I have come to the realization that nothing I do is accomplished without some kind of problem. It's no wonder my stress level is usually through the roof. From here-on-in, I will refer to X-country skiing as XCS to save wear and tear on the tendinitis in my wrists.
I went XCS yesterday at the town park. Sometime between 3:00 yesterday afternoon and 11:00 this morning, someone else went XCS at the same park. Not only were they there making tracks all over the soccer field, they also used MY tracks.
X-country skiing is not easy and why in the world I want to risk either falling on my ass or freezing it off every winter is beyond my comprehension. The first clue that this was not going to be a good day was when it took me longer to get the skis on than the time it took to actually use them. I don't know what is wrong and I am now beginning to hate mechanical things as much as electronic gizmos. I think that the toes of my ski boots have curled up. This slight curl makes it very difficult to snap the boots into the ski binders since it is only the tips of the boots that get bound to the ski. I struggled for at least 10 minutes scraping snow out of my shoes and out of the binders, stomping my foot down, pressing the binder release levers, and dropping the ski poles multiple times -- not to mention trying to keep my balance the whole time. I finally accomplished the task by pressing hard on the top of my boot with the palm of my hand. By now, I was too friggin' tired and aggravated to even go skiing.
I wasn't 1/4 of the way around the field when Hope decided to dump. The field that I was skiing in is like a bowl, with a hill leading up to the asphalt path that circles it. Hope decided to dump halfway up the hill. So, what do I do now? Do I try to climb the hill with my skis or take the boots off? I decided since I had just struggled for 10 minutes putting the friggin' skis on, I was not going to take them off again, so I climbed. I don't do hills well. I am so bad on hills that I will not ski anywhere unless it is a flat surface. If you've ever ski'd before, whether X-country or down-hill, you know that you tackle going uphill in side steps perpendicular to the slope of the hill. Step left foot, step right foot on top of the ski pole; yank the pole out from under the ski, step left foot, step right foot on top of the ski pole; yank pole out from under ski. Dig skis into the snow so deep that only the front tips come up, leaving the back buried in the snow. I am still ten feet away from the poop and there is this other problem with actually bending over and picking the stuff up. By now, having had enough of the clown act, I threw my poles down the hill and took the skis off. Poop pick-up accomplished, I now had to gather up two skis and two poles that were thrown hither and yon and struggle another 10 minutes to get the skis back on my boots.
I am no expert on XCS and, for the most part, struggle with staying upright. What I did learn was that to make it easier, you first lay a trail in the snow and then you ski over it again and again. This packs down the snow and smooths it out. It also makes a deep track in the snow which helps to keep your skis in the groove, so to speak.
Yesterday, I ran around the soccer field twice; once for the initial path and a second time to pack it down. The person who followed in my tracks must have weighed differently or bore his/her weight differently as there were many spots that my skis were not level and would lean to the right or left, causing me to lose what little balance I had left. The other skier also did not glide, instead taking short stubby strides which cut the trail into splotchy little, I don't know -- splotches.
After the first round and fiasco of trying to follow yesterday's trail, I blazed a new one. By the third time around, I had a nice, solidly packed trail that was a pleasure to ski on. If I'm lucky, I get to do the whole thing all over again tomorrow. I can't wait until Spring.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Coming back from VA
After having exactly two trips with absolutely no trials and tribulations, it all came crashing down on me on my trip back home from Virginia.
I stayed at Karen's apartment on Saturday night. Being a new apartment that she is not exactly moved into yet, she has not had the heat on to warm up the place. Also, because she has not exactly moved in yet, she has no furniture. The building is like two duplexes side-by-side, one floor units, with what I am assuming is a concrete slab floor. Damn, was that floor cold and guess where I slept. I took all of the blankets out of the van and laid them on the floor. It was nice and cushy, but I got absolutely no sleep that night because I was so friggin' cold. I finally got up around 2:00, went out to the van and got my electric blanket. Because it is just a throw and not a true electric blanket, it doesn't give off that much heat. I think it took the rest of the night to warm up all the blankets and my cold body. So problem #1 -- I overslept due to lack of sleep.
