Cancer Report 05 -- Email Woes

I'm still alive. But Google has 86'd my email account, kicking messages back to the sender, causing many of them to think dire thots. So try this one:

veeduber@chuggers.net

My isp is a company NAMED 'ISP.' Cute name but a bad company. They made some kind of a deal with Gmail (eh?) which passes all of my messages to Google... who decides to shut down my account. Why? I've no idea. And I suspect Google doesn't either. But with the account shut down, any message sent to veeduber@isp.com would be rejected, causing the sender to think I'd died. Or something.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

It is 104' around our patio. And 294' from the kitchen door, down the front drive then up to where I park the bus, around the bus and down the back drive to the patio gate. Then thru the gate and back to the kitchen door. Two hundred and ninety-four feet.

Good exercise. Something to do, what with no emails to fill my morning.

The pain is almost entirely gone. That worries me a bit, wondering if something is about to break loose. Take the 'long' walk; try not to think about it.

5280 feet equals one mile. 1320 feet equals a quarter of a mile. Four-point-four times around the long walk is a quarter of a mile. I'm now strong enough to walk a quarter of a mile without falling on my face.

------------------------------------------------------------------

An Amateur Radio License is only good for ten years, after which you're expected to renew the thing. Mine expired on the 13th of February so I went to the FCC's web site, found out what I had to do to renew my license, and did it. Today a shiny new license arrived from the FCC. It's just a computer-printed page but one suitable for framing. There is also a smaller version you can cut out and tuck in your wallet although I'm not too sure why. I've never had anyone ask to see my ham radio license. Nor my pilot's license.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

It has been nine months since Alberto Bessudo told me I had cancer. I'm not in the hospital and all things considered, I'm not feeling too bad.

-Robert S. Hoover
-21 February 2009

ENGINE MOUNT

.
Engine Mount
(All photos courtesy of Mike Sample)

When you install the propeller on the clutch-end of the crankshaft it solves a lot of problems, such as having the nose of the crankshaft break off, taking your propeller with it. But like the man said, there's no such thing as a free lunch. Put the prop on the clutch-end of the crankshaft and you have effectively reversed its direction of rotation. That is, if you are sitting in the cockpit of your VW powered Dream Machine and you've mounted the prop on the fan-pulley hub, the propeller is rotating anti-clockwise. But if you have installed your propeller on the clutch-end of the crankshaft, to someone sitting in the cockpit the prop will be rotating in a clockwise direction. Kinda like it shows in the picture at the top of this article.

Another part of your No Free Lunch is having to carve a propeller for that direction of rotation. (Not to worry. I'll post a big, fat article showing you how to carve such a beasty.) This article will give you some idea of what you will need as an engine mount. The tubing is 3/4" x .049" The method of engine mounting also includes some means of shock absorbtion or vibration damping. In this case, the shock mounts are pre-molded rubber mounts usually sold as 'Lord' mounts. I'll include a drawing showing how to make them, as well as another type which uses simple rubber pucks. (The rubber pucks in Lord mounts are tapered on one end.)

As you can see in the photos, the engine mount is triangulated, taking advantage of the threaded busses found on all 1971 and later VW crankcases.

As you can see, a bed-type mount is used on the FRONT/LOWER mounting bolts.

(When dealing with Volkswagens everything is always called out relative to the vehicle. The forward-most crankshaft bearing -- the one nearest the flywheel -- is the #1 bearing and so forth. This is the convention used in more than twenty million Volkswagen engines over the past seventy-five years and I think you'll have to admit it would be rather silly to try and change things now :-)

You may also use individual mounts at this point, the crankcase providing more than enough strength. But the bed-type mount -- something to which you can weld a mounting tab -- offers a number of advantages when installing your oil cooler, carb-heat box and so forth.

Up to this point the mount is the Plain Vanilla version. The following photos show the mount modified to accommodate various cooling and exhaust systems.




Notice that the struts from the upper attachment points has been 'cranked' so as to allow more space under the cylinder barrels. This is to allow the cooling shroud to wrap around the cylinders and heads.

