? How many steps do I take? A running start? What if I over rotate? And then, silence envelops the Kootenays as one foot plants on the edge and thrusts the body out into empty space. The water comes closer for an instant as you fall towards certain doom before the water rushes around the body, jarring any body part that is not safely tucked into the pencil dive. The upward force of the water pounds the feet, arms, and face. Upon surfacing, fear is vanquished by exhilaration. The triumph of having looked fear and death in the face can match few others, and is best enjoyed on a hot summer day in southeastern B.C. with good friends and a cold beer.

Elko is only a short drive from the adventure mecca of Fernie, but offers quite possibly the most rewarding summer adventure in the East Kootenays. Flying through the hot summer air and landing in a clear, shimmering lake is a great way to spend a day or a weekend of camping. It is a rewarding, exciting way to relax, get some quality exercise, and enjoy the splendor of the Rocky Mountains.

Took my fancy lime green TDK cubic speakers to ELKO to have them returned. It was less painful than I had anticipated. I looked around the shop but couldn’t find speakers in my price range that seemed good enough. Does that, plus me returning two sets of speakers bc they weren’t good enough, speak volumes of the quality of stuff at ELKO? It’s a budget shop, so … I guess so!

So I went to MAX. The first thing I said to the guy I approached for help was, I’ve already bought and returned two speakers, so … Then I winked and flipped my head upwards, all cool, like. I meant to sound like a connoisseur of good music & sounds, but I ended up sounding like a perpetually dissatisfied customer. His reaction? Wow, don’t know that we have anthing that would satisfy you then. He looked very unimpressed.

I felt so dumb, you know, as I am not the type to complain over everything and constantly return stuff. I just didn’t know how to shop for speakers, is all! The guy told me, which I’d suspected, that the amounts of watts don’t really mean much as you can sell, say, speakers as a 1000 watts, bc they will play at this volume / strength (?) for 0.01 seconds – before exploding. So you can legally say your speakers are 1000 watts. I’ve noticed this with hair dryers, one of which I bought today as my hair is getting so long, yay. The 2000 watt ones I use at the gym are much more powerful than the 2200 watt ones on sale at ELKO and MAX. Weird. I don’t even know how good or bad mine is, I just got it bc I need one and this one was on sale. Along with straighteners. Anyone who knows me knows I definately don’t need those, yet, when I had long hair, my hairdressers would always always always straighten my hair once they had cut it and coloured to perfection. Odd.

Anyway, the guy helped me – after revealing to me every & all intricate detail abt their return policy, haha – and I ended buying a set of JBL creature ii. And so far they’re super! I’ve only been home listening for 10 mins, but like I said, so far they’re good. I can actually control the treble & bass, and I didn’t really realise before how important that is.

compare their helmets to my satellite speakers.

Another plus, they’re white, so they match the white shelves I have in excess in my living room:)

Only minus: I wish the satellite speakers were wireless. Why can’t they make them like that? That would be cool. Pop some batteries in and you have little white Darth Vader helmets oozing music at ya from odd angles.

I am so happy with them, my flat is filled with music now and the sound is great, for such small speakers. Yay!!

It’s been a while since I posted. I am behind in editing (as always) AND there is a new member of the family who has been demanding much of my attention…

Introducing Elko…

more pics at Shutterfly

Today I spent doing what I dislike most about having a (borrowed) car: driving around from place to place and sometimes going back to places I’d already been, to buy stuff or return stuff or check out stuff / prices. When you have a car you have the luxury of going all these places and back again multiple times. I do it very seldom now, partly bc it agigates me and bc of the environment.

But today I did it. At the end of the day I’d done the following:

• returned a white sheet and bought 30 white clothes hangers instead, at Rúmfatalager
• bought a white coat hanger (LEKSVIK) and little feet for my white tv table (CAPITA), at IKEA
• bought a white multiple-socket thingy and a white phone cord, at ELKO
• bought a white Icelandic plug to put on my toothbrush charger so I can charge it, at Glóey
• done three trips with my junk from my mum’s house to mine
• worked out with Sigrún and Ísafold
• eaten dinner at Sigrún’s
• finally returned home @ 22.00

So done with driving! Good thing I’m an excellent driver. Why do I only buy white things?

