The Coffee Guy's blog

Visits Vanquished Vacancies in Various Venues

You cannot visit veritably, or in virtuallity any way but virtually.  We cannot be two meters, and still be close, unless of course if you are in a black hole or two celestial bodies. 

Body me this, when we started on this virus venture, virtually all people stayed apart.  Now as I occasion the groceteria, people summarily come very close to me to my continued retort, “too close!”.  Do you not understand distance?  It is height, laterally.  If your height is more than your feet away from me, then get back. 

Do people really no know the difference between then and now?   Then, most knew.  Now, few understand.  There should be no browsing for blouses.  Get in, get out!   Don’t tell me you are just out and about for some casual experiences.

Compound this lack of understanding with the utter lack of concern for cleanliness, you have fewer ideas than an oak tree.   You walk in, sanitize your hands, wear no gloves, then half way through your browser episode, you answer the phone and check for messages on your various applets after opening doors, touching products, and gadding about.  Back to the cash and you use cash!

Out to the car you go, sanitizing on the way out again, touching the carts and bags again, only to check your filthy phone again before touching your keys and car parts.

Let me get you straight. Don’t touch anything with anything with which you will be touching things later.  This is called cross contamination!  You know who you are, think.  And as one of my faves once said, “People would sooner die than think, and most often do” Thank you Bertrand.

You cannot do one thing.  You must do all things.

Dip me a donut Delores, need some starch with my Java today.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C.

Know Knowing Not When to Cut Fish

Know Knowing Not When to Cut Fish

I baited this idea for a while on the line with the trolls.  I have maintained the same Email for some time, perhaps too long, it’s hard to tell.  But alas I have broken the mould (intended spelling) on my long-standing bread line.  A new but similar addy is now in my possession.

Unlike when you change jobs, where everybody you know, knows.  When you just change, you must inform.  Its not like a glove.  There is no size or pliability.  And to those in the know, know I have too many gloves.  I need fewer but more multifarious than the last.  Something to which I need no subscription.

Fortunately, I have the time to invest in the growth of my address portfolio.  Each time I get a pushed point, I either un-sub’ that dicker, or I update my settings, options, preferences, contacts, information, or mail account.  Slowly plodding through the deluge and minutiae of two accounts.  A good practice in password preferences as well.

So-sa’ ‘yall don’t get offended, I will be updating personages with an addy that will get me hopefully to the next millennium, if not the next few decades.  Can you wait for what you want?  ‘Sup to youse guys.  Not a gonna go at it with the speed of lectricacy.

I did get edjumacated on the possibilities of the “cloud” as well.  Remember when your pappy said your head was in the clouds?  And that is where people store their stuff?  In a distasteful pile of fluff?  Nopers, me I am a terrestrial soul.  Other than that pilot stuff of course.

At the current rate, Ohms comes over Watts.

Slip in a little sugar today Sydney, French for me.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C.

Paint Plotted and a’Plied

Sos'a I get onto the interweb thingy and suss out the Winter Camo stylings. Seems simple enough for something searched. I go and procure the appropriate tints and tanks of paint. Yeah well……..

So, you kinda might opine that I like to try it myself. Have done a lot of things two, three, and some times four or five times over. This was not one of them. Came enamoured with the first enamel. Then the second and third.

Assembly was next, just checking looks and lurks. You will never see this baby in the Winter. It’s Camo. What would be the point if you could see it? This is a point I ponder periodically about the attire of persons in said clothing. How do they sell it if you can’t see it? How do you buy it? Is it already Camo? Where do you find it in the closet? Is it all tactile? Hyper temperate sensitive? Now there is a concept. Clothing that changes colour based on your surroundings. I bet the army has this detritus already.

So onward and alongside, I picked out pipes and putters this week, then to mock and Slade the Scrambler system. Farings will hopefully fare well at the same time for sure. More paint, a little slosh and wash, could be ready early, well I never said that out loud.

Just a short teaser to keep you in the loop.

Froth that Forty Weight Phillip, Baby it’s Cold out there.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019

 

Wheeling the Woods for a Wet Winter

So off goes the old rubber and new shoes for the Winter Scrambler project. Pulling tires reveals oxidization on the Non-tubeless cast rims. New to me that you could have this but the Japanese seemed to know lesser in the 80’s.

Fine sanding and buffing brings down to the metal, wanting a tight fit regardless that the tubes will seal. And a not to oft inspections of bearing and brakes, Speedos and discs. VHT on the disc and the rest left with a degreasing and buffing to remove old oxidization. An Ion sink would have been nice ON these old bikes.

