Dealing With a Water Pump

We had a large project that took years to complete. We were a subcontractor, but even subcontractors had to list someone with TxDot as the supervisor. That was my job, and it meant more than one crew, and multiple locations. 

During the project, I would shift people to overcome downtime due to rain, and to pump water from an excavation. That's where Bob came in. 

We had a headwall for a box culvert partially completed. The footing was poured, but the walls weren't formed. I took Bob to the locations, with a water pump, which we placed near the excavation, and he connected to hoses already in place. I left a can of gasoline, and some oil, and went to check on another crew. 

After over an hour, I needed to go check on Bob, and see if the water was pumped down below the footing. It usually took about an hour, and if everything was as it was supposed to be, I could place some hands on site to start tying the reinforcing rod for the walls. Everything wasn't as it was supposed to be. 

I found Bob pulling on the pull rope, and trying to start the pump. Exhausted wasn't a good description. It was Summer, his face was red, and his pulls on the rope showed he was out of steam. 

I asked Bob if he ever had the pump running. I pretty well knew he hadn't. The water was still at the same level as when I left over an hour before. He told me it wouldn't start. 

"Does is have gas?"

"Yes. I filled the tank."

"Did you check the oil?"

Bob got that look where you already know the answer.

He immediately checked the oil, and found it was a little low Since he had put a short 2 x 4 under the pump to keep it from sinking, it had placed the pump a little out of level, and the low-oil shut-off had prevented the pump from starting.

Within a minute, we had added a little oil, leveled the pump, made sure the pump was primed, and the water was soon dropping in the excavation.

So, we lost an hour, and after that, Bob pretty well knew to check the oil before attempting to start a small engine. He already knew that, but for some reason, Bob wasn't really there that morning. That would happen every now and then, but usually he was a good hand, and was good to have on a crew.

 

It Will Require Some Work

Yesterday, after I awoke, my wife told me the microwave stopped working. A quick glance showed it had no power, since the clock was dark. My first though was to check the breaker. It was tripped, I reset it, and went to check the microwave. The clock was working. The light was working. The exhaust fan was working. I pushed the start button, and was rewarded with a low pop, and the clock went dark. 

I went back to check the breaker. It was thrown, so I reset it, and went back to survey the task now needing to be done. Examining the cabinet above the microwave showed some basic information on replacing the microwave. A little internet searching revealed how they're mounted above a stove, how much a new one would cost, and me thinking about the future. 

A new microwave that mounts above a range, and has an exhaust fan, isn't inexpensive, and considering the fact they don't last more than 10 years, I decided to remove the microwave, replace it with a range hood, and buy a microwave to place on the counter. Two things determined my decision: the cost of the new microwave, and the fact I didn't want to wrestle with the same problem in a few years, when I'll be older, weaker, and definitely have less patience, or strength. My wife agreed. 

So, we went and found a range hood, and a new smaller microwave for the counter. The range hood will probably last longer than we will, and the smaller microwave fits our use much better. We only thaw, or warm small items, and never cook anything large in a microwave. The range hood will move more air, which will be better than the low volume of the microwave/range hood soon to be in the trash. 

I'll soon tackle this task, and pray the duct work won't be challenging. That, and wrestling the heavy microwave from under the cabinet won't lead to smashed fingers, or dropping it on my foot. It shouldn't take too long, but I'm thinking there will be at least one trip for some hardware. 

It's done. With the help of my wife, and my sister-in-law, we tackled the project. My sister-in-law did the same thing a few years ago, so her experience, and foil tape were most helpful. 

The thing that worried me most was the lifting the old microwave out from under the cabinet. As it turned out, I rested it on my shoulder, when I lifted it from the wall bracket, and was deposited outside for disposal.

Remembering Part of My Past

I travel often down a highway I worked on in the early eighties. At that time, I was working on different parts of the project. Mostly I worked with the field survey crew by driving grade stakes and holding the grade rod. That, helping place driveway culverts being changed to help with drainage, and to change the profile of the ditch, which was being moved to accommodate the paving widening. 

When working with the culverts, I was considered a "pipe-layer", which is a craft description according to TxDot wage standards. That meant I would keep the cut grade for the excavator, fine grade the bottom of the trench, guide the pipe into the trench, and insure the pipe spigot belled into the downstream pipe. Since it was concrete pipe, I made sure the mastic, which we called Ram-Neck, was placed correctly and sealed the joint. 

It was hard work; mostly because our operator had bad eyesight, and couldn't complete the fine grading as required. That meant either filling too deep of a cut, or cutting too much of the hard, dry clay to achieve final grade. We eventually complained enough to have him changed out, but that was after too many days of brutal labor in the hot Summer sun. 

One afternoon, we working in front of a house that I admired. It was an old house, probably built in the forties, and well kept. The yard was enclosed by a chain link fence, the yard was mowed, and the biggest mimosa tree I've ever seen was in the back yard. Covered in pink blooms, the canopy was as wide as the house. 

While working, and old woman came outside carrying a TV tray, with a pitcher of lemonade, homemade cookies, and glasses. She told us we should have some refreshments, which we relished. We took our break, continued working, and were soon down the highway on a different driveway. She eventually retrieved her things, and we were soon far away from that location. 

It took me awhile to find the old house. It's now behind a fence grown over, the house is showing its age, and it's obvious the old woman has now passed. The charm it once had is gone, and whoever now owns it doesn't understand the amount of work required for it to reach its former condition. It's a little sad to see how it now is, but I can still remember how beautiful it was one Summer day decades ago.

Trees That Had To Go

We had a sweetgum tree that was well on the way out. At about 30 feet tall, only about 10 feet had leaves this year, and the very top to was obviously rotten. I took it down the day before yesterday. The trunk was about 18 inches in diameter, and the wood very hard. I'm guessing it could be rated as a hardwood, but from past experience, it's not something you want to place in a fireplace. It pops too much, and spreads embers. I dragged it in two pieces to the fire pile, and cut it into pieces easy to manage. 

Yesterday, with a yes vote by all with a vote, I took down a willow tree on the edge of the pond. It started as a nuisance, was chopped away many times, but was abandoned after it kept coming back. The last few years had shown it wasn't healthy, and some limbs were failing. 

Cutting this down was interesting. Due to the initial efforts to eradicate it, the resulting tree had nine trunks of varying sizes. The thickest was around 18 inches, and the thinnest around 6 inches. All sections were at least 20 long. With the pond down, getting around the tree was easy, and a tow strap attached to a side-by-side guaranteed those over the water wouldn't have to be fished out of the pond. 

The tree was dragged to the burn pile, and we started stacking what I cut yesterday. We'd pull a section up to the pile, I'd whittle it down to manageable pieces, and it was stacked. We finished today, and now have a huge pile of trees to burn. 

We haven't had much of any cold weather, but it will come. At that time, the pile will be lit, and we'll spend long evenings tending it, until it's all burned up. 

Sharing the Danger

    It was a typical Summer evening; temperature in the mid eighties, high humidity, and the twilight had faded away. I had set up all the advance warning signs, which involved the interstate and a major highway that merged. The changeable message board was a mile down the interstate to warn of the impeding lane closure, I was hooked to lowboy trailer, with a two man crew ready to start setting out barrels to close the lane. We were waiting for a hired police officer to help while we worked. We paid for them to help with dealing with traffic. A police car with flashing lights would slow traffic down, when nothing else would work. 

    I had already set up the lane closure on feeder highway, but hadn't tied it to the interstate. As we reached the interchange, we would complete the lane transition and go to work.

    He soon showed, I walked to his car, and explained what we had in mind. He said something at that time that always stuck in my mind: "They don't pay any more attention to you than they do a trash truck." He was right. Even though we had strobes on the vehicles, and an arrow board to direct traffic, too many drivers didn't pay attention to us any more than they did a trash truck. 

    I was glad to have him there. We didn't have the usual last minute lane changes by drivers. They respected the police car. They knew their uh-ohs would lead to something more than just an apology for scaring the crap out of us, and knocking down some barrels. 

    The officer stayed, until we pulled all the barrels to the shoulder before the 5:00 am morning rush started. I turned off the arrow board, and left it on the shoulder. A short trip down the interstate allowed me to swing the message board to where traffic couldn't see it. The morning crew would arrive later in the morning, and be ready to close the lanes after the rush was over. They had until 3:00 pm to pull the patches, replace the concrete, and achieve compressive strength before opening to traffic. The did so, and picked up all the traffic control devices. 

    It was a lot of preparation, and work, for three small patches in the paving. We lost money, but it was a district wide paving repair project, so we made it up on other sections. This finished our work in this area, and we soon moved a few dozen miles away to repair another section of highway.

