After the Rain

I mentioned in this recent post that I would try to make it back to the bike path this weekend to check out the level of the river. For one reason or another, Sam and I didn't make it back there. I feel bad about it, because I know you've been waiting to hear an exciting update.

Well, good news! While we didn't make it back there this past weekend, we did manage to squeeze in a very brief visit last night. Going there last night actually worked out better because, along with a couple of days of rain at the end of last week, we had a bad storm go through here just the night before - so this made checking out the river even more worthwhile.

Anyway, here is what we found. Here's the photo of the river from the other day...

and here's a photo of the river from last night...

Here's another photo from the other day, this one looking in the opposite direction...

And another one from last night...

Big difference, right? So there you have it, more rain = higher rivers. Who would have thought? (You may want to write that down.)

Along with the water level, there's a couple of other things that I discovered.

First of all, as I mentioned previously, trying to go for a walk along this bike path on a late autumn afternoon or evening, is nearly impossible and this just confirms it.  Yesterday, for example, I rushed home from work, got Sam a quick dinner (leftovers, even!) then we rushed over to the bike path and hustled down to the iron bridge and took these pictures.

When we left home, the sun was setting, but still shining bright. In the time it took us to get there though, the sunlight was nearly gone. The daylight fades away too quickly to make it to a path which closes at dusk. (P.S. Notice that these pictures are also darker. That's another fun fact: Less sunlight = darker photographs.)

The other thing I noticed is that crossing the iron bridge over seemingly calm waters is much easier (which is not to say, "easy") than crossing one over violent, torrential waters. There's something about hearing the roar of the water rushing by, and seeing all the logs and debris washing helplessly downstream that causes me some discomfort. 

When I was on the bridge last night, I was more than happy that it was getting dark because it gave me an excuse to get off the bridge and head back home.

More Sunday Strolling

This picture was also taken last Sunday. It was taken a couple of hours after our walk along the bike path. After our walk along the path, Sam and I were originally planning on visiting Grandma, but we called and she wasn’t going to be around. This left us some unplanned free time.

I don’t know what possessed me to, but I asked Sam how adventurous he felt. He asked why and I asked him if he felt like walking up Mt. Sugarloaf - which was only a few miles from where we were at the time. I couldn’t believe those words were coming out of my mouth, but before I could fudge the question, Sam said, “Sure!”

So we headed over to Mt. Sugarloaf and as we drove, I mentally ran through my best options for weaseling out of this commitment. Because it was a beautiful fall day, the traffic was heavier - which was due to all of the people coming from the various cities to see what leaves look like. And because of this, the drive over took us a little bit longer. Ordinarily, I would be in a borderline rage over this, but this was fine because it gave me a little more time to think of excuses.

As it turned out, these crowds offered the best and most obvious excuse for not taking a leisurely stroll up the side of a mountain. As we drove, I began peppering our conversation (and by “conversation”, I mean just me talking) with leading comments like, “Boy, there sure is a lot of traffic today. I’m not sure this is going to work out” and “I don’t know, Sam. There’s a lot of traffic today. Sugarloaf is probably going to be crowded.” and “I’m not sure we’re going to be able to find a parking spot.” Each time, I glanced over at Sam to see if he was taking all of this in. Each time, I strained to convey the appropriate amount of disappointment, all the while mentally repeating, “Oh please. Oh, please.”

When we got to Sugarloaf, the parking lot was indeed packed. Cars were circling around, looking in vain for empty parking spaces. I strained to contain my mixture of relief and elation and I started to say, “Oh well, that’s too bad, looks like they're full…” but before I got the words out of my mouth, Sam pointed and said, “Look! There’s someone pulling out!” And sure enough, there, right in front of us, was someone leaving. I had no alternative but to park the car.

Sam and I got out of the car and we started our way up the mountain. As we went, I wondered how it was that those words came out of my mouth. How did this seem like a good idea to me? I wondered what it is that goes on in the brain of someone who is out of shape, color blind, and doesn’t like heights, to cause them to come up with the suggestion that somehow it might be a good idea to walk up the side of a mountain and look at some foliage.

