Spaight St. Syndicate: Bubble Baby Skeeter Got Back

Spaight St. Syndicate: Bubble Baby Skeeter Got Back


Daniel Hearn continues to work like a mad scientist while building his Class C Skeeter in his basement laboratory.
Previously at the Spaight St. Syndicate

Baby Got Back

The little hussy is no longer prancing around leaving little to the imagination.  I call it the Lulu Lemon Effect. Much to the delight of testosterone-filled young men across the country (OK, the old guys don’t mind either), stretchy pants have become acceptable casual wear, formal wear and everything in between for young women.  I’m dying to know how they wear them without ANY undergarment lines showing.  I’d ask my wife, but that would be a dead giveaway that I might occasionally look.  All three of my daughters pull this off, as well, but I decided I probably really don’t want to know.  But know this, young men—big daddio is watching.  He may not be all that big, but he’s Pitbull-mean and fights dirty.  Eyes on the horizon, Bevis.

 

She’s still got her tramp stamp showing, however.  I’m pretty sure she’s intentionally leaving the small of her back exposed, like she’s proud of her decision to deface her body for life.  You’d think spending time at a waterpark would be enough to demonstrate that these things don’t end well.  What she doesn’t know is that I’ve tipped off her mother.  Yesterday will be the last time the base of her spine sees the light of day, unless she’s wearing a swimming suit.  Which is going to be NEVER, because iceboats and swimming don’t go together.

Spaight St. Syndicate: The Old Man and the C

Spaight St. Syndicate: The Old Man and the C


Previously at the Spaight St. Syndicate
A wise visitor from the south, Skeeter Iceboat Club’s Lou Lonnecke, pays a visit to the Spaight St. Syndicate. Daniel Hearn reports:

The Old Man and the C

If they had ice in Cuba, I’m certain Earnest Hemingway would have been an ice sailor. Last Sunday I was the (not-so)-young apprentice “Mandolin,” learning from the Grand Master Lou, “Santiago” Loenneke. One of the realities of ice sailing is that you can be an old man yourself, but still the youngest guy in the room. We may be gray, but we know how to play!

Hemingway’s last major work, the novel tells the story of a battle between an aging, experienced fisherman, Santiago, and a massive marlin. Mandolin has great admiration for Santiago, but Santiago is on a bit of an unlucky streak. Kind of like getting tossed at the leeward mark on Lake Pepin last winter, but I’m not mentioning any names. Santiago eventually hooks the big one and battles the fish for three days until he is worn out and nearly delirious. That’s exactly the way Lou felt when he left the Syndicate on Sunday after battling with the top deck of my prized Madison marlin. She didn’t lay down easy, but in the end the old salt showed her who was boss. OSHA would frown upon the flattening method, but she complied, nonetheless, with 155 lbs. of movable “encouragement.”

Someday I hope my work will land in the hands of an adoring fan, who will find the creator’s signature hidden away inside a bulkhead.

That Thing Got A Hemi?

That Thing Got A Hemi?

You’re about the find out.


Are you ready for another Spaight Street Syndicate installment? Daniel Hearn’s C Class Skeeter build enters the “sweeeet” phase.
Previously at the Spaight St. Syndicate

No hemi, but all sorts of other, hopefully, go-fast stuff under the hood.

Springboard attachment brackets. Not fast if your springboard falls off. First time I ever sailed an iceboat was Donny Anderson’s Nite on Lake Kegonsa. Springboard fell off. I didn’t know there was hazing before I joined the fraternity.

(more…)

“Left Alone With Big Fat Fanny”

“Left Alone With Big Fat Fanny”

The Fat Bottomed Girl gets some knickers.

Previously:
“A Space for Cowboys:
“The Inspector”
“Building In The Big City”
“New Ways to Shave”
“Heavy Metal Lightweight”
“It’s a Bubble”
“Simon Says”
“Frosting For Frozen Fun”
“When Your Plank Needs Work”
“A Weak Moment
Hang on folks, here we go with another Spaight Street Syndicate report from Daniel Hearn:


I was just a skinny dad

Never knew no good from bad
But I knew life before I left my shop dusty
Left alone with big fat fanny
She was such a naughty lassie
Heap big woman
You made a bad boy out of me

I was focused on her bottom last night when Spotify served up a classic. Coincidence? I think not. Just me and my fat bottomed girl havin’ at it in the basement. And my wife doesn’t seem to care, unless things get too loud, but even then she just calmly asks, “can’t you do that when I’m not home?” Reasonable request. She walked in on us a couple days ago when I was nailing her with the pneumatic gun. I apologized profusely for that indiscretion, as I appreciated that it can be shocking when not expected.

