Monthly Calendar Report for June, 2010

Righteous!

—For once my own calendar is eclipsed.
That's because the June entry of my own calendar is the weakest.
Yet the June, 2010 entry of my Oxman Hot-Rod Calendar is incredibly strong, the best entry in the entire calendar.
It's the hot-rod I'd wish for myself, a chopped 1931 Model A coupe lowered so much ya wonder how ya sit in it.
The motor is '50 Cadillac, and looks gorgeous sitting out in the open.
Everything is done right, particularly the sectioned '32 Ford radiator shell.
Every hot-rod should have the '32 Ford radiator shell, and the Model A looked righteous too.
That was the influence of Edsel Ford, Old Henry's son.
Model A proportions are taken from the fabulous Lincolns, as were their lines.
Compare the competitors. Fords always looked best.
It was fortunate they were cheap and available, and could thereby be the basis of post WWII hot-rods.
Many rodders even used the Ford Flat-Head V8, souped up of course.
A racing camshaft could make it breathe better, as did multiple carburetors.
But often the Flat-Head was replaced by a more modern V8, e.g. the new overhead-valve Cadillac and Oldsmobile V8s introduced in the 1949 model-year.
Later was the Small-Block introduced in the 1955 model-year by Chevrolet — the V8 that retired the Flat-Head, primarily because it too was cheap and available, and responded so well to hot-rodding.
This car reminds me of two cars:
-1) Is the fabulous Model A roadster my friend Art Dana (“DAY-nuh”) was building.
Dana is the retired transit bus-driver with fairly severe Parkinson's disease.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service, the public transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that.
Art's wife is gone, so he lives with his sister in nearby Pittsford, NY. Pittsford is a suburb southeast of Rochester.
He's 69.
We share similar interests, trains and hot-rods.
Dana had done everything right, despite the car being on a much-modified '46 Ford chassis.
The frame had to be reconfigured (narrowed) to fit a Model A body.
That was the owner before Dana.
The car had a '56 Pontiac V8; a hairball.
Hard to get parts for.
Art is a mechanic. He had built hot-rods before.
He managed to get that Pontiac V8 to work, despite antifreeze leaks, etc.
But not with the triple two-barrel carburetors he desired.
With that it backfired up through the carburetors.
He had to go down to a single four-barrel.
He started it for me once in his garage, and it was clearly a hot-rod.
Rumpeta, rumpeta, rumpeta, rumpeta!
The car had a long sky-high floor-shift lever, probably the Ford three-speed tranny.
The shift-lever extended above the windshield.
But no top; it was an open roadster.
It also had the '32 Ford radiator shell.
And everything was painted flat-gray.
But it wasn't primer; it just looked it.
Many hot-rods from the '50s were only flat-gray primer.
And the tires were Coker (“COKE-rrrr”) bias-plies.
Coker is a classic-car reproduction of tires used in earlier times.
Modern tires on a '50s hot-rod look ridiculous.
Art had done everything right.
But sadly he had to give up on his hot-rod.
It was due for inspection, and the wiring was wonky.
I always felt bad I probably coulda wired it for him, but didn't think of that until after it was gone.
All it was was ancillaries; taillights, horn, etc. It ran.
Part of the problem was the motor being 12 volts, yet the ancillaries were 6-volt.
I rewired an old Chevy pickup truck once. Converted everything to 12-volt, since the battery and generator were 12-volt.
-2) The second car is a two-door sedan hot-rod that passes our house.
Total height is maybe 40-to-50 inches; which is extremely low, so low the driver probably sits in the rear seat.
You can hear it coming — open unmuffled exhausts, just two open megaphones on each side, with four exhaust-headers plumbed into each.
Not too bad though — better than the unmuffled Harley-Davidson motorcycles that bark at you, loudly serenading all-and-sundry.
Passing our house in the sedan is cruising; part-throttle.
It's not accelerating wide-open-throttle.
I've yet to see it long enough to figure out what it is, but it appears to be a Ford, and clearly a hot-rod.
Perhaps a Model A, but chopped and lowered so much, it's hardly stock.
I also have never deduced its motor; perhaps a Chevy Small-Block.
But it sounds, and looks, fabulous.
A few years ago Dana and I attended a classic car-show, and to me the best car there was a humble '60 Chevy Biscayne two-door sedan, with a souped up 283 Small-Block.
They guy had it unmuffled — lakes-pipes open.
I was smitten — hadn't heard anything like that since the middle '60s at a drag-strip.
89 bazilyun hot-rods arrived; many similar to the car pictured.
And most were flat-gray primer.
Both Art and I were in Heaven.

Photo by BobbaLew.

Art traded his hot-rod for the “Cherry-Bomb” pictured at left; a 1949 Ford two-door sedan.
I guess he's gonna have to give up on it too.
It's steering was sloppy, so it was converted to a Volvo steering-box, but even then it ain't power steering.
Art has been weakened by the Parkinson's, and no longer drives.
I've tested it in his garage, and it ain't too bad. Just bad enough for Art.
It has a classic Flat-Head Ford V8 motor; apparently it was never wrenched out.
And it has the classic aluminum Offenhauser cylinder-head castings.
A Flat-Head with Offy heads is extremely rare.


“Have a safe trip.” (Photo by BobbaLew.)

—The June 2010 entry of my own calendar is eastbound train 14G about to restart after a crew-change at Rose, north of Altoona (“al-TUNE-uh”), PA.
14G is a regularly scheduled daily train of mixed freight and bulk commodities from Pittsburg to Morrisville, PA.
Morrisville is a yard across from Trenton, NJ where the old Pennsy Philadelphia bypass began.
Who knows if the old bypass is still in use — it used to be electrified. Norfolk Southern (and previously Conrail) now uses other lines from Harrisburg to the New York area.
The old Pennsy line is now Amtrak's Northeast Corridor.

Photo by BobbaLew.

We saw 14G at least four times as it proceded east, once this crew-change, and before that at Cresson (“KRESS-in”), PA, where it stopped to add helpers (pictured above) for the final ascent to Allegheny summit.
The helpers also add dynamic braking as the train descends.
Their traction-motors are turned into generators, which generate current that heats giant toaster-grids atop the locomotive.
Doing so generates braking action.
The train may also have helpers on the rear; I can't recall.
The helper-sets are now two SD40Es, downrated and modified EMD SD50s.
(The SDs are six axle.)
For a long time they were SD40-2s, but they are finally being retired.
The helper-sets add climbing and braking power, and are added to heavy trains.
The climb over Allegheny summit for a long time required helpers, but now if a train is light enough it can master the summit without help.
Road power is getting strong and flexible enough to master the summit unassisted.
It's only 1.8 percent; 1.8 feet up for every 100 feet forward.
The helper-sets are based in Cresson, just west of the summit.
A two-unit helper-set was added at Cresson for the final climb to the summit, then stayed attached to add braking as the heavy train descended the mountain.
Into Altoona, where the helpers were taken off, and the train's crew was changed at Rose. (They probably came all the way from Pittsburg — giant Conway Yard, west of Pittsburg.)
The photograph was taken at the crew-change location; you can see the small platforms.
Crew changed, the train is about to resume.


4-4-2. (Photo by David Newhardt.)

—The June 2010 entry of my Motorbooks Musclecars calendar is one of the best musclecars, in fact the BEST.
It's a 1971 Oldsmobile 4-4-2, and also a great picture.
The Pontiac G-T-O, first of the musclecars, was brutal, as was the 4-4-2, but brutal with class.
The 4-4-2 was introduced about the same time as the G-T-O (1964 model-year), but had better handling (or so it claimed).
“4-4-2” stood for four-speed four-barrel with dual exhausts.
Later 4-4-2s came with the W30 option — no indication this car is a W30.
W30 was Oldsmobile's attempt to keep up with the 454 SS Chevelle, “Judge” G-T-O Pontiacs, and GTX Buicks, all at 455 cubic inches.
W30s also had 455 cubic inches, rated as high as 470 horsepower in the 1970 model-year.
(Ratings were much more conservative in the 1971 model-year, but just the ratings, not the engine-tune; 260 horsepower net.)
But you have to remember such cars were the GM intermediate, heavy and big with unsophisticated suspension — just humongous hot-rodded engines.
Still, both Oldsmobile and Buick tried to make their musclecars handle, less likely to spin off the pavement.
You're tying a gigantic heavy motor casting to a rudimentary rear axle.
The front plowed, and the rear broke loose if floored.


Thanks be to Mr. Emmons. (Photo by O. Winston Link.)

The photos of my three train calendars are all equally moribund.
—The June 2010 entry of my O. Winston Link "Steam and Steel" calendar is Norfolk & Western #104, a 4-8-2 Mountain, being watered in Bristol, VA.
Link persuaded nighttime roundhouse foreman W.D. (“Bill”) Emmons to reposition locomotives so Link could take pictures.
104 is in a slew of other photographs. Here it has been backed to a water-tower so it can take on water in its tender.
That water is boiled into steam, which gets thrown out the stack after working the drive-pistons.
It isn't condensed back into water.
Some foreign users of steam locomotives did that, but not here in America. —Water was generally available.
104 is being driven by a “hostler” (adapted from English horse-keepers).
It isn't the road-crew. Hostlers are moving the locomotives around for servicing.
Bristol was apparently a terminal, where locomotives would pull in for servicing.
This included light repairs.
Steam locomotives required constant maintenance.
Ashes had to be dumped from the fire-grate, and the fire cleaned (unburnable clinkers removed).
Often the inside of the boiler had to be washed to keep it a good steamer, and leaks repaired — usually welded.
Plus there was greasing mechanicals, and fueling and watering.
All to get it back into road service.