In this arrangement the dynamo is mounted directly to the crankshaft, eliminating the need for brackets, pulleys, vee-belts an so on. The goal here is to provide an engine installation designed for non-mechanics.

If a starter is required, it is installed on the top of the crankcase. It's ring-gear attaches to the crankshaft between the engine and the propeller hub. This will probably require a blister on most cowlings.

On some airframes the location of the gascolator will have to be changed to allow an unobstructed path for the LOWER/REAR threaded bosses. These were introduced by Volkswagen in 1969 to provide a hard-point for installation of a rear engine mount in the Transporter.

The LOWER/REAR mounting bosses are not symmetrical relative to the parting line of the crankcase, something you want to keep in mind when cutting your tubing.

As on all of the later-model engines, the threaded bosses are fitted with Heli-coil type thread inserts. The engine mount is attached to the crankcase with high-strength metric fasteners having drilled heads to accept safety wire.

The last two photos show the engine mount installed on an airframe (ie, look for the yellow paint). From this point on the installation becomes airframe-specific.




-R.S.Hoover

Club Med

.
Nope; no pictures. It isn't that kind of 'med.' This kind does chelation therapy for people without kidneys, and feeds cancer medicine to people like me.

I started going to Club Med in July, 2008, when I came home from the hospital. I was the newbie of course. Room full of geezers looking at me without looking, if you know what I mean. Geezers are good at it. Kids aren't. Little kid, say, six or less, will run right up to you, ask if you have cancer then tell you their mother's life story. How you handle it has a lot to do with how the Club members handle you.

People don't die at Club Med. They do that at home, or in the hospital. But before they do, they stop coming to Club Med. That's the part you notice. A different face plugged into Machine #3. Oddly enough, you never ask. You already know. And if you were close, you might reach for your cell phone. Or ask one of the nurses, to find out if you've still got time to send flowers. Or whatever.

Whatever else it is, Club Med is a business. It's there to make someone a profit and you have to remember that the profit comes first. No profit, no Club; it is not a charity. But right now -- and for the foreseeable future, business is good. Perhaps a little too good, from an humanitarian point of view. And while you may not know it, there's a Club Med near you! No, they don't want anything from you (well... mebbe not. I don't have a lot of experience with Club Med's. But most don't want anything from you... mebbe kid's toys at Christmas but they probably don't have to ask for stuff like that).

There's only two ways out of Club Med. You gain weight, grow hair, start to smile more often, pay more attention to how you dress. Then you vanish.

Or... you start turning kinda gray. Not your hair, your skin; all of you. You lose weight. Your smile becomes more hesitant, often fails all together, as if to say 'What the hell are you looking at! Don't you realize I'm dying here?) Well... yes, we do. And believe it or not, we'll miss you. But it's a path we all are one day going to travel, the only difference is that Club Med is a kind of short-cut.

Ol' Ironsides comes in both flavors, getting better and getting worse. They are typically 12V-Powered-Loners who arrive in their battery-powered wheel chair, don't need any help, thanks. And really don't. If they are male you can imagine them pumping iron down at the beach, soaking up some rays, playing catch with the kids. I see them out at the shooting range, raising hell with a hand-gun, which is usually somewhere on their person 7/24 because some folks think Ol' Ironsiders are an easy touch. They're not. Going armed doesn't mean they're looking for trouble. In fact, it usually means exactly the opposite.

But most Club Med members come in pairs, the patient plus... someone. 'Care Giver,' whateverthehell that means. My wife comes with me. Going by myself will mean I'm getting better. Stay tuned!

I did Club Med today to pick-up a Zometa refill.(*) I'm exercising more which means I'm hurting more and Zometa seems to help. Another newbie over in Chleation Row and for the life of me, I can't remember who was there just a week ago. Someone notices me looking and fills me in. Others join the conversation, people closer to him. Sudden. Some sort of stroke. I sense a feeling of relief. About the best some have to hope for is to die in their sleep.

Club Med.. It's not for the weak of heart.

-R.S.Hoover

(*) -- Part of my medication regimen is a periodic Zometa I.V.