So the choice for DOT mild On/Off road tires is slim. Odd sized rims slims the options. A nice afternoon at Apex and I get my selections, albeit two different manufactures. In the end the Tread is identical and omnidirectional. Easy mounting. Tubes procured through the affectionately names Crook, and King City does the mounting and bead balancing.

Awaiting bearing to press into the front rim, and the mounting will begin. Will be the first look at the new stance. I’ll drop ‘er off the full freedom stand and slide the seat on for a trial of the look and stand. Make a few measurements for the kick and center.
Mocking the trials crossbar and mounts later tis week, back into fab mode. Then when I get the guides and clips for the valves, bake them in and reassemble the power plant. Nice GSX motor with 4 valves per.

After that we fab the fairings and exhaust. Will prod out to PCM for the pipe kit, fab and weld two scrambler exhausts. Low and lurking.

Slip a lil Scotch in this one Willy, its winter.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.

Fooling with Forks

Slipped the tubes off the GSX for a rebuild. You know seals and shine. Looking to do 2 inch plug end extension too. Working on it in my mind.

Slipped off ok, stinky oil slurping slowly groundward. Had no idea and 3 of the 4 parts needed on each are available. Ordered. Pete plodded through the numbers. The other part in 3 minutes was ordered from North Carolina. Simple enough.

Tubes we shiny with a light spotting between the trips and the seals. Steel wool took that off. All else buffed and cleaned. Ran the wheel on the lowers after a light 2000 grit sanding. Nice enough, no concours here for the Winter Scrambler.

Stand is a little tippy with no fronts on, sat the wheel on the stand for some extra weight. Now to find that machinist to turn off the plug extensions. Should be an easy gig, and not into the 550 for new tubes from Frank yet. Tiny fork tubes so there are few options.

Back off now and let that settle, never know when an ide will pop into your cranium and solve a few issues.

Fling some French in my mug Frank, let it froth too.

garagelurker2019

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.

My Heavy Hiatus Hovers over me like a Humpback

Wales wails about Whaling at this time of year. We in Canada rue the drop in temperature and contemplate hibernation for the nation. I on the alternate appendage, see this change in temperature practice for the apocalypse.

Position yourself as a teaching nation. Ready to accept all comers to the north with zero cold weather skills. We could preach and teach on, Icy road driving, coping with the cold, the diseases that chills bring, warm indoor eating, cold weather sports, snow carving, ice sculpture, shoveling techniques, snow clearing technologies, footwear for ice and snow, cranial protection for both the cold and slippery. The list would be endless.

And you are mostly glaring at the screen pushing buttons in anger,” Its Global Warming, not Colding!” YUP. But hear this out. The global warming will take place about up to about the 45th, not much past that. Puts us in the desirable position of the holiday spot of the future. You heard that right. Do you not think that after 330 days of 100 plus degree heat all year that your vacation will be in the tropics? That you will be searching for that perfect cool spot to put your feet up in?

Canada and its North coast, (yes we have a north coast), will be the holiday playland for most of north and south America. Europeans too will be tired, as most of us are of the fjords by then too. And no matter what the Russians post out there, the majority of people still won’t think of them as serving up good Mongol hospitality.

Nope, we will be come the Mecca of modernity for the wayward worker looking for a nice relaxing beachside resort for their meager two weeks of holiday cheer. Mushing, and sliding, making steam rings with their breath, snow volleyball will develop as a Olympic sport, Quinzhee construction, ice walks on the tops of pressure ridges. All these and more are awaiting the summer holiday revelers. Even that stressful March break period will see party towns like Alert thrive and grow to hip university holiday destinations.

No way MoBay, yessir Kugluktuk. The holiday wear industry will revive the trapping industry. Northern mining will become a tourist attractions offering deep bore underground tours. People will buy prepackaged bits of muskeg to bring home to show their family and set on the mantle like a giant sea conch. Ice will be sold in small liquid nitrogen containers at the airport for those of you who want to bring one home and show off. Boredom eye covers for the long flights will become feature and benefit points for selling trips by many of the new upstart airlines like, Northern Tern Air, Ice Vacations, Cold Comfort Cruises, or Canadian Freeze Dried.

Can is sign some people up for teaching: warm indoor eating?

Who will be the director of: cold weather sports?

We must have an artist who can polish: snow carving?

Of all the art fest types we could get a department of: ice sculpture?

