2LP Double Playing Time

"Thanks for listening to Spotify. No really! You could have listened to the radio. You could have spun some vinyl. You could have played a cassette tape. You could’ve listened to an 8-track tape, if you knew what an 8-track tape looked like.  But you listened to Spotify. Thanks for that! And you still have hundreds more playlists to enjoy."

   

Screw you, Spotify. 

I found this today when cleaning the front closet. I don't know where I picked it up.   It couldn't have been in the case from Columbia House in my Ford Pinto during college.

Comparing Apples and Oranges

It's no secret that the first car I drove was a 1971 Ford Pinto. Thanks, dad. I think my high school yearbook has a photo of Joel Thomas lowering a 1600cc Ford Cortina engine into it during shop class. They're still infamous for blowing up in a rear-end collision, although mine never did. I'll add the category tag to this entry so you can see things I may have said about it in my eJournal and images.

Over the past few weeks, there have been a number of blog posts about my recent decision to get a 2019 Hyundai Kona Electric. I watched a recent, YouTube review showing the difference between the upcoming KIA Niro EV and the Kona. The video pointed out that the Kona is a few inches shorter. During a test drive, Jay and I did notice that the gas version has pretty cramped back seating. That is really not much of a concern as we've been driving a pickup for 22 years. It is a Ranger Supercab but has only two miniature jump seats which are not suitable for anyone but a troll.



So it was serendipity when I suddenly wondered about the size of the two very different vehicles, one from my past and the other my future.

Length
Pinto 163.0 inches
Kona 164.5 inches

Width
Pinto 69.4 inches
Kona 70.8 inches

The sizes are remarkably similar, but these two vehicles have very few other specs in common. However, there's something nice when any part of life comes full circle.

You Light Up My Life

Okay, that ain't bad; I lost the low-beam light on the driver's side. Seeing how I bought the Ford Ranger in 1996 that is a fairly good lifespan. This is especially true as I run them whenever I'm on the road. In fact, when I imported the truck after buying it in Bellevue, WA, I had to bring it to a Canadian dealer to ensure daytime-running lights. A decade or so later that switch must have failed and I was back to having to switch them on. I still make it a habit.

So, after fifteen years of use, I didn't mind having to pick up a replacement bulb assembly. I tried to pop it in while still in the Queensborough Walmart parking lot. There really isn't enough light above my apartment building's parking stall. The truck's battery was a bit in the way. I sliced my hand on an exposed screw and bled a little. No maintenance job, no matter how simple, ever goes smoothly for me, it seems.

I don't think I have replaced a headlight since putting in a round, sealed-beam unit into my 1972 Ford Pinto. I had to replace it because I'd run into a deer up on Stagecoach Road by Webb's in Mt. Sunapee, NH. I just caught the animal's back quarter and hardly slowed it down at all. Or was this just the story I told my father to explain the damage? I forget.

Not Exactly a Muscle Car

I've commented here in the past that I didn't have a single picture of my first car. I mean .. cough .. Ford Pinto. As a very young kid, I used to enjoy taking photos but for some reason I didn't during my high school or college years. I have no graphic record of so many things.

Just yesterday, Bret stepped up to the plate. High school buddy and former business partner in our summer arcade during college, he recently uploaded a batch of photos to facebook. And in among them, was this yellowish wonder.


By the looks, this was taken after high school. I can only surmise this because of the condition of the car. As a senior in high school, a group of friends and I flipped it over a stonewall and into the woods one night. My father, as punishment, wouldn't let me fix and run it during part of my first year in college. I have no comments about the windshield-sized glasses I was wearing, the foolish grin, nor the t-shirt that'd probably only fit around my left arm nowadays.

Try Not Stepping on It!

It seems a smidgen lame to complain about other drivers on the road. Like, for gads sake, Dennis, get a life and blog about something of greater import. Things are going well for me. Yet, I am a little tired after a 20-hour teaching week and I want to complain about something. It was either about the bad habits of other drivers or the economic and environmental stupidity of Vancouverites buying bottled water. I will go with the former today.

All people who drive more slowly than me are old farts and everyone going faster is an idiot. Maybe others also feel the same way. Unfortunately, I rather fear most other drivers are morons who aren't even aware there is anybody else on the road.

