The Generation Wars

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Update:

Generators: 1.75 / Rat Clan Mechanics: .25

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The gen war score says it all, almost. Somewhere under the dark clouds of obstinate generators, Mark's planned absence for the better part of next week, his broken hand, the killer black pick-up truck conspiracy (grin), the insouciance (being diplomatic here) of certain gas companies and, accordingly, the large gamble of moving 'up top', my normal ease of writing has all but evacuated this week. That ability certainly didn't flee from boredom.
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Here is one of the naughty generators of late. At least it is running, after a fashion. Below it, you can see our version of the mechanic's dolly which lopsidedly straddles the hand-dug rain diversion ditch. After several days of the myopic, ham-fisted horde saying "Let's try this ...", "Okay, let's try this then ...", this blue dairy crate and the generators have bested us. Pre-existing posterior miseries aside (but sorely aggravated), this dairy crate left us each with a serious case of WAFFLE BUTT! This was the ultimate lingering insult to injury after not having corrected the mechanical problems.
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Mark is circumventing the old generator's start-up problem for now by removing the spark plug and priming the cylinder with a few spritzes of gas. While removing the plug for each start-up attempt is a royal pain, it is still far easier than fighting with the air box to squirt gas through the carb throat. The draw-back is in tempting fate blatantly on a cross-threaded head (a la the Kawasaki generator last year).
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After confirming that each unit had spark, we went through the entire fuel system on each; from cleaning out the carb float bowls and jets to cleaning out pre-carb sludge traps and tank filters. Murphy's Law probably also suggests that you will not need to remove the tank filter unless the tank is filled to the brim with gas first. In my ancient and cantankerous state, this whole process was a high blood pressure fest waiting to happen. I had looked for encouraging signs of culprits to keep me going. There were none; no badly clogged filters, only one nozzle jet with two minor holes (of many) plugged, nothing that offered a "Eureka!" moment of satisfaction and encouragement. I am now convinced that trying to establish an off-the-grid homestead goes much better for those without a substantial layer of jade on them. But we're here so no sense in giving up now!
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Once Mark heads off to civilization with the prospects of real flushing toilets and predictable showers, I might just avoid the generator start-up hassles and live by kerosene light until he returns. That means no computer, no on-line access and no further blog activity until he returns. Just warning ya ! I will try to slip in one more post before that happens though.
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Ms. Daisy Finally Shines

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Yes, ditzy Daisy came into her own on Saturday for Mark. And pleased he was. With Slim about to move cattle down into our canyon, they have been working hard to repair fences to keep his cattle from mixing with the somewhat wild stock next door.
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Daisy and Brou alerted us to this stray and I caught her with the new camera's zoom; red-handed with a mouthful of our pasture grass. It was Daisy who chased the stray back down the road at 15mph ahead of Mark in the Ram, a mile and a half back to the fence line. Mark was pleased and surprised at her willingness to help out. She would return to him at intervals and go out to search again at his suggestion. The wily cow had given them the slip at the last moment, doubling back and descending a steep arroyo bank leading to the creek which neither of us would tackle on a good day. These creatures are amazingly agile despite their bulky appearance.

Tired but still not willing to hitch a ride back in the truck, she ran all the way back behind the truck. Brou was quietly waiting on the front porch for them. We had been warned that his nearly fatal bout with parvo-virus would leave him without his original stamina and perhaps he wisely realized that. Normally Mark would put him in the back of the truck but had taken off without him this time. Brou was noticeably bummed out about this oversight, too.

Daisy seemed to fully understand and enjoy what new heights of esteem she had just achieved on her own and was unusually chipper and responsive for the rest of the day. Maybe this will be her Renaissance!

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This is another heads up in case I disappear for a while. It would appear that we are entering into another techno cluster-bung zone. We had not just one but BOTH generators fail on us in the last 24 hours. I am typing on borrowed, limping generator time at the moment. Tomorrow will be taken up with carb, fuel line and filter maintenance. Gee, I can hardly wait. The components are very efficiently squeezed into a space roughly the size of large Coleman coolers and we are a couple of big people with equally big fingers and hands ... and with little patience and finesse left. Wish us luck, please. If it works, I'll be back in no time flat! If I'm not, don't panic yet.
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An Update of Sorts

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My sincere apologies; a good funk takes my desire and abilities to write reasonably well right out the window with it and I do not wish to subject anyone to filler dribble. From what I have sensed in a few blogs so far is that sometimes a blog writer comes under the pressure to produce volume at predictable or demanded intervals. I simply cannot do this, it is the antithesis of why we are out here to begin with; to shed frivolous (to us at least) societal expectations. So please bear with me here over the next few weeks.

