It’s been on my mind.
Artist’s Conception
For some (going on several) weeks, since Ian and I worked on his inlet pipes, the good ship Gulchendiggensmoothen has been stuck behind his dome. It was stuck there by the huge pile of dirt between it and its exit, by the fact that all that dirt needed to be put back in the hole, and by my own anxiety.
Gulchendiggensmoothen and I have spent a lot of time together in Profanity Alley, and I must confess neither of us do it well. In terms of driving ability I’m not exactly Al Unser, and Gulchendiggensmoothen has traction and balance issues that make slopes and soft sand (especially slopes made of soft sand) problematic. But it had to be done. The hole was as filled as the backhoe and my modest ability could make it. So now I needed to pull up my big-boy pants, throttle up and get’er out of there. I at least had the foresight to fill the front bucket with rocks this time, to keep the front wheels on the ground.
We backed and filled! Those big rear wheels dug new, impressive furrows! I got out and filled them in with my shovel! We tried again! Gradually big-G got his ass pointed in the right direction, and then the best thing was to pour on the coal and muscle through the sand to the slope.
Ah, the slope. I hate the slope.
Y’know, going down a slope forward is no big deal at all. You just leave it in gear, keep your feet off the pedals, and let the engine do the braking. He goes down slopes forward just fine. But we never seem to go down this particular slope forward, do we? And backward, that oversize backhoe is not our friend. But this time I had the luxury of all those rocks in the front bucket, which meant once I was on the slope I could still steer. And so he came down off Ian’s mound as tame as you could wish. I parked, got my heart palpitations under control, and sauntered on home like a hero.
And now for shit-shoveling.
ETA: While I was actually typing the above, H called and invited me to breakfast. That’s a first. I didn’t tell her it was actually second breakfast because I ate early. Anyway, while we were eating J wanted to know if I’d move some firewood he’s tired of looking at. It’s spent the past six months piled in his yard; he bought it from the local jeffe but it turned out too green to burn. Now he wanted it stacked against his fence. Being Mr. Value Added, I even brought a couple of old pallets to stack it on. Took about two sweaty hours, and made me an extra 30 bux! So, yay me.
Good timing, too. Tomorrow I’m (probably) going to the big town about fifty miles away to buy my floor insulation. I just crawled out from under the Lair and went over my figures; I need a bit more insulation than I thought I did, natch, but the money’s in the bank. Hooah! Warm(er) foot come December!
Yay! Let’s hear it for BALLAST. And give Big G a break; he’s like, what – 40 years old? For sure most of his contemporaries are turning to rust in a graveyard somewhere.