HeyDude

92. MY TALLEST TALES EVER

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Sun, 30 Oct 2016 07:36:00 +0000

They say evidence given by a child is unconditionally accepted in the court of law as truth. I don’t know whether this is just an urban legend but it better had to be as I know how much we lied as kids. Or are they really so naïve not to have heard all the tall tales we used to say as kids. Sometimes these tall tales were blown so out of proportion that one had to be either so dumb to believe it or had to have a very good reason not to laugh at them. I remember a few of the tallest tales I ever said to other kids.

The Toy Plane that really flew:

Sometimes the tall tales had this nasty habit of adding more and more features each time it was told. Yeah, like that grampa’s fish, alright. My classmate Rathwatte boy, whose wealthy aristocratic background made most of his outrageous lies more convincing, used to boast often about his toy plane.

Another boy who seemed to have been to Rathwatte residence confirmed this. At the earliest versions, it was a battery operated plane that ran on the ground. And each time the story was retold, it upgraded to something that actually took off and flew by remote control. This fascinated me who was a huge fan of airplanes. When I told my mother about this she said anything was possible with them as they were aristocratic and stinking rich Rathwaththes. I had dreams of me owning a toy plane that really flew.

By the end of the year, more features were added to the story as well as the plane and finally the Rathwatte boy actually could get into the small cockpit and fly the above his massive estate. This made me really long for one. At least to see this. I had daily dreams of me flying over the school yard over the mat slide and seesaw and some nights I was just flying without the plane. That was in the second grade.

My Biker Dad:

In fourth grade I used to sit in the same row with this arrogant and conceited boy Dhammika, who was constantly fighting with me over the same girl who was sitting between us. We were locked in a never ending battle to impress the girl and win her heart.

Dhammika’s family had a newspaper agency or lottery agency which I can’t exactly remember. I think it is a lottery agency as I had this mental picture of his parents driving around in their much boasted dark green Volkswagen with the lottery stick with fluttering lotteries sticking out of the car window. I’m not sure if I have really seen it or this was my imagination. Most probably the latter. And they were regular lotteries whose first price was a car and the scratch type instant ones were yet to be invented.

What really made me resent Dhammika most was the slogan he always muttered when he broke his pencil into two or bit a half of the eraser and spat it towards the dust bin or tore pages off his exercise book crushed them into balls and threw them, saying “අපි නාස්ති කාරයෝ. අපිට සල්ලි ප්‍රශ්ණයක් නෑ." (We can waste because money is not a problem for us) just to impress the girl, which failed most of the time because she was more down to earth type.

Dhammika was a very grumpy and whiny one. The girl seemed just to tolerate him. It’s so funny that I can’t remember her name exactly. It was something to do with moon. Maybe Sandhamali or something like that.

At the beginning I was sitting in the middle which led to constant fist fights and alarmed the teacher who strategically made the girl sit in the middle. Even the girl was trying to play the peacemaker, sitting in the middle, keeping us away from each other’s reach. This didn’t stop us who used to lean over her head or reach behind her back and punch or kick each other and pull each other’s hair. We sometimes stabbed each other with pencils leaving pencil lead under the skin. And an occasional punch landed on the peacemaker girl, too.

He often boasted about his dad’s driving skills and the Volkswagen’s incredible performance.

“My dad pushes that car to the limits."

“Hey, that old rust bucket?”

This had a duel effect of making the girl giggle and Dhammika instantly pissed. I was feeling euphoric.

“Not like that stupid old wreck of a motorbike of your dads.”

“Okay, how fast?”

“60,” he said. (Remember this is MPH not kmPH)

“Sixty? You call sixty a speed? Maybe it is a big speed for a Volkswagen. My dad usually does 70 on our bike. I sit on the tank. So I watch the meter."

“Your BSA can’t do 70.”

“You don’t know jackshit. It can do even faster. 70 is the cruising speed. Dad says engine misses when going any slower.”

“Okay how fast can it go?” Dhammika wanted to know.

“The speedometer's marked up to 80. They are made for speed.” I instantly regretted this. I should have added at least 20MPH more.

“Haha, Our car speedometer has up to 90.”

There I sure had stepped on shit. In no time I was on damage control mode recovering fast.
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“But now it can do 100 easily.”

“Liar, Liar How?”

“Talk about a shit you know. There is a peg in the speedometer at 80. Last week Dad and I went for a ride and he twisted it all the way. Then that peg broke because the needle was pressing against it and now it can go all the way to 100.”

No matter how outrageous this farfetched claim sounded, not only the girl whose technical know-how was no match for the us two gear-heads, but also Dhammika-the know-all seemed to believe this bullshit. I was a bit surprised at this unexpected hit.

That evening when we went to town I saw a green Volkswagen which I thought must be Dhammika’s. I peeped into see Dhammika but only a man with a cigarette stuck between his lips was behind the wheel. Later as my dad was filling the tank at the filling station we saw this car go sailing towards Oluganthota. The VW's beautiful engine beat with a whistle made me wince with envy.

The next day in class we had our horns locked as usual.

“We saw your car yesterday, dad and I.”

“We saw your too, You were trying your best to overtake a bullock cart.”

This truly pissed me off but I did my best not to show it. And the girl giggled to make the matters worse. I held my ground.

“What? Only your dad was there in that rickety old wreck when we saw that. No one else was there.”

“Okay, dad dropped me and mom at the shop and went to Oluganthota.”

“Heh heh, that’s where that thing happened.”

“What thing?” Dhammika eyes hardened.

“We were also going to Oluganthota. Then your dad came along and overtook us. Sort of challenging way.”

This brought huge grin to Dhammika’s face. Even the girl narrowed her eyes and was staring at me with a puzzled expression.

“That’s what I told you, your BSA is no match for our Beetle.”

“You just wait. Then this pissed my dad off. He usually won’t take shit like that from anyone. “Hang on, son,” he said, He shifted up rapidly and sped after your car. Your dad was stepping on it too. We caught up with him easily. We were overtaking your car but in the middle of that he paused by your dad’s window. I looked at the speedometer. We were doing 70 on that twisty road. Another bend was coming up. Coolly my dad took out a cigarette while still riding the bike with the right hand and tapped the cigarette on Volkswagen's roof three times. Then he stuck the cigarette in the mouth a he tapped on the car window with the knuckle and asked your dad “Got a light, mate?” And your dad was so stunned. He gave his cigarette to my dad. My dad lit his one and handed the cigarette back over to your dad and said, “Thanks mate. Bye,” and twisted the handle grip. And Wham! Off we went. We were doing 90. I looked over my dad’s shoulder and watched your Volkswagen falling behind fast. After two bends there was no sign of him. When we bought the newspaper a Oluganthota and coming back we met your father still coming that way.”

Dhammika’s eyes popped out of his face and his mouth hung open. He watched me incredulously. Even the girl seemed suitably impressed.

“You are lying! He didn’t say anything like that happened yesterday. You are a big fat liar.”

“You think he would? Ever? To anyone?”

Dhammika knew when he was beaten and decided to shut up. And I can’t remember him saying anything about this incident or contradict it then or even later. I still can’t imagine why.