First off, I wish to thank my blog friends for their support (and even the occasional loving threat) in their comments on my last entry. Believe it or not, your thoughts have made all the difference and I thank you in the most sincere way possible. It helped immensely and I will let those wonderful comments on the previous post through when I am done with this trudging effort of mine here.

All is fairly quiet here right now. The spirit of Nature has left the new well across the street in an expensive limbo (to the tune of $45K a day for just sitting there). The rig is down and unmanned but the big diesel generators are still running around the clock with only occasional visits to check for a pulse now and then. The roads are horrendous according to all seasoned hands and the BLM is teetering on the brink of closing them down to heavy equipment traffic. Some folks are likening this mess to the onset of conditions a few years ago when the roads were officially closed down for over a month. We are reasonably well-stocked on all fronts and can probably wait it out.

What will take a hit is our new buildings project. Yes, this is a cause for part of my blues since I have been waiting to resurrect my shop and creative life for over two years now. Such a thing may not mean much to most people but it is my worldly passion on hold until even further notice. I have learned an uncharacteristic amount of patience from this but this long-awaited sight of the finish line and then its taunting retreat has been a challenge of late. Mark finally made the hard call to the builders this morning to let them know that delivery out here was all but impossible for the foreseeable future. My solace is that the builder was greatly relieved since another customer had been hounding him furiously to build him something before the year was out. Somehow my personal disappointment was greatly salved by knowing that both the builders and a stranger out there somewhere would both be much happier as a result of our misfortune.

The new Honda 3000EU generator died suddenly yesterday. Thankfully, we had the older one ready to hook-up. Mark took a look at the dead one today and, as I had suspected, it had simply developed a carbon bridge in the spark plug. The rejetting downwards of the main jet seems to be holding since the plug color was still a reasonable light brownish shade (presuming that you can still partially trust a color read from modern lead-free fuels). We didn't want to run the old one longer than necessary since we haven't rejetted it yet. While the procedure is not an end-of-the-world event, it is still irritating enough that I don't care to deal with it in this weather unless all else fails. Yep, you know THAT will happen soon enough.

Hondo, another of our favorite gas field regulars, dropped by today. His infrequent visits are always a welcome break in our day and I can't help but think that our Virgil was somehow responsible for his stop since he knew I was in this deep funk. I will write more about Hondo down the line since he is another delightful character out here worth noting.

This funk can't last forever, especially knowing that you are with me and pushing me uphill. Thank you all, I love ya.

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Humor of the day

(at least I can share some humor that has been kindly coming my way lately) this one from my Katlady:


WHITE LIE CAKE

Have you ever told a white lie? You are going to love this, especially all of those who bake for church events.

Alice Grayson was to bake a cake for the Baptist Church Ladies' Group in Tuscaloosa but forgot to do it until the last minute. She remembered the morning of the bake sale and after rummaging through cabinets, found an angel food cake mix and quickly made it while drying her hair, dressing and helping her son pack for Scout camp. When Alice took the cake from the oven, the center had dropped flat and the cake was horribly disfigured. She thought, "Oh dear, there's no time to bake another cake."

This cake was important to Alice because she did so want to fit in at her new church and in her new community of friends. So, being inventive, she looked around the house for something to build up the center of the cake. Alice found it in the bathroom - a roll of toilet paper. She plunked it in and covered it with icing. Not only did the finished product look beautiful, it looked perfect. Before she left the house to drop the cake by the church and head for work, Alice woke her daughter Amanda and gave her some money and specific instructions to be at the bake sale the moment it opened at 9:30 and to buy the cake and bring it home.

When Amanda arrived at the sale, she found the beautiful, perfect cake had already been sold. She grabbed her cell phone and called her mom. Alice was horrified - she was beside herself. Everyone would know! What would they think? She would be ostracized, talked about and ridiculed! All night, Alice lay awake in bed thinking about people pointing fingers at her and talking about her behind her back.

