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Sample translations submitted: 3
English to Chinese: Drummer boy General field: Art/Literary Detailed field: Poetry & Literature
Source text - English The Jangling Hole glared back at Bobby Eldreth like the cold eye of the mountain, sleepy and wary and stone silent in the October smoke.
"Th'ow it."
Bobby ignored Dex's taunt as he squeezed the rock and peered into the darkness, imagining the throbbing heartbeat that had drummed its slow rumble across the ages. The air that oozed from the Blue Ridge Mountain cave smelled like mushrooms and salamanders. He could have sworn he heard something back there in the slimy, hidden belly of the world, maybe a whisper or a tinkle or the scraping of claws on granite.
"Th'ow it, doof."
Bobby glanced back at his heckler, who sat on a sodden stump among the dark green ferns. Dex McCallister had a speech impediment that occasionally cut the "r" out of his words. Dex was so intent on pestering Bobby that he failed to note the defect. Good thing. When Dex made a mistake, everybody paid.
"I hear something," Bobby said.
"Probably one of them dead Rebels zipping down his pants to take a leak," Dex shouted. "Do it."
Vernon Ray Davis, who stood in the hardwood trees behind Dex, said, "They didn't have zippers back then. Nothing but bone buttons."
Dex sneered at the skinny kid in the X-Men T-shirt and too-tight, thrift-store jeans that revealed his pale ankles. "What book did you get that out of, V-Ray? You're starting to sound like Cornwad," Dex said, using the class nickname for Mr. Corningwald, their eighth-grade history teacher at Titusville Middle School.
Bobby hefted the rock in his hand. Though it was the size of a lopsided baseball, it weighed as much as the planet Krypton. Probably even Superman couldn't lift it, but Superman wouldn't be dumb enough to stand in front of a haunted hole in the ground, not while he could be boning Lois Lane or beating up Lex Luthor.
Dex and Vernon Ray were thirty yards down the slope from Bobby, in a clearing safely away from the mouth of the cave. Not that any distance was safe, if what they said was true. The late-afternoon sun coated the canopy of red oak and maple with soft, golden light, yet Bobby shivered, due as much to the chill emanating from the cave as from his fear.
"I've been to the camps," Vernon Ray said. "My daddy's got all that stuff."
"That's just a bunch of guys playing dress-up," Dex said.
"It's authentic. 26th North Carolina Troops. Wool pants, breech loaders, wooden canteens--"
"Okay, Cornwad," Dex said. "So they didn't have no goddamn zippers."
"Daddy said--"
"Your daddy goes to those re-enactments to get away from you and your mom," Dex said. "My old man drags me along, but you always get left behind with the girls. What ya think of that, Cornwad?"
During Dex's bully act, Bobby took the opportunity to ease a couple of steps away from the mouth of the cave. The noise inside it was steady and persistent, like a prisoner's desolate scratching of a spoon against a concrete wall. The Hole seemed to be daring him to come closer. Bobby considered dropping the stone and pretending he had thrown it while Dex wasn't looking. But Dex had a way of knowing things.
"Bobby's chicken crap," Vernon Ray said, changing the subject away from his dad and deflecting Dex's attention. "He won't throw it."
Good one, V-Ray. I thought we were on the same side here.
Dex tapped a cigarette from a fresh pack, then pushed it between his lips and let it dangle. "Ah, hell with it," he said. "You can believe the stories if you want. I got better things to worry about."
Relieved, Bobby took a step downhill but froze when he heard the whisper.
"Uhr-lee."
It was the wind. Had to be. The same wind that tumbled a gray pillar of smoke from the end of Dex's cigarette, that quivered the bony trees, that pushed dead autumn leaves against his sneakers.
Still, his throat felt as if he'd swallowed the rock in his hand. Because the whisper came again, low, personal, and husked with menace.
"Uhrrrr-leeee."
A resonant echo freighted the name. If Bobby had to imagine the mouth from which the word had issued--and at the moment Bobby was plenty busy not imagining--it would belong to a dirty-faced, gaunt old geezer two hundred years dead. But like Dex said, you could believe the stories if you wanted, which implied a choice. When in doubt, go with the safe bet. Put your money on ignorance.
"To hell with it," Bobby said, throwing extra air behind the words to hide any potential cracks. "I want me one of those smokes."