Read in Sinhala @ මගේ ඩෙනිම/MyBlue Jeans as

ටොම්පච, කෙබර, බේගල් සහ පම්පෝරි.

91. The Kindhearted One!

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Thu, 28 Jul 2016 11:10:00 +0000

He loves animals, specially dogs. And the dogs seem to unconditionally love him back. Wherever he goes strange dogs around used to come looking for him. Unfortunately, in the country he had to spend his childhood in, displayed a sign at the airport which listed dogs as contraband in addition to fire arms, dart guns, idols of worship alcohol and pork products. So he had an aquarium instead.

Once he finished studies he left his parents and went back to his motherland to join his sister who was returning from another faraway land. The first few days they spend at home which was some 25 km away from the capital city which was too far thanks to the public transport that wasted more than one and half hours to make it.

Brother and sister rented an apartment in the capital city together with another girl who studied with the sister in the faraway land.

This is when both of them wanted to make their long restrained dream come true. To adopt a dog. They didn’t want to buy a dog with good pedigree. They wanted to adopt a homeless one. At the beginning it was difficult to convince their parents that they could do that in spite of all the downsides to it. Living in an apartment with no garden posed a problem. And looking after a puppy when both were busy with their education was another. And everything seemed to be a problem. Would the apartment owner like it? Would the neighbors complain?

Luckily the sister’s friend didn’t mind this as she had two dogs at her home too. And they started searching the internet looking for a suitable life partner. After so much search they found this week old puppy advertised. She was homeless and waiting for a loving owner. They fell in love at first sight.

The day the puppy was brought home was a joyous one. The two spent time mopping pee, removing poo and mopping the floor with Lysol. Parents were really worried and told them this was a huge commitment which would limit their freedom to sacrifice all the trips they wanted to make, to bear up dirty looks from the neighbors and the list was growing long.

The two bought toys and stuff for the puppy with their own allowances. Parents had a separate allowance for the puppy too for his food to relieve the kids of that expense. The stuffed toys were eventually bitten into and the stuffing lay all over the floor. She played with the skin.

They were so mad sometimes when the puppy ran away and hid in neighbor’s houses when he was loved and cared so much. “She behaves as if we are keeping her imprisoned.” The brother and sister cancelled the invitations from their relatives for new year and other occasions because of the puppy. When they got a break they had to hire a three wheeler to come home with the pup for a week, as no public transport allowed dogs. And they discovered how much the puppy who had never seen grass, enjoyed to be home. They watched in sheer delight, how she was having the time of her life rolling in grass and chasing butterflies and digging holes in the yard. Like every good thing, the break had to come to an end and they had to return leaving a place where nobody complained about the dogs, back to the reality.

Once again,when the parents were back for the holidays, all had a chance to return home, this time in their own vehicle to have a six weeks of fun. The dog welcomed the parents and created a heavy bond in that short time. To their immense relief, brother and sister were relieved of morning puppy duties, too. Actually when she was sedated for her sterilization operation even the father was hiding his tears. The brother wanted to do this surgery with his money even though the adoption agency had promised to do it. “They have enough problems finding homes for all those puppies. I don’t want to burden them further” he said. Once the parents were gone after the vacation, they had to return to the apartment where the dog was depressed for days.

To cut the story short, some neighbors started to frown and give dirty looks at the brother when he took the puppy for a walk. Any unclaimed pile of dog poo suspicious puddle on the staircase was blamed on the puppy. The Muslim brothers who rented an apartment in the same building freaked out every time they saw the puppy and complained to the house owner constantly to complete the irony...

One year passed and puppy grew up amidst all this. So did the complaints and some days the brother and sister were so depressed and needed a lot of consoling by the parents on Skype.

To make the matters worse, the house owner refused to extend the lease if they keep the dog. When they finally agreed to parent’s advice to return the dog, the adopting institution said it was easier said than done. Mother spent hours on the internet looking for apartments where they could keep a dog. Finally, they were quite exhausted visiting those houses and apartments and not finding a suitable one.

The kids made up their minds. They decided to give up the apartment and keep the dog. The dog was family and you won’t give up on family. They returned home with all their belongings and the dog. By doing this they sacrificed so much. Now they had to get up early and make bus journey to make it to their classes. They were going to hunt an apartment or house again staying home.

The brother had a great bond with the dog. The parents yelled at him not to let the dog in his bed but he hardly listened. As the main road in front of the house was dangerous her who grew up inside a house, she was tethered to the pillar porch. He was given a cushion to sleep on and tucked with blanket on rainy days.

They found a girl who wanted to adopt the dog with loving care. She already had another dog. They had agreed to give away the dog and go back to an apartment which had everything except the place to keep the dog. This was the most difficult decision the brother had to make. “I do this because this will be good for her. Or else she will suffer” he said. Though he believed in “boys don’t cry,” we knew he was weeping inside. The day before they had to take the dog to the place about 90km away, they bought a huge chicken and made a farewell dinner to the dog. Now that the brother had got driver’s license and they had the vehicle at home transport was no problem. All the parents insisted was to take their uncle with them as a supervising adult.

The next day which everyone dreaded finally arrived. But they never made that journey. We decided to travel to capital city from here without going to live in a prison like we did earlier. When we have our own home and own transport here why should we live under those house owner’s rules and regulations?

And everybody knew they had the the dog’s best interest at heart, not theirs. Parents sometimes wondered if she knew how much her master has sacrificed for her because she bit through her collar and ran away the every opportunity she got, looking for adventure. Each time she was brought back. When this final time she ran away parents asked both of them not to go looking for her. "If she doesn’t appreciate what you have done for her, let her go," which they obeyed.

Two days later, when the sister opened the door she was sleeping in her usual chair, looking very guilty, hungry, dirty and an injury to her legs. Finally, she had realized how loving and caring her family is and had returned.

Ah, I nearly forgot. Today is that brother’s birthday. Happy birthday Hirusha, our son, the kindhearted one.

90. Lovelocked Padlocks - the Love Token Hardware - The Russia We Saw - 1

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Tue, 19 Jul 2016 05:45:00 +0000

Foot deep snow crunch under our feet as we walk down the wooded path to the river. The merciless cold bite through the thick winter boots and two layers of thermal socks. The crisp chilly morning air hurts the lungs. When I turn my faces up towards the watery sun which is shining relatively brighter today, I feel the ghost of a warmth in the -7 ͦC Russian winter. We childishly shake the branches of the evergreens laden with snow creating mini s snowfalls.

There are four of us and our host Godwin the Nigerian trekking along having the time of our lives. Our son seems to be enjoying a lot.

Closer to the river, deeper is the snow. We climb the steps of the bridge and looked down at the frozen river.

A beautiful young, slender Russian girl comes skiing along the path parallel to the river and waits for her boyfriend who is left behind.

The frozen river stretches far into the distance. We go on taking photographs on and around the bridge. After all these will be the memories that would be left with us.

It is then the lovelocks catches our eyes. There are so many of them in brass, steel, stainless steel wrought iron and many shapes too. Some are actually heart shaped and are secured to the chillingly cold steel rails of the bridge now half covered in snow.

