February 29, 2008  Settling In...Leap Year Day
 

 
It's been a bit over a week since I returned to Northern Wisconsin after a 3 month hiatus in Texas. When I leave the cabin for that amount of time in the winter, I drain down the plumbing and fill the traps with RV antifreeze. The water heater is emptied and the deep well pump is turned off. The furnace is turned to 40 degrees F which is it's lowest setting. Most of my electronic gadgets are unplugged and I make sure that special things are secured. I also have a security system installed that locally alarms, calls the local PD, and additionally calls several numbers I've programmed in. I used to specify this gadget when I needed cheap remote monitoring for municipal pumping and control stations. For around $500.00+ you can have a variety of sensors, such as security, flooding, freezing, fire, etc. with different alarms and phone number out-calls depending on those combinations.
 
This device is reliable and rugged. However, it does not have an adapter that will tell you what percentage of propane you might have in your tank. I have a 1000 gallon tank which was filled to 82 percent just before I left to go to Texas (Filling is usually done from 80 to 85 percent of tank volume to allow for expansion. Tanks should be refilled when they reach 25 percent, or 15 percent minimum. This assures that all propane devices will have sufficient pressure and that moisture formation is reduced.) So I was concerned, knowing that the winter in Wisconsin had been brutally cold, that I may be operating on diminished supplies at my northern home. I finally trudged through the snowfield to checkout the tank today...Woo Hoo a robust 45 percent is still in the tank. That will keep me from energy bankruptcy for several more months.
 
Several days ago, I had discovered that the garage door to the 1950 Ford 8N tractor bay was totally frozen to the garage floor. I spent a few hours tapping the base of the door with a sledge hammer...to no avail. I spread Ice-Melt with little result. Finally, I connected a 100 gallon LP tank to a LP torpedo and swept it's heat along the concrete and the door. Finally the frost released it's grip on the door and I began with my annual struggle with the 100 lb-per-tire chains on the massive rear tires. Off-season each chain resides in it's own 5 gallon pail, mainly because they must retain their association right-to-left.
 
It's kinda like hooking up two mules in harness. If you get them on the wrong side they'll never work. I say this with experience. Back when I worked for Fox Trails Ski Resort I had to occasionally harness and drive our two mules, Maisey and Daisy, on sleigh or wagon rides for our guests. Whenever I got the hookup wrong, the mules wouldn't move until I put things right. After months of my mistakes, those mules decided not to move regardless of the position I put them in. I believe this could lead to a new TV program, "Are You Smarter Than a Mule?"
 
Then there's the mating thing. I mean, everybody knows that steel tire chains can't mate although they appear to try very hard. If you make the mistake of putting them ever-so-carefully in the same bucket, the next season they so intertwined it'll take a month to straighten them out, and then you must be certain they haven't swapped their port and starboard id tags as a gesture of their affection for each other. And parents whine about teenagers!
 
Eventually the chains were mounted, the battery charged, fuel, oil and coolant checked, and this 58-year-old beast of burden fired up after a bit of gentle coaxing of accelerator and choke. And snow began to fly as the giant maw of the wide snow bucket first scooped then unceremoniously dumped the intrusive whiteness into piles upon piles. The deep, packed snowbanks left between my driveway and back door by my highly overpaid plow contractor, were gone in seconds! I finessed the hydraulic levers while flying about the driveway at blinding speeds, steering and one-wheel breaking to utilize the momentum of the steel and iron to skid me in just the right position for the next maneuver. I began to laugh loudly, maniacally, insanely, not out of sheer enjoyment, but because it'd drive my moron neighbor nuts.
 
It's snowing all day today. I'll soon be plowing and laughing hysterically again. I think I'll plow the yard between me and family moron. Moron Sr. decided to snowmobile through this yard in my absence. Payback is due.
 
Until later.....DKHT
 

February 22, 2008  The Drive Home!!!
 
For over a week I monitored the weather predictions for Wichita Falls, Tulsa, Joplin, Springfield (MO), St. Louis, Springfield (IL), Janesville, Wausau and Minocqua, also known as my route home. I was looking for two consecutive days that would allow me to travel without hitting ice storms or heavy wind-driven snows. Past experience indicated that I could easily make Springfield, IL, driving about 12 hours on the first day (last year I made it to Bloomington, IL in the same amount of time only to discover that motel prices and taxes were twice what you can find in Springfield). The second day would be shorter, but would get me home in time to get the house heat and plumbing restored by bedtime. I was looking for good weather on the first day for the first leg of the trip. I wasn't too concerned what weather was like on the second leg at that time. Similarly, I wasn't concerned about what developed behind me on the second day.
 