The next day, Alice promised herself she would try not to think about the cake and would attend the fancy luncheon/bridal shower at the home of a fellow church member and try to have a good time. Alice did not want to attend because the hostess was a snob who more than once had looked down her nose at Alice because she was not from the founding families of Tuscaloosa. But, having already RSVP'd, she couldn't think of a believable excuse to stay home.

The meal was elegant, the company was definitely upper crust old South and, to Alice 's horror, the cake in question was presented for dessert! Alice felt the blood drain from her body when she saw the cake. She started out of her chair to tell the hostess all about it, but before she could get to her feet, the Mayor's wife said, "What a beautiful cake!"

Alice, still stunned, sat back in her chair when she heard the hostess say, "Thank you, I baked it myself."

Alice smiled and thought to herself, "God is good."
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FALL - it certainly fell

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Rather than the usual homestead tales, this is just going to be a hodge-podge news update for friends and family. If you have stopped by a few times in the past, you're already considered friends so don't wander away unless you want to!
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The above photo was taken at 5:30PM this afternoon, looking West from the Rat. As Virgil said, the sun has changed places with the moon in their trails across the sky and so it is the sun which skips along the mesa on our south, dipping early into hiding now. The shadows and the absence of direct sunlight bring the quick drop in temperatures. Standing on the Rat's front porch at this hour, you can feel the chill beginning to ride up your back. From now until Spring, it will be below freezing before 11:00PM. Our outdoor working times will become shorter and more urgent and disciplined now.

We have already had a night with a low of 10 degrees. By this latest unintentional experiment, we have now established that the water facilities within an addition without doors yet WILL freeze at that temperature. Sometimes we need such pressing conditions to shift into high gear since we are still enjoying a certain degree of intentional irresponsibility.

The 'build your own door from scratch' project is proceeding nicely. We couldn't buy 'off the rack' doors because of the low wall heights of the addition and we had put off the project since the demise of the big Kawasaki generator which had mysteriously come up lame with a stripped spark plug hole after it had been pressed into general service when the Honda generator died.

The solution to my table saw's big amp needs was a cable which links the output of TWO Honda's running simultaneously. Yes, we got fed up and bought a second Honda EU3000. Mark cabled them together and the big saw fired up nicely without stalling out either Honda. I spent the next few hours cutting door pieces which would overlap to make good solid door frames when assembled. Two by four frames with one inch foam insulation, 7/16ths sheathing on both faces, these buggers are going to be SOLID!
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In this photo from the porch looking East, you can see the rising moon above the mesas if you look carefully. If you have been following along for a while, you can also see that a portion of fence has disappeared, along with the chico and sage beyond it. Mark cleaned out this whole area over to Quig's new circular driveway to accommodate a couple of new buildings that we just ordered! Yesh! Yesh! Yesh! NEW buildings on the way! Can you tell that I am, ohhh, just a little excited? They probably won't arrive until New Years given the builder's backlog but the vistas of long suppressed imagination are suddenly opening up once more. The ability to unload the rest of the moving trailer looms, the prospect of having my various work shops re-established, too. I am just short of delirious with the possibilities and that has been a feeling long absent for me. I am one of those people who need those feelings, needs a place of their own to work, repair and create. It is so close now.

Of very recent news: I have perpetually warned Mark not to use his hand as a mallet. It is such a tempting thing to do rather take five minutes to find the proper tool. No ... he's just fine. It was I who broke my own rule and might have broken my hand in the process. Oh, the shame of it all. And it has slowed down our projects accordingly. As I watched Mark from the sidelines today, he would still bash the occasional piece into place with the heel of his hand and I would grimace painfully but empathetically. He is still a very large cat when it comes to subtle torment, methinks.
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Chaos, Rains Supreme - Part 5

Photo: A new dawn, a new day can bring new hope, new faith - if you choose to look for it.

Click image for larger view

As you might imagine, that Saturday night was a quiet one. Mark was intensely mulling over the Ram's likely new differential problem and I was content to stare out the window in a deep funk, occasionally drooling down the front of my shirt. Don't ever let anyone tell you that your emotional state cannot effect your physical well-being. The effects of the antibiotics seemed to vanish and the malady returned with greater vigor than ever. So here we were suddenly retro'd back to primitive camping in the Rat and I was not the classic happy camper.