Because Karen has this new, very empty apartment, and because just about everything I have in the van is duplicates of stuff I have at home, I gave her half of my blankets, some towels, some other odds and ends, and my pot and frying pan. When she was leery about taking the pot and pan, I told her not to worry, that I would be home the next day and I always had the microwave to cook with.
Problem #2 -- it rained all day. It POURED all day and everything in the van was damp. Because where I parked at Karen's apartment complex was not level enough for my refrigerator to run properly, I turned it off for the night. When I went to turn it on Sunday morning, it wouldn't start. I really thought I was out of propane because the gauge on the tank read just above E. It wasn't until Monday morning, when I tried starting the fridge again and it lit right up, that I realized the burner must have been wet or damp from all the rain on Sunday and that's why it wouldn't fire up.
Problem #3 -- where to stay the night. I couldn't "boondock" anywhere because I thought I was out of propane, which meant I had no furnace to keep warm. That meant that I needed to stay in a campground where I could plug in and get electricity for the ceramic heater. I was in the Baltimore/Washington D.C. area. Campgrounds are far and few between and those that are open in December are even fewer. I drove Route 301 for three or four hours and did not see one propane filling station. I ended up staying at a campground I went to last January on my way down to Florida. I had to drive 20 miles out of my way, but at least it was a place I knew was open.
Problem #4 -- The campground. I pulled in just as night was falling. Visibility was rather bad. Most campgrounds have a few sites put aside for late arrivals. They had four sites available, two were back-in spots for small trailers, vans or tents and the other two were pull-through sites for big rigs. Because it was dark and because the map of the campground was all soggy and the directions to the sites were all smeared, I really couldn't read it well, so I picked a site that at least had electricity. I never even saw the site #112 marked on the map. AFTER I hooked up, I looked to see what site I was at -- # 88. So, being the highly conscientious person that I am with the massive guilt complex, I went in search for site #112. I found it with a big honker of a truck parked in it. I walked back up to the office to see what other sites were available. #111, #88 and #89 were. Since I was already set up in site #88, I decided to stay there and went back to the van.
As I am eating dinner, my massive guilt complex is growing inside me because my paperwork said site #112 and I was sitting in site #88 and some large fifth-wheel was driving around and around the campground looking for a site. I finally got the bright idea to run back to the office and trade my site #112 paperwork for the proper site #88 paperwork. Finally, I can now get a restful night's sleep without worrying about someone coming by and telling me I'd have to move.
Problem #5 -- The last time I took the van out, I had the generator running and I used the microwave to heat up something. It took about 10 tries before the microwave finally kicked in. I thought that maybe the generator just hadn't powered up enough electricity yet and that's why the microwave wasn't starting. On Sunday, I was in the campground plugged in to an electrical outlet and the microwave still wouldn't work. After pushing all the buttons 10,000 times, I finally found out that if I ran it for 12 seconds first, then I could run it for the minute or two needed to heat up my food. Before I figured that out, I was in a bit of a pickle because I realized I gave Karen my pot and frying pan so I had nothing to cook with. Besides, I still thought I was out of propane. So here I was camping with no microwave oven, no pots and pans, and no gas. Luckily, I did get the microwave working enough to heat up my dinner. I am sure the microwave is about ready to
kick the bucket as the quick-cook buttons don't work, either -- just one more electronics gadget in my household to bite the dust. I so hate electronics.
Problem #6 -- the grand finale, which really happened within the first hour after I left Karen's place. That was receiving the call from my neighbor, Ronnie, telling me my furnace at home died and it was 27 degrees in my house. I spent an hour calling the heating repair guy, calling Ronnie back, calling Billy to see if he could rescue Olly, waiting for the heating repair guy to call me back, and finally speaking to Billy to let him know that Olly was OK and didn't need rescuing.
