The Main Parallelogram

I am working on a step-through bicycle frame - a design which is simultaneously common and unusual. It is common if you look around the streets of Boston, which are teeming with vintage step-throughs. And it is unusual considering that no one I know has built this exact style of frame. Mixtes and modified step-throughs yes. But not plain step-throughs where the top and down tubes are parallel. In fact, this bicycle does not even have what can be called a main triangle. It is a main parallelogram.




The head tube and the seat tube are also parallel lines - each at a 72° angle. This double set of parallels makes for an interesting visual pattern.






For this frame I used straight gauge tubing, so that I could practice cutting and brazing unsupervised without worrying about butting and thin walls. The hardy tubing should also minimise flex and twist in the step-through design, as well as make it possible to store the finished machine outdoors and generally treat it as a beater bike.






The joints will be fillet brazed (lugless) - partly because I would like to practice fillet brazing, and partly because there isn't currently a reliable source for a step-through lugset. Fillet brazing requires using brass as the filler material and heating up the joints considerably more than you would with lugged silver brazing. Since I am using straight gauge tubing, this should not be a problem. The only thing I am a little nervous about is the bottom bracket. With a lugged bottom bracket, the tubes are inserted into hollow sleeves, allowing you to look inside after brazing and check whether the filler material has pulled through properly. With a plain shell like the one pictured here, this cannot be done. I've considered using a lugged bottom bracket while fillet brazing the rest of the joints, but ultimately decided against that. I'll just have to be especially diligent in this area.






My goal in making this frame was to get some practice with basic technique without having to worry about thin wall tubing, unusually wide tires or multitudes of braze-ons. However, it was also crucial to me that I ride the finished bike as much as possible as part of everyday life, and I knew that would not happen with a plain diamond frame. The resulting compromise was a single speed 26" wheel step-through with a raked-out fork. Basically very similar to the prototypical English "Sports Roadster," but with lower trail.






Getting the slanted top tube was in a sense straightforward, but not without its quirks. To start with I specced out the slope to match the angle of the downtube. Funny thing though: When the angles were mathematically identical they looked off to the human eye (several spectators confirmed this), so in fact the tubes had to be not quite parallel in order for them look right. Paul Carson taught me how to use his notching lathe, and none of the notches were problematic except for the top head joint. That one had to be adjusted repeatedly to make the angle look right - but finally it got there.




As the mocked up tubes are starting to look bike-like, those who see the beginnings of this frame tend to have an "Aha, I know what kind of bike this is!" type of reaction. It's been nice to get that feedback. While the first frame I made was done in the privacy of a teacher-student environment, now I am working in a shared shop space with loads of people around. Random people passing through will ask what I am working on, and repeatedly I find myself articulating not just the concept of the frame but the step-by-step process of building it. No doubt this recital helps me make more sense of the process myself.

Buster, Rover, and Bootsie

Late summer 1949 - Becky, Dad, Shep, and Doug.
1988 - Buster and one of my nieces.
1988 - Rover and Bootsie
1988 - Bootsie on top of her doghouse.
August 1992 - Bootsie

Growing up, the only pets we ever had were dogs. For whatever reason, Mom didn't like cats, so dogs it was! We went through quite a few of them. They tended to disappear though. Some got run over by cars, others were shot by irate neighbors or hunters. So we learned to enjoy them while they were around but almost never got "attached" to them. Of course, we were saddened when they were gone but another dog was there to replace them almost immediately. The two that I remember most during my high school days are Lady and Missy. Lady was a dachshund and Missy was a mixed breed. After I left home and while in the Navy I didn't have any pets. It wasn't until much later in my life that dogs became family members.

About 1981, my sister got Buster. I think he was a mix of poodle and some kind of terrier. Not tiny, but he was a small dog. He was also a fierce protector of my nieces. When my sister moved to Florida in the fall of 1988 she left Buster with one of her neighbors. Due to unforeseen circumstances my nieces came to live with my mother and me. They immediately asked if they could get Buster back. We checked with the neighbor and she agreed to let us have Buster and that is how he came to live with us. By the time he passed away five years later, he was blind and could hardly walk. We came home one day and found him dead.

