Age and Mortality

I used to think of myself as indestructible.  I used to be an idiot.  Well, actually, I am still an idiot although I have learned that time is a bastard and sometime makes us into bastards on our own account..

First it was my grandparent's generation that was disappearing and now it is my parent's generation.  Better men and women than I will ever be (or you bored reader), suddenly gone or painfully making their way to the inevitable end.  Depressing to think about it, because, as I have said many times before, those that follow in their footsteps can never match their character.

I am watching an old friend slowly die of cancer.  True, he is over 80 years old, but as a local fixture, it is hard to see the steel that he once was melting into a puddle.  My own folks are so different than they used to be.  My mother's health is...well, not exactly failing, but precarious.  My dad, who once lifted a Harley Panhead into the back of his pickup truck..alone...is now unable to do things that he never thought twice about and has to call for help when he never would.

Myself...years of foolishness, stubbornness and accidental removal of small parts of my body mean that this cold weather (-7 deg F) while once uncomfortable but manageable, is now simply painful.  I am only 52, by I am constantly reminded that I am no longer 25.  My feet hurt.  My knees hurt.  My back hurts. When I look at the generation that spawned idiots such as myself and see what is coming, I begin to wonder what it is all about.  What purpose is served by all this work?  Worse yet, I look at a job that I am either planning and contemplating (such as a new roof on my house that I will do in the spring) and I think, that's the last time I will do that!  More and more "last times."  I am still too stubborn to call for help, but I fear that may change sooner than I like.

My kids, who have turned out to be low fools, in spite of the efforts their mother and I put in, have no idea and no appreciation for the sacrifices, no idea of the hell they have put us through, no idea of the loss of legacy that they have created.  I have no idea how to fix it.  Not a situation I am used to being in.

And, there is no going back.  No correcting the past.  Just push forward with your head down, absorb the pain, don't whine, don't complain and move closer to that final hole that we all will fill.

Depressing, but sometimes that is the way life is.  Shit.  Most of the time that is the way life is.  But still we must keep pushing forward, tracking our losses and trying not to repeat our mistakes.  The advantage of getting older?  There are a lot more "that's the last time I will fuck up that bad" situations.  So at least there is a bright side.

Damned Junk!

Dear reader of the mundane, you are in for a thrill.

As I have noted in several previous blogs, I farm with junk.  I use the term "farm" loosely because in reality, I would not make a pimple on a farmer's behind.  In any case, back to the junk.

Most of my equipment is old...shit...it's all old.  Most of the time, I enjoy working on it because I am masochistic that way.  Unfortunately, most of the time does not mean all of the time.  My hay is cut and laying flat on the ground.  My old New Holland Rake is raring to go and I expect to be raking tomorrow, if it does not rain (blues, despair and agony on me).  My 826 Farmall tractor is repaired and running like a champ (another story, but a major dissection and rebuilding of hydraulics was required).  The only project left was a bad bearing on my old Vermeer round baler.

Bad bearings are a potential fire waiting to happen when it comes to round balers (or any baler for that matter).  Replacing this one was going to be no small task because it is located right behind the main feed roller sprockets.  I have been procrastinating on fixing it, which is foolish because now I am paying the price.

I estimated that it would take a day of work to disassemble, replace the bearing and reassemble.  Two sections of 80 chain needed to be removed and on section of 60 chain.  Three bolts removed for the taperlock bushing in the sprocket, re-insert the bolts in the threaded removal holes and the sprocket should come right off, giving access to the set collar and bearing behind it.  I am expecting that I will have to cut the bearing off the roller shaft, but this, although time consuming, should be a fairly straightforward job once I clear all the grease away.

All goes well until it is time to remove the taperlock for the sprockets.  As I tighten the bolts to push it out of the sprocket it appears to be moving...a little more...a little more...wait!  Shit!  there is a crack at one of the bolt holes and the entire flange appears to be cracking away from the sleeve...holy crap...now what.  I tap on the flange with the hammer and boom...it falls off.  Sensing that I am screwed, I decide it is time for a beer.  As I sit on my stool drinking the beer and looking at the sprocket I can see no other alternative at this point but to drill some holes all around the taper sleeve and hopefully it will loosen up.

