I am still here, but busy.

58AH Sprite (Photo credit: cjzurcher)

I am still here, but full time employment has cut into postings.  Thank you to all who follow these for not giving up.  I will not promise to do better, but hopefully the ones that do get posted will be fun and entertaining.

So, what is new?  I have pretty much finished the Sprite Site/Man cave to the acclaimation of my man friends.  With some time on my hands to focus on other projects, my eye fell on the poor neglected Bugeye Sprite.  Pavement had not passed benethe his wheels for going on two years.  Quietly and patiently he as waited for some attention.  The bonnet (hood in American) has been lashed to the rafters so that all the bits and pieces that make it loud and work could be observed and fiddled with.  Late last week I made the decision that it should be put in place and the car driven.  The reason for the renewed interest in getting it back on the road was that I have become infatuated with FIAT‘s new little car the 500.  I became really excited when they introduced the ABARTH 500.  I looked at the price, performance and availability of the little skate and realized that I had something even more special asleep in my back yard.  The SPRITE!  So now I have been motivated to get the little rascal running.

Now the fly in the ointment.

Seems that during the spring, due to my in activity and neglect, a Wren couple noticed that the hood, suspended from the rafters, seemed to have been neglected.  I  surmise that this happened after I pulled out all of their carefully placed leaves, sticks and building material out of my wall hanging bin for bolts, nuts and washers.

Anyway, I did notice, a few weeks ago, that leaves, sticks and building material had been placed in the grill section of above mentioned bonnet.  However, in my enthusiasm for getting the bonnet back on the chassis of the Sprite, I did not notice that the space had become occupied, by squatters, no less.  I was in the process of re-installing hinge hardware when I started to remove this mass of debris.  In short order, a little brown bird, tail flipped up, flitted to an opening in the exterior wall, turned and started giving me an incredible amount of grief regarding my thoughtless, hamhanded intrusion into its domestic space.

So, it looks like the earliest that the bonnet and chassis will be reunited is after the hatch and the fledglings have departed.  My lovely wife has emailed me the hatch and flegling timeline…

Wyoming

My wife and I are off to Wyoming for a few days to say hello to my lovely mother, see relatives and good friends.  We are planning on cooking some wonderful food, drink some good wine, see spectacular scenery and stay warm.  It takes two hours to fly from San Antonio, Texas to Denver, Colorado, but around 5 hours to drive from Denver to Newcastle, Wyoming.

We will be stopping in Ft. Collins, Colorado to shop the Whole Foods store for groceries as Newcastle is a little limited in selections that my lovely wife deems necessary for ingredients.  She is a wonderful cook and demands that everything be as fresh as possible.  I know that Newcastle Pot Roast  and salmon are on the menu.  I see that she has printed out a recipe for baked oatmeal as well.

My challenge is to get everything that I want to take for the trip into one small duffel and one back pack.  I believe that I am up to the challenge however.  I secretly tested my concept while she is out.  We normally need to take a station wagon to carry all the stuff that we drag along.  This time we decided to pack like nomads.  Time will tell if it worked.

The toughest part is selecting clothes for a totally different ecosystem.  Tomorrow San Antonio will have a high of 81 degrees, Newcastle, Wyoming will have a high of maybe 38?  I don’t know if I own enough clothes to keep warm when it is 6 degrees.

I expect that the next posting will have  pictures.  Although I can tell you that we will be seeing Devils Tower, the Black Hills, Deadwood and Custer State Park with all of its’ buffalo and assorted critters.

Devils Tower

Stickley/Morris recliner

I am a trained Interior Designer, but have never practiced the craft.  I am drawn to interior architecture by the interplay of color, texture, furniture and stage setting.  I am most fascinated by furniture closely followed by fabric.  I am  at work in the manshed/Sprite site/carriage house plying my skills.  Things are moving along, and as in all labors of love, at a leisurely pace.  I am restoring an old rocking chair of unknown origin or history that has sat in plain sight and out of mind for over 10 years.  Last month I “discovered” it, sitting in the wreckage of the greenhouse (more on that later).  “Hummm”, I thought, “That would look pretty good here in the manshed.  Replace the very dated fabric upholstery, clean off the finish since it is starting to disintegrate anyway and see what we have!”  It is maple which means that it does not take kindly to staining, but stained it shall become.  The seating will be replaced with shearling.  Remember, this is going into a MANshed.  It will be stained with Minwax Jacobean, meaning it will be dark.  I had considered a black lacquer, but decided on the stain even though I know it will come out splotchy.