    The officers words hit home. The strobe lights didn't demand the attention like what was on the police car. We were soon changing out strobe lights with high intensity light bars to alert drivers to the dangers ahead. We weren't dangerous, but their fellow drivers were; especially at night. Night is when the bars closed, and the drunks ventured home.

Being Safe

My sister-in-law's well pump stopped working. I checked the electricity to the pressure switch, realized the points were in bad shape, and went for another switch. 

I killed the power to the pump, used my voltmeter to check there was no voltage, and changed the switch. It reminded me of why I always check to insure the power is indeed not on.

Years ago, the company I worked for needed some more office space. An old single-wide mobile home was purchased, and the goal was to build a connecting porch to the office, remove the old bathroom, remove the old kitchen appliances, and use the additional area for closets and additional storage. One requirement was removing the plumbing to the bathroom, and the old water heater. 

A cousin of the boss was there during the process. He was a crewmember of an electrical line crew, and the son of an electrical contractor. I was helping in disconnecting the water heater, and he was to verify the electricity to the water heater was disconnected. He told us he killed the breaker, and I took a pair of end cutters to the Romex to the water heater. 

The flash was brilliant, a few pieces of molten wire burned my hand, and when I was less startled, and could look, I looked at the end cutters. A good pair of 9 inch Kleins was now trash. One side of the cutting blades was gone. 

So, I verify with a volt-meter. Even the best of "experts" can make a mistake, and their mistake can kill you.

Swimming in the Heat

I decided this morning was the time to clean the condenser coils on my outside unit. I try to do this once each season, and usually do the same for some in-laws. A/C's last much longer when the coils are kept clean, and operate more efficiently, which helps with the electricity usage. 

It's not a long project. It usually takes about an hour, and involves removing the side panels for access to the coils. Turning off the unit, and killing the power to the outside unit is first. Removing some sheet metals screw is next. Easing up the fan housing allows the side covers to be removed. Usually, a few will just fall out. After the coils are exposed, I spray on a commercial coil cleaner, allow it to work for a few minutes, and then flood the coils with water to remove the cleaner. I'll flush out around the compressor at the bottom, and rinse around the base. 

It took the amount of time I figured, and the project came out good, but that little time in the heat led to being soaked with sweat, which doesn't dry in the high humidity of morning. That, and without anything to evaporate the sweat, I felt like I had run a marathon. I might should have waited for evening, when the unit is in the shade.

I might venture this afternoon, when shade allows, and take care of the in-laws units....or not. I will clean them over the next few days, but maybe only one a day.

Playing the Game

I was in charge of a paving widening project in a local city. It was a Summer project, right in front of an elementary school, and was anticipated to be complete before school started. Everything was going along as planned, and even though the inspector had a tendency to be a problem on some details that were ridiculous, I felt we would be complete as anticipated. 

We were placing cement stabilized base for under the proposed new concrete paving. Even with an unmarked, and repaired, water line leak that flooded the base, I felt the base was processed as needed, graded, and after the curing time, wanted my inspector to run a density to continue. 

He arrived, ran his density, and proceeded to tell me the density was just shy of the 95 proctor. Knowing the game, and my specifications, I asked if he had placed his gauge probe into the subgrade. He had, and I explained to him the project didn't have a bid item for working the subgrade, but would be glad to stop, request a change order, and when approved, remove the base, process the subgrade, run density on the subgrade, replace the base, and get paid for the entire process. He paused a minute, thought about what I just said, and ran another density in just the base. It passed, and we started setting paving forms. 

I'd been burned in the past by similar things due to my ignorance of specifications. I learned the hard way, and refused to be rolled over by inspectors that didn't have a complete grasp of the entire picture. If I had to go to the engineer, I wouldn't hesitate. While they could beat me up with the spec book, I had the same book, and could swing with the best of them. 

We completed the project in time, it was bought within a short period of time, and after decades, the paving is holding up. 

Placing the Rip-Rap

Over my career, I helped place thousands of square yards of poured in place concrete rip-rap on header banks, and other slopes. You've seen them; concrete on the slopes around the sides of overpass slopes. They keep the soil in place, which prevents the earth from washing away. 