Fairbanks-Morse. (Photo by Alan Waterbury.)

—The June 2010 entry of my All-Pennsy color calendar is a Fairbanks-Morse H-20-44 switcher, 2,000 horsepower.
Fairbanks-Morse tried to enter the railroad diesel-locomotive market following WWII, an application of its submarine diesel-engine, which was the right size, but not really a railroad diesel.
It is opposed piston, which means it has two crankshafts, one up top, and one at the bottom. (See diagram at left.)
As such, the engine was very tall, taking the unit roof highish.
A submarine diesel was poorly suited for railroad operation.
A railroad diesel was getting slammed around and vibrated every-which-way.
In a submarine the engine was in a stable environment. It wasn't getting slammed around like on a railroad.
Plus with the opposed-piston layout, you had two crankshafts that could break.

Train Master (Erie-Lackawanna).

Fairbanks-Morse was the first manufacturer to get 2,400 horsepower out of a railroad diesel-locomotive, its famous “Train Master” road-switcher series in 1953, six axles.
But eventually its effort at building railroad locomotives folded.
Most interesting to me is that tankcar two cars behind the engine.
The tank is on an actual frame.
Nowadays the tank is the frame, and of course the tanks are much larger.
“Monocoque” construction, I guess; revolutionary when first applied to racecars in the '60s.
The car's frame was actually its body, which also was a gas-tank.
A place was hollowed out inside wherein the driver sat, but it better not leak, or you were sitting in gasoline.
This happened to race-driver Jackie Stewart long ago.
Recent tankcar construction is the same way; the tank is the frame.
But that's not how it was at first; the tank was on a separate frame, as in this picture.
Sadly, the railroad is gone, replaced by a walking-trail.
That railroad it's crossing still exists, but it's METRA; the picture is near Chicago.

A Pennsy Q-2 (4-4-6-4). (Photo by Bob Lorenz©.)

—The June 2010 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black and white All-Pennsy Calendar is a depiction of Pennsy's attempt to develop a modern steam-locomotive .
Pennsy didn't develop modern steam power in the '30s; investment was going into electrification.
So come WWII they were stuck with old and tired steam locomotives.
In fact, during WWII they had to go outside; the J-1 2-10-4, a Lima SuperPower design for Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad, the only Pennsy engine without the trademark Belpaire firebox.
Pennsy had traditionally developed its own locomotives, but the War Production Board wouldn't allow them to develop.
The Q series was part of a frenzied attempt by Pennsy to catch up.
First was the Q-1 (at left), but 4-6-4-4, with the rear driver-set running via pistons behind — i.e. in reverse. Only one was built.
Later was the Q-2, 4-4-6-4, all pistons working the same way, but also like the Q-1 a duplex, not an articulated.
i.e. All drivers were on a common single frame; they couldn't accommodate extreme curvature.
Pennsy could do this — long driver wheelbases — because it was relatively straight and open.
The T-1 passenger locomotive was also a duplex, 4-4-4-4. —But really a 4-8-4 with four drive pistons.
Apparently the Q-2 was quite successful; but they didn't last long.
Diesels were coming.

#6110, the first T-1, at Baldwin Locomotive Works for delivery. (Later T-1s looked quite a bit like this, but different [not as much shrouding, etc].)

Of interest to me is that Chrysler product at the railroad-crossing, perhaps a Plymouth.
Chrysler introduced that body in the 1941 model-year, and used it clear through the 1948 model-year.
Automobile development was on hold during WWII; in fact, there was no auto production.
The car appears to be pre-war, probably 1941.
It's followed by a late '30s model, perhaps a 1936 Chevrolet.
This train is on the storied Fort Wayne division out of Chicago, eastbound from Fort Wayne to Crestline, OH.
In 1902 a speed-record was set on these same tracks, 127.1 mph by the “Pennsylvania Limited,” precursor to the “Broadway Limited.”


Ugly donkey! (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—The June 2010 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is an airplane I'm not familiar with, a Polikarpov I-16 “Ishak” (“little donkey”).
Probably because it was not American, e.g. the Lockheed P-38 Lightning, The Bell P-39 AiraCobra, the Curtiss P-40 WarHawk, and the North-American P-51 Mustang.
I had to access my Warbirds site.
The airplane is Russian, but has Chinese markings.
All I can think of when I see this is how radial aircraft engines weren't very aerodynamic.
A big bluff motor is presented face-on to the airstream.
Air flows through it to air-cool the cylinders.
It's not as streamlined as the Allison V12s and later Packard-Merlins.
But they are water-cooled. Radiators have to be incorporated, piping and water.
All things that add weight.
Air-cooled engines don't have that.
Sometimes the air-cooled engine might be a flat-four or six.
The front two cylinders were presented to the airstream, followed by the remaining rows of cylinders.
Apparently enough air was flowing around to cool all rows.
But I bet the rear rows ran hotter; much like the air-cooled V-twin Harley-Davidson motorcycle engine.
The rear cylinder runs hotter, because it's blocked by the front cylinder.
Arrange five or seven or nine cylinders radially around the crankshaft, and you get a massive assemblage presented to the airstream.
Nevertheless most WWII engine development went into extracting extraordinary horsepower out of radials.
It was largely the Navy.
They decided to maximize radial-engine development for carrier-based airplanes.
Radials went to multiple rows; two rows of nine cylinders each, 18 total.

CornCob

The “CornCob” engine was four seven-cylinder rows; 28 cylinders total. It was called the CornCob because it looked like one.
So much horsepower was extracted out of radial engines, even the Army Air Corps went with it for fighter-planes, the Republic P-47 Thunderbolt.
The I-16 was the first low-wing monoplane with fully retractible landing-gear, but was quickly outdated.
I-16s were used in the Spanish Civil War, and by the Russians against the Germans.
Also against the Japanese in Manchuria.
But much more advanced fighter-planes came into use by the Luftwaffe.
They ran circles around the I-16.
The I-16s were also hard to fly, and unstable.
Their only advantage is that they could take heavy damage and keep flying.
That was partly their construction; all wood except metal wings.
Such construction also made maintenance and repair easy.
One also wonders if this plane's motor is original.
Restorers have a habit of hanging a Wright Cyclone radial on the front.
More are around, so they are easier to maintain.


Tehachapis. (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—I fly the May 2010 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar again because it looks like it was shot over the Tehachapi (“tuh-HATCH-uh-PEE”) mountains in California.
It's just the Ryan “Recruit” trainer, almost forgettable.
The Tehachapis are at the southern end of the mighty San Joaquin valley down the spine of central California.
The Tehachapis are a barrier to getting up into the Mojave (”moe-HAH-vee,” as in “ah”) desert, and also Los Angeles to the south.
For years the railroad only ran south in the San Joaquin and stopped at the Tehachapis.
Scuttlebutt was that no railroad would ever conquer the Tehachapis, up to Tehachapi Pass to the Mojave.
But then about 1875 William Hood rammed the railroad up the Tehachapis, zagging every which way to keep the climb no more than 2.5 percent — that's 2.5 feet up for every 100 feet forward; quite steep, but not impossible.
To do it, he had to even incorporate a loop, the famed Tehachapi Loop. Wherein the tracks climb over themselves.
Tehachapi Loop is probably the most famous railfan pilgrimage stop on the planet, and I've seen it.
I'm a railfan, and have been since age-2 — I'm currently 66.

The train is probably crossing itself — the Loop was built by Southern Pacific, but Santa Fe has trackage-rights.

We recently waited hours on a dusty hillside by the historical marker, but never saw any trains.
We did see a train during a visit in the '80s.
The Loop is extraordinary, but more extraordinary is the trackage itself.
It twists and turns tightly all over the place to keep the climb manageable.
It also included a slew of tunnels.
Two were destroyed in an earthquake — the Tehachapis are right on the San Andreas Fault.
Down in the San Joaquin you're faced with a wall of mountains.
The climb seems inconceivable.
The Tehachapis are semi-desert; they seem to more gravel than rock.
The grass dries yellow as it did in this picture.
All that remains green are the scrubby trees, also visible.
Fire breaks are carved parallel to the road to keep brush-fires from leaping onto the roadway.
I pored all over this picture looking for the railroad, but I don't see it.
I see one track, but it appears to be a road.
California has since built an expressway down the Tehachapis, Highway 58.
The old road is twisting and torturous, good for maybe 25 mph max.
I've driven it. Seems that's the road most parallel to the railroad.
The Tehachapis are massive.
Not seeing the railroad in this picture was almost expected.
But it sure looks like the Tehachapis.

