Guido's Last Hurrah: Part I

[Blakesmaster]

XIII


The back roads of Sonoma Valley, between the mountains and the coast, pass through miles of undulating grapevines and groves of towering firs and redwoods. Open pasture lands are dotted with massive California live oaks and pungent bay trees. It is some of the most beautiful land I’ve ever seen, and if I were given the chance to enter a time machine and go to a place and time of my choosing, it would be this land before the Europeans arrived with their religions and diseases.

The country here had been first settled by Spanish ranchers in the early eighteenth century. In the second half of the 1800s the loggers came, followed much later by wine makers and their vineyards. Dotted among these vineyards are roadside mom-and-pop taverns that sometimes have to be entered through a small grocery store selling olive oil, pastas, and a variety of Mexican food stuffs. The interiors of these taverns are quite often decorated in an Old West--Gold Rush motif, with replicas of antique rifles, wanted posters, and photos of old wineries and horse and buggies littering the walls. It was in just such a place that Geena, Guido, and Fred, the crane operator, had retired to after finishing the job up at the Geyers.

Guido and Geena sat shoulder to shoulder, drinking Rainiers Ale and chasing it with shots of JD, while Fred stuck to his Coors. They all sat at the bar which consisted of a twenty foot long, three foot wide slab of Douglas fir. And as they lubricated their throats and tongues, the outlandishness of their stories became directly proportional to their alcoholic consumption. It was as if they were contestants in a game show where the winner would be decided by who could tell a lie so outrageous that it had to be true. Geena won, and here is her tale:


A group of Russian veterans from the Afghan War decided one day to go into the cattle business. They lived in the southern Siberian city of Krasnoyarsk. During the ‘80s they had all been crew members on large transport planes carrying troops and supplies into Bagram Airbase north of Kabul, Afghanistan.

Fast forward to 1996. Their leader, Viktor, was still a pilot. He and the other men now worked for a government-owned transport company that flew throughout eastern Asia. They hadn’t been paid in several months, so in the midst of a three-day drinking party Viktor and his drunken comrades decided to become independent entrepreneurs. The Japanese government had leased a giant cargo jet from the company the men worked for, and the vets were assigned to fly an AN-124 Condor to Japan.
For a quarter century the AN-124 was the largest transport plane ever built. With an overhead door and retractable loading ramp mounted in its tail section, it could transport a downed American fighter jet or a Russian space orbiter. In their inebriated states of mind, Viktor and his seven compatriots reasoned it would be unconscionable to let all of the Condor’s 1,028 cubic meters of cargo space go to waste on its journey to Yokohama, especially knowing the cost of a sirloin dinner in a Tokyo restaurant. They converted kilograms of beef into square meters of floor space, and yen into rubles, determining the precise number of cattle needed to buy a vacation home near the Black Sea. The next day the veterans began their preparations.

North of the Sayan Mountains which span the central Mongolian border, and to the east of the Yenisey River, lie lush grasslands where once Soviet agricultural production cooperatives raised cattle in order to supply beef to workers and passengers of the Trans-Siberian Railway. These farms were now manned by unpaid cowboys. Over the course of a few months, an outbreak of cow thievery commenced on the poorly guarded cooperatives that would have been the envy of any cattle rustler who ever rode the Chisolm Trail. Using motorcycles and trucks, the young cowboys herded and transported cattle to a makeshift corral in a wooded area a few hundred meters southeast of a landing strip. The strip had been built to accommodate jumbo transport planes like the AN-124s which had serviced nuclear weapon and defense plants at two ultra-secret cities of the Soviet era.
On a raw September evening, 225 cows crowded a barbed wire pen. Riding horses and motorcycles, the Russian cowboys herded the cattle through a copse of aspen trees toward the end of a runway where the yawning rear of an AN-124 lay open like the arched entryway to a tunnel. The steel ramp rattled with nine hundred hooves as cattle jostled into the plane’s belly. Once the hydraulic ramp had been retracted and the cargo door closed, the eight-man crew prepared for takeoff. Air-traffic control and security at the understaffed airport had all received the appropriate bribes commensurate with their status. It was all systems go for Viktor and his airborne cowboys. Everything was smooth flying until the 124 hit turbulence over the Sea of Japan. The cattle spooked and broke down the barrier separating the crew from the cows. The co-pilot immediately opened the rear door and the cows stampeded toward the daylight.

Thirty thousand feet below, Japanese fishermen in commercial fishing boats watched as cattle fell from the sky into the aqua blue sea surrounding their boats. It brought a whole new meaning to the term "sea cows."