A love lock, aka a love padlock is actually a padlock which symbolizes the everlasting love and commitment of couple in love who would lock it on a bridge and throw the key into the river to seal the deal. Most of the time the lovers would inscribe their initials or names on the padlock. Though a rail of a bridge over a river is the most romantic place for a lovelock where the key can be thrown into the river to finalize it, lovelocks can be found on many other forms of public property like fences, gates and even trees making the area a ‘lovescape’.

We are amused to see them on this lonely bridge and took so many photos of them. My heart seems to warm up to the sight of them even in this subzero Russian winter chill. That’s why I select the love locks to be the first post of the series on Our Russian Tour.

As I later find out, thanks to the internet, this ritual could have started in China according to some people who believe everything has something to do with China. Some say this could be a custom started on the Bridge of Love (Most Ljubavi) in Serbia in Eastern Europe about a hundred years ago during the WW1. The young lovers Nada and Relja used to meet on this particular Serbian bridge over this Serbian River. It is a smaller bridge than the one we were standing now.

Everything turned upside down when the Relja who was an officer in the Serbian army had to leave his sweetheart Nada who was a school teacher, and go to the war somewhere in Greece. Relja met this other girl in Corfu and broke up with sweet innocent Nada who was waiting for him to return to her. When the devastating news reached her she could not bear it up and she died heartbroken.

The other girls from Nada’s village Vrnjačka Banja who were distressed by this, desperate to secure their own loves, started this strange innocent ritual of writing their own name + their lovers’ on a padlock and locking them on the railings of the Bridge and where Nada and Relja used to meet and throw the keys into the river. And so the romance of the padlocks began and the bridge that was anonymous so far was christened ‘Bridge of Love’ (Most Ljubavi).

This custom spread like a wildfire throughout Europe until the municipal councils found it to be a damn nuisance who were forced to remove them from time to time as some railing on popular European bridges were weighed down with tons and tons of this new love hardware, the love padlocks and weakened the structure. Some bridge rails had to be cut off using welding cutters or grinders. For example, it happened in Paris. (Paris ends relationship with 'love locks' removing padlocks from the Pont des Arts /)

Some municipalities that were thinking out of the box and didn’t consider lovelocks as vandalism or litter like many others did, actually promoted them and used them to attract tourists.

They say love padlocks raged on in Europe in the early 2000s and are found in almost all European cities

The Italian lovelock craze of affixing love padlocks to the bridge Ponte Milvio in Rome, was fueled by the Italian writer Federico Moccia’s 2006 best seller ,“I WANT YOU” which was made a movie the very next year.

We walk some more along the frozen riverbank on the other side of the bridge before retracing our footsteps back towards the main road. We are hanging around for the paint ball facility at the beginning of this road to open to have some fun.

An old truck with the radiator grill covered against the cold comes along the narrow path with the two friendly Russians waving cheerfully and yelling hello. Another Russian smiles and asks us (in Russian of course) how we like the Russian winter, which our daughter interprets for us. ‘Spasibo’. “Do svidaniya” I manage reply in my very poor very limited Russian vocabulary.

Well, before coming here I had the impression that all the Russians were rude arrogant brutes with an attitude as cold as their winters. Well, maybe. But not the ones we meet today, I am thinking to myself.

PS: Though I am reluctant to use other people's photographs in my post, If you are really interested you can always google by yourself and find about the lovelocks, love padlocks and the Bridge of Love and see images of heavily burdens bridge rails, the way they cut off sections of bridges ans so on.

Sinhala Translations available at මගේ ඩෙනිම and මට හිතෙන හැටි.

89. THE TWO DIRECTORS WORLDS APART.

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Mon, 25 Jan 2016 06:56:00 +0000

Photo from Facebook page of Gamini

I squinted at the small cardboard box on the computer table. I picked it up and read the label. Engine Oil temperature sensor. The seal is broken. I opened the box and took the gadget out. The metal gleamed. This is brand new. Then what is it doing sitting on the table? Usually if I replaced this last year, this box should contain the old oil stained used part. And it shouldn’t be on the computer table.

* * * *

After the ordeal the previous night (Read TheNightmare on E01-the Southern Expressway!), I was at auto electrician Lakshman’s place. The removed driver’s seat was on the parapet wall. The engine cover was removed for Lakshman to access the alternator. I was watching his movements. I was so eager to find if the problem occurred because of the loose alternator mounting bolts. After he tightened the bolts I peeped in and checked. Then I noticed the oil stained oil gauge.

"Lakshman, did we replace the oil temperature sensor last time?"

"Nope."

"But there is a brand new one on my table at home. How so?"

"Mmm, you said you wanted to replace it and you bought one. And I didn’t have the tools to do that that day. So you said you’d get it done when you replace the belt set by the mechanic."

"Oh, and I didn’t. I want to fix it now. Now that you have removed the engine cover and it is accessible and everything we might as well replace it."

But how am I going to get it? Usually if I do some repair of the van I go home and get the bike the too, because I have to keep on visiting the spare parts shops.

“Bro, I’d happily lend my bike to you but it’s a death machine. No one else can ride that but me. No brakes to start with… and the engine stalls...”

Okay okay. I had a brain wave. I wiped my hands on a rag and pulled out my phone

Gamini Samarakoon – Home

Gamini answered after several rings.

“Machan, this is Henry. Are you free at the moment?”

“No I’m working on the ceiling. The carpenters are…It’s okay. What’s the problem?"

“Machan, I’m at Lakshman’s. The dude who lives further down your road. My van is sort of dismantled. Can you run to my home and bring the small box containing Engine Oil temperature Sensor over here. If this is too much trouble I’ll call a three wheeler.”

“You just hang on machan. I’m on my way.”

As promised Gamini arrived with my Engine Oil temperature Sensor in about twenty to thirty minutes. When Lakshman saw Gamini, his mouth hung open.

“Did you ask this Mr Gamini to bring the oil sensor? I heard you on the phone, but I didn’t even…”

“Gamini and I’ve been best of friends for a several decades, Lakshman," I explained. Gamini also talked to Lakshman in his usual hearty manner, then listened to my ordeal briefly and then was on his way back to his ceiling renovation project.

Lakshman screwed the oil sensor into the engine block and plugged in the wires to the terminals. Then he checked it the dash board indicator worked.

“Why were you so shocked when Gamini brought this part?”

“Bro, Mr Gamini is a very much respected person in this area. And he is a Wild Life big shot too, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is an assistant director of Wild Life Department the last time I checked.”

“And that’s right.”

And I also explained his position at the Girithale Training center and added.

“And most of all, a down to earth person, too.” I added.

* * * *

My motorbike failed the emission test, though it is unusual. I have seen much newer Indian bikes fail, but not my 143 dash series original Japanese Honda. It’s always been one of my biggest dreams to own a CM 125 T Custom. And finally it became true. With its extreme maneuverability round bends at higher speeds due to its low center of gravity this low hung machine assures a comfortable ride over long hauls though not as fuel-efficient as the new Indian ones.

But it failed the emission test.

