Deliberate perversion of truth and fact

 Ran across this yesterday. Somehow it speaks to the current moment. Take that as you will.

Photo courtesy https://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/sociopolitica/sociopol_americanempire.htm

"The American fascists are most easily recognized by their deliberate perversion of truth and fact. Their newspapers and propaganda carefully cultivate every fissure of disunity, every crack in the common front against fascism. They use every opportunity to impugn democracy.They use isolationism as a slogan to conceal their own selfish imperialism. They cultivate hate and distrust of both Britain and Russia. They claim to be super-patriots, but they would destroy every liberty guaranteed by the Constitution. They demand free enterprise, but are the spokesmen for monopoly and vested interest. Their final objective toward which all their deceit is directed is to capture political power so that, using the power of the state and the power of the market simultaneously, they may keep the common man in eternal subjection."                                                                     

- Vice President Henry A. Wallace, April, 1944

My checkered past

Further to the most recent post about my newly acquired 2020 Browning X-Bolt Medallion Maple hunting rifle, there are a couple of things that need to be done before taking a new hunting rifle afield. The gun needs to be thoroughly cleaned to remove any protective coating applied at the factory. It needs to have a scope mounted and sighted in. And it needs to have the barrel "broken in". Those are the standard "new gun" processes. But there is one other I thought needed to be done to assure the gun is ready for hunting season. 

2020 Browning X-Bolt Medallion Maple in .270

The checkering (that's the cross-hatch carving on the hand contact areas) was obviously done after the stock was finished so it looked raw, leaving the wood porous. I did some googling and found at least one forum that recommended treating the checkering with oil prior to taking the rifle into the field or otherwise subjecting it to the elements.

Per the Browning X-Bolt Owner's Manual: 

MAINTENANCE OF OIL FINISHED STOCKS

Keeping the oil-finished wood surfaces on your firearm looking their best requires only a small amount of maintenance. When the surfaces become spotted or dull, the affected area(s) can be treated using rubbing alcohol on a soft, lint free cloth and allowed to dry. A small amount of a linseed oil-based finish, such as Watco® Danish Oil Finish, Deft® Danish Oil Finish, or Formby’s® Tung Oil Finish should then be applied to the surface of the wood with a soft, lint free cloth according to the manufacturers’ instructions. To treat the checkering, a small amount of oil-based finish can be applied and then distributed evenly using a toothbrush or other soft bristled brush.

Applying an oil finish to the stock's checkering

Given the extremely shiny finish of the wood, I'm not sure my gun is an "oil finished stock". It looks more like a varnished finish. Nevertheless, I decided to treat the checkering as recommended.

My local Ace Hardware had the Watco, so that’s what I used. Toothbrush? Oh, hell no! I used a fine sable filbert paint brush from my oil painting box. I was scared to death that I’d fuck it up, but I was very careful and it seems to have worked out fine. The oil soaked into the wood nice and evenly. I'll give it a couple of days to dry and then see if it needs a second coat. 

Pistol grip checkering on the maple X-bolt

Next project: scope mounts!

There are many like it, but this one is mine.

It's still hot but as the summer starts to wane, I start thinking about Autumn. Fall is my favorite time of year for a lot of reasons, among them it is the start of the hunting season. For the past several seasons I have had the supreme pleasure of carrying my departed uncle's 1990 Browning A-Bolt rifle. It's a magnificent expression of all that the modern deer hunting rifle is: composite stock, stainless barrel, chambered in .270 Winchester. A benchmark rifle. But as this year's season approached, my uncle's grandson (my first cousin, once removed), from whom the A-Bolt was on loan, asked for it back. Well ain't that a kick in the pants.

1990 Browning A-Bolt, Stainless Steel in .270 Win

Actually it's great to have another young member of the family take an interest in hunting, and in the heritage and artifacts handed down to him from his grandfather; and while it was my honor to carry my uncle's rifle, I always knew it wasn't mine, that I was merely a temporary steward. So no spilled milk. But, that meant that I would have only my 1942 Swedish Mauser with which to hunt this year, and it has only iron sights with which my old eyes are having increasing difficulty. Though the 6.5 x 55 Swedish Mauser cartridge is among the very best available for whitetail deer, iron sights are a young man's game and I am no longer young.    

“A good sporting stock should enable the shooter to get a shot off quickly and accurately, and it should also be a thing of beauty” 

                                                                 - Jack O'Connor, The Big Game Rifle (1952)

So obviously there's only one thing to do! Time to buy a new deer rifle! As I set out on my quest, I vacillated between two rifles. My brother has bought several Tikka rifles over that past couple of years, and they are absolute tack-drivers. So I was seriously thinking about the Tikka T3x Forest, which features a lovely roll-over cheek piece on its walnut stock. But then I saw a limited availability Browning X-Bolt Medallion Maple and the damn thing just stole my heart. Though not unheard of, "blonde" maple stocks are pretty unusual on modern rifles - hell, wood stocks are getting to be unusual on modern riles - and they definitely stand out. It was basically a newer version of the rifle I've been using the last few years, which I loved and trusted and it was so beautiful I just had to have it!