I had no answers. Instead, I spent the rest of the climb trying to breath and trying to avoid looking at the scenery below, while wondering how far my body would roll down the side of the mountain when I inevitably fell over the guardrail.

Well, I’m happy to report that, while the walk up the mountain wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, it went better than I had expected (i.e.: I didn’t die.)

Sam and I lingered at the top of the mountain long enough to snap some photos and long enough for me to get my breathing to the point where it no longer sounded like I was hyperventilating. After about forty-five minutes, we started to head back down.

On the way back down, we talked about how “that wasn’t so bad, " then about how much fun it was. (I’m pretty sure that one of us was lying.) As we walked, I continued to keep my eyes focused as directly ahead of me as possible.

When we got back to the car, Sam suggested that maybe we could do it again sometime and I told him that I thought that was a great idea.

Now, I just have to think of a better excuse.

Our Sunday Stroll

Sam and I have been packing in the walks lately. I think part of this is just liking to get out of the house for a bit. But I also think that part of this is knowing that winter is on the horizon and there’s some internal pressure to take advantage of the nice weather while we can (speaking for myself, that is.)

Lately, a lot of our weekend walks have been along the bike path, which is over in the neighboring town. This bike path is not to be confused with the bike path that we walk along that's in the other neighboring town - that’s the path that follows the canal. The one that I'm talking about is the path that starts at the train yard and snakes through the woods before coming to an old iron bridge which crosses the river.

This time of year, we save the train yard path for the weekends. By the time I get home during the week, the late autumn daylight fades too quickly - certainly too quickly for walking along wooded paths which empty into secluded train yards (speaking for myself, that is.)

Anyway, due to the overwhelming response to the photos of the previous post (I'm kidding, of course,) here's some more photos for you to enjoy, these from this past Sunday...

Here’s a picture taken along the path, heading toward the iron bridge (which is out of sight in this photo.) The bike path usually isn't very crowded and Sunday was no exception. But it seemed like every time I went to take a picture, somebody I didn't know would appear on the horizon. I’m not a big fan of people - especially people I don’t know, so the last thing I want is a photograph of someone I don’t know, ruining the photo by being in it. I finally managed to time this one right and got a nice photo of nobody.

A little ways down the bike path, just before approaching the iron bridge, there's a field off to the right. Last year, there were strawberry bushes planted as far as you could see. This year? No trace of strawberries, but plenty of pumpkins. I suspect that this is somehow a statement on the past election, I just haven't figured out the precise message.

Here's a view of the iron bridge, or what I used to think of as "The Rickety Bridge." It turns out that the bridge isn't rickety at all! It just feels rickety because my legs are constantly shaking whenever I walk across it.

Here's a view of the river, looking south. The water's pretty low, but this was taken last Sunday. We've had two days (so far) of steady rain since then. If the rain decides to stop by this weekend, hopefully Sam and I will check it out again. Stay tuned.

Here's another view from the bridge, this time looking north. Off to the left is where the Deerfield River feeds into the Connecticut River (which is the river in these photos.) Off to the right and a little hidden, is another iron bridge - almost a twin of the one I'm on.

One difference between the other iron bridge and the one I'm on is that the one I'm on only allows foot traffic (which apparently doesn't apply to the motorcycle that went tooling by us - obviously a "rules don't apply to me" type of rebel.)

Another difference is that, despite my shaking legs, the bridge that I'm on is for the most part, sound (as far as I know.) The other bridge is in truly awful shape - yet they allow anyone who is stupid enough, to drive across it - in any vehicle they choose. I can only assume that this is done in the hopes that if a car might fall through, it won't fall through all the way - and it will therefore plug at least one of those unsightly holes.

Here's a picture I took of Sam as we headed back to the train yard.  I have nothing in particular to say about this photo, I just liked the look of the shadows and the way they contrasted with the colors of the trees. Also, I should mention that, when I said earlier that I don't like people, there are, of course, some exceptions.