Today’s Short Story:

I walked into ELKO with my toothbrush charger and luckily found a young man near the entrance whom I asked for help. I didn’t have the words to tell him what I needed so I explained it. I needed a plug to put on my non-Icelandic toothbrush charger’s plug so I can use it. Unfortunately the plug looks like an Icelandic plug, but it really isn’t. The boy looked baffled and summoned a colleague of his. I told him what I needed, and asked if they sold such a plug. He just stared at the toothbrush charger, and so I added some info, like: “I have tried plugging it in all the sockets at my house but it just doesn’t fit”. This wasn’t entirely true, but I thought it might make my quest a bit more urgent sounding. The second lad then said: “Oh, you must have been plugging it into Italian sockets, then.” I said: “What? Italian?” and he said, like explaining something to a dunce, “Uh, yeah, they do exist and that’s what they’re called”. I then said, “I know what they are, and do you think I’m an imbecile?” I was very surprised at his remark, and raised my voice more than I should have, sounding really crazy. But look, do I look like a person who’d try & try to plug exhibit a into exhibit b, fail, and wonder why? Really? Please.

I walked out and finished my shopping elsewhere. Some people just can’t be saved.

exhibit a: an icelandic plug, similar to the one i bought today, and similar to the euro plug (as it's called) on my toothbrush charger. note the two prongs.

exhibit b: italian socket. note the lack of holes intowhich one would insert prongs.

I lived for a good few years in a town which advocated the use of Italian plugs as they were considered super safe. I’ve lived in the US and the UK. I know alot of different types of plugs.

Give it a rest already, eh?

Yeah, enough plug and socket talk! That wasn’t the highlight of my day, but I just had to post pics of these items.

Highlight of the day: shoulder massage after gym. Gym – so rewarding. Massage – so deserved. The masseuse was super good, the best so far. I told her so, and got her name, in case I can afford a loooong massage one of these days. Then I’ll book her.

the italian plugs for the italian socket. feel informed yet?

Mysteries in the Washoe County Coroner’s Office

The first person on the list is a fisherman. Perhaps his name was Don, it was tattooed on his left arm. He was still wearing his waders when they pulled him out of the Truckee River thirty years ago this July. You think someone would have missed him. You know, at work, near the vending machines. “You know Don went fishing up near Reno, but he still isn’t back yet. I wonder what’s up with that.” You think that somewhere there would be a house where the newspapers were piling up, or a car found abandoned along the river, with the billfold locked in the glove compartment. You would think in all this time that someone would have come looking for Don.

Instead, as the oldest case, he heads the list of 42 sets of unidentified remains in the care of the Washoe County Coroner’s office in Reno, Nevada. Sometimes there isn’t much to a set of remains: the upper part of a skull, maybe a complete skull and tibia. Still, those were enough for a forensic anthropologist to determine that the former was a young man, somewhere between 16 and 24; and the latter a Caucasian man less than 35, who stood about five foot nine. Sometimes the remains are considerably more than a skeleton. Sometimes it’s the body of someone so recently deceased you can almost hear their soul departing. Sometimes there are plenty of answers, just not the most profound one: Who?

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, Was blind, but now I see.

Northern Nevada is God-forsaken. Interstate 80 arcs across the top half of the state, passing through one of the emptiest places there is. This is not to say there isn’t beauty there, because the Sierras can be breath-taking, and there is certain poetry to the wide, wide expanse of the great basin. But on the whole it is mile after mile after mile of nothing. Most of Nevada is owned by the Federal government (don’t ask why), and it has long been known as the state of easy divorce and even easier weddings. Gambling is legal throughout the state; and in half of the 16 counties, so is prostitution. There are 2.6 million residents, and all but fifteen percent of them live in Reno or Las Vegas. The rest of the state is the sort of place where someone might go to be lost.

Perhaps that’s what happened to the thin young man with long black hair who rode his bicycle to a quiet industrial neighborhood in Sparks, and died there of a morphine overdose sometime in September of 2001, while the rest of the country could not stop thinking about the World Trade Center, could not stop talking about their grief.

Or perhaps the middle-aged man, who a few days after Christmas shot himself out in the desolation of rural Washoe County, his 9mm pistol in the sand beside him. Or the little old man, “elderly,” the report says, whose bones were found a few miles outside of Goldfield, once a boom town, now just another tiny place in the desert, somewhere between Death Valley and the Nevada Test Site. Where was he going? Where did he come from?

The Washoe County Coroner’s office has examined each of these 42 sets of unidentified remains, but they didn’t all come from the one county. They came from all across the northern half of the state, and even across the border, over the Donner Pass and into Truckee, California. They are under the jurisdiction of 19 separate agencies, including county sheriffs, city police departments, the Nevada Department of Investigation, the FBI and the Bureau of Indian Affairs. The remains have come from as far south as Tonopah, as far east as just this side of the Utah border. It would seem fair to say that if you die in Nevada, suddenly or mysteriously, and you are not in Las Vegas that you may well end up on the table of Dr. Ellen Clark, or Dr. Katherine Raven the Washoe County medical examiners.