2020 Browning X-Bolt Medallion Maple in .270 Winchester

If I had my druthers, I might have preferred the X-Bolt White Gold Medallion Octagon/Maple, but as far as I can tell they are not to be had. No use being greedy. The "standard" Medallion is plenty beautiful and will no doubt serve me well for my remaining years. And given the limited availability of this edition, I'm just happy I was able to get one - it seems the supply (at least those chambered in .270) ran out just about three days after I placed my order. 

As to the "how" of it, I ordered the gun on the web site of the local United Gun Shop. Ordered on August 12, delivered on August 20. I thought that was pretty good - there's a bit of a run on guns right now, what with the ongoing end of the world and all. 

When I went to pick it up, I was gratified that there was a bit of interest shown by the store's owner, himself the recent purchaser of an X-Bolt Pro Long Range Burnt Bronze in 6.5 Creedmoor which he was very pleased to show off for me. He's one of an increasing number of 1,000 yard shooters. His variant has a bi-pod and one of those gigantic scopes with the "extra" side focus knob. And another of the employees came by to ooo and aah over the gun. It does stand out.   

So now that I have the rifle, I have to put some glass on it and break it in. My non-departed uncle, the younger brother of my departed uncle, has suggested that the only appropriate scope to consider is a Leupold, which I can't argue with. But this season I think I'm going to have to go to war with the army I've got, which in this case is a Nikon ProStaff P3 2-7x 32mm with a BDC reticle. Made in the Philippines, it is from Nikon's budget line. But hey, a shitty Nikon is probably still better than the best Tasco, plus I already have it in inventory. I'll save up for the Leupold and maybe make that next year's acquisition. So it's off to the forest to play with my new gun. Heads up Paddy Mountain, here I come!

Avenue de la Republique, Nice, France

Urago hand-made French 10-speed bicycle

There is what I believe to be a 1974 Urago bicycle in my garage. It was my number one riding buddy Z's college bike, and when retiring to the more forgiving climate of the American Southwest last year, he elected to leave it in my hands rather than transport it.

For a variety of reasons, not the least being that it is at least six millimeters too large for me, am not really able to ride it. But even if it was the right size, I probably wouldn't because the beautiful, handmade French frame has been the victim of a vengeful ex-wife with a ball peen hammer. Hell hath no fury. The Urago unfortunately exhibits wifey's handiwork in the form of prominent dents on the top tube and a creative yet obviously amateur red, white and blue spray painted "fade" finish Z applied in an attempt to cover the damage. Too bad. So not only will I never ride this bike, but it seems unlikely anyone will. The top tube would have to be replaced, which is possible, given that it's a lugged frame, but I can't see anyone investing the money to resurrect this particular bike. I certainly wouldn't.

I will nevertheless cherish and make useful what parts I can, and hope to maintain at least some parts as mementos of the decade or more Z and I rode together.

Mafac "Racer" center-pull brakes

Most of the components are nothing particularly special. The drive train was obviously overhauled in the late seventies or maybe early eighties, replacing what were almost certainly a mix of Simplex and Spécialités T.A. with 10-speed Shimano 105. There are still some leftovers from the original build, including some cheap looking Simplex shift levers and a great looking Pivo stem. I will definitely scavenge these parts, though I can't imagine actually using them. I'm never going back to a 5-gear rear cluster, and there's a possibility that the the Pivo is one of the notorious French "death stems". Even if it's not dangerous, the Pivo is probably too long for me, and would likely only fit an antique handlebar - like my mid-80's Nitto Olympiad. So I likely won't use these parts, but couldn't bear to get rid of them.

The parts I'm eager to scavenge, and am most likely to use are the brakes. Typical of European bikes of the time, the Urago came with MAFAC "Racer" center-pull brakes, mounted on a plate to the bolt hole in the middle of the fork crown. That was pretty standard during the bike boom. The "Racer" was not the top of MAFAC's line, but according to both Sheldon Brown and Jan Heine, they are still among the best brakes ever made, especially when direct-mounted to dedicated braze-ons like I have on the Velo Routier. The plastic parts are beyond their prime, but everything else is probably as good as ever. Fortunately, Rene Herse sells a rebuild kit for MAFAC brakes that replaces the plastic bits with brass and will generally rehabilitate the brakes. The Diacompe 750s now on my Velo Routier work just fine (my next post will likely be about them) and there's no need to swap - but c'mon, MAFAC.

