One Thing's For Certain... It Ain't The Chariot Of The Gods.

So the boys over on the woodworking forum that we run, The Wood Works, were all privy to the birthing of THE FIREWOOD CHARIOT. (You can read all 'bout it by clicking here.)

Good Lord that piece of machinery is a thing of beauty! Ain't it?

I basked in it's glow for a few days... then I took it on it's maiden voyage yesterday. I can best describe it in three brief words how that journey went.

"Oh Holy Crap"

The only purpose this trailer has in it's life now is as a firewood hauler, it did just that... for one trip. She's gonna need a little patching up after that load. I loaded it up, probably a little heavy. In that load is 3 green hickory trees from 12" in diameter to the smallest about 10". Most of a dry White Oak tree top, leftover from a logging operation, and about half of a dead, but still wet Red Oak tree that was probably a good 24" log. Add that all up and that's a humongous load for the ol' firewood chariot.

"Test 'em the first time", I say.

I got it loaded up, left a little room up at the front end, 'cause I was getting a little concerned with the way things were looking. Took it across about a 1/2 mile of pasture and got to the blacktop with it. I stopped and called Sal at home and told her that I was bringin' her on in and it looked to be an exciting trip.

As soon as I got out on the road I WAS gonna kick the truck outta low range, I immediately could see the benefits of having the additional braking power of the engine by leaving it in low range... so I hauled it the 10 miles home just like that. It was about a 20 mph trip at the fastest, 'cause quite frankly, it was scaring me 'bout half to death.

I pulled offa the blacktop onto the first gravel road. Now there wasn't a whole lotta weight on the front end of the truck... IE the front wheels. They were just kinda tippy toeing on the road, making steering the thing a little interesting and getting it stopped even more intertaining. No brakes on the trailer you know. I had one big steep hill on the first gravel road to fling the whole mess up, and I hit it at a pretty good lick. About 1/4th of the way up it, the rural mail carrier crested the hill.

"This isn't good." These gravel roads around here are mostly one lane at best, and this road had just had the motor grader over it so it was all scattered and loose. I stuck my arm out the drivers window trying to get the mail carrier to stop... but noooooo, on she came and I had to swing over into "loose territory" AND slow down.

By the time I crested the top of the hill, I was slinging gravel rooster tails with the front wheels, the 4 barrel carb was howling, I was moving forward at about 2 mph with all this action, AND I had the seat cover pinched between my butt cheeks so tight... if you'd have knocked me outta the cab I'd have took the seat cover with me. I actually stopped at the top of the hill, unbelieving that I'd actually made it... and then on I went.

I got to where the gravel turned back into blacktop and checked the whole mess in my mirror and noticed a real curious thing, I couldn't see the fenders of the trailer anymore. They were obscured by the front end of the firewood chariot for some reason... so I stopped again, bailed out, took a look... "Oh Holy Crap!" The tongue of the trailer was sorta springing up, the front of the trailer was spreading out, and it just didn't look good. Not at all.

I had some pretty serious doubts that I was gonna make it home with it, and decided to take a little detour that kept me offa the main road... you know, just in case all hell broke loose and I scattered firewood all over that same hell.

Welp, I made it home, but as they say, the proof is in the puddin' and here's a couple of shots of the poor poor poor firewood chariot.

(click the pics to make 'em big)

Notice that distinct sag in the tongue of the trailer? lol






Here, take a look up the back end of it. Kinda swelled up at the front end eh?






My friend Gary came by this morning and laughed at it, we did some backyard Guzintas and guessed that I probably had close to 4 ton in that poor old POS trailer.
Oh well, when it's empty I'll straighten her back out with a jack and reinforce it a little underneath. I've already got the plan. :-)


I started cleaning on my shop today, looks to be 'bout a 3 day job... but that's a whole nuther story. The trencher guy didn't show today, but he DID give me a call and said he'd be here at 8:30 tomorrow morning. Awesome!





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A Trench A Trench... My Kingdom For A Trench

So, I'm in need of a trencher to come to our place and trench me a trench. Dunno what a trencher is? Here. A trencher.





It's got wheels, an engine, a rotating chain... it digs a trench. You're probably thinking to yourself "Oh! I've seen those all over the place digging trenches like crazy." Yeah, but just try and get one to come to your place to dig a trench of your very own. It's like asking someone on the street to lance a boil on your butt for you. Not many takers. After a couple weeks, I remain trenchless.

I need a trench at this time, to put a 4" tile in about 65 feet long, it'll hook our new outside wood stove to our home. So see... I don't want a trench for frivolous purposes, I want a trench to put a thing in... a trench that I can be proud of... a trench to share with my friends and family. A trench that I can hand down to my children when I pass on.

