Mysterious Knock

Last Tuesday a problem arose with my truck. I had a meeting across town at one of our sister companies about eleven and got there with no problems. However, on the way back to work a loud clanging knock suddenly reared its ugly head out of my engine compartment. My heart sunk as thoughts of a failing engine filled my brain. I immediately pulled over and attempted to ascertain the exact location and cause of the knock. Without seeing anything obvious and knowing that it was internal anyway and thus I wouldn't be able to "see" anything, I braved the short trip home since I was only a few blocks away. It got home just fine, but made that horrible noise the whole way. I grabbed my wife's car and headed back to work. I told a couple guys what happened, and one guy said that he thought it was probably a bent push rod. That night I took off the valve cover and checked all my push rods, rocker arms and what I could see of the lifters and they all appeared to be fine. Bad luck for me. Not knowing what is wrong with your engine is almost worse than finding a major problem. At least the major problem can be worked on.

I'll admit that I'm not a real mechanic. I just play one on tv. Not to say that I don't know what I'm doing, I know more than most people about engines, but there are still many that run circles around me with their experience. Anyway, I hadn't had another chance to mess around with it yet and was in West Plains last weekend. I started brain-storming the possibilities of what it could be by pouring over everything that I knew about it (which is pretty extensive after 3 1/2 years of fixing or replacing its 50 year old worn out parts), engine theory, and what I've heard others say about it. That's when it hit me. I remembered what a co-worker suggested, "Check to make sure that you're not missing any parts from your carburetor. Parts can come off and make their way down your intake manifold and wind up sitting on top of a piston." I then remembered noticing that the wingnut that holds my air filter on my carb was gone. I took the filter off and set it aside and saw that the stud that the wingnut screws onto was hanging by a thread (literally) and was about to drop down into the carb. I didn't put any thought into this as I removed it and set it aside as well. Why should I? There's no way that the wingnut could of made it into the carb and I caught the stud before it fell into it. But, looking back coupled with the advice from a friend, I realized that there must have been a nut holding the stud tight on the underside of the filter assembly. This nut worked itself loose and dropped down and managed to find a nice home on a piston head. For those of you who haven't put it together, the clanging is when the piston is slamming the nut into the firedeck of my head.

Now, engine performance wasn't lost during this brief trip with the knocking so I shouldn't have anything worse than a scarred up head. I'll take the head off, check my piston for cracks, use the opportunity to fix my dead cylinder, put on a new head gasket, put everything back together, and fire up a 223 that has all six cylinders firing for the first time since I've owned it. (it's had a dead cylinder since I bought it, blow-by, which is a bad valve seal or broken valve that I didn't want to fix because it meant that I would have to remove the head). So, I'm very excited that I figured it out and soon I will have it running smoother that it has ever run before under my ownership.

Read More

Buy Low, Sell High

My goodness! How long has it been since I wrote a blog? I feel sort of out of touch with my writing capabilities, so forgive me if I have some run-on sentences or stuff like that.

Anyway, I wanted to share a little fact today. A couple of years ago, Jodi and I went down to Commercial street and looked at a building that was for sale. We wouldn't have been able to acquire the financing to actually buy it, although we didn't know that at the time. We were definitely interested in it and thought pretty hard about what we could do as far as having a business in it. After some brainstorming we settled on the idea that we could have a hair salon as the main business but also have some crafts and custom built furniture on display in the front that would also be available for purchase.

I can't remember now why we decided that it wasn't for us. I think that it had something to do with the fact that we wouldn't have the funds needed to fix it up even if we could buy it. Our hopes and dreams were once again crushed by that old relentless reality.

So, last week I noticed that there was a real estate sign in the window and that it was for sale. I wasn't sure if it had always been for sale or if it was just for sale again. Whatever the answer, someone put a little work into it. I mean "a little" for a reason, though. It appeared to have changed on the outside and it looked pretty good. But, I, along with Jodi, believed that they had just removed something from the exterior to make it look like the original building. As far as I can tell, the inside looks the same as it did when we were looking at it.

Well, with a little searching on the internet I found an older picture of the building from when Jodi and I went to check it out. I compared that to a recent picture of it and indeed found that they had removed an ugly facade reminiscent of an era when Indian Architecture (from India, not native American) was in style. The photos can be seen below and you can make your own judgements, but I personally think it needed to be stripped. Anyway, the point of this blog is that when we looked at the building the first time it was being listed for $ 69,900. The building, which has had stuff taken away from it and none added is now being listed for $ 149,000. If this actually goes at this price, I'm going to vomit at the lost opportunity. It wouldn't have been feasible for us to buy it and do this, but still a good vomitting will be in order.