Early Morning Along the River

Old Cars and Photographs - Part Three

One early and dark spring morning, I was heading down the highway on my way to work, when all of a sudden, something appeared in my headlights. Before I could react, I crashed into this “something” - which went into, under, and over my car. When I managed to pull over on the side of the highway and not have a heart attack, I looked around to see what I just hit. There, over in the median, were some partial coils of thick metal construction mesh - the kind that's used when pouring concrete sidewalks. The partial coils must have fallen off of some construction vehicle and were now knocked safely out of the way by my car, but they were still vibrating from our collision - almost as much as I was.

After regaining my composure and my breath, I got back in my car and drove the rest of the way to work. As I drove along, I noticed that my car was making a strange clicking sound, and as I went further, there was the beginnings of a low rumbling noise coming from somewhere underneath.

The sun was coming up when I got to work. Getting out of my car, I could see not only a chip in my windshield, but also an abundance of scratches covering the front end of my car - including my dented-in hood.

Over the coming weeks, the noises increased in both volume and frequency. Getting rid of them seemed to elude even the best mechanics - well, mine anyway. No sooner would I get one of the noises fixed, then another noise would crop up - and before long, the previous noise would return - only worse. My car was sounding like, and smelling like, a loud, poorly maintained motor boat. 

Before too long, my car not only sounded and smelled like a motorboat, it began handling like one, as well. Rather than feel like it was gripping the road, it began to feel as if it was floating over the pavement - and not in a good way. Even a straight drive required constant steering as the car tended to float from one side of the lane to the other.

As the months passed, the car got louder and louder. It finally approached the time where I had to bring it in for the annual inspection. Under normal conditions, there was no way the car was going to pass inspection - just by looks alone. But to make it even worse, after the end of the month, the state was changing the inspection process, making it even more difficult. This meant that if I waited until my current sticker expired, the likelihood that my car would pass became even more of a fantasy.

So, I developed a Master Plan. Step One of my Master Plan was that I was going to wait until the very last day of the month - and then get the car inspected. I figured if (and by “if”, I mean “when”) they gave me a rejection sticker, it would give me another 30 days to drive the car. That was Step One. There was no Step Two.

So, the last day of the month arrived and it was time to get it done. Before heading out, I told my co-worker that I was leaving to get my car inspected. He made a few sarcastic remarks, clearly relishing the idea of the inevitable failure which lay ahead. 

I drove a few miles over to a neighboring town, to an out of the way inspection station. I had never been to this particular station before but I had been told that “those guys will pass anything.” I figured I would put this to the test.  

By the time I got to the station, it was raining pretty heavily. I took my place at the end of a line of about twenty other cars. Each car was of similar quality to my own. Each owner apparently had the same Master Plan. After a moment or two, a woman pulled behind me, her car sounding no better than mine. I glanced over at her and she gave me a brief, embarrassed smile, as if to say, "Yeah, me too. Please don't tell anyone I was here." 

It felt like we were all waiting outside of the principal's office, or waiting for our homework to be returned with the inevitable bad grade. I sat in line in this exclusive club and watched as the dark clouds rolled above and listened as the rain beat down on the roof of my car- and I waited for the inevitable death sentence.

As the rain poured down, I glanced in the side view mirror and I noticed that the gasket of the door behind me was coming off. It was now sticking out the side of the car. Just what I needed - one more thing to draw attention to my sub-par car - as if the dented-in hood, plethora of scratches, smell of exhaust and the rumbling and ticking noises weren't enough. I figured I better deal with the protruding door gasket, so I got out of my car, into the driving rain, and I started to yank on it, attempting to rip it off the car. As the rain poured over me, I saw that same woman watching from the car behind me. She had that same sad, embarrassed smile - but this time, it was for my benefit.

After several minutes in the pouring rain, I managed to rip off a portion of the offending gasket and I threw it on the floor of my back seat. I got back in my car, dripping wet, but satisfied that I had just increased the possibility of my passing the inspection.

One by one the cars slowly advanced until finally, it was my turn to drive into the inspection station.

This particular inspection station was set up in what looked like an old, open ended barn. You would drive your car in one end, park the car (leaving the engine running,) the inspector would scrape off your old sticker and then proceed with the inspection. Part, if not all of the inspection was about checking the emissions. This was done by taking a long probe which was hooked up to some kind of a computer monitor, and shoving the probe into the tailpipe of the car for a period of time - basically the automotive equivalent of a colonoscopy. After as couple of minutes, they would remove the probe, put a new sticker on your windshield and you would drive out the other end of the barn.