MAFAC Brake Levers with OEM "gum" hoods

I'll probably take the MAFAC branded brake levers too, but I'm not sure I'll use them any time soon. I really love the Origin 8 Classiq aero set I have with the brown hoods and the drillium levers. But I'll toss 'em in the box and see if a need ever arrives. I'll probably want to pick up some hood covers from Velo Orange while I'm at it - I can't believe they'll be around forever and the originals are pretty well dry rotted.

The other thing I'll probably scavenge from the Urago is the wheels. They're 27 inch wheels like the ones I have on my Fuji, though they look to be in a lot better shape. I'll have to see if the hubs will accommodate the two extra gears (the Fuji is an '86 14-speed while the Urago is a '74 10-speed), but I think they should, and this will buy the old rice-cranker a few more years until I have to decide whether to convert to 700c.

Center-pull cable guide, "DEPOSE"

There's also a cheap but intriguing cable stay that reads, "DEPOSE". I presume the word is  dépose meaning to "take down".  I'll definitely keep that, though I'm not sure it would work on most modern bikes or that I'd ever need to use it.

As the weather warms up I'll probably get out the Dremel and try to polish up the Racers. I've got a new stem and handlebar I've been wanting to install on the Vélo Routier and I really should put the Fuji back in working order - I scavenged it for parts during the Routier build and have never really put it back together. So as the weather gets nicer I'll probably pull out the bike stand and tend to a couple of these pandemic projects. Right after I clean the gutters and do all the pruning and lay down some mulch. Oh, fuckit, I think I'll just go for a ride instead...

Fear the walking dead..?

America, and presumably most of the industrialized world is locked down because of the risk of covid-19. It's been just about 40 days since most states imposed restrictions. Much global commerce has come to a halt and as you might predict, as resources begin to become more limited, people are beginning to turn on one another like rats in a cage or fledglings in a nest. Human society is a product of the natural world and nature is nothing if not Darwinian. 

Yonder come the Zombies

It's natural for people to panic in the face of losing their jobs, unpaid rent, empty store shelves. I would have thought it would take a bit longer than five weeks, but it seems that's about the limit of the patience of a large portion of America's citizens. The greatest generation this is not. People are beginning to protest government's limitations on commercial and personal activities, though the protests seem to be more politically opportunistic than genuine. Let's just say there are a lot of red hats in the crowds.

Covid-19 stats for the DC area 04/25/2020

Many of us, a majority according to the polls, support the limitations imposed primarily by governors across the country (the federal government stages daily dog and pony shows, but doesn't seem to actually have a national public health policy of any consequence - other than maybe injecting people with Lysol or somehow irradiating them with UV rays). But clearly, concern for the health and well being of our fellow citizens is not the highest priority for all of us...

I have tried over the years to keep an open mind and respect the views of people with whom I disagree, but despite my best efforts it is getting substantially more difficult. I understand there's a significant part of our population who feel increasingly left out of our nation's natural evolution, or nature's evolution for that matter. I sympathize. Who wouldn't want to be a white man in the immediate post-war era, even though it was always a myth? Who wouldn't want to live in some Archie Bunker America that certainly never existed wherein everybody was happy and prosperous and free?

Oh, that's what's wrong with you - you're a Nazi...

What the hell's wrong with you, White Man?

There's always been a nostalgia for a mythical past and I get that. I suppose our founders' choice to base our entire nation's government and official architecture on an idyllic vision of ancient Athens fits that description. But something there is about the conservative mind that seems to make it particularly prone to the kind of self-delusion and reality-free fantasy of some Dick and Jane world that if it existed, only did so on the backs of minorities and women who, trust me, were not enjoying it nearly so much.

Once you've abandoned facts as the basis of history, I guess it's only natural to create a fictional now in which Nancy Pelosi conspires with Chinese scientists working in a North Carolina lab to unleash a virus that may be deadly (or harmless) in order to destroy capitalism and enslave the American people. But at least the disease can be cured by shining sunlight inside our bodies and/or injecting them with disinfectant.

Look, if to maintain your worldview you have to disbelieve observable fact, distrust all authority and internalize all manner of laughable conspiracy theories, there's something wrong with your world view. Democracy is always a battle of ideas. It should be hard fought to force us to grapple with a range of issues and possible solutions. But it shouldn't be a battle over whether or not objective truth is real.   

The next normal

US deaths reported per day

I don't even remember how long it's been since our routine was disrupted. Three weeks? A month? Something like that. For a lot of people are being seriously impacted by this pandemic, and not only the poor souls who've actually contracted the virus. Millions suddenly find themselves out of work, and the longer the "lockdown" goes on, the more will find themselves falling on hard times. It's possible this will make the Great Depression pale in comparison, though it's too soon to tell.

Having said that...

