Biting The Dust

There is a bit of live crown yet, but the leaves are wilting. We always enjoy the fall colors we had on our sassafrases, but no more.  We still have one live sassafras in our yard, and it will probably leave us next year. It is easy firewood, but that is small consolation.  Back To The Old Grind!
 

Weekend Steam II: Cumbres and Toltec #488

 Another great suggestion from Merle! Cumbres and Toltec # 488. Thank You, Merle! The tourist season is probably coming to a close soon.

Weekend Steam: Sad Vulcan Locomotive

 Merle spotted a brief video showing an abandoned Vulcan loco, and it provides some interesting views.  You should know that flues are not welded in the sheets at their ends. The ends of the flues are expanded with a roller, and then they are rolled over. Thank You, Merle, for the pick!

Here are some bonus Vulcan videos from a quick search on YouTube:

Adventures In Motoring, 1913!

I pulled one of my old books off the shelf to look for a story I remembered, and I flipped right to it. I got this book way back when I was in high school. It is Early American Car Advertisements, by Q. David Bowers, copyright 1966. It is funny how some things will stick in your mind. This one is because it referenced early gas engines. 
 

The Metz Non-Stop Run was made in 1913 with a Metz 22, a tiny car with 22 horsepower and a friction drive rather than a conventional transmission and clutch. (Check this link to see how the friction drive worked. It is very much like the system on Heider tractors.) The trip was 1600 miles from Boston to Minneapolis, and the goal was to make the trip in less than 96 hours. It was a huge challenge, but they did beat the time by several hours.  Here is one of the hurdles they had to jump. 

"...I was not looking for a night's lodging, but for information. Failing to get an answer, we were obliged to resort to our route book, so continued along as best we could- little suspecting that we were going farther and farther out of our way every minute.

After a time we were brought to a stop at the end of a road, and I took out my flash-light to hunt for a sign-post. Turning to the right, I encountered a tremendous grade and a very rough road.

“That certainly cannot be the way,” I remarked to McGann; “it looks better to take the road to the left.” We did this, and proceeded only a short distance when suddenly the motor stopped. McGann locked the brakes, and announced quietly, “Out of gas!”

I realized the same thing at the same instant, for I would bank on my motor running indefinitely if given sufficient gasoline and oil.

A nice predicament!

No one realizes the consternation caused by running out of gasoline in an absolutely strange place, with impenetrable darkness all around you. Here we were, in the wilds of Wisconsin, miles from nowhere, and out of gasoline!
                                             One Ray of Hope

But wait! Not quite out. The outlet to the gasoline pipe in my tank is one-half inch above the bottom of the tank. By careful driving on the sloping side of the road there would be a slight inclination of the tank, and the remaining gasoline would flow to the lower end. So, having decided that we were on the wrong road, we turned around and, by keeping well on the right-hand slope managed to return about three miles to the last farmhouse we had passed.

We turned our search-light full onto the front of the house, and I made bold with my electric flash lamp in hand to arouse the inmates.

A child’s voice was heard, and I knew the household must be awake; but what did they think of this outfit, with a powerful searchlight turned full on the house and a none too gentle-looking stranger approaching at midnight? I felt as though I ought to shout “Don’t shoot; I’m not a robber,” But I knew McGann would never forget that, so I quietly walked up to the door and called “Hello!”

We Had Missed the Main Road by About Seven Miles

For response came a woman’s voice, asking what I wanted, and when I explained that it was gasoline, she replied that they hadn’t any. Further inquiry brought out the fact that we were about 7 miles from the main road, the Ridgeroad, as they call it, and that several miles farther along on the Ridgeroad lived a farmer by the name of Reicheim who had a machine that he used for sawing wood-- and perhaps he might have some gasoline.

After thanking the lady very kindly, and apologizing for the midnight invasion, we started our motor with the meager supply of gasoline still left and made 6 miles of the journey back toward the Ridgerroad before our dear old “22” made its last gasp and refused to budge another foot without replenishment of the life-giving fluid that makes the wheels go ’round.

Gasoline or Bust!

It was past midnight. I looked up int the sky, thinking I might locate East, West, North, or South from the position of the stars, but only occasionally did one or two peep through the parting clouds. So with my little flashlight I set out to find Farmer Reicheim, who sawed wood with a machine. I gained the main road, and turned the direction we would have taken if we had kept to our true course.

The reader may think it strange that we should not have provided ourselves with an ample supply of gasoline while it was procurable by daylight, and I will admit we were a little careless in not watching the supply; but as we had previously traveled over 400 miles on a tankful, and as we were expecting to cover only 300 miles or so on this lap of the journey to La Crosse, we gave no thought to the matter. After filling at Chicago, bad roads, heavy sand, and losing our way used up our supply faster than we realized, and so we found ourselves stranded.

McGann was to keep watch by the car while I went on the hike for gasoline. The first house I came to was deserted. Nothing about the barn looked like a machine that used gasoline, so I continued for about a mile to the next house, where they said the man a few rods farther along could probably tell me where I could get what I was looking for.

