Family Archives

January 25, 2015January 26, 2015

Steinhoff Rocket Launch

Grandson Malcolm needed to launch some rockets for a school science project. There’s something about the possibility of seeing something blow up that is deeply embedded in the Steinhoff genes (check out Dad blowing up a bridge), so Son Matt, Son Adam, Carly, and Grandsons Graham and Elliot assembled on what passes for a hill in South Florida – a landfill that has been turned into Dyer Park. Across-the-street-neighbor Cheyenne came along. She and her sisters practically live at Malcolm’s house, so she is almost an honorary Steinhoff by osmosis.

Highest altitude

These rockets aren’t the cardboard tubes that my buddies and I stuffed with gunpowder: the engines are made to produce consistent results. An Estes A8-3 engine, for example, produces eight seconds of thrust, pauses three seconds, then sends a blast out the other end of the engine to cause the nose cone to come apart, pulling out a parachute.

Returning to earth

Instead of an old-time fuse you lit with a match, these have electrical igniters to set off the explosives. That’s where I came in. When I climbed to the top of the hill, I found the launch team deep in contemplation after several failed launch attempts.

When they said they had run connectivity tests to make sure there was loop current, I suggested that there might be juice present, just not enough. Of course, there was no spare battery.

Then it came to me that I had left a camera bag in the van that contained 9-volt batteries for my wireless mike. That solved the problem. I refrained from swaggering up and growling, “Failure is NOT an option.”

The white smoke in this photo was caused by a burning piece of wadded-up paper towel that served as wadding to protect the parachute when the backblast blew off the nosecone.

Recovery team in action

Malcolm and Cheyenne race to recover the falling rocket. Well, Cheyenne races to recover the rocket.

Malcolm isn’t the kind of guy who feels the need to demonstrate his alpha maleness if it involves the exertion of energy. That’s another Steinhoff trait.

Wife Lila informed me that Malcolm isn’t loafing: he’s conserving his energy for a soccer match. He didn’t want to take a chance on pulling a hamtwitchit or whatever it is that causes athletes to get carried off the field.

Another Cheyenne capture

That gal has serious wheels. She was great at getting under the rockets.

Record the results

After each launch, Malcolm would write down the stats recorded by a gizmo that blasted into space inside the rocket. It tracked all kinds of variables.

For example, I’m pretty sure it was the rocket on the pad in the photo below that set the record for the day: 264 feet altitude; 83 mph top speed; 26.3 seconds of flight time.

Busted

I saw a park ranger car pull over at the bottom of the hill. Somehow or another, I got the feeling that the ranger wasn’t there to enjoy the launch event.

Sure enough, a very nice woman ranger came up and said that rocket launches weren’t allowed in the park “because the air space over the park” was controlled by a model radio-controlled club on another hill a tenth of a mile away.

Matt explained the science fair project and said they needed to do three launches of three different rockets to get the results Malcolm needed, and there were just two more to go, with one rocket ready on the pad.

Go for launch, then get gone

She said to go for launch on the last two, then get out of there.

After it was over, Matt said he had checked to make sure the FAA wouldn’t have problems with the location and altitudes, but he never thought they would run into a problem with “controlled air space” in a park sitting on top of gigatons of garbage.

January 24, 2015January 25, 2015

Odyssey Beginning to End

It is said that the happiest two days in a boat owner’s life are the day he buys the boat and the day he sells it. That was the kind of day Saturday was for me.

Kid Matt shot this photo of me taking a test drive in my new 2000 Odyssey van on November 26, 1999. The sales guy was trying to tell me where all the bells and whistles were located.

Less painful than expected

When Kid Adam said he was trading up and that his 2010 van was going to be available at a good price, I wasn’t looking forward to unloading my 2000. You caught part of that the other day.

I started by driving down to Car Max for an appraisal that would give me a floor price. They offered a number lower than what I was hoping for, but wasn’t insulting. There was a guy with a spinner sign down the street saying that HIS company would meet or beat any other offers.

A. He was lying and
B. His offer WAS insulting.

Adam had some friends or friends of friends who expressed an interest. A batch of them drove up from Miami Saturday noonish to look it over.

I was brutally honest about all the little quirks and foibles the vehicle had, but when we got finished with the test drive, they came up with a couple items that I dismissed as no big deal.