A funny thing happened on the way to the end of the world. Forced to work at home rather than getting in cars, buses, trains and airplanes to get to work, millions of people have significantly reduced the pollution they typically produce. And we're using less electricity. Weird, isn't it? Our economy has to crash in order to improve our environment. Economic productivity, at least as we currently practice it, is clearly correlated to the degradation of the very air we breath. I guess that explains why it's so damn hard for our leaders to agree to set and attain targets for reducing the damage we do to the planet.

There's something in this experience that could teach us something about other ways to work - yes, most meetings are unnecessary or can be done perfectly well via teleconference. To play - how about a family bike ride through the neighborhood instead a drive to some commercial fun park? And even to eat - no commercially produced yeast? Learn how to make your own sourdough. Maybe we can re-learn some of what were basic skills for our grandparents and embrace the simple pleasures that make life feel worthwhile and don't require the endless acquisition and consumption and waste of ever greater quantities of pointless consumer products.

DC, MD and VA covid-19 statistics for April 15, 2020

When the pandemic subsides, what will be changed? Will we have learned anything? Will we have reassessed the way we live, learned to appreciate what we have, made adjustments to live more sane, appreciative, sustainable lives? Will we have seen that baking bread or tending the garden with our families or along is more fulfilling than going to meetings, writing reports and shopping online? Or will we just go back to business as usual; get back into our cars and drive to the office, fly to the conference, take prosperity and our health for granted? Will we just continue down the rabbit hole of digitally mediated consumerism and impersonal social detachment? Don't fool yourself; we were already practicing "social distancing" through our mobile devices and "social" media. Will any of us take this opportunity to embrace healthier, happier lifestyles and a better way of living?

And lest you presume I'm some sort of self-righteous scold lecturing from my holier than though keyboard, I'll point out that nobody reads this blog, so this message is really just to myself. I am processing these lessons, asking myself these questions and wondering if I can embrace this opportunity. I realize that I view this all from the perspective of privilege. I am a white collar knowledge worker who only needs a laptop and a cell phone to earn a salary higher than the income of the average American family of four.

I know that many people are struggling and just want to get back to work and school and have things return to "normal". But this is a pivotal moment in our societal evolution, and I very much hope we can make the most, or at least something valuable come of it. And I hope those of us who are passing through this from a position of privilege consider what it's like for those who are struggling and think about how we can forge a more equitable culture that recognizes the contributions of all our citizens and values rich, diverse community over profit and personal gain. 

The choice is ours. We've been handed a stark reminder that most of our daily activities, at least in the Western world are frivolous or at best optional. Deprived of physical human contact and freedom of movement, in some cases having lost people to this virus, we've been reminded of what's really important. Or should have been anyway. So what are we going to do about it?

The cruellest month

From the back yard - Dogwood, Cherokee Brave

I initially thought of this coronavirus virus pandemic as somehow antithetical to the lovely Spring weather we're having here in the national capital region. You know, disease and death all around while flowers bloom and abundant life returns to the land. Contradictory, no? Well, no, it isn't contradictory. Just a little egocentric perhaps.

Think about it from the virus' view point. It's just an organism that's trying to perpetuate the survival of its species, like all organisms. Find food, shelter, a cozy place to grow and thrive. Lots of things we don't like are very successful survivors - ants, cancer, reality shows.

Our current coronavirus, the cause of the illness known as Covid-19, seems to have hit upon a pretty successful survival strategy. It has managed to spread around the world in just a few short months, finding a seemingly inexhaustible supply of food and shelter (that is, human bodies). It took our species millennia, even millions of years to do that. Like cockroaches and Asian tourists, this virus looks unstoppable. You've got at least to respect the shear persistence and tenacity of it.

From Today's Washington Post

We're doing more or less the same thing to the planet. We thought our population could just continue to expand and grow indefinitely, devouring the planet's resources as if they were limitless. But the Earth may have some defenses too, just as our bodies do.

Maybe the coronavirus is one the planet's ways of defending itself against a destructive parasite - humanity. Maybe the ecosystem is a self-regulating organism which, though slow, has the ability to adjust to threats and defend against them.

Maybe earth will exterminate us by sending waves of natural disasters and disease at us. Maybe it will just allow the biosphere to become uninhabitable by our execrable, invasive species so that we all die and go away. Or maybe, just maybe, our gorgeous self-correcting system of a planet will find some sort of balance where the virus will kill just enough of us to protect itself from our voracious appetite. Maybe.

I don't believe in grand intent, but I would love to believe there could be undiscovered natural laws that govern such things. Something like the law of conservation of energy that maintains a balance between life and its own tendency to self-destruct. I sure would like to think there's such a thing. I don't see any evidence of it, but who knows? Otherwise, if left to our own devices, it's looking increasingly like our species is gonna have a pretty bad time in the coming days.  

