DAMN ICE DAMS

Dibs!!!

It's wintertime in Chicago! Yea! The annual test of our mettle is at hand. All the fun in the snow we have to look forward to... dibs, unplowed side streets and alleys, shoveling buried cars, shoveling walks, sub-zero temps, big heating bills, big snow, howling wind...

 What's not to like?

 Last winter, a frozen gutter fell from a neighboring house onto my truck, causing about $3,000.00 damage. Luckily, no one was near when this happened as they likely would have been killed or seriously injured if otherwise. But, sometime in the middle of the night, the entire gutter, somewhere around 20 feet long and weighing in at probably 200 to 300 pounds, detached from the house and came crashing down on Li'l Taco and the Hula Girl. (We can talk about that, later.) As one might imagine after learning that I've named my truck, I was devastated.

 Ice damming causes, among other things, injury, property damage, roofs to collapse, basement seepage and accelerated roof covering deterioration. It can result in interior finish damage and contribute to mold growth in your home, which in turn can affect indoor air quality and occupant health.

 The cause of ice damming is pretty straightforward. Snow-melt from the upper, warm portions of your roof deck drain down to the roof's overhanging eave ends, where your gutters are. The eave ends and gutters are exposed to the elements, making them much colder than the roof deck. The runoff hits the gutters and these cold areas and begins to freeze. The ice builds up, resulting in a dam that catches more runoff, which also freezes.

The cycle continues. The ice gets thicker and backs up under your roof shingles, where it can cause leaking and damage in your attic and wall cavities, as well as providing a moisture source that can contribute to mold growth. What runoff does get past the dams and gutters drains to the ground. Ice accumulates at your home's perimeter which, come warmer weather, will thaw, possibly overloading already saturated soil adjacent your foundation walls, resulting in basement seepage.

 Luckily, the traditional fix for all this is also straightforward and time proven.

 The first step is air sealing. Any penetrations through your attic floor or through your top floor ceiling must be sealed. This includes recessed light fixtures, junction boxes, conduit, duct and plumbing runs, etc. The objective is to prevent any conditioned air from entering these areas. All duct work in an attic or plenum space should be sealed and insulated to at least an R-8 level.

Soffit and Ridge Vent =
Low-to-High Ventilation

 Step two is ventilation. Proper ventilation is critical in preventing ice damming. During the wintertime, ventilation helps to keep the roof sheathing's temperature below freezing. Do this and there will be no ice damming. Optimal attic ventilation is accomplished by providing three things. These are low ventilation, high ventilation and an clear path for air circulation in-between. The style of the components may vary, but they should all have one thing in common. They should run continuously along the lowest point of the roof assembly (soffit vents) and the highest (ridge vents). Buy the best you can afford 'cause this should be a once and done thing. Better components last longer.

Insulation Baffles

 The other thing you'll need to install are insulation baffles. These are placed between your roof's rafters way down at the ends of the eaves. Their purpose is to prevent insulation from blocking the rafter channel at this location and maintain that -low-to-high ventilation path.

 Step three is insulation. Any number of products work. Fiberglass batts, loose-fill fiberglass, mineral wool (batts or loose-fill), loose fill cellulose, rigid foam insulation. (I lean toward loose fill cellulose for its good- R-value, ability to manage moisture, and greenness.) The important thing is to provide a sufficient amount of attic insulation. In our climate, that's R-49. Whatever you choose, the insulation should neatly and completely cover the entire attic floor, all skylight shafts, all interior knee walls. Make sure the attic hatch is insulated to the same level.

 That's about it. There are some additional tweaks that will help optimize your new insulation and ventilation. But you'll have to like my post for me to share them. Happy Winter! --KW

The Great Plains or My First Holy Shit Moment

I've driven 1300 miles across The Great Plains to arrive at Mills Canyon, New Mexico.  I drove through Iowa, Nebraska, Kansas and Oklahoma to get here.  Never having seen the Great Plains, all I'd ever heard of was their utter monotony. (See my previous post.)

I'd prepared for the worst.