“A few rods up the road!”

I walked and walked, until I began to think I must be going in the wrong direction. Finally I discerned the outlines of a house and, upon awaking the inmates, was told that they didn’t know of anybody that had a machine, didn’t know Reicheim, and only ventured to suggest that their neighbor across the road, and little to the westward, might be able to give me some information.

“How far is it, and which way do you call westward?” I inquired.

“Well,” they said, “which way did you come from?”

“I’m hanged if I know whether you would call it up or down the road,” I replied. “All I know is, I’ve got a car stalled about four miles from here, and I want some gasoline to make it go.”

“Sorry we can’t help you,” they replied, “but if you will turn west and walk a few rods, you will come to a house where they may be able to tell you where you can get some.”

Unable to get any definite information from these people, I again looked at the sky with further hopes of learning the points of the compass. Westward, indeed! They might as well have told me to go heavenward.

Not to bore the reader with the details of that hour of struggle, I finally reached “the house to the westward” as the first rays of dawn were forcing back the dark robes of night. My first rap on the door brought no response. I repeated, several times, and then came a woman’s voice: “Who’s there?”

Can anyone tell me why it is that in every case where I roused households that night it was the woman who answered first? Are the men more timid, or are they less anxious to help one in distress? Whatever the reason may be, God bless the women for their willingness to respond.

Mr. Reicheim Was Not a Bit Interested

At last I had located Mr. Reicheim, for in answer to my question I found that it was indeed his house. As soon as he came to the door I started my hard luck story, but it did not seem to impress him very much.

“I will pay you any price you ask,” I explained earnestly, “but I must have gasoline.”

“Well, I haven’t got any, now,” he drawled. “I put the last two gallons I had in the engine about a month ago.”

“But you say you have not used the engine since then,” I persisted, “so the gasoline must still be there.”

“Oh, yes it must still be there, all right,” he admitted, “but I don’t believe I could get it out.”

I saw by his manner that the wanted to go back to bed, but I was determined to get that gasoline, if there was a quart of it about the place.

“Now look here,” I argued, “my car is about four miles back on the road. I must have gasoline to get to La Crosse before 8 o’clock this very morning. I have been tramping this neighborhood since midnight looking for YOU, and now I must have that two gallons of gasoline. Tell me where it is, and I will get it myself, and pay you your own price for it.”

He mumbled something to his wife about being forced to get up at that hour of the morning, and as I saw him prepare to go out to the barn with me I nearly collapsed with joy. You may well believe that the midnight tramp had pretty high exhausted me, and I had now located probably the only two gallons of gasoline within a radius of 10 miles of where we were stalled.

We had some trouble in getting the gasoline out of his engine. There was nothing for it but to disconnect the pipes and work several valves, but the precious fluid soon came trickling down into a milk pail which we pressed into service, and as that pail filled my spirits rose accordingly. For I had secured enough “life” to carry us on to La Crosse.

At my long absence McGann became alarmed. He thought I might be lost from him, as well as lost in the Wisconsin woods, and he tried to signal me by throwing the search-light in fantastic sweeps across the sky. Then he tried calling, and finally lay down in the car for a sound—which was just as good for me, and better for him. He awoke as I came marching up triumphantly with my milk pail filled with “gas.”

It did not take long to set the stuff to work. We poured it into the tank, cranked up the engine, and were again on our way at a little after 4 o’clock, with La Crosse about 50 miles distant.

Some stretches of the road now became abominable, Heavy rains had preceded us, and numerous washouts, deep-cut ruts and gullies were encountered. But at St. Joseph we secured more gasoline, and the roads improved very much into La Crosse, where I was fortunate in picking up Archie Oldberg, who knew every foot of the remaining distance, 175 miles, to Minneapolis.”

Troublesome Walnut Is Gone!

 This black walnut came up between the big pecan and the gazebo, and I let it get away from me. It leaned heavily to the gazebo because of the pecan crown, and there was no place I could send it because of obstacles in the way. I was able to reach a few of the lower branches with a long pole and pruning saw, but most of the crown was out of reach.

There was a crew working today just a quarter of a mile away, and we went over to talk to them. They came and did our walnut, and were back out the driveway in twenty minutes. We are relieved to have that tree out of our hair. Cleanup begins tomorrow!

A Visit With The Electrophysiologist!

 We made important progress today on my bradycardia problem. We went to Barnes-Jewish/Wash U in St. Louis, where we should have gone in the beginning. I have two problems. Bradycardia. (slow heartbeat) and PVCs, (Premature Ventricular Contractions). We learned a lot in an hour long visit with the doctor. The PVCs are the bigger problem. PVCs make the ventricles contract when they should be filling with blood, which inhibits the pumping action. This is likely causing more symptoms than the slow heartbeat. Treating the PVCs with medications will make the heartbeat issue worse by slowing the heart more. Treating the slow heartbeat with a pacemaker will not get rid of the PVCs, so next week we are going back for an echocardiogram to learn more about what my heart is doing. After that we will be choosing how I will be treated. Most likely at this point is catheter ablation, then monitoring to see how I do without a pacemaker. The doctor assured me that I can go on with my normal activities, as long as I don't push myself into tachycardia, which I have done a few times. 