Of the 42 unnamed decedents, 35 of them are male. Thirty-three are white. 15 died in a manner that has been undetermined, seven died accidentally, ten were murdered, nine killed themselves and two died of heart disease; one of those a 50-year old toothless white man crossing the street in Reno. The other was young man, in his twenties. Nearly six feet tall, he weighed only 111 pounds and wore his brown hair close cropped. His body was found near the railroad tracks outside of Wendover, where he’d been observed wandering the day before. When he was found, on September 4, 2001 he was wearing only soiled briefs. Somewhere, somebody is wondering what happened to him.

Some of the circumstances of these deaths are depressingly commonplace: the body of a newborn baby girl found in February 1982 at a dam at Lake Tahoe; young men murdered and buried in shallow graves; a black man near Floriston, CA (January 1984); a man of undetermined race one mile west of Gyser Ranch (July 1988); a white man two miles north of the Interstate 80 Jessup exit, Nevada (April 1996). In March 1992, the Nevada Highway Patrol got an anonymous tip that led them to a grave east of Highway 338 in Lyon County, Nevada. There they found the body of a man with reddish hair, somewhere between 35 and 50, six feet tall. Rural Lyon county is something beyond rural. Without the telephone call, the body never would have been found. If only the caller had thought to leave the victim’s name, too.

Three of the deaths involved cars. You’d think that authorities would be able to find out something by tracing the cars. Even without valid tags, there are VIN numbers. Even if the one on the dash is gone or melted or crushed, there is usually one on the engine block as well. (It’s also surprising that so little is said about the make and models of the cars involved.) Nevertheless, these three gentlemen remain unnamed.

In July 1980, a short black man in his late twenties held up the Nevada Savings and Loan in Sparks. He fled the scene pursued by the police, and while traveling eastbound on the interstate, lost control of his car and struck a “fixed object.” He died from blunt force trauma.

Another holiday-time suicide was revealed in January 1984, when the remains of a white man were found inside a parked automobile, 45 miles east of Ely. A hose ran from the exhaust into the car’s interior.

The sadly comic and strangest of the deaths involving cars is another suicide. On November 9, 1986, in Reno, a man was witnessed sitting in the rear seat of a white Ford Pinto, “fanning” flames as the car became engulfed. He made no attempt to exit the Pinto, and his body was consumed in the fire, leaving his size and race undetermined. He must have been so frustrated. Remember that the Pinto had real problems with leaking gas tanks and explosions.  Surely he thought, “Well, this will explode and that will be that.” Then he could hardly get the thing to burn.

The suicides carry with them an extra sense of poignancy. Perhaps these people were right, perhaps they had no one who cared about them. Does someone miss the tall thin man who hanged himself in an abandoned building behind the Maverick Gas station in McGill, NV back in 1984?  He was found wearing a blue Air Force jacket.

Or the middle-aged man who decided while sitting on the banks of the Truckee River one summer day in 1987 that he couldn’t take anymore? He had to go to some lengths, use some ingenuity to kill himself with a shotgun.

One February morning in 1992, the employees of Summit Envirosolutions came to work at their office in a light industrial complex in Carson City, and found an old man sitting against the wall of the building. Why there, one wonders, did he decide he could go on no more, and put a bullet in his head.

Pity the poor railroad engineer who was the unwitting accomplice in the death of a very short middle aged fat man whose last decision was to step in front of an eastbound passenger train. Or the housekeeper at the Colonial Motel in Reno, who one hot August morning, opened the door to one of the rooms, finding the guest had used an elaborate IV device to end his life.

He’d checked in under a false name, Carlos F. Otero, using an address in the Bronx that wasn’t his. He intended to slip away under the radar, perhaps to protect the person who aided him in sliding across that threshold.

“Carlos” died from a dose of Thiopental. The drug is used in small doses to help induce anesthesia, and in some instances as “truth serum.” It also is the drug of choice for euthanasia, and in 35 states is used for execution by lethal injection. Someone helped “Carlos,” and someone knows who he was.

Through many dangers, toils and snares
 I have already come;
’Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far 
and Grace will lead me home.

Out in the middle of the Black Desert is a little tiny town called Gerlach. It’s north of the interstate by 80 miles or so, train tracks run through there. In 1991 the desert outside of town became the site of the Burning Man festival, which brings upwards of 40,000 people into the desert the last week of every August. 