The plains are vast and seemingly unending. But therein to me lies their magnificence. ...thousands upon thousands of acres of corn and soybeans. ...miles of fallow fields. There are places where the earth's curvature is plainly (yes, a pun) visible.  The only interruption is that which humanity constructed.  Roads, fences, these insanely huge grain elevators that rise as monoliths in the distance.  The magnitude of the Great Plains left me awestruck.

It's dotted with small towns. ...towns with names like Cawker City (home of the world's largest ball of sisal twine),  Red Cloud and Friend. ...all populated with a sturdy sort of folk who eagerly queried me of my origin and destination. And who, upon hearing of my adventure, invariably recommended points of interest along my route. I would have completely missed the world's largest ball of sisal twine ( Cawker City) had it not been for such.  I found these folks friendly, kind and helpful. ...not one asshole in the bunch did I encounter.

Don't get me wrong.   The landscape is unforgivably monotonous. I can only imagine what life here is like.  I know I could never live here. If I did end up living here, I'd likely devolve into a  meth-smoking, mumblity-peg playing subhuman who masturbates way too much.

Hmm...

Welcome to New Mexico!

Mills Canyon, NM - What the Hell is that Sound?

Mills Canyon is breathtakingly beautiful. I came here in lieu of visiting the Grand Canyon. The Canadian River, gravity and time created a landscape of such awe-inspiring magnificence, it made me weep and laugh out loud, sometimes at the same time. For two days, it held me dumbstruck.

Now, y'all will say, "Mills Canyon? What the hell? This is supposed to be a 'natural wonders' road trip. How can you not see The Grand Canyon? It's way bigger and deeper than some Canyon in New Mexico.

True that. There are also way more tourists.  For almost two days, I had Mills Canyon all to myself!  I could have run naked through the canyon's fields and not a soul would have known.

However, doing so is not a good idea.

But I digress.

The drive to the canyon starts with an uneventful nine-mile drive through a few huge cattle farms/grazing pastures. You eventually come upon a sign directing you either to the canyon rim or bottom. The latter stipulating, " Vehicles with High Clearance and 4-Wheel Drive Recommended." ...fuck yeah!

If you know me, you know of my love affair with my 2003 Toyota Tacoma. Aside from its sibling the Hilux (considered the best small truck ever made, sold on every continent except North America and is the pickup of choice of many rebel armies and third-world terrorists), the first-gen Taco is considered the best small truck built in North America.  You also know I live in northern Illinois, a place not known for its off-road, 4-wheel drive venues.  I've never taken my truck off-road, ...until today.

Now, one can carefully drive a regular vehicle down to the canyon floor. In fact, an old Dodge Caravan came down the afternoon of my second day. However, with one good rain, the access road turns to mud and that Caravan would have to be towed out.

I make my way down the access road and into the canyon. I find the campground. There's no one there. I'd seen on my way down a number of off-road trails running throughout the canyon. I'm so excited, so instead of setting up camp, I head out to the trails.

Now, every bit of info I'd read about off-road 4-wheeling said don't go alone. It's foolhardy. Not heeding this warning, I've instead equipped the truck with redundant means of recovery, two 4 ton come alongs, a hi-lift jack, numerous tow straps, chains,  etc.

Setting out, I drive slowly and stop to get out and spot the trails as I go. I'm an idiot.  If I get stuck, it's on me.

I finally learned what my 4-wheel low gearing is for! I forded a river!  I traversed mud up to my axels. ...never came close to getting stuck. It was awesome.

...love that truck. We'll see how it does in Moab.

So,  why is it not a good idea to romp naked in the fields?

This is bear, cougar and rattlesnake country. (In fact, most of my trip is in bear, cougar and rattlesnake country.) Not ever having encountered a bear, a cougar or rattlesnake, let's just say that, and regardless of my research and preparations, I was uneasy about being in bear, cougar and rattlesnake country. So, I cooked my meals well away from where I slept, I slept not in the clothes I cooked in, and I watched the paths ahead for snakes. I saw bear and cougar tracks near my campsite, but no rattlesnakes.

After waking up from my first night's sleep (a bit scary, ...heard a lot of unidentifiable noises), making breakfast (oatmeal, coffee and some potato chips, Mmmm.), I decide to do a bit of hiking. I grab my bear mace, my k-bar (thanks, Jacob), my trekking pole and set out down a well-worn path.