What...the...all right, boss, you're kinda losin' me here. It is still entertaining though.

 

[pdqdl]

With bait like that, they could just get the right treble hook and go trolling for killer whales.

 

[Mapleman]

Blakesmaster: "What...the...all right, boss, you're kinda losin' me here. It is still entertaining though."

Yeah, I got lazy last night and copied and pasted part of a story I wrote a couple of years ago. But no fear, things get back on track... Maple



PART XIV


Geena later confessed to having lifted her story from an article in a pulp SciFi mag, written by an ex-patient of a Moscow psychiatric ward. She also confessed to having embellished the details a bit after snorting a line or two in the tavern’s restroom. Still, Guido and Fred agreed her story, even though futuristic and not original, was the most outrageous one told that night.

Guido’s story was about Mike, a tree guy in the Upper Peninsular of Michigan, who was commissioned to drop a big maple with a 38-inch DBH and a blown out top. The tree stood in a thicket of brush and small trees, and leaned at a thirty degree angle away from a small woodworking shop. The homeowner said he wanted the maple down because “it smelled bad.” It was the first time in his twenty years of tree work that the arborist had heard that one.

Once Mike had cleared some brush and debris from the base of the tree and had mapped out two escape routes 45 degrees back away from the fall line, he made his face cut. The center of the trunk was five inches of mealy grayish-brown punk, and its odor, indeed, reeked of some foul pestilence.

Then Mike noticed that a dozen turkey vultures were perched in the tops of surrounding maple and ash trees as if watching the show. Shrugging it all off, Mike side notched the maple so the tree wouldn’t barber chair when he made his back cut. Gunning his 2100 and digging its dogs into the cambium, Mike rotated the body of the saw away from him before pulling it back to even up the cut. Big wood chips the size of snow flakes sprayed from the bottom of the saw and mounded at Mike's feet. The maple jumped off the stump with a final shudder and moan--leaving four inches of spiky hinge behind it--and crashed through the underbrush.

The homeowner was hoping to salvage some firewood out of the tree, so Mike grabbed a smaller saw and walked the trunk out to where the tree tapered into wood the HO could handle. The trunk had split apart; the maple stench was overwhelming; and the vultures were now circling overhead. Mike put a handkerchief to his nose. The tree hollowed out about two-thirds up the trunk. And there in the hollow, between two convex pieces of maple, lay the partially decomposed body of what turned out later to be a missing twelve-year-old boy.


Fred’s story went something like this. Three lawn jockeys from Southern California decided they were tree men after they bought a forty-foot aluminum extension ladder and a Craftsman chain saw. Their first job was a 65-foot blue gum takedown next to a utility pole. The tree had been side trimmed by a line crew about three years before. The first branch, which had been stubbed back away from the wires and had sprouted with new growth, was too high to reach from the top of the ladder, so they backed their pickup to the base of the tree and footed the ladder in the bed of the truck. The ladder’s top was now wedged against the trunk almost even with the stubbed off branch.

After considerable discussion, it was decided the shortest of the three would climb the ladder and cut the limb. Stooge number two stood in the pickup bed and steadied the ladder. The brains of the operation leaned against the truck’s passenger door and shouted out instructions. The “climber” positioned himself on the ladder’s third to the top rung, and after a dozen yanks on the pull cord, fired up the little red Homey. He then proceeded to make the desired top cut, as instructed from below, but instead of feathering the cut so the stub hinged slowly, swooping out over and past the high lines, he gunned the saw and the stub broke off more to the horizontal than to the vertical. Amperage raced from the lines to the ground, using the euc stub, the saw, the “climber,” the ladder and the Stooge holding it, the truck, and finally the boss--who was now fused to the truck’s door--as conduits.

Guido turned to his right and stared at Fred. “So all three of those lawn geeks were fried, right?”

Fred nodded. “Yeah, and their pickup needed a new paint job too.”

Guido puckered his lips, shook his head, and looked from Fred to Geena. “Man, I’m not scared of but three things in life…becoming a paraplegic, jealous women, and friggin’ amperage.”

 

[pdqdl]

Uh oh. I can see where this is going.

By the way: craftsman chainsaws have never been red that I know of. Nor Homelite, if that was the inference.

 

[Tree Pig]

Uh oh. I can see where this is going.

By the way: craftsman chainsaws have never been red that I know of. Nor Homelite, if that was the inference.

you better tell this saw then... it is very confused

so is this one

 

[Taxmantoo]

By the way: craftsman chainsaws have never been red that I know of. Nor Homelite, if that was the inference.

