Why Thursday Sucked - Part 4

I was hoping to post this continuation much sooner, my apologies.

After Thursday night's peculiar electrical happenings, we set about first thing Friday morning to find answers. After we both did that psychological cringe at the very thought, Mark fired up the generator. So far, so good. I manned the electrical panel in the hallway, ready to do the click/clack test through the breakers while Mark switched on and stood watch over the bathroom and various other light circuits. We left the evap. cooler off and the bathroom lights came on without any show. Again, so far, so good.

Click, "nope", clack. Click, "kitchen light", clack. And so on down the two rows of breakers. Click, "Nope, keep going", clack. "Uhm, Mark, I just ran out of Clicks here to try." We caught each other's incredulous, somewhat horrified looks of speculation. "Surely not ... hit the main breaker." Click ... the bathroom lights STILL shone. "I'll hit the red emergency switch in the hall then." Nothing.

Since the evap. cooler was more critical in this 100 degree weather than the bathroom lights and much easier to address in terms of access and running new wires, we decided to run new wiring from it directly to the generator panel. Mark turned off the generator and removed the appropriate new siding panel (the recent rat re-siding project) while I tackled the cooler control switch inside. I drew all the connections in rough schematic form and disconnected everything involving a new power feed. As with all such projects, it took considerably longer than we had hoped since we had to find the proper wire and even longer to find a proper heavy duty plug to match the outlet on the generator. I reconnected the switch wires and eventually got them all back into the box which is a little like forcing a full pot of barely cooked linguine into a tea cup. Once the new wire was in place, Mark reinstalled the wall panel and fired up the generator. So far, so good! Later that night, Mark hit the bathroom switch out of habit and ... guess what? Not so good. Nothing had changed. Now we're getting discouraged - that bathroom wiring is going to be a bear to replace, and upsetting now that we have all that nice new drywall finished. This is going to be one of those much avoided projects, I already know that. In the interim, tape over the bathroom switch. Okay, so far so good.

Earlier this week, I switch on the evap. cooler and the motor starts up and then grinds back down in RPM noisily, accompanied by the disturbingly familiar sound and smell of frying wire. I was able to immediately hit the switch. Sniff, sniff, sniff. So far so good. Sniff, sniff, sniff ... still okay. I sleep lightly that night, just in case.

The next morning, I climb up to the roof, glad that the sun has not turned the steel roof into a griddle yet. I figure that I will pull apart the junction box within the cooler itself and check the motor while I am at it. Before I get that far, I discover a foot long section of exposed wire with a very nice burn through about an inch long. That would certainly explain the crispy critter smell from the night before. Still, I find it puzzling that the burn spot is not at any point of possible chafing or touching anything at all. Perhaps it was some annoying Valkyrie perched up there like a gargoyle, picking away at the exposed wire with a claw or two for vile amusement. Given that a lot of Indians refuse to come up our road at night, I suppose it is a vague possibility. Whatever, it was obvious that we would have to replace this wire as well and I would be fighting with that ghastly control switch wiring AGAIN. Oh joy of joys, especially if Mark had to remove that panel again or we had to disturb the cooler in the process.

I was able to free up the wire in the box and connect a new run of wire to its ends. With Mark up on the ladder outside, the new wire pulled through without any hang-ups. So far, so good. Why do I bother to say that any more? I got back up on the now much hotter roof and realized that we were one wire short in the sheath. We had to back feed the works again and refeed it with an additional wire taped on (just like the original had been done - DOH!). What a classic cluster. In the meantime, Mark cut a few lengths of plastic pipe which I could feed over the new wire to protect it. Needless to say, I was not happy burning my buttocks on the now really hot roof while reconnecting wires and reinstalling the junction box. So far so good though! Just don't touch that bathroom light switch, we don't want to deal with THAT mess yet.

Okay, any insights on all of this foolishness yet? The bathroom light circuit was the only one which was responding in this strange manner. Any theories would be much appreciated. Questions? Just fire away. Also, apologies for any typos, etc. but my proof reader has long since gone to bed, completely exhausted.

Why Thursday Sucked - Part 3

With the generator running well, it looked as though Thursday would come to a better close than it had started out. The rains had kindly held themselves in check until all necessary things had been accomplished; even the unloading of the many, many supplies from the truck. A very satisfying meal sprang from the new provisions, everyone within the peaceable kingdom was settled in without complaint or unfulfilled wishes. Such moments are rare and much worshipped while quietly touching wood.