The attitude of the mechanics infuriated me. Their lack of interest and disrespect for my dream bike disgusted me. Some made not so subtle suggestion to go for an Indian bike because the days of these Japanese bikes are now over. Some had no time. Some wanted to replace the original carburetor with an Indian or Chinese fake one. I was waiting for the spare parts shop to open for me to buy a cheap carburetor and fix it myself when I got to know about this new mechanic in town.

To begin with, Mr Gunawardene a school teacher recommended him. Mr.Gunawardene is an extreme vehicle enthusiast who drove the mechanics nuts. He is dedicated to whatever vehicle he owned and maintained it in immaculate condition, using only original parts no matter how expensive they are and cleaning and polishing all the disassembled parts before reassembling himself, if the mechanic wasn’t willing to do so. For the mechanics he was a major pain in the ass. A freaking nightmare. He used to own a Honda CG 125 which he kept in immaculate condition after so many years, and now he owns a Toyota Townace, which we feel embarrassed to park next to. :D

The workshop of the new mechanic recommended by Gunawardene was the cleanest I have ever seen. He had a staff and they wore overalls. And he showed interest in our problems and had time for us. And most of all he was respectful to our vehicles and never condemned them. Actually he appreciated my bike.

And this seemed to be a bit scientific dude, who read my fail report and verified values of the carbon monoxide and carbon PPM.

He disassembled the carb cleaned overhauled it with a new kit. Replaced the floater, too. Then he tuned the engine and asked me to ride a number of kilometers before coming for a second tuneup.

“It’s wrong to starve the engine of fuel replacing the original jets with smaller ones. We have to use the jets with company recommended original ones and then see how to reduce wastage by tuning it.” I immediately liked the guy.

“Yes. What I want is not just to get through the test. I want this bike to have power and low emission levels both while being as economical as possible.”

“That’s the right attitude sir. Most of our customers want only to pass the test. After the test they want the old settings back, to hell with the emission levels.”

And like I said before, to repair one vehicle you have to take two to the garage so that you can run about fetching things. So I was there with the van. Before taking the bike home I had to go home to take the van home and come back to the workshop with an alternative mode of transport like a bus or taxi.

Then I met this other director Sajith Whatzisname say director to the Sri Lanka Whatever Board who was there to get something done.

I don’t know why I didn’t think about taking the bus or a three wheeler back.

“Machan, now I’m going home in the van. If you don’t have the next appointment, can you follow me on your bike so that I can come back here with you to pick up my bike?”

“Of course machan, whyever not.”

As I had parked facing the wrong direction I drove on looking for a place to turn. When I came back he was still at the garage and waved me on.”

“You go ahead dude. I’ll be right behind you.”

I drove home parked the van and hurried to the road. No sign of the dude. I called his number. He answered on the third ring.”

“Hello”

“Machan, if it’s a trouble to you’ I’ll come on a bus. Or a three wheeler.”

“Are you nuts? Wait I’m coming. I just met a friend…”

Just then I saw a bus coming round the bend. I lifted the phone back to the ear to tell him that I could come on the bus and…

“Huh, see the goddamn contracts we get, huh. When they ask we can’t say no. Now I haven’t even started what I came here for. His work is done. He’s say ‘Bye bye machan tata machan and he’ll leave. His work is done. My job hasn’t even begun. We have to waste our time here…just the friends we get…”

I listened to the monologue with shocking disbelief. Both of us had forgotten to disconnect the call.

I disconnected the call and started to ring again. This time to ask him not to come and I could take the bus. I was regretting that I asked for his help in the first place. Why?

But there was no answer. I was wondering whether to get on the bus or not. I decided not to because he could be on his way already. The bus left. I waited a few more minutes and then he arrived all smiles. “Get on Machan,” he said which I did. I slipped on my helmet. He made a U turn and we were on our way. I was just wondering if this is the same dude I heard bad mouthing me a few minutes ago. He was very jovial and easy going at the moment.

We arrived at the garage and I got off. I paid the garage bill and was preparing to leave. Then I thanked the dude.

“What are the friends for machan. It’s no big deal. You’d have done the same for me. So forget it."

"Then Ta-ta bye bye, machan," I said. I thought I saw he wink at the other dude through the back of my crash helmet before I crossed the road and raised downhill, comparing the two directors and their attitudes.

This is my tribute to my friend Gamini Samarakoon, the humble, down to earth Asst. Director of the Department of Wildlife who celebrated his birthday only last week.

Happy Birthday, dude.

88. IN THE AFTERMATH OF AN ORDEAL

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Fri, 16 Oct 2015 08:13:00 +0000

My dear HeyDude,

My wife is cooking in the kitchen. She doesn't have the faintest idea that I nearly died 30 minutes ago. I didn't make up my my mind whether to tell her about my ordeal or not.

The smaller aquarium where we kept smaller fish had a partition for a nursery. The hydrilla and other aquatic plants we bought from time to time at the aquarium shop brought in these small snails too. Which looked like a hidden blessing didn't take long to become a hidden menace when they started breeding rapidly. We often marveled at the number of snails each time we cleaned the fish tank. However when I put the excess into the larger tank where we kept bigger fish like goldfish and black moor, they seem to disappear. The guilty feeling made us not to do that again.

Last weekend, I cleaned the smaller tank as the water seemed to have become stagnant due to the uneaten fish food pellets. I was very careful not to harm the newborn platies so I emptied the nursery side first into a clear plastic bottle to examine before discarding the water. The last bottleful was so muddy and murky I had to keep it for the sediments to settle down before I could make out if any newborn fish were there.

This bottle remained near the aquariums for almost a week. We were stunned by the sheer number of snails that were there. And there were no fish.

Now we were faced with a new dilemma of what to do with this bottle of snails. I didn't want to put them back to the smaller tank as there were too many there already. I didn't want to put them into the bigger tank where they would not have a fighting chance and would be gobbled down by the bigger fish. This made me guilty. I couldn't put them into the sea because they would die in the salt water. The only chance was putting them into the storm drain where the rainwater was trapped below the grilled drain covers.

After hanging the laundry on the washline. I put the bottle and a stick to pluck the reluctant ones from the bottle in the cycle basket and rode off. As I arrived at the first storm drain storm cover where I could secretly dump the contents without raising the suspicion of the bystanders, another thought struck me.

There is a freshwater swamp in this island. Well that looked like a good idea about 45 minutes ago. I rode along a deserted bumpy road in the scorching sun with the stinking water splashing on me from time to time.

Finally I arrived at the swamp. The water seemed to be far away on the other side of the sand bank covered with scorched greenish mud. I tested the earth with the bike wheel. It held. It looked like solid hardened flat earth. I peddled off towards the water.

Woosh! The front wheel sank first. I put my feet on the ground which sank up to the knees immediately. I pulled one leg out but the other leg sank deeper in the effort. I knew I was in deep trouble.

There was no one to see me. Even my wife didn't know where I went.

The quicksand must be like this. And I realize even a truck could totally disappear in this within minutes. I remembered the flatter I am better the chances of keeping afloat. Still I wasn't ready to lay face down and a get a mouthful of stinking mud.

I lay the bike on its side. It gave better leverage. I pulled one leg out which came out of the stinking mud without my flip flop. I set that foot as closer to the safety of verge of the swamp and pulled out the other using the leverage on the bike.