It's a beautiful, warm, sun-filled morning, perfect for a hike. I'm keeping my eyes glued to the trail, looking for pretty rocks.

I'm about a hundred yards down the trail when I hear this loud, steadily increasing noise in the brush to my right.  I think, "What kind of bird makes a noise like that?"

It's not a bird. It's a five-foot Diamondback expressing its obvious displeasure of my disturbing its morning sun gazing. I've invaded its space and it's not happy. 

For those not in the know, the rattling is the snake telling you you're getting too close. Closer, the rattling stops as the snake coils, preparing to strike - to defend itself.

The rattling stopped. I about piss myself. This big-ass rattlesnake, head as big as an Oreo, is coiled up and ready to kick my ass.

Now, the number one thing not to do in such an encounter, despite everything your gut tells you to do, is make a sudden move. (This also goes for bears and cougars. ...research.)  I'm well within striking distance, as a five foot Diamondback can strike about eight feet. (Again, research.) I slowly back away, to a safe distance, scared shitless.

For the remainder of my hike, I banged my trekking pole on the ground ahead of me to let the rattlers know an idiot doth approach.

Fucking rattlesnakes...

Sunday, August 16 2015 Lincoln, Nebraska

Corn. Lots of corn.

Knoxville, Iowa Saturday, August 15, 2015

Today I left Chicago, a day before my trip's planned start, for a shakedown cruise, as it were. ... check out the truck, listen for rattles, etc.  Knoxville on Sunday was to be my first stop.

I pull in into Elk Rock State Park (just outside of Knoxville) thinking to find a walkup campsite for the day, as my reservation here isn't until tomorrow.  The park is pretty well packed.  Being a noob at this, I ask some folks how the walkup system works.  They explain it and say I may have a hard time finding a spot " 'cuz of the race".

"What race?" I ask.

Knoxville, Iowa is a town of about 4500 people.  It is the home of The National Sprint Car Hall of Fame.  It also, for one week every year, hosts the National Sprint Car Championship and its 200,000 fans.

Today is the last day.

As luck would have it, I find a site, fill out my reservation envelope, put my $20 in, deposit it in the payment envelope box and head to town to buy groceries.

The sea of humanity is awe-inspiring! ...tens of thousands of people.  Thousands of motorhomes the size of semi trucks are parked everywhere.  Traffic, a lot of it, is limited to one main street.

None of this would be here tomorrow.

I find the local grocery store and provision up. ...coke, steaks, eggs, bread, butter, bacon, beer... .  My body is a temple.

I put it all in my cooler.  The beer is warm.  The store can't keep it on the shelves long enough to get cold, and a beer sounds pretty good at the moment.  So I drive down the street and stop at the 1st Turn Tavern for a cold one.

Being last race day, the place is jammed and hopping.  I get my beer and start writing this blog.  Needing a bit more background for the story, I strike up a conversation with Billy and Penny, local folks who are more than happy to help me fill in the blanks.

Everyone is having a ball. Penny introduces me to Shana, who points out that everyone in the place knows one another.  They come from all over to meet for race week, Nebraska, Kansas, Iowa, Missouri, and have been doing so for years.

There's Billy, Bob, aka, Double Bubble, Nina, Calvin, Roy, ...all in all about twenty five or so folks just letting it all hang out, playing pool, singing with the jukebox, having a great time. It's infectious.

Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline starts up from the jukebox and literally everyone, including the bartenders, start singing along at the top of their lungs! This is, apparently, their anthem and I can't help but to join in this raucous display of happy.

I end up being invited (to the point, Penny says to me, "You're coming back to eat with us.") to their camp (two huge fifth-wheel camper trailers) for barbecue and games of bean bag.

Good first day. The truck ran fine.

My Little Hula Girl

I have a hula girl hanging in my truck.   She's eight years old, split at the waist, and has a twin prong paper fastener piercing her belly button.  I exhort her as we happily bounce down the road, "DANCE LITTLE HULA GIRL, DANCE!"  She's (or was) an air freshener.  She's special.  I've had her in three pickup trucks.