What happened next to dispel the placid lull was neither expected or understood. The rains finally came, those splatting heavy sort of rains which put all things to a test of water-tightness. Then the lightning and thunder piled on and we shut down and unplugged the computers. A very close lightning hit occurred just as I had gone into the bathroom. Certain things suddenly sounded 'not right' although I would be hard-pressed to document them accurately. Mark called out "Did you just do something or did that last lightning strike hit us?" I was at a loss for some time to properly assess and respond to that question although my gut feel was that we had not been struck. Then it hit me that my clicking the bathroom switch had corresponded with the curious change of attitude in the evap. cooler motor and lighting. !!!??? Why? Why now? What conditions had changed suddenly? The swift gut reaction, of course, was to shut down the evap. cooler. The next reaction would be to avoid the bathroom light switch until the problem was understood and resolved. A change had occurred that was horribly wrong and potentially very dangerous.

After the storm passed and the evap. cooler had been long silent, Mark went into the bathroom and hit the light switch out of habit, just as I have done many times since, until I recently taped it over. The swamp cooler motor fired up (insert electrical X-files theme here)!!!!

We shut down the generator at that point and discussed the possibilities by kerosene lamp. Remember, as I am quick to shout out the door to Mark "I am NOT an electrician! DO-NOT-ASK-ME!" Neither of us have a clue when it comes to any deeper electrical mysteries. So we retired earlier that night than normal, still sniffing for signs of burning wires within the walls but no signs had manifested themselves before we fell asleep. I packed this new conundrum off to bed with me to tumble around in the company of the usual dreams.

We'd really appreciate your thoughts on this but don't say anything yet - there's more strangeness to follow. I am stopping here simply because I am just so tired after today's new 'cat on a hot tin roof' exercise which was part of this ongoing madness. Yes, this problem is still current (pun actually not intended) .

No related photo this time since it's difficult to photograph that which is remains a complete mystery.

To be continued.

Why Thursday Sucked ...cont'd

I remained up on my ledge look-out for another hour, until the razor-edged spikes of sunlight through the old pinon provoked streams of sweat from my already tormented brow. I called out one last time for my beloved Dave and received the same thundering silence as before. This little cat, you see, was the embodiment for me of all that was still good and virtuous remaining in this world. Had he been in human form, I would have been even more honored by his friendship and love. Could this little orphan who imposed himself upon our household now be gone forever, his blessed nature and influence suddenly vanished with his untimely and unexpected departure?

I finally resigned myself to this ultimate sorrow and made my way down through the shifting shale of the mesa face. As I rounded the corner to the Rat's front door, who was lying there in the shade of the moving trailer but my most beloved Dave. He did not speak or move and I wasted no time in scooping him up again on my flight to the Rat. I swung the door closed with my back and placed him down on the tiles to recover with Ming. I cannot adequately express the gratitude which I felt at that moment nor the release and weightlessness of my soul.

In the interim, the heart of the Rat had become a building inferno without the generator to power the evaporative cooler against the sun's heat. I decided upon extreme inactivity and a good book to weather the baking atmosphere. The siesta was indeed a practical invention against the heat of these desert days and I soon released myself into the ever welcomed amnesia of a deep and fairly pain-free sleep.

It didn't seem long before my mortal release was curtailed by the sound of Mark's truck and the excited welcome-home barks of Brou and Daisy. We hauled the Honda 3000EU back to its post as Mark filled me in on the shop's prognosis. The compression test results were within specs but the valves were well out of adjustment and the spark arrestor was full of oily carbon as I had suspected. They had their own suspicions that the confines of the metal doghouse had allowed the unit to draw in its own hot exhaust and thin its oil in the extra operating heat. Mark unpacked the mechanic dolly-like affair which he had ordered from Northern, leveled the Honda and rolled it with its exhaust outlet facing the open doorway of the doghouse. It fired up readily and ran well. Mark also brought home a one-size-smaller main jet to have on hand just in case. The shop readily acknowledged that we are their first off-the-grid test bed for the Honda, that the remainder of their generator customers are REALLY old fart RV types who may run their units 3 to 6 times a year.

One would think that this should have been ample events for one day in the middle of nowhere. Not! To be continued.