I managed to withdraw step by step dragging the bike with me and finally set foot on the solid ground. My legs were covered in stinking slimy grayish mud. For a crazy moment I wondered whether to rescue my flipflops and then decided against it. I rubbed my legs on the grass and got rid of the caking mud to some extent.

With all this mishaps, the bottle was still there with a little water still inside with all the snails safe. I felt like throwing them into the mud but didn't want them to die on the dry mud.

I was furious as I was trying to do a good deed and nearly died doing it. I grabbed the bottle and went to the nearest storm drain cover and peeped through the grill. It was full of water.I emptied the bottle into it, then dashed the upside down bottle on it several times for good measure. Some die hard snails were still clinging on to the bottle. I used the stick which had miraculously survived the ordeal and plucked them out and dropped them into the drain.

I rode home detouring to avoid crowds. I managed get into the house without being noticed. And Oh, I hadn't lost the bunch of keys. And luckily I had left my smart phone and wallet with cards at home too. Then I noticed my favorite flipflops I thought I left in deep mud near the door. No. Don't think it is a miracle. I had worn the other rubber ones in a hurry. If miracles work that way I wouldn't have nearly died trying to do good to the snails without flushing them down the toilet in the first place.

I still didn't decide whether to tell this to my wife or not. And longer it takes it makes it harder to begin.

First I thought I would close comments and publish this. Why? I asked myself. Because I don't want sympathetic comments. But I never close comments. Okay, I'll leave the comments open. But I don't want to answer any of them. I simply wrote this because I want to tell this to someone. HeyDude is the best person for that. He won't talk back. Would not advise me. Would not say good deeds pay back or some stupid shit like that. Most of all it would say God has anything to do with that. No one was there. I was on my own.

Simulblogged @ මගේ ඩෙනිම in Singhala.

87. The Wonder Years With My Kids - 3

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Tue, 28 Jul 2015 14:32:00 +0000

From Smartcracks Collecton On Our Son.
Hirusha and the Ethiopians

In an effort to make our children think twice before wasting any resources, we always took the less fortunate ones than us like the homeless people, the children in Somalia, and Ethiopia, etc. as examples.
“Hey don't waste food. There are millions in places like Ethiopia dying in starvation at this very moment.”

We didn't realized we had pushed it too far, painting too gruesome a picture, until Hirusha coined this new phrase “How many Ethiopians would die if I..”
For example, “How many Ethiopians would die if I throw this apple core away?
Or would come rushing back to the room he just left to switch off the fan and say, "I just saves two Ethiopians."
Then we knew the Ethiopian era has come to an unexpected end.

Also known as Era

A purple colored Yahoo Messenger pop up message pinged at the bottom of my laptop screen. I clicked open the email and said aloud "A portable Sewing Machine!" because we were interested in for some time.
"And also known as the needle?" Hirusha asked without missing a beat.

Eating food while it’s still warm isn't Hirusha's strong point. His fruit share will remain on his table being ignored for days. The tea will lie there all day unless someone forced him to drink it. Most of the days it was cold when he finally drank it. One day mother yelled from the kitchen, "Did you drink your tea?"
"Almost finished!" he quickly picked up the mug and yelled back, immediately followed by a "Also known as just started."

Quick Search Era

We were discussing about bygone days. The jobs entailed status we were saying
“A Clerk’s job for example, was supposed to be an underpaid menial job those days,’ said my wife’
“The parents didn't want to give their daughters in marriage to clerks,” I added salt.
"But don't forget,"Hirusha said without batting an eye,"that even Superman was a Clark."

All of us were busy with our own work when Hirusha aksed if anyone of us saw his pendrive. None of us paid much attention to him as we were engrossed in our own work but all offered some offhanded remarks like, "You must have given it to friend" or my wife’s usual "Calm down and backtrack your brain" or "Did you check in the laundry bin" or something like that. In a while we heard his sarcastic voice "Okay guys, stop searching. I found it."

Our little boy turns Eighteen today. So this is to say how much happiness you brought to our lives in the last 18 years and also to ask for more.

Simulblogged @ මගේ ඩෙනිම

86. CRAZY HOBBIES. JOIN THE CLUB?

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Fri, 03 Jul 2015 12:14:00 +0000

Well, just like a lot of people out there, I have some curious pastimes I've had as long as I can remember. If time cures it - in case it is a disorder - well, the time is up. So, no worries. They are here to stay. There would be million other hobbies like this one out there some of which I share too, that you are (perhaps secretly) engaged in. And there would be millions out there who share the same interest that you are going read next.

Well without further ado, here we are.

Well this is a wall tile from our bathroom. Do you see anything strange?

Every time I go to the bathroom without a book a paper or a phone and busy (or not so busy) there staring at the wall tiles having my quality time, I see patterns the tile designer never intended me to see. This is a live demonstration.

Well, I can't help noticing these two apes in love.

And when I'm not in the monkey mood, there is this nubile young woman in shower.
DO YOU?
You can imagine her to be as beautiful as you want.

Hey dude, I don't see only porn.

I see hermits. too.
Or, is it a woman again
with her hair up like Sigiriya Frescoes
or a statue?
That depends on the mood.

They say think globally and act locally. I overdo that.

Sometimes my imagination is not limited to our galaxy.
This is an alien from a galaxy far far away...

I see many more. But I don't want to spoil your fun by giving away all. I left some for you. This blank one is for you. You can download it. Stare at it. Take it to the bathroom if you feel like, open with MS Paint and sketch what you see. Let your imagination run wild. Then you can attach it in a comment. But before that you have to upload it to some location on the web, like Picasa web album or even your own blog. You will see how to attach a comment with an image in the instructions at the bottom.

Or else to have even more fun. You can find designs on your own bathroom tile. And share with me

Enjoy.

To give you this, I spent some time in the bathroom with may Smart Phone and then used the simple software MS Paint to get the effects done.

85. Well, that's what it's all about, isn't it?

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Sat, 27 Jun 2015 07:02:00 +0000

No birthday cake.
No gifts.
No party.
No guests.

Still I had the most memorable birthdays I've had in a very long while, yesterday, even though our kids were not home this time.

It all started when I discovered that this time my birthday falls on a holiday. Which means I am not greeted with fake official sounding greetings that doesn't mean a shit. The harassment of being asked for a party which makes it an obligation, more than a celebration. Nobody will wish me happy birthday and next instance do the opposite contrary to the greeting and the day.

I went to bed the previous night seeing half a dozen greetings already posted on FaceBook.

Deepa made a point to make all my favorite for all meals. We had home made microwave pizza in the morning. An special fried rice with all my favorite dishes for lunch. Then I was surprised with jam tarts she had made for afternoon tea. And Thosai for dinner.
All my favorites.

We watched a movies with each meal as we always do.

I answered all the FB greetings that flooded in.
You may think FB greetings are as fake as the ones you get at the work place. Well, I didn't feel like that. At least not about most o them. I enjoyed reading them. They meant so much to me and made me happier. That's what it's all about it, isn't it?

