When I first started making furniture, I bought a belt sander.
Brand new. Name brand. Heavy duty.
And for 45 years, I used it for all my woodworking projects, until it broke last week.
I googled the part I needed, and it came up under “Vintage Equipment.”
Thanks a lot.
Does this look old to you?
I was rooting around in the storage unit, where I keep the ‘cream of the crap’ that came with the Stowe house. I’ve got about a dozen sad looking wooden chairs in there, and one of them caught my eye.
“That’s a fine looking chair,” I said to myself, and I took it home with me.
Long story short: I stripped it, I fixed it, I glued it back together, and I like it.
The seat, though … bothers me. It’s made of 5 pieces of oak, glued in 4 places, and 3 out of 4 of the glue lines had failed. That means that the only one I didn’t fix is probably already compromised.
So if and when this chair breaks, that’s where it’s gonna happen.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
That’s a fine looking chair.
I’ve got about 200 miles on the Honda now, and it’s a fun ride, but without luggage, it is useless. I’ve got enough room for a passenger, a Slim Jim, and a pack of smokes, but that’s about it. Where am I supposed to put the groceries? And what were they thinking when they marketed this thing to me and my generation?
When I had this same problem with the Suzuki, I got along with bungee cords and a milk crate before I upgraded to enough locked, dry storage to get me to California and back.
I’m not sure what I’ll do this time, but I smell a winter project.
Meanwhile, the fuel gauge doesn’t work. I found the problem:
Here are 2 halves of a part that failed because it burned through from the heat of an electrical short.
It goes in the gas tank. Nobody got hurt, and I don’t understand why.
On eBay, I could get a whole used replacement float assembly for $39.95. I was tempted.
Instead, I made an acetate copy of the burnt part, wrapped it with 60 turns of epoxy coated nichrome wire, and then sanded an edge of the coil down to bare metal where the float lever contact rides it. It cost me 100 bucks, but it’s home made, and good as new.
It was probably the hardest possible way I could have fixed the fuel gauge.
I’m starting to think there’s something wrong with me.
When we put in the patio, we took out a lot of dirt, and we saved it in a pile down by the pond. The pond could use some work and to do it, you’d need dirt, so it made sense.
We brought in an excavator, and he looked at the pile, and he looked at the pond, and he says ‘We won’t run out of dirt.’
He made quick work of it, though, and the pond got a major upgrade.
It was bare dirt, so I bought a 50# bag of grass seed and
I cast my seed upon the ground.
OK, so I’m down to the last thing on a list of things I’ve gotta do before I can register my motorcycle. It sez here I’ve gotta have a police officer physically confirm my VIN number. And since I can’t legally ride it to the station, they sent a cop to me to check it out, and he’s in my basement, calling HQ for a stolen vehicle check, and writing down my mileage.
“Wow,” he says. “Just 192 miles!”
“Oh no,” I blurted. “That’s just how far I’ve driven it so far.”
Oh no!
He gave me the evil eye, and he let me stammer for a bit, but he laughed and waved it off. They don’t care.
Not smooth, Reid. Very not smooth.
Another chair caught my eye. It was dirty.
My climbing plant planter is looking good.
Or not. Depends on who you ask.