I’m about to link to a happy tidbit: The lightbulb mandate has been reeled in. Here’s my personal reaction to this small improvement in liberty.

Hurray!

Now for some bullet points:

1. Any liberty, even one that’s minor and irrelevant… makes me happy. I like liberty. Much of the population loves building cages and a significant part likes living in them. I’m not of that ilk. I can choose among lightbulbs all on my own, thank you very much.
2. I almost always buy efficient objects of my own accord as soon as the ROI pencils out. Of my own accord is a key factor. Choice matters to me. Getting bitched at about how you illuminate your house isn’t a train ride to Auschwitz but every choice lost and indignity accepted is teaching you to peacefully comply on that day.
3. Nobody writing EPA regulations has a clue what my life is like. They haven’t hammered a frozen water can with a block of wood while half blind in a dimly lit chicken coop. Regulators have no idea what lights are best for a chicken coop but here’s the punchline… they don’t know about any other part of any person’s life either. Nobody knows what’s best for you but you… and half the time you don’t know either.

Finally one last bullet point which outweighs all others.

• It was never intended that things go this far! English colonies didn’t defeat a king and form a Federation of States just so they could control the citizen’s lives from afar. We are citizens. We are not widgets to be managed or subjects born to serve. Whenever a jackass in an office building in another timezone decrees how we should live our life, they’ve gone too far. We ought to say “fuck you” and kick the self-righteous asshole in the balls. They’ve only become bold in response to our unwise reluctance to administer the ass kicking they deserve. It’s almost like they’re poorly raised toddlers in need of discipline; they’re begging for a time out. They need it and perhaps subliminally want it.

I enjoy every liberty, no matter how small. Regaining one that was recently lost is extra tasty. It’s what winning feels like.

A.C.

P.S. If you’re reading this and think I’m somehow opposed to LEDs you’re missing it. Unplug from the matrix, spit out the kool-aid, and shake off the propaganda. Efficient lighting is awesome. When it’s my choice and when it works I’m all about new gadgets. I happily installed two new LED fixtures in Curmudgeon compound just this year. I like both. The point is that I chose them. Duh!

I’ve added another bit to my Quotes & Poems page. I added a quote from Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago.

“And how we burned in the camps later, thinking: What would things have been like if every Security operative, when he went out at night to make an arrest, had been uncertain whether he would return alive and had to say good-bye to his family? Or if, during periods of mass arrests, as for example in Leningrad, when they arrested a quarter of the entire city, people had not simply sat there in their lairs, paling with terror at every bang of the downstairs door and at every step on the staircase, but had understood they had nothing left to lose and had boldly set up in the downstairs hall an ambush of half a dozen people with axes, hammers, pokers, or whatever else was at hand?… The Organs would very quickly have suffered a shortage of officers and transport and, notwithstanding all of Stalin’s thirst, the cursed machine would have ground to a halt! If…if…We didn’t love freedom enough. And even more – we had no awareness of the real situation…. We purely and simply deserved everything that happened afterward.”

This is the ninth year (I forgot 2015 and 2018… whoops.) of a my Festivus Christmas tradition where we gather around the warm glow of the laptop and watch A Very Zombie Holiday.

I’ve added another bit to my Quotes & Poems page. I moved my favorite poem, Ozymandias (Percy Shelley, 1818) from my right margin. It’s a great poem but it deserves a better place than my dumbass margin.

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

I left the house in good condition but Mrs. Curmudgeon turned the dial to awesome. When I left there was this:

Not bad. I would’ve been glad to sit by the fire wiping out Kentucky’s best export but I had to run an errand. I did my task and pointed the Dodge back home. It was getting late. I texted Mrs. Curmudgeon:

“Heading home. Please pick up a six pack before the liquor store closes.”

I got home to find this!

If that’s not love I don’t know what is!

A.C.

P.S. In case you don’t know why coffee is for closers click here.

Winter hit like a freight train but it’s been a good time for me anyway. Partly because I’ve sparked at least ten dreamers and that makes me as happy as a Curmudgeon gets. Earlier this month I mentioned The Unlikely Voyage of Jack De Crow: A Mirror Odyssey from North Wales to the Black Sea. I also mentioned more popular books. To my delight and surprise, the obscure little book about a boat trip far outshone all others. (Also, everyone but me hates The Road. No regrets! I fuckin’ loved it.)

I’m an odd duck. I read Jack De Crow and it was on my wavelength. It inspired me. I built a tiny boat based on no knowledge, inadequate tools, optimism, and internet advice. Shockingly, the damn thing floated. (My novice construction wasn’t even particularly ugly. Turns out it’s not too hard to build a boat.) I spent part of last summer sailing in plywood bliss. It was the best thing I’ve done in years. There’s nothing quite like harnessing the wind in a craft you made… even if it is a tiny, boxy craft. I’m already planning new boat builds; some serious, some fanciful. I find myself staring at maps concocting new boat adventures and wondering if I’ll ever go there.

I don’t expect many people to think like me. I certainly didn’t expect the little book to appeal to “normal” folks at all. I felt silly mentioning it. I mention lots of things that make me feel silly, few of them gain traction.

I’m glad I did. The Great Database in the Sky tells me at least 10 people bought it. My blog is small time. My Amazon sales are miniscule. I never sell 10 of anything; much less an obscure book about a geeky English guy rowing down canals in Europe. Who knew? (Lest you think this is all commercialism, my cut of 10 books’ sales is less than I’d need to buy a six pack. The real payoff is that people are reading it.)

I’m going to spend Christmas imagining ten people in ten houses dreaming of ten adventures. That’s a happy thought if there ever was one!

…

Monster Hunter usually graces Christmas with a hilarious short story called “The Christmas Noun”. This is a delight and a huge imposition on a writer who’s actually making a living as an author. “Please spend half a month writing free shit to amuse me while neglecting your day job.” I’m always thankful when he posts it. This year it’s not showing up (or at least I haven’t noticed it). That’s cool. He’s got a life. I get that. Also, he cranked out something like 10 Christmas Noun stories over the years and that’s plenty to ask from anyone.

(Note: I also enjoy Dave Barry’s annual year in review. It’s not as good as Christmas Noun but I never fail to read it.)

Missing the Christmas Noun got me thinking. The dude’s busy but in our current society we need every joke we can get. Everyone in public is freaking out like a whiny little bitch and the nation (in fact many nations) seem poised to go full retard over the dumbest shit. It’s the kind of lemminglike madness that’s better greeted by a great big belly laugh than anger. (In fact, the stupid all around us seems to feed off anger. Starve it!)

We need satire and humor and just plain old joy to counteract the vinegar drinking scolds haranguing us at work and bitching at us on social media and barking from our telescreens. If only there was someone writing plain old funny stories.

Oh shit…

What’s the bumper sticker slogan? “Be the change you wish to see.” Something like that? (As an aside, I prefer “Peace through superior firepower” but that’s another topic and I never put bumper stickers on my vehicles anyway.)

I suck compared to Monster Hunter (and Dave Barry), but I already lit the imagination of 10 people and that’s something. And I’ve slacked off on writing. (A man gets busy y’all.) So, for Christmas Eve, I promise to post a prologue to the long neglected serialized novella Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels. Ideally, it’s going to be a single post (1,500 words or so).

Then, if I’m very lucky, perhaps I can get my head out of my ass and finish the next chapter. I started it many weeks ago but got derailed by everything. Soon, I’ll have a few days off work. It’s not easy to find the time but I’ll try. At the very least I promise a Christmas Eve post.

Merry Christmas, y’all.

The semi-enclosed Argo was shielding me from the cold… sorta… and I was having a ball. So why the heck shouldn’t I really test it?

This would’ve been wiser if I knew the area. The damn ATV ditch trail kept disappearing and urban sprawl was obviously encroaching rapidly on everything in the vicinity. I’d be chugging along the edge of a little cornfield on a clear ATV route and then suddenly I’d be scooting across a frontage road. I’d be like “WTF happened to the cornfield? I’m in the parking lot of a Pizza Hut!” It was confusing as all get out. (In retrospect I wish I’d stopped for pizza. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?)

Finally, a break! I spied a bit of that large trail system I’d groused about three posts ago. It was about a half mile away. I was nowhere near it and the land between us showed no ATV tracks. It was the kind of ugly reedy shit that just screams “protected”.

I was on the shoulder of a two lane divided non-interstate that had a lot of traffic. I think technically it’s called the “verge”? It’s the grassy part that slopes away from the road. It’s legal to be there on what’s called (euphemistically) the “ditch trail”. On the other hand, I didn’t see any ATV tracks. (This doesn’t mean it’s illegal, only that locals with ATVs know of a better route.) I decided to follow the road to the trail on the other side of a little swamp.