After the slope was graded, we'd place forms, which consisted of 2 x 4's turned flat, so some wet concrete could spill under the forms. The forms were set about 10 feet apart, and the same amount of space was between each set of forms. This allowed the sections to be finished by finishers on each side. Multiple sections would be poured during the day. If the concrete set enough, the forms were stripped, and the sections in between would be poured. We called it "checkerboarding". After all the concrete was poured, the rip-rap would extend from the abutment to the toe of the slope.

At the bottom of the slope, a toe-wall was hand dug to keep the rip-rap from sliding. At set locations up the slope, trenches were excavated by hand, loose gravel was placed, and PVC pipes were placed with screen on the backside to keep the rock from leaving. These "weeps" allowed ground water under the concrete to drain, and keep the slope from failing.

We always poured from the top to the bottom. The concrete was batched very dry, and little water was ever added. Gravity helped with placing the concrete, and the excess concrete screeded wouldn't pile in front of the screed, which would usually cause the screeded concrete to slide down the slope. Pouring from the bottom to the top could be done, but the work was much harder, and having a section of fresh screeded concrete slide down the slope was the usual result. 

Finishing didn't require the most beautiful of concrete. Finishers (which I was during a pour) used wood hand floats and knee boards made from plywood with multiple nails driven through to keep the finisher from sliding down the slope. A rudimentary handle was made with pieces of 2x4 ripped down the middle. With the pours only 10 feet wide, finishers on each side could finish half without having to creep across the entire width on knee boards. 

Finishing required most all motions to be uphill. The wood floats worked up enough grout to leave a mostly smooth surface. A finishing broom dragged across the wet concrete was the final finish. Trying to finish with a magnesium, or steel, hand float caused the concrete to slump, and slide downhill. 

After the concrete was finished, we sprayed curing compound on it, and either called it a day, or moved on to another section. 

The work was hard. With many of the sections, the slope was a one-to-one slope, and spending a day working on the slope would separate the men from the boys. Those that stayed learned something useful, but I never found anyone that relished the task. If you stayed long enough, and learned all there was to learn, you moved from working in front of the screed to finishing. It didn't take me long to know that's were I wanted to be, even though it was just as hard to finish. The more I learned, the more valuable my knowledge became, and eventually I was entrusted with making it happen by pushing a crew.

Could I still do it? No, but I could teach someone, if they were willing to work hard.

Heat Index and Weather Folks

The weather folks place warnings when the heat index becomes high enough to be dangerous. When the temperature, and humidity, calculate a heat index above 103 Fahrenheit, they post an advisory of a dangerous heat index. When it exceeds 124 degrees, it's considered deadly. Today, the heat index at 11:00 am is 114 degrees, yet we don't have an advisory. I don't know where the weather folks are stationed, but it isn't anywhere near where I live. 

The worst heat index I was ever exposed to was working on a roof replacement in Galveston. I knew it was brutally hot, we only worked in shifts of around 15 minutes, but we were down to 4 sheets, and needed to finish the project. Rain was forecast, and the old sheets were already removed. I didn't know at the time, but after checking on the temperature related to the humidity, the index was well above 130 degrees. My brother didn't believe me when I told him. Of course, he wasn't there, and probably thought I was exaggerating. 

That afternoon, while going to a meeting with a steel detailer, the cold air-conditioning in my truck started the heat cramps. They started in my legs and continued until they were in my back muscles. Unable to continue further, I bailed from the freeway, found a dollar store, bought a jar of dill pickles, and gulped down half the juice in the parking lot. Within minutes, the cramps subsided and I could continue. Even though I had been taking heat supplements, and drinking lots of water with Gatorade, it didn't make a huge difference. We were working in an environment not suitable for heavy exercise, and paid the price.

Focusing on Smaller Problems - Update

When I ran my generator last week, it surged, which is not good, since a surging engine causes surging voltage. I removed the carburetor, cleaned it thoroughly, reinstalled it and checked the operation. I still have a surging generator. 

I did some research online about the problem. There are two possibilities I need to examine. One is the fuel tank valve filter. I haven't ever removed it, and there's the possibility it's partially clogged. If I can't remove the filter, I'll remove the valve, and either replace the valve, or remove the filter permanently. I'll install an in-line filter instead, which is probably the best solution. 

The other problem may be the fuel solenoid on the bottom of the fuel bowl. If it's weak, it might not be holding as needed, which will require replacing the solenoid, or the carburetor, if that's not a part that is replaceable. 

If neither of these solutions stop the surging, I'll go back to my head-scratching mode and continue my effort to not depend on a mechanic. I try to never let a small engine defeat me.  