Thanks for the sign, Freddie. Enjoyed your movie earlier this year. Rock on and tell my dad I miss him.

The Fat Bottomed Girl gets some knickers.


A Space for Cowboys

A Space for Cowboys

After a short break, Daniel Hearn is back in the saddle, so to speak, with his C Skeeter basement build.

Previously:
“The Inspector”
“Building In The Big City”
“New Ways to Shave”
“Heavy Metal Lightweight”
“It’s a Bubble”
“Simon Says”
“Frosting For Frozen Fun”
“When Your Plank Needs Work”
“A Weak Moment

Saddle Up, Cowboy

Yeah, I know, it’s been awhile since my last update. In between that work thing and summer pursuits, my time blocks for the shop are short and less frequent, but I’ve been chipping away at the iCe rocket. (No, that’s not the boat name, but it will be a subject of a future blog). My internal mechanicals are now complete, and I’ve been doing lots of sanding on the cockpit carbon to make it look all purdy. I’ll give you the full tour in my next blog.

 

My nightly ritual this week has been laminating carbon to form the “saddle” which will attach my rocket to the launch pad. At the center point of the plank I laid out a layer of peel ply, then formed the saddle around the plank. I lost track of how many layers, but it was a great way to use up my scraps of both uni and cloth, interspersed with full size pieces. My technical consultant advised that the saddle needed to be stronger than the hull itself, so I just kept adding layers each night until I got to a thickness of about 3/8”. Once there, I rough trimmed the saddle and cut a matching profile in the bottom of my hull to prepare it for glue on. After I glue it on, I’ll reinforce the attachment with carbon fillets on the inside and outside of the hull. The outside fillets will cover up the mounting plates for the titanium axle that holds my exit block in position.

 

It was noticeably cooler this morning for my sun-up open water swim. Ice is a good way off yet, but the seasons are starting to sniffle. This cowboy is excited to break in a wild mare branded M-177!

“The Inspector”: Spaight St. Syndicate C(bd) Skeeter Update

“The Inspector”: Spaight St. Syndicate C(bd) Skeeter Update


Previously:
“Building In The Big City”
“New Ways to Shave”
“Heavy Metal Lightweight”
“It’s a Bubble”
“Simon Says”
“Frosting For Frozen Fun”
“When Your Plank Needs Work”
“A Weak Moment

The Inspector

I imagined it would be like Frank Lloyd Wright stopping by to check out our Convention Center. He’d be wearing the half circle reading glasses occasionally glancing over the top and then returning to the precise plans which captured his vision. The pockets of his finely tailored suit coat would be filled with measuring devices—a digital caliper, a laser guided tape measure, an atomic plumbometer—all calibrated by NASA. He’d pace around the structure, all too frequently grumbling a seemingly agitated “hmmmm,” which could only be interpreted as, “did this epoxy sniffer really think THIS is what I had in mind?” I was prepared for a tirade.

The night before, I had that dream where you’re supposed to be taking the final exam, but you realize you never went to class. Not one time. Or read any of the books. I needed something to relieve my anxiety. As luck would have it, a CBD store opened in my neighborhood. The proprietor is an old hippie, who goes by the name “Moon Dart.” He somehow rationalized that cashing in on people’s physical and mental struggles didn’t make him “the man.” Looks and smells like a capitalist to me, but in my hood we’re even left of Bernie, so that’s worse than calling someone the other “c” word. Yeah, that one. I went right for the highest potency, figuring it was like DN runners—more is always better.

Turns out, my anxiety was completely unnecessary. Inspector Heppert was very kind. At least in-person. When he gets a few beers in him, he might have the entire bar giggling like 7th grade girls at a slumber party, showing pictures of my incompetence on his iPad. But at least I won’t be around to hear it. After I slap a bunch of carbon on the outside, most of my infractions will be hidden anyway. And I know a good painter. So, I’m counting on at least “looking” fast. By the way, Moon Dart says the CBD oil is great for stoning runners. He advises stopping at 420. Makes sense.

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