I originally wanted to title this post, "Coulter's Hell"; which would have been a play on the nickname people gave John Colter's (member of Lewis & Clark expedition who lived out the remainder of his days as a gnarly frontier wildman) early, unbelievable descriptions of what is now Yellowstone National Park, and the equally unbelievable experience I subjected present-day Coulter to some while ago. But, out of respect for the most dynamic acting duo in cinematic history, Michael J Fox and Christopher Lloyd, I decided to stick with the whole Back to the Future theme.
Some time ago, I built a coop, and some fencing, and a run for some people in New Jersey. What started out as a simple coop, turned into... well, a not so simple coop, and a lot of other things. Brinn and I each have this problem where we decide to give ourselves extra work just to satisfy whatever creative itch we may be experiencing at the time. I respond to this self-imposed, additional stress by binge working; which is, waking up early and staying up late (to the tune of 2 hours of sleep per night) for days on end leading up to a delivery. This, mixed with muggy heat and hours of unprotected sun exposure, turns me into a certifiably crazy person. Anyone who stops by the house during this period is liable to get roped into some shenanigans.
Enter Coulter.
For some reason, he agreed to help finish the projects, ride along for the delivery and help with the installation. To be honest, I was surprised he even picked up the phone, as the last time I took him on a delivery we got home at 4AM and ate at a Waffle House. Despite the unsettling precedent of projects past, we powered through, narrowly scraping everything (well, almost everything) together in time to pull out at 10PM for the first leg of our journey, Buena Vista to D.C.; where we would spend the night (2 hours of sleep, again) at my parent's house to break up the drive.
I've practiced telling this story in my head several times, each version being longer than I want it to be, so I'm just going to cut to the chase, or haul actually. This is the "Coulter's Hell" part. Helga Beast, my 1980 Ford F350 does one thing, pull heavy stuff. She does not waste any effort entertaining you with a stereo, coddling you with refreshing, conditioned air, or babying your butt with a soft, shock absorbing suspension. Of course, the D.C. to New Jersey leg of our trip began just as the sun hit the "make you sweat" mark; and, as luck would have it, northbound travel in the morning means direct sun through the passenger window. By 11 o'clock, Coulter was drenched in sweat, trying to angle his shorts out the window to catch a breeze. At our first gas stop (woefully few miles from our point of departure) we bought a 10 lb bag of ice and took turns setting it on our heads. The relief was instant, yet short lived.
By the time we got to New Jersey, it was late afternoon. All I will say about the whole experience is this, we got out of there pretty late. Also, we might not be welcome in that neighborhood anytime in the near future. Also still, a mouse traveled with us in the bed of the truck. Unbelievable, I know, but true. At one point towards the end I asked Coulter, "How you holding up man? I'm sorry I dragged you in to all this", to which he responded, "I just died inside a little while ago". Cranked on adrenaline and too stubborn to get a hotel room, we pulled out for an all night ride back to D.C.; where I had promised to move the playhouse from the barbecue place where it was parked before they opened in the morning. A quick parking lot cat nap somewhere in Delaware and a less-than-quick "why aren't the trailer lights working?" break later and we were at the restaurant an hour after sunrise.
Some cyclist dude (the restaurant sits on a heavily used rail-to-trail bike/running path in Northern VA) helped us jimmy the playhouse up on the trailer. With a couple hours to spare, we pulled the door off the playhouse, reinforced it and reconfigured the setup to address some design flaws I did not foresee when I built it. One perk of putting your building out in a public place, is that random kids will quickly break anything breakable. The family receiving the playhouse had a crew on hand when we got there; thankfully, it was the quickest, easiest delivery I've had, despite the fact that we couldn't actually get the house where it needed to be.
By the end of it all, I had tallied 6 hours of sleep in 4 days. My shirt (not the same one) had been so saturated with sweat for so many days in a row that my skin was chafed raw (too much? Sorry). Brinn got upset with me for "working too hard" and "not making safe decisions", which she is probably right about, but I'm trying to make something happen here. I don't mind the physical exertion, people have lived by the sweat of their brow since the beginning of time. It's the mental stress that's going to kill me. Every time I sell something, I think about what it takes me to earn the amount of money I'm asking others to pay, then I question whether they're going to be satisfied or not. Usually, I'm so worried about "wowing" people, that I stretch myself thin and bite off a little more than I can chew (time wise), but I'm learning.
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| This is glorious. When logs split clean and straight, I barely have to throw any tools across the yard (click here if you don't know what I'm talking about). |
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| Joel Matlock, earning his keep around here. Once this log popped open, he stood up with his one glove and said, "OOWWW!! A HEE-HEE!!!" and broke in to a mean moonwalk. |
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| Coulter came out when things started gettin' hairy, but it was all good because he brought refreshing cold drinks in this totally BAD custom embossed leather clad thermos with match steel cup and straw. One sip of ice cold beverage through that tiny steely pipe, and your heart is liable to freeze up and quit. It's that cold. |
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| So, there was a moment of panic regarding the curved roof, which I think I talked about already. The solution was to make an underlayment of shingles, providing one continuous surface to hold the baby shingles I had to cut down to size. |
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| I don't expect anyone to fully appreciate the shenanigans I went through to make this roof work. Had I planned things out a little more, like a real builder, it may have been a little easier; but, as always, I had it pictured in my head and I went for it. |
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| Almost dark, still not done and we should have left hours ago. |
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| Boom... Montclair, New Jersey. A quaint town outside of New York City, where I nearly smashed a few dozen cars with my trailer. City drivin' and country drivin' just ain't the same thing. |
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| I shaved the corner trim pieces by hand, to snug up to the arches. The little things... Also, the latch slid open on the way up and the door must slammed itself open and closed enough times to bust the latch pieces. Luckily I had extras on hand. |
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| The Carriage House is directly behind the coop on the left, with the main house on the right. I though the carriage house was cool enough, until I saw the inside of the house... wow. All I can say is, mahogany. |
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| Of course it was well after dark by the time everything got wrapped up, so again, crappy night shots. The fence runs straight back along the trees, on the left. |
So, there you go. New Jersey. After that last shot we pulled out, got a little turned around trying to find the New Jersey Turnpike, then proceeded to blow a fistful of 20 dollar bills on tolls (because even an empty 2 axle trailer costs and extra 16 bucks to travel 20 #@$* miles down the road).
Stay tuned for back-to-back-to-back to the future (part 2) tomorrow, or later on tonight maybe.
-F.W.
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