Crisp and sunny.

That’s not a comedy duo.

 

The remnants of the Burlington Farmer’s Market today.

 

Even the annoying old dude playing his squeeze box wasn’t there today.  I didn’t really shed a tear.  For whatever serendipitous reason he always seemed to be playing that annoying “Chicken Dance” anytime I wandered through.   *shudder*

In case you’re not sure,  I’ll throw in a video.  I almost said,  “throw up a video”,  but I think that would have been some sort of “Freudian Slip”.

I think you can click this.

 

Anyway,  where was I with the Welbeck story?

 

In answer to one commenter yesterday,  yes that was the “Welbeck Sawmill”. 

 

I think there’s only one.

See,  once upon a time,  when The Company that Cannot be Named swallowed up some bits and pieces that their former adversary Westinghouse had on the auction block,  it meant that Travelling Companion had to make a few trips up to Mount Forest to well,  tidy up a few things. 

So once or twice,  I went along for the ride.  

As you well know,  whenever there’s more than just me in the car,  I’m still the one behind the wheel.  Most anytime.  

But that’s fine,  I’d just as soon drive most times anyway. It has to do with some slight motion sickness issues that tend to crop up when others are at the wheel? 

I don’t even want to get started with cab rides to and from airports.  Gah!

Of course,  when you’re in that part of the country,  there are things to see and places to explore.  This is what I do when killing time,  waiting for T.C. to hear the bell at dismissal. 

This is why I had actually been to the Welbeck Sawmill back in the early nineties some time.   It’s a neat place. 

I also bought several hundred board feet of pine from some Mennonite folks a little farther up the road, closer to Owen Sound,  but that’s another story. 

 

 

For a number of years now,  I’ve had a less than adequate means of dust removal in my garage shop.   Admittedly,  the single stage collector that I’ve been using for neigh on twenty years now is heaps better than nothing,  but I’ve become increasingly aware of the notion that,  while I’ve managed to keep all ten digits attached to my front feet,  I *really* need to think about the health of my lungs. 

You have to understand,  dust collectors are really not that “sexy”.  It’s not like buying a new thickness planer,  or something like that.  It’s only keeping the air clean.  Only.

 

In the last,  oh I don’t know,  10 years or so?  filtration and separation have been vastly improved upon,  so I had this idea that I wanted some sort of “cyclone”.  And preferable something with a filter on it to keep the fine particulate out of the air.

The single stage collector that I have now (and really,  “collector” is kind of a loose term) has a couple bags,  and every time I fire it up I see a cloud of dust fly off.  

That can’t be good.

 

I had a pretty good idea what I wanted.  Having copious amounts of time on my hands back in Vienna meant that,  researching this subject became almost an obsession.   Cost versus availability,  bla bla bla.

 

Turns out,  the Welbeck Sawmill is the only place that I could find within a days drive that sell the particular machine that I wanted.  Hence the drive to Durham.

It was either that,  or have it shipped from Syracuse, New York,  where Oneida is located.

Judging by the size of the boxes,  you can get an idea as to why I had to borrow a pick-up truck.

 

There was a third box that I left out of the picture. 

Too late.

The reason that I said that I spent the morning in a familiar seat yesterday was because the truck that I borrowed was previously MY pick-up truck that I sold to my nephew back in 08 when we moved overseas.  *sniff*.

 

And you know?  Five years later,  it’s still a good working truck.  No bloody wonder used Toyota pick-up trucks are either rare hens teeth,  or all have a couple hundred thousand kilometres on them.   Very frustrating when you just might happen to be looking for one,  that’s for sure.

So that was my day. 

Driving for what seemed like forever,  and then having to assemble a dust collector.

Um ya,  it comes in boxes.  Whether I had purchased it to be shipped here or pick it up,  it’s all the same.

  

 

And then, there was a small surprise!

 

A remote?  There’s a remote?  How did I miss that little snippet? 

Yes,  boys and girls,  it’s a little do jiggy that I can hang from a belt loop,  and I can turn on the collector from way across the room.   Oh man!

 

So,  understand this.  This is a “Made in America” product.  That’s good.  Right?

Just the same,  you’d think that the instructions could be just a little less cryptic,  considering they weren’t written by some,  oh I don’t know, Asian person? 

 

Gawd.

I suppose they figure that,  anyone buying such a critter ought to have half a clue as to what they’re doing.  That’s all I can think of.

Here’s a good one:

They say to put the gasket on the cone,  but then how the heck do I know exactly where?

Wouldn’t it make more sense to put it on the impeller part?

Like that?

 

 

Then you end up with a nice clean look like this:

 

See how the cyclone part on the bottom is slightly bigger than the impeller part on top? 

Maybe it was a test.

 

Oh, speaking of tests.   I had to give Oneida a call,  since I was missing a couple bits.  The bag said, “Packed with Pride”,  and my guess was that it wasn’t Charlie Pride?

There are a couple “end caps” that are on their way from Syracuse.   I suppose I should have phoned back and told them to call off the hounds after I figured out how to get around that problem,  but whatever.  Pack the shit you’re supposed to!  Dammit!

And let’s not get into “buying offshore”,  and perhaps missing a couple bits,  but then at least having the satisfaction of saving gobs of money?  It’s best we stay on track here.

 

I didn’t see anywhere in their cryptic “instructions” where it said,  “Make sure you have a drill press at your disposal”.

 

This was how I got around the missing “end caps”.

See,  if they predrilled the axle at the factory,  and included a couple cotter pins,  that would work better than “end caps”.  AND,  if they happened to forget the cotter pins?   Well,  cotter pins are more or less something every feller should have at least a few of.  Shouldn’t he?

I only have a tiny drawer full,  but that’s plenty.

If not,  any hardware store has them.  

“End caps”  *puh*

 

But I had a lovely chat with Cathy in customer service.  She wasn’t quite sure what to do at first,  and had to call me back.  Meanwhile I had begun to conjure up my own solution. 

By the way,  whereas the ‘Mericans think we talk funny,  you have to realise that the way she said “Cathy” was sort of like “Keeathey”.    I was going to ask her is she was originally from Buffalo,  since they do have some interesting diphthongs in them thar parts.   

But I didn’t want to make her feel bad. 

 

So there you have it. 

 

Here it is today,  after I figured out the adapter situation.

This is why I drove all the freakin’ way up to Durham.

 

And I have to say,  it’s pretty awesome.  I think I chose wisely.  It should make a huge difference now with the place buttoned up for the winter.   I sure hated wearing that respirator.  Bleah.

 

Oh,  and here’s a little trick.  If you happen to be struggling with hoses and fittings.  Or perhaps those barbed fittings for sprinkler systems?

 

The tool of choice?

 

Yup.

 

And that’s really about all it’s good for.  It’s not really the best thing to put on your skin.   I always used to think it was,  but there’s better products out there. 

Like “Bag Balm”.   

Now I got you wondering.

 

Anyhoodle,  my spuds are done and I think it’s potato salad time.

 

Keep that stick on the ice.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

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