Worship at the Altar of St. John of the Hammer
22 July 2018
Yesterday I picked up an electric jackhammer at Scott's Rental over on the drag, about a mile from the house. Damn thing's heavy. I googled it, it weighs sixty three cumbersome pounds and shakes your entire being when you squeeze the handle trigger. It's too much hassle right now to make the internet tell me how much the chisel adds to the weight, but you could probably use it as an anti-tank round.
Saturday I worked in the shade of the neighbor's black walnut tree and broke out twenty feet by four of six-inch concrete. I say it was six inches thick; it averages between five and seven inches without rhyme or reason. The contractor had poured it onto tar paper over a sand base. After I had worked about all my magnificent body could handle, I loaded my Ranger four different times for the thirty-four mile round-trip to our wooded acres to dump the stuff. Note: Broken concrete technically called "urbanite.
So I worked it out. Concrete weighs one hundred fifty pounds per cubic foot. Yesterday I hauled out eighty square feet a half-foot thick . . . so that's forty cubic feet at a hundred fifty pounds or six thousand pounds . . . three tons. Damn. I had to hoist all that to about chest height to get it into the truck, then chuck it out of the truck. It took me four trips to haul it all, and a half a tank of gas.
I felt like King Kong. Even after I was finished.
Today, Sunday morning, my worship service (thus the caption) consisted in breaking up the twenty-two feet by seven feet in the second photo. That works out to over five and a half tons to haul for this half of the slab.
It'll take me a little while to haul this load, then I can figure out the ton-miles. Because I can.
Life is good.
Yesterday I picked up an electric jackhammer at Scott's Rental over on the drag, about a mile from the house. Damn thing's heavy. I googled it, it weighs sixty three cumbersome pounds and shakes your entire being when you squeeze the handle trigger. It's too much hassle right now to make the internet tell me how much the chisel adds to the weight, but you could probably use it as an anti-tank round.
Saturday I worked in the shade of the neighbor's black walnut tree and broke out twenty feet by four of six-inch concrete. I say it was six inches thick; it averages between five and seven inches without rhyme or reason. The contractor had poured it onto tar paper over a sand base. After I had worked about all my magnificent body could handle, I loaded my Ranger four different times for the thirty-four mile round-trip to our wooded acres to dump the stuff. Note: Broken concrete technically called "urbanite.
So I worked it out. Concrete weighs one hundred fifty pounds per cubic foot. Yesterday I hauled out eighty square feet a half-foot thick . . . so that's forty cubic feet at a hundred fifty pounds or six thousand pounds . . . three tons. Damn. I had to hoist all that to about chest height to get it into the truck, then chuck it out of the truck. It took me four trips to haul it all, and a half a tank of gas.
I felt like King Kong. Even after I was finished.
Today, Sunday morning, my worship service (thus the caption) consisted in breaking up the twenty-two feet by seven feet in the second photo. That works out to over five and a half tons to haul for this half of the slab.
It'll take me a little while to haul this load, then I can figure out the ton-miles. Because I can.
Life is good.
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