I am still frustrated as I will need to order a part and it is Sunday...of Labor Day Weekend...so no ordering until Tuesday.

I carefully begin to drill holes.  My drill bit is not long enough to make it all the way through the bushing, but I think I am making progress util....the drill bit breaks...in the bushing.  FUCKER!

Now I am probably relegated to using the torch....something that I am loath to do because, as I mentioned before, fire and greasy old balers are not a good combo.  I go to the door of my shop and some dipshit has parked in front of it in order to eat at the restaurant across the street.  I need to get the baler outside, because if it is going to go up in flames accidentally, I would just as soon it was not in my shop.

I walk over to the restaurant and go in and ask the waitress to please ask whoever parked in front of my door to move their damn truck...guess what...they aren't in the restaurant.  They are nowhere to be found.  As I walk back to my shop I am considering the damage my tractor with loader and chain will do to their nice Dodge truck.

I figure it is time for a break, before I break something that does not belong to me and I load up my dogs, who have been watching my ranting bemusedly from the couch I have in my shop and head for home figuring I will tackle this mess tomorrow before I rake hay.

I did however tape (with very sticky duck tape - and lots of it) a note to the dumb-ass's window that said, "next time you park your truck in front of my door, I will scrap it."

The only satisfying part of the note was the tape and knowing what a pain in the ass it will be to get the gum off his windshield.

Reminders

During the hustle and bustle of this foolishness that is my life, it seems that I am usually worried about something.

Some of the worries are serious ones that are far beyond my control and no matter how much I remind myself of this fact, they are always there.

Some of them are worries that we all have.  Will I get this task done on time?  Will I do it right?  Will that be the end of it or will something else crop up and shit on me?

Some of them are specific to me.  Will the haybine hold together long enough for me to finish cutting hay?  Will the rain hold off?  What the fuck was I thinking when I tore this rake apart further than necessary and now I have put myself behind.  Will this thunderstorm result in a 1AM call to get the lights back on?

Sometimes though I get a reminder, that I really have nothing to worry about.  Tonight for example.  We live on the water, which is pretty idyllic really.  As it got dark and I was preparing for bed a thunderstorm was rolling across the lake.  Once in bed, the rain began to come down in buckets.
After a bit, sirens...lots of them.  Since many times I have to respond to fire or accident calls, I sat up in bed and listened and waited for the phone to ring.

My wife was still up and suddenly I heard her talking out in the living room.  Thinking she was talking to me and being unable to make out what she was saying, I got up and went out to find her at the front door talking to a neighbor who was walking the beach with a flashlight.  I could see boats out front with search lights and the Coast Guard's flashing lights were blinking on and off.

A 14 year old boy was missing and was last seen at the public park 1000 ft down the beach.  He had told someone he was going to swim out to the raft...information was sketchy, but the assumption was that he might have drowned, but nothing was certain...he may not even had been at the park at all.

I turned on all my lights facing the beach in order to help, but did not get dressed to go out as there was already enough confusion without me adding to it.

I sat on my front step and watched the boats zig zagging across the harbor, lights darting this way and that.  I am thinking to myself, they really should be looking for something beneath the surface not floating on top.

Soon, the Coast Guard helicopter arrived noisily on the scene and began tracing the harbor with searchlights from above.  Back and forth, back and forth, closer then farther, closer then farther as they swept the water's surface in what seemed to be a fairly well thought out pattern.

No chance of sleep of course.  Might as well watch, too much noise and that nagging worry about someone else's kid.  I am thinking to myself, "I hope the little shit snuck off to some party in the woods and didn't really attempt a night swim to the raft."  We all did it, and at younger ages than 14, but we were swimming practically out of the womb and a lot of the kids that come here in the summer are novices and swimming in a community pool is significantly different than swimming in a deep lake.

Soon the helicopter is heading back to home base...fuel to get here, fuel used during the search and fuel needed to get home are huge considerations.  The boats are still out there looking.  If the kid is out there, he is beneath the surface and it will likely be a couple days before he is found.  I am holding out hope that he pulled a fast one on his folks and that all their worries will be for nothing.