I charged out on the wide steep sidehill, well below the eye level of cars some 50 yards away and 10 yards above me. Rather unexpectedly, the damn terrain dropped out. The road stayed high and level but the adjacent ground dropped several dozen feet to a dense reedy mess at the bottom. It was about as steep as physically possible for that kind of soil. It was like God took a big open grassy football field and tilted it 60 degrees. (God knows how they mow the brush on the sidehill but the upper part was grassy. Twice a year using something with tracks I’m guessing.)

I slid on the seat (I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt!) and my feet had no purchase on the icy floor. Now I was practically prone on the stupid bench seat. Of course, the Argo didn’t give a shit. An ATV will react to a rider’s weight and they’re easy to roll. If I’d been on an ATV I’d have been lying in the mud 40’ below that spot. If I’d been in a wider UTV? I’m not sure. Well Curmudgeon, what did you just learn about the absence of ATV tracks?

Ironically, two deer stood on the steep hill munching grass. A zillion cars zooming by just 60 yards away but the deer were below the horizon and essentially invisible. Probably during hunting season there’s a thousand of them having a block party right at that spot. Clever critters. They hardly noticed me.

The Argo kept happily chugging along and I could be dead for all it cared. I kept my grip on the handlebars and aimed it DOWN so I could get my ass back in the seat where it belonged. By then I was at the bottom of the steep hill and the situation was a mess. The roadbuilders had just dumped a zillion yards of topsoil right on top of the area (swamp and all). Some half dead trees at the base were sticking out and beyond that was a sea of reeds. The edge was a brushy 10 yard wide wet confusing no-man’s zone of half frozen goop. I’d just driven right into it.

I was pretty sure the Argo would chug right through the center of that mess but who knows if the swamp was tied up in some paperwork definition of irreplaceable valuable wetland (notwithstanding they’d built a highway through it). Better to turn around in the impossibly tight spot without chewing up the reeds or getting stuck. I also wanted to get the hell out of there before someone noticed me and I wound up a laughing stock on social media somewhere. (That said, you could probably live a whole life just below passing car’s eye level and never be seen.)

I popped it into R and the beast crawled backwards up the very steep bank like it was just nuthin’! Wow! It didn’t even work hard. No spinning wheels, no loud motor noise, no shimmying… it just crawled out the mess where I’d put it like a dumbass. I broke out into a sweat but the Argo didn’t.

By then I’d had enough fun. Fuck the big trail system that I never found. I’d done a fair test of the Argo and that was the point. (I’d also changed my mood which was the true purpose.) Time to get back to my truck (and its heated cab).

Unfortunately, I had no clear idea how I’d gotten there. I just kept following the ditch trail more or less the way I’d came. It wasn’t exactly the same way but it was about right. Sometimes there were ATV tracks in the ditch, other times it disappeared into urban sprawl. I was pretty close to the dealer by then.

Then I spied it. The perfect test!

There was an area of ditch that was deeply filled with water. Flooded actually. It was about 8’ wide and maybe 40’ long. It was at least 2’ deep in the center… maybe more. It was technically in the “ditch trail” definition so why not?

I hopped out to put in the two drain plugs and then gingerly… ever so gently… drove it right into the water. Argos are supposed to float. I knew they’re amphibious. This is within their design specifications…

But, until you’ve done it, you’ve no idea! Holy shit it was awesome!

It crawled into the water (which was much deeper than I’d guessed) and then could tell from the feel that no wheels were touching the ground. Some of the water was iced over, but the Argo just smashed the thin ice. The Argo didn’t give a shit about anything really. I didn’t have to rev the engine or spin like a maniac. My feet didn’t get wet, a great splash didn’t erupt and make a mess, there was no drama at all. It slid into that spot like a duck taking to water.

I let off the throttle and just floated… amazed at what I’d just done. No shit, I’ve pulled trucks, cars, jeeps, tractors, and everything else into and out of water hazards and mud pits. I’ve a lifetime of training pounded into my head that games like this end with anything from an expensive repair to a ruined afternoon. Not so for the little Argo.

I was impressed. I named it!

“I shall call you… BattleDuck.”

Slow and easy I churned down the length of it. At the other end it caught traction easily and drove right out of the water, not so much as an inch of wheel spin. Wow!

That was so awesome! I turned around and went right back in, this time faster. I cruised to the end and back out. I think I was most impressed that I didn’t get even a drop of water on me. This was a freezing cold, hypothermia inducing, menace and the machine scarcely noticed it. BattleDuck was truly an amphibious machine. I paused and leaned over the side to check it out… I was in at least 4’ of water!

