Dateline: Liverpool, NY, January 19, 2008
It was [should have been] nothing too complicated . . .
Friday morning, at precisely 11:18 am, I showed up to the scene of the crime where the dead ‘99 Ford Taurus, 3 liter 6 with single overhead cam sat belligerently in the middle of Wegman’s parking lot. I was prepared with a set of standard tools appropriate for removing a dead alternator. The Ford was prepared to fight.
I parked my Jeep in front of the Taurus, (henceforth referred to as “POS”) to block the bitter cold forty-mile-per-hour wind that was ripping through my coat like it was cheesecloth.
I popped the hood and deftly applied a 5/16” shallow socket to the first bolt on the alternator.
Hmmm. How about 7/16”? Maybe 3/8”?
Who knew a FORD was all metric?
After a couple trips back and forth between Wally World and Pep Boys to get the proper metric wrenches, plus a pry bar and a small sledge hammer (persuader), I returned to the scene of the crime and, with some persuading and several “incantations”, I got the alternator out.
Back to Pep Boys.
The NAPA 213-3120F (remanufactured) alternator tested “Really Dead”, in spite of the fact that it was less than 2 years old -- hardly out of diapers.
With a much lighter wallet and a new (remanufactured) alternator, I returned to the POS. By this time, about 2:23 pm, Andrew and his girlfriend Sara were waiting at the scene with coffee and peanut donuts. I gladly accepted the coffee and, since my hands were covered in grease, I decided to save the donuts for later.
Andrew and I filled the cavity with the new (remanufactured) alternator and, feeling rather manly, started the car. It ran beautifully! For three minutes . . . then it died.
After a fair amount of tinkering and some jumper cable mojo, I determined that the battery was deceased and would never again hold a charge, rest in peace. We extracted the corpse and headed to Sears. The battery tested “Deader Than an Alternator”.
More wallet-letting.
We returned to the SOTC where the POS sat smirking. Andrew was brandishing a shiny new Sears Die Hard. POS was not impressed. We popped the battery in — backwards — because the Die Hard geniuses decided it would be best to manufacture batteries with a sort of amorphous approach to interchangeability, and swapped the position of the terminals. After a little wire rerouting, we got it all hooked up and with fingers crossed, started the POS. It ran beautifully! For 3 minutes. Then five. Then Ten!
We decided it was fixed, and headed home -- Andrew in the lead, Sara following in her car, and me in my Jeep bringing up the rear, just in case . . . POS ran like a top all the way home. Arrival time, 4:57 pm. After some warming up, Andrew packed up the car, said goodbye and headed back to Geneseo, with a quick stop at Heid’s to introduce Sara to our world famous hot dog stand.
And then . . . just half-an-hour west on the thruway, POS rejected the implants and flatlined.
Andrew coasted off the highway onto the shoulder.
Tractor trailers where whizzing by at 75mph, so Andrew decided to push the car off the shoulder to get it further from the passing traffic.
Here's the really funny part . . .
While Andrew was pushing the POS out of harm’s way, Newton’s law of inertia took over and carried the POS off the shoulder, over the embankment and into the trees, 60 feet from the road and definitely out of harm’s way.
The first phone call started like this:
"Um, Dad . . . the stupid car died, and then . . ."
Several phone calls later, we were able to determine where AAA would leave the car after winching it out of the forest.
My wife Becky and I met Andrew at Pulley’s Towing in Weedsport (catchy names, both), and packed the Jeep with the contents of the POS, which was now sporting muddy tires, a crumpled right front fender, racing stripes up the hood, and broken branches wedged under the windshield wipers. It looked like it had a bad day of duck hunting.
We left POS [henceforth known as Gadabout Gaddis] in the parking lot and started leg two of the drive to Geneseo. It was without incident.
Becky and I helped carry Andrew’s belongings up to his dorm room, said goodbye again and headed to the Quality Inn down the road.
Arrival time: 10:52 pm.
In my left hand, an overnight bag.
In my right, a small, familiar orange paper sack containing 2 peanut donuts.
I fell asleep watching Orangutan Island.
Orangutans are funny.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Murphy's Campout
Eagle Island, Lower Saranac Lake
Chapter 1
Never buy a used boat 4 days before you go camping on an island.
Sunday
Common sense would dictate that it is unwise to spend good money on a 45 year old aluminum boat and motor just a few short days before you need to rely on it to transport you and your loved ones to an island on a lake in the middle of the Adirondack Mountains.