From a Google Search:  Catheter ablation is a minimally invasive procedure that can treat premature ventricular contractions (PVCs): 

 

• How it works

  A catheter is inserted into the heart through a vein in the groin, and radiofrequency is used to destroy the tissue causing the PVCs. 

   
• When it's recommended

  Catheter ablation is often the preferred treatment for PVCs, especially for patients with monomorphic PVCs. It's also recommended for patients who don't respond to medications or cardiac resynchronization therapy. 

   
• Success rate

  Catheter ablation can eliminate PVCs in up to 85% of patients. 

   
• Recovery

  After the procedure, patients typically lie flat for a few hours and can usually go home the same day. Some soreness is normal and shouldn't last more than a week. 
• 
  

Cutting Sprouts and Dead Wood

 The Kubota RTV makes cleaning up possible for us. We can make a load of dead wood quickly, but dragging it away is the hard part. The RTV holds a good load, and the bed dumps it without us having to handle the wood a second time. A couple more afternoons and we will have everything in ship shape again. 

The pin oak on the right side of the pictures is dying and dropping dead wood. It hangs over the power line coming to the house. We will have to hire someone with a bucket truck to take it down. There is no place to fall it if we cut it ourselves. 

Tuesday Torque: Someplace Or Another Visits Pinckneyville!

 One of the really great shows in the middle of the country!

Rock Garden Equals....

 ...Rocks In Our Heads? We picked up rocks every time we took a trip anywhere, and we also have a lot of rocks from under the old farm house that was torn down sixty years ago. You gotta do something with all those rocks, so making an unmowable area that grows weeds and new trees seemed like a decent idea. We are in the process of cutting young trees, and trying not to tag rocks with the saw. It is amazing the way a place can overgrow with trees in a few years. So, we are gathering up the rocks and moving them to a new spot.

                                  Back To The Old Grind!

Weekend Steam II: Parade Of Steam, Cass, West Virginia

Many Thanks to Merle for spotting this YouTube channel!

Weekend Steam: UP Centipede Tenders

 Study the "centipede" and think about curve radius. It works OK on Union Pacific lines, but when the Big Boy visits other railroads, they can get bound up. A tight curve in a yard or a Y will have wheels climbing the rails. When the Big Boy made its first tour there were some videos of very slow and careful moves being made to avoid derailing. From Union Pacific Railroad Company Fans on Facebook. "This image of engine 4023’s tender helps illustrate why the type is known as a centipede tender. Visible on this side are the five wheels mounted to the tender and the two installed in the leading truck. The diagonal row of rivets indicates the partition between the water tank in the rear of the tender and the coal bunker in the front. Note the recessed ladder on the left and the 10 in (254 mm) sideboards atop the tender on the right.."

Many Thanks, Merle!

A Proper Hinge

 Take a look at the hinge on this locust we cut the other day. No need to bore on this one. It was leaning way back, and I had the tractor supporting the back weight while I set up the hinge. A well aimed hinge of the proper width and length, with the front and back level will put your trees on the ground safely, where you want them. 

Rest In Peace, Paul Harrell

 Paul was a real good guy. I have enjoyed his videos for years, and often go back and refer to them.

Here is just one example of Paul's work to provide useful information to his viewers. 

The Fun Never Ends

 There were some black locusts leaning out and getting in the way of the lawnmower, so they became a project over the weekend. We dropped them with the help of the tractor. Bucking, splitting, and stacking went without a hitch. We don't know how lucky we are.*(Cultural Reference at the end of this post.)

We had the hydraulic splitter set up in front of the stack of wood. I split and Susan stacked. No problems. Today, though, I noticed some very big hornets (European Hornets) flying about. They were coming and going from under the trim board where the white arrow points. I have fought yellow jackets, hornets, and bumble bees a few times, so I went to work. I started batting them out of the air with a small chunk of cherry firewood. I would knock them down and then step on them. I killed more than a dozen before I was nailed on top of the head. That was interesting. I usually swell up with stings, so I paid attention to my symptoms. I could feel the venom spreading down my head, especially through my face, but I was still in the fight. I grabbed the LP torch and killed them coming and going from the hole. I ran the count up to more than fifty. We shot some wasp and hornet killer in the hole this evening. I expect more to come, though. The pupated larvae will not be killed, and they will soon emerge. Nasty little blighters! I am extremely thankful that they did not attack Susan while she was stacking wood.

*Cultural Reference:

Tuesday Torque: 22 HP Fairbanks At Meriden Antique Engine And Threshers Association

 Meriden, Kansas. Thank You, Merle! 67 inch flywheels, 7000 pounds! Note the patch for the freeze damage on the water jacket.

Don't Belt Up

                               Time For A Day Off! No Grinding For You!