Of course, what seems inexhaustible never is. The virus will eventually run its course, killing some of the hosts and having most of them develop immunity. It will have to mutate and evolve if it wants to survive, adapting to humanity's ability to create antibodies and ultimately medicines that limit its success. I suspect humans will adapt to the earth's limitations and protective capabilities too. At least I'd like to hope so. In both cases, there will probably be a lot of death in the process.

Today's count

On the beaten path

April 5, 2020 Covid-19 statistics

NextDoor.com posting

The NextDoor.com Public Plea to Joggers/Cyclists, asking us to wear masks and keep six feet from the oblivious pedestrians lollygagging along our neighborhood's many "bike paths", has generated 96 comments so far. Now cyclists, typically considered a mere nuisance, are being accused of negligent homicide via inadvertent biological warfare. I can only presume she wrote a similar plea to motorists asking them to wear masks when the windows of their cars are open.

People are scared, but come on. Wear a mask while running or cycling? Only someone who had never done it could even think such a thing.

I understand that non-cyclists resent the spandex crowd, and for good reason. Many cyclists, like many humans of all types, are assholes. They put on their "pro kit" and head out on the multi-use paths intent on winning Strava segments or improving personal records, or whatever race fantasy they have. That's wrong and stupid and they should rightfully be scorned for it.

But while the Cat 6 racers are too often the public face of "cyclists" most of us are just normal people trying to get somewhere or get a little healthy exercise, or both. We aren't trying to scare or hurt anyone, and we don't "come out of nowhere". We were somewhere before, now we are near you, then we go somewhere else. Pedestrians think cyclists "come out of nowhere" because bicycles are quiet and pedestrians aren't paying attention. They have no situational awareness and they don't think they bear any responsibility for their behavior as they are walking or pushing a stroller or letting their fucking dogs piss and shit all over places other than their own goddamn property.

Multi-use paths are part of our transportation infrastructure, just like roads and sidewalks. They are generally about 10 feet wide, expected to support two-way traffic. That's 5 feet on each side for those of you following along - impossible to get the recommended 6 feet away from others without veering into oncoming traffic. So most paths are not a good place for congregating and it's impossible to practice "social distancing" in such a place.

The speed limit on shared use paths in Maryland is 15 MPH unless posted otherwise. In a car that seems painfully slow, but to someone walking two miles per hour, that seems blazing fast. And a 175 pound man moving 15 MPH is indeed a pretty imposing object. But if a cyclist is paying attention, obeying the rules and employing at least of modicum of common courtesy, they are not dangerous. We are not a problem. In most cases the biggest problem on paths is the walkers, futzing with their cell phones, oblivious to their surroundings, meandering all over the very narrow strip of asphalt as though they are the ONLY users. They're not, any more than pedestrians and cyclists are the only users of roads. You have a right to be there, but you realize you're one of many diverse users of the trail and have a responsibility to at least pay attention.

Maryland Share-Use Path design guideline

I'm particularly sensitive about this issue because my home is adjacent to an extremely popular multi-use path. When I bought the house I was thrilled to be by the path - I have immediate access to a major car-free route to the heart of our highly walk-able community. I can stroll or cycle to two grocery stores, the local public library, movie and performing arts theaters and a huge assortment of restaurants, shops and services.

For the most part I still feel very positive about living next to the path. We get to see our neighbors as they go about their lives, trundling back and forth to the store or going out to dinner, having a run, heading out on a bike to the park. It's not exactly Mayberry, but it's common to chat with our fellow citizens which really makes our corner of the block feel a little less anonymous than most places we've lived. People bring their kids here to teach them to ride bikes and roller skates in a safe, car-free block. The path and the slim green space along parts of its periphery tends to invite people to pause to chat and catch up with each other as they go about their lives. It's really nice.

But there are definite annoying aspects to being path adjacent. Most are provided by our so-called neighbors, the kind of self-righteous bastards who would buy a dog, put him on a leash and march him to somebody else's home to urinate and defecate. And among the many users of the path, they are the ones who act the most entitled. It's probably a defense mechanism - they know they are splashing dog piss all over public land or other peoples' homes, and when confronted they often react by adopting an extraordinarily defensive posture. I've had a woman actually tell me, no he's not while a shit log was literally dangling from her dog's ass. I've had a man tell me to fuck off while his dog was digging in my landscaping. I can only presume they have some semblance of a conscience and when their lack of consideration is called out, they respond with the psychological equivalent of fight or flight. Hard to run when your dog is hunched over in mid squat, so telling the person whose home you are treating like a toilet to fuck off is probably your only recourse. Aside from apologizing for acting like an oblivious jerk.

And picking up their little bags of shit is a constant chore. Makes me want to call Wade Blasingame.