I didn't waste a lot of common sense on this last camping trip.
The decision to look for a used boat to buy was driven by the fact that it is very expensive to rent a leaky, 60 year old aluminum boat with an even older 10 horse motor for an hour, or a day in the Adirondacks. When we go camping on Eagle Island, we bring a lot of stuff. I don't know why we need so much stuff. In spite of the fact that we had a meeting with our camping buddies before we packed so we wouldn't bring anything unnecessary, we still ended up with enough food and gear that, to the casual observer, you wouldn't think we were going camping . . . you'd think we were evacuating.
In order to get all this stuff to the campsite, we rent a boat, load it up and spend an hour or so ferrying gear and people from the marina to the island. If we want to keep the boat with us for the 4 days we're on the island, the rental cost, plus gas ends up around the $500 mark.
So, when I saw the ad in Craig's List for a vintage 16ft Starcraft with a 40 horse Johnson and trailer for $800, simple math said that in 2 camping trips, it would pay for itself.
Can you tell I've never owned a boat?
I went to see the craft in person, expecting the worst. It actually looked pretty solid and more like a real boat than the klunkers we usually rent. It has a closed bow, windshield, electric starter, new anchor and a cool "schooner" type steering wheel. Cosmetically, it looks 45 years old, but nothing a little elbow grease and upholstery can't fix. In fact, with a little time and effort, it could be a stunning classic, like Cloris Leachman.
For now, we just needed the motor to run for 4 days and for the boat to make it to the island and back without sinking. At least we had the sense to ask the seller to drop it in the water and start the motor. There's a river nearby, so we took it over there and dropped it in. It didn't sink! He turned the key and, after 2 tries it started right up and the motor ran smoothly. So far, so good.
I'm no haggler. I tried to get the seller to agree on $700, but he said he couldn't go below $750, since he apparently had a bill to pay that was in that exact amount. Probably a bail bond.
Monday
As soon as the bank opened, I was in line to secure $750 in small, unmarked bills. I met the seller at his house and traded him the cash for the boat. I hooked it up to my Jeep and was on my way. I kept an ear open for sirens, since the trailer lights didn't work. That would be the first thing I'd fix.
When I got home, I backed the boat into the driveway. Did it on the first try! I actually have some practical experience with trailers of different sorts, so it wasn't difficult. Starting to feel like a boat owner!
Juuuuust the beginning . . .
....more to come...
Chapter 1
Never buy a used boat 4 days before you go camping on an island.
Sunday
Common sense would dictate that it is unwise to spend good money on a 45 year old aluminum boat and motor just a few short days before you need to rely on it to transport you and your loved ones to an island on a lake in the middle of the Adirondack Mountains.
I didn't waste a lot of common sense on this last camping trip.
The decision to look for a used boat to buy was driven by the fact that it is very expensive to rent a leaky, 60 year old aluminum boat with an even older 10 horse motor for an hour, or a day in the Adirondacks. When we go camping on Eagle Island, we bring a lot of stuff. I don't know why we need so much stuff. In spite of the fact that we had a meeting with our camping buddies before we packed so we wouldn't bring anything unnecessary, we still ended up with enough food and gear that, to the casual observer, you wouldn't think we were going camping . . . you'd think we were evacuating.
In order to get all this stuff to the campsite, we rent a boat, load it up and spend an hour or so ferrying gear and people from the marina to the island. If we want to keep the boat with us for the 4 days we're on the island, the rental cost, plus gas ends up around the $500 mark.
So, when I saw the ad in Craig's List for a vintage 16ft Starcraft with a 40 horse Johnson and trailer for $800, simple math said that in 2 camping trips, it would pay for itself.
Can you tell I've never owned a boat?
I went to see the craft in person, expecting the worst. It actually looked pretty solid and more like a real boat than the klunkers we usually rent. It has a closed bow, windshield, electric starter, new anchor and a cool "schooner" type steering wheel. Cosmetically, it looks 45 years old, but nothing a little elbow grease and upholstery can't fix. In fact, with a little time and effort, it could be a stunning classic, like Cloris Leachman.
For now, we just needed the motor to run for 4 days and for the boat to make it to the island and back without sinking. At least we had the sense to ask the seller to drop it in the water and start the motor. There's a river nearby, so we took it over there and dropped it in. It didn't sink! He turned the key and, after 2 tries it started right up and the motor ran smoothly. So far, so good.
