PODS means...Possible, Or, Deniable Service

'You know, in all this excitement, I lost track myself. Did I shoot six shots or only five? Ya gotta ask yourself a question...do I feel lucky? Well...do ya punk..Oh forget it, in fact, I don't remember firing at all!

Well, I'm not Dirty Harry, but I did forget to relate my trials and extreme tribulations with my Personal On Demand Storage unit. Let me attempt to relate the near catastrophic results to you as best I can.

My PODS arrived on time. It was pouring rain, and the driver said that he could not place it where I assumed it would be placed, and proceeded to place in on my new driveway. O. K. it's here, I can start loading stuff into this eight foot by sixteen foot "Easy Bake Oven".

Well, I did just that. And as I was loading box after box into this thing, it occurred to me that there must be a weight limit. Weight limit? What was it? The packing instructions inside the unit said to utilize every bit of space by packing tightly and going floor to ceiling. That is exactly what I did. Mind you, I have an extensive shop, and most of its contents were to go in this container.

I called the Home Office. The Customer Service Representitive was quite cordial. Not very helpful or technical though. I asked what the maximum weight of the PODS container could be with my load on board. She hesitated for a moment or two...oh boy! That is not good. Then she said: "Two thousand pounds."

Really? I know I have more than that in there, and it is not one quarter full. "May is speak to someone who is familiar with maximum fill loads in these containers?" (Rep): "I will transfer your call..."

"May I help you?" came the reply from the supervisor. "Yes" said I. "What is the maximum load I can put into this eight by sixteen foot container"? Supervisor said..."10,000 pounds. The PODS unit itself weighs 2,000 pounds empty."

"Oh! O.K. It would be nice if you let people know that on your website, I will continue packing." Then, creepy thoughts came to the forefront of my feeble brain. How do I know what is in there already? How the hell do you measure what is in there? What if they can't lift it? Oh my dear lord...

Two months later, when I asked for them to deliver it to the new address, they came. It was lifted by the Podzilla lift, and gingerly placed on the Class C truck. As the truck frame took the weight of the POD and the Podzilla lift rig, the suspension gave little to no resistance to the G-force of the load. The truck body was sitting on the rear tires. The driver said cordially; "I can't drive this, you are going to have to unload some of the stuff..." Oh! Joy of joys!

Please try to imagine the amount of work I went through to put this large Tetris game together. Boxes and boards, and tool boxes carefully wedged into every cubic foot of space. Heavy stuff on the floor and lighter stuff as it got closer to the roof. Now, I had to offload "some" of the contents. How much was enough?

When the movers came to move the house contents, I negotiated to have them take some of the PODS contents in their Class "A" van. It seemed like about a bit more than a third of the load was removed from the container. Then, I had to reposition a bunch of stuff to make sure the stuff would not shift around. That process took another week. I called for another "pick-up".

The same driver came again, and again, he hooked up the Podzilla lift rig, and placed the container on the same light weight Class "C" truck frame. This time there was clearance, sort of. It was nearly rubbing on one side of the rear tires. He looked at me with steely eyes and said: "I really should not take this; it's over weight." Oh Lord! Not again. Then, he decided to pull the rig up further on the driveway to a more level spot. He then said: "Let's go!". There was and air gap between the top of the rear tires and the truck frame.

My new home is at a higher altitude than the previous abode. In reality, it is 800-1000 feet higher. Uphill all the way. The PODS transport truck has an automatic transmission. At the crest of the hill on the road I now live on, the truck was doing about one mile an hour. On the ride over to that point, the container was swaying back and forth like a drunk in a bounce house. Let me say that the trip nearly ended on that hilltop. The MPH was dropping, and transmission temperature was climbing into the red zone. We made it just the same.

He was able to place the container near my new shop entrance, and I provided some timbers to make it level. He said it was the heaviest load he had taken. I asked how much the Podzilla lift could elevate, and he said twenty-five thousand pounds. But the truck can only handle up to ten thousand pounds. That makes sense, right? I gave him a twenty, and waved goodbye.

I still have no idea how much weight I had in the thing the first time. After the off-load, it must have been way more that 10,000 pounds to strain that truck like it did.

Three weeks later, and the last of the boxes came out of the PODS container. I had to build shelving and arrange the shop space to accept the contents of the now infamous, PODS container from hell. All that remains now is an eight foot by twenty foot patch of dead grass where the container and the makeshift ramp I cobbled together sat. It is a very pretty sight to see that thing gone.

So, how much can you pack into a PODS container? A lot. How much weight can it hold? I dare you to try to find a definitive answer to that query. And if you do, how in God's creation can you measure the weight of contents? Oh!, I know, every box you carry in, your weight would be subtracted from the number on the scale you step on entering the PODS unit. That should speed things up.

