Jettison the ballast
My tidy-up tasks continue to eclipse even Hercules' efforts; yesterday I tackled the mount of old metal and glass fibre and fence poles that covered the old compost bin from ten years ago; that's going to be ripe stuff when I finally dig it out of there.
It was a painful process, I had to throw things away. There was room to redistribute everything, but I have come to realise recently that I can only look after a finite number of things, and so I dragged three old bicycles to the boot of the Tynemaiden's car. I say dragged, it was an awful time. They clung to anything they could, desperate to avoid being bundled roughly into the back of the Renault. One, in particular, was a bike that we had called the Phoenix, because it was an old frame that I had found over 23 years ago and had put back together with parts from other bicycles. But normal bikes are no longer in fashion, they have to have thumb-shifters and big knobbly tyres and more gears than spokes nowadays.
We arrived at the dump, and once again the bikes fought to avoid being lifted out of the car and carried the few feet up the steps to the scrap metal bin. But I did it. I almost put the Phoenix to one side, but it too went in, destined for a blast furnace somewhere. Maybe in China. It would be nice for it to see a bit more of the world.
As usual, I didn't leave the dump empty-handed. At the foot of the bins was a small bench, waiting for a kind-hearted soul to say 'you're too good to be thrown away.' I was that soul. I paid the yard man his preservation fee, and put the bench in the space where the bikes had been.
Back home, we sat it on the platform. It will want some repairs to stop it wobbling from side to side; it is yet another example of work where triangulation is assumed will just happen. Maybe re-tightening all the screws will do for a while, but I suspect the previous owner had already tried that, so I shall look at dowels, or possibly notching in some of the transverse bars to create proper wood joints.
But I didn't dream last night. Is this a punishment for burying the Phoenix?
It was a painful process, I had to throw things away. There was room to redistribute everything, but I have come to realise recently that I can only look after a finite number of things, and so I dragged three old bicycles to the boot of the Tynemaiden's car. I say dragged, it was an awful time. They clung to anything they could, desperate to avoid being bundled roughly into the back of the Renault. One, in particular, was a bike that we had called the Phoenix, because it was an old frame that I had found over 23 years ago and had put back together with parts from other bicycles. But normal bikes are no longer in fashion, they have to have thumb-shifters and big knobbly tyres and more gears than spokes nowadays.
We arrived at the dump, and once again the bikes fought to avoid being lifted out of the car and carried the few feet up the steps to the scrap metal bin. But I did it. I almost put the Phoenix to one side, but it too went in, destined for a blast furnace somewhere. Maybe in China. It would be nice for it to see a bit more of the world.
As usual, I didn't leave the dump empty-handed. At the foot of the bins was a small bench, waiting for a kind-hearted soul to say 'you're too good to be thrown away.' I was that soul. I paid the yard man his preservation fee, and put the bench in the space where the bikes had been.
Back home, we sat it on the platform. It will want some repairs to stop it wobbling from side to side; it is yet another example of work where triangulation is assumed will just happen. Maybe re-tightening all the screws will do for a while, but I suspect the previous owner had already tried that, so I shall look at dowels, or possibly notching in some of the transverse bars to create proper wood joints.
But I didn't dream last night. Is this a punishment for burying the Phoenix?
posted by Sopwith-Camel | 9:42 am
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