What's this then?
http://lansing.craigslist.org/tls/1159900232.html

 

[tree md]

Wow, those are some crazy stories! I was watching some crime show a week or so back and the cops got a search warrant to look in the tree next to this guys house. They cut the tree and found a body in the hollow. Crazy Shiot!

You should definitely write a book. I would buy it.

 

[pdqdl]

What's this then?

.....

Yep, that's red alright. I stand corrected. I wonder how old that thing is?

I see that it also had that wonderful self sharpening feature that guaranteed your chainsaw wouldn't cut anything at all.

 

[pdqdl]

you better tell this saw then... it is very confused
...

I would love to say that I am convinced those are craftsman saws, but I can't see the label. That bottom one sure does look like an old Homelite, though.

 

[tree md]

I have seen red and blue Homies.

 

[pdqdl]

Yeah, the old blue ones were when Homelite was a respected name of saw to own. Some years ago I ran a small engine repair facility. People would bring in those ancient Homelite Zip saws and try to get them repaired.

"Sorry... There haven't been parts for that saw for 15 years."

 

[brnchbrkr]

Rep sent for

Geena.

 

[Tree Pig]

I would love to say that I am convinced those are craftsman saws, but I can't see the label. That bottom one sure does look like an old Homelite, though.

bottom is a homie I found about 3 different saws that look like the top one that said they were craftsman but I agree no label, no proof. Lets call it a draw. Salutes all around.

 

[Mapleman]

How many of you guys have intentionally thrown a Homey, Craftsman, or other clunker of any color out of a tree?

I confess to a least one. I bought a Craftsman when my 020 went down in the middle of a job. Paid $169 and change for it. Sometime later that summer I launched it from a tree after it consistently wouldn't start, and then I ripped the pull cord out. Figured the rest of my saws would wise up after seeing that...

 

[Mapleman]

My first climbing saw was a blue Homelite XL 12--heavy bastard it was, but a workhorse.

 

[Shaun Bowler]

Remember the Poulans?

 

[tree md]

My first climbing saw was a blue Homelite XL 12--heavy bastard it was, but a workhorse.

Never used an xl 12 professionally but it was the first chainsaw I ever used.

I have thrown a husky 142 out of a tree. The air filter cover was constantly falling off and it was hard starting when it got hot. Same with the old top handle poulans. Never threw one out of a tree because it was not my saw but I would cuss it like a red headed step child.

 

[Mapleman]

Question: Why did they make those Poulans green?



Answer A: So they'd get hidden in the brush and be invisible when you were bombing wood. After you smacked them, you'd be at the shop ordering Poulan parts.

That little yellow and/or green top handle baby was a hummer. Gas tank was too small for takedowns though.

 

[Mapleman]

tree md: "Never used an xl 12 professionally but it was the first chainsaw I ever used.

I have thrown a husky 142 out of a tree. The air filter cover was constantly falling off and it was hard starting when it got hot. Same with the old top handle poulans. Never threw one out of a tree because it was not my saw but I would cuss it like a red headed step child."



Has Husky figured out the spark plug cover on the 335 yet? I bought mine the first year they came out. I wish I had 20 bucks for everytime I've been zapped by that thing. I've got a wad of duct tape over the cover. And to think how long that saw was on the drawing table before they came out with it.

Oh yeah, gas tank is too small for take downs. I use mine strictly for pruning. 020 all the way, baby...

 

[tree md]

tree md: "Never used an xl 12 professionally but it was the first chainsaw I ever used.

I have thrown a husky 142 out of a tree. The air filter cover was constantly falling off and it was hard starting when it got hot. Same with the old top handle poulans. Never threw one out of a tree because it was not my saw but I would cuss it like a red headed step child."



Has Husky figured out the spark plug cover on the 335 yet? I bought mine the first year they came out. I wish I had 20 bucks for everytime I've been zapped by that thing. I've got a wad of duct tape over the cover. And to think how long that saw was on the drawing table before they came out with it.

Oh yeah, gas tank is too small for take downs. I use mine strictly for pruning. 020 all the way, baby...

I haven't owned or used a husky since like 2001. They don't have any dealers where I live that I know of except the ranch supply stores and all they sell are the rancher pros and other home owner saws. I've only seen pictures of the 335. I did hear that they fixed the cover problem on the 142's finally. I think I was paying a third of what a 020 went for at that time for the 142. I considered it a throw away saw and figured I could throw three saws out of the tree before it cost me what an 020 would. I have since changed my philosophy. I use all Stihl saws now because there are plenty of dealers around me and they are easy to get parts for. Plus I like Stihl. 200T rocks the boat!