I'm no haggler. I tried to get the seller to agree on $700, but he said he couldn't go below $750, since he apparently had a bill to pay that was in that exact amount. Probably a bail bond.
Monday
As soon as the bank opened, I was in line to secure $750 in small, unmarked bills. I met the seller at his house and traded him the cash for the boat. I hooked it up to my Jeep and was on my way. I kept an ear open for sirens, since the trailer lights didn't work. That would be the first thing I'd fix.
When I got home, I backed the boat into the driveway. Did it on the first try! I actually have some practical experience with trailers of different sorts, so it wasn't difficult. Starting to feel like a boat owner!
Juuuuust the beginning . . .
....more to come...
ReserveAmerica-dot-duh.
I don't know about you, but when I reserve a camp site, I kinda like to know if it's near the water or under water.
One is preferable to the other.
Well, as a convenience to the patrons who populate state campgrounds during the few short months of summer here in Central New York, the geniuses in charge decided to entrust the camping reservation process to ReserveAmerica.com. Now, if you log onto their website, you'll be greeted with a friendly, efficient interface which allows you to pinpoint an available campsite in the park of your choosing and reserve it instantly, for the nominal fee of $9 in addition to the daily cost of the site. Fine, if you're familiar with the park, or better yet, the exact site.
However, if you call ReserveAmerica-dot-whatever to get information about a particular site -- is it in the woods? is it near the bathrooms? is it located on a haunted Indian burial site? -- you'll be connected with an individual on a mountaintop in Tibet who couldn't find the United States on a globe, much less give you any useful information about a particular campsite.
The call goes something like this:
"Ring Ring"
"Yeah, ReserveAmerica-dot-com"
"Yes, hello, I'd like some information about a camp site, please."
"Sigh. O.K. what."
"Well, I'd like to reserve a site in Thompson's Lake State Park, but there's really no information about the sites online."
"Where is that?"
"New York State, near Albany."
"Well, I don't really know anything about Tomkins Lane."
"It's Thompson's . . . never mind."
This is how we ended up on [cue spooky music] Site 111 in Thompson's Lake State Park -- a site we affectionately named "Camp Squishy".
When we pulled into the park, we drove by several spacious, wooded sites. Ostrich tail feathers of blue smoke rising in curls from the fire pits. Beams of filtered sunlight casting a warm glow on ferns and wildflowers. Site 107 had its very own apple tree! We were quite optimistic.
When we rounded the bend and arrived at [cue spooky music] Site 111, we were greeted by a small, dark, mud-puddly site with a single patch of semi-dry ground just about big enough for half a tent. We pulled into the site and proceeded to inspect the area to see if the ground was more solid than it appeared. Turns out, it was somewhere between quicksand and tapioca. I'm pretty sure it was 20 degrees colder in there than the rest of the park. Tree roots grabbed at our ankles and tried to pull us into the muck.
We walked back to the office to see if another site was available , which of course, it wasn't. I explained about the condition of the site and asked if somebody could deliver some wood chips or mulch so we'd have something semi-solid to walk on. Nope. Sorry. None to be had.
I asked if I could borrow a rake. Sure thing! Rakes and shovels are available for any campers who wish to engage in grounds-keeping activities during their stay. I hinted about some sort of discount or refund in exchange for the work I was about to do. No can do. Reservations and refunds are handled by ReserveAmerica-dot-ha-ha.
We returned to the site to examine our options. Ironically, I found a pile of mulch in the weeds behind the fire pit. Maybe the site's last inhabitants had the same idea, but were interrupted by . . . something. [Shiver!]
A few minutes later, a couple of teens in an ATV stopped by the site and dropped off a rake and a shovel. I spent the next hour or so landscaping the site, tossing shovels full of soggy mulch onto the muck and raking it out flat, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the carnivorous pines lurking in the shadows.
Somewhere around the half-hour mark, the ATV teenyboppers stopped by and asked if I was done with the rake and shovel yet, dude. Curiously enough, they didn't offer to actually help apply the tools to the site, in spite of the fact that, although I was supposed to be on vacation, I looked like I'd been cleaning horse stalls all morning. I hadn't even unpacked the car yet, or set up the tent, and I was ready for a shower and a nap. I assured Moon Unit and Dweezil that as soon as I was finished, they'd be the first to know.