He flung the rock--away from the cave, lest he wake any more of those skeletal men inside--and hurried down the slope, nearly slipping as he hustled while feigning nonchalance. One more whisper might have wended from the inky depths, but Bobby's feet scuffed leaves and Dex laughed and Vernon Ray hacked from a too-deep draw and the music of the forest swarmed in: whistling birds, creaking branches, tinkling creek water, and the brittle cawing of a lonely crow.
Bobby joined his friends and sat on a flat slab of granite beside the stump. From there, the Hole looked less menacing, a gouge in the dirt. Gray boulders, pocked with lichen and worn smooth by the centuries, framed the opening, and stunted, deformed jack pines clung to the dark soil above the cave.
A couple of dented beer cans lay half-buried in a patch of purple monkshood, and a rubber dangled like a stubby rattlesnake skin from a nearby laurel branch. Mulatto Mountain rose another hundred feet in altitude above the cave, where it topped off with sycamore and buckeye trees that had been sheared trim by the winter winds.
He took a cancer stick from Dex and fired it up, inhaling hard enough to send an inch of glowing orange along its tip. The smoke bit his lungs but he choked it down and then wheezed it out in small tufts.
The first buzz of nicotine numbed his fingers and floated him from his body. Relishing the punishment, he went back to mouth-smoking the way he usually did, rolling the smoke with his tongue instead of huffing it down. His head reeled but he grinned toward the sky in case Dex or Vernon Ray was looking.
"We ought to camp here sometime," Dex said, smoking with the ease of the addicted. He played dress-up as much as the Civil War re-enactors did, though his uniform of choice was upscale hoodlum--white T-shirt and a windbreaker that had "McCallister Alley" stitched over the left breast pocket. Three leaning bowling pins, punctured by a yellow starburst indicating a clean strike, were sewn beneath the label. Dex's old man owned the only alley within 80 miles of Titusville, and about once a month Mac McCallister was lubed enough from Scotch to let the boys roll a few free games.
"It'll be too cold to camp soon," Vernon Ray said, constantly flicking ash from his cigarette like a sissy. Bobby was almost embarrassed for him, but at the moment he had other concerns besides his best friend maybe being queer.
Concerns like the Jangling Hole, and whoever--or whatever--had spoken to him. The wind, nothing but the wind.
"Best time of year for camping," Dex said. "I can get my old man's tent, swipe a couple six-packs, bring some fishing poles. Maybe tote my .410 and bag us a couple squirrels for dinner."
"There's a level place down by the creek," Bobby said.
"Right here's fine," Dex said, sweeping one arm out in the expansive gesture of someone giving away something that wasn't his. "Put the tent between the roots of that oak yonder. Already got a fireplace." He booted one of the rocks that ringed a hump of charred wood.
"I don't know if my folks will let me," Vernon Ray said.
"Your dad's doing Stoneman's, ain't he?" Dex dangled his cigarette from his lower lip. "Since he's the big captain and all."
Stoneman's Raid was an annual Civil War re-enactment that commemorated the Yankee incursion suffered by Titusville in 1864. The modern weekend warriors marked it by sleeping on the ground, drinking whiskey from dented canteens, and logging time in the saddle on rumps grown soft from too many hours in the armchair.
If they were like Bobby's dad, they spent their free time thumbing the remote between "Dancing With The Stars" and "The History Channel," unless it was football season when the Carolina Panthers jerseys came out of the bottom drawer.
"Sure," Vernon Ray said, voice hoarse from the cigarette. He flicked his smoke twice, but no ash fell. "Mom will probably go to Myrtle Beach like usual."
"The beach," Dex said. "Wouldn't mind eyeing some bikini babes myself."
There was a test in Dex's tone, maybe a taunt. Perhaps Dex, like Bobby, had been wondering about Vernon Ray. "What ya think, Bobby? A little sand in the honey sounds a lot better than watching a bunch of old farts in uniform, don't it?"
Bobby's gaze had wandered to the Hole again and he scanned the crisp line where the dappled sunlight met the black wall of hidden space that burrowed deep into Mulatto Mountain. As Dex called his name, Bobby blinked and took a deep, stinging puff. He spoke around the exhaled smoke, borrowing a line from his dad's secret stash of magazines in the tool shed. "Yeah, wouldn't mind some sweet tang myself."