sho ‘nuf

Thank you Verizon, for helping two Senior Citizens!
(My wife and I are both 66.)
A few days ago — probably Saturday, May 22 — I was soaking my pants and my cellphone got dunked.
I carry it in a rear pants-pocket, so it can be easily answered. But not while driving. If it rings then, it stays in my pocket, and goes to voicemail.
While driving, cellphones are a distraction, even hands-free.
Especially trying to avoid other cellphone users.
Most phenomenal driving avoidances were cellphone users.
I once got nearly run off the road. This lady was also applying mascara and reading the Democrat & Chronicle.
All while driving and yammering on her cellphone.
Another time I nearly got backed over in the Honeoye Falls MarketPlace parking-lot by a lady on her cellphone.
And then she was incensed I had been in her way. —She glared at me! I had disturbed her cellphone conversation.
The Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym has a restriction against cellphone use therein.
But no one pays much attention to it.
There’s Blondie on a treadmill loudly telling her mother what a scumbag her husband is.
All-of-a-sudden “When the Saints Go Marching In” fires off on an adjacent cardiovascular trainer.
Our cellphones are Verizon.
An earlier phone got dunked about a year ago.
I went to the Verizon store in Cobblestone Court in Victor. They’re excellent.
They replaced my earlier phone immediately, no charge; although I was due an upgrade.
I suppose that’s what made it “no charge,” because this time there was a $50 deductible.
Our cellphones are insured, but it’s $50 deductible.
I was told to visit the Asurian® web-site. Asurion is Verizon’s insurance provider.
A replacement phone would be zoomed to me, but there would be a $50 deductible.
So did I wanna upgrade what I had, a Nokia 6205?
Not really.
I was quite pleased with it.
It’s not the most recent techno-wizardry.
It won’t start your dinner from across the universe, and it doesn’t have the fold-away miniature Qwerty keyboard.
We are not text-enabled.
We don’t need it, and were sick of paying for spam.
It’s just a phone, although it’s also a camera.
I also have two apps: -1) VZ Navigator®, and -2) MyCast® weather.
-VZ Navigator is a GPS navigation system, although I only got it because it would give me the exact geologic coordinates of where I was standing.
I could plug those coordinates into my MyCast computer weather radar, and get weather radar for an exact location.
For example, I stood right in front of my house with VZ Navigator and got the exact coordinates.
The weather radar covers a 170-mile spread, but is centered on our house.
-MyCast on my cellphone is not as precise as my computer.
It centers on Zip-codes; you can’t plug in geologic coordinates.
But it’s close enough.
I can access weather radar on my cellphone when I’m far from home.
I was in central PA once, and I could see a shower coming.
So we went back to the Cobblestone Verizon store yesterday (Saturday, May 29, 2010).
My replacement phone had come two days previous with instructions for self-activation.
We’d been given an 800-number to call, but that directed us to some other service we didn’t want.
“Robert?” the guy said.
We strode to the service-desk.
I showed him the replacement phone.
“First, we need to activate this,” I said.
“I tried, but got sent into the ozone.”
At least it was a person.
Machines don’t seem to be able to parry humans.
Cellphone activated, “is that it?”
“Well no,” I said. “My contact-list is stored in the great upstairs at your Backup Assistant. I need to get that contact-list on this phone.”
“Nothing to it,” he said. “Just install Backup Assistant on your phone, put in your PIN-number, and it downloads your list to your phone.”
“I don’t remember doing a PIN-number,” I exclaimed.
“Don’t know your PIN?” he said. “Backup Assistant will send it to you.”
“We’re not text-enabled,” my wife said.
“No problem,” he said. “Backup Assistant sends it directly; not text.”
“Thanks for all your help,” I thought. “.....Us old geezers are gonna do this ourselves; sho ‘nuf.”
“I had two other apps,” I added. “VZ Navigator and MyCast.”
“You can get those apps yourself — next customer.........”
We returned home, expecting another long journey back to the Cobblestone Verizon store.
I turned on my phone and downloaded VZ Navigator, MyCast, and Backup Assistant.
“Do you wanna use Backup Assistant now?” my phone asked.
“Yes,” I clicked.
“Your PIN please.......”
“I never did no PIN,” I thought.
“Click the pound-sign, and we’ll send you your PIN.”
BAM!
“0-0-0-0.”
“Sounds like some store-clerk did that,” I thought. “I always use my old RTS badge-number.”
“0-0-0-0” and it downloaded my entire contact-list to my phone.

• The “Democrat & Chronicle “ is Rochester’s daily newspaper.
• “Honeoye (‘HONE-eee-oy;' rhymes with 'boy') Falls” is the nearest village to the west to where we live in western New York, a rural village about five miles away. “MarketPlace” is a large independent supermarket therein.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA exercise-gym. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 15 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)
• “Victor” is a somewhat larger rural village to the north of where we live, about 10-15 miles away. “Cobblestone Court“ is a shopping-plaza therein.
• RE: “Qwerty keyboard.......” —Look at your keyboard. The first six letters of the first row of letters are Q-W-E-R-T-Y.
• “Robert” is of course me; BobbaLew.
• “PIN” equals Personal-Identification-Number.
• “Apps” equals applications.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and its environs. My badge-number was my employee number.

You only live once.......

(Photo by Matt Reid.)

About 14 years ago, at about this time, yrs trly took a ride in a hot-air balloon.
It was at the annual Finger Lakes Balloon Festival at the Canandaigua Airport on Brickyard Road.
The balloon was “Dream Chaser,” which may be based in nearby Bloomfield village — I see the trailer.
But the pilot was Joe Doerer of New Jersey.
My relationship with the mighty Mezz began as an unpaid intern after my stroke.
But I so enjoyed working there I wanted to join the staff.
The balloon ride was shortly after I started employ.
I had been writing a weekly column for the mighty Mezz, and I was also writing a “Yesterday’s News” segment.
The Festival was planning a Saturday night press balloon ride.
Editors were fishing for volunteers, so I told them I was interested.
No one else volunteered.
I was unable to do the press balloon, due to a work conflict, so I would have to do my own balloon ride, 150 smackaroos.
What I remember most is editor Kevin Frisch wailing “Oh, the humanity” through cupped hands.
Reprising radio announcer Herbert Morrison’s description of the Hindenburg disaster at Lakehurst, NJ, in 1937.
There was just one problem.
Unlike the Hindenburg, which was filled with extremely flammable hydrogen gas for lift, a hot-air balloon used heated air for its lift.
Non-flammable.
I’ve often wondered if Rush Limbaugh could be harnessed to fill the hot-air balloons.
Railing about liberals (dread).
But I don’t think he’d be enough.
We might have to add Bob Lonsberry.
Our balloon bag was filled with air blown in by a small Briggs & Stratton fan.
The air inside was then heated with a giant torch from propane bottles.
Off we went; clear up to 2,000 feet. The rattan basket had an altimeter.
It was just Joe and me.
From that high we could see the dome of the Ontario County Courthouse, the Bloomfield water-tower, Canandaigua Lake, and the faraway skyline of Rochester in the dewy haze.
Also deer sneaking into the woods below, the abandoned railroad grade of the “Peanut Line,” and a dog barking at us.
You don’t much tell a balloon where to go.
It goes where the wind carries it.
And sooner-or-later the hot air in the balloon cools, and/or your propane runs out.
Soon we were landing softly in an abandoned cornfield off Cooley Road.
We were welcomed by chickens and ducks and another barking dog.
The landowner was presented a bottle of champagne.
Would I do it again?
The balloon-fest is gone, but I would if I could.

• “Matt Ried” (“reed”) used to work at the Messenger newspaper. (The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had.) For a while we both drove the newspaper’s web-site; until I retired, and then he drove it himself. He has since quit and moved near Denver, CO.
• We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester. Nearby is the small city of “Canandaigua” (“cannon-DAY-gwuh”). The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away. The Canandaigua airport is on “Brickyard Road;” a rural two-lane north of Canandaigua. The city of Canandaigua is within Ontario County, as is West Bloomfield.
• The “Finger Lakes” are the long north-south lakes that dominate central NY. Called the Finger Lakes because they look like a hand was impressed in the terrain, so that long finger impressions were left that filled with water and became lakes. —Canandaigua is at the top of a Finger Lake, Canandaigua Lake. There are at least seven or eight finger-lakes; some quite small and some quite large. Canandaigua Lake is smallish, but still fairly large.
• East of West Bloomfield is the rural town of East Bloomfield, and the village of Bloomfield is within it. —Long ago “Holcomb” (“hole-CUM”) seceded from Bloomfield village, because a railroad went through it. The railroad was abandoned in the ‘70s (the “Peanut-Line; see below). Holcomb merged back into Bloomfield not too long ago, and the name “Holcomb” disappeared.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
• “Kevin Frisch” (“frish”) is an editor at the Messenger newspaper.
• “Bob Lonsberry” (“LAHNZ-berry”) is a conservative talk-radio host local to the Rochester market; who takes his cue from Rush Limbaugh — continually railing against liberals.
• The “Peanut Line” is the original independently-built Canandaigua & Niagara Falls Railroad, eventually merged into New York Central Railroad. It was called a “peanut” by a New York Central executive because it was so tiny compared to NYC’s mainline. It is now entirely abandoned, although a short stub out of Canandaigua to Holcomb remained in service into the ‘70s.

What hath Facebook wrought?

Tehachapi (“tuh-HATCH-uh-PEE”) Loop.
(Tehachapi Loop, in south-central California, is probably the most famous railfan pilgrimage stop on the entire planet. It’s the Southern Pacific Railroad’s climb of the Tehachapi Mountains, at the south end of the San Joaquin valley; thought to never be possible. It’s an engineering triumph, partly because it includes a loop over itself. Santa Fe Railroad has trackage-rights.)
—I’ve seen it.

I uploaded a photograph (the one above) to PhotoBucket®.
PhotoBucket is where I store all my image-files.
The photo you see is from PhotoBucket; the image-source is PhotoBucket.
My PhotoBucket account is nothing special. I ain’t storing artsy pictures by myself.
I only went with PhotoBucket because my BlogSpot picture storage maxxed out — I think it was Picassa.
Nothing artsy there either.
Just illustrations for these blogs.
Quite often they aren’t even my pictures; just screenshots of stock photos by unnamed photographers available for free use.
Upload complete; now name photograph.
I click that, but what do I see?
“Link this photograph to your Facebook.
Be first to ‘like’ it.”
For cryin’ out loud!
Facebook is barging into everything.
Reports are on the news about web-sites linking to Facebook to grab your profile information.
Facebook claims you can avoid that by making your profile information private.
All you hafta be is a techno-maven.
I have a Facebook myself, although I consider it a “fast-one” on Facebook’s part.
I received an e-mail “friend” invite from another Facebook user.
I responded, not knowing I was thereby setting up a Facebook of my own.
I’d like to kill it — I don’t pay it much heed anyway — and it has locked my computer.
But I can’t — at least, not that I can see.
About all I can do is walk away from it.
I keep it open because I have friends who use Facebook.
Makes a lotta sense.
Be first to “like” your own photograph.
And it wasn’t even mine.
It’s a screenshot of a Wikipedia Commons stock photograph.