Definitely the government would have to lead the: shoveling techniques division. Universities could teach and develop: snow clearing technology.

Business leaders could be given grants to invest in: footwear for ice and snow.

Hospitals can work together with Universities to bring up to speed, cranial protection for both the cold and slippery.

Slip the java into the mug snugly sister, it’s cold out there.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.

My father was an explorer of life and a teacher for life. Don Hull

My dad could regale you with tales of far off places he has been to, and in the same breath teach you something.

 When my dad spoke of places he visited or worked, it was no cursory look around when he was there.  He would tell you where the people came from, what the industry was, and what grew on the land and why.  Travel for him was how he opened another book.

 There are many ways to go through life, as a worker, or a boss, or an entrepreneur, as a roust about, or just flowing along with the river of life.

 My father paddled up stream in that river, he already saw what was down stream so he would ponder what was around the next bend in the river of life and go for it.

 As a young man he moved from one of the hottest places on earth, the south pacific with Australia and New Guinea to one of the coldest parts of one of the coldest countries Canada and to work in a mine in Northern Ontario.

I remember the first farm he bought in Falkenbug Ontario it was pretty soon when Don realized that the Volkswagen Beetle they had at the time was not going to cut it as a farm vehicle.

 My dad could always remember names and places.  Me I’m a numbers guy.  He could tell you the names of guys he went so school with in elementary school, and tell you the name of the street the hardware store was on 40 years ago in Bracebridge.

One of the things my dad and I did separately together as it were, was the Sunday Times Crossword puzzle.  If we chatted throughout the week, we would not let on to each other which clues we actually had figured out until the week end when the solution came out.  He worked from his ability to remember names and places, as well as reading almost everything that came his way, I worked from the numbers end and having inherited my love of reading and inquiry.  The fun began if we were together and we could usually polish that puzzle off in short order working together.

In Australia they call anything outside of town the “bush”.  In Ontario we really lived in the bush.  Forest all around.  I think my dad loved that, it brought back his years prospecting for gold in New Guinea and the Yukon.

I could go on with stories of his adventures, but this one is true Don Hull.  He packed up his two sons in the car, I think we were 12 and 13, in Bracebridge and drove off with a few supplies, some rock hammers and a geological map of the Parry Sound area.  We stopped and parked on the side of some highway, and struck out onto crown land in the middle of nowhere.

Checking the map, reading the compass, chipping at the odd out-cropping of Quartz. We did this for three days.  Looking for old abandoned mine sites or signs of gold in them thar hills.  When we finally got out of the bush it appeared we were nowhere near the car.  Easy fix!  My dad told us to sit tight and hang around where we were, he would hitchhike back and get the car.  For dad this was just a normal thing to do and I remember his casual acceptance of the situation, his move along and do it anyway point of view.

My dad accepted everybody and everything as a learning experience.  I am sure I will be learning things from him for many years to come.

Of course as you could imagine, my dad did a stint in amateur theater as well.  I think this came from his love of verse.

One of his favourite poets was Robert Service.

In closing I would like to read a short excerpt from a Robert Service Poem in memory of my dad.

Call of the Wild

 

Have you gazed upon naked grandeur where there’s nothing else to gaze on,

Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore.

Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blaze on,

Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar.

Have you swept the visoined valley with the green stream streaking through it,

Searched the vastness for a something you have lost.

Have you strung your soul to silence? Then for God’s sake go and do it:

Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.

Have you known the Great White Silence, not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver?

Have you broken trail on snowshoes? Mushed your huskies up the river,

Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?

Have you marked the maps void spaces,

mingled with the mongrel races,

Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?

And though grim as hell the worst is, can you round it off with curses?

Then harken to the Wild, It’s wanting you.

Then listen to the Wild, it’s calling you.

And the wild is calling, calling, let us go.

 

Thanks dad you are the best

 

 

Flow Tracker, Flat Tracker, Street Bob, Café, Bobber, Brat, Rat, or Chopper.

If you build it, nothing will come of it.  The inoperative cooperative dystopia will not cajole you into participating.  If it ain’t broke, then go fix it.  Again, it is hobby time, and there are no hobbits around.   I was taking a Bitcoin to the bank when I ran across a cashier.  She still didn’t bulge when I tried to pay her off.

Sunday can be fortuitous or it can be waistrous.   I spent the day standing, so fortitude was on my side.  Thence cometh the snow and I fainted to sleep.  Waking to refreshed melting, if not somewhat behind MY schedule.  The Date of being Good is nigh.  Now nourish the noggin and parry up the positive mental attitude and carpe diem.