So, the new carburetor was placed, and the engine still surges. There is no fuel restriction from the tank. In fact, I replaced the fuel line, and added an in-line filter. Since the engine doesn't have many hours, I doubt the governor is the problem. The only thing left, if that is a possible problem, is something I'm not familiar with, but after researching, can cause surging. 

There are two springs on the governor linkage. One is larger, and has most of the tension. There is a smaller spring, which I over pulled, and it's obvious it's not as taught as originally designed. My question (to anyone with knowledge, or has someone they know that does) can this cause surging. Of all the things, that's the only thing that's different.  

Thousands of 1/4 Inch Bolts

Years ago, I was in charge of a project that involved the expansion of a rail car inspection and repair facility. There were multiple large buildings, new rail, re-routing existing utilities and the components needed for the expansion. It meant a lot of hours, sometimes 7 day weeks, and some rest for me when it was completed.  

One part of the project was to assemble a paint booth. That involved completing the booth, hooking up the gas for the heater, and all the electrical work. At around 100 feet long, 20 feet wide, and 20 feet tall, it was shipped with all the punched panels, the heater, the stack, and the roll-up doors for each end.

As time has passed, the one thing that stuck with me is the amount of 1/4 inch bolts, with nuts, required to assemble the building. The parts list, which you usually verify when a shipment arrives, showed the amount of bolts to be counted....if I wanted to. The amount was 10,000 each, 1/4 inch bolts with nuts. I didn't count them, really don't know if it was correct, but we finished the project with having to only buy a few dozen more. I chalked the loss up to what was dropped during assembly, or left on the roof to never be found. That, or they were never shipped. That was a lot of fasteners to place, and I'm glad I will probably never be responsible for a project like that again. We were stretched thin, the pickings were slim for new employees, being salaried meant I missed out on a lot of overtime, and the customer was chomping at the bit to see the project completed. 

It Took Some Practice and Paying Attention

For some reason, and probably because I could, laying out project sites became my task. Whether it was setting string line for forms, or plotting topographical information for earthwork, if I didn't know how to accomplish the task, I had to learn. 

Old school craftsmen I worked with had a method of squaring by using a 3,4,5 system of measuring. One didn't feel comfortable with anything but doubling the numbers, which I understood, but I think he probably couldn't comprehend any multiple of the numbers would work. Still, his other skills were invaluable with building projects. Simple things, such as always laying out tile, or flooring from the centerline were things I didn't know, but when applied, led to the understanding how the final aesthetics required the method to insure an even border, or correctly centered. 

Setting long straight lines presented some problems. Regardless of the distance, if there were two points to work from, a long string line could allow setting intermediate points, but very long distance could be inaccurate due to deflection by the wind. After the company I worked for allowed me to buy a meridian transit, the feature of being able to tilt the telescope allowed me to use a helper, while I sighted their location, and fine tuning the location of a stake, or mark on paving. I didn't trust the feature for turning angles, unless it was only for a ball-park location. I relied on two measuring tapes for that location, and had to watch helpers like a hawk to guarantee they were holding the tape in the right location. I failed to do that one time, several anchor bolts were poured in the wrong place, and the butt-chewing wasn't nearly as tough as my own feeling of disgust. 

When after years of using poor-boy methods for layout, the company I worked for finally bought a total station. The flexibility of the instrument was liberating. I could set some fixed points far away from the work, which allowed recreating points inside the project if they were disturbed. The software bought for plotting the points allowed the creation of unknown points, which could be downloaded into the total station for use in the field. Instead of spending a long time using string lines, and measuring tapes for layout, I could establish points with one helper. 

When I first started construction, TxDot, which was then called Texas Highway Department, had a survey crew in most every district office. Their job was to establish stakes for the contractors, which could be everything from offset points, to establishing the right of way. They, at that time, used transits, long survey chains, and a lot of walking to complete their task. When they had free time, they worked sections of the highway to check the location, and elevations, of permanent markers established around the district. The long process could mean long journeys on foot to establish temporary bench marks, arriving at the survey marker, and then doing the same back to where they started. The task involved what is called a level-loop. All the grade shots during the traverse were placed in a field book, and when the loop was finished, if a discrepancy was found, the loop might have had to be completed again to determine the cause of the error. Today, such a loop can be performed my one person with GPS or a remote controlled total station.