How anyone carrying a literal bag of shit can look down their noses at anyone else, much less demand other citizens show them respect, is utterly beyond me. If you don't like cars, get off the road. If you don't like cyclists, get off the bike paths. If you don't like feces in your yard, don't buy a dog. And if these self-righteous path police want me, the guy who picks up their dog shit and repairs the damage to the landscaping done by their pets and undisciplined children, to wear a mask when I'm cycling... well...    

The new normal

A visit from Dr. Schnabel, Plague Doctor

Anxious is the new normal. Suddenly everything is different. Things you are accustomed to doing without thought now take a lot of concentration. Things you took for granted no longer are. What makes us strong now makes us weak and what makes us weak now makes us weaker. Some things you just don’t do anymore. Go to the office. Go out to dinner. Run down to the store. Everyone is paralyzed, waiting – waiting for something to NOT happen. If we are lucky.

Right before everything was cancelled, the Managing Partner and I had tickets for a modern interpretation of Waiting for Godot at one of the local theaters. Sorry we missed it. Though it may have been somewhat redundant given that we all now find ourselves characters in a similar absurdist drama. Waiting for Corona, perhaps? As Beckett forced us to ask the existential questions, so does our current drama.

What is important? What do we believe? What is even real? Is there actually an invisible virus infecting and killing tens of thousands of people around the globe? Can I actually get it by being within six feet of someone else who’s infected? How are we to understand such a thing? And if it is true, how does it change things? Is anything different? Is everything different? Does it matter? And what are people doing with all the goddamn toilet paper?!

Of course our collective reality had already been undermined by our current leadership, with just shy of half our population living in a separate universe that has an entirely separate set of alternative facts. Our equilibrium was already off kilter, undermined by a constant stream of calumny and hubris. But nothing is new there. Just one more brick in the [border] wall of lies.

I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would live through such an amazing time in human history. Since I was born well into the second half of the last century, some of the most amazing things have happened. Big things. Historic things. The moon landing. The computer revolution. The genetic revolution. Amazing things. Glorious things. But also horrific things. 9/11. Forever war in the Middle East. Climate change. Global pandemic. I mean, what the actual fuck? What’s next, complete economic collapse? Societal breakdown? Station Eleven?!!

The current situation with the covid-19 pandemic is unfortunately not fiction as far as I can tell. At least it feels real. The anxiety is real. You can see it in the empty store shelves. In the empty streets and closed businesses. In the volatility of the stock market, the 2 trillion dollar bailout package just passed into law and in the 3.3 million Americans who just filed for unemployment. All news seems to be a continual stream of discussion about the corona-virus.

You can see fear in the faces of everyone you encounter - even from six feet away. There's a combination of amazed disbelief and low level dread. The expression seems to be kind of ubiquitous at this moment. Though it should be noted that this observation comes from a necessarily narrow sample, since I am engaging in some serious "social distancing" just at the moment. Oh, right, you can see it in the new phrases that have suddenly appeared in our vocabulary. No doubt German speakers already have one of their great concatenated terms for it. Unglaubenfürchtenangst or something.

So here we are in a state of suspended animation. Pacing through the house, looking out the windows, popping out for a quick bike ride in the park - vaguely worried some over-eager roadie will launch a viral snot rocket at me - and generally just waiting for this thing to be over. We muddle through the work-from-home days glad for the distraction. But it's hard to concentrate. Hard to care about meetings and reports and websites when for all we know our world will never be the same again. Or maybe it will. Maybe this will pass and we'll go right back where we started. A little older, a little poorer and not one bit wiser. Too early to tell.

Nothing to fear

Spring has sprung

The covid-19 lock-down has come. Everybody who can is working from home. Many who can't are
unemployed. Pitty the waiter, the house cleaner, the librarian. Schools are all closed, as are most public institutions.

Some are voluntarily "self-quarantining" while others are quarantining involuntarily. Everyone else, notwithstanding young people who are, by definition hyper-social idiots, is practicing "social distancing". My brother, an electrician, was sent home because he had been in the presence of someone who has now reported some symptoms similar to the flu. No actual contact; they were just on the same job site.

No one knows how bad it will get. No one knows how long it will last. Everyone is just kind of waiting to see what happens.

No one knows how to behave. Store shelves are bare of toilet paper, flour, sugar, beans and pasta. Something has snapped in peoples' minds and they are panicking. There has apparently been price gauging of hand sanitizer and local distilleries, unable to operate tasting rooms, are now using their facilities to make artisanal versions of Purell out of the waste from their usual distilling. Hmm, oakey with notes of butterscotch and vanilla. I'm sure they're happy they have something, however small, to help keep the wolves from the door for even a little while.

In what seems a paradox, Spring is springing. The cherry blossoms are in full, magnificent bloom and our part of the world is flushing vibrant green as the days get longer and the regular afternoon rains bring life back to what has felt cold and dead. Walkers are stopping to photograph our tulip tree which is exploding with an intense profusion of pink bracts, and daffodils are peaking like a deadhead full of blotter.