My wife posted a greeting.
My daughter wrote me a poem.
My son made a small video clip.
And most of all he said he loved me, which is a special from someone who is in an age you think to admit and say in public that he loves his dad is embarrassing.
Sindu Ano posted me a song and a video.
What else one can ask for?

I really had a rocking time.
I didn't miss a birthday cake.
I didn't miss gifts.
I didn't miss a party.
I didn't miss guests.

84. SNOT! Uncensored

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Wed, 05 Nov 2014 13:34:00 +0000

Uncensored thoughts

I’m bored.

When I write “I’m” in “I’m bored”, I feel the pair of round, buggy eyes boring into me. They belong to the stalactite. When I write “bored” his eyes are trying to read what I’m writing, upside down.

I look at him trying to convey the message ‘Why the f**k are you trying to read what I’m writing?’ as effectively as possible with my eyes and facial expression. It works to some extent. He looks down at his question paper. The stalactite that was dangling from his right nostril swings crazily before it is sucked back into the dark cavern of his nose.

I start again.

I’m bored. I've been watching over this bunch of ‘term test writers’ for over 40 minutes now and there are 110 more boring minutes to go.

One fan out of the four suspended from the ceiling makes a rattling noise from time to time.

It’s the one closest to me that makes the most noise. It sounds like a rat-a-tat-tat of a light machine gun. No. The one closest to me is not the only one making that noise. The one farthest to me is also shooting back in short answering bursts, from time to time.

“Rat-a-tat tat tat tat tat trrrrt” Closest one fires a burst.

“Trrrrt- tat tat tat tat tat trrrrrrt” the faraway one fires an answering burst.

Then there is a silence.
But not for long.
There it is again.

Maybe the cross wind blowing through the open casement windows makes this rattling.

Surprisingly, no one seems to notice or be bothered or annoyed by this, except me.
Why me?

I sit near the door. From this vantage point I can see every term test writer except the ones near the wall who are sitting behind the stalactite. I have to lean a little to my right to see them.

The stalactites eyes are on me again. Round and bulging, carving into me like lasers. His two large front teeth reminds me of a rat. He is now staring at me, absently exploring his teeth perhaps for some residue from his breakfast with his left ring finger.

Stalactite! What a name! Stalactites and stalagmites. I never could remember which was which when I was supposed to. But later, I read somewhere stalagmites are the columns of lime rising from the cave floor and some day “might” meet their counterparts, the stalactites which are reaching down from the ceiling. So they are stalgMIGHTs. I mean stalagmites.

I mentally nicknamed (yeah, it works the other way, too. Not only the students nick name the teachers) the dude nearest to me, sitting by the door 'stalactite', because of the shoot of snot that slithers down and dangles in midair from his right nostril threatening to slop down on the question paper he is supposed to be working on, but really not. This is a no win situation. The shoot of snot never completes its downward journey, as it is snorted in violently from time to time, at irregular intervals, when it is dangling too low for comfort. But this courageous, positive thinking, diehard shoot of snot seems to never give up. As it slowly reappears in a matter of minutes. Wait a minute. Here it’s back. The leading edge of the slightly yellowish and green (or is it greenish yellow?) snake of goo is now about one centimeter down and out. Now 1.5 cm...Yeah now it’s past the point of no returning.

Sniffle.

How wrong!

It is sucked back up into the depths of the right nostril in another temporary retreat.
There sure is a back up plan. Yes, I mean a Back Up plan.

The right nostril looks like a slimy sewer, lined with a thick layer of slimy snot, well lubricated.

Now I’ve been here for 58 minutes. 92 to go.

Stalactite’s eyes are burning into me.

I stare back.

He looks away.

I walk back to the other end of the room and resume writing. It feels very strange to write like this on paper, instead of a keypad. Those who are near me are curious to see what I’m writing.

The pick’n flick artist here, for example.

Pick’n flick artist!

It makes me smile alone.

Like Food and Beverages Manager.

The F&B Manager.

F&B

P&F

Pick & Flick.

Pick & Flick Artist is a booger hunter with a specialty.

You think this is an easy job? Booger hunting needs dexterity. It may not be as easy as it sounds; pick & flick.

First you explore the nasal cavity.

Then you find one.

Then you dislodge it.

Then you take it out very, very carefully with the precision of a surgeon.

Then you examine, analyze and scrutinize it, for color (sometimes) odor and texture,

by squinting at it,
and
by squeezing it.

Then you roll it into a bar (boogerbar) and/or a ball (boogerball).

Finally you flick it.

I see the P&F Artist going through the motions. She explores her nose cavity for possible boogers. The deeper she plunges into her nose more vacant becomes the look that comes into her eyes. Like in a trance.

Aah! She finds something lodged between the nose cartilages, I guess. She picks it carefully like a brain surgeon. Ever so carefully. There it is! Between her right thumb and index finger!

She rolls it.

Then she squints at it and analyzes it.

Teflon quality? Leather quality? Silicone glue quality?

First she rolls into a bar.

Next into a neat ball.

The she forms her index finger and forefinger into an 'O' with the rolled up booger lodged between the underside of the thumb and on the index fingernail.

Then she flicks it.

The booger ball plunges through the morning air toward the window.

What are the possibilities?

While I think about the possibilities, the pick and flick artist turned booger hunter returns to her nasal cavity for more prospective boogers.

In the meantime the clock shows half time.

While I think about possibilities I glance casually across the room just in time to see a stalactite make another hasty temporary retreat into the dark and deep depths of the nasal cavity of the stalactite.

I remember the wise ass remark I've heard someplace. "You can pick your friends. You can pick your nose. But you can't pick your friend's nose."

Booger hunter flicks again.

Then I start to consider the possibilities.

Possibility # 1: The classroom is gets darker and darker as more and more boogers hit the window pane and stick to the glass obscuring the daylight. I walk over to the light switches and flick them all down.

Possibility # 2: The trees reaching out to the second floor windows are swarming with small birds. They are swallows. They wait their turn until the next booger is airborne by the Pick’n Flick Artist. They know there is more than enough to go around. As soon as a booger shoots out of the window, they take off from their perches and fight to catch it in midair. That’s why they are called swallows, stupid!

Possibility #3: I lean out of the window to see the green leaves of the tall trees near the window are not green anymore. Oops, it’s not a fungus. It’s the handiwork or nosework of the Pick’n Flick artist. Then I see the solution to the problem climbing up the tree trunk. An army of brown ants are already on their way. The first one who reaches the booger picks it up and carries it away. Oncoming ants give way.

Thirty more minutes to go. I take another walk around the room.

The dude sitting in the back row sneezes. It's a mother of all sneezes. A mist formed by the sneeze create a momentary rainbow with the help of the morning sunlight that falls into the classroom at an angle. He rubs the snot filled nose with the back of his hands and rubs it all over his face. I steal a closer look to see if he has shiny slug / snail tracks on his face. Usually it should.

I walk toward the front of the class. The girl in the center of the class is using tissues to clean her nose. At last someone is doing the correct thing/ But oh! Her desk drawer is overflowing with used white soggy looking tissues. Already some are on the floor. I visualize myself in a little while using a shovel to clear a path in a sea of used tissues, for me to go around collecting papers.