PODS this...

Be well and do the right thing.

Gaff

Browning it's not, but it is as good as it gets.

Ok, ok, it's been a spell since my last entry. But holy hernia, I've been moving! In fact, I'm still moving after 90 plus days. I needed to write for the simple reason that I acquired one of my dream firearms a week ago.

I took the morning off on the first of September to ride my Harley. I had been previously knee deep in boxes and shelving, and needed a break. I decided to go south. South takes me by one of my favorite gun shops, and I had asked them months ago, via e-mail, to let me know if a Colt Single Action Army came into their establishment. I had received no such notice, but decided to drop in to see what was "new".

Colt Firearms in West Hartford, Connecticut filed for bankruptcy protection two weeks ago. Mind you, this is a company that has built handguns since the mid 1800's. Samuel Colt's original revolver was based on inspiration from a ship's wheel. That vision came when he was "stationed" at an early age on board a vessel of the seas. He remembered that concept of the rotating wheel and dog latch that kept the wheel/ship "on course". Returning to dry land, he set about drumming up financing to start building a "rapid fire repeating handgun."

The early iterations were all black powder percussion cap models. Later on, in the early 1860's, the three piece cartridge was introduced, and the U.S. Army was looking for a reliable, multi shot handgun to provide to its troops. Samuel Colt was developing just the ticket in his Hartford, Connecticut factory. Unfortunately, his heart gave out before he was able to present it to the Government (he was selling to the South, which at the time, was a problem). Mrs. Colt however, had a very strong heart, and mind. She continued the business, and built it into an American legend. If you are at all intrigued about how a woman could build and rebuild a munitions plant, please look to your favorite library for a fascinating historical tale.

As you have painfully felt, I digressed. When I walked in the gun shop, the first item I spied was a
White, Colt Custom Shop box, with a 4 3/4 inch, .375 magnum, Single Action Army siting on top of it. SHUT THE FRONT DOOR! I asked to fondle it, and within two minutes the credit card came out.

You have no idea how difficult this firearm is to find. Colt makes handguns, and every one of them sell quite quickly. Most of those handguns are automatics. You know, Browning's design. The custom shop makes special ones of those too, but it also makes a few "reproductions" of Sam Colt's "Peacemaker". I now own one of those. The "gun that won the west", the "equalizer"' the Colt .45, (in my case, .357 magnum, or 38 Special, or 38 special +P.)

This is another of my collectable pieces. It will not be fired by me. In fact, the instruction manual states that by handling the gun, its value is diminished. By actually firing the revolver, the value is severely diminished. It is a true reproduction of Samuel Colt's "wheel gun". There are fewer and fewer craftsman left to actually bring one to life. That is why I placed the credit card down so quickly. I now own another piece of Connecticut firearm history. No, it is not one of John Moses Browning's designs. But I posit that it is as important a design to history than ANY other firearm you might think of.

I took it out of its carton this evening, and carefully wiped off any fingerprints that I might have inadvertently missed after the last fondling session. It is not engraved, it is not nickel plated, it is true blued, and case hardened. It is a thing of beauty. Lethal, yes. But only in the control of one who desires infliction of pain and suffering on his or her fellow man. The "Peacemaker" is an inanimate, lifeless object. It is a true work of art. But only if you will let yourself see its beauty through the fog of prejudice. Thanks Sam!

Enough pontificating, back to moving...

Be well, and do the right thing

Gaff

Oh! My Aching Back...wash.

The previous post dealt partly in a sudden affliction to my lumber region. A severe tightening of some muscles around some big nerves that made me scream for my mama, and made useless my legs. Annette, my mother, has been with the baby Jesus for these past three years now, she did not hear my cries, but the neighbors clearly did. I am now, just shy of two weeks post spasm, vertical, and cane free. I am not however, pain free. Therein, lies the rub...

The other part of the post mentioned moving. Dear Lord, did I say moving again? The amount of absolute chaos that arises due to uprooting material planted over a twenty-plus year span, while trying to market the property that the uprooting just carpet bombed, is quite challenging.

The realtor would like to "Stage" our home before the "Open House". That means, clean EVERYTHING. I mean everything. Windows, floors, screens, new paint, clear closets, mulch garden beds, trim shrubbery, edge and mow the lawn, clear unwanted items inside and out, remove personal pictures and anything that might indicate someone was actually living in the structure. Did I mention to him, I HAVE A BAD BACK!

We have an active, accepted bid on the new property, and after the inspections at that abode, we have had to go back to the owner and beseech an adjustment. Window issues, and a possible new roof...cha-ching. My aching back is telling me to calm down, or I might have a more serious problem, like a nervous breakdown, or full-blown insanity. Did I mention the new place has an in-ground pool? Another task, backwash the pool filter...does that require bending at waist? I have a bad back you know.