I pulled in and the inspector came over, took my money, and he scraped off my old sticker.

So, I'm sitting in my now sticker-less car with the engine rumbling away, trying to act cool - and trying not to inhale my diesel-like exhaust. And I'm watching in my rear view mirror as the guy sticks the probe into the tailpipe of my car. He’s standing there, staring at the computer monitor... and waiting. After maybe a minute or so, I see him scowl at the monitor and he turns and scowls down at the probe, and then I see him lean over and look at the back of my head through my rear window. Then I see him turn back to the monitor and tap it a couple of times - then he repeats this pattern for a couple of more times.

Finally, I see him take the probe out of the tailpipe, and he takes it over by the computer monitor. While staring at the monitor, he proceeds to start swinging the sensor around in the air. After several minutes of swinging this thing, he finally stops, presses a couple of buttons, then puts the probe back in it's holster. He comes over and opens my passenger door - and then he slaps a new sticker on my windshield and tells me that I'm all set. My car had passed. I was good for one more year.

My Master Plan had worked better than I expected. Rather than get a mere another thirty days of use out of my motorboat-like car, I was now good for another full year. As if that wasn't enough good news, when I got back to work, my co-worker was waiting for me. He could barely contain himself. He asked me how I made out with the inspection and when I told him that it had passed, his smiling face immediately melted into anger. To this day, I can still hear him as he slapped his desk and yelled, "There's no justice in this world!" Apparently, he had just had his car inspected the week before, and it had been rejected - due to a burned out license plate bulb.

Thankfully, there were no more incidents the following year - not with my car, anyway. But it was obvious that getting through any more inspections was completely out of the question - assuming my car would even make it another year.

Well, it did make it another year, but just barely.

Almost exactly a year after that inspection, it was time to send the car off to the junkyard. I had made arrangements with a towing company to bring it to a mechanic who, for some unknown reason, was willing to take this poor car off my hands. No more dealing with futile repairs. No more feeling the rumblings below my feet as I drove down smooth roadways. But no more running errands together or picking up and dropping the kids off at school. Not in this car, anyway.

It had been raining the day before the tow truck came and the rain continued into the night. Jake was almost ready to hop into bed when he suddenly realized that the car would be gone the next day. Since he, like other people I know, gets attached to these kinds of things, I told him that we could go outside and take a picture of him with the car. That way, he would have something to remember it by.

So, just before I put him to bed, Jake and I went outside. And in the rain and the darkness, he stood by the car while I took a picture.

Old Cars and Photographs - Part Two

 Part one of this exciting saga appears here, otherwise...

The first strike against my old car came one day at my “old work.” I was up in the office, diligently working away when, at one point, I thought I heard the sudden but brief sound of rustling leaves outside. It seemed a little odd, but I ignored it until a few minutes later when one of the employees came into the office and said, “Hey, do you know there's a big branch lying across the hood of your car?” I went over to the window to look, and sure enough, a giant branch from the neighbor's tree was laying across my now dented-in hood.

Somehow, this came to the attention of The Boss. The Boss of the company was located in offices at a separate division, about a half a mile away. It was unusual for him to be involved in my division at all, and if he was, it was either because of something very good (rare) or something not very good at all (not as rare.) When he somehow heard about this incident, he decided it was important enough to make one of those rare, personal appearances at my division. Based on the previous aforementioned history, this could mean that he was either coming down to make sure that I was ok - and to give me a substantial amount of money - not only repair my car, but to also reimburse me for the inconvenience - or it might mean something else. I was pretty sure it meant something else.

Until The Boss came down the following day, I was left to guess what it was he wanted. Was he worried that somehow, I might try to sue him?  Was he worried that perhaps the tree branch damaged my car in such a way that it was now leaving unsightly oil stains all over his property?  No, as it turned out, he came down to personally convince me not to bother the neighbors by asking them pesky questions such as, who was their insurance company.