Before

After

Read More

Sneakers

A lot of people are unaware of Winoka bridge. As a matter of fact, I'm not even sure that Winoka bridge is the appropriate name for it, but that's what I've always heard it called by fellow Ozarkers. It can be found crossing Lake Springfield just east of 65 Hwy. It was the original 65 Hwy bridge when 65 Hwy came down what is now Glenstone turned east around what is now Sunshine and south again on what is now Lone Pine. Lone Pine will take you on a winding path down through what used to be Galloway Station and finally dead-ends at James River Freeway across from the Nature Center. Well, being that it used to be 65, it didn't used to dead-end. It went straight through the field that the big clover leaf interchange between 65 and James River Freeway now sits and connected with that old bridge. Directly on the other side of the bridge lies the Y intersection that is pretty much known as the outer road to 65 or "old 65". The Y is where 60 Hwy met 65 Hwy. Springfieldians going to either Ozark or Rogersville would have to cross this bridge. This was the routine until the new 65 was completed where it now sits back in the 60's.

Anyway, aside from the local history lesson, I was looking for some information on that bridge's completion date and such when I happened to find this website. (It's connection with the bridge was its exploration of Camp Winoka, the remains of which can be found by walking a trail from this bridge) This site is awesome. It's a group of people who remain anonymous, but explore places that most of us have either wanted to or would want to if we ever heard of them. They take lots of photos along the way and sometimes take a video of really neat things. They appear to only go into places without breaking and entering. Most of the places they have documented exploring are private property and don't welcome tourists, but they take their tours anyway. Apparently their motto is "Going everywhere you're not supposed to go in the Ozarks". They're very careful not to reveal their identities on the documentation and they even have code names as it appears. It looks like a fun little group and I'm envious of some of the things that they have had the privilege to see. My favorite was the 8th Street Tunnel in Kansas City.

You'll have to check out the site yourself. I will put a link to it in my fellow bloggers list. I'll also make a link for Urban Ninja Force which is a closely related and often affiliated website. Comment if you have ever been in any of the sites that these two have explored. I have been to the Albino farm, the Acid Tunnels, and James River Tunnel many years ago.

Read More

Seattle

The 90's was a definitive time for me as this short era contained all of my teenage years. It's well known that as teens we are constantly trying to define ourselves as individuals. One of the ways that we are heavily influenced during this search of ourselves is through music. I became a music nerd during this time. I guess you could say that when I was looking for who I was I found satisfaction with the music nerd label.

Most everyone should remember the "Seattle Grunge" boom. However, it was much more than what most knew it to be. It had nothing to do with the clothes that most of you mentally pictured upon hearing it, but had everything to do with a great story. I'm talking about the music. Seattle during this time became a music hot spot off the rising fame of a couple of bands (Soundgarden, Pearl Jam). Later, Nirvana would gain explosive stardom and send the name "Seattle" into the mouths of every Generation X'er. From the media attention, countless bands got signed that had no business getting attention, but still many others got righteously noticed and continue to sell thousands of copies of their albums a decade after their break-ups.

I was one of the kids that became a fan of these bands only after their rise to success. Naturally, being pre-internet days, there was no way to be a long distance fan of a local band, so I was introduced to them after their national releases were made. I fell in love with the music and went seeking more. I had to go backwards, though, as I had already picked up their most current work. So, I started grabbing up earlier albums, bootlegs, and side projects.

My whole point to this blog is that I envy what was going on in Seattle at this time. Not the national attention that they were getting, but the music community that was built. Bands formed and fell apart just to create other bands from other bands. Bands worked together to make albums. Great music was made through people who knew everyone else. Recording studios were set up to be affordable and readily available. I love hearing the stories.

One great story was the one of Mother Love Bone. The lead singer (Andy Wood) died of a heroin overdose. This band was on the verge of stardom and lost their frontman. Two other members (Jeff Ament, Stone Gossard) were asked by Andy Wood's roommate (Chris Cornell) to make a single together. Cornell had written two songs and through practice an entire album was developed (Temple of the Dog). They had held open auditions for backing vocals and decided to go with a San Diego surfer (Eddie Vedder) who had recently moved there. The album that was written in dedication received little national notice until months later when Soundgarden released their epic "Badmotorfinger" album and the newly formed Pearl Jam released their debut "Ten".

There are hundreds of these stories (not all with heroin overdoses) that tie all these bands together. It really shows the tightness of the music community that is really lacking today. If you are interested in learning more of what I am talking about you should should check out the documentary called "Hype". It's an entertaining and informative show that is chock-full of interviews with band members, producers, and pulicists from Seattle that were right in the mix of it all. There is a lot of great footage that you won't see anywhere else and great music in front of and behind the scenes.

Read More

All Moved In

We got everything moved last weekend. We filled a 24 foot U-Haul three times. Saturday and Sunday were excrutiating. After 6 weeks of working at SRC during the day and working on the house during the night, I was ready for a nice weekend of nothing to do but lounge. I was neither physically nor mentally prepared for this move. Throughout the entire process I just wanted to give up and quit despite the consequences. Of course, we didn't have the option to quit, nevertheless I was considering it, justifying it, and making it make sense at least within the walls of my skull. We held out, though. We got it all moved and I officially turned in the keys last night to our old place. It was sad in a way. I'll miss the old pad even though I recall claiming that I hated it as early as last week.

