November Gloomth
19 November 2017
"We won't be stopping for cow pictures today," Tom announced as we gathered at Twin Pines for my Hill Slugs ride.
I hadn't planned a route. I'd been preoccupied at the end of the week with painting molding, doors, and windows in an empty bedroom where the floor had been refinished and John W had painted the walls and ceiling. We've been living with a third of the house crammed into the rest of our space, and now that the floors are finished it's time to move the furniture back. But until the spare bedroom is ready, nothing else can be put back. Last out, first in, and I'd emptied the bedroom last.
It wasn't cold, exactly. We've certainly gone out in much colder weather. It was cloudy, clammy, and a little breezy; 50 degrees felt like 40, and some of us had dressed for the former.
We started with 8: me, Tom, Jim, Jack H, Bob,Ricky, Andrew, and Rick the New Guy. Upon seeing an unfamiliar face, the rest of us set in to explain Sluggishness, including the banter that, to an outsider, can seem a little harsh. I mean, "Shut up. I hate you" and "Fuck you" can sound jarring until one realizes it's code for "Love ya, buddy!"
I took a circuitous route that wound generally north and east towards the eastern side of Hopewell. We were less than halfway there when Ricky's bottom bracket called it quits. He turned around.
As we made our way up Carter Road towards Hopewell, Jack and Tom tried to guess how we'd be getting over the mountain. Tom had brought his Feather, not his climbing Cannondale. When it was obvious that we'd be climbing Province Line, Tom grumbled in resignation. Why he thought I'd be easy on the middle-finger-photo instigator is beyond me. I have a reputation to uphold.
I didn't have a set route in mind. When we got to Orchard Road, which is one of two that crosses the mountain out in the open on the northern slope, I finally stopped for pictures.
I caught up to the rest of the group by the feasting horses. I pulled out my camera again. "Those aren't cows," Tom explained. "They're h-o-r-s-e-s."
That was all for the pictures.
We stopped at Rojo's and took two tables. I was with Jack H, Andrew, and Bob, and we talked about home renovations. Jack H is a carpenter. Andrew likes to watch YouTube videos of projects he'll never attempt. Bob is in the middle of ceding his bank account to a new bathroom.
I'm attempting, for the first time, to lay shoe molding on a newly-renovated floor. The rest of my day would be given to my first try at a miter box and then to hammering in finish nails. Andrew gave me advice. Jack H said I wouldn't need a nail gun; I wasn't about to get one anyway. The lumber, saw, and miter board set me back all of $30. I had no plans to make that $300 by buying a tool I'd use only once. Should I fail, John W would finish the job at some point.
We were yammering away when Jim approached. "We got weather," he said.
"Shit." Rain hadn't been in the forecast when I'd checked last night.
"Let's go back the quickest way possible," Tom said.
"518?" Andrew suggested.
Been there, done that in the rain. "No; let's take Rocktown. Less traffic."
"It's always and adventure on a Hill Slug ride," I explained to Rick. The usual mess includes a dirt road and a closed bridge, but rain certainly factors in.
Tom and I tried to figure out if Rick had passed one of the rites of initiation, and it was agreed that he'd need to be with us on a dirt road and a closed bridge first.
At the end of the ride we asked Rick if he'd want to return or to stay away from us forever. He laughed and said he'd be back.
It took hours for me to stop shivering. What finally did it was messing with the miter box. My saw was a touch to wide, and the box a touch too cheap, for the saw to move smoothly. I had four corners to cut; three of them went well. The fourth was in the least obvious corner of the room. Jack H had expounded on the miracle of grout and spackle; I could see why.
The next steps would be to put in the nails, use a setting tool to hammer them in below the surface of the wood, use spackle to cover the dent, sand, and paint over the spackle. I decided to test my nail skills on the one piece that hadn't required any mitering and that would be partially hidden by the door.
It didn't go well. I'm much too cautious and fine-motor oriented. Rather than hit the nail with all the force I had, risking smashing the wood, I attempted to put the nail in gently. I bent it instead, halfway in. I tried again a foot away. Same thing.
Nail fail.
I texted John, admitting defeat. For now the furniture is going back into the room against the loose shoe molding. When John has time I'll pull the furniture away from the wall and let him go at it with a nail gun. I'll take care of the rest. I can work an angled brush on a small surface and cut in without hitting anything else, but, strong as I am, I'm not comfortable with brute force. So much for carpentry. I won't quit my day job.
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