Why Thursday Sucked Ever So Badly

There are few things like the persistent dirge of a chronic, resistant infection to draw down your usual tenacity and taint your world view, I suppose. I will finally admit it. In my case, I am approaching the anniversary of what I call my 'Curse of the Pueblitos'. It occurred about a year ago while exploring an ancient pueblito ruin with Virgil's wife. I nearly poked out my eye on a surviving wooden roof pole (these folks believed in LOW architecture) and I developed a rather tenacious case of staphylococcus as a result. When I mentioned this to the neighboring ranch matron, she replied in her raspy voice "Yeah, I know what you mean, it's almost like someone didn't want you there. It always happened to me, too." This curse has gone from topical to systemic, back and forth several times by now with the help of marginally effective antibiotics, but nothing eradicated the problem completely and so I still await an appointment with an ENT who will hopefully drive this malevolent beast from its likely stronghold within my sinuses. Yes, I admit it, I am a little worn, and discouraged by now with the chronic fevers and acute pains lighting up half a dozen teeth like abscesses, an imaginary ice pick up my nose and a feeling like someone is prying out my eyeball while sitting on the previously broken part of my skull. It often puts me off any desire to write updates. But on with Thursday's events:

Mark left for town just after dawn with the Honda 3000EU generator. The dealer would do a valve adjustment, compression test, etc. and hopefully it would come home with him that night if all looked reasonable. These various 'by appointment' necessities have totally skewed our plan to only go to town twice a month. Oh ... and Mark's cell phone decided to no longer take a recharge so he would have to spend additional hours in line at the cell phone store to explore any remedial options there. What equipment failure or unplanned misery next, I wondered. What new boil to be inflicted upon Job today?

With no new Mark-driven projects at hand (my own drive has succumbed to this infection), I decided to take the pack for a walk. The kitty boys had been giving me 'the look' for several days but the chiggers had been keeping me out of the high grass lately. I donned the tall rubber boots and we headed up the mesa face, a party of five (obviously the two dogs weren't going to miss a hike to parts unknown). The sun was already warming the air and the two cats darted from the shade of one tree or rock to the next as I plodded along, intently surveying the latest blooms of the plants and being careful not to step on any. With this focus, I tend to cover a lot of ground before I know it. Our progress was interrupted by the necessary but unsuccessful chases of small striped lizards every so often by dogs, cats and tour leader or my coming across a new plant. At one point, Ming the black cat stopped to survey some creature's mark against a small bush. His ears went sideways, he stuck out his tongue and embarked on a series of quick, sharp pants. Then he took off at a determined trot, back to where we had come from. I presumed that he had found the marking of a bobcat and wanted nothing further to do with it. I quickly gathered up the other three beasts and headed out and eventually Ming changed his mind, followed and caught up. Shortly ahead of us lay a much less treacherous path back down to the canyon and we were soon all descended and crashing through the sage and grasses towards the road.

I had not previously noticed the heat but, out here in the open now, my companions were panting wildly with tongues hanging well out of their mouths so I sped up the pace down the parched road. Beautiful Dave the cat worried me the most. With his epicurean belly, he was now complaining vocally like the chubby kid on a Boy Scout trek. I stooped down and picked him up into my arms as the rest followed closely. The Rat seemed a hundred miles off in the distance still when Ming veered off the road and disappeared, his plaintive calls dropping further and further behind us. I decided to get Dave and the dogs to shelter and run back for Ming. Dave began to squirm in my arms as we approached the barn so I let him back down to the ground and he made a dash under the old cattle loading chute. I presumed he would collapse to rest, given his condition. Right at that moment, Ming had decided to catch up so I hurried on to the rat where he could collapse on the cool tile floors inside.

When I arrived back at the old chute, Dave was no where to be found. My heart sank, knowing that cats in dire conditions like to run off and hide to die. No response to my various best kitty calls. I looked in the tall grass, I looked in the barn full of piled junk. I would repeat this process of scouring the entire homestead several more times in the next hour, a sense of desperation and loss escalating with each new failed attempt.

Although the heat was now getting to me, I decided to scale back up the mesa for a bird's eye view of the homestead. I breathlessly sat down in the shade at the rim with the two dogs flanking me. From up here, perhaps I might catch any movement below. And I called and I called but only silence answered. And it was here, from my lofty ledge, that I could bury my face in my hands and wail uncontrollably at the prospects of losing my favorite little friend and blame myself for leading them so far from home in this oven of a place.

This is already a considerable amount of writing for the events of just one day so I will leave off here now and hopefully resume the tale tomorrow. I am depleted for the moment.