I have been recently cognizant of my driving habits due to the high price of gasoline. I'm no hyper-mileager; however, I generally think and plan while behind the wheel. There are some pretty serious inclines between BCIT and home. I shake my head as I see most cars fly up the hills with their right feet buried in their carburetors. It's doubly silly as, although they blast past, we again sit side-by-side at the traffic light further up the road. They ended up sucking up far too much precious fuel for absolutely no measurable advantage.

On my first car, a Ford Pinto, I put in an extra gauge that measured the manifold vacuum pressure. I don't know why other than perhaps it was fun to watch. By driving as if the accelerator were a fragile egg, I could keep the gauge firmly in the green, fuel-saving area. Getting a run for hills became second nature. It was perhaps physics class where I figured out having to use the brakes meant one was wasting momentum that one had already paid for in spent fuel. Looking a bit beyond the hood is a good practice. There's no reason not to coast up to a traffic light that's going to be red.

Driving to save gas means driving safely as one is more aware of the highway conditions. It's a shame that more people don't bring along their brains when they drive somewhere.

A Badge of Honour

In New Hampshire, one could get a driver's license at the age of 16. Of course, I did, even though that meant petitioning our school district to let us take Driver's Education as a summer course in the neighbouring town of Newport.

We lived about three miles away from the town of Sunapee and so a yellow 100cc Kawasaki motorcycle replaced a 10-speed bike during my first year on the road. That seemed much better than pedalling even if it meant suiting up in snowmobile attire on cold November mornings. This worked out okay until, at least, the snow actually started flying.

Eventually, my father gave me a junk car. Now, I'm sort of proud to claim that I once drove an early-70's Ford Pinto. It was rather smart of him to give me an underpowered crap car. I see teenaged drivers wrap their pricey, new rice rockets around trees nowadays killing them and their friends. My Pinto had a replacement 1600cc engine we installed during high school shop class. It couldn't make it up the tiniest of hills in fourth gear; consequently, I quickly learned now handle a manual transmission. At 40 mph a car is dangerous but a little less lethal than one travelling at 80. In retrospect, however, Pintos did become rather infamous for blowing up in rear-end collisions.

I don't think I have a single picture of my first car. I guess I didn't take photos in those days. These two pictures were copied from the Internet. See, the Net is useful for more than distribution of porn, isn't it?


The colour of these two different cars even matched my Pinto's. That obviously was a popular 1970s tint. It does, in a way, go right along with kitchen decor from That 70's Show, or perhaps they had avacado. I believe this particular Ford hue was called Freudian Gilt as Good Clean Fawn was a little grayer. Oh yeah, I also painted black racing stripes that curled up behind the rear windows. That must've given me at least a 2 mph boost!

As silly teenagers, a group of us still managed to flip it over a stone wall and have it land on it on its roof in the woods. I swear, I wasn't driving but did help to throw all the unopened beer cans from its little trunk far out into the bushes before the police showed up. No one was hurt. Unfortunately, the accident left me without a car during most of my freshman year in college.

Snow Causes Headaches

Getting home yesterday evening was a challenge. My class usually runs until 5:00 pm. Yesterday, however, I was looking out the window and the snow was really coming down. Thinking that evening classes may have been canceled, we didn't have access to the Internet in the classroom. I chose to cut things short by a half hour.

I didn't save much time in getting home though. After leaving BCIT at 4:30 pm, progress was extremely slow. I thought after getting up Royal Oak, it'd be smooth sailing. In fact it seemed to take forever. Finally, I parked on Columbia Street, in front of the SkyTrain station in the new parallel, back-in spaces. Although nearly home, it would've been impossible to get up Church Street and into this building.



Yes, I grew up in New England and back at a time when it had winters. Doing wheelies on the frozen lake in a Pinto taught me more about winter driving than all the driver's manuals on earth could have. Yet, there are a number of reasons why I was very stressed out last night:

The Vancouver area barely gets enough snow to merit an adequate number of road ploughs. So, when it does fall and the highway department crews are going full bore, they simply cannot keep up.

Nobody puts on snow tires, much less carries chains!

The majority of drivers have little experience on slippery roads.

Many streets and highways here have substantial inclines.

I drive a rear-wheel drive pick up truck but there's nothing in the back right now.

My commute to New Westminster was nearly two hours for the trip that generally takes twenty minutes. After an hour, some food, and a change of clothes, I returned to the Columbia Street and my truck. Then, I spun and slid my way up Church Street and into the building. My truck was finally safely housed downstairs at about 7:30 pm.

