added latest posts and some revisions of darktable guide

1 files changed, 45 insertions, 27 deletions

diff --git a/scratch.txt b/scratch.txt
index 7a4d31a..e613cfc 100644
--- a/scratch.txt
+++ b/scratch.txt
@@ -256,68 +256,86 @@ control + s to apply lxf sharp
 
 alt + - zoom out (custom)
 alt + = zoom in (custom)
+0-5 rate pics
 
+## Winter Storm
 
-## Repair Fail
+The afternoon of the day we decided to leave the Jeep behind a ranger stopped by to tell us they were closing the campground the next day due to a large storm front that was headed our way. Winds were expected to be in the 50 MPD range, with gust even higher. We've sat out a storm with [winds like that in New Mexico](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2018/01/eastbound-down). It wasn't fun, but we're still here. But that wasn't an option this time. Fortunately we were planning to leave the next day anyway.
 
-One of the most underappreciated, least talked about aspects of repair is the cultural hierarchy within that world. You have to earn your way to the top of it. Experts in repair are experts because they have done it, not because they think they can do it. There's no way to fake expertise, especially in car repair.
+We crammed all the backpacking gear and misc stuff from the Jeep in the back of the bus and hit the road the next morning. We cut inland and headed south for somewhere to sit out the storm. Driving the bus in the rain sucks and I wasn't about to do it with everyone on board.
 
-To really understand all the way down is to have a total cognitive understanding of the thing, from top to bottom that stands in stark contrast to the dependency of consumer culture. To get that is not easy. It is hard one. It is competitive.
+I also wasn't crazy about camping anywhere with pine trees when the forecast was for days of soaking rain followed up by high winds. Unfortunately nearly every campground on the Carolina coast is full of pines and oaks. I've seen too many trees come down in too many campgrounds to risk it when I don't have to. We found a hotel south of Wilmington and booked two nights.
 
-The early drafts of my Wired article on the bus had a lot more about this, but they were cut out during the edit process, which was my only frustration with that piece. I thought, and continue to think, that it's is very important to acknowledge that skills like repairing cars are earned through experience. There is no other way.
+The storm came on slowly. The first morning not much happened. I decided we probably had time to check out the nearby battleship North Carolina before the brunt of it hit us. The kids and I grabbed an Uber over to the battleship. We had the place to ourselves, which was fun. We wandered around below decks for a couple hours, getting hopelessly lost a couple of times, but having fun nonetheless. 
 
-When you start trying to fix things, you suck at it. There is a steep learning curve and you will fail. You will fail over and over until you learn. I find this dynamic interesting because those are two things I truly dislike -- failure and asking for help.
+By the time we came back out the parking lot was starting to flood and I was a little worried about getting a ride back. It took a bit, but eventually we found someone as nutty as us and made it back to the hotel safe and sound.
 
-I hate asking for help more than I hate failure so for me, learning to repair anything is a trial and error and error and error and error and error and give-up-and-ask-for-help process. 
+I alternated between hanging out in the hotel, taking the kids to the indoor pool, and checking on the bus. Just to the south of us North Myrtle beach took a beating, and up to the north of us Wilmington flooded. The outer banks had plenty of overwashed roads and high winds as well, but nothing nearly as bad as had been predicted. Curiously, where we were, other than a good steady rain for 24 hours, nothing much happened.
 
-This process is important though. You can't shortcut it. You need those moments of crushing failure and ineptitude. Otherwise your sense of yourself can outstrip what you're capable of, which is usually referred to as "having an ego." Or worse that self-image becomes so fragile you avoid situations that might force you to alter it, and when it is inevitably punctured you go all to pieces, which is worse than ego, no ego.
+The next day we hit the road again bound for Edisto. It was a slow drive through Charleston traffic, but we made it.
 
-Suck early, suck often. 
+Two days later Elliott turned nine.
 
-It's one thing to understand that intellectually. Its another to live the experience of failure.
 
-About two weeks into our stay in the outer banks the Jeep started acting funny. There was no definitive thing I could put my finger on, just an intuition that something was wrong inside the engine. Deep inside the engine according to my hunch. I did what anyone would do; I ignored it. 
 