Truly, I have lost count of how many guys I've called advertising themselves as "Trencher Operators". From my research, roughly half are liars, half are lazy, and the last half are too busy taking up the slack for the first 2 halves. There are a LOT of these guys around, I "think" my count is 7 different trenching operations that I've contacted. That's just a stab in the dark, 'cause I really did lose count. I've called guys that said to call this other guy that said to call yet another guy. One call made the complete circle and led back to a guy that I'd already called and left a message but obviously is filthy rich from all the trenching he's done, 'cause he won't return a call to his answering machine and 2 to a woman answering the phone at his place.

I went to bed last night and told Sal... enough is enough. I'm renting the POS that the local rental place has, which they just raised the price on and charge twice the price what a guy would charge to come and do it for you. I looked at their rental a while back and it was a horror show of a piece of machinery, literally covered with welded places and wired on parts. I was dreading running the thing, knowing it was gonna break down, but I was at the end of getting it professionally done.

I had some plumbing to do this morning, which is a whole nuther story, but I got it done, came upstairs, called the rental place, found out that they'd jacked the price astronomically, hung up. Spun in circles, cursed the rental place, cursed the trenchless earth I walked upon, cursed all the trencher operators in my phone book. I cursed the cup of coffee in my hand, I cursed my Jr. High coach for making me run until I puked because he caught me smoking outside the gym door. I cursed midget wrestling because it's so degrading, but funny. I cursed dog crap because of what it is. I cursed my dog because she does it right on the path between my shop and the house and I usually step in it. I cursed liver and onions cause face it... who the hell likes that stuff anyhow. I cursed the bicycle I had when I was 7 because it was a horrible bike that almost neutered me more than once when I'd slip off the pedals.

Dangit... I cursed the 3 stooges for replacing Curly with Shemp and then replacing Shemp with Joe Besser! I cursed everything I could until I was curseless.

I stumbled back to sit on the stairs in the kitchen, Sally put a wet washcloth on my forehead to calm me down. We laughed, we cried, we hugged and she said, "Try just one more guy honey" And I did.

He called me back, he couldn't do it, he was too busy digging trenches in other parts of the world to be bothered with my pittance of a trench, but he gave me the name of yet another trencher operator that I didn't know about. I called him and left a message.

He just called back and said he'd be here Friday afternoon or Saturday morning, it'll be $100 "Thanks for calling me, Jace".

I'm gonna see if Sally will bake him a cake or something when he gets here... maybe I'll wash his truck and trencher for him. My dream has come true, I get my very own trench!


*sigh*

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Arrrhhhhhggggggggg! MY EYES!!!

We've all had something happen in our presence, and have seen "something" that we wish we just hadn't seen. Have mercy... 'cause this could be an endless list, and because of the sensitive nature of things, I'm not gonna go into great detail on a large number of these occurrences. But increasingly, these things seem to keep happening when M. and I are somewhere together.

A short time back the band is playing at a deal and M. and I are hanging out backstage while the other band is playing onstage. It was kind of an odd setup backstage with a couple of dressing rooms and standing space behind the stage... but no bathrooms. To go to the bathroom you either had to walk through the audience from a front stage door, or... go out a backstage door, walk all the way around the building, come in the front door and ta da. M. decides to walk out the backstage door to warm up her voice a little and is greeted by a certain someone (whom will remain nameless to protect the urinator)in this weedy, vacant, back lot... pointed in the direction of the back door... taking a leak, as it were.

I look up to a wild eyed and animated M. coming to a sliding stop in front of me, miming what she has just seen... and a VERY good job of charades too! I had a full understanding of what had just happened in mere seconds and we're both reduced to tears in short order.

Then the nameless urinator strolls in with a "cat that ate the canary" look on his face and the laughter starts all over again.







Side note to the public pee'r if he happens to read this: We love you man! You're a memory maker.


So then, just a few days ago, M. and I are standing in line at a thing and she elbows me and says "Jace..." and nods in the direction of largish young woman, hunkered down on the floor looking at something on a low shelf.

Before I go further, I want to say this. All fashions are not for all people. A tight fitting, midriff showing shirt... should not be worn by women over 50, dare I say 60 years of age, nor should they be worn by the fairer sex when there's enough buckle muffin hanging out the front to make it look like she's shoplifting a cantelope out of the produce section of the store.

I'm a pretty good sized guy, and I KNOW my fashion limitations. It's easy enough for me to figure it out. I own a mirror. I've looked in it. I understand what I shouldn't wear out in public. My wife Sal always looks just awesome when she's out, SHE knows what should and shouldn't be hung on her frame.

