Beltane Moon of the Summer Solstice
More Chainsaw Bob. Took my saw into Chainsaw Bob for sharpening and an overhaul. “Let’s look inside and see if we have enough saw to overhaul.” Chainsaw Bob, with a monk’s tonsure and a long, flowing white beard, quickly removed the air filter, took out a flashlight and looked inside, shaking his head.
“Not good. See those striations?” I did. “See how we have them over here, too?” I did. “Not good. I’m afraid this saw is not worth an overhaul.” Oh. “With that it’ll have trouble idling.” In fact, that’s frustrated me the last week or so. I have to reach the throttle fast to keep the saw moving. Otherwise, it chugs, sputters and dies.
I’ve had this saw eight or nine years and it’s served me well. Wish I’d attended to whatever was causing this problem. It will work for a while anyhow, then I’ll have to consider whether to buy another one. Fire mitigation is mostly done and is the most chainsaw intensive task we’ll ever have here.
Back to Bob. I noticed a tin dancing bear sitting in a window of his crowded shop. “You a Deadhead, Bob?” “Music died on August 9, 1995. Since Jerry died, nothing good.” So, the old guy who cares for two-cycle engines like they’re babies is, in fact, about my age. However, he probably listened to the Dead while riding in a Huey gunship over the rice paddies of Vietnam.
Last time I saw him Bob had just returned from hip surgery and wasn’t sure he’d ever walk again. He did. And is.
He rents chippers, asked me if I wanted to rent one. No thanks, I have someone coming. “Malevolent, evil machines,” he said, shaking his head, stubbing out the ever present Camel in a melamine ashtray. “If I rent’em, I go out and check on’em. Checked on a guy last week and he had 12, 13 year olds without gloves or goggles feeding the machine. I took it back. He wasn’t happy.”