Dex reached out and gave Vernon Ray a chummy slap on the back that was loud enough to echo off the rocks. "Beats pounding the old pud, huh?"
Vernon Ray nodded and took a quick hit. He even held his cigarette like a sissy, his pinky lifted in the air as if communicating in some sort of delicate sign language. Vernon Ray, unlike most of the kids at Titusville Middle School, already had a hair style, a soft, wavy curl flopping over his forehead.
Bobby wished he could protect his best friend, change him, rip that precious blonde curl out by the roots and turn him into a regular guy before Dex launched into asshole mode. When Dex got rolling, things went mean quick, and Vernon Ray's eyes already welled with water, either from the smoke or the teasing.
"I heard something at the Hole," Bobby said, not realizing he was speaking until the sentence escaped.
"Do what?" Dex leaned forward, flicking his butt into the cold, dead embers of the campfire.
"Somebody's in there."
Dex twisted off a laugh that sounded like the wheeze of an emphysema sufferer. "Something jangly, maybe? Bobby, you're so full of shit it's leaking out your ears."
Vernon Ray looked at him with gratitude. Bambi eyes, Bobby thought. Pathetic.
Bobby put a little drama in the sales pitch to grab Dex's full attention. "It went 'Urrrrr.'"
Dex snorted again. "Maybe somebody's barfing."
"Could have been a bum," Bobby said. "Ever since they shut down the homeless shelter, I've seen them sleeping under the bridge and behind the Dumpster at KFC. They've got to go somewhere. They don't just disappear."
"Maybe they do," Dex said. "I reckon those wino bastards better stay out of sight or they'll run 'em plumb out of the county."
The shelter had been shut down through the insidious self-righteousness of civic pride. Merchants had complained about panhandling outside their stores and the Titusville Town Council had drafted an ordinance against loitering. However, the town attorney, a misplaced Massachusetts native who had married into the fifth-generation law firm that had ruled the town behind the scenes since Reconstruction, dug up some court rulings suggesting that such an ordinance would interfere with the panhandlers' First Amendment rights.
Since the town leaders couldn't use the law as a whip and chair, they instead cut off local-government funding and drove the shelter into bankruptcy. Vernon Ray had explained all this to Bobby, but Bobby didn't think it was that complicated. People who didn't take the safe bet lost the game, simple as that.
"Even a bum's not stupid enough to sleep in the Hole," Vernon Ray said. "Cold as a witch's diddy in there."
Dex grinned with approval. "That why you didn't th'ow the rock, Bobby Boy? Afraid a creepy old crackhead might th'ow it back?"
"Probably just the wind," Bobby said. "Probably there's a bunch of other caves and the air went through just right."
"Sure it wasn't the Boys in Blue and Gray?" Dex said, thumbing another smoke from the pack. "Kirk's See-Through Raiders?"
"Like you said, you can believe the stories if you want." Contradicting his bravado, Bobby's gaze kept traveling to the dank orifice in the black Appalachian soil.
They should have stuck to the creek trail and not followed the animal path into the woods. The trail was the shortest distance from the trailer park where he lived and the Kangeroo Hop'n'Shop, a convenience store run by a family that Dex called "The Dot Heads." Bobby wasn't sure whether the family was Indian, Pakistani, or Arabian, though one of the daughters was in his English class and had a lot of vowels in her name. Dot Heads or not, it was the closest place to buy candy bars and football cards, not to mention sneak a peek at the oily, swollen breasts flashing from the magazine covers.
Translation - Chinese 叮当作响的洞穴冷冷地回瞪鲍比·艾尔德雷斯，就像大山的一只眼睛，在那十月的烟雾中，惺忪恍惚，忽又惊醒，四下一片死寂。
English to Chinese: Offroad driving technique - uphill tips General field: Tech/Engineering Detailed field: Automotive / Cars & Trucks
Source text - English I still remember that first feeling of looking at blue sky and nothing else through the windscreen. "Oh sheet" I think were the words racing through my head, as my fingers tightened around the wheel.
That great sensation of tackling steep terrain never really leaves you, but you do get more used to it. You learn to trust your fourby because, after all, they’re built for this terrain. Low-range gears give 4WDs the ability to tackle seemingly impossible inclines without stalling, but the ever-present issue of traction is always the great leveller.