In the previous year, 1987, my mother and I had purchased a vacant, old, run-down farmhouse. It was a fixer-upper but the price was right and it came with two acres of land. Almost immediately, we got dogs. They were drifters, just passing through, or dropped off by motorists. They didn't stay long though. We decided to get our own dog hoping it would stay around for a while and keep the strays away. Thus, Rover, a German Shepherd was given to us by a co-worker. He was only a couple of months old and kind of a klutz. He never did grow out of the awkwardness. About this time we also took in my brother's dog, Bootsie. She was about two years old and was a mix of Springer Spaniel and black Labrador. Though older than Rover, Bootsie was still kind of a klutz too. She had spent much of her day-time life in a cage. So she really didn't like to be confined.

So now we had three dogs! And wonder of wonders, they all got along pretty well together. Buster stayed inside most of the time while Bootsie and Rover were outside dogs. We kept Bootsie and Rover on chains most of the time. We'd let one of them loose at a time so they could run but if they were both loose at the same time, they'd sometimes be gone for days. They loved to run. Rover was the plodder and Bootsie was the graceful dame. She loved to sit on top of her doghouse. She could jump on top of it with the greatest of ease. All Rover could do was get his front paws on top.

One summer Bootsie was diagnosed with heartworm and we had to keep her and Rover separated while she underwent the treatment. Bootsie was moved down to the barn and Rover was kept up by the house. It was just awful, like a couple of kids crying constantly. Night time was the worst though, they sounded like wolves howling. It was funny and sad all at once.

We decided to put in a fenced area so the dogs wouldn't have to be chained. Great idea, right? A five-foot high fence was installed around a large area, 30x60 feet and their dog houses moved inside. We should have known it wouldn't work. We kept seeing Bootsie outside the fence when no one had let her out. One day I happened to see how she did it. Amazing really. She'd get a running start and jump, getting her front paws just over the top of the fence, then using her back paws and the wire fence push and claw her way over the top to freedom. So we sometimes just let her go but when we needed to keep her in the dog run with Rover we'd chain her up inside. If she wanted to get away from him all she had to do was jump on top of the dog house!

Rover made it through about three years. He liked to chase vehicles and one day got too close to a tractor pulling a plow. He made his way back to the house where we found him, still breathing but not long for this world. I stayed by his side until he passed away. Bootsie came up a couple times, sniffed and walked away. It was like she knew. We buried him out back behind the barn, where a few years later Buster joined him.

After Rover died, Bootsie pretty much stayed around the property so we took down the fence and just let her run loose. She also started spending the nights in the house. Bootsie had done a great job of killing the ground hogs and other vermin and liked to bring "trophies" home to us. One time I saw her across the field dragging something along. It was almost as big as she was and she was having one heck of a time pulling it across the field. She finally gets it up to the back steps and just plops down, exhausted. Really gross. The head and part of the carcass of a calf. We contacted our farmer-neighbor not quite knowing what to think. He laughed when we told him what Bootsie had done and then told us not to worry. For whatever reason the calf had been killed and the carcass had been dumped on the field along with manure for fertilizer. The remains of the calf were buried after Bootsie finished wallowing in it. The smell was horrific. And Bootsie got a bath.

For a while we thought we were going to have to have Bootsie put to sleep. She was having trouble walking and climbing the stairs. She slept upstairs in my room at night. In a visit to the vet we found out she had hip problems. He thought he could fix her up without surgery, which was a relief. I don't remember how many shots she had but he gave her something that was normally only used on horses, but it fixed her up and she was better than ever after the treatments.

When we sold the farmhouse in the fall of 1997 and moved to a subdivision near Columbia City we took Bootsie with us. She was fine with the move but because we were living in a more settled area, dogs were not supposed to run loose. She had to be kept on a leash or chained up while outside. And, of course, she didn't like that. She also didn't like loud noises, like thunderstorms and fireworks. The week of the Fourth of July the following year about did her in. She'd climb up on my lap, mind you she was a fairly large dog, and just lay there and shake. There really wasn't anything I could do to help her. Mom suggested giving her a sleeping pill thinking it might relax her. I called the vet and he said half a pill wouldn't hurt her, so with half a sleeping pill every night that week she endured that Fourth of July.

Another year went by and it was getting harder and harder to get Bootsie to go outside. She'd go on the leash if we told her we were going for a walk but she barked constantly when chained up. During the day, while I was at work, she spent most of her time in the garage. She wasn't eating much either and she started snapping at passersby. So it was in June of 1999 that I took Bootsie to the vet one last time. I couldn't bear to see her put under so just left her with the vet. As she was walking away she stopped and turned and looked at me with those soulful eyes. She knew. I was fine until then. And then the tears came, as they are now, while writing this, nine years later. I was supposed to go in to work that day, but didn't. I just drove around, crying. All day long.

Every once in a while Mom and I would talk about getting another dog, but we never did. The house has been sold, and now, living in an apartment just isn't conducive to pet ownership. I was never into birds or cats or fish. Someday, maybe I'll have another dog...

This post was written for the 50th Carnival of Genealogy whose topic is "Family Pets!"

A Dabble in Route Planning

The past year has been a great eye-opener for me as far as finding new places to ride in an area I thought I'd exhausted. In particular, I've been impressed by local randonneuse Pamela Blalock's ability to design routes entirely along back roads, with minimal motorised traffic. This style of route involves more climbing than typical, and, at times, some intense navigation. But having gotten used to both, I've come to appreciate the opportunities routes like this provide: to travel on my bike largely undisturbed by cars, and to truly get to know an area, with all its hidden scenery and useful shortcuts.I also appreciate that Pamela's routes are not a matter of luck or psychic powers, but of dedicated research and strategic exploring.






Until recently I did not feel sufficiently confident in my navigation skills to try this myself, butnow that is changing. I am planning a ride heading North, and getting out of Boston straight up the coast is a thoroughly unpleasant business. There is no good way to do it; for the first 10 miles it is all dangerous roads and lots of congestion. So I wanted to plan a route that would swing out west and come around from there, connecting to the northern route at a point where it calms down. This adds about 30 extra miles to the start of the trip, but I will take 40 pleasant miles over 10 unpleasant ones any time.






In planning the westward route extension, my goal was to try and do it along lightly traveled back roads, possibly with some unpaved stretches. I started by studying similar routes that go through the area, combining and modifying them based on personal experience, maps, and educated guesswork, until I'd strung something together that went where I needed it to go. I loaded the route onto GPS, printed out a cue sheet, and got on my bike to test out my handiwork.






For my first time trying something like this, it wasn't bad. There were lots of turns that would drive some people nuts and a few awkward climbs - the kind where a climb starts right after a sharp turn, catching you by surprise, so that you're downshifting madly from a high gear. This I didn't mind, particularly since I was the only vehicle on the road much of the time. But there was also a couple of mistakes/ surprises - not necessarily bad, but educational.






My route included a few unpaved trails, all except one of which I was already familiar with. The one I was not familiar with turned out to be more technical than I'd expected.






A shortcut through the woods, the narrow bumpy trail wound its way downhill between trees rather tightly. I was able to ride it, but made a note to avoid it on skinny tires, in wet weather and in the dark. Looking at the map, I saw there was a way to circumvent the woods on the road, so I then went back and tested that stretch to make sure it was a sufficiently traffic-free alternative.






While not ideal for all bikes and all occasions, this trail proved to be incredibly scenic this time of year. For much of it, I cycled under a canopy of budding magnolia blossoms.The sun brought out their colours against the blue sky, and the warm weather brought out their scent.






Riding here, I felt as if I'd been gifted a rare glimpse into something special and rare. Only for 2 weeks of the year do these flowers blossom. And all it takes is one windy, rainy day, for all this tentative pinkness to be stripped off its branches before the flowers even fully open up.






Spring is such a delicate time of the year. The greens are pale, the tangled trees are transparent like lace. In the summer this will all become fuller, heavier, thicker - a dense fabric.






Even moss is paler and softer. I love coming back to the woods season after season and seeing it all change.






Further along, I found myself on a stretch of road that was much busier than expected. So I changed course in hopes of finding a better alternative. On the map I saw a tangle of side streets that it looked like I could ride through to get to my next point, skipping the busy road. So I did just that, and found myself in a cul-de-sac neighbourhood situated on a substantial hill. Looking for the best route, I ended up going over this hill several times from different directions, until I found the sequence I was happiest with.




On one of the streets I passed a group of small boys with their kids' bikes. The poor things could only ride them up and down short stretches in front of their house before the road became too steep. Seeing me continue all the way up the hill, the boys stopped what they were doing, stood still and stared, saying "Whoa, I want to do that!" and "That's a nice bike, lady!" They had not reached that age yet where youthful mockery becomes hard to detect; it was clear their delight was genuine.