The bodies found along the road to Gerlach predate the Burning Man, (with one exception, and he was actually found south of the interstate, near Wadsworth) but it is a strange thing that of 42 cases of unidentified remains, five of them would turn up, out of the vastness of northern Nevada, along the road to Gerlach.  One was just a partial skull of a teenager, another the scattered skeleton of a young woman, possibly white or Native American. She had distinctive dental work. Another skeleton, this of a young man not yet 30 was found with a .22 caliber revolver nearby.  The body of a petite young woman was found in a shallow grave 11 miles north of Gerlach. She was wearing an unusual gold bracelet.

It can be something as small as that left to distinguishes this human from another human. An unusual gold bracelet, or a pile of bones and a silver ring with stones, blue and red. Charred bones found after a range fire, indicate men dead long before the summer fires. The skull of a Native American man found on the road to the Winnemucca airport. Another skull, one with a hole, not from a bullet, but from a craniotomy. 

The Homeless live among us virtually unseen, and die that way too. In Los Angeles County there are 800 unidentified remains. Many of them were homeless people; when you consider that the average homeless population in Los Angeles is around 60,000, a remarkable number come to the end of their earthly life with their identities firmly held.

In death, though, it isn’t so easy to tell whether or not someone was homeless. A man wandering the tracks in his underwear may well have been; who can say about a set of charred bones? Perhaps the older man with a full white beard found at the bottom of a ravine in his cowboy boots and fleece-lined jacket, perhaps he was homeless. Maybe he was just a rancher.  In any case, no one has stepped forward in the last twenty years to claim him as one of their own. A man in his sixties found dead in a homeless encampment probably was indeed homeless, but what about the man found one summer morning under a mattress and sheet of metal roofing off an unpaved street in Sun Valley?

The police report notes that the area was known for “illegal dumping.”  They describe the man as between 40 and 50, wearing full dentures (“Hang on a second, let me put my teeth in”) clad in brown corduroy trousers and a white t-shirt. He was barefoot. The report notes, wryly “No cause of death was determined. However the body and scene indicate the man did not walk there and cover himself with the mattress prior to his death.”

In Washoe County, “death by misadventure” often arrives via the Truckee River, which has given up three of the nameless dead. Each of them around 30, all men, one was said to be “fully clad in casual style clothing,” as opposed to, say, formal wear.  The most recent, a decade ago, was a tall man (6’2”) with long brown hair, found wearing only white undershorts and black shoes, and described, curiously, as “found entwined in an orange traffic cone.”

Twenty years ago this week, a young man was found under five feet of snow near the Heavenly Valley Ski Resort. He was white, just shy of six feet tall, with a 30-inch waist, no more than 35 years old. He had all 32 teeth, in excellent condition. They don’t know how he died, perhaps exposure. Has someone been wondering for two decades what became of their adventurous son, their daredevil brother, their best friend from high school?

The women, though, six women and a baby girl, they all were murdered.

The baby left at the Lake Tahoe dam 27 years ago, does her mother still think of her?  Is someone looking for the 60-year-old woman who was found in 1990, mummified in the sagebrush two miles south of Wendover? The woman with the distinctive dental work, her skeleton scattered in the desert on the road to Gerlach, surely someone wonders what happened to her.

Coming up out of the Truckee Meadows, the Mount Rose Highway comes up over the Carson Range of the Sierra Nevadas and summits at a beautiful alpine meadow the locals call Sheep Flats, before descending down to Incline Village on the north edge of Lake Tahoe. Sheep Flats is a favorite recreation spot for tourists and residents alike. On July 17, 1982, the body of a young woman was discovered there. She had been shot to death.

No doubt the Washoe County Sheriff’s office thought it wouldn’t be long before she was identified. She was in her late twenties, maybe thirty. The report reads, “The victim had not been there long and was clothed. She wore a bathing suit on under her clothing. She also wore a blue top, blue jeans and yellow tennis shoes . . . the victim is believe to be of European descent based upon an inoculation scar and unique dental work. Although many leads have been pursued, her identity and whereabouts prior to her death are still a mystery.”

The bulletin issued by the Sheriff’s office includes both a color photograph from the morgue and an artist’s interpretation of what she might have looked like imbued with life. Hazel eyes and sandy hair, a fair complexion, well-arched brow, the kind of forehead people used to call “intelligent.” Isn’t somebody looking for her? Was she so all alone in the world, in her blue jeans and yellow tennis shoes? Perhaps she is not just of European descent, but maybe a European tourist, her stuff left behind in a hotel room, or carried back to Europe by her killer with a story: she ran off, she married an American, she doesn’t want us anymore.