Each day I logged onto the weather services, only to be frustrated and disappointed. No two days even came close to fitting my profile. Ice storms raged through Oklahoma, Missouri and southern Illinois, and heavy snows were predicted for northern Illinois and Wisconsin. I really needed to get back home by the 19th, but things weren't looking very good. Then, on the evening of the 17th there appeared a window for the 18th and 19th that seemed to fill the bill.
 
GeoTruk had been fully loaded for days prior. I only had to jam in a cooler of frozen food and toss my overnight bag and some soda and nibblies in a small cooler in the back seat. The upgraded return route was loaded into the GPS laptop. And so it came time to leave WF at 6:30 AM on the 18th. I took my first wrong turn at 6:45 AM, but got back on track just a few minutes later (I wasn't paying attention to the GPS). Shortly afterward I was treated to an awesome Texas sunrise, where the sun uses a brilliant purple and pink brushes to paint the bottoms of a few distant clouds, just before appearing over the horizon. I had a stout insulated mug of coffee and a few Diet Dr Peppers (this IS Texas, after all) as well as a few bottles of water.
 
I crossed the Red River and marveled that this big lazy creek raised 27 feet in last Spring's runoff to grow from it's 50 foot width to a spread of several miles. Even the diminutive Wichita rose well beyond it's banks and left hotels on islands and homes underwater. Once you cross into Oklahoma on I-44 you begin to travel a series of three turnpikes all the way to Missouri. Only short segments at Lawton, Oklahoma City and Tulsa are not turnpike. At Lawton is Fort Sill Artillery base in the Wichita Mountains.
 
You can tell you're on the Oklahoma turnpikes even without the tollbooths. If the pavement is littered with huge cracks and holes, and one lane is always closed and under construction (although there are never any construction workers in sight), you just might be on an Oklahoma Turnpike. If the cash lane arbitrarily changes from right to left from toll booth to toll booth, you might be on an Oklahoma Turnpike. If no two consecutive tolls cost the same amount, you're probably on an Oklahoma Turnpike. And if you have to rubber band your toll money to a brick to keep it from being blown away, you're definitely at a Oklahoma Tollbooth. Finally, if you're in a Conoco or Phillips restroom and can't believe the filth, lack of sanitation, and total lack of maintenance, your chances are that it's at a gas station on an Oklahoma Turnpike (wake up Conoco/Phillips/76, your patrons deserve better that this...nothing has improved in 4 years, and it isn't quite right to force all your restroom patrons to drive on to the nearest McDonalds. When they advertise free restrooms, that's not supposed to reflect what it costs Conoco/Phillips/76 to provide them!. While traveling much of the I-44/Turnpike route you can see old Route 66 running parallel to you.
 
Crossing from Oklahoma into Missouri is like entering another world. On I-44 you're introduced to Joplin PDQ. This was my first trip through Joplin that there wasn't some major accident on I-44. But I am infatuated with Missouri. Actually, both Oklahoma and Missouri warrant more exploration time; Oklahoma for it's museums of our heritage as well as the native American heritage and Missouri for it's unique, hilly and Ozark character and natural attractions. And, again, old 66 runs alongside frequently, but this 66 gives you an idea of the narrow, 2 lane, flat-banked highway that kept drivers and passengers on the edge of their seats.
 
Whenever I see those brief stretches of old 66 I recall trips made so many years ago. My dad was stationed at Shepard AFB in WWII where he met my civilian mom working on base as a dental assistant. Love blossomed, as they say, and just before dad shipped out they were married. Mom moved to Dad's folks in Illinois when she discovered she was pregnant with me. But dad had promised mom that she would see her Texas family at least once a year from then on. Other than the years he was stationed overseas he kept his promise (actually, he sent money to mom's twin and mother to take the greyhound to IL to visit until he was discharged). But that 's why I've spent most of my lifetime on-road mileage going to or coming from Texas, mostly on or near Route 66.
 
Just south of St. Louis you can take I-270 south to Memphis (so very counter-intuitive)...., on the first leg to bypass downtown traffic. I've hauled through downtown on several occasions, but it can get nasty around rush hour, so I prefer to use the east side bypass. The 270/Memphis route transitions into the I-255 (in Illinois) and you get back on I-55. Before GPS I used to get so screwed up making any and all these hookups whenever I traveled without a navigator (traffic is ALWAYS heavy near St. Louis). But, once back on I-55 I can become complacent in driving on one of the dullest routes in the USA, overnighting at Springfield. Next morning I flew through Bloomington where I-39 begins as I-55 heads toward Chicago and I-74 heads toward Peoria, home of my old alma mater, Bradley University.
 