Later, I encountered a woman walking a llama, as casually as if she were walking a dog. Normally I am not good at making quick u-turns, but this time it was no problem (llama!).






Heading home along a quiet trail, I realised that in the course of the past 50 miles there had only been a few stretches with noticeable car traffic. And now that I had a better understanding of the neighbourhoods around those stretches, I could make changes to improve those parts as well. It wasn't perfect, but I am pretty happy with my first serious attempt at backroad route planning. Even the parts that did not go as expected allowed me to explore and discover interesting pockets I would have otherwise missed.




Having a network of new, "secret" as some locals refer to them, routes through familiar areas is extremely exciting and a great way to travel. I am looking forward to doing more of this!

Yucca

We had a yucca growing right beside the horse pen this year. Stormy, our little pony decided to sample the blossoms.

More Bonanza

This newspaper clipping shows Michael Landon - Little Joe, Dan Blocker - Hoss, and Pernell Roberts - Adam.

Avalanche!

Photo courtesy of Tunc Findik and theMirror


A couple of years ago on ourfirst day of the season in Chamonix two buddies and I took the tram up to the top of the Grand Montets for some fresh air, to stretch our legs from the traveland to get a feel for the place.



Like ANY mountain environment it is a BIG place!



A few minutes later both of my friends were swept away in an slab avalanche. They took a 1/3 of a mileride and both were totally buried at some point. Thankfully both survived with only minor physical injuries. Mentally I hope that neither will ever be the same. I hope that experience haunts them both forever. Hopefully they willalways be more considerate ofthe terrain and snow conditions now. Then worry aboutwhat they want to be doing.



Thatisn't my only nightmare about snow. I intentionally try to remember them all every time I go into the mountains again. And the friends that are no longer around for a simple mistake.



Every year several people die in avalanches very close to where I live. It is a maritime snow pack here. Lots of snow here and rapidly changing conditions. But not all that different really from any other mountains I have lived in. The Rockies orSelkirks are notall that much different. Most of the year they are ourplay grounds. Part of the year they are death traps.



Knowing the difference is like playing ball at the school yard or playing ball in the middle of a busy freeway. Sounds just like alpine climbing doesn't it? Two people died over the weekend within miles of my house. Others were injured. I drove an extra hour to spent the weekend skiing in the relative comfort of a ski area and several thousand feet higher in elevation. Skiing inwhat was likelythe last big winter storm cycle of the year. Even insidea controlled and skier packed ski area the conditions were rapidly changing and iffy IMO on certain aspects at different times during the day. Pays to notice such things. No one owes you a freebie...even the ski area or their Ski Patrol.



Early in that stormwe were skiing 2 feet or more of lwt powder laid ona rain layer that had frozen solid prior to the newest snow fall. Imagine that potential on even moderate slopes. The lower you went on the mountain, the higher the moisture in the new snow pack. And the higher a chance of a dangerious slide. The elevation whereI got on the liftbecame a death zone with a bigger dump of snow in such a short time. The higher you got, the less problematic the conditions were...that day...where i was. And that wasjust a few air miles away from the fatal slides.



Miles Smart, an American Alpine guide living in Chamonix posted this on Facebook today with a good photo selection, "One of today's many avalanches. It was a good day to have a beer in the sun wearing flip flops."



You don't have to be aUIAGM mountain guide to know when it is best to stay out of the mountains or find a betterplace to enjoy them. Being in a developedAmericanski area doesn't eliminate all risk. Nothing does. And it isn't wilderness. But better to be around people for a day in thesnow than found buried in it.



Trust no one. Make your own decisions. Inthe case of snow conditions? Always error on the side of caution. It is only luck that gives you "overs" in an avalanche.



Below, is the the run out, at the scene of the crime, in . Literally a 5 minute walk or less from the lift.






Kinda looks like a gianthead stone doesn't it?

Three Nomics are buried there now. Luckily no Americans ..this time.

Phend-Fisher Family Reunion Ledger - 1916

1916 - Eighth Reunion

[page 1]
The Phend reunion was held June 24, 1916 at the home of Will Phend. there were 61 present to enjoy the bountiful dinner and the good times following. Victor Phend spent his last day with his relatives before departing for the Mexican border.