Not to worry about Dave, it eventually worked out.

Dark Side of the Canyonlands

A group of seven natives (five adults, a young child and baby) were going about their daily routines in the canyon when they were surprised and set upon by unknown assailants and brutally massacred. Investigators are not ruling out an ethnically motivated crime.

This could well be a plot from the pens of New Mexico mystery writers Tony Hillerman or Michael McGarrity. The difference is that the victims and the investigators are separated in time by over 900 years, more than a challenge for the best of today's cold case detectives.

Read the rest of this intriguing story at:

Ancient Massacre Discovered in New Mexico -- Was It Genocide?

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2007/07/070712-chaco-massacre.html

The 'Monsoons' Have Arrived!

I took this photo right a sunset. It occurred to me that if I had painted this landscape on canvas, viewers might presume that I had exaggerated the cloud formation. The height of the clouds extended beyond the range of the lens but what can be seen is still ample fodder for imagining various fanciful figures within them. What do YOU see?

The arrival of the 'monsoon' season (a relative term in the desert) is now bringing heavily overcast skies in the afternoon and evening with some possibility of rain. Even if the clouds bring no rain with them, their shade from the piercing sun offers a welcome drop in temperatures and perhaps a cool breeze. We sat out in the mostly finished addition yesterday and enjoyed the coolness of the moment which entered through door openings yet to be addressed. Accordingly, there is little incentive to rush into enclosing this retreat from the heat. Bring on the rain!

A Huntin' You May Go ... sigh, or not

My blog friend David over at The Author Blog (see his link in the left hand column) has just inspired me with his new post on partner blog interest and participation. It does seem to take haltering and leading to the blog well at times. In my case, I was fortunate that Mark responded exceedingly well to threats of starvation and/or torture. While he is too stoic to be a cheerleader, he is generally an excellent proofreader when he is in the right mood. And I will grant him that my impetuous demands for immediate editing normally correspond with his time of nodding off while reading the same page of the Wall Street Journal for over an hour or more.

But with his conscripted servitude come certain blog privileges. In this case, he requested that I address our ranch's hunting income for this year. Since we are in between outfitters at the moment, he has decided to play the field a little. Normally, we have been selling our private land owner elk tags to outfitters who market a package with a healthy guide fee tacked on. If you are a competent, self-reliant outdoorsman and hunter, we can help you set up a world class big game hunting vacation in New Mexico for a third to one half of an outfitted hunt. Our 2NN (second nearest neighbor) offers very good meal and lodging accommodations to hunters. I happen to think that their rates are outrageously reasonable given that they are the only game in the canyon. She has several good photos of enormous bulls that have been taken in our area. ...

Z-z-z-h-r-r-r-r-r-r-i-i-p-p-p-p!!!!!

The above line represents the sound of a tone arm ripping across your newly recorded piece of blog vinyl. Sigh.

We had just completed another round of coerced blog proofreading when the phone rang so Mark nipped off to his office to answer the call. Ten minutes later, I hear an announcement "Never mind about that blog thing. It was an outfitter, I think we have a deal."

I was still staring at the recently completed entry. I now became aware that my teeth were grinding painfully together, I could feel the outer edges of my lips expanding into a maniacal grin, my eyelids and pupils were dilating into a glazed off-focus stare. I knew I was slipping into a blog writer's Jack Nicholson Shining moment. I stared at the screen. The recently accomplished words began to dissolve and were now running down into a distinct black puddle of ink at the bottom of that screen. "Oh ... really, dear?" All that creative angst and fighting for cooperation for nothing then? Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh. Bloggus interruptus.

My nostrils flared to accommodate the adrenalin rush as I advanced ever so silently into the office. "So ... tell me more ... d-e-a-r." I felt my fingers involuntarily curl into deadly arches as I surveyed the long and graceful lines of his Lladro-esque neck from behind. He turned unexpectedly and I withdrew those menacing hands just as quickly and assumed a Stepford wife glowing demeanor (or as best as I am capable of, at least). "I think we have a deal." he said. "Oh, really? And you will be happy with that, I mean TRULY happy with that? What I mean to say is that I will never hear any further griping about this then, never have to recreate this last blog? Ever? Really?" "Yes, that is correct." "By really, I mean r-e-a-l-l-y ..." I took the legal pad down from his book shelf and placed it in front of him. "... then you won't mind writing and signing a statement to that effect?" "I will NOT!" Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh. "Then you may ask me to do this again later for some other reason, your most royal sweetness?" And so we discussed a broad range of vaguely interweaving matters. It became clear that he reserved the right to rain on my parade down the road - that's how I took it at least. I eventually acquiesced, only regretting that I know so little about operating the skid steer and all its lovely digging abilities. J-u-s-t kidding, sort of. Remember, unless you are confined to an environment the size of a large shoebox with the love of your life 24/7, you cannot begin to understand the dynamics at play out here. Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh.