• I’m a railfan, and have been since age-two — I’m currently 66.

Over-and-over-and-over

“Norfolk Southern detector, milepost 2-3-8.2, Track One; no defects.”
That’s the Norfolk Southern defect-detector at Brickyard Crossing in Altoona (“al-TUNE-uh,” as in the name “Al”), PA.
Actually, it’s another road-name, but it’s by an abandoned brickyard.
Norfolk Southern’s assault on Allegheny Ridge begins just east of here.
Actually, it’s the old Pennsylvania Railroad.
Pennsy merged with arch-rival New York Central Railroad in 1968.
Penn-Central soon went bankrupt and eventually failed.
Penn-Central was taken over by Conrail, at first a government amalgamation of all bankrupt eastern railroads, including others like Reading (“REDD-ing,” not “READ-ing”), Jersey Central, Erie-Lackawanna (“EAR-eee lack-uh-WAHN-uh,” as in “wand”), Lehigh Valley, and others.
Eventually Conrail privatized — it was making a profit — and was broken up and sold to both CSX (railroad) and Norfolk Southern, a merger of the phenomenally successful Norfolk & Western and Southern railways. Norfolk & Western served the Pocahontas Coal Region.
CSX got most of the ex-New York Central lines, and Norfolk Southern the ex-Pennsy lines.
Track One is downhill, although the grade isn’t very steep. Only 1.8 percent; 1.8 feet up for every 100 feet forward.
Steep enough to require helpers uphill, and for trains to run away downhill.
There are three tracks past Brickyard — used to be four.
One is downhill (east), Three is uphill (west), and Two can be either way.
I think the detector is only for downhill trains.
The defects detected are -A) hot wheels or bearings (or sliding wheels), and -B) dragging equipment.
Sensors are trackside to detect overheated equipment, and other sensors would get knocked over by dragging equipment.
Often a brake-shoe will hang up and drag against a wheel, overheating it.
Often I see metal retaining straps, part of a freightcar load, bouncing along the ties.
Such straps probably wouldn’t trip a defect-detector, but suppose one of the long rods under a freightcar broke loose, and was dragging.
It could derail things, like the train it’s on, or an adjacent train.
Both overheated bearings and dragging equipment are an invitation to disaster, especially on the old Pennsy’s assault on the Alleghenies, where operation is treacherous enough.
The video was supplied by Phil Faudi (“FAW-dee,” as in “awe”).
I’m a railfan, and have been since age-two. —I’m currently 66.
Phil is the railfan extraordinaire from Altoona, PA, who supplies all-day train-chases for $125 (I’ve done three, and have another scheduled). —I did one two years ago, alone, and it blew my mind.
Phil has his rail-scanner along, tuned to 160.8, the Norfolk Southern operating channel, and knows the whereabouts of every train, as the engineers call out the signals, and various lineside defect-detectors fire off.
He knows each train by symbol, and knows all the back-roads, and how long it takes to get to various photo locations — and also what makes a successful photo — lighting, drama, etc.
I let Phil do the monitoring. I have a scanner myself, but leave it behind.
Phil knows every train on the scanner, where it is, and how long it will take to beat it to a prime photo location.
We zag furiously back-and-forth along the railroad.
“20Q; we can beat it to Lilly.”
A giant U-turn gets executed; off we go towards Lilly.
“You get out, and I’ll park over there.”
Here it comes; still out of sight, but hammering up the hill.
I don’t think I’ve ever waited over five minutes for a train with Phil.
All I know is defect-detectors.
“N.S. detector, milepost 2-5-3.1, Track Three; no defects.”
Here comes another. —I’m at Cassandra Railfan Overlook, 253.1 is Lilly to the east.
“N.S. detector, milepost 2-5-8.9, Track One; no defects.”
Here comes another. —258.9 is Portage to the west.
“N.S. detector, milepost 2-4-1.0, Track One; no defects.”
“Probably a helper-set,” says Phil. “We’d have seen a train by now.”
Phil’s video is picking up all the scanner chatter.
Dispatchers Jeannie and Bob (who we call Marlon Brando, because he talks like Brando’s Godfather) are on Phil’s scanner.
Plus the defect-detectors.
All stuff I’ve heard many times before.
Which is why I keep playing the tape.
It reminds me of all the pleasant times I’ve had along Norfolk Southern’s Pittsburgh Division near Altoona.
—We are right near Alto (“AL-toe,” as in the name “Al”) Tower in Altoona, at night, from the 17th St. bridge.
Alto is where The Hill is dispatched, helpers added and cut off, etc.
A double-stack has just come down The Hill, stopping to cut off helpers, I guess.
The slab-train rumbles up to Alto; open gondola cars full of steel slabs.
It’s heavy, and will need helpers to get up The Hill.
Helpers attached, here we go!
The slab-train slowly accelerates; you can hear the Dash-Nines hammering.
Clearance was given by Jeannie; 21A is following, and will go around on Track Two as it climbs The Hill.
All set up by Jeannie.

Granny alert

I’m at the intersection of Cooley Road and County Road 30, on Cooley, returning home from the YMCA and Mighty Weggers in Canandaigua.
I’ve never liked this intersection. It’s semi-blind in both directions.
From the west, County Road 30 crests a hill maybe 150 yards from the intersection.
You can enter the intersection just before someone crests that hill.
From the east, County Road 30 is coming around a curve you can’t see around from Cooley.
Another case of pulling in front of someone.
Of course, this makes no difference to most drivers.
Just charge into the intersection, and make County Road 30 drivers tap the brake.
But to a retired Regional Transit bus-driver, who tries to avoid cutting people off, it’s dangerous.
I’m also trying to avoid scaring other drivers — they may do something stupid.
I start into the intersection, and as soon as I do, a gray GMC Acadia appears on the curve to the east, driven at breakneck speed by Granny.
I accelerate hard, trying to pull clear; 20, 30, 40, 50, then 60 mph.
No matter, Granny is quickly on my rear bumper, glowering at me in her best Dale Earnhardt imitation.
Good old Cooley Road and County Road 30.
If I’d-a known she was coming, I woulda let her pass.
We retired bus-drivers try to avoid difficult driving situations.
Others get incensed by how much slack we cut.
“You coulda pulled in front of that guy. He was 300 yards away!”
“Yeah; and scare the daylights out if him.
There’s no one behind. I can wait 10 seconds.”
“If I drove like you, I’d never be first at the coffee machine.
I might miss out on the free donuts.”
We proceeded west on County Road 30, Granny angrily pounding her steering-wheel.
I turn north on Brace Road.
I hafta slow for it. I can’t make the corner at 89 bazilyun miles-per-hour.
Signal on, I slow for the intersection, and Granny charges past in the passing-lane, Acadia floored, blowing her horn.
I wasn’t able to see if she was giving me the finger.
I had to concentrate on the turn.
I wonder if this was the same Granny that almost ran me down in the Tops pedestrian crossing.

• “Cooley Road,” “County Road 30,” and “Brace Road” are part of a semi-circuitous route I take to avoid a speed-trap on 5&20 in the nearby village of Bloomfield. (“5&20” is the main east-west road [a two-lane highway] through our area; State Route 5 and U.S. Route 20, both on the same road. 5&20 is just south of where we live. We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester. Adjacent is the rural town of East Bloomfield, and the village of Bloomfield is within it.)
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA exercise-gym. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 15 miles away.)
• “Mighty Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester we often buy groceries at. They have a store in Canandaigua.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service, the public transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY.
• “Dale Earnhardt,” deceased, was the so-called “intimidator” of NASCAR fame, who used to tailgate race-leaders and bump them at speed until they let him pass.
• “Tops” is a large supermarket-chain based in Buffalo we occasionally buy groceries at. They also have a store in Canandaigua. They have a pedestrian crossing lane from their store into their parking-lot.

Ultimate Rewards

Last night (Sunday, May 23, 2010) I decided to try wrastling with Chase Bank’s Ultimate Rewards program.
Chase Bank is our credit-card, the only one we have, which we’ve had since 1969.
When we first opened it, it was Lincoln-First, maybe even Lincoln-Rochester.
It's come through various owners, but now it's Chase Bank.
We pay it off in full every month; no debt.
It's really just a way of deferring payment on things.
And by paying off in full we avoid interest charges.
Some time ago the bank offered to upgrade our card to what seemed to be the norm; cash rebates.
I went with that.
Before that we got no rebates.
Not too long ago the bank switched from rebates to a points program.
No longer direct cash rebates, but I can use accumulated points to get merchandise.
Recently the bank informed me that I had accumulated thousands of points.
This was partly because I had never used any.
“Why can't the bank just credit our account?” my wife asked.
“What's with this silly points system; a way to avoid directly rewarding our credit-card use?”
And we use our credit-card for everything. We hardly use cash any more; and never pay by check — e.g. groceries or gas.
Thankfully, we're both pretty much on the same page regarding money; i.e. stingy.
We don't buy anything we can't afford; no Corvette, no boat, no motorized camper. —And our house isn't the Taj Mahal.
So I decided to try to make sense of this points program.
Online it seemed to want some sort of log-in. I figured perhaps the log-in I used to my old Chase credit-card account.
“Please help us verify your identity. You seem to be logging in from a different computer.”
“Yeah well,” I thought to myself; “I have a new rig.”
“You need an identification-code. We can e-mail it to you, or text it to your cellphone.”
Um, my cellphone is currently disabled, and not text enabled anyway; so e-mail it will be.
I sat quietly. Nothing in my e-mail.
“I have a hunch it's e-mailing my old MyWay account, which I no longer have; yet I see no way of changing that.”
I noticed perhaps they were e-mailing to my wife, her Yahoo account.
“Their e-mail may be coming to you,” I said to her.
“Yes, it is,” she said.
Three identification-codes so far, maybe more.
We got the last one, and cranked that in.
VIOLA! In!
Now, need new password.
I cranked in my old Transit badge-number, the password I use on everything.
“Not a valid password!”
I looked at what passed for validity. “Can't be one of your five past passwords.”
I cranked in a minor variation.
Accepted.
Now, log in......
In!
Verify credit-card account as in the past, but still no “Ultimate Rewards.”
I noticed an “Ultimate Rewards” link, and clicked that.
“You have ??,??? points.”
Okay, intent is to get an iPod Nano — but where?
Cruises and airline-tickets, etc, but no iPods.
Electronics; TVs and video-cameras, recorders and players, etc, but no iPods.
Movies and music: Avatar, Lost, etc. No iPods.
I happened to see “Get Check;” perhaps a cash disbursement of point-value.
I get it to issue a check for almost all of my accumulated points — not the iPod I intended, but a cash disbursement.
It will be interesting to see if they issue me 89 bazilyun $20 checks......
I went back and logged in later, and found the iPods. I coulda got a Nano.

