Part 1 – Discovery
Searching for a brake lever to repair a piece of mobility gear, I discovered everything but the brake lever. Every DIYer, gardener, shade tree mechanic, hobbyist, or really any normal human bean understands, and no explanation is unnecessary.
You might be wrong
Okay. I’ll explain. A year or so ago, the brake cable attached to that lever snapped. That’s not cool. Dual brakes, but still not cool; one brake in certain situations is worser than no brake. Like cycling lickety shits per hour, applying front and rear brakes to not face-first a parked car that suddenly darts out in front of you. Instantly feeling the front brake seize while the rear brake doesn’t get the memo. Before you’ve time to unapply the front brake to try gradual front brake and shoe leather deceleration, you get a lesson on “…in motion, tends to stay in motion.” Included free of charge is a primer on pivotal mechanix: the rear-end of your cycle lifts and commences to place itself in front of the front-end of your cycle with a clever rotation about the pivot point provided by the frozen front-end axle.
Now, unless you’re new here, you know one of my mostest favorite things is repair work. That is sarcasm, by the way. I tried to fix the cable before. Seriously. Time and $$ to no avail. Replacement assembly: Available nowhere. That meant improv. Cable, shields, springs, clamps, etc.
The channel through which replacement cabling had to snake was mind bending. Ruining multiple sections of cable, I became adept at it. The zinger was that I could not find anywhere ferrules to effectively crimp the cable at the proper length. Result was three or four applications of brake followed by unceremonious “Eff dis, I’m quitting!” by the crimped ferrule. Improv not involving ferrule: no good.
Continued effort would have taken repair cost precipitously close to replacement cost of a new piece of gear. Well, duh. Bought new gear. Saved whole broked unit and salvageable brake lever and linkages against the possibility the Gooble Search Injun came across a replacement assembly, remembered I had been looking for one and popped-up that information. I placed loose parts in an industrial size baggie and stowed them where I’d be sure to remember.
We see what’s coming
Not yet. The Missus found a replacement cable assembly including lever. Without consultation, she ordered it. “Um, uh, what’s this,” I wondered aloud. That got me a Big Grin. You do not argue a Big Grin. “Okay, but it’s a deferred project accounta this and that and then there’s that and that too,” I told the Big Grin.
A twenty-minute lull in scheduled repair and maintenance work happened. Waste not, want not. It would be good to have a fully operational backup unit. I broke the package. Discovered the Grin parts were not gonna work. The top guide was too low and I had no way to mine a new hole through the frame. It would probably cost more to return the broken package and argue for a refund than I deemed worthwhile.
That’s too bad
But wait! The new cable had a crimping mechanism you cannot order from anywhere. A mistake on someone’s part I am sure, but there it was. All I needed was the original handle and lever assembly. Which I’d thoughtfully packaged and placed where I’d be sure to remember.
Oh, no!
That’s right. I didn’t remember. Okay, I began a search. In the process, I thought I’d surely find something else I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to locate. Maybe I’d even find the brake parts. My basement “workshop” and all the shelves, toolboxes, and parts bins are now a shambles. Ditto the garage, bins, boxes, shelves, and hidey-holes. Same for several bureaus and desks I’ve been known to secrete important shit in. Did I find the brake parts?
Nope. But I did come across an old digital clock, thermometer, and nautical speed indicator which would fit nicely on my makeshift desk in my makeshift office. An “atomic” clock. Synchronized with the Naval Observatory in D.C.. Cool beans! Someone thoughtfully yanked batteries before placing that beauty away. Wait? Batteries? Unh, what gives; it says “Atomic”?
Fine. I cleaned contacts, found batteries in my basement workshop not lost for the failed search for hidden brake components. Popped the little doobers in.
Cool. All shipshape, eh?
Well, not exactly. Replacing the battery cover panel and taking a gander at the display, I saw “2010” flashing. Whaddahell? Oh, the year is 2010. Sure. Less batteries, on restored power, a default setting. Yeah. Indicates Pacific Time Zone, too.
It took a while to figure out how three buttons would let me reset the resettable. But in the end, I was informed it was 11:00 pm EST, December 31, 2023, 74 degrees Fahrenheit. Okay, I reckoned to let the Naval Observatory set it straight. Figured it wouldn’t take long.