Negotiation is on

They shot me a price lower than I would accept, and I countered with one a hundred bucks higher, conceding that the noisy brakes really would need to be fixed and that my offer would split the difference on the brake job.

They wouldn’t budge off their offer, and I wouldn’t budge off mine, so we started to go our separate ways.

Before I could get to the house, they came back with an envelope of cash and we did the deal. In the long run, I think we were both OK with it. It’s just that crazy dance you have to go through when you buy or sell a car.

While we swapping license tags and going over little details, I left Wife Lila filling out the paperwork so there would be half a chance that someone would be able to read it. (As it was, I dated all my signatures 2014, and had to scratch over them)

They got the title and seemed to be happy. A camera aimed back in my direction would probably have captured a smile that big on MY face.

[Editor’s note: you’re going to have to take my word for their smiling faces. I got a text asking that I remove the photo. I cropped out the top of the photo and blurred their license tag to insure their privacy.]

Waving goodbye

When it pulled away from the house for the last time, I have to admit having mixed emotions. One of them was relief when it made it all the way to the corner and disappeared from sight. I honestly believe it has lots of miles left in it, but if it was going to die, I’d rather not see it.

That corner has bad car karma associated with it. It used to house a car dealer whose business model was to sell to people with lousy credit. As soon as they missed the first payment, he’d send the repo wrecker out to recover the car so it could be sold again and again.

I think his warranty was 30 feet or 30 minutes, too, based on the amount of shouting that would come over the fence.

I wish the new owners good luck. I have their address if any of the Road Warriorettes want to pay it a visit.

January 20, 2015

Need a Good Used Van?

My 2000 Honda Odyssey EX turned over 200,000 miles this week. I was hoping to take a picture of the odometer when it did it because I’ve never driven a vehicle that far before, but it rolled over while I was running a bunch of short errands in town, and I missed it.

At about the same time, Son Adam was looking to trade up from his 2012 Odyssey to a 2014 and surprise Wife Carly. They have two boys, and a third on the way. While we were talking about it over dinner, I asked him how much he wanted for his old van. He shot me a number that was more than I wanted to spend, but, since I know the history of the van and he swore it was in excellent condition, I told him I was interested.

He called me last week and said he had found one that he liked, had been haggling with a very nice saleswoman all day, and had finally gotten to the price he wanted to pay. He asked if I’d drive down with him to pick up the car. We took a test drive, they washed it, gassed it up, and we were ushered into a small room to sign the paperwork. He signed paper after paper until he got to the one that counted: how much it was going to cost.

Dealer’s obscene profit surcharge

While he was looking it over, he said, “This is $795 more than we had agreed on. What is this item?’

Before the nice saleswoman could answer, I said, “That’s probably the dealer’s obscene profit surcharge.”

Nice lady brought in the sales manager, who was everything that you would expect one to be. He tried to justify the number, but Adam pulled out a sheet of paper where that number had been crossed out during negotiations.

Sleazy sales manager said, in essence, “Take it or leave it.”

Without even looking at each other, Adam and I stood up and walked out.

Still want to deal?

Today, The Kid called and said he had found a better van for less money. Did I still want his? Yep.

So, here’s my problem (other than coming up with the money for him): I have a van to get rid of.

It’s not all that pretty from the outside: the clear coat has worn off in three places on the hood and across the roof. When I took it in to a body shop a couple of years ago to see if I should have it repainted, they said if I didn’t care how it looked, not to bother. The paint itself was in good shape and it wasn’t rusting.

I think an ugly car is an asset: it’s less likely to get broken into and people don’t try to bluff you in traffic.

It has a couple of pushed-in places on the rear side doors from careless people in parking lots, but I’ve never bothered to try to pull them out.

It’s mechanically sound

I had all the expensive stuff like the timing belt, water pump, belts and the like replaced in 2013 when it went in for a major tuneup. When I had that tuneup done, I asked the mechanic at Southend Service Station in West Palm Beach to check everything so I could decide if I should trade it then. He couldn’t find anything that would make me want to start paying car payments on a new one.

Transmission rebuilt at LeGrand Bros

The transmission was rebuilt in 2011 at LeGrand Bros Transmissions in Cape and has a 5-year, 50,000-mile national warranty that is transferable. The work was done when the odometer showed 169,807, so it still has months and miles left on the warranty.