• “Our” is me and my wife of 42+ years, “Linda.”
• In the '60s it was “Lincoln-Rochester,” a Rochester, NY based banking organization. About 1969 Lincoln-Rochester merged with other banks throughout the state — mainly Syracuse — to become “Lincoln-First.” Eventually Lincoln-First was purchased by Chase Bank in New York City, although I think there was a Chase-LincolnFirst along the way.
• “Rig” equals computer.
• “MyWay” was a web-mail, my previous e-mail account. It was much like Yahoo. —I gave up on it, because they made it too messy and slow.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service, the public transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY.

Dirty little secrets of the newspaper biz

(Photo by Jack Haley, Messenger/Post.)

“Who is that gentleman on the front page of my Friday Messenger?” I asked myself.
“He looks familiar.”
“Jim Terwilliger” (“trr-WILL-eee-grr”), the caption said.
Actually “Jm,” I minor typo I consider inconsequential, since I used to work at the Messenger.
Minor except to the tub-thumping Limbaugh Conservative crowd.
Noisy accusations of “stupidity” and “incompetence” and “fevered agenda.”
Terwilliger was one of our financial advice columnists.
He worked at Canandaigua National Bank, their “Wealth Strategies Group.” Probably still does.
Every Sunday the Messenger ran a column of locally written financial advice, and Terwilliger was our best source.
We had others, of course, but they weren't as regular as Terwilliger.
One other was pretty regular, but his column was “boilerplate;” i.e. not locally written.
They were written by minions in New York City.
His columns were web-printouts.
They even had the web-address on them.
I'd crank that web-address into my Internet browser, and there would be the column.
Boom-zoom; copy/paste, ready-to-print.
Slam-dunk easy, but not locally written.
Jim would e-mail me his latest column as a Word®-attachment.
All I had was Word 6.0; ancient.
His columns opened as “text-only.”
All Jim's bullets and formatting had been vaporized.
Jim would call our head-honcho, who at that time was George Ewing, Jr.
“When are you gonna get that poor guy a more recent version of Word?”
I had a work-around.
I'd e-mail his columns home, where I had Word-98.
It would open all Jim's formatting.
I'd print it, and then massage his column for printing in the Messenger — a couple “find/replaces.”
What that involved was Quark®-tags to do Jim's formatting. I think those Quark-tags were HTML tags. I had macros to fiddle.
Completed, I'd e-mail it back.
I had taken it upon myself to get a weekly locally-written financial advice column in the Messenger, and Jim was my best contributor.
We ran everything he sent.
The article says in 1952 he was age-9.
Which makes him a year older than me.
In 1952 I was age-8.

• The “Messenger” (“mighty Mezz”) is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.) —As a retiree I get the Messenger free. (“ Messenger/Post” because the Messenger bought all the Post suburban Rochester weeklies when their publisher retired.)
• “Canandaigua National Bank” is the major bank in Canandaigua. It's independent — local. We have our checking-account there.
• “Quark®” was the computer software the Messenger was done with during my employ.
• The Messenger was previously owned by the Ewing (“YOU-wing”) family. They owned it during my employ.
• “HTML” is hyper-text markup language, slightly more elegant than “text-only.” With HTML-tags you can embolden, underline, and italicize text. I use HTML in this blog. My pictures are via HTML tags.
• “Macros” are recordings of repeatable computer functions. I'd run a macro on a whole story, or column, to process it for print.

Into the ozone

Yesterday morning (Wednesday, May 19, 2010) my FireFox Internet-browser kept crashing mightily in flames.
I keep six-or-seven Internet sites (“tabs”) permanently open; Facebook, Photobucket, my MyCast® weather-radar, both blog sites — MPNnow and BlogSpot — plus two railfan web-cams.
By keeping these tabs permanently open, I never have to log in.
I've been a railfan all my life, since age-2 — I'm currently 66.
One rail-cam is the web-cam at Horseshoe Curve, west of Altoona (“al-TUNE-uh;” as in the name “Al”), PA.
Horseshoe Curve is by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. It was a trick by the Pennsylvania Railroad, in 1854, well before modern grading technology, to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades.
The railroad circles back in a valley to keep the climb manageable.
It's part of the main route east for Midwestern freight, so trains are pretty frequent.
Horseshoe Curve has been made into a tourist attraction.
It has a viewing area right in the apex of the Curve.
Trains are up-close-and-personal.
I've been there hundreds of times, since it's only about five hours away.
It's also in a verdant mountain valley, so the setting is gorgeous.
The Horseshoe Curve web-cam monitors the railroad, which is no longer Pennsy (the Pennsylvania Railroad).
Pennsy merged with arch-rival New York Central as Penn-Central in 1968, and soon even that failed.
Norfolk Southern, a merger of Norfolk & Western and Southern Railway, currently operates Horseshoe Curve.
It followed Conrail after Conrail was broken up and sold. Conrail succeeded Penn-Central.
Norfolk Southern got most of the ex-Pennsy lines, and rival CSX Transportation (railroad) got the ex-New York Central lines.
The Curve web-cam is old and slow. It refreshes about every second; slow enough for a train to advance 10-15 feet between refreshes.
Still, it's interesting.
Turn it on, and often a train is passing.
Sometimes I can even identify the trains; e.g. the infamous “trash-train,” westbound — up The Hill — of rag-tag purple containers filled with trash.
Another is 36A, eastbound — down The Hill. It often has large colorful tractors in it.
My second railfan web-cam is the Roanoke Rail-Cam, of the old Norfolk & Western (now Norfolk Southern) mainline through Roanoke, VA.
It's really great; like watching a movie, or actual TV.
It refreshes fast enough to not be noticeable.
If a car comes down the street, it's a car coming down the street, not single frames of where it was seconds apart.
When a train passes, it's not like the Curve web-cam. It's one continuous motion.
But when I fired up FireFox, as I do when firing up my computer, FireFox crashed, and threw a crash-message at me.
I clicked “retry.” Boom! It immediately did it again.
FireFox always gives you a dialog-box when it crashes, so you can comment on the crash.
“Second try,” I entered.
Boom! Did it again.
“Third try.”
Boom! Did it again.
“I give up!”
I clicked “start new session.”
That vaporizes all my tabs, and redirects to only my home-page, the Curve web-cam.
Got it; stability I guess.
I set about a second tab of the Roanoke Rail-Cam.
Boom! Into the ozone.
Looks like it's the Roanoke Rail-Cam.
It's been so popular it couldn't handle the traffic.
They had to take it down — too many hits.
They're reconfiguring with technology to handle the 89 bazilyun hits.
Back to Square One.
New session of FireFox, only my home-page.
I set about making tabs of all my other sites, Facebook, MyCast, Photobucket, etc.
But not the Roanoke Rail-Cam.
Stability I guess.
Back in business, but no Roanoke Rail-Cam.
No Roanoke Rail-Cam link herein. I don't want it blowing up my FireFox again.

• MPNnow is the web-site of the Daily Messenger Newspaper in nearby Canandaigua, where I once worked. I was maintaining that web-site before I retired — which was over four years ago. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 15 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.) —These blogs also go on a blog-site at MPNnow.

Hup-hup!

“Mommy, can we go to Baker Park this morning and play on the jungle-gym?”
“Well I don't know, Nathan. Mommy doesn't have much time. I have to take you to day-care, and then go to work.”
Mom piles her brood into a dusty dark-green Windstar minivan, including Nathan, about age-five.
“Yippee! Baker Park.”
“Ah!-Ah!-Ah!-Ah!-Ah!-Ah! Watch that puddle Nathan. Mommy doesn't have time to clean your shoes.
Pull back on the swing. Now get on.
Swing! —10 minutes.
Slide for you, Rachel.
Climb to the top.
Now slide!”
Later Mom and her brood returned to the Windstar, Nathan bawling his eyes out.
“I wanted to play, Mommy.....”
“No time for crying, Nathan!”
When I was that age I used to spend hours in front of our house at “the crack,” where a tree-root had heaved up a corner of a 4-by-4-foot concrete sidewalk slab about two inches.
The other end still met the sidewalk, so you could approach over the entire sidewalk length, but at the end of that slab was “the crack.”
I'd line up all my tiny dump-trucks at the crack, and disgorge their contents, usually dirt.
I also used the crack to jump my toy cars in a Joie Chitwood daredevil auto-driving imitation.
I'd also ride over the crack with my tricycle — well before Big Wheels.
My mother would be inside quietly perusing her Ladies' Home Journals.
I and another kid used to max out the swings at our elementary school, blasting imaginary Japanese Zeros out of the sky.
Our fourth-grade teacher watched in fear.
She wasn't ordering us to swing.
Whither childhood?