On Monday morning, I made scrambled eggs in the microwave -- which took four times longer to cook because the &^%# thing wouldn't start up. I also toasted english muffins on the stove grates. Lo and behold, I had enough gas to make toasted english muffins. If I had enough gas to do that, I thought I'd try the fridge. Sure enough, it started up on the second try. Like I said earlier, the burner and igniter must have been wet from all the rain.
Karen had e-mailed me to find out where I stayed for the night. When I told her of my lovely adventures for the day, I said, "I can't wait until I do this full time."
I stayed at Karen's apartment on Saturday night. Being a new apartment that she is not exactly moved into yet, she has not had the heat on to warm up the place. Also, because she has not exactly moved in yet, she has no furniture. The building is like two duplexes side-by-side, one floor units, with what I am assuming is a concrete slab floor. Damn, was that floor cold and guess where I slept. I took all of the blankets out of the van and laid them on the floor. It was nice and cushy, but I got absolutely no sleep that night because I was so friggin' cold. I finally got up around 2:00, went out to the van and got my electric blanket. Because it is just a throw and not a true electric blanket, it doesn't give off that much heat. I think it took the rest of the night to warm up all the blankets and my cold body. So problem #1 -- I overslept due to lack of sleep.
Because Karen has this new, very empty apartment, and because just about everything I have in the van is duplicates of stuff I have at home, I gave her half of my blankets, some towels, some other odds and ends, and my pot and frying pan. When she was leery about taking the pot and pan, I told her not to worry, that I would be home the next day and I always had the microwave to cook with.
Problem #2 -- it rained all day. It POURED all day and everything in the van was damp. Because where I parked at Karen's apartment complex was not level enough for my refrigerator to run properly, I turned it off for the night. When I went to turn it on Sunday morning, it wouldn't start. I really thought I was out of propane because the gauge on the tank read just above E. It wasn't until Monday morning, when I tried starting the fridge again and it lit right up, that I realized the burner must have been wet or damp from all the rain on Sunday and that's why it wouldn't fire up.
Problem #3 -- where to stay the night. I couldn't "boondock" anywhere because I thought I was out of propane, which meant I had no furnace to keep warm. That meant that I needed to stay in a campground where I could plug in and get electricity for the ceramic heater. I was in the Baltimore/Washington D.C. area. Campgrounds are far and few between and those that are open in December are even fewer. I drove Route 301 for three or four hours and did not see one propane filling station. I ended up staying at a campground I went to last January on my way down to Florida. I had to drive 20 miles out of my way, but at least it was a place I knew was open.
Problem #4 -- The campground. I pulled in just as night was falling. Visibility was rather bad. Most campgrounds have a few sites put aside for late arrivals. They had four sites available, two were back-in spots for small trailers, vans or tents and the other two were pull-through sites for big rigs. Because it was dark and because the map of the campground was all soggy and the directions to the sites were all smeared, I really couldn't read it well, so I picked a site that at least had electricity. I never even saw the site #112 marked on the map. AFTER I hooked up, I looked to see what site I was at -- # 88. So, being the highly conscientious person that I am with the massive guilt complex, I went in search for site #112. I found it with a big honker of a truck parked in it. I walked back up to the office to see what other sites were available. #111, #88 and #89 were. Since I was already set up in site #88, I decided to stay there and went back to the van.
As I am eating dinner, my massive guilt complex is growing inside me because my paperwork said site #112 and I was sitting in site #88 and some large fifth-wheel was driving around and around the campground looking for a site. I finally got the bright idea to run back to the office and trade my site #112 paperwork for the proper site #88 paperwork. Finally, I can now get a restful night's sleep without worrying about someone coming by and telling me I'd have to move.