The AC and heater work well and have been Road Warriorette approved. I replaced the front brakes last year; the rear ones squeal a bit, but they stop fine. I wasn’t going to fix them until I got ready to head back to the Midwest in March. The catalytic converter was replaced in 2012.

Interior is in good shape

The seats and interior are OK, with no rips or tears. The driver’s seat electric motor quit working, so I replaced the cloth seat with a used leather one last year.

When the car was a couple years old, Wife Lila and her sister, Marty, picked up a can of blue paint at Lowes. They didn’t get the top on it tight enough, and it went rolling around in the back. Most of the paint came out of the carpet, but you can still see a little color on the legs of one of the middle row of seats. (It doesn’t show in the photo.)

The power sliding doors open and close, but sometimes the door-open warning buzzer comes on. I don’t have rear passengers enough for me to diddle with the sensors to see if I can make them work better. I have a couple tricks I can show anyone who is interested. (It’s not so annoying that I was ever tempted to disconnect the bleeping buzzer.)

I had a 2″ trailer hitch put on to hold a bike rack, but it’s never been used to haul a big boat or trailer (although it’s rated and wired for them).

Cockpit gizmos come out

As you can tell, I didn’t clean the car up before I shot these photos. Adam said he wanted them quick and dirty, and that’s what he got. The cellphone holder is held on by suction cup, so it’ll come out clean. The iPad holder I made out of a piece of PVC pipe will leave two screw holes in the cup holder, but that’s not a big deal. The scanner will leave a couple of screw holes in the ash tray, but the good news is that all that electronic gear proves that the cigarette lighter power circuit has plenty of oomph.

Want to thaw out in Florida?

Reader Van Riehl said I should say “pre-owned” and not “used.” I prefer “proven” and “experienced.”

I’m comfortable enough with the vehicle mechanically that I had planned to put about 12,000 miles on it this spring and summer heading out to the Midwest. It’s a risk I wouldn’t take if I thought it wouldn’t make it.

It would make a good work van or be great for a family with more kids than dollars. I can’t promise it won’t break down tomorrow, but I was planning on getting another year or two out of it.

I haven’t come up with a price yet, but I’m willing to talk. If you are cold up north and want to fly down to drive it home, I’ll put you up in the guest room for a few nights while you thaw out. Bring cash.

(As always, click on the photos to make them larger. For the record, Florida beaches are usually brighter than this, but I shot that at dusk. I figured the orange swim suit made up for the dull light.)

January 7, 2015

Patches from the Past

Wife Lila was shuffling some stuff around this afternoon and ran across this pile of patches. (You can click on the photo to make it larger.)

When the Kid Matt and Kid Adam were in middle school and early high school, they had denim jackets that Lila would decorate with patches we had picked up from our travels and from Scouts. The ones on the left are mostly Scout patches; the ones on the right include a lot we got from our Great Family Vacation Out West in 1990.

When the kids outgrew their jackets, their mother would painstakingly take off the old patches and either move them to a new jacket or replace them with newer souvenirs.

The kids got T-shirts from me

When I was on the road, I’d look for custom T-shirts. If there was any kind of big event going on, some entrepreneur would come up with a design, run off a couple hundred shirts and skip town before anybody came around checking if he had a license. I saw a T-Shirt guy get rousted by a couple of cops in Key West during the Boatlift. After a few minutes of conversation, the cops walked off with shirts and the guys were given two days to get out of town (by that time their stock would be gone).

They were usually cheap – $3 or $4 apiece – they were easy to pack, and they were unlikely to be worn by any other kid in their classes.

In that category: Cuban Boatlift; the Whigham, Georgia, Rattlesnake Roundup; Wheeler’s Bar’s Million-Dollar Log; the Pope’s visit to Miami; all kinds of hurricane commemorative shirts; Don’t Mess with Texas, and one from Two Egg, FL. I have two large plastic containers of shirts in the top of the closet just waiting for a quilt or something to spring from them.

That’s Grandson Malcolm in a Bunny Bread T-shirt picked up in Cape at the Used Bread Store. He’s a lot cuter nowadays. His father, Matt, is, well, older.