I had really just started to pack up my shop when the ICBM hit my L4 vertebrae. The PODS module is due tomorrow morning. After placement, and leveling, I can begin to actually move boxes outward into something, rather than inward and down into the basement. Every time I took a box down there, I said to my feeble inner self; "This is stupid, this stuff is moving OUT of this house, I'm going to have to pick this damn thing up at least two more times." I HAVE A BAD BACK.

As the chaos proceeds, I will continue to post progress. I know you are just sitting on the edge of your driver seat, foot to the floor, waiting for the next bridge abutment to steer into. Trust me, it will get more interesting in the next two months, back off the accelerator flyboy...

Be well, and do the right thing.

Gaff

Change Is Good Sometimes, Sometimes Not So Much So.

I am at this moment, flat on my back watching MacGyver make a spark plug for an outboard motor. The reason I am bedridden is that this morning, while packing for our imminent move from our home of twenty-one years, as I bent to return a lid to a lower cabinet in our kitchen, my lower back went "pop", and I was literally brought to my knees with pain. The pain was so intense, I could not catch my breath. After I crawled to the stairs to try to sit down, it became clear that my plans for the day had changed.

It was decided to call an ambulance, and I was transported to the ER. Five hours later I was released with Percocets and Valium in tow. Seems I had an extreme muscle spasm. So the physician's assistance deduced from my symptoms. Whatever it is/was, I can say without hesitation, it was VERY extreme. Pain like I have never felt before.

The happy pills have dulled the pain enough for me to pen a few words this evening.

We have decided to move as I mentioned earlier. My wife likes horses, and she has found some property that will allow horses to roam and be ridden. Myself, I don't know which end of a horse to talk to. However, as the adage goes..."Happy wife, happy life". I was hoping for Wyoming, the move will not be quite that far distant.

My biggest issue with this change is my workshop. I have spent twenty plus years building and customizing it to meet my exact needs and desires. It is filled with raw material such as wood varieties, nuts, bolts, and fasteners of all kinds and sizes. Electrical and electronic parts, and of course, all my tools. Tools such as a large Unisaw, lathe, planer/jointer, work benches, reloading supplies, three gun safes, and my seven tool chests.

I was in the process of cataloging and packing all the stuff...then today happened. Plans are wonderful, then God says "Not today." Our new house will be larger, and consequently so will my shop space. That is a good change. Another plus is the ability to purge unwanted items, and not pack them for relocation. The downsides exist too. Strange noises in the new abode, as well as unfamiliarity with the home's infrastructure in general. Another hurdle is rebuilding the customizations I made in this house, and they are many.

How much hay does a horse eat? Does the vet make barn calls? What does that cost? Oats? What's a Farrier charge for new shoes? I think it's time for more Percocet.

Be well, and do the right thing.

Gaff

Cabin Fever Update...

Today, April 23, 2015, I played 18 holes of golf at my local municipal golf course here in Connecticut. It was quite chilly at tee time, with the ambient air temp at 46 degrees, and a stiff northwest wind at around 15 MPH. Upon my arrival at the landing spot of my second shot on the par five, fifth hole, it began to snow hard enough to obscure the pin on the green laying 106 yards in the distance.

I turned to my playing partner and asked him if he had heard anything about snow in the forecast. His reply was; "If I had, I sure as hell would not be out here now. Global warming my ass."

Global man-made climate change, my ass. Carbon dioxide tax, my ass. I hope Al Gore has caught the evening news about the current eruption of the volcano in Chile. That Little Earth Burp just put enough carbon dioxide into the upper atmosphere to negate anything mankind could do for 20 friggin years. By the way, there's no fracking within half a hemisphere of that volcano.

In the 1970's the same earth first people were predicting a new ice age by 2000. I think they were more prescient than the current set of hysterical wackos after what I played through today. How about using some common sense, and not pollute, litter, or cause purposeful harm to the environment. Instead of hamstringing the world population with unrealistic expectations and legislation. This planet of ours will be here for a long time after we are all dust. It's been through much worse than humans could ever imagine, or hope to effect. Ask the thunder lizards. Keep your eye on Yellowstone, THAT, is a very big volcano...

Do the right thing.

Gaff

Cabin Fever From All This Global Warming?...

I have recently returned from my third trip this winter season. The first was to "Gun Friendly" San Antonio, Texas. I played a few rounds of golf with family, visited a couple of Gun Emporiums, and walked the "River Walk" numerous times. Nice town, San Antonio; lots to do and see.