Eleven years later, another woman, this one found on the other side of the state, seventy miles east of Elko, on the north side of I-80, in a place described in the police report as “a vast and desolate desert bisected by one of the nation’s busiest highways.” She too, was white, between twenty and thirty, of average size and weight, blonde with brown eyes.

Under clothing the report reads: pink nail polish. She was naked in the desert, her arms extended to each side, legs slightly parted, posed as if crucified. They think perhaps she’d had a baby. There was a scar on her right calf, an assortment of moles and marks like most of us have. The medical examiner noted them with great care, measuring and describing each one. Her teeth were in excellent condition, though it was noted that she was midway through having a root canal. Did the dentist’s receptionist sigh with disgust when the girl didn’t turn up for her appointment? It is believed she was killed elsewhere and dumped at the site, toxicology reports show the use of alcohol and evidence of smoking pot. She was shot twice with a small caliber bullet, one bullet pierced her heart.

It seems so strange that no one would come looking for this particular young woman, so much so that she has her own MySpace page “JD 93 Elko Nevada”, and I CARE, a website devoted to missing person cold cases, carries scans of every newspaper story about her.

There’s not been so much attention paid to the woman whose body children found in a rock pile in Reno in June 1997. In her early to mid-thirties, she was white or maybe part Native American. She wasn’t very tall, about five-two and the most distinctive thing noted about her was a metal plate in her jaw. Her cause of death was not determined, but to borrow from the Washoe County Sheriff’s Office, it’s unlikely she buried herself in a pile of rocks.

She was certainly into western culture, found wearing dream catcher earrings, a black bolo tie with an arrowhead, a yellow metal and copper bracelet, a silver ring with a red stone. She was dressed in a western-style multi-colored shirt, blue jeans (size 10); white socks and gray tennis shoes, and wearing a black long sleeved jacket.  Around her neck there was also a silver necklace with a silver whistle: many women have worn them for safety. It’s too bad it didn’t work for her.

The most recently found unidentified woman was black. She was dumped naked from a car along a dirt road off the interstate, near Mogul, Nevada, west of Reno. She was wearing just a silver ring on her right hand. About 30 years old, she’d seen some hard times. The medical examiner noted that the woman’s toenails were very long and were thickened and irregular. Her teeth were in poor condition and she was missing literally half of them. Her face showed healed fractures of the nose and jaw, on the right side. It may have caused her face to seem lopsided. Her body was found July 25, 2003.

When we mourn as a country, we often read out the names of the dead. We did this at Ground Zero in lower Manhattan; the names of the Vietnam War dead are poignantly carved into a field of black granite. We see these names and those people become more real to us. That these 42 people in Washoe County, these 800 people in Los Angeles county, these 4,797 people across the country, dead and unidentified and claimed by no one, that they are stripped of their names does not make them any less real.

The US Department of Justice has recently launched twin databases under the acronym NamUs (National Missing and Unidentified Persons system.) One database is that of missing persons, the other is that of unidentified remains. They are working on developing the software that will cross-reference both sets of data in hopes of finding some matches. They are unwieldy and balky to use. Data hasn’t been entered in a very consistent manner, some records are excellent, some are so vague as to be rendered meaningless. You ought to be able to search via date or hair color or by distinctive gold bracelet, and you cannot. But it is a start.

Some of these people were truly lost. They were the last of their families; perhaps they were friendless in this world. But not all of them. Some of them are probably blamed angrily for their absences. Some of them might be missed every day, longed for by people who wonder whatever happened to their daughter, son, mother, father, brother, sister, friend. They need an answer, as do those who found the remains, whose startling discovery is etched forever in their mind, an endless mystery.

The last entry in the Washoe County Coroner’s list of unidentified remains is from May 8, 2005. A young man, white, slight of stature. He was wearing a black long-sleeved sweatshirt, gray-green slacks, a brown leather belt. His hair, black and wavy, was two centimeters long. He leapt from the roof of Reno parking garage. It was very early in the morning when he stepped out into thin air. Had he lost too much at the gambling table, was there a fight with a girlfriend? Did he have any idea when he was having his last hair cut that in a matter of days it would come to this? When he pulled on his trousers many hours before and fastened his brown leather belt, it probably never occurred to him that he would end up among the lost.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail, And mortal life shall cease, I shall possess within the veil, A life of joy and peace.

“There’s no such thing as strong coffee.  Just weak people.”

Leon Frick

Cowboy, poet, rancher, cook, storyteller

The road trip, the hope-and-change thing, doesn’t start here, not physically. What takes root and starts to take shape here is the concept, the open-road call to start somewhere, somehow, with no particular plan in mind and keep on going, in this case west to east, along the Interstates.