I never imagined that I would be into a Part Five of this tale so I will cut to the chase with a day by day accounting of it:

Thursday: The Honda generator dies. Some triage performed, no cigar. Sun is dropping behind the mesa. Sit in relative misery until bedtime - which comes early with no light, no computers alive and well.

Friday: Fiddle-fart around for most of the day with possible fixes. Call Red for more ideas. Fiddle-fart around some more, still no cigar. Generator dealer administers Last Rites to generator by phone.
Evening drill: Sweat profusely. Assume glum faces, retire at dusk. Sweat profusely. Wake up at 3:00AM because you are not used to this much sleep (but the cats, being nocturnal kind of guys, think this is just great!). Sit around staring at walls and sweating by kerosene light until sunlight returns. This would become a standard routine henceforth.

Saturday: 'Nuff said already on the wrecking and raising of the Hesperus.

Sunday: Mark spends day largely avoiding 'management'. No power, all Rat projects come to a halt. Long reading aloud sessions develop and become daily entertainment - I certainly can't complain.

Monday: Generator dealer closed - we sure love prolonging this agony. Mark does get hold of Dick, top mechanic in town who has seen everything which could happen to a vehicle out here in the oil patch. His observation: DO NOT drive it to town like that. Gives Mark some pointers on next wise step to take.

Tuesday: Profuse sweating still de riguer. Since the evap. cooler is now on a separate wire and plug, I get bright idea to power the cooler with the mil-surplus Kawasaki (no, it cannot be used to power the Rat's main electric panel for a number of reasons but only an electro geek could possibly explain why clearly). We fire it up and plug in the cooler. YES! YES! Relief from the swelter! Dance around and do cartwheels. Repeat for 1.5 hours until ... the big Kawa dies. Emit wails of lament loudly, assume the standard evening routine previously noted.

Wednesday: Mark follows Dick's advice and finds contacts willing to bring out replacement fluids for differential from town. Dick sends fluids out without requiring payment up front (and this stuff is PRICEY). Faith in humanity escalates.

Thursday: The guy who maintains the wells one section over from us is able to deliver the fluids (now one of several new brownie points accumulating for humanity). Don't forget to insert the routine daily and evening misery here though.

Friday: Mark takes my Dakota down to the creek, wades across, masters the technique of loosening diff cover, drains out sludge and adds new fluid. All dressed up now and no place to go since appointment for complete diff cleaning is not until Monday. While he is scrubbing around in sand under the Ram, pipeline hand drives up to creek and admits that HE was the one who created the humongous sink-hole in the channel, the one which Mark's Ram slid off to the left into before he could climb the far bank. Nothing like a big dually to excavate mud. Mark offers sarcastic gratitude and the kid offers a big poop-eating grin before dropping into the channel again, pausing long enough to dig out some more mud.

Saturday and Sunday: Complete write-off on progress but misery still not optional. We do sun dances to ward off another creek run. Slim becomes concerned that any attempt on our part at rain cessation will brown out his reviving grazing grass. We futilely fart around with the dead Kaw although we now know that we need a smaller main jet which may or may not be available any more - Kawa dealer offers minus enthusiasm and support to that end.

Monday: I run Mark down to the creek at 0:dark-early. Dick makes the world right again with the Ram. But .... Honda dealer is closed. Mark gets to stay overnight in town at motel with real, unlimited hot water, real porcelain flushing toilet, air-conditioning and dine-out food. I am out here grinding teeth in the relentless swelter, thinking that this mini-vacation is a curious reward for his initial short-sightedness. Mind you, he does get to do a LOT more errands than time normally permits.

Tuesday: Mark picks up the perishable groceries, stuffs them in the cooler with plenty of ice. Then he picks up the dead Honda generator at Dick's, drops it off at the dealer and loads the new one waiting to come home. Even though these things are gut-busting heavy, you don't want to leave one in the back of a pick-up in a motel parking lot or any where else for long so he had to very carefully choreograph the order of his stops. He returns absolutely beat in the late afternoon. Just enough time before dusk for me to replace the cooler motor with the new one he also brought home. Resume sullen evening routine in darkness.

Wednesday: We unload the new generator and hook it up. It works! Electricity, night time lighting! Best of all, computers again! Life was again worth living! I now stand outside on the porch again and let each brilliant new dawn and the shooting stars at night fill me with renewed energy and joy and I begin the process of healing once more. We were finally back to our original Nirvana.