As usual, Mark was pressed into proofreading even this rework. This torturous blog exercise is surprisingly therapeutic for both of us. Oh, and the photo is of moose hunters, not elk hunters ... just had to throw that one in to get Alphonse the Moose's attention.

Independence Day and Beyond

There was just no way I was going to be able to honor Independence Day as beautifully and as informatively as Fat Hairy (click on his link in the lower left column) so I decided to sit this one out quietly. Besides, I was feeling a bit ill and we were both feeling a little out of sorts after more equipment malfunctions in the last couple of days. In fact, I was at a loss on what to write about until I downloaded my latest round of snapshots from the camera. I came to this one shown and started to chuckle.

Brou barked to signal incoming military aircraft so I ran out, with camera in hand this time, only to find that they were unusually high up. At least there were two B1s so I thought it wouldn't hurt to waste a frame or two trying to capture them in flight. By the time the camera set itself up, I could not even see them through the view-finder but took a shot anyway. Then I promptly forgot that I had even bothered until just now. The two planes occupy the top and bottom of the photo on the left hand side but what caused me to laugh was the indistinct blob on the right side of the photo. It reminded me of so many UFO photos I had seen back in the 60s ... fascinating indistinct blobs just like this one!

Click on image for larger view (not like it will help however)

Then it occurred to me that New Mexico's most famous UFO incident took place exactly 60 years ago. Come to think of it, it's probably New Mexico's most famous anything to the world beyond the land of enchantment. Wait, better still; their annual UFO conference is going on right now! So this is my official Roswell post.

I swear Mark wasn't tossing pie pans around at the time and I checked the lens for crawly critters. I have my suspicions which involve my usual antenna sitter but you just never know sometimes, do ya?

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Humor of the Day (from my old buddy Jim)

Simple Instructions

"WHEN THE PIN IS PULLED, MR. GRENADE IS NOT OUR FRIEND." -US Marine Corps

"AIM TOWARDS THE ENEMY." -Instruction printed on US Rocket Launcher

"CLUSTER BOMBING FROM B-52s IS VERY, VERY ACCURATE. THE BOMBS ARE
GUARANTEED TO ALWAYS HIT THE GROUND." -U.S.A.F. Ammo Troop.

"IF THE ENEMY IS IN RANGE, SO ARE YOU." -Infantry Journal

"A SLIPPING GEAR COULD LET YOUR M203 GRENADE LAUNCHER FIRE WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT. THAT WOULD MAKE YOU QUITE UNPOPULAR IN WHAT'S LEFT OF YOUR UNIT." -Army's magazine of preventative maintenance

"IT IS GENERALLY INADVISABLE TO EJECT DIRECTLY OVER THE AREA YOU JUST BOMBED." -US. Air Force manual

"TRY TO LOOK UNIMPORTANT; THE ENEMY MAY BE LOW ON AMMO."-Infantry Journal

"TRACERS WORK BOTH WAYS." -U.S. Army Ordnance

"FIVE-SECOND FUSES ONLY LAST THREE SECONDS ! "-Infantry Journal

"BRAVERY IS BEING THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS YOU'RE AFRAID."-David Hackworth

"IF YOUR ATTACK IS GOING TOO WELL, YOU'RE WALKING INTO AMBUSH."-Infantry Journal

"NO COMBAT-READY UNIT HAS EVER PASSED INSPECTION." -Joe Gay

"NEVER TELL THE PLATOON SERGEANT YOU HAVE NOTHING TO DO."-Unknown Marine Recruit

"DON'T DRAW FIRE; IT IRRITATES THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU." -Infantry Journal

"IF YOU SEE A BOMB TECHNICIAN RUNNING, TRY TO KEEP UP WITH HIM."-U.S.A.F. Ammo Troop

"ANY SHIP CAN BE A MINESWEEPER. . .ONCE." -Anon