Don't get me wrong, I've found exciting places to drive and explore in my old home state. But I-55 (mainly Old 66) is one of the most mind-numbing trips next to Nebraska. Yet, I must admit I smile every time I pass the two huge wind farms along I-39 north of Sterling Rock Falls. Shortly afterward you have the pleasure of driving through a series of oddball curves and turns designed by a drunkard and marked by a series of yellow diamond warning signs depicting tractor-trailor rigs tipping over right and left, ultimately to arrive at a toll booth where you'll be happy to pay the $1.00 "Escape Illinois" fee.
 
Initially Wisconsin's I-39 is non-descript, running through the rapidly expanding Janesville's east side, showing promise of diversity only to hit a plateau of relatively flat farmland.Madison and it's many suburbs quickly pass by. You're sharing the route with I-90 and I-94 by now, so traffic is never sparse. Finally the Wisconsin River crosses under the multiple interstates and the land takes on some character, as it does whenever nearing a river valley in the nortern states. Soon the 108 mile marker indicates the split of I-39 off to the north as the I-90/I-94 pair head out to Wisconsin Dells and their parting at Tomah. I-39 begins to roughly follow the north/south travel of the Wisconsin River. Miles of rolling hills, mostly undeveloped and blanketed with hardwood forests, line the highway. There is commercial agriculture land north of Coloma and stretching north to Mosinee.
 
Mosinee is the site of the Central Wisconsin Airport (where vehicles are occasionally sent out to scare deer off the runway prior to a takeoff), and to one of Wisconsin Public Service's largest coal-fired generating plants, and a very large pulp and paper mill. Mosinee can be and assault on the senses. The mill produces a LOT of tannin, and, if the wind is out of the west, the foul tannin odors will have everyone in the vehicle looking at each other, wondering who the culprit is. The steam rising from the WPS plant can be seen for miles. On special winter nights the skies will fill with the Aurora Borealis. I-39 begins to enter the Wisconsin River valley once again and the first glimpse of Rib Mountain in Wausau comes into view. Rib Mountain really isn't a mountain, and Timm's Hill, near Ogema is listed as the highest point in WI. The south side of Wausau is technically the end of I-39, and the remaining route north is US-51. Much of US-51 has been improved to 4 lane, and more areas are scheduled for expansion to 4-lane in order to handle the heavy traffic of tourists to the Northwoods. But it will be awhile before the interstate moves northward. It seems that the bridges across the existing route are far too low and interchanges are too tight (tell that to Illinois!) for interstate standards.
 
Wausau is the gateway to the Northwoods, the mixed hardwood and pine forests begin here, but the true Northwoods begins with Tomahawk. I know I'm almost home when I hit the Tomahawk bypass, and the rest of the route is like the back of my hand. I managed to get into Hazelhurst about 3:00 pm, so I stopped to pick up my mail and then head for the town hall to vote in the primaries. On back to the cabin...call the guy that was supposed to plow my drive to send somebody out to actually plow my drive. Unloaded a few things, turned up the heat and waited a few hours to nurse the water system back into full production. Plugged in the computer and went to bed. I was home, and that felt good, but I kinda wished I was back in Texas.
 

 
Until later.....DKHT

February 6, 2008  Forgive Me, For I Know Not...
 
I have to admit that I've been in a bit of a mental fog recently. It began with the political goings on during the primaries. I observed and absorbed what the candidates on both sides of their faces had to offer. I've waded through the lies and the mud slinging, and I've agreed with the huge majority of our citizens demanding CHANGE from the devastation we've suffered during the G W Bush years. And I see so many citizens supporting misguided candidates who sadly are war mongers and old school politicians resorting to tiresome dirty politics. I'm concerned because I sincerely care.
 
I need to be aware and to care because, as (technically) a senior citizen, my future and the future of many of my friends and relatives depend on it. Although I wanted to express these feelings and concerns, I didn't want it to become yet another part of the ranting that becomes the tool of misdirection so often a part of today's politics. I wrestled with these thoughts for awhile, never pleased with any option.
 
And then, within just a few weeks I received emails from several friends, each of whom were going through significant life-change situations. I needed to reply in an understanding, reassuring and up-beat manner. Suddenly, my writer's block took on a whole new dimension.... I couldn't come up with simple words for my friends. I needed to find those words because I care, but the words wouldn't come. I was rapidly slipping from a mental fog through to a blue funk.
 