Then it happened. It’s not true that all fun leads to embarrassment but a lot does.

“What. The. HELL. Are. You. Doing!?!”

I was happily spinning down the water the third time when I heard someone shouting. I paused. I looked up. There was a guy on shore absolutely steaming with rage. He’d definitely like to kick my ass. He was accompanied by an older fellow, probably his father, who looked far less pissed but still somewhat unhappy.

What the hell was I doing?

From one point of view I was driving around in the legal ATV trail in an area that was formerly rural and had grown a lot lately.

From another point of view, I was a random asshole driving around in front of some dude’s radiator repair shop.

That’s not cool. I was super embarrassed.

“I am so sorry sir. I’m a total dick and I apologize.”

“GO. FIND. A. LAKE.”

Good point. Technically I hadn’t broken any rules but I had certainly been rude. I should have found a lake. I apologized as I started to churn to the exit point.

“Sorry, went for a test drive. Got lost. I promise you’ll never see me again.”

The father figure was mollified and chuckled a bit. This caused son to yell at him. “WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT!?!”

I’m sure it’s a faux pas to drive in some dude’s ditch but he was very pissed. Maybe he thought I was tearing up his grass? (I wasn’t, the tires weren’t even touching the ground… but how could he know that?)

By then the old guy was laughing, I was apologizing, the Argo was already crawling up onto the ground (not making any ruts!), and the dude was mad at everyone. “YOU’RE BOTH JERKS!”

I made a friendly hand wave, smiled as best I could, and (before he decided to get up close and personal) blasted down a paved frontage road at maximum Argo speed. He didn’t chase me. Whew!

Ten minutes later I’d turned it in at the dealer. “Gosh, I’m sorry but I may have pissed off a guy at the radiator shop nearby.” The salesdrone was unconcerned. “Meh, fuck him.” I suspect there’s more to the story than I know. He handed me a bunch of brochures and sent me on my way. They don’t bother hard selling Argos; either I’ll come back for it or I won’t.

Conclusion:

Argos are terrible at normal situations and so awesome at weird ones that I got screamed at by a radiator repair man.

I can’t afford an Argo but I grok their allure. I also get why you’d keep the thing far away from towns! I did feel sheepish that I’d done a rude thing… but it was one of those accidental events that just happens. Hopefully the guy finally calmed down and/or stopped yelling at his dad. I also hope y’all got a laugh out of my mild misbehavior.

Also, this happened a month ago. It tamed my Argo lust but didn’t put out the flame. I still miss BattleDuck.

Two months ago I got a tip from Bruce and Kristy. I spent the first half on a set of epic drill bits in October. I just spent the remaining half. In case you’re wondering how long I can savor a tip… the answer is apparently two months.

Here’s the “before” image. Isn’t it sad?

Here’s the “after” image. Isn’t it wonderful?

Merry Christmas y’all!

An Argo is basically a little personal tank. (With a definition like that, how could I not lust for one?) Tanks and dozers steer oddly. On a 6 x 6 Argo, three wheels on one side spin in perfect synchronization with themselves and completely independently of the three wheels on the other side. This is called “skid steer” and it’s pretty common on small heavy equipment such as a “Bobcat”. (BTW: Adding tracks to an Argo is mechanically simple. The only thing you need is a few hours and a wad of money.)

I was ready for a bit of a learning curve and was open to the new experience but holy shit the thing was a hot mess. It handled worse than I could possibly imagine. I was still on pavement and I realize “skid steer” sucks on payment but it felt like I was going to tear the thing in half just trying to get out of its parking spot. After a herky-jerky turn that would make a chiropractor anticipate future revenues, I lumbered down the pavement.

I tried to gracefully head toward the ATV trail but mostly I zigzagged like a drunkard. I had the grace of the helicopter with half of its rotor removed. How bad was it you say? Take a walrus, hit one flipper with a ball peen hammer, feed it two bottles of vodka, kick it in the balls, drop it off a roof, and set it on fire. It’ll still waddle across a parking more gracefully than a 6 x 6 Argo on dry pavement.

I’m sure I’d get better at steering with experience, but what a terrible starting point. Things improved mightily once I got on dirt. At this particular location there was an ATV “ditch trail”. Basically, that means ATV tracks along the road’s shoulder. It was mildly off camber, otherwise pretty flat, and no challenge at all for any ATV. The Argo is short and squat, being off camber doesn’t even bother it.