But what I really want is a chair for my indoor study.  Specifically I want a Stickley/Morris/Mission style recliner.  Not a new one.  Oh no, but one with some miles on it.The originals were made with white oak and had leather-covered cushions.  That is what I am looking for.  The color of the leather is of little consequence.  The originals were made in the mid 1860′s by William Morris from a prototype owned by Ephraim Colman in England.  However, Gustav Stickley began making the chair using the Morris design in the early 1900′s.

Gustav Stickley

I have been looking for a chair for a several years.  I found one a few years ago, but the price buckled my knees.  I belive that I may have to build my own.  The design is not challenging, I believe my skills are up to it, but I know it will be frustrating.  I would a lot rather be sitting in one in my study, reading and sipping an adult beverage than in the manshed breathing sawdust, and throwing a ball for MacGuffin.

So folks, if you happen to have one in your attic that is looking for a home, please keep me in mind.

 

New from the Man Shed—”…Dragon Tattoo” bike

Honda CL350 built by Glory Motor Works via the blog THE SALVAGE YARD

This bike, a Honda CL 350 scrambler got me interested in the movie, Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.  I like the design of the bike.  I was not aware that Honda made this particular model, having spent most of my time focused on English bikes.  THE SELVAGE YARD blog describes the rational in choosing this particular model that Glory Motor Works built.  Glory said that they would envision Lisbeth Salander, the hacker, as not having a lot of money to invest in a bike, and that this type of bike would address her transportation needs.

To my way of thinking they did an outstanding job.  I see this bike as a mirror of the spirit of Ms. Salander.  Minimalist, dark, dangerous, intelligent, foreboding, efficient.  My attention is caught by the handlebar shape, low, not ostentatious and purposeful.  The sweep of the handlebar draws my eyes to the lines defined by the duel exhaust with minimal dampening and wrapped with a heat absorbing material replacing visually disrupting metal heat shields that would normally be found.  Between the handlebar and the exhaust my eyes settle on the modified grand prix seat set behind the minimalist fuel tank.  The up kick at the rear of the seat reflects a connection to the stock saddles of the American West while retaining it’s European racing heritage.  This creates a nice juxtaposition of several cultures:  western American cowboy, rough off road racer, classic European road racer on a Japanese made motorcycle.

Other interesting items that I saw was that the front tire is a traditional knobby scrambler style while the rear tire has a smoother pavement gripping tread.  I don’t know why it is set up that way, but it would seem to me that the bike’s handling may be affected.

All in all I find it a fascinating bike and one that I would like to have share space in my little shed.

News from the Man Shed

Triumph scrambler

I have worked on three things the last few weeks.  The first is to get over being sick so that I can breathe again without coughing.  The second is to finish work on levelling and stabilizing the back porch.  The third and most tiring is to understand the mechanics of this blog.  It has become so frustrating that I have resisted the wish to post pictures and communicate.  I seem able to do one or the other, but not both.  At least not well.  I’m a visual oriented person so I try to add color to a black and white world.  I like to add exciting, colorful pictures that add to the narrative.  This format is discouraging me in doing so.  This is the third attempt at adding graphics to my post.  I shall try again.  1930 Blower Bentley…NOT WORKING

Thoughts of an explorer

I am not sure if it is because it is a new year or that I am going to be sixty seven this month or if it is that I am contemplating official retirement, but a number of comments from friends the last few days have me thinking.  My friend Will challenged me to consider what might make sense or nonsence by reintroducing me to The Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam.  Then he quoted a bunch of other interesting thoughts, both his and others.

My childhood friend, Susan, forwarded a cute but appropriate video about creating art that fits nicely into my thoughts at the moment.  I’m sorry that I can not share the link because I am not yet technically savy.  You can pull it up on my facebook page.