I am reminded that mine, in comparison, are nothing.

It is unlikely I will sleep, even though it is quiet.  I will hope for good news in the morning and worry the rest of the night away for the kid and his folks and his friends.



And an update:  As it turns out, they have not found the youngster in question and it appears as if there never was an issue at all.  There have been no parents who have reported a missing kid and the person who called 911 in the first place after seeing him enter the water and then losing track of him did not report any sort of credible information other than losing track of the kid in the rain.  Chances are pretty good that the kid went in the water and came out right after it started raining and is probably not even aware of the search that took place.

Rust, Grease And Old Iron

I have always enjoyed old things...even when I wasn't an old thing myself.

I gravitated towards engineering because of my upbringing making old shit work again or admiring the process of old iron working.  In a previous life, I was likely a blacksmith.

Back in the day, a piece of equipment was not purely function, but there was an actual effort made to make it look good as well.  Ornate castings, raised letters and many times pin striping add to this form as well as function aspect.

I remember about 25 years ago, I bought an old Gray hit and miss engine from a guy for $50.  I drug it home and spent a Sunday morning cleaning it up, checking it over, oiling, greasing and making the old 6 volt buzz box it used for ignition work.  I put some fuel and water in the thing and spun it over by pulling on the big flywheel.  Bang! with a big puff of smoke out of the exhaust pipe.  Another spin of the flywheel and Bang, whoosh, woosh, woosh, Bang, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, it was running.  A  hit and miss engine is just that.  A series of weights engage the valves and cause the engine to "hit" when it slows down or is under load.  Once the rpms are where they should be the weights fly out and the valves open and it simply spins.  A really cool engineering marvel.  I don't have a video of mine running, but here is one from youtube.com so that you can get the idea. It is actually the identical engine to the one I am writing about (yes I have several others).

In any case, I am in the driveway with this engine running and I put my foot on the belt pulley to create a little drag and Bang, woosh, woosh goes to Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang with smoke rings blowing out the exhaust.  I am absolutely tickled with this thing.

My wife hears the noise and comes out and stands on the porch looking at me with her arms folded and says, "what is that?"  I told her, "An old antique hit and miss engine." and she replies as we both watch smoke rings rising, "What are you going to do with it?"

After a suitable pause, I reply, "I am going to sit here and watch it run."  She rolled her eyes, shook her head and went back in the house.

My major vice is tools and equipment (perhaps I should spell that "vise").  Preferably old tools and old equipment.  My shop is a pretty complete little machine shop, weld shop and auto repair shop, but there is always a tool that a person such as myself does not have and needs desperately.

I had to travel for my real job as you might have read before.  This particular meeting meant traveling on Memorial Day for a meeting on the Tuesday after.  I don't really care for it, but needs must and I always peruse the local craigslist for anything interesting that might fit in the back of my truck.  "Don't want to waste the trip!"  I tell my wife as she rolls her eyes at me.

As I noted, I have a fairly complete little machine shop in my shop, an old Gorton Milling Machine, an old Pratt and Whitney Shaper, a couple of Atlas Lathes, a Harig Surface Grinder and other miscellaneous ancillary equipment.  I already have a small metal cutting bandsaw as well as a portaband and a torch, so I really don't need anything else, but there nestled amongst the hammers and wrenches was an ad for an old powered hacksaw.  Located about 30 minutes from my meeting location, this appeared to have some promise, to take up some time if nothing else.

After contacting the guy and making arrangements to go look, I make the drive and there is a nice Peerless Standard Hacksaw in not too bad shape, grease, grime, rust and general dirt aside.  He cuts a couple pieces of steel pipe with it to prove it still works after which we strike up a bargain and he loads the heavy piece of cast iron on the back of my truck.

In retrospect, I should have tarped it before making the final drive home because I had people wanting to know what it was at every stop I made.  Once home, I got it unloaded (it weights 1040 lbs, not counting grease) and started with a bit of cleanup.  There is probably about 50lbs of metal shavings in the coolant tank, which as I clean out I discover also contains 11 brand new hacksaw blades (worth about $100 or half what I paid for the whole unit).  Peerless is still in business although they primarily make bandsaws now and a bit of research determines, based on the serial number stamped in the bed of the saw, this machine was made in 1925.  It originally ran on a flat belt, possibly on a line shaft setup, but it could have had an electric motor on it at that point.  It has a newer Marathon 1 1/2 HP motor on it which would cost probably $150 to replace (I am now ahead $50).  The start/stop, limit switch and motor starter are all late 1940's add ons.