Over time, TxDot moved away from having a field party, and contractors became responsible. With a large lay-off during the seventies, many members of the field parties were hired by contractors, and stayed, instead of returning when the state wanted to hire them back during better financial times. That led to my opportunity to work with them, learn invaluable skills, and increase my knowledge.

With technology today, the old methods are becoming forgotten. GPS allows accurate measuring without understanding the methodology, and those doing the layout work probably would be lost if they had to accomplish the same task with a transit, a survey chain and a pocket calculator. It's like many things which may never be necessary again, but if they do become necessary, there will be few around to teach the methods.

It's Strange How Memories Return

Years ago, after a hard day at work, my boss, and I, stopped at a watering hole to have a beer. Call it a working man's/woman's bar. Basically just a hole in the wall, with pool tables and loud music. Conversation was limited to the strength of your voice. 

I wasn't paying much attention to my boss's conversation with the woman next to him at the bar, but she was animate, loud, and regardless of what she was saying, I couldn't understand what she was saying. My boss must have been annoyed, because he stood, slapped me on the back, and yelled "I'll see you tomorrow." and left. 

Now I was trapped. She decided to have a conversation with me I couldn't really hear. I just nodded my head and made an occasional comment that seemed to be in reference. Hoping she would go away, so I could politely escape, she suddenly became loud, with spittle flying, and from what she said, she thought I asked her to go home with me. 

So, as she was stating whatever she was stating, I began to wonder what the best course of action should be. Should I apologize? Should I be angry she was so vain she would think I would ask her to go home with me? It seemed like a long time was passing, but it was only a few moments. 

I said loudly enough for her to hear: "I didn't ask you to go home with me." swallowed the last of my beer, and left, somewhat relieved, but wondering if she would follow me out to complain, or one of the other inebriated patrons would try start something. Nothing happened. I started my pickup and left. 

It was an object lesson for me. Bars are always filled with people drinking, people drinking have a tendency to be stupid, and a more cautious person avoids them. 

Remembering Cold Days

I stepped out this morning to a temperature of 40 degrees and the wind howling. The front came through yesterday, but the severe weather forecast didn't happen at my house. It was a strong front, and the wind did take down my porch curtains, but that was due to my neglect of securing them before taking a nap. 

In the past, on days like this, we'd work. Some tasks would drive us away (such as roof work) but most everything else required huddling from the cold, getting used to the cold wind blowing up the back of your coat, chapped skin, and the supreme fatigue after spending the entire day in the elements. Nothing compares to working in cold weather. 

I don't miss days like this at work. My instinct was to tell everyone to go home until better weather, but I knew we could accomplish something, and I was obligated to continue the quest for a profit, and the need of the hands for income during the winter months, which led to many days without work. It was what it was, and I'm glad those days are over.

Me and the Extension Cord

I was "caught up" with my tasks, and whether the field superintendent asked, or I just took it on myself, an extension cord laying in the corner of the shop needed attention. Like many nights working offshore, there was little to do, since my basic task was to be available if a phone or radio call came from the bank. We were producing about 200 million cubic feet of natural gas at the time, and any loss required immediate attention. I would wake the field superintendent, he would determine if someone needed to be woke, and if so, I would wake one of the crew that worked for the oil company that owned the platform. I was a contract roustabout, worked alone at night, so I was only a helper at best. My chance of being hired didn't exist. Between equal opportunity tyranny, and the vets from the war in Vietnam, the line before me would have reached land.

The extension cord had tape around a section. Someone already made an attempt in repair, but they weren't successful, and removing the melted tape like it was applied became an effort in futility. I pulled out my pocket knife, and went to work on removing the tape. 

At that time, very young and ignorant, my knife didn't have a good edge nor was very sharp. To add insult to injury, it was a cheap knife, and with the knowledge I  now have, had a rolled edge due to the low quality steel. Still, it had some cutting power, if I pushed a little harder. That was my mistake. Pushing harder pushed through the tape, and onto my thumb holding the cord. 

For informational purposes, I can attest that several rows of electrical tape is much stronger than skin. My push to cut the tape led to barely cutting through the tape and almost to the bone on my thumb. Blood didn't just drip; it flowed and was leaving a small puddle as I watched.

For a moment, my mind wandered through countless thoughts of how to handle the situation. Should I wake someone up? Do I need stitches? Will I get in trouble? What is the best method for handling this situation? I put my other thumb on the cut and applied pressure. The bleeding turned into a slow seep, so I knew I was going in the right direction. Adding a clean rag from the wiper box stopped the flow completely, if I kept pressure on the cut. 