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News of the Week:

Red, This BUF's For You!

There is a double entendre in the header above considering the news story but this is really meant for our old friend, Red, not the Rooskies.

Rich Russian tries to buy U.S. bomber at airshow

I came across this story last week but Buck over at Exile in Portales beat me to it. It's about some newly rich Russian, surrounded by his personal Guido guards, wanting to buy a B-52 at an air show there. The U.S. personnel seemed taken aback and possibly a little affronted.

Out here at the Rat where we have plenty of time to think and behave like bad kids, we have come up with our own ideas on the matter:

You know, given that we are supposed to be the grand poobah nation of evil capitalism, maybe we shouldn't have farted off this big buck Russian so quickly. Hey, the BUF (a loving, familiar name for the venerable old craft, standing for 'Big Ugly ... uhm ... Fella) has been around for a awhile, probably written off long ago in the books so why did we pass up this willing $500 million bite? We got to brainstorming a little and considered some parallel marketing ploys by the U.S. auto makers. Hey ... how about something like those popular schmancy Eddie Bauer Limited Edition models? The Pentagon is missing a big opp here, I mean B-I-G! They could produce a very limited Slim Pickens Edition, personally endorsed by his estate (God love and rest him). I think them Rooskies do have a great sense of humor and would love it. I bet even pectoral Putin would have to chuckle.

Next post: I need to sincerely thank some blogger friends who have enjoyed and supported our journal entries beyond the call.

Chaos, Rains Supreme

"If anything can go wrong, it will." ~ Murphy's Law ~

Keep this Law in mind as you read my account of our latest misadventures over the next few installments. Better still, I came across this following variation of Murphy's Law which is even more suitable, as you will eventually come to see:

"If there are two or more ways to do something, and one of those ways can result in a catastrophe, then someone will do it."

My sincerest apologies for suddenly disappearing without a trace. I truly, truly mean that. If you are reading about our off-the-grid adventures to get some idea of what you may face when you can finally forge your own similar dreams into reality, then I suppose this is a necessary thing for you to consider. I am no Pollyanna and could not, in good conscience, lead you into thinking that our peaceable kingdom is not without its severe trials. Is it still worth trying? Even after this period of abject misery, I cannot fathom any other place I would rather be. And, believe me, I have had much opportunity of late to give it serious thought.

I can document the beginning of this latest round of disasters precisely on August 2nd because I had just viewed the last blog comments to be vetted, got to the second one from my Atavist, let it through and was in the middle of a reply. Suddenly my computer crashed and the single light in the room started to scale up and down as though some toddler had gotten hold of the rheostat. Mark was in the same situation and we both baled out of the Rat like firemen on call to check on the generator. Not good. It sat there idling so low and jaggedly that it was rocking the entire metal shack like a master Sumo wrestler throwing a heavy 'march/stomp on the spot' tantrum. If you have been following our previous exploits, you already know the drill; kill Mr. Honda's brat, fall back and think (and oh so dread) a little. Then dust off your feelings of futility and despair and start with the logical things. Funny how logic and experience can evade you at some point in extremely high frustration so, being no fool, I always call Red. I am sure he is getting tired of lately only hearing from me when I am at my end of patience and sanity but he always comes through for me. Red is the kind of guy who remains cool under fire, even when his B-52 has just crashed in a rice paddy in very hostile territory. That's just the way he is - a blessing. My father swore by keeping a nanny goat in the stable with his thoroughbreds in case of fire. The nanny goat keeps its sensible head and leads the high-strung horses out of the flames to safety. I never forgot that as an analogy in relation to my own life. So the conversation goes like this; "Hello?" "R...e..d, ... it's L..i..n ..." "Uh-oh ... how's things goin'?" He already knows by the intro and the tone of my voice betraying a severe spike in blood pressure and so now I fill in the details. "You already know the procedures." "Yeah, I know but I am so frigging upset that I figure I will miss something so stunningly obvious ..." "Yeah, I know how that goes, so did ya check this, did you check that yet? And this?" "Check, check ... hmmm ... good point, we'll try that next, what else?" When you are a Type A hothead, there is no better blessing than to A) realize it and B) have a friend like Red to grab you by the back of your collar and settle you back down into some rational thinking.