Now, some time with the pressure washer and a little elbow grease and paint, and I will have something else just worth watching run.  I hope I have enough scrap iron left to make some cuts.  I might even let my wife give it a try if she stops rolling her eyes at me long enough.

Purge Part Deux

Hold on.  Don't let go. Don't throw that away....

Love song?

Perhaps not in the traditional sense.

I grew up in a home and work environment where you made do (not deux) with what you had.  My Dad used to say, "there is no such thing as can't."  Honestly?  He was (and is) 100% correct.

I remember my grandfather pulling nails out of a board and carefully straightening them and storing them in a coffee can to be used later.  I remember going to the local "dump" and taking all the hose clamps off the junk cars there.  We used to sit around the wood stove in the shop I still own in the winter (between cutting loads of wood) and cut old bicycle and car inner tubes into  rubber bands.

The community center in the town I live in used to have a bi monthly rummage sale to raise funds for community projects.  Unwanted items and clothing were brought to the center and sold.  My dad had an arrangement with the director of the community action program where any clothes that went unsold for more than two months were brought down to the shop.  As a kid, we would sort these into the type of cloth they were made of and cut into either oil rags or window washing rags.  Once soaked with oil, they were thrown in the wood stove for added heat.  I grew up in this shop always with bags of old clothes in a corner waiting to be sorted.  When I bought it from my dad, I waited a couple years before hauling about 50 garbage bags of clothes to the dump.  He has never asked me about them, although I know he noticed their absence.

Any piece of steel or iron that was even half way straight and of a good enough size was thrown under the work bench or on the scrap pile to be used for who knows what at a later date (and you would be shocked at what was used).  When my dad taught me to stick weld at about 8 years old, I had plenty to practice on.  I remember him being furious with me when he went to grab a piece of iron from the pile and he found that it had been welded to the piece underneath it, which was welded to the piece next to it and so on....damn waste of steel and welding rod he muttered as he took the torch and extracted what he needed.

I tell you, bored reader, as a self justification for some of the shit I have and some of the attitudes I have.  I tell you because it makes me feel better in spite of the heresy I have committed.

My shop has become cluttered.  This is not my way, in spite of what you have read above, but things have gotten away from me.  I have not been able to use my milling machine for a while...or my lathe...Stuff has started to take over.  This became painfully apparent recently. My wife's vehicle needed a fuel pump replaced, which involves dropping the gas tank (Detroit Engineers should all follow the lawyers to the firing line.).

Not wanting to do this lying on my back on a cement floor, I needed to get the vehicle on my hoist.  My hoist is a two post Weaver in floor that was installed in 1938.  I had not used it in over a year...mostly because stuff (useful, necessary, don't tell me I need to throw it away stuff) was piled in front of it. But also because a nagging hydraulic leak on the rear post had me nervous.

I found a company that is actually still making seal kits for Weaver Hoists and ordered one and rebuilt and bled the back post.  Works great now...if I can get to it. My wife is tapping her foot and rolling her eyes because her fuel pump is still not changed no matter how proud I am of fixing the hoist.

It is time for me to eat my pain and begin the purge.  I wrote about cleaning my garage a couple years ago in a group blog I am in and probably should point you in that direction, but, like my own little treasure hunt, I will let you find it for yourself.

For the record, I am not a hoarder. I am not a hoarder.  I am not a hoarder....no..most definitely not.  However, my youth has shaped my adulthood and there are things I have saved, that I honestly cannot tell you why or what possible use they could have in the future.  Actually....four pickup loads of stuff went to the dump or scrap pile.

I am happy to say that my wife's vehicle has been repaired.  I can access my milling machine and my lathe.  It is honestly pretty nice.  A relief actually.  At least it is until I realize that I pitched something I needed...

You will have to excuse me now, because I need to go make some rubber bands.