Somewhere around the hour-mark, the rake was decapitated by a stubborn root. I pried the head loose from the mud, used a brick from the fire pit to reassociate it with the handle and finished the mulching. After taking a few minutes to rehydrate with a cold amber ale and admire my handiwork, I proceeded to organize the rest of the site. I found a semi-solid patch of ground near the front of the site just about big enough for our tent and set up a canopy over the picnic table.
I must say, Camp Squishy looked kind of nice when I was done.
All it needed was a couple of potted rhododendrons.
Maybe next time.
One is preferable to the other.
Well, as a convenience to the patrons who populate state campgrounds during the few short months of summer here in Central New York, the geniuses in charge decided to entrust the camping reservation process to ReserveAmerica.com. Now, if you log onto their website, you'll be greeted with a friendly, efficient interface which allows you to pinpoint an available campsite in the park of your choosing and reserve it instantly, for the nominal fee of $9 in addition to the daily cost of the site. Fine, if you're familiar with the park, or better yet, the exact site.
However, if you call ReserveAmerica-dot-whatever to get information about a particular site -- is it in the woods? is it near the bathrooms? is it located on a haunted Indian burial site? -- you'll be connected with an individual on a mountaintop in Tibet who couldn't find the United States on a globe, much less give you any useful information about a particular campsite.
The call goes something like this:
"Ring Ring"
"Yeah, ReserveAmerica-dot-com"
"Yes, hello, I'd like some information about a camp site, please."
"Sigh. O.K. what."
"Well, I'd like to reserve a site in Thompson's Lake State Park, but there's really no information about the sites online."
"Where is that?"
"New York State, near Albany."
"Well, I don't really know anything about Tomkins Lane."
"It's Thompson's . . . never mind."
This is how we ended up on [cue spooky music] Site 111 in Thompson's Lake State Park -- a site we affectionately named "Camp Squishy".
When we pulled into the park, we drove by several spacious, wooded sites. Ostrich tail feathers of blue smoke rising in curls from the fire pits. Beams of filtered sunlight casting a warm glow on ferns and wildflowers. Site 107 had its very own apple tree! We were quite optimistic.
When we rounded the bend and arrived at [cue spooky music] Site 111, we were greeted by a small, dark, mud-puddly site with a single patch of semi-dry ground just about big enough for half a tent. We pulled into the site and proceeded to inspect the area to see if the ground was more solid than it appeared. Turns out, it was somewhere between quicksand and tapioca. I'm pretty sure it was 20 degrees colder in there than the rest of the park. Tree roots grabbed at our ankles and tried to pull us into the muck.
We walked back to the office to see if another site was available , which of course, it wasn't. I explained about the condition of the site and asked if somebody could deliver some wood chips or mulch so we'd have something semi-solid to walk on. Nope. Sorry. None to be had.
I asked if I could borrow a rake. Sure thing! Rakes and shovels are available for any campers who wish to engage in grounds-keeping activities during their stay. I hinted about some sort of discount or refund in exchange for the work I was about to do. No can do. Reservations and refunds are handled by ReserveAmerica-dot-ha-ha.
We returned to the site to examine our options. Ironically, I found a pile of mulch in the weeds behind the fire pit. Maybe the site's last inhabitants had the same idea, but were interrupted by . . . something. [Shiver!]
A few minutes later, a couple of teens in an ATV stopped by the site and dropped off a rake and a shovel. I spent the next hour or so landscaping the site, tossing shovels full of soggy mulch onto the muck and raking it out flat, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the carnivorous pines lurking in the shadows.
Somewhere around the half-hour mark, the ATV teenyboppers stopped by and asked if I was done with the rake and shovel yet, dude. Curiously enough, they didn't offer to actually help apply the tools to the site, in spite of the fact that, although I was supposed to be on vacation, I looked like I'd been cleaning horse stalls all morning. I hadn't even unpacked the car yet, or set up the tent, and I was ready for a shower and a nap. I assured Moon Unit and Dweezil that as soon as I was finished, they'd be the first to know.
Somewhere around the hour-mark, the rake was decapitated by a stubborn root. I pried the head loose from the mud, used a brick from the fire pit to reassociate it with the handle and finished the mulching. After taking a few minutes to rehydrate with a cold amber ale and admire my handiwork, I proceeded to organize the rest of the site. I found a semi-solid patch of ground near the front of the site just about big enough for our tent and set up a canopy over the picnic table.
I must say, Camp Squishy looked kind of nice when I was done.
All it needed was a couple of potted rhododendrons.
Maybe next time.
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