How, in the midst of such a colorful, life affirming season, can our lives have become defined by a virulent infectious virus? How can the zeitgeist be defined by fear when so many signs of hope surround us? The contradiction is inescapable and jarring.

Daffodils - rebirth is in the air

But just as the daffodils fill me with optimism and anticipation of the season to come, there are moments of hope. In the midst of this quiet horror, with the global death count around 11,000, the number of reported cases closing in on 300,000 and most of the world's economy at a near standstill, my windows are open and I hear the sound of children playing on the bike path next to my home. I hear their parents cautioning them as they approach the street crossing in front of my house. They are home all day with each other and these outings, if only to run or ride up and down the path, to get outside, to burn off some pent up energy, are probably necessary survival mechanism.

But what would usually annoy my childless ears - the exuberant shrieking of a child as they descend the little hill by my house on a bike, a skateboard or their feet - strikes me today as a promising sign in what could otherwise by a time of darkness. Let 'em yell their little heads off. I know the feeling. I might just go outside and let out a bloodcurdling yell myself. Might do me some good. 

The end of the world as we know it

There's no toilet paper!

And I feel fine. Probably because I don't yet have the novel coronavirus, aka, COVID-19, currently sweeping the world. Italy is quarantined as is the Hubei province in China along with a growing number of communities. All public events are being cancelled, including Dweezil Zappa playing Hot Rats, for which I had tickets. Grocery stores are out of toilet paper, hand sanitizer and a whole raft of other items people presumably think they will need as civilization comes crashing to a standstill. The stock market has spent a couple of weeks gyrating wildly, so I'll probably have to work another ten years to recover economically. And it's still just the beginning of what has now been officially declared a global pandemic.

I'm not the type to panic about this sort of thing, and though I read a lot of post-apocalyptic fiction, and have occasionally entertained the odd Robinson Crusoe fantasy, I'm no doomsday prepper. But we seem to be entering a period in history when there will be increasing volatility, whether from the climate, the economy or good old fashioned social unrest. So, I figure it doesn't hurt to put aside some extra supplies in preparation for what increasingly seems the inevitable disruptions to our comfy suburban life.

I've picked up a few bottles of water, some germicidal bleach and a few bags of dried beans. I've shelved a big ol' bottle of lamp oil and some extra candles. Nothing that would last more than a couple of weeks, max. After that, we'll be relying on the kindness of strangers, I presume. But this post isn't about any of that. This post is about something with which I became reacquainted as I prepared for the end of the world.

As I considered what might be useful during an extended period of deprivation, I thought back to my youth during which I spent a bit of time hiking around the Appalachian mountains, living on what I could carry on my back. I could survive for a week on what today seems like very little - as long as I could find a source of water periodically. Ramen noodles cooked over a backpacker's stove? Nothing better.

Svea 123 - made in Sweden

First I dug out my old Sweetwater water purifier. I had it before MSR bought the company. They make a very similar pump, so I can replace it if need be. If the tap water stays on, or if we just find ourselves hunkered down in the house with our stored water, I'd probably use the Brita pitcher to "purify" water anyway, but the Sweetwater would be good if I find myself on the move. Similarly, if we are simply quarantined at home, which seems most likely during the current troubles, I'm most likely to use the propane fueled Weber Spirit II grill for cooking in the event of a power outage. But the Weber won't fit in a bugout bag, so I kept digging until I [re]discovered my trusty old Svea 123 backpacker's stove.

Let's go campin' now, everybody's learning how...

It's always delightful to rediscover an item that's been abandoned for decades and find that it still works perfectly. I have a 1986 Fuji Allegro that's like that. And a 1942 Swedish Mauser. Both are testaments to thoughtful design and quality craftsmanship. Apparently the Swedes excel at that combination, and are still known for the quality and beauty of their axes. And maybe their Volvos..? I don't know.

I remember my backpacking buddy at the time went to REI and bought himself a super whizbang Primus stove that was waaaayyy more powerful than my little teeny Svea. You had to move some swing-arm into place, pump it sixty times, switch a lever back and forth, and then the whole thing went up in flames like a Saturn rocket run amok. Meanwhile I just held my little brass stove in my hands for a minute or two, lit it up and I was eating by the time his got going. Once he finally figured it out it proved to be much more effective at genuine cooking, but it was also substantially bigger, heavier and fuel inefficient. I stuck with my Svea. 

