Mounted bicycles: (John)

      John the blacksmith. -I got to beat stuff with a hammer! (Now I know why blacksmiths are so BIG. :) )

      Getting towards the end---John, me--mounting one of the "lift handles":

      Robert, John, Vic---the finished craft:

      :)

      No account of our craft's construction is complete--without a picture of my welding shield:

      :) It is a fully functional welding shield---in the shape of a polar bear's head.  (I had remembered everything I needed in order to weld from Pennsylvania---except the welding shield!! I had to buy this new one.) The guy at the welding shop told me they couldn't keep them on the shelves--they sold so fast.  :)

      A couple of interesting things happened during the construction.  While taking apart an exercise treadmill (We had originally planned to have sled dogs, running on treadmills, powering the paddlewheels.  :) ), I found an electric motor--bearing a tag that told me it had been constructed in Carlisle, Pennsylvania.  I grew up not 20 miles from Carlisle.  ( :O ) -It really made me think: Sitting there on the ground, ~28 degrees further north---and 5,000 miles away. . . .

      I learned a meatspace lesson from all this---namely, why one doesn't paint in the rain.  :P :( It COST US A DAY (for our working surface (the deck) to dry)---maybe even our having the "dog power" of the drivewheels, and thus our taking a place in the event. :O :( (I still believe---that if we had had those sled dogs powering the paddlewheels--that we would've won a paddle.  :( :( )

      I did, however, learn that I possess a meatspace skill: I can cut very round, very regularly-shaped wooden wheels with a skillsaw.  Had it not been for this project, I may well have gone my entire life without ever knowing that I had such a skill. . . .  :)

      Something else happened---and I'm not sure if this is funny, or not.  It happened on the day with all the nasty clouds, I think. . . .  One day I got there before everyone else.  So, I just "carped out" on the deck of our craft.  I noticed someone over by a shed, just sitting there in his car---and sitting there, and sitting there. . . .  Finally I took a closer look--and figured it out.  It was some sort of security/police officer.

      After lurking there for over an hour and a half ("That guy over there in the car has been sitting there for over an hour and a half.  He's security--and he thinks he's undercover.  I've tried to act suspicious (sic).  -I'm just not any good at it." :) ), he finally takes off.  Then, they make 2 or 3 passes with one of their SUV's.  (It's good to know just where our tuition is going. . . .  :P :) ) And it's obvious: We're working on some kind of boat---grieviously suspicious activity, I'm sure.  :) Finally, they send this totally ridiculous "undercover agent" over (I mean, he was in a "Hawaiian shirt" and shorts---and beyond totally unconvincing (Hmm. Maybe more like "pathologically obvious. . . ." :) ) in demeanor.)--to "pump us for information."

      Now, this is probably not something that a Christian should do--but one of my true joys in life, is totally f . . . er, "messing" ( :) ) with people who think they're undercover.  (It you really, truly wish to enjoy this sort of thing, stop at any rest area or park in Upstate New York with out-of-state plates.  You won't have to wait very long for your chance.  :) ) "You look familiar---do you work at the GI? -How about the Natural Sciences Facility?"

      You know, in the seventies, the U.S. really was the best place to live in the entire world.  -And one of the things that made it so great was totally reasonable law enforcement, who would just come up and ask what you were doing (and it you weren't doing anything to endanger yourself or others, or their property, they WENT AWAY)---not these lurking parasites, desperately trying to catching one at anything (for a chance to extort some money--that, ultimately, some of which ends up in their hands. . . .)--or perhaps a chance to pointlessly throw their authority around, thinking that this might somehow compensate for their not having any control, growing up in the trailer park.

Sigghhhh. I guess that one is a train long gone by. . . .