They gotta issue a shovel in addition to the stapler to the invigilators in rainy season.

There definitely is a bug going round.

The bell buzzes. The time is up.

"Please check if you have written your names and other details on the front page correctly. Stay seated till I collect the last paper."

I collect the papers and slip them into the paper band and get the hell out, away from the laser eyes and snotty atmosphere as fast as possible. I hand them over to the office on the ground floor.

Back in the staffroom pantry open the faucet with my wrists. I squeeze down the nozzle of the hand wash bottle with my right wrist squeezing out a liberal amount of hand wash liquid on to my left palm.

The liquid hand wash looks like snot!

Uncensored thoughts

PS:

If you ask if this is a true story

I'll say

"No comment."

83.Parallel Parking of Honest & Dishonest Parking.

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Sat, 12 Jul 2014 17:32:00 +0000

The stretch of the Highway A2, Galle Road, running through Colombo 3 is widened and modernized with wider sidewalks with colored paving blocks. Quite an eye pleasing improvement. But the improvements ends where it comes to parking. The designated color block paved parking places are owned by the ones who own the businesses nearby them. Or else, already occupied by an early bird. We wanted to go to the ‘PC Partner’ where I had bought an hp laptop and a lifetime friend with it. We were visiting him.

That was the third time I circled and retraced my own track.

No change of status in the parking spaces.

Then I saw it.

There was just one space big enough to squeeze the van in, in front of the yellow brown TNT building. I checked the mirrors, signaled to the right and swung right immediately. As soon as I parked neatly so that no part of the van was hovering over the restricted area, a uniformed security guard from TNT arrived at my window. He was dark and a bit overweight and I thought he had a pleasant smile.

“Sir, are you going to the TNT?”

“Oh no. I don’t even know what is TNT is. I want to go the PC Partner over there. There was no space there. That’s why I parked here.”

His smile broadened. I was wondering if it was a cynical smile or not.

“Okay. I’m leaving. I passed this place three times looking for a spot.” I pushed the key back into the ignition.

“Sir, wait. You just leave the vehicle right here. I appreciate your honesty. You could have lied. We meet so many big shots in flashy cars who park here and lie through their teeth. ‘I’m going to TNT or will be right back buying a bite from that shop over the other side’ or some bullshit like that. I never sympathize the liars who try to fool me. You are the only guy who honestly admitted that you didn’t come to our company without hesitation. I admire that honesty sir. You can leave the vehicle right here and go wherever you like.”

After that day, every time I pass that place, I peek in to see if that dude, whose name is Karu, is there. Most of the days he’s too busy. I wonder even though he waves back when I smile and wave at him if he remember me or this incident that took place a couple of years ago.

***************

Last December, we wanted to visit several places in Fort. Most of the days after we park in the blazing sun in the dusty, pot holed Fort car park crisscrossed with abandoned tramcar rails to the matters worse, and walk around, we see nice shady parking places in some Fort streets with traffic wardens to look after the vehicles, too. That day we went in search of a place like that when I found this nice spot under a shady tree.

It was near the Sri Lanka Telecom building. As soon as I stopped the engine, I found a Telecom security guard in uniform with a frowning at me.

“This place is only for the Telecom customers.”

Even the road is encroached by the Telecom, huh!

‘Where are you going?” he asked in an entirely different tone to the one TNT Karu used.

I make it a point not to lie if I can help it because I have discovered in the long run that I have to say thousand more lies to cover up the original lie which definitely carries the unnecessary burden of remembering the lie, too. Even though the liar forgets his lie, amazingly, a lot of listeners will remember if for many years for comparison. So I didn’t answer his question and replied with my own question.

“Where is the entrance? Can I go in through this gate?”

Actually that back gate looked like a one that was going to a warehouse. I was pretending I was impatient to enter the premises when I asked that question. Dude’s mood and expression changed as he lowered his guard.

“What do you want to get done, sir?”

I noticed even his colleague who was scribbling something on a clipboard in the security post at the barrier, glanced at me.

“My phone is disconnected. I want to talk to someone about that,” I added a little temper to my voice.

Actually what I said was true. But the phone was disconnected a few years back on my request.

“Ok sir, you leave the vehicle there, walk to the end of this street and turn right. Then go in the entrance right by the shady temple tree. Talk to the gentleman at the left hand side desk.”

I thanked him and followed his directions. The dude at the desk had a pleasant face for a change. I asked him what I had to do if I wanted to get my disconnected phone line restored.

“What was the phone number?”

I gave him without a moment’s hesitation which he punched on the keyboard. The pleasant face stared at the monitor for some time and said,

“Sir, you have to go to our Maradana office for this.”

“Ooops. That security dude asked me to come here.”

“They don’t know about these things, sir. They are new.”

I didn’t let the pleasant face know how glad I was that new guys didn’t know about those things.

The after I picking up a few Telecom forms and a bunch of leaflets, we came out and walked around fort attending to the tasks we had originally planned to get done in Fort. And before getting back into the van I made sure to wave goodbye to the security dude with a telecom document.

Actually even though I didn’t say a lie, I don’t’ want that TNT Karu know about this incident.

Originally published in Sinhala @ මගේ ඩෙනිම & මට හිතෙන හැටි

82. On Rails To Badulla...The Final Part.

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Fri, 09 May 2014 13:40:00 +0000

CAUTION: THE MEMORIES ARE IN THE MAKING...

This is the final part of an unforgettable train tour, on probably the most scenic rail route in Sri Lanka.

If you missed the first 4 parts, here they are.

On Rails To Badulla...Part One

On Rails To Badulla...Part Two- Up to Kandy

On Rails To Badulla...Part Three - Up to Hatton

On Rails To Badulla...Part Four - Up to Great Western

Great Western at 1455meters above the mean sea level is the 9th highest train station in the country.

The train finally pulled out of Great Western and rolled on...

Somewhere between Great Western and Radalla...

These are the stations you pass when you travel

from Great Western to Badulla.
Great Western, Radalla, Nanu Oya, Parakumpura, Ambewela, Pattipola, Ohiya, Idalgashinna, Haputale, Diyatalawa, Bandarawela. Kinigama, Heel Oya, Alle, Demodara, Uduwara, Hali-Alle and Badulla.

Radalla Estate indicates we are arriving at Radella.

The force behind. The rail road crew.

Radalla, a rural station is the
8th highest station at 1575.31m above the MSL.
Have to pass over 202km from Colombo to get there.
And I've heard about Radalla because of the radio relay station.

Arriving in Nanu Oya, an important station on this line.

Nanu Oya Rail yard. Nostalgia flooding in.

We used to transport our family possessions in goods carriages like this when my father was transferred to various parts of the country.

The conventional rail car that has stood the test of time...

The turntable. Probably a museum piece now.

Nanu Oya. Well there is this dual signal again...

Then what's special about Great Western as that guy said?

Rolling past Nanu Oya.
Situated at an altitude of 1613.10m, and at a distance of 207.05km from Colombo, Nanu Oya secures the 6th place in the train station altitude list.

Maybe I shouldn't say this because of this political correctness. Nevertheless, it's a storybook scene, isn't it?