As a Christmas present my wife gave me a book, Divinity in Disguise, by Kevin Anderson.  “And what is the cost of that jewel of great price we call wisdom?  Not three thousand, not even three million dollars—just three decisions:  the decision to give ourselves fully to all the joy and pain that come with loving others deeply; the decision to make our lives more about spiritual growth than growth in our bankrolls or our egos; and the decision to focus our existence on a higher purpose, a noble mission that allows us to give away what suffering and joy have taught us about soulful living.”  Mr. Anderson goes on to quote Henry David Thoreau, “I have learned this at least by my experiment:  that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.”  And finally, at least in this blog, he quotes Jane Welsh Carlyle:  “I am not at all the sort of person you and I took me for.”  Exciting stuff.  Now go buy his book for more interesting observations.

While this is beginning to sound like a review of other peoples’ work I would like to add a few of my own observations.

• I have owned expensive cars, horses and watches.  I now don’t.  I am happier.
• I have tried to gain fame and importance.  I now don’t.  I am happier.
• I rubbed elbows with the rich, famous and powerful.  I now don’t.  I am happier.
• I have a lovely wife, good food, good wine.  I am happier.
• I have a pound hound rescue dog that loves me.  I am happier.
• I have some good friends, a stove in the shed out back and some plants that depend on me.  I am happier.

As my favorite Episcopal priest, James Hugh Majors, taught me, “I’m better’n I deserve!”  Amen.

1970 Monaco Grand Prix

I am a petrol head, car nut, all those words that describe an automobile aficionado, apply to me.  I am particularly attracted to German, English and Italian sports cars.  I love sports car and Formula One (grand prix) racing, so it was with great anticipation that I looked forward to my trip to Monaco for the 1970 Grand Prix.

I was living in Germany and in July 1969 I bought a new BMW 2002. I had it modified by the German tuning firm ALPINA.  They tweaked the  engine, suspension and modified some body panels to accommodate far wider wheels.  It was a German hot rod.  I used it as a daily driver  and took it to racetracks around Germany on weekends.  I believed that I was a pretty good driver. 

This was the car that I took to Monaco.  I drove from Karlsruhe south through Switzerland into France.  The roads through the Swiss and French Alps were narrow and twisty.  They were exactly what I had hoped that they would be.  I could fling the little BMW into the turns and then punch it going out of the turns onto the short straights.  The way that it held the road was incredible.  While the acceleration wasn’t as good as the larger 6 or 8 cylinder engines that powered larger European cars, the changes made by ALPINA made it astonishingly fast.

Coming out of Switzerland dropping into France I noticed a Mustang following me.  I knew that as big as the Mustang was and as small and tightly suspended as the BMW was there was little chance that the Mustang would be able to keep up for long.  I was not amused that it didn’t drop back as I became a bit more aggressive going into the turns.

In fact, it was getting closer!  I knew that the Mustang had greater acceleration, but it carried a lot more weight.  It could not corner as well as the BMW, but it was obviously gaining on me.  The driver acted as though I was holding him up!  Down and around the twisting road we raced.  When the road straighten a bit, the Mustang blasted by me, it’s raucous exhaust thundering off the canyon walls as it accelerated hard and disappeared around a tight bend.  I was incredulous!  Passed by a big lumbering American car.  It was embarrassing.

My ego was so bruised.  I backed off and continued on down the road at a slower pace, enjoying the road, the handling of the BMW and the scenery of the beautiful Alps. After a little while the road dropped into a village. There, at a small gas station, the Mustang was accelerating away.  I needed fuel, so I pulled into the spot where the Mustang had been.  As I got out of the car an attendant came rushing over.  I knew what to expect because it happened to me a lot when I drove into small villages.  The attendant would want to know all about the BMW.  But it was different this time. The attendant was animated and had a huge grin.  Between his broken English and my limited understanding of French I came to understand that the driver of the Mustang was a Frenchman, Jean Pierre Beltoise.

The name was familiar to me.  He was a Grand Prix driver who would place 8th on the starting grid at Monaco in the next few days.  My ego soothed, I continued on my journey to Monaco thinking of the brief time that I had diced with a Formula One pilot on a tiny road in the French Alps.