So, do you know what the reward is for sticking to our guns through a move? It's more work. Our house looks like a storage unit. The floors upstairs were still covered in dust, sprinkled with latex paint, and littered with wallpaper scrapings when we were moving in. So, our great idea was to just put everything downstairs and then start moving stuff upstairs after we got everything in and the floors cleaned upstairs. Well, the floors still aren't clean and our stuff is still stacked 6 feet high downstairs. It'll take a month to get things where they need to be and to obtain any amount of organization. I just have to focus on the end result. It's going to be so nice. It's going to be so nice. I have to just keep saying it. It's going to be... well, I guess, I don't have to keep typing it.

Read More

Bust a Move

The theme this weekend is "move". It's a short word that starts to look a little funny the more you say it and look at it's spelling. It seems to me that the word should be much longer and difficult to spell. Everyone has moved sometime so you know what I mean. If you're anything like me, then you know the "move" all too well. It almost seems like a way of life.

For me, the nomadic life has been an adventure. Not a very good one, but an adventure nonetheless. I have never lived further than 12 miles from the hospital in which I was born, so obviously all my moving stories have a similar and familiar backdrop. However, although I've never left my nest of a hometown, I have moved twelve times since I've been out on my own. Twelve moves doesn't seem like that much, and maybe it isn't, but these twelve moves represent 10 U-Haul truck rentals, 3 self-storage unit rentals, backaches, headaches, friends lost, none gained, big things broken, small things lost, 37 deposits paid (rented residence, U-Haul, self-storage, city utilities), hundreds of gallons of gas burned, a lot of service changes (CU, phone, cable, etc.), and hundreds of new neighbors.

I always thought that I moved a lot as a kid. But, I only count 6 different places of residence now that I think about it. Jacob has lived in 5 different places and come tomorrow that number will increase to 6. So, I wonder how he feels about how much he's moved. I have asked him if he remembers living in the places we've lived and the only two places he remembers living is our apartment and the house that we are moving out of. So, I'm not doing too bad if you take away the ones that he was too young to remember.

My best moving story happened in 1997. I was 18 and rented a house from the Christian County Prosecuter's wife. She was really nice, but she told me right up front that she wouldn't tolerate any big problems. She told me that if the cops were ever called to the residence, then she would evict us. Dustin and Jason were my two roommates. We had only been living there for three weeks when the Christian County Special Investigator woke me up in my bedroom. It was 9:00 am and he just says, "you need to come into the living room." I say, "ok". In the living room I find my roommates and several friends who had spent the night sitting down. Standing up all around the room were cops from departments including but not limiting to Christian County Sherrif's Department, Missouri State Highway Patrol, Ozark Police, Christian County Special Investigations, and even the K-9 unit to add a cherry to the top. To quickly fast-forward to the moving part I will leave out the details and say that two of my friends were arrested for breaking into cars, the house was completely raided, many items were found that had been stolen (all in Jason's room, and Jason's car, not that I'm finger pointing or anything), and just as the last of the cops leave my landlord shows up to say, "I want you out by the end of the day and if you have a problem with that, then I don't think I need to remind you of who my husband is. The cleaning crew will be here tomorrow and anything left here will be hauled off to the dump."

I had had a bad morning. I slammed the door in her face and turned around and enlisted the first face I saw to drive me and drop me off at U-haul. I was back at the house two hours later with a storage unit having been rented and a U-Haul truck in the driveway. I pulled an all nighter and got it done by 7:00 the next morning. The good thing was that we were too lazy to dispose of the boxes we used to move in with, so I had just enough to move out with. It was a "speed-move". I delivered pizza at the time and made a point to drive by the house just to see and sure enough the landlady had bluffed me. There was no cleaning crew. As far as I could tell, the property didn't change from the way I left it for over two weeks. So, I suppose I could've caled her bluff, but I figured that I had enough enemies in Christian County law and didn't need any more.

Do you have any good moving stories? How many time have you moved? How far?

Read More

Heroes

My friend, James, sent me these today and I couldn't help but watch them over and over again. At first, I did the "OOhh!" thing, but as I watched them the third and fourth times the laughter came over me. The more I watched them, the funnier they became. Now, I do feel sorry for these guys to an extent. I did stupid things when I was a kid, too. But, I'm sure that even these guys had to laugh at themselves when they first saw the video despite stern warnings from the hospital staff that laughing can be very dangerous while in traction.

I'd like to point out the un-sung heroes here, though. It's the geniuses behind the camera that make these so worthwhile for the rest of us. Their steady hand and unfailing dedication to "getting the shot" is honorable. They stand there and watch as their friends attempt semi-amazing feats and when they fail miserably they don't budge. They know that capturing the moment is more important to the world than their friend's lives are to them. They follow the bone-crunching action with a stoic concentration. Blood is spilled, cracking bones are heard, and even the tell-tale thud of a body hitting the concrete with brute force fills the air and yet these cinematic heores are unfazed.

To you, cameraman and friend of idiots, I give a double woop. WOOP WOOP!

Read More