-Until it became audible. Thunk thunk thunk when I accelerated. For a long time there had been a tapping sound that I somehow instinctively knew was a bent rod. Despite two mechanics telling me it wasn't. I took off the valve covers and sure enough, there was a bent rod. But that wasn't all, I ran the engine with the covers off and realized one of the exhaust rods was no longer lifting the tappet. This was on one of the two cylinders that always had slightly sooty spark plugs when I check them, so far it all made sense. I ordered some rods and some new lifters. 
 
-Unfortunately the heads on the AMC 360 engine do not allow you to extract the lifters. I had to pull the intake manifold off. I didn't want to do that at a campsite in the sand dunes so I rented a storage unit to work on it and had it towed up. 
 
-It took me two days to unhook everything and get the intake manifold off and the passenger side head. There was an oil leak toward the rear of the engine I thought maybe the head gasket was bad. It turned out I was wrong. Fail number one, but that one was minor, just a wasted day worth of work and $40 for a new head gasket. No biggie, I put the head back together and torqued it down.
+## Repair Fail
+
+One of the most underappreciated, least talked about aspects of repair is the hierarchy. There are repair wizards and there are newbies and there are the rest of us, somewhere between those two poles. This hierarchy of skill and experience requires that you earn your way to the top. Experts in repair are experts because they have done it, not because they think they can do it, or they say they can do it. There's no way to fake expertise in car repair. The thing either starts or it doesn't.
+
+It's a long road to expert. The more experience you gain, as you work your way up that hierarchy, the more you see the summit recede in front of you. You start to know how much you don't know. It's one thing to be able to do basic things like [replace a head gasket](https://luxagraf.net/jrnl/2022/10/going-down-swinging), it's a whole other thing to be able to listen to an engine and know a head gasket needs replacing. The latter is a kind of total understanding of the system that takes years, possibly decades to obtain.
+
+<img src="images/2023/jeep.jpg" id="image-3871" class="picwide" />
+
+To really understand a system all the way from top to bottom is to hold a total cognitive model of the thing in your mind and be able to access it intuitively. To get that is a hard won process with a steep learning curve. You will fail. You will fail over and over until you learn. I find this dynamic interesting because those are two things I truly dislike -- failure and asking for help. Both are essential if you want to repair things.
 
-I'd spent three days now though, hanging out alone in a storage unit, talking to my GoPro since I recorded everything. Still, I was optimistic, I was having fun. We weren't due to leave for another three days. I had time. Then the parts got delayed. I spent a day thinking about all the other things I could be doing. Everything has opportunity costs. I didn't get to see Val as much as I wanted. I didn't even really see Corrinne or the kids much for the better part of a week. I was back and forth between the storage unit, the mailbox to check on parts, and various parts stores. Still, I was optimistic.
+I hate asking for help more than I hate failure, so for me, learning to repair anything is a trial and error and error and error and error and error and give-up-and-ask-for-help process. 
 
-I pulled out the lifters. The one that wasn't lifting was worn down a good 3/16th of an inch. It was then that I realized my original hunch was right, the problem was deeper, I was treating symptoms. The nagging suspicion that I was out of my depth and just plain wrong began to set in. This is when the thoughts about opportunity costs started to creep in more frequently. Long before I ever did any repairs I rationalized not doing them by thinking that I could earn more money working however many hours I'd be working on the car, so it made more sense to pay someone else. I'll stick to working, they can stick to repairing. But that's just a rationalization. I didn't spend that saved time working. I did got knows what with it. 
+This process is important. You can't shortcut it. You need those moments of crushing failure and ineptitude. Otherwise your sense of yourself can outstrip what you're capable of, which is usually referred to as "having an ego." Or worse that self-image becomes so fragile you avoid situations that might force you to alter it, and when it is inevitably punctured you go all to pieces, which is worse than ego -- no ego.
+
+Fail early, fail often. 
+
+Still, it's one thing to understand this process intellectually. It's another to live it.
+
+<img src="images/2023/2023-11-29_125854_oregon-inlet.jpg" id="image-3872" class="picwide" />
+
+About two weeks into our stay in the outer banks the Jeep started acting funny. There was no definitive thing I could put my finger on, just an intuition that something was wrong inside the engine. Deep inside the engine according to my hunch. I did what anyone would do. I ignored it. Until one day it became audible on the way home from the grocery store. Thunk thunk thunk when I accelerated. 
+
+For a long time there had been a tapping sound that I somehow instinctively knew was a bent rod. Despite two mechanics telling me it wasn't. I took off the valve covers and sure enough, there was a bent rod. But that wasn't all, I ran the engine with the covers off and realized one of the exhaust rods was no longer lifting the tappet. This was on one of the two cylinders that always had slightly sooty spark plugs when I checked them. So far it all made sense. I ordered some rods and some new lifters. 
+
+Unfortunately the heads on the AMC 360 engine do not allow you to extract the lifters. I had to pull the intake manifold off. I didn't want to do that at a campsite in the sand dunes so I rented a storage unit to work on it and had it towed up. 
 