Something about Elko brings that out in a person …

Outside town a piece, against the Ruby Mountains

Straddling Interstate 80 in northwestern Nevada, well beyond Reno and on the way to Salt Lake City, Elko is a well-traveled place.  Its main drag, Idaho Street, is peppered with hotels and motels, but still, at its heart, Elko is still a small, frontier town.  Rawboned in its own way, and rugged — a couple of old-time casinos downtown, the Stockman’s and the Commercial, a few Basque restaurants, and home to the Western Folklife Center.  The non-profit organization sponsors the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering and does a fine and important job of  it. 

We came here by train from the Bay Area for the Gathering, the second time in the past three years.  I’d first learned of it in a newspaper feature story, maybe 20 years ago, felt the pull and promised myself to get here one day.  Took me this long.  Life got in the way, I guess; it does that.

The Elko Gathering is the first and largest in the country, and there are plenty of others these days.  But this one, given the “national” designation by an act of Congress in 2000, goes by just a lone one-word label to those in the know:  Elko. 

Thousands of people come here for the Gathering each year, more this year, probably, since it’s the silver anniversary.  They come from all over — I’ve met people from Hawaii, the East Coast, Canada and, this year, Australia.  Sure, it attracts city folks and some dudes and dudettes playing dress-up, but mostly you see the real deal, plain folks and locals and people who care about the Gathering and its core purpose — to tell about, and celebrate through song, verse, music, storytelling, move-making, stage productions and more, the West, its history and place in the national fabric, and its people and their way of life.  

Being a cowboy-related thing, it does have its share of fun and frolic — at the casinos, on dance floors, in the old Pioneer Saloon downtown whose building serves as headquarters for the folklife center organization.  All in all, it’s a good place to be, sincere and genuine, a welcome departure from “real life,” let’s call it.

‘Course, you do hear, or overhear, talk around here of the trappings of modern life.   “That Internet thing…” one old boy said to another, “You can do all kinds of things — download, upload, delete things, move things around.  All that stuff.”

The Quebe Sisters Band--fabulous fiddlers

And Elko — news flash — isn’t without a Starbucks.  It’s at the Red Lion Inn, Elko’s biggest place to stay, its flashing road sign and marquee a beacon to Interstate travelers.

“Mild or bold?” the woman counter clerk asked. Saying “give it to me mild” somehow doesn’t feel right, not here. Only one way to go — bold.  And if it were cowboy coffee, brewed from grounds thrown in a pot of water set to boil over an open fire, you’d have a rusty nail it — “get your daily dose of iron that way,” a old cowboy once told me, having some fun. But that’s another story.

No noticeable talk, oddly enough, about politics up here, even though this year’s Gathering came on the heels of the Obama inauguration.  You get the feeling that people here and out West know all about hope and change: Changing weather, changing fortures, changing horses;  hoping the bottom won’t fall out one year to the next, hoping there’s a friend about the next bend, hoping there’s never a place better to be than the back of a horse.

They  know, too, about things like personal responsibility, self-reliance, community and family, adversity and endurance.

Those were some of the themes of keynote speaker Sandra Day O’Connor.  The retired Supreme Court Justice, speaking to big crowd in Elko’s high school gym, talked mostly of growing up on her family’s Arizona ranch, the Lazy B.  

“I learned a lot from cowboys,” she said, recalling one “drinking cowboy” on the ranch who ran for area judge to avoid landing in the hoosegow so often — and he won.  ”He refused to perform weddings,” O’Connor said.  ”He said it constituted cruel and unusual punishment.”

Skirting politics, except to note the “insular” nature of living in Washington, DC, she tied her talk instead to the tenets and teachings of ranch life — instilling in young people, for example, values of “honesty, dependability, confidence and good humor.”

Young people in urban areas of the country need to know more about “chores and responsibility” and the reward of hard work, O’Connor said, suggesting a nationwide public works program as a way to address some of the problems and failings of urban life.

“These things are not instilled by everyday urban life,” she said and noted that 80 percent of Americans today live in urban areas.

“I think urban people get an exaggerated sense of their own importance,” she told the audience to loud applause.  ”Don’t you?”

The Gathering happens in late January, early February.  It’s cold in Elko then and often snowing, hard to get around at times, hard to get here. I like to think there’s a reason for the setting and the time of year: Keeps the tinhorns away.

Onward…

I’ve always wanted to crawl through an abandoned building. I’ve secretly wished I lived near old run down farmhouses, I’ve dreamed of the photos I could take there.