I'm guessing that about 10 to 15 percent of the population cannot grasp this concept, just going on what I see when I'm out in a crowd.

So back to M. elbowing me and that scene.

When I look, there is a pair of hip hugger, low rise jeans, at half mast... obviously in mourning over the loss of hipbones, with 'bout 2 acres of plumber butt showing... and a pink thong stretched alllllll the way across the whole mess, and the vertical portion extending into the nether regions of her nether regions. I can imagine that if that young woman had broke wind at that moment it would have struck a note 2 octaves above middle C on that vertical section.

My comment. "Looks like a pink bandaid stretched across the Grand Canyon".


Again...







It's getting to the point now that I can't wait to see what's next!





On another topic, take a peek at my daughter's blog. What an amazing blog post completely from her heart. I'm real proud of her. Incredible insight and transcribed from her mind to print in detailed perfection.




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Found Things In Old Furniture *again* and I Won An Award!

I had a post a while back about things I find in old furniture that people bring me for restoration. Found a couple things this past week... lol

The first. Grandma musta decided she didn't need the bra straps after all, even after blowing all that money on 'em. The look of the gal on the one package is priceless... "Look what I've got!"







Dang, those things are pointy!


In another piece I found a local newspaper dated in June 1945 with some cool stuff in it. The entire front page, every article, is about the war. And if you'll notice, we didn't mince words either back in those days. The enemy was the enemy and we called 'em whatever we damned well pleased.


As always, click the pics for a larger view.






Another article was written by a pilot the "flew the hump". I used to have a customer in my gunshop that flew the hump for many many flights. I later served on a local board with him until he passed away. He had some totally incredible stories about his piloting years.







And now... AWARDS!

Jennifer and Sandi handed off the MeMe award to me. A little known fact about these girls, both posed for Playboy... you know "back in the day". I've seen the evidence and all I gotta say is "WOW!"

Shocking eh?

So anyhow on to the prize requirements. I'm supposed to sing and dance my way through a blog post telling you certain things about me... shoe size and such. Okay, everything BUT shoe size. Here's my list, just so they don't call me something horrible like "award welcher" or "mr. poopyhead" or worse.

1. Clothes. Jeans and T's. That's 'bout it.

2. Furniture. Antique and artsy fartsy stuff too.

3. Sweets. Cheesecake and Cheesecake. Sometimes I like Cheesecake ON my cheesecake as well.

4.City. I dunno what this means so... I've lived in Missouri my whole life. Never left the country, traveled thru the south quite a bit. Yeah, that's 'bout it.

5. Drink. Lots of water. Miller Lite, good whiskey or cheap whiskey or even better, free whiskey.

6. Music. I'm pretty varied with my music. I'm a firm believer if you get stuck listening to one single genre of music pretty soon you're gonna hear everything there is to hear and why would you wanna do that. Rock, Country, love the Blues. I flip on classical once in awhile.

7. TV series. Oops. I don't watch tv series. I watch discovery and History channel quite a bit. WAIT! I love Bonanza and Gunsmoke. That's my answer! Ha!

8. Films. We watch a LOT of movies. I like blood gore and guts and veins in my teeth sort of stuff. Good comedies too!

9. Workout. I strained in the bathroom this morning.

10. Coffee. Oh hell yeah. My tastes aren't all foo foo and snooty. Folgers Black Silk. If that stuff don't get your motor running you're in deep trouble cousin. Starbucks? I laugh. There ain't one within 50 miles of me and I wouldn't know how to order a half caf decaf skim chowder flingle with cream spongles if there were one here. McDonalds has good coffee if the kid at the drive thru doesn't spit in your cup.


And now I'm 'posed to pass it on to 5 others. I gotta think 'bout this one though... I don't read gobs of blogs, just a handful. Gimmee a day or two.





"Skim chowder flingle". lol I kill myself...




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It's True... I Stripped Today. *PICTURES!!!! CAUTION!!!!*

Boy howdy! Did I ever strip furniture today!

Wait, what'd you think was coming?

:-)

Had a marathon furniture stripping day today, and seeing as how I don't do many furniture posts... here's one! Had a pile of customers stuff stacked and today seemed like a good day to get it whooped out and done with. I like to do a pretty good batch at one time, makes it less painful for me if I've got something to look forward to. Here's a couple of pics of what got stripped today.







Now right there is a couple a piles of naked furniture, from mundane to kinda cool stuff. I do the stripping on a flow over system, which kinda helps speed things up some, but it's still a pain in the hind end. I liken it to it being a little like cleaning septic tanks. There just ain't a whole lotta technical stuff to pumpin' poop out of a septic tank... but most folks don't consider it a nice weekend pastime. Same with stripping furniture.