For most of my life I've been gifted with an ability to analyze, troubleshoot, and arrive at solutions regarding complicated engineering systems and designs, and now I am unable to provide comfort, solace, understanding or encouragement to friends who deserve even more.
 
I searched for a mental activity that would take my mind off these troubles and maybe kick-start my brain into something productive. With the nice Texas weather, Geocaching seemed to be a likely diversion. I downloaded info regarding local geocaches for use on GeoTruk's routing software and on my Magellen SporTrak Pro handheld unit. I visited a few geo websites....until I arrived at one that featured a quote by the author E.B. White:

"A writer should concern himself with whatever absorbs his fancy, stirs his heart, and unlimbers his typewriter.... A writer has the duty to be good, not lousy; true, not false; lively, not dull; accurate, not full of error. He should tend to lift people up, not lower them down."

 
I slid down through the slippery slope of blue funk directly into the deep purple frigid abyss of total mind numbness. I looked around in the eery darkness of the forever night. Profound nothingness. Cold oblivion everywhere. And then, very faintly, one lonely brain synapse fired, just enough to give me a glimmer of vision in that void. A few more electrons fired off and I caught a glimpse of George W Bush, wearing that stupid smile he puts on when he thinks he's said something intelligent. I suddenly realized where I was, and after a few more synapse firings I began to rapidly rise upward through Dante's' third level of Hades with just enough time to wave to Bill, Hillary, John and Mitt on my personal ascension..
 
A dim light emerged far above and soon became ever brighter. As I raced toward the light a face appeared. It was a brown face. It looked like ... well, it looked like ... Nat King Cole! I realized that I'd overshot the reality level of today, but eventually I returned with renewed insight. And, maybe, with enough words to update this chronicle and finish some long-overdue emails.
 
On Other Fronts:
 
Many recent and time-consuming issues have involved TX projects, mostly for Mom. Dealing with Mom's projects, finances, taxes, estate and medical needs are endeavors I am pleased to address and are, in fact, a major reason for my annual migration. They take a lot of time. As do the Friday and Saturday garage sales. Mom and her sister Gean are avid garage shoppers. They usually go to their sales together. Lately, 'tho, Gean is in the process of getting treatment for severe back pain. And Mom is terrified of trying to find sales at addresses she's not familiar with. So I program the newspaper addresses in GeoTruk's GPS 'puter and we're off to seek garage-booty.
 
So far I've bought 8 plastic coasters ($1.00), 2 metal meat platters ($1.00) and 2 paperback books ($0.50). I did find a beautiful antique technical book regarding steam engines of all types. I eagerly opened it only to discover that some ignorant little child managed to write and doodle throughout this entire treasure with a purple crayola. I dislike snot-nosed youngsters who think that they can actually improve on wonderfully written books with their mindless scribbles, and I despise parents that don't teach children to respect books. Caveat: I acknowledge that some books, such as anything by L. Ron Hubbard or the memoirs of Richard Nixon are best used as a Charmin backup in the outhouse. Yet, it's best to teach children a respect for books generally, later making allowances when they are better prepared to appreciate quality and substance. But I digress.
 
I have spent roughly $45.00 for gas on these garage-saling excursions. That makes each plastic coaster costing $2.38 USD, each platter $9.50 USD, and each used paperback $4.75 USD. Kinda like winning an eBay bid and then becoming aware of the shipping and handling that has been added.
 
One very important event I attended was a meeting of the Wichita Falls Area Geocaching group last Saturday. This is a great group of folks of varying ages and diverse backgrounds and experience. Although I joined the parent group, Texas Geocaching Association and subscribed to this regional group several years back, this was my first opportunity to meet any of the members in person. I arrived a bit late and, in retrospect I opened my mouth too much (another New Year's resolution blown), but I was treated with Southern hospitality and deference reserved for elderly gentlemen suffering from dementia. I do recall prattling on about my experience in developing GIS applications... 20-some years ago.... only to discover one of the young nearby ladies was a recent graduate in cartography and GIS systems. I suddenly desired to have a bucket of popcorn to shove in my pie-hole thereby preventing any further stupid sounds eminating from my brainless mouth.
 
I did learn some fascinating things about geocoins which provide a popular secondary activity in this area. I'd like to take that concept to some caching friends in Wisconsin. Also the concept of local/regional caching groups might find a lot of interest up north.
 
In the next few days I'll haul out the massive trunk from deep in the bowels of GeoTruk. This trunk contains the heavy winter coats, knit hats, well worn Sorel boots and insulated coveralls I'll need when I get back to the Wisconsin homestead. Going north in February is something I will not leave to chance.
 

 
Until later.....DKHT