Suddenly realizing that the gas nozzles of our fuel storage tanks had been sitting throat up in the monsoons like the fabled idiot turkeys looking up with mouths agape in deluges and drowning, we carefully siphoned all the potentially water-contaminated gas out of the generator. I dropped and emptied the carb float bowl next - still no improvement. While in the process of emptying the tank, I noticed a surprising amount of large particles in the tank, those which had mysteriously slipped passed the big nylon filter at the tank neck. By the time we were done looking for water and particle obstructions, I had completely dissected the carb and even blown it out by mouth (our cheesy little latter day 12V compressor was hardly worth engaging and someone had rolled away my decent amp grabber as a freebie before we moved). Still nothing. What I did notice, which confounded a Luddite like myself, was that the throttle was governed by some sort of electronic nubbins at the top of the carb. Now I was well out of my league. AFTER all that first line finagling, Mark called the Honda dealer. His response was both comforting and disturbing; "Nope, this sounds familiar, don't bother trying anything else - it sounds like the main electronic control unit has died." So ... it came down to the dreaded Black Box Death that puts shade cactus mechanics like me to sudden death with no reprieve. How futile, how helpless a feeling.

To be continued

And now I must apologize again to all of our blog friends:

Now that we have connectivity again, I have let all the comments through but I have not addressed each of them individually as I usually do, despite my mother teaching me that all correspondence should be promptly replied to. I don't follow that edict out of any social guilt but because I really enjoy showing my appreciation of other people who care enough to share in our travails. I didn't do it this time around and I think this is my very uncomfortable and reluctant confession that I am not feeling so very well at all so please forgive me this time. You likely have no idea how much your comments completely make our day when the sun chooses not to shine out here. Thank you so for taking this trip with us and urging us ever onwards.

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Humor of the Day: (observations that I currently find more accurate than humorous)

- If anything just cannot go wrong, it will anyway.

- If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.

- Matter will be damaged in direct proportion to its value.

- Research supports a specific theory depending on the amount of funds dedicated to it.

- It is impossible to make anything foolproof because fools are so ingenious.

- Rule of Accuracy: When working toward the solution of a problem, it always helps if you know the answer. Provided, of course, that you know there is a problem.

- A falling object will always land where it can do the most damage.

- A shatterproof object will always fall on the only surface hard enough to crack or break it.

- A valuable dropped item will always fall into an inaccessible place (down the drain, for example) - or into the garbage disposal while it is running.

- If you use a pole saw to saw a limb while standing on an aluminum ladder borrowed from your neighbor, the limb will fall in such a way as to bend the ladder before it knocks you to the ground.

- The greater the value of the rug, the greater the probability that the cat will throw up on it.

- Your best golf shots always occur when playing alone.

- The worst golf shots always occur when playing with someone you are trying to impress.

- The light at the end of the tunnel is probably an oncoming train.

- You will always find something in the last place you look.

- It is never in the last place you look. It is in the first place you look, but never discovered on the first attempt.

- After you bought a replacement for something you've lost and searched for everywhere, you'll find the original.

- No matter how long you shop for an item, after you've bought it, it will be on sale somewhere cheaper.

- The other line always moves faster.

- When a broken appliance is demonstrated for the repairman, it will work perfectly.

- Never argue with a fool, people might not know the difference.

- Whatever hits the fan will not be evenly distributed.

- No good deed goes unpunished.

- Anything dropped in the bathroom will fall in the toilet.

- Regardless of your frame of reference, things will go wrong anyway.

- Any time you put an item in a "safe place", it will never be seen again.

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.

Talkin' 'bout Our Generation

If there is one bit of advice on homesteading which will run consistently through these journals, it is: "Do it as soon as you can, while you still have energy and ambition. AND patience. I no longer possess the patience which was needed to restore intricate, delicate antiques or vehicles. It is simply gone. I don't know if it is solely the erosive effect of time itself or if it is a complex weave of experiences which drove it away. Perhaps having to start over again from nearly nothing so many times has exhausted a finite supply of patience. But, take my word for it, it is a necessary attribute for a life in the middle of nowhere. It helps you tackle a problem and keep on going without draining essential energy.