THINKING SMALL

.
Need a drop of oil?

Sure you do. Everybody does, now & then.

Pocket-knife. Part of my Uniform, issued to me by the Navy in June of 1956. Good knife. The steel holds an edge. The blades pivot on either end. Keep the big blade 'knife-sharp,' the little blade 'razor-sharp.' (It has to do with the cross-sectional shape of the blade. Razor-sharp is a temporary thing; it dulls in a hurry; needs to be stropped back to sharpness. Knife-sharp isn't as sharp as a razor but it keeps it's edge longer. When it gets dull you sharpen it with a whetstone. Just a few strokes.

Oil a micrometer?!! Well... yeah, I guess so. After all, it's just a 40tpi thread inside a graduated barrel. But it doesn't need to be oiled very often; mebbe once every five years if you use it a lot.

Fan with Oilite bearings? Sure! Sez so, right there... little hole 'OIL.' And you are the Mechanic in Charge.

When it comes to lube-jobs we have a tendency to ignore the little jobs, like all those kitchen appliances you and your wife depend upon. But if you read the manuals you'll generally find some mention of lubrication, although many will want you to take it to a 'qualified repairman.' Which is you, by the way. Indeed, the main difference between a modern 'Lubricated for Life' partis that they make no provision for periodic lubrication. Most of today's cars are like that, with many key components being 'lubricated for life. But it turns out that their definition of 'life' can be as little as sixty-thousand miles, at which point you will be forced to buy & install a new part.

Kitchen drawers & cabinets? Yep. Tiny drop of oil every five years or so. Along with your home's door hinges, door knobs, latches, locks and so forth. But not always oil. Some call for a whiff of powdered graphite, like the door lock on your car or truck.

Sewing machine requires periodic maintenance, just like your car, boat or plane. And they'll usually tell you what oil to use.

Funny thing about oil: Provide something with a hole that sez 'OIL' and the odds are, it will get too much oil. The oil gets past the seals; gets into the motor which slings it all around. The oil collects fine-textured debris which eventually blocks the vents needed to allow the motor to cool properly. So they seal-up the oil holes, leaving you to go around, put your hand on the motor or gear-case to estimate the temperature. If you can put your hand on it, it doesn't need any oil. But if you can't touch it with your bare hand, then there's a good chance it needs to have it's lubrication replaced.'

Good motors, the sort of thing you find on ammo hoists and other military equipment, have very specific instructions with regard to lubrication. They spell out when the thing is to be dismantled and cleaned, what lubricants should be used and how much.

The point most often overlooked with regard to such lubrication chores is that the item to be lubricated must also be cleaned occasionally.

Another point often overlooked by the home mechanic is that selling light-grade oil in small quantities often inflates the price to over two hundred dollars per quart. No, that isn't a typo. See the half-ounce tube of Singer Sewing Machine oil? It's list price is $3.19.

This sort of thing reflects modern-day corporate thinking, in which every possible effort is made to screw the customer. Proof of this is seen in the first photo which includes a 4 ounce can of Singer Sewing Machine oil for thirty cents ( ie, $9.60 per quart ).

Your best defense against this sort of thing is to buy such lubricants in larger quantities, such as quarts or gallons and to provide your own dispenser... or to simply refill the regular dispenser, such as the cans shown in the top photo. WD-40 and kerosene are available in one and five gallon containers and a flit-gun provides all the atomizing I require. The same is true for light-weight oils which are usually available from distributors of hydraulic lifts and elevators.

The best example of this that I can think of is that I can think of involves my Zippo cigarette lighter, variously repaired (at no cost) by the Zippo company three times since 1958. Lighter fluid is naptha. Purchased by the gallon, is ( or rather, was, the last time I bought some ) about $3 per gallon while lighter fluid cost about $0.75 for a 4.5 oz can. That's about $21.00 per gallon. ( And the price has since gone outta sight ).