Oh sure, lots of folks refinish a couple of pieces out in the garage, and that usually takes care of their desire to mess with toxic chemicals that burn when you splash 'em on your skin, ruin clothes, stink to high heaven, and leaves a heckuva mess to clean up when you're all done.

Then, there's gluttons for punishment... like me... that choose to make a living at it. Go figure.

Ah well, someone's gotta do it. So, just to make it worth your while, I figured I'd better throw in a picture of myself all stripped out at the end of the day, you know, just because.

This is kinda exciting aint' it?































It's not as glamorous as it appears in this picture.

Really.





If you know of a good sale on sweatshirts, I probably oughta pick up a couple new ones.

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Oh Pedal Tractor...

Couple of weekends ago when we were at the hillbilly flea market I spotted a pedal tractor that was pretty close to the one I had when I was little. I got to thinking about it again and started Googling "Murray Pedal Tractor" and I'll be danged if I didn't find the EXACT one that I had. I stole a picture (shhh)





Now is that freakin' cool or what? Seriously... THAT is the epitome of a hot rod pedal tractor. I remember those painted on spark plugs and the cool exhaust pipes painted on the chain guard... everything. Same colors and all. Most of my cool toys like that came from the Western Auto store in town. Walt Hobson, the owner, and my Dad were fishing buddies and Walt had one of the coolest "boy" sections in town... the upstairs part was always packed at Christmas time with electric trains and cymbal smashin' wind up monkeys. All sorts of playing in the dirt toys like dump trucks and tractors were in abundance.

Anyway when I saw the old Murray pedal tractor it reminded me of a couple of pretty memorable rides.

At my Grandpa and Grandma's house there was a long cement ramp that led from the garage down to the basement of the house... with a door at the bottom of that ramp. I was probably 'bout 6 or so and I eyeballed that situation up one day and decided that I could ride my tractor down that ramp, stop at the bottom, get off, open the door and ride into the basement.

That's pretty much how it went except the stopping at the bottom and getting off part.

By the time I got to the bottom of the ramp I'd already careened offa the wall a couple of times like a Nascar racer, trying to slow the thing down, but rubbing the wall did nothing to reduce the speed. By the time I hit the door at the bottom I passed Albert Einstein standing there writing a thesis on man's ability to break the speed of light. Old Al was just standing there with his jaw hanging down. I didn't have time to wave or chat with him though... because a very serious event was about to happen.

And it did.

When I got stopped I was in the basement wedged in between the water heater and water softner surrounded by splinters and door latch parts. I immediately tried to piece the door back together so no one would notice it was in 100 pieces... but that's pretty tough for a 6 year old. I had to confess my recklessness to my Grandma. I don't remember being in any big trouble, or even bleeding a whole lot, but it was exciting enough that I remember everything else 'bout it.

I was always pretty disappointed with my tractors performance in the mud, mostly it would just sink and not having near enough traction on the tires, I would just pedal my heart out and spin and then push it outta whatever swamp I was attempting to cross.

A few years went by and my Dad pretty much let me do whatever I wanted in the shop. I was using a welder and acetylene torch quite awhile before I was a teenager. He'd given be direction, being an excellent welder himself and basically said "Don't burn the shop down or blow yourself up." and turned me loose. I welded everything that was weldable and cut up everything that was in too large of pieces to suit my whim of the moment.

Being a farm there was always a nice pile of scrap iron to weld into something of beauty... and one day, the old Murray pedal tractor became the object of my pre-pubescent mayhem.

It had long became an ornament of the barnyard as I had outgrown it by several years so it seemed fair game. Seeing the prices of some of these things nowdays, I know the error of my ways now.

There was about 8 feet of an old steel ladder, like a real light fire escape type of thing, and a fair collection of tortured bicycles and lawn mowers and such. I took the front wheel off of the tractor, welded the ladder onto the front end of the pedal tractor, did away with the original back tires and rigged up a couple of bike tires in their place and welded the front end of an old riding mower to the other end of the ladder. Steering you know...

As I remember it now I think I spent probably 3 days building this monstrosity. It took "minutes" to make me want to forget about it.

With the bike wheels just spinning on the axles, it was a "coaster" so I pushed it out to the road, at the top of a very big and long hill... climbed on, kicked off and went on a ride that would have made a space shuttle launch look like a ride on your grandma's Rascal Scooter in comparison.