For a few minutes, I held the rag on the cut, and then checked to see if it had stopped bleeding profusely. It hadn't but the profuse amount of blood was less, so I went back to holding pressure on the cut. I did this several times over the next hour, and eventually the bleeding was slow enough for me to go find a bandage. I think I changed it once before my shift was over.

I still had my task to complete. My efforts to removing the tape had now made it an easy task, and revealed the problem with the extension cord. Whoever that tried to repair the cord had twisted all the wires together, and the reason for the melted tape became obvious. Plugging it in had probably immediately led to some smoke and a quick effort to unplug what would have been a small fire. 

I bared the wires, isolated each wire, taped each wire separately, and then placed several wraps of electrical tape around the entire splice. My father had shown me the procedure, and the knowledge came in handy. The extension cord now worked, although by today's standards, such things are not allowed. A new plug can be placed on each piece for a shorter cord, if the standards from a few years ago are still in place. Judging how things change, and how regulations are mostly ridiculous, most places would just throw it away and buy another to satisfy any safety official with little to do. 

Still, as much as the event was unpleasant at the time, I remember how quiet, and peaceful, the times I spent on an offshore platform could be. I miss them, and since then, I have never seen such clear nights, with a blanket of stars. 

Lockout/Tagout

While working in construction, safety required a lockout/tagout procedure for certain items. One that always required the procedure was work that involved electricity. This insured a circuit couldn't become energized when work was on, or around, electrical equipment. That, or something that could move when electricity was supplied was prevented from that movement. These were the obvious reasons for the procedure, but one event really caught my attention after all involved didn't foresee something important. 

We were working on a large rail car dumping machine. In design, it was simple. The large frame supported the loaded rail car, which weighed around 200,000 pounds, and the bolt on gears that meshed with the gear reduction drive powered by an electric motor. Hydraulic stops came down during the dumping to keep the car from sliding down into the pit.

 The machine was designed to allow the cars to come in at grade, which meant much of it, and the drive assembly, were in a large pit. In the pit were a crusher for the product, a retaining wall, part of a sloped conveyor, and the drive assembly. A blower kept a steady stream of air to help keep the pit clear. The entire assembly, including the large concrete counter weights, sat on two large pillow-block bearings. The bearings had brass sleeves that were considered wear parts. Constant greasing was required, but even with the grease, the sleeves would eventually wear and need replacing.  That was our project. We were to replace the sleeves. 

From what I was told, the process had been done years ago, but a very large crane was used to lift the dumper for removing the weight on the bearings. For some reason, and I suspect some personal opinions were involved, we were to use the equipment in the facility to jack the dumper high enough to service the bearings, instead of the expensive crane. 

I can only write that it was a grueling, nasty project, since the material that was dumped was raw petroleum coke. It was sent from local refineries by rail, and the facility calcined the coke for different product, including the large anodes for aluminum smelting. Long, hot days accented the project, and nothing we removed, the cribbing, or the jacks, was light, or what anyone would call clean. Much of it required a small forklift we placed in the pit with a crane. Pinching, crushing, smashing, and bumping body parts was always a threat, and everyone had to keep their head on a swivel to avoid being the damage from a mistake. 

Access to the pit was down a ladder mounted to the concrete wall. It didn't have a cage, which inspired this post. Normally, a ladder that is taller than a few feet has a cage. It prevents completely falling backward from a ladder, and gives a connection point for a harness. They are more than necessary, and in the past, when climbing a taller ladder, I felt much safer knowing I had more to grab onto if I lost my footing. 

When the car was dumped, there was only about two feet between the swinging machinery and the ladder. Access to the pit was never allowed without a lockout tagout procedure that guaranteed the electricity was isolated, and the assembly was allowed to freewheel into it's balanced position. That was all complete before we started, but member of the company crew that were involved with original changing of the sleeves had a story to tell. 

They were preparing for the process, the crew was preparing to remove some equipment to allow the dumper to be lifted, and someone thought about what they hadn't done. The brake needed to be released to allow the dumper to seek it's static balance...so they did. 

In a normal lockout tagout procedure, energy is removed, and that includes stored energy, such as a car dumper seeking static balance. This is completed when nobody can be injured by the process. Failing to do so can lead to some dangerous situations.