• “Baker Park” is a large city park in nearby Canandaigua. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 15 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.) —The park is almost entirely enclosed with six-foot chain-link fence, so we walk our dog in there, although mostly on the leash.
• Our current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s almost five, and is our sixth Irish-Setter. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't too bad.)
• Ford “Windstar” minivan. (Ford no longer calls it the “Windstar.” —Such a minivan would be around eight years old.)
• “Joie Chitwood” Thrill Show, daredevil auto driving.
• “Big Wheels” were a tricycle less likely to tip over. You sat low between the rear wheels.
• The “Zero” was the Japanese WWII aircraft-carrier based propeller fighter-plane. It was light and maneuverable and dominant until better US Navy fighter-planes came along.

Stylin'

Yesterday morning (Monday, May 17, 2010) we parked next to a sky-high beige Ford Crown-Victoria in the Strong Memorial Hospital parking garage.
It appeared to be a retired police-cruiser, light-bar — if it ever had one — removed, but still festooned with 89 bazilyun tiny antennas.
Its chrome-alloy wheels were at least 20 inches in diameter, perhaps 22 inches or 24.
Its tires were at least a foot wide, but only two inches deep.
End result, the Crown-Vic rode about a foot higher than normal.
“Is that thing for real?” my wife asked.
“I've seen worse,” I said (e.g. the picture posted above).
A recent tire test in my Car & Driver Magazine concluded such combinations ride extremely hard.
No matter, what we're fishing for is the “the look.”
I first saw it in southern California.
A giant black Ford Expedition mired in a traffic-jam. But stylin'.
Darth Vader on wheels, at five miles-per-gallon (zero mpg in a traffic-jam).
I converted our Honda CR-V to alloys a while ago, but they're only an inch bigger than stock; 16-inch as opposed to 15.
i.e. you don't notice the difference.
It originally had 15-inch pressed steel rims. —Alloys are lighter.
The Car & Driver article concluded you needed more tire depth to get good bump compliance. —Also that larger alloys are heavy.
Reminds me of ape-hanger handlebars on a motorcycle.
They render “the look,” but how does one steer it?
Lower bars are much more functional.
They use much larger arm inputs. You can't do much with sky-high handlebars.
The Crown-Vic was being ministered to by an over-the-road car-window replacement service.
The driver's window had been broken out, perhaps by the owner after locking his keys inside.
I also noticed the car-door didn't have any interior panel.
“Weight-saving,” I thought; “to offset those heavy alloys.”

• “Strong Memorial Hospital” is a large hospital located in the south of Rochester, named for its benefactor, who was named “Strong.”
• My wife of 42+ years is “Linda.”

Born in the USA

(Photo by BobbaLew.)

Our new Country Clipper® JAZee zero-turn lawnmower has a sticker on it which says “Made in the USA” (pictured above).
A “zero-turn” lawnmower is a special design with separate drives to each drive-wheel, so it can be spun on a dime. “Zero-turns” are becoming the norm, because they cut mowing time in half compared to a lawn-tractor, which has to be set up for each mowing-pass.
“Made in the USA” is not what sold me on the Country Clipper, but it was a pleasant surprise.
More pleasant than “Made in China by Chinese child prison-labor in steaming sweatshops.”
Or “Assembled in Mexico by laborers soon to be illegal aliens.”
Our cars are both Japanese, although I wish I could return to Chevrolet.
We had one for a while, and it was somewhat frustrating.
It went 140,000 miles, but threw curves at us occasionally.
When its air-conditioning failed we gave up.
Years ago, 1984, singer Bruce Springsteen debuted a song titled “Born in the USA.”
Lido was so smitten he wanted to use it to sell Chrysler cars.
Lido is Lee Iacocca, ex of Ford, who went on to become Chrysler's supreme leader.
“Born in the USA” was more a lament about Vietnam than a celebration of American values.
By then Chrysler was no longer the engineering triumph it had been in the '60s.
Chrysler was selling the K-car, a rather forgettable combination no one seems to collect.
Lido applied marketing tricks to make it as attractive as his Mark-series Lincolns at Ford; but underneath it was still the K-car.
Springsteen, to his everlasting credit, refused.
So is my Country Clipper worthy of Springsteen?
Probably not.
What sold me was the all-steel construction, not innovation or beauty.
“Look at the steel encasement of that engine,” I noted to the salesman. “You could back it into a phonepole.”
“Well don't do it,” the salesman laughed.
I had to burn synapses to figure it out.
It has a way of releasing the rear of the cutting-deck so it can be tipped up for cleaning and maintenance.
Released, a thick steel catch-plate trips to keep things in line.
Well, if that catch-plate isn't pulled clear, re-attaching the deck raises it all the way to its highest mowing-height setting.
There's no adjusting the mowing-height thereafter.
Nothing in that Operator's Manual about pulling clear that catch-plate.
“Try this and see what happens;” the never ending mantra of a stroke-survivor.
And what I thought was the 3.5-inch mowing-height was actually 2.5 inches. No wonder it was scalping.

• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.

Ride 'em cowboy!

(Photo by BobbaLew.)

Our new Country Clipper JAZee® SR215 zero-turn lawnmower (pictured above), arrived yesterday afternoon (Friday, May 14, 2010).
It's 48-inch cut, with a 20-horse single-cylinder Briggs & Stratton engine.
“Zero-turn” is a special design with separate drives to each drive-wheel, so it can be spun on a dime. Zero-turns are becoming the norm, because they don't have to be set up for each mowing-pass.
Most commercial mowing businesses use zero-turns.
I had mowing to do, so I set out on it.
I pushed on the twin tiller-bars, and WHOA!
This thing was much quicker than our previous zero-turn, a 48-inch Husqvarna I traded.
My Husky was an 18-horse V-twin, but high grass could stall it.
I drove it slowly to avoid stalling it, but quicker than my old mower, a 38-inch John Deere riding mower we still have.
The Country Clipper promptly threw its rotor-belt.
I shut off and got down and looked at it.
The rotor-belt was no longer on its pulleys.
The mower has a rotor-belt tensioner, so I relieved it.
Repositioning the rotor-belt would take removal of a belt retainer with a 3/4-inch wrench.
I analyzed what appeared to be the belt routing, and put it all back together.
Later I noticed a diagram sticker on the cutting deck with the belt routing.
I inadvertently had the routing right.
Belt re-tensioned, I got back on and fired up.
Everything back to normal; I could continue mowing.
But easy does it; don't just attack the high grass. It could stall the motor, or worse yet re-throw the belt.
Easier said than done.
Ride 'em cowboy!
Mario Andretti on the lawn.
This thing would drift corners — slide the rear like a dirt-tracker.
It can go slowly, but the extent the tiller-bars are engaged is much less than my old Husky.
Mowing completed with no further drama.

• The “rotor-belt” is what drives the cutting blades.

Busy Thursday

My wife and I are both retired.
We're both 66.
I've been fully retired for over four years.
My wife retired from her full-time job as a computer programmer at the same time, but took a part-time job at the West Bloomfield Post-Office.
But that became a hairball, so she quit.
We've found ourselves inundated with way more errands and medical appointments than we had while working.
Used to be they were all kept track of by putting the appointment cards on our refrigerator door.
Now we have to keep a schedule.
Plus every errand takes at least 25 minutes. We live in the tiny rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester. About 25 minutes from everything. Rochester is at least 45 minutes, and that's just to the southern border.
Factored in are -1) walking our dog, -2) working out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise Gym, and -3) mowing lawn.
—Our dog is an extremely high-energy Irish Setter.
I feel obligated to walk her as much as possible.
Commit to a high-energy dog, and that's what happens.
We try to do a long walk in the woods every morning.
The dog loves it; a hunting dog.
That's the first walk of the day.
There are at least two-or-three more walks.
Each is to a nearby town park.
All it is is athletic fields, but our dog loves that too.
Often there are geese or killdeer or crows in an adjacent cornfield.
And there's always the chance a mole can be snagged in a grass tuft.
The second walk is at 12:30 or so. And whether there's one or two more additional walks is a function of when the third walk is at.
4 o'clock makes a fourth walk possible. Later, can't do it.
—Working out at the YMCA seems to be a requirement.
I have to do it to continue walking our dog, and stay alive.
I try to do it three days a week.
Sometimes it gets scotched by conflicting appointments — sometimes I'm down to one day a week, or none.
Just getting to the Canandaigua YMCA is 25 minutes.
Working out is 3-4 hours; usually four, if I can get all the exercise machines I want.
So at least five hours gets chewed up, often more if I run errands in Canandaigua after the YMCA.
Sometimes I have to get on the Thruway after the YMCA to run another errand.
6-7 hours total.
Plus my car may need gas; another 10-15 minutes.
—Mowing lawn gets wedged in.
We're mowing at least three acres.
Thankfully we use a zero-turn, which cuts mowing time in half compared to our old mower, which had to be set up for each mowing-pass.
A zero-turn is a special design with separate drives to each drive-wheel, so it can be spun on a dime. “Zero-turns” are becoming the norm.
I mow in four segments; two about an hour each, the front is about a half-hour, and the back about two hours.
But the front got away from us last week; the grass was at least eight inches high, probably more.
The zero-turn cut it, despite stalling at least four times.
My impression was that it shoulda been cut four days earlier; but things were conflicting, probably errands and appointments, dog-walking and rain.

