One year ago today: April 21, 2015, three sides, pick one.
Five years ago today: April 21, 2011, my brother vs. fax machine.
Nine years ago today: April 21, 2007, here’s Robert is Here.
Random years ago today: April 21, 2008, the scenic route.
MORNING
Everybody slow down. Not like they did at 7:15AM on the Palmetto this morning, but I mean relax. I made it to Miami in less than an hour and a half, not bad for the traffic over there. It will always be a wonder why America has never arrested or at least confined the tiny group of bad drivers that cause the majority of traffic delays. It would not take more than a few days to pinpoint them and when you total up the delays and cost to the economy, yes, it is a matter of some national importance. I’ve always considered consistent bad drivers as unpatriotic, okay?
It’s lots of work, mostly done by JZ because I was busy working on the motorcycle. I fried a 30-Amp fuse on South Dixie on my way to Quizno’s. I’ll get back to that. I want to point out when you buy what you think is stewed tomatoes at the supermarket, you only think it is made out of the plump and juicy red tomatoes that were used making this jar. It is always an apparent disappointment how little product the process yields, so that is why the other people don’t use as great a batch of tomatoes.
It was a meeting over the property with no studs. I still need some confirmation that JZ has done drywall. I’ve never seen it. Thus, I have a backup plan to have somebody else to the taping an mudding, just in case. The shop aligned his steering but the problem rarely appears until the truck has been moving around 55 mph for a couple of hours. So we did not leave this morning as planned. That test run is imperative, so stand by for travel news.
We also discussed the stock market. No matter how you slice it, the whole shebang is over-heated. Two out of every three companies losing money and yet the paper is trading at hundreds of times the profits? A few million people are about to meet with woe. I’m completely out now, even by proxy. As stated here yesterday, silver poked upward toward $18 this morning, and now, a bank ”rally” refers to their panic-selling of silver certificates as they barely succeeded in stomping it down below $17. But only on the stock exchanges they banks themselves own outright in New York.
Most complex known painting.
NOON
“We don’t like their sound, and guitar music is on the way out.” ~ Decca Company, about The Beatles, 1962.
I was only in Miami a couple of hours, JZ had contracted to replace an apartment door and Alaine was at work. I stayed only long enough to chat and do some bags. Remember those? The takeout bags come in a large batch that take too long to tear and open at the checkout. The solution is to use the quiet moments to fluff open a few hundred. Or get me to do it. Five years ago, it was, that I first ground walnuts at the bakery.
Welcome to the old vehicle merry-go-round. Some of you know my meaning. When you replace a single electrical component on an older vehicle, the other parts start to fritz until you’ve redone the whole system. We are almost there. The alternator, then the starter, then the brand new battery, and now I think it is the solenoid. I rapped it with a hammer to loosen things up and bypass the fuse assembly with a piece of wire, shown here. That’s the little red splice I’m pointing at.
The solenoid for this model runs around $60. It might have to wait until after the first. The red wire is small gauge, enough to melt itself before it lets any harmful juice through. That is only a temporary fix to get me home, guys. I kept reaching down and feeling for heat every few minutes. I was at the shop on the return trip from Miami at noon. The motorcycle shop was fascinated by the metal plate I put on the footpeg last night, visible just under my thumb. It is aluminum and springy; it is destined to be covered by a thick layer of boot leather.
AFTERNOON
I returned home with the parts to fix the electrical wiring, but not the problem. I’m only assuming it is the remaining old part, that solenoid. I’ve tested enough robot circuits to know that is the only major device that should exist between the battery and the starter. The price of what is shown here is only 10% of the layout for a new solenoid, so I’ll take a chance. Later, first, I’m making a gallon of peach tea.
The sidecar remains a popular sight in Miami, lots of thumbs-up and curious on-lookers. It’s actually a hit everywhere, but Miami has an affinity for these motorcycles. This is only what I’ve heard, I do not state it as fact, but apparently this type of sidecar was quite popular in Cuba before the revolution. I have met Cuban ladies who tell me their first date was in a sidecar.
Yeah? But how do you . . . oh, never mind.
The sidecar windscreen. The motorcycle shop may, by utter coincidence, have a plexiglass sheet that fits the bracket. That would be a game-changer. I must check that out soon because if I can get anything to fit, it will look superior to the plywood panel I was going to adapt. There can be little doubt the sidecar was a life-changing decision. Now if nobody minds, I would like to have a siesta. That’s a full day for me even without the half-block I had to push the rig off the highway. Let me collect my thoughts, did anything else blogworthy happen since this morning? Nope. Catch you later.
It’s already later and an 80% cloud cover made it possible to work outdoors in the shade. Chalk up the new fuse kit, redrilled the Vetter mounts, installed the battery covers, and completely wired up the cPod accessory harnesses. I managed to trim the hedges, cut back the tree limbs in the back yard, and mow the weeds taking root on the east passageway. It is wonderful to work with the right tools, There’s still a ways to go.
The fairing was always held largely in place by gravity. There are mounting holes but they don’t line up with a ’78. The cPod wiring is oddball. I use ordinary flexible outdoor (rubberized) cord, but to prevent anyone from connecting 110V, each segment is re-wired to have two male or two female plugs. You know, the type of scheme a robot builder would come up with. The two ends that could be accidentally connected to mains power are buried. One in a locked metal (ammo can) saddlebag and the other inside a small lockbox inside the sleeping compartment.
My intention is to raise the height of the sleeper eight inches. This will be an “add-on”, a simple box extension on top of the existing structure bolted securely in place. I made a similar judgment on the original box, keeping it low enough to see all traffic over the top of the structure. Once I gain confidence, I start looking for convenience and comfort. This modification will make no difference in utility. However, there is something more relaxing (I guess is the word) about a ceiling higher above where one sleeps.
NIGHT
It was a late evening up on Las Olas. Here is the PA system I’m considering if it transpires there is any hope I can do a solo guitar show. By abandoning my standards, I should be able to find some kind of venue that likes my material, which is automatically restricted by what I can strum. But anything is better than trying to find a decent guitar player in this town. Here is the PA, you can look it up on the local CL. I’ll quickly find the easy way to set it up and devise a battery supply. Building robots has its spinoffs, y’know.
Instead, every other person recognized me or the motorcycle, so I was committed. Even my old guitar player was there, he works up the street a few doors. And, it is no amateurs night. Most of the performers before me have been playing guitar for tens of years. The drinks are expensive but the guy running the show, the king ukulele player, is wising up to up limiting these guitarists to songs less than five minutes each. Or they’ll get up there and play a 12-minute two-chord special.
I’ve never been there past 11:00PM when the post-Yuppie bunch flock in, but mainly it is dead except for the musicians. On the upside, it is a great place to cut one’s teeth. Like the early Jimbos, it is a non-demanding atmosphere and you are often sharing the stage with flautists, bongo-players, and last week, singing poetry.
It’s also diverse. The largest group was a family there to watch their son also getting his initial exposure. Chances are, should I be in town, I’ll do this again. The Hippie was there, mentioning his band is Saturday after next with all original material. I’ll think on it, as I’m not the one to run out and buy a CD because it might become a hit some day. For the music analysis, return tomorrow. I’m tired.
Last Laugh
Return Home
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