-R.S.Hoover

Cancer Report 04 -- Exercising -- Walking

.
"You might want to increase your exercising," the physician said. It was the last thing he said as he left the examining room, a parting shot aimed neatly across my bow. Before I could locate a blunt object with which to belabor him about the head, the door was swinging closed and the glow of adulation was slowly oozing away. "He's sooo nice," she oozed, about the same time I discovered the ophthalmoscope in the top drawer the door was closed, my fate decided as my wife's magic fingers did their curly-whoopty-full-stop-Do, which in short-hand would be translated onto our account of the Visit to The Doctor's Office, every neuance of which was recorded not only by Mr. Gregg's Secret Writing but recorded on a chip the size of my thumbnail, which was good for a year or more of Visits. (Why the double-down & dirty? Because I can't spell Dexamethasone any better than Lisinoprille but my wife could, although I secretly suspect she looks them up in the PDR (Physician's Desk Reference... buy one; it'll change your world).

So there I am, doomed to an increase in my exercising. So... how much? How often? What type? And on and on and in inestimablity that would succumb to the guns of my wife's attack upon the physician's hapless assistant.

Which it does. I am doomed to twenty-five laps around the patio, into which I am wearing a discernible trail. I'm serious! My poor cancer afflicted body is literally wearing a groove into our patio!

...and something terribly wrong with the blogging software.... again. Not only will it NOT turn itself on at certain times, at others it fails to turn itself OFF, leaving you to write in Italics for the remainder of your days.

Ah, well...

See the priddy pitcher at the top of the page? Note the figure '104' on the counter? (Just tap the picture. It will fill the screen and you'll be able to read the numbers.) That is the DISTANCE of one trip around the patio. One hundred and four feet. Thirty-one point two six three Meters. Five trips per day equals 156.313 meters. That's more than a kilometer per week! (1.094 Km). In a month I will have traveled 7.658 kilometers.

That's 520 feet per day. I can already feel my knees starting to crumble. Five hundred and twenty feet per day is 3,640' per week... 2.75 MILES in a month!

Like the man said, it's the side-effects that gets you.

-R.S. Hoover
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am now spending so much time in my patio that I've decided to give each of its districts a unique name. For example, the concrete portion between the sliding glass doors to the living room and the REAL door into the kitchen has been named Metropolis. It is this section of my patio from which I occasionally see a man removing his clothing in a telephone booth. The man then LEAVES his clothing IN the telephone booth, steps out of the booth, LEAPS INTO THE AIR and vanishes. But that isn't the part which is truly fantastic (and why I know it can't be real.) You see, his pile of clothing, including his wallet and a pair of heavy, horn-rimmed spectacles, REMAINS in the phone booth and is NEVER PILFERED!!!

Having a fellow leap into the air wearing some kind of costume, did not alarm me. After all, this is Southern California. Mexico is little more than a border away. Masked and caped crusaders are a common sight in Mexico. Indeed, they have become virtually a national tradition. Having a few of them leak across the border should come as no surprise, just as having them vanish into the sky brings only a shrug. (Here, I'll put one in ) There. Now you know how to do it when you come to write your next Radio Play. Of course, no one will bother to read them. So send them to more radio stations. Get someone to play the role of your Announcer and record them yourself! Now you can offer them to the SAME radio stations which rejected them. And to Colleges, hospitals, banks and so forth. Just keep in mind that dashing adventure heros in skin-tight costumes are my particular genre!


Stay tuned as our intrepid (but Cancer-prone) Explorer leaves civilization behind as he plunges into the seamy bowels of the City.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SPEED-TRAP

There is one section of our patio that, quite frankly has me buffaloed. After making a sharp turn around a pile of flag stones, my path -- when traveling west-ward -- takes a sudden downward dip, resulting in an abrupt and completely uncontrollable, increase in my speed. So there I am, plodding along, thinking more about getting there than in how fast I can, when I hit the downgrade and come into a maze of plants, some planted for medicinal reasons such as the bed of aloe vera when this little dork on a hot-rod bike pops out of the bushes, hits the buzzer and goes into the: "May I see your license and registration... please" with everything but an out-right giggle on the please. Busted. Doing 45 in a 35. And in my own backyard, fer crysakes!