Yesterday (Thursday, May 13, 2010) was a sterling example.
We got up about 6:45, intent on walking the dog at nearby Boughton Park, but first putting away the dishes and breakfast.
Arrived at Park about 8:30.
Returned home about 10:30 — a trip to Boughton Park is at least 10 minutes.
Various post-park processing (e.g. a shower), and it's pushing noon, when a serviceman from Lang Heating is to arrive.
“I'm outta here at 2 for a medical appointment at Urology Associates of Rochester at 3,” I told him.
“I should be outta here by then,” he said.
Off to Urology Associates of Rochester at 2:15 — takes at least 40 minutes to get there.
Back from Urology Associates of Rochester via the gas-station by 4; take dog for walk.......
Wedge nap in afterward, and thereby delay supper until 8 p.m.
Pet dog after supper, at least 10-15 minutes; do various processing until bed-time; bill-paying, etc.
To bed at 11:30.

A wild rocket-ride.
And that's the way it's been all week — wedge in a plumber to fix our kitchen faucet, something I coulda done myself, but that would have involved a journey to a plumbing supply — perhaps two journeys; that's how these things go.
Plumber Monday (May 10) and luncheon of Transit retirees Tuesday, May 11.
Today (Friday, May 14, 2010) I had to return from the YMCA, and Lowes, and Wegmans, in time to sign a contract for our giant fence-project.
We're fencing over three acres of our 4.7, so our dog can run freely, unleashed, in safety.
Shortly after the fence-contractor left our new lawnmower was delivered. A 48-inch cut residential zero-turn.
A while ago a friend younger than me, who still works, commented about retirees being lazy, no-good layabouts.
True, I'm no longer beholden to an alarm-clock; which at Transit was brutal; often 3 a.m.
“You have no idea!” I shouted. “Retire and you'll be up against the wall.”
We need a vacation from retirement.

• My wife of 42+ years is “Linda.”
• Our current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s almost five, and is our sixth Irish-Setter. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. a puppy-mill. By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't too bad.)
• The “Thruway” is the NY State Thruway, Interstate-90 from the PA state line to Albany, and Interstate-87 south to New York City. It's a toll road, and travels south of Rochester. I use it to get quickly west.
• Boughton (“BOW-tin” as in “wow”) Park is where I run and we walk our dog. It used to be a water-supply.
• Our “zero-turn” is our 48-inch riding-mower; “zero-turn” because it’s a special design with separate drives to each drive-wheel, so it can be spun on a dime.
• Lang Heating & Cooling; annual maintenance.
• Urology Associates of Rochester; a follow-up prostate exam.
• “Transit” equals Regional Transit Service, the transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY, where I drove transit-bus for 16&1/2 years (1977-1993). My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that.
• “Wegmans” is a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester we often buy groceries at. They have a store in Canandaigua. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)

We Liberals can count!

The new Conservative Prime Minister of Britain, David Cameron, stepped to a podium at 10 Downing St.
He started bouncing up-and-down on his toes, as speakers do when trumpeting.
“This administration will be motivated by three things,” he said.
He then listed four things.
Perish-the-thought, we Liberals (dread) can count.
Perhaps Cameron was inspired by the previous American administration.
I can't remember where I heard this, but it couldn't have been at the Canandaigua YMCA.
The TVs in their Exercise Gym are closed-captioned, no sound.
I heard this with sound.

• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA exercise-gym. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 15 miles away. —We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.)
• Since I'm a Democrat, I'm a “Liberal.”

Another gathering of eagles

Visible (left to right) are Ricardo, Murray, Douty, Palermo (standing), me, John Aguglia (“uh-GOOL-yuh), and others. (Photo by Gary Coleman.)

Yesterday (Tuesday, May 11, 2010) was a luncheon of retirees of Regional Transit Service (RTS), both management and non-management.
Regional Transit Service is the supplier of transit bus service in Rochester, NY and the surrounding area.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for RTS. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that.
Working for RTS was difficult, but mainly because of the clientele, which could be ornery and difficult.
It was like being a policeman; your life was always on the line.
Beyond that, RTS brooked no insanity on the part of its employees; e.g. its bus-drivers. You had to -1) show up (be regular), -2) not hit anything, and -3) keep your hands out of the farebox.
Up until the '60s, bus-service was a means of commuting downtown. Most passengers were commuters.
But things began to change.
As downtown Rochester withered, the passenger demography changed.
More-and-more we were carrying the halt, the maim, those who otherwise could not drive.
We were also carrying the ne'er-do-wells, the trouble-makers; those inclined to rebel against RTS — as symbolized by its bus-drivers.
We found ourselves following a fourth rule; one management probably was aware of, but never heard about from us.
That rule was DON'T GET SHOT!
Passengers could get away with anything; laundry receipts as transfers, pennies on the fare.
Bus-drivers and mechanics were unionized at RTS; that goes back to trolley days and a private employer.
Union-management relations at RTS were tortured.
Management was insulated from the world bus-drivers encountered every day, and was inclined to just keep things going.
Bus-drivers were charged for all-and-sundry, often unfairly.
Union members were looking for every possible opening to stick it to management.
Passengers often suffered the fruits of this continual donnybrook, and middle managers got it from both ends.
Working for Transit paid well (thanks to the union), but was a bucking bronco.
Hours were brutal (e.g. start at 5 a.m.).
Most days you had to keep junky equipment between the lines in all kinds of weather, and parry thugs.
As such we Transit retirees have all experienced it; the madness of working for Transit.
We're a special breed, a brotherhood. We all parried the madness.
The management among us were middle management, the ones that got it from both ends.
The luncheon was at Nick's Sea Breeze Inn, in northeast Rochester across from Seabreeze Amusement Park by Lake Ontario.
Seabreeze is an old amusement park that still exists.
There used to be trolley service up to it, but now it's RTS. —I drove it years ago. It was fairly pleasant.
Nick's is an Italian restaurant, across from Seabreeze, patronized in the past by Frank Sinatra and Luciano Pavarotti.
All the regulars were there including Gary Colvin (“COAL-vin”), Ron Palermo (“Pa-LAIR-moe”) and Gary Coleman (“COAL-min”).
Coleman had been a road-supervisor at RTS, previously a bus-driver.
He also had two strokes, which left him semi-paralyzed — left side.
Road-supervisors were management, alone in road-supervisor cars to supervise bus operations and settle passenger disputes.
I picked up Art Dana (“DAY-nuh”), the retired RTS bus-driver with fairly severe Parkinson's disease.
Art's wife is gone, so he lives with his sister in nearby Pittsford, NY.
Pittsford is a suburb southeast of Rochester.
Art is 69, and no longer drives.
We have similar interests, hot-rod cars and trains.
I have to come from West Bloomfield, so Art is along-the-way.
Before going in, someone complained to Colvin about the filth of his minivan.
“I bought it to drive it, not wash it,” Colvin snapped.
Thereby proving yet again the quickness of snide remarks that made you a successful bus-driver.
The luncheon was sorta depressing, but only because we're all older and decrepit.
Jim Douty (“DOW-deee”) was there, who started shortly before me.
He has apparently lost part of a leg, and uses a prothesis.
“My wife still works, 11 p.m. until 7 a.m, so I have to tiptoe around to not wake her during the day,” he said.
“I can't handle stairs,” another retired bus-driver complained.
“Knees,” he said.
Colvin said he was also having knee problems, and he always seemed pretty spry.
He also detailed a long story about being unable to get his veteran's benefits card.
Others were rendering long sorry stories about the travails of getting adequate healthcare.
I watched silently, realizing how lucky I was. Noticing difficulty getting up, I started doing leg-presses at the Canandaigua YMCA.
I also started exercises to improve my balance — which had been getting worse.
Most take many prescriptions; I only take one. Art takes over 20.
Coleman the stroke-survivor was sitting across from me. I'm also a stroke-survivor — although Coleman is in slightly worse shape than me.
Although he's still pretty ornery, and so am I.
We'd start stories, but the old speech difficulties would kick in, and our dissertations would drift into nothing.
Writing for me is easy, but speech compromised.
Finally, time to settle up.
Palermo, who was next to me, had apparently made the reservation, so the bill for our entire table was presented to him.
Each would pay $13.29.
I forked over a twenty, and Palermo went and got change. Returned, he handed me $13, which I was to give him.
So I handed him $20, but didn't get the difference between $13 and $20.
Not that I worry about it.
These things are always a hairball, plus socializing is worth $7.
Most interesting to me was Ricardo Junco (“HUNE-koh”), who I last saw in 1993.
I recognized the voice, and the older appearance, but I couldn't remember his name.
Finally, “Ricardo Junco,” someone said; a native of Cuba, I think.
Ricardo was a talker, and probably survived as a bus-driver because of it.
I also saw Dan Kiley (“KYE-lee”). “My memory of you is you standing at one urinal, and me next to you. We always pulled out at the same time.”
Most tragic was my encounter with old friend Murray Schroeder (“SHROW-drrr”), a bus-driver a few classes before me.
Murray and I became fast friends — we both liked motorcycles. —I almost bought his old Triumph in the late '70s.
“Sorry the old speech-center doesn't work too well,” I told him. “Otherwise I could socialize better.”
“Still married to the same woman?” Murray said, turning to someone else.
Luncheon over, we all paraded out, and Douty roared off in a chirp of tire-rubber.
He had applied his prothesis to the gas-pedal of his Mustang.
I took Art back home.
I explained I had forwarded Palermo's e-mail invite to Dave Brown.
“Not sure I should have,” I said. “Brownie is management.”
“Stuff like that doesn't matter any more, Hughsey,” Art said.
“Brownie was a class act, and we all survived Transit. Plus it's great to see everyone.”
I agreed.

• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA exercise-gym. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, and it slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty putting words together.)
• “Hughsey” (“huze-EEE”) is me, Bob Hughes, BobbaLew.

Cholesterol Channel

Yesterday (Monday, May 10, 2010) the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym had another channel on one of their three wall-mounted plasma-babies.
It turned the stomach of this health-nut.
“Plasma-babies” are what my brother-in-Boston calls all high-definition, wide-screen, flat-screen TVs. Other technologies are available, but he calls all such TVs “plasma-babies.”
The Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym has their wall-mounted plasma-babies usually tuned to CNN, Sports-Center, and the Weather Channel.
They are closed-captioned. No sound.
The CNN TV wasn't tuned to CNN. It was tuned to “the Food Channel;” whatever.
“Now we'll add just a little butter,” it said.
“Little” my foot! A whole quarter-pound stick of butter was tossed into a frying pan.
“'I Can't Believe It's Not Butter' is not butter,” my wife's 90+ year old aunt once declared.
“Next we'll make our crème sauce,” they said. “We'll start with our yolks.” (The yolks had been separated from eggs.)
“Needs a little sugar,” they said. They dumped a full half-cup of sugar on the yolks.
“That'll make it super-rich. We'll just whisk it up.”
“KEE-YUCK!” I thought, as I cranked away on my cardiovascular trainer.
“Do you know what that stuff will do?” I thought to myself.
“It'll clog all your arteries. You're asking for a stroke or heart-attack.
Same thing with that butter.”
“A tad of salt,” they said.
Tons of salt were poured over everything.
“Salt is the magic ingredient,” they said.
“Yeah, it also raises your blood-pressure,” I thought.
“And no matter what they say, there's nothing like real butter.
Needs a little cream too.”
A quart bottle of cream was emptied into a saucepan.
The Cholesterol Channel.
Next was chicken soup with lemon flavoring.

• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA exercise-gym. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)

My wallet stays in our house

The other day (Thursday, May 6, 2010) a fence-guy came to measure to tender an estimate.
We are entertaining enclosing a large portion of our 4.7 acres, probably over three acres.
That includes woods.
The idea is to enclose it with five-foot chain-link fencing, so our dog can run loose without wandering onto busy State Route 65 out front, where people blast by at well over the 40-mph speed-limit.
This seems to be most true of the unmuffled Harley crowd.
Angrily serenading the countryside with noisy racket.
“Loud pipes save lives!” the Harley crowd yells, between slugs of Jack Daniel's, and spitting on the floor.
“What I'm tryin' to do is save you folks some money,” the salesman said.
When I hear that I instinctively grab my wallet.
I admit I'm not an easy sell.
Long ago I walked into a car-dealer.
“Welcome! Please deposit your wallet on our table, along with all your credit cards.
And also please give us your checking-account number.”
“Vipers,” I call 'em.
A salesman loudly trumpeted the mileage of a car we were considering.
“Get this,” he said; “26 miles-per-gallon highway.”
“Old car got 29,” I snapped.
No response at all; 26 was better than 29.
That 29 mpg car was by far the BEST we ever had.
We might still be driving it (an '89), at over 200,000 miles, had it not been smashed up.
The insurance company was gonna total it, but I was tempted to fix it anyway.
We gave up; 26 was indeed better than 29. —Actually the replacement gets 22-24. Over-the-road it pushes 25.
So far two fence guys.
We have a third lined up.
My wallet stays in our house.

• “We” is me and my wife of 42+ years, “Linda.”
• Our current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s almost five, and is our sixth Irish-Setter. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. a puppy-mill. By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't too bad.)
• We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester. We are on the east side of NY “State Route 65,” a main road north; a rural two-lane.
• “Harley” is Harley-Davidson motorcycles.

Big Blows

Veranda style. (Photo by Gordon Glattenberg.)

The Summer 2010 issue of my “Classic Trains” magazine has a cover treatment of Union Pacific's turbine locomotives.
“Classic Trains” is an affiliate of Trains Magazine, which I've subscribed to since the middle '60s.
It treats railroading in the classic era, 1930s through the '70s.
I'm a railfan, and have been since age-two; I'm now 66.
I was hoping for more detail, like how they worked — perhaps a schematic.
But not in this article.
All there was was that they burned Bunker-C fuel-oil; cheaper and heavier than diesel fuel.
Bunker-C was apparently difficult.
Cold it congealed, almost like tar.
It had to be preheated to 200 degrees.
A diesel engine also had to spin up the turbine to start it; plus it burned diesel-fuel at first.
I had to depend on Wikipedia and other web-sites to see how they worked.
The turbine was connected to a generator, so the locomotives were turbine-electric.
Much like a diesel-electric locomotive, where the giant diesel engine generates current for the trolley-style traction motors.
They were made by General Electric.
Experimentals worked around in the late '40s, but only one railroad bought any, Union Pacific.
The “Big Blows” were assigned to the UP main, Nebraska west into Wyoming.
They were called “Big Blows” because of the racket they made. They roared loudly.
Apparently in 1962, the year I graduated high-school, they were tried on UP's cross-desert Salt Lake route to Los Angeles.
This includes a segment of Santa Fe over Cajon (“ka-HONE”) Pass, into Los Angeles, via trackage rights.
But power output decreased at high temperatures, like in desert.
The Big Blows were sent back east.
The latest ones were uprated to 10,000 horsepower, although I hear that was scuttlebutt, as their electrics couldn't handle 10,000 horsepower.
It's also two units, but supposedly 10,000 horsepower total. Pennsy's E44 electric locomotives were uprated to 5,000 horsepower per unit. Uprated electrics were installed, but that's slightly later than the Big Blows.
That's 10,000 horsepower over four three-axle trucks. An E44 was 5,000 horsepower over two three-axle trucks.
Still, 8,500 horsepower in a single locomotive (one turbine) is extraordinary, compared to 2,000 horsepower for diesel-electrics of that time.
Fuel cost increased as Bunker-C became rare.
Uses had been found for it in plastics manufacture, plus refiners were implementing methods of “cracking” it into lighter fuels.
The Big Blows were also fuel guzzlers.
They were deactivated, and nearly all scrapped.
56 had been built.
The one pictured above is the “veranda” style.
It had a narrowed carbody with road-switcher like walkways.
So the crew didn't have to walk inside next to the turbine.
Earlier and final Big Blows had a full-width carbody.

Photo by Don Ross.

Only two were saved, numbers 18 (pictured at left), and 26.
Both are of the final series, the two-unit 8,500 horsepower series.
Although only the rear unit has the turbine.
The front unit had a 1,000 horsepower diesel in it, to operate ancillaries and get the locomotive around with the turbine shut off. (It was a guzzler at idle.)
Neither are veranda units; the final series weren't.
And neither operate.

Yada-yada-yada-yada-yada!

Last night (Wednesday, May 5, 2010) it was pushing 8:30.
We were preparing supper, late as usual, due to dog-walking, flag removal, closing the garden-gate, etc.
The phone rang.
It was our landline provider.
“No, we don't use our landline for long-distance. We use our cellphones,” my wife said.
“Yada-yada-yada-yada-yada!” So loud I could hear it via the faraway earpiece.
“Greatest recession in years. We have to cut costs. We can do that!”
“Cable,” my wife said when asked.
“We offer DSL Internet at substantial savings,” the telamarketer screamed.
“I'm sorry, I can't listen now,” my wife said. “We're preparing supper.”
“YADA-YADA-YADA-YADA-YADA!” Volume increased.
Finally, ker-CLICK! She hit the disengage button.
“I don't know about this stuff,” my wife said to me.
“I probably woulda hung up earlier,” I said.
Sometimes diplomacy doesn't work.
“What I shoulda said, but forgot,” my wife said; “was 'we bought into one of your plans that was supposed to save us money, but it cost more.
We had to go back to our old plan.'”

• “We” is me and my wife of 42+ years, “Linda.”

Printer madness

Over the past 20 years that I've been fooling with Personal Computers, I've had various mysterious hairballs hurled at me by printers.
Usually I could work around these hairballs, although reams of paper often got wasted doing so.
It's gotten so printing is pretty reliable.
I use a photo-quality inkjet printer. Always have.
But last night (Tuesday, May 4, 2010) really strange unexplainable mysteries were occurring.
I had a fairly large printing job to do, 36 pages. Three printouts of 12-page documents.
The printer ran out of paper at 28 pages, so stopped; red alarm-light on.
I loaded more paper and clicked “resume.”
It thereafter printed page 8, then page 7, then page 6, all pages that had previously printed, but in descending order, all the way down to page 1.
Then it started page 8 again, but stalled about two-thirds of the way.
Start over. Delete print-job, and pull out stalled paper.
More for our shredder.
Okay, print the final printout from the beginning, but first at least six blank pages rifled through the printer.
What's going on here?
Is it ever gonna stop spitting blank pages?
What prompted that?
I've been told printers are mysterious beasts; they seem to have a mind of their own.
Okay, printer set-up.
I've given up resizing printer files.
I just print 8&1/2 by 11, as long as I can get my output in the right spot on a strange paper size.
Like envelopes, which aren't 8&1/2 by 11.
I also was printing an Internet document, which I'm told is tempting fate.
What usually happened is if I could get it on the screen, my printer could print it; although apparently it wasn't “print-screen.”
But why would it print in descending order when it usually prints in ascending order?
And why did it print pages I'd already printed?
And most of all, why did it spit out six blank pages first?
I had deleted the previous print-job.
Sometimes the paper misfeeds, and it cranks out a blank page.
But not this time.