-I started to think about that from the opposite direction there. I started to think, you know what, I think I am done with this. This isn't the way I want to spend my time. My family's time. When I am gone working on the car that means Corrinne has to take care of the kids, and I don't get to see any of them. At some point -- and I am honestly not sure what that point is sometimes -- that trade off is no longer worth it. I tried to quanitfy this someone. What's the cut off? I spent 8 hours trying to fix it and then punt? 16 hours? I finally concluded that it's not a quantifiable thing. But there is a point at which it is not worth the time.
+It took me two days to unhook everything and get the intake manifold off. I pulled out the lifter in question. The bottom of it, which rides the cam lobe, was worn down a good 3/16th of an inch. It was then that I realized my original hunch was right, the problem was deeper, I was treating symptoms. The nagging suspicion that I was out of my depth and plain wrong began to set in. 
 
-Then there's the time pressure from the need to move. The outer banks was getting colder every day. We need to be in Edisto for Christmas, we're supposed to spend January on the Georgia coast, all of these things felt like the might be slipping away. 
+Since I was waiting on new lifters I thought I might as well take off the passenger's side head. The Jeep had always leaked oil toward the rear of the engine on that side. It was almost impossible to see where the leak was coming from, but I thought maybe the head gasket was bad. It turned out I was wrong. Fail number one, but that one was minor, a wasted morning and $40 for a new head gasket. I put the head back on and torqued it down.
 
-Then there's the bus. The exhaust manifold had cracked and I needed to replace that, which was just a quick job once I had the new manifold, but it still needed to be done. If I gave up on the Jeep would it really matter, I still look after the bus after all? But the Jeep is by far the most fun car I've ever driven, I hate to give up on it. 
+At that point I'd spent the better part of three days hanging out alone in a storage unit, talking to my GoPro as I recorded everything I did. Still, I was optimistic, I was having fun. We weren't due to leave for another five days. I had time.
 
-I decided to put everything back together and see what happened.
+Then the parts got delayed. Thoughts about opportunity costs started to creep in. I spent a day thinking about all the other things I could be doing. Everything has opportunity costs. I could be playing with the kids in the dunes, visiting with friends, writing things I wanted to write. Instead I went back and forth between the storage unit, the mailbox to check on parts, and various parts stores. Still, I was optimistic.
 
-I put it back together, except for the valve covers, and started the engine. It turned over and oil started shooting out the rod end I'd replace. But not out of any other rods. That's when I know something else was wrong. I was out of my depth. I had failed. It hadn't even occurred to me that oil should have been shooting out of all the rods all the times I'd started it with the valve covers off. That should have been extremely messy and it never was, something else was wrong. My uncle suggested the oil pump was probably dead. Either way, I was out of time, we had to get moving if we were going to make Christmas down south.
+Long before I ever did any vehicle repairs I rationalized not doing them by saying that I could earn more money working the hours I'd be working on the vehicle, so it "made more sense" to pay someone else to do it. This kind of "sense" only really makes sense on a spreadsheet though. The truth is I was scared to try repairing anything because I didn't have a clue how to do it and knew I'd probably screw it up.
 