The design of this stove, made entirely from brass with only about two moving parts is just about bombproof. Even the white gas I put in it in the eighties still functioned perfectly without fouling or sputtering. I spent about ten minutes burnishing the old thing back up to a bit of a shine and it's as gorgeous as it was the day I bought it. As frankly is all my old equipment, much of which has traveled miles on my back, has been blackened and dented and pounded back into shape and just like their owner they bear the scars from those miles, but they are more interesting for it. I cannot imagine ever needing another backpacker's kitchen set, and when the zombies come, as now seems inevitable, I'll be out on the patio with a gallon of white gas, a thirty year old Svea 123 and some of the fifteen pounds of low sodium doomsday pasta I just bought. I should have enough to share.

Oily, greasy, fleecy, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen

I don't think it really needed it, but being over seven years old now, and spending most of the daylight hours in a very sunny room or out on the open road, I decided it was time to give my Acorn Boxy Rando handlebar bag a coat of wax, as much preventive maintenance as anything. I rarely actually find myself riding in any sort of serious downpour, but I love this bag and want to make sure it can stand up to the elements and will pass the test of time. So I dug the can of Martexin wax I purchased when I bought the bag and set about to provide a new protective layer to the canvas.

Acorn Boxy Rando before: ashy but still very beautiful after seven years

Instructions for waxing canvas basically boil down to: rub some wax on it, heat it with a blow dryer, and voilà you're done. And that does mostly cover it. But there were two issues about which I was unsure as I rolled up my sleeves and got to work - how much wax and what sort of applicator is the best? I had actually bought a couple of small paint brushes in anticipation of melting the wax and "painting" it on. But as I looked at the rather small quantity of wax in the 1.5 oz. (42g) tin, it occurred to me it would never stretch that far. 

I had seen some instructions suggesting using a sponge or cloth, but it didn't seem like that would work well either. The wax is kind of clingy and when warmed tends to absorb into cloth, so I thought the piece of t-shirt I might employ would likely soak up as much wax as the bag itself. So ultimately I elected to just use my fingers, and in the end I think that's the approach that works best. I started by warming the bag with a hair dryer for a minute or so before scooping a bit of wax on my finger tip and starting to rub it in, one small section at a time. But that approach was extremely awkward and the Managing Partner's Conair was getting pretty sticky before too long. 

Acorn Boxy Rando after: oily, greasy, fleecy, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen

Ultimately I decided to just rub the wax on cold and go over the bag with the blow dryer afterward. That proved to be, in my estimation, the best approach. I probably went a little too heavy, especially at first before I got the hang of it, but I would say the bag is now ready for another decade on the bike. In addition to making the bag water resistant, I feel that the wax provides kind of structural reinforcement as well. I have no actual proof of that, but it seems that having the fibers coated in a protective layer of gooey wax is bound to make them more resilient.  

Acorn's FAQ page recommends against waxing the edging, since it's apparently synthetic fiber of some sort. But I did it anyway. I can't imagine how it could hurt, and couldn't figure out how not to get wax all over it. Hope I don't void the warranty!

Acorn Boxy Rando, saddle tan, newly waxed

Acorn no longer produces a bag called the Boxy Rando, but it makes a pretty similar, and in some respects probably an improved version called the Medium Rando Bag. Available colors include black, gray and brown. The black is black - none more black. The gray is reminiscent of the classic glue/gray bags by Giles Bertoud. And the brown is a nice, medium hue with contrasting dark brown accents. The leather appointments really look great on this one. Acorn bags are no longer available in Saddle Tan though, which was kind of a greenish loden color. I'm sure the brown complements the color palette of Brooks saddles and bar tape better than Saddle Tan, but I really love my boxy rando as it is. Should I get another I guess I'd get the brown, but I'm counting on the Martexin wax to see to it that I don't need another for a long time.

Give me liberty

The Devil comes in the form of a car. He seduces in a voice chosen to stir the hearts of patriots. Freedom he says. Independence he says. See the USA in your Chevrolet he says. And like the good salesman he is, he doesn't talk about the price. If you have to ask, you can't afford it. But there is a price and you have to pay it.

You become indentured. You borrow so you can buy the car. You drive the car ever farther so you can get a better job to pay for a better car. The bank owns the car, the car owns you. But your identity becomes intertwined with that of the car. It's how you display your social status, your power, your worth. Your car becomes the outward expression of everything you want the world to think you are. Even if you are not.

Your Devil box liberates you to behave in a way you never would if others could look you in the face; shouting profanities at strangers, cursing fellow citizens, cutting in line because you paid more than they did. In short, you become an asshole. The tool, after all, shapes the hand that wields it.

Your car forces you to refashion your community in a way that alienates you from your neighbors. Parking lots. Garages. Big box stores. Super highways that divide the rich from everyone else. You live in ugly, impersonal, inefficient neighborhoods that crush the civic motivation to build a better society. You pollute and degrade the land, air, and water and ultimately threaten the sustainability of human life itself.

Your car ruins democracy, America and ultimately Earth.

Freedom, as my gun-toting buddies constantly remind me, isn't free.