What build will be built by the builder this year?  Personally I am in the throes of cogitating on a new wind vane.  Of course, there is always the possibility of selling off a couple of two wheelers and getting a new one.  Something I like.  Love the CX’s and the R60’s.  Of course, there is the ever-present SX ‘es and the Rd400’s.  Any ideas out there?  I also take ‘em free. 

Then the titular question arises. Stylin’ and whilin’ away the hours, starin’ and comparin’.  Then it hits you like a big pizza pie with the moon in the sky.  The desideratum need not meet your expectations.  I will be on board with drawing this year.  What will extricate itself from the parchment will be up to it.  Get a round toit?  I prefer mine square.

Slip a little cream in my Java today Sabrina, I need the Moo Cow Mirage.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side.  Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.

 

 

 

 

From Sarnia to Narnia and Nari a Sari

The Griffin gone, obscure as it is built. The connexion to Kingston through the Cataraqui is ineffable.  In 1938 this fair burg was enjoined to the others we whopped in the war of 1812.  Then again doubled in 1999.

The aqua blue waters passing without a nod wend towards the Lac St Clair.  The not too distant shore bearing those brethren of the lake and land.  One thing of note you cannot miss is the unending clank and bang of the rail cars shunting and shifting in their languid movements to and fro from the States United.  A subway not marring the fall scene for me makes the connexion.  Who’da thunk?  In all these years crossing the Blue Water, I never knew trains moved under.  What a boring project!

The day the murderous Red Ryan shot and killed by an officer of the local constabulary might have changed this small city.  The intrepid constitution of the people rose up and celebrated the end of an era as this rouge was dispensed with.  This all along the stretch with the House of Morden.   What would the Lampel and Zierler Theater be showing that week on the newsreel?

There is no point of ole Eddy getting in a snit about the blow of ’53.  Seen dat scene, been dare.  And ‘iffin it wasn’t for good ole Jimmy Williams, where would we all be now?  Here is a guy digging and drilling, boring and coring, toiling and oiling in the lesser Enniskillen and lo and behold out comes the flow.

Black Gold

Texas Tea

Bubbling Crude

Did John Shaw draw the first barrow of the liquid below in a volume which then situated the industry here in The Valley, no girls there.   I know the sudden growth brought the ware and wherewithal for the development to city hood!  Were the Trillon group that glitzy and glamourous with and almost untouched store after the 53?

Sarnia Always I say over and under my breath and river.  Truly an intermodal crossing although the waters run fast, you would have to be one strong swimmer to cross within ten miles of your start.  No Weir can stop that water.  No Guernseys left or right here.

A nice spot to cross the water.

Slip in the Chicory Chance, I like the sense.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side.  Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.

 

Mods and Rockers, here we Came and Went

So for a long time this board has been stagnant.  This ends today.

The Brat and I bust’ a gut to the smoke on Saturday for a rumble from Ossington through Leslieville.  The south part of the smoke will never be the same.  Have had some small issues with the transport this summer, but on the whole a puller and a looker.

Did Dover and Snake Canyon.  Let er rip, blown off a cool 160 but never to look back.  Still the four across pulls better than the XLS, but what do you expect with so many power strokes per rev and so many more revs per linear foot.

Foot pounds aside, I am not sure what the real push is on this bike, might run it to the dyno this winter.

Up for some Uni-filters too, a lot of talk about pods, some good some bad.  After all I am running a street bike and not a picture bike like so many on the web.

Been through some digit protection this summer too, still lean toward the deer hide.  No matter what is said, they are cool, protective, pliable yet durable.  Fingerless is fine but the grip loses.  Black with black and tanned with the summer apparel.  Like I give a rat’s ass what the plebes say.  Love the deer hide.  Getting low on em too so’s a gotta get dem more on my next visit chasing the sun.  Hope they have my size again.  What am I the only one who wears that size?

So picked up some goggles there, at the Town Moto, good thingy too I poured on the way home.

Ride was great with a couple of hundred of us Modders and Rockers hooking and wheeling the Big Smoke.  Then to the Duke for a coupla’ before setting out in the rain home.  A little clear here and there but rain most of the way.  Forged ahead, to the hood and ended up a sopping wet road dirt soaked mess. The jacket weighing in over 30 pounds and falling flat on my face extricating my habiliments from the denim.

All in all, a good day seeing and making friends with like cranial humanoid blobs of protoplasm.

Pour it hot Adriane, the chill runs deep.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side.  Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai.