I am camped out at the range today. It’s the may long weekend up here in Canada, where our glorious leaders are trying to lock us down again to prove how virtuous and brave they are in the face of the terrifying Chinkypox. Naturally people need to get out and away. The campsites here were all taken yesterday... I got the second last one.
I am cautiously feeling out my new RV batteries. They were fully charged a couple weeks back but the voltage rides with temperature. At full charge they are at just over 13V. Drawing them down below 12.2V can damage them so I have to be super careful. I let the furnace run just before bedtime and then shut it off. In here the temp went down to 1.2C and I slept like a rock. I am old and fussy and have trouble sleeping sometimes. I get up to pee, trip over a dawg - and then I’m on the tablet seeing if any of the other bloggers are on and have written anything. Or worse, I end up on Blab where the rude jokes and lunacy never sleeps. But last night... dear gawd I needed that!
I was jarred awake at 6:00. The neighbours in the next lot started banging, clanking and barking. No biggie... whatever they were doing, they were done by 6:30 and I started to drift off. Just as I was about to start snoring and farting - I heard it. ‘Thump....thump...thump..thump.thumpthumpthumpthump!!! It sounded like BP trying to start his Harley, but it was a roughed grouse drumming during the mating season. At 7:30 some idiot started glurting on a turkey call. It’s chilly this morn and I don’t want to get out of my warm fart sack. Goddammitalltohell... no rest for the wicked I guess.
Don’t think I’ll hit the rifle range this morn but I might fling some arrows and make a late brunch later on. It’s weird. All my life I dreamed of retiring to do this and now that I’m here... I’d rather be working, HAR HAR HAR! It’s the damnedest thing. I will find something when the economy starts rolling again...and then I’ll wish I was back here again!
I hope your workday goes fast, and I hope my fellow Canukiestannies have a great long weekend planned.
Get a couple of "battery maintainers" and leave them hooked up to your RV batteries when you are at home. They do a good job for me at keeping the batteries topped off and ready to go. I don't trust a lot of battery chargers too much anymore, unless you buy a name brand and expensive one. Charging a battery too fast or with too high of a current can damage them. Smooth and slow is the way to go.
ReplyDeleteWell, that is what a serious RVer would do. Yeah I was thinking about that... but I saw some consumer complaints about them that scared me off. I could nigger-rig one easily enough... but the DMM is simple and reliable way to track the batt’s and the charger...
DeleteWell, that is what a serious RVer would do. Yeah I was thinking about that... but I saw some consumer complaints about them that scared me off. I could nigger-rig one easily enough... but the DMM is simple and reliable way to track the batt’s and the charger...
DeleteLooks like a great setup. I suggest the battery tenders as well.
ReplyDeleteCheers
Sounds just like down here in the summer when all the froggies from Querbec come down in their bananna hammocks to Old-Orchar-Beach and hang out packed cheek to jowl in the KOA campground.
ReplyDeleteIn my glory days, I camped in a tent, with an ATV parked in front. I could get lost in the foothills and never see a soul.
Delete10-Year-Old-Daughter: Whispering Mom, look! All those guys over there. You can see their things!
ReplyDelete8-Year-Old-Daughter: Where?
Mom: Shhhh! You both be quiet and never mind about that. They shouldn't be dressed that way.
13-Year-Old-Brother: To sister They aren't called things. They're called dickey-doos.
8-Year-Old-Daughter: dickey-doos?
Mom: clearly agitated Hush! Now! You see what you started?
13-Year-Old-Brother: snicker!
16-Year-Old-Brother: Yeah, see what you started, dumb ass? Besides, it's called a cock.
Mom: sputters and stalls out
13-Year-Old-Brother: Sure thing, fart face. Look, I have a cock. Those are just dickey-doos.
Mom: And just where did you learn that?!
Dad, walking up from the campground office: Well, I got us a space. Everybody into the vehicle!
8-Year-Old-Daughter: in her best ain't-I-just-too-cute-for-words voice: Dad, what's a dickey-doo?
Dad: Well, you see that goup of faggots over there? They've got dickey-doos. We're straight, so we've got cocks.
16-Year-Old-Brother: What about those honeys with 'em? I always thought faggots and broads didn't go together.
Dad: Those are fag-hags. Alright now, there endith the lesson. Let's go!