The reason for his concern was that apparently The Boss was planning on selling the building - and he didn't want me to "make any unnecessary waves" with them. (Tip: When your boss talks about selling the building where you work, he might not be looking to re-locate.) He figured, probably correctly, that when he put the building on the market, "making waves" with the neighbors might make it even harder to dump the place. From my point of view, the neighbors - or rather, their tree, were the ones making the waves. But me, being the company man that I was, didn't make the "waves" and therefore I didn't get paid - from the neighbor - or anyone else - to fix my dented-in hood. Instead, I drove around in a car with a dented-in hood for the remainder of it’s days.

Not long after, the Boss did indeed manage to sell the building - and  therefore slowly closed down my  division. This led to me starting a new job which, instead of it being a mere three miles or so commute from home, it was now a commute of somewhere around 20 to 25 miles. No big deal, but this commute meant traveling the highway, also no big deal - but it led to the second big blow for my car.

Spotted on Our Errands

I'm glad to see the grocery store is finally getting around to setting up their Christmas display.

Old Cars and Photographs - Part One

Speaking of old cars of mine and favorite old photographs, here’s something that incorporates both...

One rainy night, back in October of the year 2000, I took a picture of  Jake standing in front of our old Subaru station wagon. That car, probably more than any of my other cars, had been through a lot- most of it was good, some of it- well, not quite so good. 

On the positive front, it was one of the cars that the kids grew up with. We ran many of our weekend errands in that car. Back then, the weekend errands included not only going to the grocery store and swinging by the college, but it also included going to the Post Office (because I still had a post office box back then,) to the Outlet Store (where they sold food which was approaching the borderline of it's expiration date, and a lot of it that was beyond,) the videotape rental store (back in the day when there was such a thing,) and to the mall (back when I bothered to go.)

Back then, I was still working at what we refer to as my, “Old Work,” -  where, as it turns out, I would only be for a little while longer. The thing about my old work was that we worked longer days, but instead of working five days, we only worked four (having nearly every Friday off). This meant that every weekend was a longer weekend, which meant spending more time with the kids.

Sure, the kids were in school most of those Fridays, but the school day was shorter than a work day, so it meant that I got to drop them off and pick them up from school on those nearly every Fridays. And it meant doing things together in the afternoons and early evenings. And on their vacations, it was an extra day for us to spend together - running those errands that I mentioned, and more. A lot of time was spent together in that car.

While all of this was going on, my “old work” was dying a slow, painful death. And for this story it matters, because it leads into this poor old car’s rougher days ahead.

Spotted on Tonight's Walk

This doesn't look suspicious at all.

Brief Update

I have what's turning out to be a long, rambling post (which is the only kind of long post I write) - which I will get around to posting someday. Maybe.

Right now, it's looking like the only way it will see the light off day is if I break it up into sections and I post a little of it at a time.

The only problem with this is that I may get to the end of it, get frustrated or decide it's junk - and then have to go back and delete all of the posts that proceeded it. But, we'll give it a try.

Soon.

Possibly.

Unless I change my mind.

Mass Confusion

Some guy named "Paul" called Sam the other afternoon. Apparently, Paul is someone at one of the places where Sam has submitted an application. As Paul was talking, Sam edged closer to me and it was clear that he had a hard time following all of what Fast Talking Paul was saying. While Sam was still struggling to follow the one-sided conversation, I could see Sam's growing dismay. When it sounded like Paul was wrapping up the lightning quick conversation, I mouthed to Sam, "Why don't you tell him that Margit will touch base with him tomorrow?" - which Sam did, right before Paul hung up. 

Margit is one of the support people working with Sam and one of the things she's been helping him with is trying to find a job. Sam would be working with Margit the following day.

The next day, I called Sam to see how he made out with Margit. "Fine," said Sam. which is the usual answer. I asked him if he told her about Paul and Sam said,, "Oh. I forgot." - which is also the usual answer. I suggested that after he had his lunch, maybe he could send a quick email to Margit to let her know about it. He thought sending an email was a good idea and told me that he was going to finish eating first, and that he would "see me later on."

A couple of hours go by, then I get a text from Margit...