So I pass over the documents and he writes me out the ticket and in a month 0r so I'll turn up in court but he won't. And they'll ask for a continuation and I'll say it works both ways, your honor, and if it's one of the non-political judges he/she'll say No way, Jose, slam the hammer down and dismiss the charges, telling me to cool it, even if it is my own backyard, what with the grand-kids and so on, and I'll say, Yessir/Ma'am/Whatever, an' I go back home just knowing that sucker is going to be waiting for me again and all because the Doctor said I might want to get a bit more exercise... MIGHT WANT, as in me having something to do with it, instead of a Fiat from On High that sez I gotta start pumping iron an' hittin' the bricks as if I was going to fall apart next Thursday at three o'clock.

Wanna see some PROOF? Huh? You wanna? Well, THERE'S your proof! Lookit that sucker all tucked up outta sight behind that boulder in all them bushes there, just WAITING for me to come down that grade, brakes a'smoking an' me digging in with both canes an' ain't no WAY I can slow that sucker down before I hit the flats there by the patio gate!

-R.S.Hoover
-Monday 26 Jan 2009

PS -- Doctors! Sheez!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2 February 2009

I'm walking. It is 0750. My back hurts a little. Not much, just a little bit but it's in a place where bad things have happened. So I decide to not walk as far as I'd planned.

Coffee is good. Steaming slowly in the bright sunlight, bent to the south by a gentle north breeze. Sure enough, when I flex my back the Bad Place starts sending off rockets. It's Science Fiction Time, boys & girls. Bob Heinlein has come to play hockey on my back; down low, where the radiation was focused. I'm all flat down there, the muscles have turned to string. It is difficult to sit down and when I finally make it, I wish I hadn't because it hurts so much I want to stand up again. NEED to stand up again. But that will hurt too. I stand up. Life's little messages.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Thirteen times around the Patio Course. A quarter of a mile. Now I have other hurts to mask the back pain.

My baby sister has visited. She lives five hundred miles away. It was an expensive visit.

Baby sister. Big smiley there because she is now in her fifties. But she will always be my baby sister.

When I was a Seaman in the Navy -- a lowly E3 earning an amount so small you'd laugh -- I used to buy her little gifts, send them to her, imagining her delight. I was far away. The gifts were a link, or so I hoped. Years later I learned she had not received most of them. Even so, the memories are strong.

On this visit she returns the favor, giving me a Hot-Rod Walker. Brand name: Hugo. Model: Elite. It has brakes that lock the wheels and a padded seat, allowing me to sit down when my legs start doing that jerky-twitchy thing. There are zippered compartments and perhaps a Secret Decoder Ring. And I didn't even have to send in any box tops.

My legs are sore. They will be sorer before the day is done. And my arms, too. Pumping Iron. Joke, because the weights weigh only 5 pounds. FIVE MEASLY POUNDS! I used to press over 300 pounds, run a quick five laps, all that at lunch time; just a quick little work-out to keep myself in shape. And did. Until along comes a Tumor.

Multiple Myeloma. I'd like to exchange messages with other MM patients. Toward that end I've conducted numerous searches of the Internet. Lots of MM information out there, as well as lots of MM Organizations passing out information with one hand whilst asking for money with the other. But no MM patients. Lots of 'care-givers' but so far, nothing from the 'care-receivers.'

Hello? Is anyone there?
veeduber@isp.com
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

MODIFIED CYLINDER HEAD

The image to your left will give you some idea of the direction I'm now taking in my effort to find a more thermally efficient cylinder head.

What I have done is to move the existing exhaust: ports from their traditional location on the sides of the engine to a location beneath the engine.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've posted a bit more information on the rah GROUP but if you have questions they should probably be posted here.

--------------------------------------------

Picture of my smelter is posted to the right.

If you've not done any casting it is a handy skill, well worth your time to investigate.


-Bob Hoover

Flock of Eagles

Steve Bennett, Great Plains Aircraft Parts Company, and Robert S. Hoover, at Vista, California on Sunday, 18 January 2009, proving once again that the more you fly, the handsomer you become.
-R.S.Hoover