According to my atomic clock it is now 12:54 am EST, Monday, January 1, 2024, a balmy 77 still Fahrenheit degrees. I have hopes Washington will get around to sending a synch signal sometime.
I’ve not noticed any radiation effects, so I don’t suspect an atomic leak.
I’ll cruise by the bathroom mirror after lights-out tonight to make sure my eyes don’t glow red.
Part 2 – Rediscovery
Dewd! Izzat a smile on your puss?
Yupper. For the first night since I can’t remember when, after crawling underneath the covers in hopes Morpheus would pay a visit, I was pleasantly surprised. Before Morpheus arrived and the two of us set to arguing, my peepers closed like Chic Filet on Sunday, my itty-bitty brain ceased conscious thought, leg cramps chose not to pay a visit, and my bladder manned-up and decided to leave me alone.
That’s good news!
Indeed. It was wonderful. Until 3:42 am. At that precise moment, my phone blurped an irritating alert. A new one, but like all the others, scary as hell. If your bladder is functioning normally (mine, as I mentioned, was not at the time) you just might want to check your jammies after being startled-awake by such a sound. You know, like the one you get when there’s an Amber Alert, a tornado spotted in the area near where Verizon thinks your phone is, or you have a libarry book that will be overdue tomorrow at 8 am.
Zooks! Whatever was it?
Remember I mentioned the atomic clock I found searching for the brake lever?
The previous episode?
Yeah, that one. Well. The Naval Observatory finally sent a signal. Or my Atomic Clock (as it self-identifies, now) finally recognized it. I dunno. I was in the Air Force, not the Navy and I don’t know Jack about atomic stuff. I’m not sure who was responsible, but Atomic Clock checked with my phone, conned it into advising that it, Atomic Clock, was up to speed and certain parties should all be prepared for good things to start happening.
Fine, but it could have waited until morning. Minor alerts started flooding my phone. I put them on silent, then investigated. Earlier, Atomic Clock sent opt-in notices to my refrigerator, thermostat, garage door opener, lawn mower, sump pump, dehumidifier, and whirlpool. They were Invited to enjoy time checks from (now) on-duty Atomic Clock. The thermostat was not happy at the invite. It too was sleeping because I had switched it off; here in the upper but not permafrost Midwest we’re in Open Windows season – no heat or cooling necessary, just skeeter-proof screens over open windows. My lawn mower is not computer conversant, so Atomic Clock issued a sub-level alert (which escaped my mute) suggesting I immediately determine why “Lawn Mower” had not acknowledged.
I stumbled into the living room. There, I instructed Brenda, my Bose IoT voice interface to tell all connected “things” to leave me alone until well after dawn.
Brenda replied, “Microwave needs to know if you want your oatmeal heated when Atomic Clock signals.”
“Who da hell authorized oatmeal,” I yelled.
“Microwave says Atomic Clock got approval from the refrigerator’s menu management software,” replied Brenda.
“No oatmeal!” I said.
“Refrigerator says other tasty and healthy options are available from present stores,” snipped Brenda.
“Everybody, every damned one of you leave me alone until I tell you otherwise!”
“Yes sir,” Brenda replied. I thought Brenda sounded a little hurt. Too damned bad.
I thought again. Best not piss-off Brenda. I only have one IoT interface I understand. “Brenda.”
No response. “Brenda?” I repeated.
“You said to leave you alone.”
“Yes. But I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
What could I say? Brenda was right. I let it go and went to look for Atomic Clock. I intended to yank the damned batteries out.
Morpheus arrived and interrupted my trek to my temporary office. Just as well, Atomic Clock was probably running entirely nuclear now, however that worked. I wasn’t ready to challenge a recalcitrant device I didn’t fully understand just yet.
Morpheus brought a deck of cards. He commenced complaining of rough treatment at the hands of his clientele. Said he was tossing-in the towel for the night; he’d stay until dawn, we could chat, play cards, or whatever, but he wasn’t going back to work.
Bummer.
Unbelievable! That’s all made-up cronk.
No. It’s the straight scoop, man.
© spwilcenski 2023
Part 1 originally exposed by spwilcenwrites “Odss and Nnds – September 15, 2023”
Part 2 originally exposed by spwilcenwrites “Insomnia Relief – Finally – September 16, 2023”
Ramblings 