Fox Hunting…for coyotes

In the early 1970′s I was a co-founder of a polo club in Wyoming.  One of the clubs that gave us support was Plum Creek Polo Club in Denver.  Out of that relationship came an invitation to ride to the hounds with their sister club, the Arapahoe Hunt Club.  But instead of hunting fox, they rode hounds to coyote.

The coyote is indigenous to the region, is bigger than a fox and considered by most ranchers  a predator.  They were also prolific in the area at that time and were becoming a problem in the suburbs of Denver.

On my first ride with the club I was given rudimentary instruction by the Master of the Hounds.  I remember that I was to give the hounds the right of way.  I was not to ride ahead of the Master of the Hounds.  I could choose not to go over fences and a few other instructions that I have since forgotten.   I do remember that before the hunt was underway we were given adult libation for warmth and for courage.

It was late fall when this ride occurred, and while there was little snow the ground was partly frozen.  We set off at a walk as the hounds spread out and searched for scent and the members of the hunt settled in.  Very soon the hounds picked up the scent and were off.  The riders broke into an easy canter, holding up for the hounds to set a pace.  The pack spread out and began to run and bay as they followed the coyote.  After a few miles it seemed that the hounds were closing on the coyote.  We topped a hill and I reined in slightly behind the Master.  He turned and called me to ride up beside him.  Looking down on the pack he pointed to where they were entering a shallow draw with steep sides.  “Watch,” he said.  “The coyote just went into that draw.  Now look over there to your right.  See that other coyote.  He is going to cross the path of the coyote that they are after so that his scent is fresher.  The pack will turn to follow the fresh coyote and the one we were running will lay down and rest!”

As on cue the fresh coyote crossed the path of the coyote we were chasing turning the pack away from the tired coyote. As the hounds picked up a fresh scent they seemed  invigorated and set off anew, hot after a fresh prey.

Amazed and amused at the teamwork the coyotes displayed I rode next to the Master. He explained that “We hardly ever catch one, unless it’s sick or suicidal.”

Happy Holidays from our home to yours

The fondest memories that I have of the winter holiday season have involved mountains.  I am a child of the mountains.  I feel an ease of mind and spirit in their presence. With a mantle of snow they seem even more spectacular.  I find the animals that inhabit mountain ranges  particularly interesting.

I have been fortunate to have lived around the Teton in Western Wyoming and grew up in the Black Hills of Eastern Wyoming and Western South Dakota. From those places in my memory I have included a few random photos (none taken by me) to share with you during this special time.

Moose make my wife laugh

Motorcycles I’ve Owned and Loved

not mine 1936 INDIAN CHIEF

In the winter of 1957/58 I convinced my Dad that he needed to help put a small gasoline engine on my English 3 speed bike.  It was a good time of the year to ask because he wasn’t busy doing the heavy ranching stuff that was necessary in the summer.  Oh, we had to feed and water livestock and other chores but it wasn’t as busy as summertime.

He found a way to mount the engine to the frame, but when we rode it very far it would throw the drive belt or something would break.  We both got frustrated with constantly repairing the contraption.  The maintenance costs were, by comparison, higher than a military jet fighter,  It was my good fortune to discover one day, not long after the latest disaster, to find a 1936 Indian Chief motorcycle parked at the local CO-OP.  It was at the side of the building, snow piled on top of it.

I don’t know how much he paid for it, but we loaded it in the back of the pickup.  After we unloaded it we pushed it into the shop and cleaned it up.  I put in fresh gas, changed the oil and checked the spark plugs.  I can’t remember how long it took to get it running, but we did.  To my horror it would only run for about five minutes before the pistons sized and it would stop.  I had to wait until the motor cooled enough for the pistons to move again.  But when it did run it made a wonderful noise, at least to me.