-I punted. I called the mechanic I'd almost called to begin with. He said he didn't have room for it on his lot and couldn't get to it until after the holidays. Damn. I called some other mechanics, none of whom really grabbed me but I had to do something. I settled on one, called a tow truck and sat down to wait for it. The original mechanic called me back. He said he'd make room, bring it on by. I took that as a sign, so I did. And that's where it sits today.
+I started to think about that rationalization from the opposite direction though -- does it make sense to spend this much time working on a vehicle when what I really want to do is enjoy a warm day with my family or taking pictures of the dunes at sunrise?
 
-I took everything out of it, somehow found room for it in the bus and we hit the road with everyone in the bus, something we haven't done in years.
+One day I was sitting in the storage unit drinking coffee and I realized, I am done with this. This isn't the way I want to spend my time, my family's time. The Jeep is an incredible vehicle and I love it. If we lived in a house and I could work on it when I felt like it, it'd be perfect. But that's not how it works on the road. There's the added pressure of time, the need to move on. The outer banks was getting colder every day. We were waking up to frost on the windows and clouds of breath in the air. We needed to be in Edisto for Christmas. We're supposed to spend January on the Georgia coast. All of these things felt like they might be slipping away, and for what? So we could drive the Jeep? Is that what we're doing here? 
 
+And yet, the Jeep is by far the best car I've ever driven. It is an absolute joy when it's running well. The kids love it. We all love it. I hated to give up on it. 
 
+The lifters finally arrived and I put everything back together. I left the valve covers off so I could make sure the new lifter was working. The kids came with me that day, and I let my daughter start it so I could watch the engine. It turned over and caught. But the thunking noise was still there. And that was when I realized oil was only coming out the rod that I'd replaced. Not out of any other rods. That's when I knew something else was wrong. I was out of my depth. I had failed. It hadn't even occurred to me that oil should have been shooting out of all the rods all the times I'd started it with the valve covers off. That should have been extremely messy and it never was, something else was wrong. My uncle suggested the oil pump was probably dead. Either way, I was out of time, we had to get moving if we were going to make Christmas down south.
 
+I punted. I called the mechanic I'd almost called to begin with. He said he didn't have room for it on his lot and couldn't get to it until after the holidays. Damn. I called some other mechanics, none of whom really grabbed me but I had to do something. I settled on one, called a tow truck, and sat down to wait for it. The original mechanic called me back. He said he'd make room, bring it on by. I took that as a sign, redirected the tow truck and dropped it off. 
 
-Still, I prefer that to outsourcing things. 
+I took everything out of it, somehow found room for it in the bus and we hit the road with everyone in the bus, something we haven't done in years. It's fun to travel that way, but not terribly practical for us right now.
 
+A few days later the mechanic called with bad news. The engine was a mess, the cam was blown and half a dozen other things had gone wrong. It needed to be completely rebuilt. Corrinne and I talked. Then we talked some more. We love the Jeep, but in the end, it was just too much to keep going with our life on the road. One engine to repair is enough. We decided to move on and put it up for sale. I'd like to see someone else rebuild it. It's a great car. But it's not for us right now. I'll miss the Jeep, but it's time to get back to what we do.
 
 
 
 
-On November 16th I came home from another day on the boat and said to Ali, “I think I’m done.” That’s all it really took—a decision had finally been reached somewhere on the Sabalo Centro bus between the marina and Old Town.
 
-“What do you mean?” she asked.
 
-“With boats. I think I’m done. This just isn’t the way I want to spend my time. Our time.” This had been in the back of my mind for months, but for some reason that day I was ready to accept it. The stupid thing is, the only reason I’d been having a hard time coming to that decision in the first place, is because I really loved our kids’ rooms. I loved how cosy and warm they were and how everything a child could ever want was within arms reach. For the first time in many many years I’d gotten sentimental over an inanimate object.
 
-We talked. And we talked. We talked about how our cruising plans were actually pretty stupid. Cruising to places in order to get off the boat. That’s stupid. Boats are meant to be sailed and lived on, not to be used as an alternative to a car. And while we enjoyed cruising Mexico, we didn’t enjoy the part-time-ness of it. Being a part-time cruiser is far more difficult than being a full-time cruiser. It’s hard work to move on and off and on and off. And it’s a terrible waste of money.