Again, like the rack, she's been discontinued. Now all that're available are cheesy, lifeless, one piece paper (would you believe!) cutouts that aren't fit to fill her sandals.

The truck is finished. All I have to do is pack it.  My Thursday appointment cancelled.

The hula girl is antsy.  She says we should leave a day or two early for a shakedown cruise.

...smart hula girl.

FYI: If you know anyone with a stash of old hula girl air fresheners,  I'll pay handsomely.

I hope my luck holds out.

Last week, a parking attendant maimed my truck's cap rack by driving it into a low hanging overhead garage door. The rack, a Thule 342, cost me $400.00, has been on two of my trucks, is about 7 years old and is a beast. It's also discontinued.

I spend the next hour disassembling it in order to exit the garage. Once done and out, I park on the street in order to contact the management company to discuss replacement. They are helpful and promise to reimburse me.

Not angry, but upset, as the rack is integral to my trip, I sat there and called, tweeted, emailed and facebooked Thule for any assistance they could offer me finding replacement parts. ...all to no avail.

So, I'm sitting on the side of the street, frustrated about the whole scenario. I look up to see this Tibetan monk, robes and all, standing in front of my truck, smiling at me.

He walks up to my open window, hands me a small emblem with the words "Work Smoothly" printed on it, puts a bead bracelet on my wrist, puts his hand on my shoulder and smiles at me again.

He speaks no English.

Now, I know he's looking for a donation. But, this guy's kindness is so sincere, so palpable, I immediately loose all my anxiety of the moment. I give him what I have (about $6). He (I think) says, "thank you", and starts walking away.

The relief from the immediate situation is just gone. I cannot fucking believe it. So, I blip my horn, he turns, and I give him a "thumbs up" and a big grin. He flashes me a peace sign, another smile, and goes on his way.

That day, I end up spending about $400 for what I think is a second rate rack to replace ol' 342. I have to get it rush shipped so to install it within the next week.

The next morning, frustrated with the perceived crappy build quality of the replacement rack, I start calling every Thule retailer in the USA I can find to see if any may have a 342 gathering dust in some warehouse. On my 20th or so call, I get Keenan at Bob Wards in Bozeman, Montana.

I tell him what I'm looking for and Keenan says, " Let me check out our other stores, I'll call you back ".

Now, I'd heard this earlier from other folks. Disilusioned, I don't expect much, let alone a return call. But, about five minutes later, Keenan calls me back, says he's found a new 342 and is having it sent to Bozeman for me to pick up.

I'm incredulous. I cannot believe my luck. Letting Keenan know I do not live in Montana, but in Chicago, he says, "Give me your shipping address and I'll call you back." 

He calls back 5 minutes later telling me the rack is being held at the Butte store and they'll call to make payment arrangements.

"Bye the way," I ask, "How much is it?"

"$99.00", he says.

I picked it up today. It's mint in box! I'm gonna stop in Bozeman and buy this guy a beer, or 5.

I hope my luck holds out.

Go West Old Man

I'm planning a solo truck-camping road trip around the western part of the United States of America. This has, for as long as I can remember, been a dream of mine.  It is my hope that by sharing my adventure, others may be inspired to pursue theirs. 

I didn't wake up one morning and decide, "Hey! I'm gonna quit my job, sell all my shit and live off the grid".  (Though, if you pine for that lifestyle, Ryan at www.desktodirtbag.com puts up an interesting discussion for such a life, one I certainly found enticing.  Read his blog! Buy his swag!  If you have any inclination for such a lifestyle, his website is a must read. Thanks Ryan! You are awesome.)

No.   ...quite the opposite.  Planning has been going on for about two months.  I've bought and learned how to use a lot of gear, much of which is for survival, safety and recovery. I hope never to use most of it. 

So a little background...  I've lived for 13 years just outside Chicago, IL.  I'm 56, divorced, two grown kids (Hi Kids!), I've a great woman (love you, Stella) and a decent job.  I am far from wealthy. I've no religious affiliation. I'm a Scorpio and I'm 5'6''.

Keep reading. This is my first crack at writing anything longer than a well-constructed paragraph. It should get better.