Problem #5 -- The last time I took the van out, I had the generator running and I used the microwave to heat up something. It took about 10 tries before the microwave finally kicked in. I thought that maybe the generator just hadn't powered up enough electricity yet and that's why the microwave wasn't starting. On Sunday, I was in the campground plugged in to an electrical outlet and the microwave still wouldn't work. After pushing all the buttons 10,000 times, I finally found out that if I ran it for 12 seconds first, then I could run it for the minute or two needed to heat up my food. Before I figured that out, I was in a bit of a pickle because I realized I gave Karen my pot and frying pan so I had nothing to cook with. Besides, I still thought I was out of propane. So here I was camping with no microwave oven, no pots and pans, and no gas. Luckily, I did get the microwave working enough to heat up my dinner. I am sure the microwave is about ready to
kick the bucket as the quick-cook buttons don't work, either -- just one more electronics gadget in my household to bite the dust. I so hate electronics.
Problem #6 -- the grand finale, which really happened within the first hour after I left Karen's place. That was receiving the call from my neighbor, Ronnie, telling me my furnace at home died and it was 27 degrees in my house. I spent an hour calling the heating repair guy, calling Ronnie back, calling Billy to see if he could rescue Olly, waiting for the heating repair guy to call me back, and finally speaking to Billy to let him know that Olly was OK and didn't need rescuing.
On Monday morning, I made scrambled eggs in the microwave -- which took four times longer to cook because the &^%# thing wouldn't start up. I also toasted english muffins on the stove grates. Lo and behold, I had enough gas to make toasted english muffins. If I had enough gas to do that, I thought I'd try the fridge. Sure enough, it started up on the second try. Like I said earlier, the burner and igniter must have been wet from all the rain.
Karen had e-mailed me to find out where I stayed for the night. When I told her of my lovely adventures for the day, I said, "I can't wait until I do this full time."
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Miscellaneous Stuff
I've seen blue berries and red berries and black berries and branches with yellow and red berries, but I have never seen one branch with so many different colors:
This is the Farmington Canal in Cheshire, CT:
The history and information of the canal is as follows:
In the early 1800's, the Farmington Canal was built between Northhampton and New Haven; Irish immigrants dug the canal by hand.
The Canal locks controlled the flow of the water to compensate for the slope of the land. Farmers living nearby would answer the barge captain's horn, coming to maneuver the locks. Flat-bottomed boats were pulled by mules walking alongside the canal.
the barges carried goods and passengers between ports; a trip from New Haven to Cheshire cost sixty-two cents and took nearly five hours. Local children enjoyed swimming and skating on the canal.
It has been reported that in 1839, the Amistad slaves were transported on the canal from the New Haven prison to Farmington. Horsecarts then carried them to the courthouse in Hartford for trial.
The canal operated from 1828 to 1848; trains then became the preferred form of transportation. Lock 12 (pictured) is the only restored lock remaining today.
The above was inscribed on a stone just north of Lock 12. It was composed by the Doolittle Elementary School Student Volunteers.
The Larken Bridal Path:
The Larkin Bridal Path in Naugatuck, CT. I walk Hope here at least three times a week. The pictures really do not do it justice. The Path runs a total of 10.3 miles between Naugatuck to Southbury. It is a Rails-to-Trails path. You can read about its history here:http://www.ct.gov/dep/cwp/view.asp?a=2716&q=434808&depNav_GID=1650
This is the Farmington Canal in Cheshire, CT:
In the early 1800's, the Farmington Canal was built between Northhampton and New Haven; Irish immigrants dug the canal by hand.
The Canal locks controlled the flow of the water to compensate for the slope of the land. Farmers living nearby would answer the barge captain's horn, coming to maneuver the locks. Flat-bottomed boats were pulled by mules walking alongside the canal.
the barges carried goods and passengers between ports; a trip from New Haven to Cheshire cost sixty-two cents and took nearly five hours. Local children enjoyed swimming and skating on the canal.
It has been reported that in 1839, the Amistad slaves were transported on the canal from the New Haven prison to Farmington. Horsecarts then carried them to the courthouse in Hartford for trial.