Every couple hundred yards the “ditch trail” is interrupted by a driveway or whatnot. This means there is a culvert over the ditch and you, the fool driving down the ditch, must climb up over the side of the ditch, cross the driveway, and then clamber back down. Speedy ATVs and hyped up snowmobilers use those natural “ramps” to “get some air” or alternatively “crash”. Since I could barely steer the damn thing, it took me a bit of zigzagging to get up the ramp and then back down but had to admit the Argo was completely unaware of the steep slope. After three or four repetitions I came to a realization: the ATV tracks swoop around the culvert in neat parabolic arcs but who gives a shit? At the next culvert I just drove straight into the ridge just to the side of the culvert, bounced over the driveway, and bounced back into the ditch. What a concept! Steering is a pain in the ass but then again you don’t really need to steer. Sure enough, as soon as I stopped trying to precisely control where the Argo went, the ride calmed down quite a bit. There’s some sort of Zen lesson here but suffice to say people who own Argos can just drive over shit; so why meddle with steering? (This wasn’t a hard-core trail so an ATV could have done about the same thing but it would have been different. Instead of worrying I was bashing an ATV’s delicate front suspension it seemed like an Argo is just built to do that.)

I was anxious to get away from the shoulder of a busy road but instead of turning into a dirt trail it just emptied out in the parking lot of a convenience store. Weird eh? I scooted across at maximum Argo speed and crashed back into the ditch on the other side without carefully looking that it was driveable. I’d only been using an Argo for 10 minutes and I was already plunging down embankments without worrying. I’m not sure what would stop an Argo but so long as nobody’s in the way you get fearless about trying new things.

Eventually I found some dirt trail and (finally!) encountered a smallish log that blocked half the trail. I wasn’t in real forest so that would have to do as a test. I could see how all the ATVs approached the obstacle, shifted to the side of the trail, and gingerly went around. I was already feeling pretty Zen about steering so I just crashed over it. I braced for a terrible impact but all that happened was “boink” and it was over. The Argo is a honey badger on wheels. It don’t give a shit.

Made a wrong turn somewhere and came to a dead end. In a UTV it would take a tight K turn to be headed back out. In an ATV it would take a sloppy K turn to be headed back out. With the Argo I just yanked the handlebars and it pivoted in its own length! I’ve never operated a machine that can turn as tight as an Argo.

Anyone who’s looked at Argos online asks “how fast they go”. There are two answers to this. The first and unavoidable answer is “they go fucking slow”. They have essentially no suspension (save the tires themselves) and “skid steer” does not lend itself to high-speed maneuvers. This leads to the second and more nuanced answer which is “you don’t want to go any faster without a suspension anyway”.

Being a proper test driver, I cracked the throttle all the way and just wound it up. I don’t remember exactly how fast I was going but was probably something like 30 mph. Given the Argo’s steering and suspension it was the equivalent of a Honda Civic going 10,000 mph. Soon I got with the program and slowed down. You simply don’t want to go 50 MPH in an Argo, when you’re sitting in one it’s pretty obvious why.

There are two surprising advantages to this. The first is (I know this is minor) but when I drive my ATV in cold weather the wind makes my eyes water terribly. (I need goggles but always forget them.) This didn’t happen in the Argo. The second advantage is that the motor just has all the juice you ever need. You don’t need to rev it up, you don’t need to wonder what gear you’re in, you don’t need to worry about keeping up momentum in a turn or traction while climbing a hill, and there’s no reason whatsoever to ever care about wind resistance.

I see two disadvantages to the low speed and overall awesome traction. The first is obvious, if you’re on a flat easy trail and you want to get from point A to point B and the distance is large, an Argo will drive you insane. On my last (only!) ride in 2019 I wound up a dozen odd miles from my truck as the sun was setting. I zipped home doing probably 45 mph. In an Argo I’d plod home much slower… or maybe just stop there and build a cabin. I suspect this is self-correcting, you’re not likely to get ridiculously far from your plans in a device that can’t go ridiculously fast in the first place. It’s definitely a relative thing. If ATVs didn’t exist, an Argo wouldn’t feel slow. If an Argo is out among ATVs it’s going to seem slower than it really is.

The second disadvantage is this. The damn thing is so good at crawling over stuff you tend to go find shit to “challenge it”. This could lead to issues.

And it did… more soon.