The total expense of reunion for the year 1916, was $10 all made up in collection. No balance.
Officers for the ensuing year are as follows
Pres. Will Phend
Sec'y Mrs. Mary Phend
Treas. Jacob Phend

Following election of officers was prayer by Jacob Phend
A short talk by Chirst Phend
Oldest present Jacob Phend age 89 June 27 1916
Youngest Mary Alice Phend age 14 mo.
Blanche Evelyn Heckman age 15 mo.

[page 2]
Marriages -
Cecil Phend
Ivy Phend
Waldo Phend
Ivy Senff

Births
Delta Conrad
Cecil Phend. daughter 4th of April

[those who attended]
Mr & Mrs John Phend
Mr & Mrs Henry Phend
Gladys Phend
Bernice Phend
Donal Phend
Vergil Phend
Paul Phend
Gerald Phend
Mr & Mrs Christ Phend, Mary
Mr & Mrs W A Phend
Mr & Mrs F. A. Wehrly } LaMarr & Evelyn
Mr & Mrs Herly Phend
Mr. & Mrs. Harry Phend and Mary Alice.
Mr & Mrs Ivo Phend
Mr. & Mrs Harvey D. Senff
Lucile Senff, Arlena Senff.
Mr. & Mrs. Ralph Albert

[page 3]
Mr. & Mrs. Archie W. Senff
Wilbur R. Senff
Lulu Conrad
Lucile Conrad
Harley Conrad
Mabel Heckaman
Jacob J Phend
Jacob Phend Sr
John W. Miller
Mrs J. W. Miller
Violet Miller
Mr & Mrs Jacob E. Senff
Ruth Senff
Lawrence Senff
Hilda Senff

The Phend-Fisher families gathered for a reunion in Elkhart County, Indiana almost annually from 1909 until 1943. Usually held at Nappanee, the events of the day were recorded in an old ledger book. Spelling has been retained as it was in the original though some punctuation and paragraph breaks have been added. To view all articles in this series click on the "Phend-Fisher Reunion Ledger" label at the bottom of this post.

The Ninilchik Russian Orthodox Church

The Holy Transfiguration of Our Lord Church sits atop a bluff overlooking Cook Inlet south of Soldotna in the tiny community of Ninilchik. We stopped there on the way to Homer because “The Milepost” (the travel guide we're using) stated that this church was a popular tourist site on the Kenai Peninsula with beautiful views of Cook Inlet.

The church was picturesque as was the cemetery. The church has an active congregation and there were several recent burials in the cemetery.

According to an entry in Wikipedia, the top bar of the double cross may represent the death of Jesus and the second one may symbolize his resurrection, but it could also be the cross beam on which Christ's wrists or palms were nailed. The bottom, slanted bar may represent a footrest where Jesus' feet were nailed to the cross. Another interesting interpretation has a much deeper meaning: The bottom bar may represent a balance of justice. Some sources suggest that, as one of the thieves being crucified with Jesus repented of his sin and accepted Jesus as the Messiah and was thus lifted into Heaven, the other thief rejected and mocked Jesus and therefore descended into Hell.

And even though Mother Nature wasn't cooperating (clouds and rain all day long), the view from the bluff was still quite beautiful. A portion of the town of Ninilchik and Cook Inlet (at low tide) seen from the bluff.

A Monster at Sunset...

One evening I drove up to Massai Point (6,883 feet above sea level and one of the highest points in Chiricahua National Monument) for the sunset and played with some shots of one of the stone formations...

The glowing “eye” sure made it look creepy.

But the glowing mouth was really weird.

Walking off into the sunset...

Sure doesn't look the same in the light of day!

'Twas another glorious sunset!

Gloomy Evening at Whitecaps Point

Last night's sunset wasn't much of a sunset at all, with dark clouds dominating the sky. It was still very much a scene worth photographing, however. The dark clouds and dark foreground rocks made for an ominous image. I thought the grasses in the foreground made for a nice touch to the overall scene. Hard to believe that we are a week into December already and there isn't a lick of ice to be found anywhere along this shoreline!

Lewis & Clark Bridge

Going south from Washington state to Oregon state.

Feedstore Animals

we went to a feedstore one evening to get some feed tubs for my horses, (heck of a note when you go 250 miles to get feed tubs for horses), Landmark Feedstore in Mesquite, NM. They have a few animals for people to see such as Clyde the Camel, a steer, a bison, some miniture donkeys, a horse, some pigs, and sheep. It was almost dark but the photos didn't come out that bad.