The other valuable asset you will need is a familiarity with every system which affects your quality of life there. We are marginally suited in that respect but probably better than most folks. Unless you find a property with an existing, fairly maintenance free home, you will be ever strained and challenged. The greater distance to town or the more miles off pavement, the less likely you will be able to call in professional help. When you are 2 or more hours in from pavement, you realize that you cannot throw up your arms in surrender and call a repairman, not unless you have unlimited financial resources.

So ... on Saturday night, I was on the computer after Mark went to bed when I heard an uneven woowoppaty of the generator and saw the corresponding light show. I grabbed the lantern and dashed outside to kill the engine but I knew that I had just broken one of my most stringent rules - Do Not run engines out of fuel! From my own experiences, doing so will allow water, rust and crud to flow out of the tank and clog things you don't want to deal with. I went to bed with that thought on my mind.

On Sunday morning, I awoke to the raucous rattle and exhaust call of the bigger generator, the one we only run to power my table saw. It took a moment to shake off the night's last groggy hold before I realized that this confirmed my last thoughts of the evening before - Mark could not start the Honda 3000EU generator. Here comes that vital element of patience into play. I laid there a few moments longer, going over the likely components to address and I dreaded the prospects deeply. A long time ago, I used to tear down my motorcycle every winter ... just because. Now I resent having to so much as change oil. Jade. An oil-soaked jade.

We held a quick conference, consulted the owner's manual, and decided that Mark would continue working on the addition and that I would see if I could do anything to resurrect the generator. It sits in the snug metal 'doghouse' at the end of the addition project and I was soon sitting in a sideways knot on the dusty floor. Gack ... that's right ... metric! Not like either of us have a vast selection of metric tools around but, several times throughout the morning, we managed to come up with the right sizes after considerable scrounging. Then I realized that everything had been efficiently jammed into this housing and that my hands are about a size and a half too big to be anything but clumsy. I removed the air filter and removed the sludge trap hidden behind it. I found some light residue but nothing I considered a problem with fuel flow. Put everything back ... still no fire up. Sigh ... surely NOT the carb? No, I'd rather check the plug than deal with that. Still nothing. No, not the carb, please ... let's throw in a little starter fluid down the hole. Nothing.

No, not the carb PLEASE. I retreated back into the Rat and took a coffee break, trying to work up the heart to attack the carb. Okay, let's do it. Once I got myself twisted back down into position, Mark was marvelous about finding any new items needed, like a tin can of gas to clean off the main and needle jets which I dropped into the dirt no less that a half dozen times before my hands and screwdriver jammed through the access hatch could reinstall them. Patience, not! Right about then, my right hip let me know that it had taken quite enough abuse and I hurled myself out of the doghouse to roll around on the ground looking for any escape from the pain. I eventually crawled back in and finished up. NOTHING! Patience, that elusive virtue. It is a vital antidote to despair and I had little by then.

By now, the sun had roasted both of us to near exhaustion so we called it a day. Normally we retreat inside and fire up the evap cooler. Ohhh ... that's right, the gen-er-a-tor is-NOT-working. So we sit there sweating, looking over the trouble-shooting section, following the yes or no arrows right down to the last box "You are an idiot - take it to your dealer". This would mean an unplanned run to town and at least two days without electricity, possibly a week or more plus an extra retrieval trip. No lights, no cooling, no computer, no e-mails, no blog. Glum, glum, glum rained down over Mudville. We filled up the new lanterns with equal parts kerosene and despair in preparation for nightfall and fell back to the living room.

Complete resignation seeped in around the edges of the gloom and drained what was left of us so we both sat silently for a time, our thoughts only vaguely connecting with reality.

"Wait!" I startled Mark with that exclamation and he sat forward. I had calmed down enough to remember my next rule of mechanics, one which I had learned from observation plus the hard way. 'Problems may coincidentally develop which have absolutely nothing to do with the first and obvious culprit.' "Mark!!! Tell me ... does that oil warming light normally flicker when you crank it over?" I have had many eccentric vehicles over the years that have lights which flicker benignly during start-up but, HEY, I am grasping desperately for straws by now. "Gee ... I never noticed one way or the other." "Okay, let's get desperate here then ... would you please top up the oil and check the housing for level?" Off he went with hesitant hope while I raced to prep supper before dark. "VROOM!" Yes, yes, yes - we both nearly danced around the Rat, another problem vanquished in the waning daylight. But don't dare dance with too much abandon for there will likely be new problems tomorrow.