After about a week of messing with the motorcycle Dad and I had reached overload. It was back to the CO-OP with the Indian.  Wayne said that he would give us credit toward a 1949 Harley Davidson.  Wayne guaranteed that the Harley would run!  Boy was he right.  I could get it into fourth gear only occasionally, which was probably a good thing, because it was fast!  Heavy and fast

Leaving the house I had to ride 3/4 mile uphill on a dirt road.  It was two miles of gravel before I reached a black top road.  Travelling that trail taught me a lot about balance, acceleration, braking and paying attention.  If I tipped it over I had to have help pulling it upright.  It was a great road bike except it would vibrate you to death on a long ride.  Driving the gravel road to the black top taught me early to pay attention.  There were two sharp curves on that gravel road and one time I went into the first one way too fast.  I was daydreaming when I went into it, and pretty quickly I found myself headed for the ditch.  I managed to keep it upright and out of the barbed wire fence and finally regained control.

1949 Harley Davidson

The Harley was no fun to ride in the pastures.  What I really wanted was a lighter , more agile bike.  I really wanted a “scrambler”.  By this time I had been to enough motorcycle races to know that a smaller bike with knobby tires would do the job that I had in mind.  A classmate had a 1955 Triumph Speed Twin that he was willing to sell, and Dad was willing to buy the Harley.  The Triumph was mine!

Transitioning from the heavy Harley road bike to the lighter Triumph required another skill set.  The clutch moved from the left foot to the left hand.  The gear shift moved from a lever on the left side of the gas tank to a foot actuated lever on the left side.  The hand clutch was problematic for me.  I either killed the motor by releasing it too quickly or did a wheelie, leaving a rubber trail and flying dirt.  The incident that finally caused Dad to help me understand how to properly work the clutch was a crash.

1955 Triumph Speed Twin

I had left the bike inside our machine shed and when I returned I discovered that Dad had moved one of the tractors up to the doorway.  This tractor had a hydraulic device on it called a farm hand that allowed us to move hay.  It had several long metal fingers sticking out front which could be tipped or raised to lift the hay that it had collected.  When Dad parked the tractor he dropped the farm hand but had left the fingers tilted up.

I started the bike, revved it up and popped the clutch.  The front wheel came up off the concrete floor and the rear tire tried to get traction.  I realized immediately that I was going to hit the left side tooth of the loader.  The left side of the engine hit the tooth which threw me off and flipped the bike up over the top of me.  When I recovered enough to get up I found that the exhaust on the left cylinder had been ripped off and part of the flange on the head of the cylinder had been cracked.  But what was even more horrifying was that I had seriously bent that tooth on the front end loader!  When Dad found me I was frantically trying to straighten the bent tooth with a sledge hammer.  He checked me for any injuries that I may have sustained, inspected the exhaust on the bike and looked at the bent tooth.  “Son, you’re gonna have ta learn to use that damn clutch.”

When I bought my first car I used the bike as a down payment.  I had wanted a Porsche, but got a Volkswagen Beetle.    Sadly, I totaled it in the Snowy Range driving to Saratoga.

I bought the Horex in college.  I remember very little about it except that it looked cool, was exotic and had the aura of a Grand Prix bike.  It was a one sided love affair.

I had bought a 1949 Chevy Panel Truck from Freddy, my room mate during the course of my junior year in college.  He told me that it was a ”hot car” when he sold it to me.  I had a different interpretation of “hot car” than his.  It had a raucous exhaust, big carb and a noticeable presence.  I  found out late that what he meant was ”stolen”.  I traded it for a Triumph Tiger Cub.

The “Cub” was a fun bike which served me well  during the summer and fall of 1966.  The most memorable moment  I had with it was giving my girlfriend a ride for a fun summer outing and discovering that it was blowing oil all over her white tennis shoes!  She hadn’t said a word for miles!  I was shocked and embarrassed when I looked down to see her foot bathed in oil.  (Shudder)!

When I returned to university I found a new BSA 250 Scrambler.  To me, that was the  ultimate bike to have at the time.  It had everything.  Scrambler exhaust with muffler cut outs, (A twist of a knob would open the baffles of the exhaust so that it would blow through unrestricted) knobby scrambler tires and more ground clearance than the road bikes.  Because of the engines high-compression there was a valve that could be opened so that when kick starting the bike, it would take less “kick” to get it started.

I had it for about two months when my draft notice arrived.  I sold it to my high school friend for what I had in it and went off to the Army.