The canal operated from 1828 to 1848; trains then became the preferred form of transportation. Lock 12 (pictured) is the only restored lock remaining today.
The above was inscribed on a stone just north of Lock 12. It was composed by the Doolittle Elementary School Student Volunteers.
The Larken Bridal Path:
The Larkin Bridal Path in Naugatuck, CT. I walk Hope here at least three times a week. The pictures really do not do it justice. The Path runs a total of 10.3 miles between Naugatuck to Southbury. It is a Rails-to-Trails path. You can read about its history here:http://www.ct.gov/dep/cwp/view.asp?a=2716&q=434808&depNav_GID=1650
Friday, September 25, 2009
The Reason Why they are Called Mobile Homes
Ever see a mobile home pulled out of it's spot? I was going to go to the Big-E today, but decided to stay home. It's not every day that you see the home across the street from you being carried away. This picture was taken last week when they took down the tree in front of the home.
Here is the first attempt at pulling the trailer out. I shouldn't say trailer -- it's too trashy sounding; I should say Mobile Home. It took quite awhile for them to get this far as the back wheels of the truck got stuck on the newly-made tree stump.
Here is another angle of the truck directly in front of my home:
I don't know how they cleared that telephone pole. They didn't clear the cable wires overhead, though. These three pictures below are the truck and mobile home on my front lawn. Sue and I were sitting on my front porch and decided to skedattle out of there.
My front lawn. I wonder why they had me move my cars out of the way??? The neighbors were wondering what they would have done if I had been away for the week. No one would have been able to move my car or the Van of Discovery out of the driveway.
Moving John's cable wire off the roof of the mobile home:
Just about ready to take off:
Heading out:
Gone:
It was a great watch. I'm glad I stayed home to see it.
The lot right next door also had a home on it. Last year, they tore it down; it took two days to do it. Since then, a law was passed that mobile homes can no longer be torn down on the lot. The home has to be trucked to a demolition place. It has to do with the possibility of asbestos and other contaminants in the home.
Through the whole process, I wondered about the tires. This particular home was set in 1973. That makes it 36 years old. That means the tires were 36 years old. They had to use a blow torch to free up the axles and as soon as the home was pulled out, one of the tires -- wheel and all -- flew off the axle. They ended up putting three new tires on one side.
I can see this thing blowing pieces off right and left as it is trucking down I-84 on it's way to that big mobile home graveyard in the sky.
Here is the first attempt at pulling the trailer out. I shouldn't say trailer -- it's too trashy sounding; I should say Mobile Home. It took quite awhile for them to get this far as the back wheels of the truck got stuck on the newly-made tree stump.
Here is another angle of the truck directly in front of my home:
I don't know how they cleared that telephone pole. They didn't clear the cable wires overhead, though. These three pictures below are the truck and mobile home on my front lawn. Sue and I were sitting on my front porch and decided to skedattle out of there.
My front lawn. I wonder why they had me move my cars out of the way??? The neighbors were wondering what they would have done if I had been away for the week. No one would have been able to move my car or the Van of Discovery out of the driveway.
Moving John's cable wire off the roof of the mobile home:
Just about ready to take off:
Heading out:
Gone:
It was a great watch. I'm glad I stayed home to see it.
The lot right next door also had a home on it. Last year, they tore it down; it took two days to do it. Since then, a law was passed that mobile homes can no longer be torn down on the lot. The home has to be trucked to a demolition place. It has to do with the possibility of asbestos and other contaminants in the home.
Through the whole process, I wondered about the tires. This particular home was set in 1973. That makes it 36 years old. That means the tires were 36 years old. They had to use a blow torch to free up the axles and as soon as the home was pulled out, one of the tires -- wheel and all -- flew off the axle. They ended up putting three new tires on one side.
I can see this thing blowing pieces off right and left as it is trucking down I-84 on it's way to that big mobile home graveyard in the sky.
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