This is why, for most vehicles, low-range second is the ideal gear to tackle the steep stuff. Think about it, if you try to run up a steep hill it’s nice to have a little momentum. Well, it’s no different with a fourby, only this time you’re hauling about 2t. Second gear is slow enough to maintain control and quick enough to maintain momentum. First gear can cause the fourby to labour, which translates to wheelspin, because there’s too much power and not enough inertia.
However, you can’t really apply the old ‘second gear, low range’ rule to all vehicles. My old 2.25L Series 2A Landy diesel had less puff than a poofter after Mardi Gras, so first gear low-range was the only option. Likewise, you might find that the gearing on your 4WD is simply too high and in second gear it’s just too fast, or you’re stalling all the time. Do what is comfortable for your vehicle.
If you have an auto transmission, you’re lucky. Just select low-range and ‘D’ for Drive and let your fourby do the rest. All you need to do is monitor the speed and traction, and the torque converter will sort you out. The only exception here is when you are travelling up an extremely long hill (like a few kays), and your auto-box keeps on hunting for gears and can’t seem to find the right one. If that is the case, lock it into first or second gear.
Too much gear hunting can cause the transmission-fluid temperature to rise. If you have a camper-trailer on the back, you could be placing your tranny under too much stress. If it does overheat, there aren’t too many trackside repairs that I know of for an automatic. So, just park your truck, let it cool down and try again. If it keeps happening, consider having a transmission cooler fitted (or a bigger one if your vehicle already has one).
So you have the gears sorted, but what should you do at the bottom of the hill? Get out of your comfy seat, and have a damn good look at what you’re up against. If you’re in a convoy, don’t be embarrassed about doing this. Better to understand what you’re tackling, than get caught in a nasty situation halfway up and have to make a dangerous recovery.
Obviously you’re not going to walk the whole hill, otherwise this would be a bushwalking magazine, not a fourby mag. Have a look for potential obstacles, areas where you can stop for a breather (like whoop-de-doos), or parts of the track that need to be built-up. This can save you a lot of trouble. You might even decide that the hill is beyond you or your truck’s ability and leave it for a later trip. Either way, you’re in front.
Now that you have assessed the hill and determined it’s good to drive, lower your tyre pressures. You want maximum traction and the only way to get that, is to increase the footprint of your tyre on the track. Without beadlocks, don’t dump your pressures much lower than 15 psi, with beadlocks, go nuts. I’ve been known to dump the valves out of my Zook on certain hills, and the traction is awesome. Just remember to re-inflate when you get to the top of the mountain.
One last thing before you attempt the incline. Engage your traction aids, whether they are centre differential locks or traction-control systems. Cross-axle diff locks are great, too.
Personally, having manually controlled Air Lockers, I tend to leave them off until necessary, engaging the rear, then the front locker. Be careful with cross-axle diff locks though as, particularly on the front axle, they severely limit your ability to steer.
If you come across some wheel ruts halfway up the hill, what do you do? Steep terrain usually equates to steep drop-offs on the side of the track, which you want to stay on at all costs. Think of ruts as railway tracks made by drivers before you, they tend to ‘lock you in’ to the track. Out of the ruts, you’re at the whim of the side slopes and more susceptible to sliding off the side and into trouble. Of course, if a 40 Series LandCruiser running 44in Boggers has just paved those ruts before you, don’t expect that your 31in rubber will give you enough clearance to get through.
If the track looks safe enough, and you’re in no danger of sliding off the track (and the wheel ruts are just downright uncomfortable) then by all means, get your truck out of them - always being careful to stick to the main track. Let’s tread lightly, eh?
So, what happens if you make it half way up Mt Nutcracker, but you can’t make it any further? Whatever you do and however tempted you are, don’t try to turn your truck around. If there’s one thing 4WDs don’t like, it’s side slopes. You could find yourself doing a triple barrel roll with pike down the mountain, which sort of ruins a nice day out. Yep, what goes straight up, must come straight down. Only this time, backwards. Reversing down steep hills is the only way to go, but for that, you’ll need to learn how to do a ‘stall recovery’. Sounds fancy dunnit? Let’s look at manual vehicles first.
So you have stalled. Stomp on your footbrake, and leave your fourby in gear. At this stage, your clutch is your enemy, steer clear of it! Engage your handbrake. This process gives your vehicle the best chance of holding traction on the steep hill, because both the gearbox and the brakes are locking you in place.