We Were the Champions

I had returned all the DVDs to www.zip last week. I knew that as long as the postman was not ill, there'd be a number of new ones waiting for me when I got back from work yesterday. In fact there were four discs. One, rather than being a movie, was a title called, Queen: We Will Rock You.

The blurb on the website had said it included the definitive version of the rock group's songs. I discovered this meant it was a live Montreal concert from 1982. It makes for a very interesting collection, if not exactly my choice as I generally prefer studio versions. Still, Queen never sounded so good. The Dolby 5.1 would have sufficed but I chose the DTS track as the volume seemed more balanced to the rear speakers. In a concert version, that is generally where the crowd noises come from though. I really cranked the sound up. Being only a bit after dinner time, neighbours couldn't really complain. It felt a vaguely satisfying being a bit obnoxious, just like most kids.

This disc contained noise which was a great deal of the soundtrack to college for me. I really can't remember what sound equipment I would've had in my dorm rooms. Perhaps a boom box? Maybe, and Freddie never learned what an mp3 players was either. I suppose there were probably several Queen 8-track tapes in my Pinto. Anyway, I probably listened to the We Will Rock You track most in the college pub. There were big speakers there. As I listened last night, I could almost smell the stale beer from back in an era, when kids could buy at age 18.

In actuality yesterday evening, I was drinking Rooibos tea while watching. Nobody needs caffeine after seven o'clock in the evening, right? Who would have guessed such things a quarter centry earlier. Who would have known that I could mature so perfectly?

Securing Sally's Site

Sally, don't you get free web space with your Internet subscription? I bet you already have a few megabytes of server space just waiting for you to fill!

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(Editorial Content: Actually, I just tried to do a search of your options and it appears as if your Internet Service Provider is unwilling to provide free space. This goes against what has been standard practice in most countries for over fifteen years! Okay, I bet they are afraid of what people might 'say' by the way of electronic bits on their servers. Heads might roll if somebody publicly criticized something. Is Etisalat still a monopoly there? That company did, and apparently still does, more damage to the development of technical prowess in the United Arab Emirates than can be imagined! For the sake of profit, they want to keep a strangle-hold on an area where ordinary citizens and residents alike should be encouraged to open new borders! How does one spell D-I-N-O-S-A-U-R ?)

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Anyway, there's nothing special about a web site nor in creating one. A 'site' is just a directory that sits on a computer always connected to the Net and running 'server' software. Any file on that computer can be made 'available' to any other computer on the Net. Those files ending with .htm or .html will be automatically viewed in a browser.

When you type the name of a web site, you essentially see an initial page which is usually entitled index.html. Even if you don't see the full page name in your browser address bar, you're still looking at the index file:

www.DennisSylvesterHurd.com.

There can be hundreds or thousands of files in that directory, but nobody will be able to see 'em unless there's a 'link' to them. It's a little like the proverbial tree falling in the forest... Only the index.html will show when a basic URL is entered. However, if a potential visitor knows the exact name of a file in the directory, they are be able to type in the complete path name to view. Here's a reference to a photo page with my first car:

www.DennisSylvesterHurd.com/pinto.htm.

You are techie enough to learn how to use a File Transfer Program. This type of program just copies files from a working directory on your computer to the server computer. Many web hosting sites offer online management features where one can copy files, but it's probably easier to use a program specific to the task:

Download Free WS_FTP LE

We can hunt-up available service space for you. Then, we can run a series of practice lessons via email and this blog! Are you game?

Best always, Dennis

Chevy SSR: Is it a truck?

Some guys my age run out and buy themselves a Porche. I'm grateful that I don't have the means for such a useless extravagance! Actually, if I had more cash than I knew what to do with, I still don't think I'd own a swank vehicle.

In my mind, pieces of metal with attached wheels are simply transportation. Could this belief have germinated because dad provided me with a Ford Pinto in high school? Being able to get to another place was more important than the style in which it was accomplished. (Actually, simply getting there and back was sometimes an accomplishment!)

Don't even get me started talking about the fools who buy more car than they can afford and then have to work their butts off to pay for it (while it only sits in the parking lot when they are working.)

I do like the look of the Chevy SSR though. I think the design of the SSR reminds me of a Pug puppy; it's so ugly it's cute. One is even my current Windows wallpaper. Maybe when I decide to replace my 1996 Ranger in 2012, there will be cool new vehicles on the road.

I always thought by then I'd own a little spaceship like the Jetsons had!