Training your bat(s)

Living in the country we are no strangers to bats. Seeing them swoop and dive as they gorge on mosquitos brings joy to the heart. I mean, who doesn’t like to see mosquitos “get theirs”. Miserable blood-sucking bastards.

So, we have lots of little brown bats around, including a couple in the attic. I’ve known they were there for a few years but they were never a problem and, as long as they minded their own business, were welcome to stay. Sure, once or twice a year one would bumble/flutter into our living space, only to be ushered back outdoors, but that was a small price to pay to enjoy the benefits.

About three weeks ago that all changed when we were awakened by a bat doing laps in the bedroom at 2 AM. That triggered phase 1 of the established SOP for bat removal: close bedroom door to living area, open bedroom door to screen porch.

Having done so I waited as the bat continued to lap the bedroom, apparently unaware that escape was as close at hand as flying through the damned door to the porch. It was like watching the Daytona 500 - around and around and around he went - and for almost as long (at 2 AM and groggy, 10 minutes can seem like 5 hours). But eventually he/she/it flitted into the porch, triggering phase 2: close bedroom door, open outside screen door. Ten more minutes of dizzying circles later, it finally realised the door was open and out it went in search of a mid-night snack.

Which brought on phase 3: go back to bed.

Two hours later it, or a close family relative, was back. What the….?  One night, two visits? This was new. But same SOP and, eventually, back to bed.

This continued every night for a couple of weeks. The fluttering of little wings would wake us up some time around zero dark thirty, I’d do the sally port routine for a few minutes, then crawl back under the covers. Like having an infant needing regular nighttime feedings it was becoming routine.

But then I began to notice a change in our little bat’s behaviour. Instead of continuing to fly circles in the bedroom once the porch door was opened, it seemed to anticipate it’s opening, heading for the door as soon as I got out of bed. Then, the instant the door opened it was through and into the porch. Ditto with the outside door – open the door, bat flies out. The whole bat egress process was now down to seconds instead of the previous 10-15 minutes. And, a couple of times, I went through the whole routine without the spousal unit even being aware.

So I now have a trained bat (or bats - hard to tell them apart). Or perhaps it now has a trained human. Either way it’s not really the kind of pet I want so a bat relocation program has been initiated. Wish me luck.

Cigar box guitars

I’ve mentioned in a few posts my interest in making cigar box guitars. I don’t play, or perhaps I should just say I play poorly, so for me the fun is in the design and building of these folk instruments. I’ve created 5 or 6 so far but it’s been a year or more since the last one, my attentions being elsewhere in the meantime.

 

Then, a couple of weeks ago, we spent an afternoon at the Stewart Park Music Festival in Perth where I attended a workshop on building cigar box guitars. The presenter, Mark Hunt, referenced a couple of good books on building various folk instruments, two of which were available from Lee Valley Tools. Today my copies arrived in the post.



So the flame has been rekindled with my next project being to make a canjo from this H-D labeled beer can.



Stay tuned.

Just because you can….

I came across an article on the Rideapart.com site (https://rideapart.com/articles/tower-trike-truck-based-motorcycle) describing this Indiana-based builder’s creation.



I’ll accept it’s a three-wheeler (yup, 3 wheels) but a motorcycle? Let me put it this way: If that’s a motorcycle then the Taj Mahal is a Little House on the Prairie and the Space Shuttle is just another version of the Kitty Hawk.

This thing is as big as it is ugly. Tipping the scales at 10,000+ pounds it is 19’ long and has a top speed of 84 mph. The 80-gallon fuel tank feeds a 335-hp Detroit Diesel coupled with an Allison automatic transmission. Mileage figures are not given, but let’s just say it’s no gas sipper. Your $100,000 (or thereabouts) also gets you “storage” (Note the tour-pak behind the passenger seat.) and a cross engraved with the 10 Commandments, an over-the-top version of the guardian bell, I suppose, but with no better guarantee.

People build all sorts of bizarre, one-off machines, which is ok, creativity is a good thing. But this guy reportedly thinks there’s a market for up to 1,000 of these monstrosities. He may be right – there are lots of people out there with more money than sense – but still, the mind boggles.

No choice at all

I haven’t been doing much blogging lately as enjoying this summer weather has been my first priority. So when it comes down to sitting at the computer, or this…..



Well, there’s really no choice at all.

Is 210 km too far to go for coffee?

Not if you’re on two wheels, eh?

With an unexpectedly freed-up afternoon and beautiful weather it was the perfect opportunity to go for a ride. And while not every ride needs a purpose mine generally involve at least one stop at a Tim Hortons for one of their addictive Iced Cappuccinos and possibly an apple fritter. I also needed some fishing sinkers and hooks to replace the ones the bass made off with the other night.

The nearest Tim’s is in Arnprior, but when I hit the four corners in White Lake I decided that wasn’t far enough; Perth was a better option. So I headed straight through to Burnstown. From Burnstown to Calabogie is a nice ride with a few curves to keep the rider awake, but the best road starts at Calabogie and heads directly to Perth.

Highway 511 has been a favoured riding destination for me for decades. Of course increased traffic and road improvements such as straightening some curves (damn them!) mean it’s not quite as exciting as it was in days of yore when we’d hammer along at ridiculous speeds on our Nortons or Hondas or whatever, but it’s still a fun ride.

After an hour or so the Perth Tim Hortons sign appeared and it was time for a break. As usual there were some riders in the parking lot and conversation ensued. Turns out we had a few friends in common (the riding community really is a small world) and we traded war stories while enjoying our drinks. To add some excitement a squeal of tires across the street was followed by a loud crunch as someone drove his/her car straight into a telephone pole. After the ambulance, police, and wreckage were finally gone it was time to hit the road, homeward bound.

The trip home was a bit longer than I expected because I had to go in search of lead-free sinkers, which, it turns out, are a lot harder to find than one would think with all the concerns about lead poisoning fish, loons, and other aquatic life. But that’s the topic for a future rant.

With all the stops it was about a 4-hour ride covering a little over 200 kilometers. A great afternoon outing for a coffee!