Now it’s time to check your mirrors, look over your shoulders and try to pick a line down the hill. With your right foot still firmly planted on the brake pedal, push the clutch down gently and select reverse. If your fourby starts to slide while you’re selecting reverse, go to Plan B. This involves screaming "we’re all gonna die! Save yourselves before it’s too late!" Okay, so that’s what you will feel like doing, but the trick is to lay off the clutch, lock up your brakes and secure the vehicle with a strap or a winch to a tree. This way, if the vehicle rolls back while you’re selecting reverse, it will at least be secured.
Once you have managed to successfully select reverse gear, keep your eyes fixed firmly on your rear-view mirrors like an off-roader possessed. With your foot still planted on the brake let off your handbrake. Then, let your gearbox take up the slack, so it’s only your footbrake and the gearbox holding your truck. Not touching the clutch, turn over the engine and let your foot off the brake. Your vehicle should just idle down the hill.
In steep terrain, ignore the temptation to stomp on your brakes, and take it as slowly as possible. If your vehicle starts running away then by all means feather the brakes, but stomping on them is a bad idea. Think about it. You steer with your front axle, and most of the vehicles weight is on the rear. Hitting the anchors only transfers more weight to the downhill (back) axle, so your chances of steering properly are greatly diminished. I’ve seen many a fourby going backwards down a hill, where the front end tries to overtake the back end, because the driver was too eager to hit the brakes. Better to go faster and have steering, than slower and have none, I reckon.
So, that is manual fourby’s, what about autos? Once you’ve stopped, jump on the footbrake, and wrench on the handbrake. Now select Park. Check your mirrors, and get ready to reverse down the hill. Then start your vehicle, select reverse, and let off your handbrake, and then your footbrake before backing down. It’s slightly less effective than a manual transmission, but remember you only need to use the stall recovery technique on really steep hills where traction is compromised.
It’s a good idea to practice the steps of a stall recovery on less challenging terrain first, before having to strut your stuff when it really counts.
Translation - Chinese 我依然记得第一次在山顶上透过挡风玻璃遥望无限蓝天的那种感觉――双手紧紧扣在方向盘上，四大皆空，冲上脑海的只有两个字，“靠！”
English to Chinese: Samples General field: Marketing Detailed field: Marketing
Source text - English Luxury awaits aboard the intimate ships of Sea Breeze. The casual elegance of a country club is accented by impeccable European service and lavish accommodations. Four restaurants feature the culinary delights of master chef Jacques Pepin. A world-class spa, driving range, and 12-piece orchestra round out this distinctive cruising experience.
Let Mario deliver on all your catering needs! Wherever and whenever there's a large or small crowd to feed, give us a call! Mario makes hosting an event or party a breeze. Choose from the convenience of our "Group Suggestions" or the flexibility of our "Create Your Own" selections. We have a variety of crusts (original, thin or pan) from which you may choose, along with a myriad of fresh toppings. Don't forget about our fantastic sides and desserts; they're the perfect complement to your pizza meal!
Translation - Chinese 欢迎登上“海风”(Sea Breeze) 游轮，开启您的豪华私享之旅。这里有惬意而优雅的乡村俱乐部，无可挑剔的欧式服务和奢华招待定会让您铭刻难忘。船上设有四个餐厅，雅各•佩潘(Jacques Pepin)主厨将为您献上各种美食佳肴，供您大快朵颐。船上还有世界级的spa水疗、高尔夫练习场，以及12人管弦乐队，让您能够尽享这独一无二的游轮之旅。
English to Chinese (Beijing Foreign Studies University. Graduate School of Translation and Interpretation)
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Software
Adobe Acrobat, DejaVu, FrameMaker, memoQ, Microsoft Excel, Microsoft Office Pro, Microsoft Word, Passolo, Powerpoint, STAR Transit, Trados Studio
Bio
1). 6 years experience as a part time translator for Mckinsey&Co.
2). 4 years experience as a part time translator for Overlander Magazine (a famous off-road magazine from Australia)
3). 3 books translated and published as a part time translator for China Renmin University Press(The Audacity to Win, Pilgrimage to Warren Buffett’s Omaha, Warren Buffett’s Management Secrets)
4). 2 years experience as a part time translator for Che168.com, a famous car website in China
5). 3 years experience as a full time translator for XBS department in Fuji Xerox Company
Expertise