natescape
Veteran Member
Here's my story, only just slightly embellished.
Alright, so I get my two 55-gallon blue steel drums of biodiesel delivered yesterday (details tomorrow for you Mass/RI/NH folks) and my pump delivered today (shipping oversight on their part ... FedEx to the rescue). Interestingly, the pump is just a pump. Think "old west water pump". No hose, no nozzle, just a pump.
Heh.
I can screw on a garden hose if I so desire, but I don't have a short one, so I forego the hose. I use pliers to peel of a metal cap/cover thingie that, as it's popping off, slices my pinkie. I realize this later when blood's all over my hand. So, the thin metal cover is off (think aluminum can), and screwed into the 3-4 inch opening is a cover with no obvious way to remove it.
Realizing I'm in over my head (I may be mechanically inept, but I'm OK at realizing when I'm past my skill level), I go next door to get my electrician/construction guy Portuguese neighbor to come over and help me. He manages to get the thing off with use of a hammer and several well-timed Portuguese curses. God bless those Portuguese curses.
Remember, no hose here. No way I'm getting this straight to my car. So instead I grab a 5-gallon fuel container, a funnel, and a chair (to elevate the container) and start pumping. My neighbor, previously exposed to my biodiesel mania but never a witness to the actual event, looks on in horror as I feverishly pump away. Squirt. Squirt. Squirt. Squirt. Squirt. You get the picture. So we're chatting away, him fascinated by the yellow liquid gushing into my container. Suddenly we realize the reduced twilight visibility has tricked us into not realizing the container is VERY full and is gushing all over my wife's kitchen chair.
Heh.
So we cap the back, carry it over to the car, and get ready to pour. In the process, I only spill maybe a pint onto the driveway (yay me!). I pour it in. Mmmm. I love the smell of renewable fuel in the evening.
Wife calls. I explain how a neighborhood rabbit is digging a warren in our front yard. The neighbor meanders off. Call ends. Out comes the garden hose to wash off the driveway (sorta... where the biodiesel spilled the water beads up ... the bio never seems to go away). Thank the powers that be that this stuff's biodegradable and won't destroy my lawn.
The moral of the story: Don't ever let Nate do anything mechanical.
The other moral of the story: If you're going to get 55-gallon drums delivered to your house, go buy a real pump at the hardware store. An electric one, with a hose and nozzle. Take it from Uncle Natie.
[ June 13, 2002, 18:17: Message edited by: natescape ]
Alright, so I get my two 55-gallon blue steel drums of biodiesel delivered yesterday (details tomorrow for you Mass/RI/NH folks) and my pump delivered today (shipping oversight on their part ... FedEx to the rescue). Interestingly, the pump is just a pump. Think "old west water pump". No hose, no nozzle, just a pump.
Heh.
I can screw on a garden hose if I so desire, but I don't have a short one, so I forego the hose. I use pliers to peel of a metal cap/cover thingie that, as it's popping off, slices my pinkie. I realize this later when blood's all over my hand. So, the thin metal cover is off (think aluminum can), and screwed into the 3-4 inch opening is a cover with no obvious way to remove it.
Realizing I'm in over my head (I may be mechanically inept, but I'm OK at realizing when I'm past my skill level), I go next door to get my electrician/construction guy Portuguese neighbor to come over and help me. He manages to get the thing off with use of a hammer and several well-timed Portuguese curses. God bless those Portuguese curses.
Remember, no hose here. No way I'm getting this straight to my car. So instead I grab a 5-gallon fuel container, a funnel, and a chair (to elevate the container) and start pumping. My neighbor, previously exposed to my biodiesel mania but never a witness to the actual event, looks on in horror as I feverishly pump away. Squirt. Squirt. Squirt. Squirt. Squirt. You get the picture. So we're chatting away, him fascinated by the yellow liquid gushing into my container. Suddenly we realize the reduced twilight visibility has tricked us into not realizing the container is VERY full and is gushing all over my wife's kitchen chair.
Heh.
So we cap the back, carry it over to the car, and get ready to pour. In the process, I only spill maybe a pint onto the driveway (yay me!). I pour it in. Mmmm. I love the smell of renewable fuel in the evening.
Wife calls. I explain how a neighborhood rabbit is digging a warren in our front yard. The neighbor meanders off. Call ends. Out comes the garden hose to wash off the driveway (sorta... where the biodiesel spilled the water beads up ... the bio never seems to go away). Thank the powers that be that this stuff's biodegradable and won't destroy my lawn.
The moral of the story: Don't ever let Nate do anything mechanical.
The other moral of the story: If you're going to get 55-gallon drums delivered to your house, go buy a real pump at the hardware store. An electric one, with a hose and nozzle. Take it from Uncle Natie.
[ June 13, 2002, 18:17: Message edited by: natescape ]
