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PIPELINE PROJECT
The project will transport crude oil from the Epping Station to the Little Muddy Creek Station, which is located approximately 10 miles northwest of Epping and will be used to ship between 15,000 to 30,000 barrels of oil per day.

Total cost for the project is estimated at $18 million.
“These pipelines are more vital infrastructure to serve this industry long term,” said Commission Chairman Julie Fedorchak.

“These projects will reduce the noise, dust and congestion associated with truck transport of large volumes of crude.

During the hearings, we had extensive discussions with the company and the public about reclamation, leak detection and response. Meadowlark has committed to restoring the land properly and will have multiple, redundant leak detection measures in place as well as a thorough response plan for any leak that might occur.”

The North Dakota Public Service Commission is a constitutionally created state agency with authority to permit, site and regulate certain business activities in the state including electric and gas utilities, telecommunications companies, power plants, electric transmission lines, pipelines, railroads, grain elevators, auctioneers, commercial weighing devices, pipeline safety and coal mine reclamation.

 
FLASHING YELLOW ARROW
Flashing yellow arrow left turn signals have been shown to be safer, more efficient, and more flexible than traditional signals. Other reasons for the change include:

*Safety: A national study showed drivers made fewer mistakes with flashing yellow arrow indications than with the existing green ball indications.

*Efficiency: Green left turn arrows can be used either before or after through traffic has a green ball. This improves signal timing progression and traffic flow in signalized corridors.

*Flexibility: Left turn signal operations can now change during the day to better respond to fluctuations in traffic volumes.

For example, during rush hour if there are few gaps in oncoming traffic, the signals can be more restrictive and only allow left turns on a green arrow.

When rush hour is over and there are more gaps in oncoming traffic, the signals can then be less restrictive and allow left turns on green arrows and/or flashing yellow arrows.

*Federal Rules: For new traffic signals, green ball indications are no longer allowed over left turn lanes.

The green ball will continue to be used at locations where permissive left turns are allowed where this is no dedicated left turn lane.





MORONIC MEMOIRS III

Continued…

Ray hopped up as quickly as he went down and attempted to spin around and see who would do such a thing, but the rutabaga had hit him so hard in the right cheek that it gave him “dead leg” and he crumpled to the ground again.

Flopping and writhing around in the sandbox, amongst toys in various stages of disrepair, trying to squeeze the pain out of his right cheek with both hands he noticed the rutabaga and said though gritted teeth, “What did you hit me with?”

“It’s a rutabaga dummy…Grandma puts it in that nasty stew she makes at Christmas,” I said, as I came up for a closer look.

Close enough to where Ray could clearly see I was pompously gloating, but yet far enough away to dodge anything he might throw my way in his trademark retaliatory rage.

“Why did you hit me with it you moron!” Ray yelled, as he picked up the offending projectile and attempted to return the favor.

A big brother is fully aware that objects thrown by little brothers in fits of rage rarely hit their intended target.
The teeth clench, the muscles tighten, and accuracy and velocity both go to Helena in a hand basket.

Hobbling on one leg with one hand rubbing your rear end doesn’t help either, so I had very little concern that anything he threw my way was going to find its mark.
“Nice throw, Nancy,” I chuckled.

“Shut up! I’m gonna tell Mom!” Ray threatened.
“You better not or I’ll fart in your mouth while you’re sleeping again,” I assured him.

I could see Ray mulling that bitter pill over in his tiny little mind as he conceded defeat…for now.

A few months previously, in a possible attempt to save our souls, Mom had forced Ray and I to become altar boys at the Catholic church we attended. Obviously our new vocation had not swayed our love of fighting in any way.

Fighting was a great pleasure to us and it would take more than a threat of eternal damnation from some rickety old priest to break us of the practice.

It took everything we had to stand side by side on the altar and act civilized for an entire hour every Sunday.
You could get away with trivial things here and there like an “accidental” bump while the other was holding a candle.

Done correctly this little bump would send a searing hot cascade of wax splashing down across the tops of the torchbearer’s hands.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph that hurt but neither of us would ever give the other the satisfaction of knowing the agony they had managed to inflict…in front of God and everyone.
Ray cooled down a bit from the rutabaga bludgeoning after a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and an episode of Scooby Doo and asked, “Where’d you get that potato thingy?”

“Rutabaga, not potato, you ignoramus.”
“Whatever. Where did you get it?”

“Blanchard’s garden,” I matter-of-factly said, bored and coming down from the high of putting a hitch in Ray’s gittyup with a world class rutabaga toss.
“Are there anymore?” Ray asked.

“Of course, it’s a garden, there’s lots more. I usually just eat the peas and snag a few tomatoes to throw at the train and…” I trailed off knowing I had said too much.

Ray now had information that would be useful in getting me in trouble so I knew I had to bring him in on my garden heist gig so he wouldn’t have anything over me.

I liked to work alone but I knew he had me in a tough spot and judging by the smug look on his stupid face he knew it too.

To be continued…


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