When Kip comes to give me a hand, we don’t rush into things. The day starts with coffee, his thermos, my Keurig. I suggestion he might enjoy a fresh brewed cup was met with an arched eyebrow. Again, I hadn’t understood the unwritten law of the west, “real carpenters drink coffee from Stanley thermos.” I didn’t offer again, and it too was appreciated.
So, today was the big day, the machine was coming. Because I didn’t have a truck that could easily carry it, so I paid the money and they agreed to send it out. It was waiting for it’s arrival that had Kip and I into our second cup of coffee and a general discussion of the failures of the Sea Hawk defense, when we heard someone coming down the hill.
We went out to find a gleaming white two wheel drive pick up nose down our driveway with a trailer behind carrying “the machine.”
“Hi, all the guys at the shop were out delivering so I decided to deliver the machine myself”
Kip and I looked at the machine, the trailer, truck, the driver, and finally each other with a look that said this was going to take awhile.
I asked the young woman if she had four wheel drive. She did not. Nose down hill, no weight in the bed, two wheel drive, it was not going to happen. She realized it. You could see the small. OMG feeling going over her. You could tell she was thinking in trying to do something good, she had messed it up.
She had a nice smile, and that helped. A half hour later the truck, trailer and driver were all safely reconnected and headed back to the barn. Yeah, I know, but smiles still count.
So, we had the machine and we wrestled it down the hill, onto the patio and into the lower level of the house.
The machine was a Husqvarna cement cutter in bright orange It was powered by a gasoline engine and had a spinning blade attached to the front. It was and is, a serious piece of equipment. We went to work with the seriousness the machine required.
We attached and tested the water hose. We got the shop vac on standby to vacuum up the water. I found breathing apparatus and ear cups. We opened all the doors and windows. We choked the engine, spun the starter…nada.
Now, every manly man is supposed to know, intuitively the workings of all pieces of machinery with out the benefit of instructions books. We looked at the engine.
“Whadda ya think?
Oooops…. the kill switch was in the kill position.
We had pulled the starter cable six times on full choke and could smell gasoline. We wondered if perhaps we should have another cup of coffee on the off chance we had flooded it. We worked out a compromise, we’d pull the starter cable once…if it fired, we went to work. It fired..
The mighty orange machine was lined up, the water was flowing around the spinning disc, I lowered the blade five inches into the cement.
“Push on the blade side of the handle” said Kip, once again instructing the sometimes clueless teacher. “I’m on it” I yelled back over the din of the engine.
We came to end of the first cut as a high electronic sound started. It had a slow cadence, not fast enough to dance to, but it was persistent. Must be something wrong with the mighty orange machine I though as I pushed down the kill switch. The tone only became louder and more insistent. What else is running I wondered as a second one joined the chorus. However, with the addition of the second beat, it was almost danceable.
Finally, through the fog of construction, breathing apparatus, eye protection and hearing protection a light made it through to my brain. They were the fire alarms going off throughout the house.
Had you been close enough you might have heard a few muttered oaths followed by the clatter as I went off in search of box fans. Along the way Danielle grabbed the kids and headed out for a walk to avoid the toxic fumes. We toiled on.
Now, part of the trouble here is that I hate to ever admit that I hadn’t taken into account every possibility. At our age, it’s far too easy for those of a different generation to exchange glances if everything doesn’t go as billed. But in this case, opening windows had not been enough to mitigate the power of Briggs and Stratton at full song in the basement.
We cut lines for the shower, vanity, toilet and kitchen sink. By working straight through except for our ten o’clock coffee break, we finished up by 1:00. Lines cut, machine coaxed back up the hill and with the help of two grandkids on recess from computer school, neatly cleaned and polished, ready for pick up.
Now the fun part starts, running the jack hammer to remove the cement from between the cuts. Then we figure the fall, and connect the entire plumbing system. After that comes the fill and then pouring cement and finishing it. I think perhaps I should retitle my operation from “remodeling the basement” to “The Year of Old Guys Working Dangerously.”