For personal reasons, I’d rather not say anything about where these are from, it’s still too painful.

My father just sang Monty Python’s “Keep On Looking On The Bright Side Of Life” to me, so I think I’m gonna try that for awhile, he usually isn’t wrong about these things.

Click here to see more pictures of the 2009 National Cowboy Poetry Gathering

Look for audio interviews and radio stories go to A Time Travelers Dilemma.

Hal Cannon with the banjo.

Scotty Wilburn of Wylie and the Wild West band and his girlfriend Holly at the Pioneer Hotel in the Western Folklife Center.

Swing dance lessons

Dancing to Hot Club of Cowtown, a group based in Austin.

Ticket holder

Portraits. I was photographing perfomances most of the day. Pulled these out here and there.

Wally McRae Check out his new book “Stick Horses and Other Stories of Ranch Life”

Rodney Nelson

Paul Zarzyski

Doris Daley

Waddie Mitchell and his wife Lisa, backstage.

On Wednesday I accidentally formatted a CF card BEFORE downloading the images and spent most of the night waiting for softaware to retrieve those images. Yay Lexar Image Rescue software. The images were recovered. It looks like I was in the mood for mustaches when I made this quick edit.

Bimbo Cheney

Bill Lowman

Waddie Mitchell

Late night musical jam session at the Pioneer Hotel Saloon with musical professionals such as the Riders in the Sky

Smiling Border Collie.

“Adrian” who is 17,  and Megan look out the window before Adrian performs at the Owyhee combined school on Shoshone Paiute Duck Valley Indian reservation in Owyhee, Nevada.

Backstage moments with the Quebe Sisters during the musical performance “A Ride With Bob: The Bob Wills Musical.” featuring such musical groups as Ray Benson and Asleep at the Wheel and the Quebe Sisters.

Hello all. I have landed in Elko, Nevada for the 25th Annual National Cowoy Poetry Gathering. This is my 6th year photographing the Gathering and a special year since it is their Silver Anniversary. To view work of mine from previous years you can of course go to the Western Folklife Center’s home page or right to the official  Gathering page which is part of their site (link is also above.) To view some of images I made at previous Gatherings click here.

The internet connection here at the Center Hotel is a bit slow (slower than any of the connections I experienced while in Senegal.) but I’ll do my best to post some work.

First shot is just a taste of the Sierra Nevada winter wonderland from the ride out.

As you may I am updating my blog today on the day I should be driving back home to Reno. Well, I am.

I’m making an overnight stopover in Elko. Mom and I are just too tired to drive anymore. I had no idea that those three hours of skiing yesterday would wear me out so much.

Some people may see this as whippy, but I’m not usually like this. In fact one overnight shift a few years I swore I had food poisoning, but still worked under painful conditions.

This is a first for me not to drive on….so tomorrow morning we’ll finish our trip from Park City.

Walking around the Red Lion here we immediately noticed that we don’t fit in – again. We’re wearing our ski clothes while everyone else is in cowboy gear. The 25th annual Cowboy Poetry Gathering starts here tomorrow so they’re all tricking in for tomorrow’s festivities.

For the past few days I wore my new ski outfit so when we attended Sundance activities downtown, we stuck out like a sore thumb – again. Hollywood types always wear black here, so they kind of create their own conspicuous cliche.

And then while we stayed around our hotel, out clothes didn’t match there either. So funny you can tell where people ‘are from’ by their clothes. And I can tell you we don’t belong in Elko!

I spent the majority of my childhood outside.  Elko is a small unincorporated community about 10 minutes south of Perry GA, which is where I tell you is my hometown – because you won’t know where Elko is.  Elko is in the the middle of a dairy farm, cotton fields, pecan orchards and a hunting preserve.  In other words, God’s country.  

There are no streets of gold, but there are red clay 4-wheeler trails.  There aren’t any mansions, but we had tree-houses and forts. No pearly gates, but the railroad trestle led the way to Unadilla.  And the crystal seas were the Elko creek where we waded with caution to the wind. In God’s country, I was in heaven. 

One (of like maybe 3) downsides to living in Athens is that I don’t get to be outside much. I don’t get to work much with my hands. I rarely spend time in the woods and I haven’t been in a creek since I graduated high school. “Way to go, that’s awesome!” all the ITP (Inside the Perimeter aka Atlantans and the like) folks might say. But for me, its starting to catch up. 

Lately, I’ve been spending a lot more time outside. A couple weeks ago I spent a day repairing fence posts on a farm and pulling tin off the barn roof. Last weekend I was down in Forsyth building a bonfire (that I am pretty positive was seen from Tanzania), shooting clays and chillin with goats. And today I got to help this awesome family move homes as the prepare for twins on the way. 

I forgot how gratifying it is to get outside and work. When I’m working with my hands or with the land, the fatigue it induces quickly fades to contentment; I’ve accomplished something. 

I remember when we’d build our clubhouses and tree-houses, we’d head back to the real house for the night and would be so proud of our work. And you better believe that a meal never tasted so good as when you ate it after doing what I like to call “sweat work.” Use your imagination. 

There are remarkable memories, hermetically sealed in my soul, that these days, make it even more fulfilling to be outside, to be in the woods, to work with my hands…to sweat.

Nun ist mir schon zum zweiten mal ein Mainboard aufgrund schlechter Elkos ausgefallen. Die 680µF-Elektrolytkondensatoren rund um den CPU-Sockel haben alle eine Beule durch Ausgasen des Elektrolyten, was im Endeffekt bedeutet das sie ihren Aufgaben Spannungsstabilisierung und -filterung wegen mangelnder Kapazität nicht mehr nachkommen können.

Wie in der englischsprachigen Wikipedia zu lesen, ist dieses Problem anscheinend auf eine unvollständige Rezeptur des Elektrolyten bei den Billig-Nachbauten zurückzuführen.

Erstaunlich finde ich, daß auch 7 Jahre nach bekannt werden des Problems noch immer diese bekanntermaßen schlechten Elkos verbaut werden (das MSI-P35 Neo Mainboard ist aus 2007). Absichtliche Strategie um weiteren Absatz in der Zukunft zu generieren? Ich weiß es nicht, aber es verbleibt dabei doch ein ungutes Gefühl.

Beim neuen MSI P35 Neo Combo-F Socket 775 FSB1333 wurden genau die betroffenen Elkos geändert, das finde ich schon mal beruhigend.

Symptome

Mein bis dahin sehr stabiles System unter MS-Vista erzeugte zufällige Bluescreens (STOP CODE 124) und plötzliche Abstürze wie bei einem kurzen Stromausfall, deren Häufigkeit rasch zunahm. Falls dieses Symptom auftritt ist es eine leichte Übung kurz mit einer Taschenlampe einen Blick auf das Motherboard zu werfen. Sollten einzelne Elkos oben eine Beule haben (siehe Bilder) oder gar geplatzt sein, dann ist die Zeit für ein neues Mainboard gekommen (oder eine kundige Hand die Multilayer-PCBs entlöten kann).

Vista und Mainboardtausch

Der Austausch des Mainboards führte bei Vista überraschenderweise nur dazu, daß die Chipsatz- und USB-Treiber neu installiert wurden, das Betriebssystem selbst musste nicht neu installiert werden. Das System läuft wieder stabil wie eh und je.

Nach dem Neustart mußte Vista jedoch bei Microsoft erneut aktiviert werden.

Elko, Nev., started the big bands and the big shows long before the glitz and glam of Vegas. Today, the Commercial Hotel and Casino is still open in downtown Elko, but the live entertainment is gone except for few diehards making a cacophony of digital slot machine music.

read more | digg story

Da war ich gestern in einem PC Laden auf der Suche nach einem Grafikkarten Kühler und dann passiert mir so ein Glücksgriff. Nach ein paar Sätzen mit dem Verkäufer erfuhr ich, dass mein gewünschter Kühler nicht auf Lager liegt, aber dass er noch eine kaputte Grafikkarte da hätte. Hat er mir die also gezeigt und siehe da es war eine XFX 8600 GT 540M mit 2 geplatzten Kondensatoren. Kosten sollte das gute Stück 1€, “mehr hätte der Schrotthändler auch nicht gegeben”. Für ‘nen Euro kann man eh nix falsch also mitgenommen und gleich gegooglt. Aufschrift auf dem Kondi:

FZ 73

1500

6.3V

Leider garnix gefunden, auch niemanden, der sowas schonmal umgelötet hätte. Bei XFX n Supportticket eröffnet mit der Antwort, dass es solche Kondensatoren nicht zu kaufen gäbe. Da ich mir am selben Tag allerdings noch bei eBay auf gut Glück Kondensatoren bestellt hatte (6,3V 1500uF 10×20mm Low-ESR 105°C), hab ich die eingelötet und siehe da, DIE KARTE RENNT WIE TEUFEL!

Sieht nicht schön aus, aber funktioniert

Standard (GPU/Memory): 540/700 Mhz

Übertaktet (GPU/Memory): 640/865 Mhz

Hat sich also vollkommen gelohnt die ganze Aktion!