The Alamo is quite the shrine. The familiar "mission/church" is remarkably small, while the entire footprint of the original fortification is huge. Nowadays, the nave of the mission is dedicated nearly entirely to firearms (during the siege, it was the armory). The rear of nave has the names of all 180+ brave men that fought and died in the battle. They are emblazoned on a semi-circular display of brass plaques. It was surprising to see how many countries were represented by the fighters. I am proud to say Connecticut was represented, as well as my ancient homelands of Ireland and Scotland.

The rest of the church was crowded with all manner of battle implements. Both American and Mexican arms had various displays. One of the "park rangers" was in a corner with two glass cases that contained hand guns. Mostly percussion pistols, but a few more modern examples as well. The two tables were nearly encircled three deep with curious onlookers. The ranger was explaining the difference in the designs to one gentlemen, then proceeded to hand the weapon to him. The man grabbed the pistol and immediately put his finger through the trigger guard and onto the trigger as he swept the muzzle across the ranger's chest, then mentioned how heavy it was. Oops, I thought to myself, he's not too familiar with proper handgun handling is he. I guess what really suprised me was the handing of the pistol to him in the first place. It's just not something you see everyday in a public place. There is a certain etiquette that should be shown and expected when the inspection of a handgun is entertained. The presenter should first and foremost show the recipient that the weapon is unloaded, and in a "safe" condition. Then the weapon is exchanged, and the recipient is obliged to point the weapon in a safe direction at all times as he looks it over. The finger should not be placed on the "bang switch" unless the looker first asks if the weapon can be dry fired. Well, I have run this train of thought way off the spur line, sorry. Suffice it to say, if you are in the San Antonio area, and you have not visited the Alamo, by all means, don't miss it.

My next trip was a ski excursion to Park City, Utah. Turned out, that my backyard in Connecticut had a deeper base than the Wasatch Mountain at "The Canyons". The snowmaking there was very well done, and we had a great time. Since John Browning's birthplace was only an hour from the ski area, I decided that I needed to take a day, and visit his firearm museum in Ogden. Another not to be missed venue if you are in the area. It was fabulous to see examples of four generations of Browning designs, and all of John Browning's genius in one large room.

My third trip had very little to do with John Browning, or firearms of any kind for that matter. We went to Belize. Beautiful azure water, lapping against crusty brown sargassum seaweed mounds atop the white coral sand beaches. Quite odiferous, when the sun gets to beating on that vegitation for a spell. The locals were very apologetic about the incessant influx of the noxious sea plant flotsam. Obviously, not their fault. Seems the Sargasso Sea, off Florida, spit out massive chunks of this stuff for some as yet, unknown reason. It then blew steadily westward until meeting the easterly shores of the Yucantan and points north and south. Again, we had a wonderful time.

I'm off to France the day after Easter. My brother has asked for a bit of help on some property he owns in the Carcassonne region. That will be a bit more than a week, then back home to hopefully wake the Harley from its winter hibernation, and polish off the golf clubs again.

Remind me to tell you about the Belgian Superposed in the next entry...

Fare well, and do the right thing.

Gaff

Catch .22 Update

Well, wonder of wonders. I was in a large central Connecticut firearm retailer the other day, whose slogan is; "Guns For The Good Guys." Lo and behold, there in the gun case, in gleaming splendor, was a copy of the afore mentioned "Colt" .22 Rail Gun. I was suprised to see it displayed, since other retailers I had spoken to about the design had said that they could not sell it, or take one in trade.

I asked the counter person if I could handle the weapon. He then produced it from the case, and handed it to me. I quickly racked, and locked back the slide. There it was, the little threaded end cap that protected the eight millimeter threads on the end of the barrel. I showed the threaded cap to the salesperson, and queried him about the legality. He said the "threads" did not protrude from the front of the slide, and was therefore legal. "Besides, do you think the owner would risk this business on an illegal firearm" he added, as he put the pistol back in its place of honor.

I am very confused. I was pretty darn sure the gun I sold my brother-in-law was considered an assault weapon in Connecticut, and therefore, illegal to own, transfer, trade, sell, or possess. It does after all, have a threaded barrel. The new law states that a semi-automatic pistol with a threaded barrel meets the criteria for assault weapon status. It does not have verbiage that says "threading that protrudes, or is visible." Hopefully, I can relate this information to my friend before he welds the end cap on his M&P. Perhaps the brain trust in Hartford is, has, or is in the process of amending or clarifying the statute.

That pistol is now retailing for nearly $400. The next time I'm in Maine, visiting my BIL, I may revisit that firearm transaction. Slim chance he'd sell it back to me for what I allowed him to pay. Anyway, I will wait for definitive proof of legality before posting here. The waters are still a bit muddy.