This whole thing probably weighed 150 pounds and about halfway down the hill I realized that I was committed to doom. I have no idea how fast it was going, but it was rolling pretty good, because the physics of what happened when it left the road... only speed can do what it did.

I left the road in a sudden dart to the right, the front end of the lawnmower stuck in the grader ditch bank and.... c a t a p u l t e d me like a pole vaulter. It was all slow motion. Every single time something like this has happened to me I've had the slow mo thing.

I gained altitude and was headed to land directly on a barbed wire fence. I missed it, but as it turned out it might have been a better alternative to the landing that I got. I hit the ground so hard I think I had an "accident" and then 150 pounds of Murray pedal tractor/fire escape ladder/riding lawnmower crashed down on me.

When I got crawled out from under the wreckage I got to the road, walked to the house, got some bandaids and Mercurochrome, patched myself up and sulked.

I remember that thing laying there in the grader ditch for weeks. Everytime I saw it I shuddered.


Anyhow, I wish I had it back now, just to look at... nothing else. I promise I wouldn't try to ride it.




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A Man Needs An Old Truck

My Grandpa passed away when I was a younger father, I'll never forget that moment. I held his hand in a hospital room when he took his last breath and so many things went through my mind... most everything except him dying.

We shared a lot, more than just blood, we liked the same odd foods, we liked music although he couldn't play a thing, he sang. A good portion of my sense of humor came from Grandpa... the old guy had a pretty bent sense of what was funny. Typing this right now I'm sitting here smiling thinking of things that we did together. I spent a LOT of time with him when I was little, and later on in life when I started on my own, he gave me my start in the cattle business.

One other thing we shared was, the love of an old truck. I've had a LOT of old trucks, so did Grandpa, but the one he had when he passed on was probably his favorite. It's mine as well. When I say it's mine, I mean that literally too. See... one of the few things that Grandpa specified in his will that was to be mine and no one else, was his truck.

He willed me his old '72 Chevy 4x4.

That's pretty heady stuff when you get down to knowing just what that means. One of his most prized possessions, to a man that owned 100's of acres of land, a nice home and all that other jazz... I got HIS truck.

I used that old girl just like he did. I threw fencing material in the bed and built fence, drove through brush and woods, down mud roads, drove where there was no road, got it stuck, got it bent some more, blew up the motor once and had it rebuilt... I used it.

Then about 10 years ago an exhaust manifold broke and for whatever reason... I just parked it. It sat there with weeds and trees growing up around it in a back field... waiting. Waiting for me.

Good trucks will do that.

I've got her back and I'm dumbfounded how much I've missed her since I left it sitting. We're putting in an outdoor woodburning boiler system at our home and I needed a wood hauler, not wanting to use my good truck for that, the blue Chevy was perfect. Jake, my son, drug it out and applied his mechanic skills to her and breathed life back into MY truck.


(CLICK THE PICS FOR A LARGER VIEW)






That's Jakey up there on the hood. His shirt says "Make Wheelies". He lives that philosophy.

Ain't it something? Now keep in mind, I'm being real serious here... I love that truck. Some things have happened to it while it say in that field. Rust happened. Some rot happened... and other things. I took Sally for a spin (she loved it!) and of course she got pictures.



See that dash? Grandpa's old Border Collie "Laddie" got shut in the truck by accident one day and he took his imprisoned anger out on the dash of the truck. :-) Check out that bitchin' stereo! It don't work. See those heater controls? They're mostly there for looks.










Sal opened up the glove box and discovered a time capsule of fencing supplies and farm truck goodies... a few mouse turds tossed in for good measure.











Hey! Lookie at this! Glove box drink tray! Remember those? Cool huh?










Inside the cab behind the seat on the floor in the cab corners... I've since filled that airy atmosphere that rust ate away with some spray foam. lol










Above my head in the "rock on" shot, there's a way weird rust out spot. Went all the way through. I filled that with spray foam too. That's how Grandpa would have fixed it if he'd known about spray foam. lol Guaranteed.











The old behind the seat gas tank went south while it sat and waited for me to come back. Jake procured me a 32 gallon Baja fuel cell. Check that bad boy out, sitting there in the center of the bed like it owns it.









Awesome eh?


And finally every old truck needs a kick ass bumper sticker or window decal of some sort. It's pretty faded and ratty looking but it's still waaay cool. "University Of Smith & Wesson" You betcha!










So there it is. I'm just hazarding a guess that if Grandpa is taking a look down here that he's grinning ear to ear. I'd love to take him for a ride in it again, sling some mud, jump a ditch, rope a cow and tie her up to it and not giving a damn if she swings around and bends the side a little bit more.

He'd love it.






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