One of the crew, I'll call him Gene, which happened to be what can only be described as a large man, was on the ladder and nobody noticed, didn't think about was about to happen, or really didn't care for the man (I didn't care for him either, he was a constant ass-kissing annoyance). The brake was released, the entire dumper swung down, and Gene sucked everything in hoping it was enough. It was, but not by much, and the event still haunted him. Getting crushed by something big enough to dump a loaded rail car is a sobering thought. 

We completed the project, I imagine our less expensive maintenance procedure allowed an engineer to put a feather in their cap. I was glad to think going home didn't mean a long time washing off the grime accumulated during the day. Petroleum coke is a nasty thing to deal with, and it takes days to sweat out what accumulates in the pores. White underwear is a waste of money, since it becomes gray after working in the facility.  The carbon doesn't wash completely away, and can even cloud glass after a long period of time.

As for Gene, years later, he managed to injure himself by not following a safety procedure. He eventually returned to work, but the last I heard, he wasn't working there any longer.

Change in Life

After 46 years of early days, brutal weather, fatigue without parallel, and debilitating stress, I'm going to hang it up. It's time, since I've reached the point the daily grind has lost importance. Call it "not giving a crap" syndrome. When is the question. It will either be the first of December, the first of January, or when the syndrome takes complete control, and I turn in my keys. That may be Monday.

Finding Things You Don't Want to Find

Yesterday, after my truck's dashboard lit up, and my brakes did a short nosedive, I found brake fluid pouring from the right rear wheel. My first thought was "Oh crap" and called someone to help me with what I knew was a daunting task.

I helped change the rear brake shoes a few months ago. That's what concerned me, since everything seemed good after the job. I figured the wheel cylinder started leaking, which is usually just a seep; not fluid pouring on the ground.

I pulled the truck into the shop at work and jacked up the rear right side. After removing the wheel, and hub (The hub won't come off without using a 3/8" bolt in the special threaded holes) I found one of the plungers on the wheel cylinder pushed completely out. More inspection revealed what appeared to be a missing spring. Since I didn't have a diagram, I had to jack up the other side to see the brake assembly.

Sure enough, a spring was gone. Where it went? I don't know, but it wasn't in the hub. We'd put it back on after the last brake job....at least I thought we did. I doubt the brakes would have lasted ten minutes without it.

Anyway, long story short, I didn't have any help, and what should have been a two hour project turned into four. That, and scurrying around under a pickup finds muscles that are not used often, and show their dissatisfaction by aching. I did put new springs on the assembly, with new shoes, and cussed the keeper springs designed by a sadist engineer from hell.

For some reason, Chevy put rear drums on certain pickups. Mine is one, and brake work is a nightmare compared to changing pads on a disc brake system. Still, changing rear shoes is usually only about every 150,000 miles, so the problem is not one experienced often. 

Probably a Bad Day

I have a friend that was working a "turnaround" years ago. What's a turnaround? It's when a unit in a petrochemical facility is brought down for maintenance, or repair.

Turnarounds are expensive; very expensive. Beside the coordination, multiple units involved, and the loss of product, the enormous cost is almost mind boggling. The labor costs are extremely high, since the hours demanded are 7 day weeks, with 10 to 12 hour days. Sometimes, the cranes alone to remove components take weeks to assemble, and the hourly rates are 5 figure numbers. With all the additional equipment and materials involved, a few million dollars can disappear in a week.

My friend was working for one of the contractors at the end of the turnaround. At that point, all the pipes were back together, things were being checked, and the manways were buckled up. It was time to start the startup procedure, which required a head count before proceeding.

They were missing someone. Double checking revealed no error, so the large scale checking began. Hours were spent, but they still couldn't find the missing man. The next step required removing manways to see if the missing man was inside the unit. That's when what I consider a bad day became worse.

The missing man, since there are so many involved, figured out he could slip through a fence, go home, and spend the day doing what he wanted. He would slip back in before quitting time, and nobody was the wiser....until that evening. When he appeared, and the head count became accurate, it was obvious he was the "missing man".

The man was fired, which didn't really make much of a difference. For all practical purposes, he was useless, and the contractor found their supervision practices under the microscope. The plant manager would have to do a report, and I know that was not a pleasant thing to turn in.

So it was a bad day for all involved, but the unit was brought back on line. If it was like most of these units, the revenue paid for the turnaround in a short period of time.