Bridged!!! There's a large number of steel bridges like this along the way to cross the ravines just like the tunnels that penetrate the mountains.

Edinburgh Estate.

Arriving at Ambewela. Nicknamed little New Zealand for the cool climate and the the dairy farming. Actually there is a farm called New Zealand farm in Ambewela. And the other is Ambewela farm. And also the island's only Spray Dried Milk Powder factory.

Cutting through the cold white mist at Ambewela.

Ambewela Station. The second highest train station in Sri Lanka, at an altitude of 1827.77m above MSL and 221.48km from Colombo.

Pattipola on the border of Nuwara Eliya district, is a very important landmark station in the Sri Lankan railroad network because it is situated at the highest altitude in Sri Lanka.
The altitude is 1891.56 meters above the mean sea level and 222.92km from Colombo.

Pattipola is surrounded by a number of tourist attractions.

Somewhere between Pattipola and Ohiya...

The highest it gets.

The summit level of the Sri Lankan Railway network.
Situated between Ohiya and Pattipola. At an altitude of 1898.1 meters above mean sea level and 224.027km from Colombo.
I'm really proud about this shot of this significant landmark.

The gateway to the Horton Plains National Park.

This is just next to the Ohiya Station...
This is another must see destination.

Ohiya. Not Ohio. :D
The third highest station in the train station altitude list at 1791.77m above and 231.63 km away.

Travel young. Arrive late. Wise ass remark of henryblogwalker. :D

Rolling past Ohiya

They say there are 13 rail tunnels between Ohiya and Idalgashinna, which is only about 9 km apart and boasts the greatest number of tunnels between two train stations.

Idal.gas.hinna in syllables.
Idalgashinna at 1665.85 meters above the sea level, is the the 5th highest elevation a train station in the is Sri Lankan railroad network. Distance from Colombo is 240.55km.

It's only 189km by road according to the green sign board in the picture. Haputale is well known for
the steep Haputale climb on the highway.

Steel to cushion steel. The train buffers. And cars have bumpers.

The generation gap...huh!

Haputale is the seventh highest train station in Sri Lanka
at an altitude of 1479.57m and 247.66km from Colombo on rails.

.................

Memories in the making...

....................

Diyatalawa station.

Well known for cool climate and also for the military camps.

Bandarawela. A famous holiday destination.

Known for its cool climate.

..................

Kinigama. A rural station.

Kinigama Station. A rural small station.

So is Heel Oya...

Alla. Which means the waterfall.

..............

There are times you have the whole compartment for yourself.

Obviously, tunneling through would have been the only option for the rail road engineers who designed this route. These were not done with the TBMs. It was manual labor.

This is a well known arch bridge in the network.

The Demodara Bridge...

..........

Demodara is a significant landmark being the only railway station in the world built over the railway tunnel. In other words the railroad loops around making the track pass under the the train station built on the mountain.

The train is swinging over the Demodara Spiral Loop. If you look closely you will see the passengers standing at the station watching the train they came in rumbling underneath the station through the tunnel.

Station before the final Destination. Hali Ala.

.....

Badulla - The end of the Up country line.

So the journey ended here. But to my immense relief, still there is the return journey to look forward to.

The way we found accommodating is an amusing story itself.
As I said in the first episodes, we had made no prior arrangements for accommodation in Badulla. It was part of the adventure. We traveled light and were even ready to spend the night at the station in case we couldn't find a good place. We walked out of the station and looked around for a taxi. It was then this dude who sells saara-bulath-witte (a kind of chewing delicacy with shredded, colored and sweetened dessicated coconut wrapped in a beetal leaf) walked up to me and tried to sell us his merchandise.

When I told him that I wasn't interested, he asked if we were interested in lodging.

"Now we are talking, dude," I said. "And where is it and how is it?"

"It's a very good place, sir."

"We are interested only if it is very safe place," I brought up my conditions. "And it also has to be close to the station, clean and not ridiculously expensive. We need it only for the night."

"Got it, sir. You can come and take a look and decide if you like it. it's so close that no need to take a taxi. We can walk over there."

We agreed to go with him. He asked if we would like to take the shortcut or the main road. As a precaution, I never take the shortcut in such situations for obvious safety reasons. I preferred the main road. I was chatting with him all the way which took about five minutes on the station road. He seemed like a nice dude, who got a little commission from the guest house manager for luring in the customers like us. A harmless by-trade.

Actually the place wasn't bad. The manager didn't even ask for an advance. "First let's see if you are comfortable, sir" he said. "Money comes later." I liked his business ethic.

The place was clean and looked safe. We selected a room wih hot water paying a little extra. Actually it was not too expensive either, compared to what we paid for lodging in Jaffna a few weeks later.

We left our things in the room, and pocketed the wallets, camera and phones and explored the Badulla town in the night. Bought takeaways for dinner from a restaurant and ate in the room. That was also quite good.

The next morning, before leaving for the station, I went to the same place we bought the dinner and bought some bakery products as we had learned that the train's cafeteria car wasn't functioning.

But we met this guard, who you see in the picture above, I struck up an instant friendship with, on our way back. When he heard that we were starving on our inbound journey to Badulla, said he could solve that problem. He phoned ahead to the dude who supplies his lunch at a station on the way and ordered lunch for us, too. So we were able to enjoy a hot and delicious meal on board. Actually we interacted with a lot of total strangers like that on this journey, who sometimes went out their their way to help.

That's why I think this journey was so memorable and eventful.

As promised on the schedule, the outbound train pulled out of Badula on time.

And then we were on our way back through the same picturesque landscape, making more memories we cherish.

Thank you.

PS. I personally believe, the toilet system that opens on to the tracks should be upgraded. This unhygienic system belongs to the 19th century and is disgusting.
To maintain them the way they are, the trains compartments should be serviced regularly with upholstery cleaners and glass cleaners. Considering this is a scenic tour, I hope it is not too much to ask for.
We are generally not bothered about such trivialities as a nation I suppose. That maybe why even Sri Lankan airlines have dirty windows.

Also Published in Sinhala @ මගේ ඩෙනිම for Blogger Lovers and @ මට හිතෙන හැටි for WordPress Lovers.

81.On Rails To Badulla... Part Four - Up to Great Western

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Thu, 24 Apr 2014 17:52:00 +0000

In case you missed the previous parts:

On Rails To Badulla...Part One

On Rails To Badulla...Part Two- Up to Kandy

On Rails To Badulla...Part Three - Up to Hatton

We're pulling out of Hatton, which is a large and important station on upcountry line where all the trains stop. As this is closer to Sri Pada (Adam's Peak) the pilgrims who come on the train get off here.

11.46 AM: Rolling on, past Hatton...

11.49 AM: Maybe the fairy tale looks doesn't mean the life here is such.

11.52 AM: Kotagala Station.
1239.2m above MSL and 180km away.
All the station seems to be painted in the same color.

11.52 AM:

I was just wondering how the CGR, how SLR,
which was initiated by the British, and has been following the British system to be More British than the British
came to use the American word Gasoline
on all their tankers.

This Class M6 really needs a new paint.

11.55 AM: One of my favorite photos
captured by Hirusha on Samsung Galaxy S4.

11.55 AM: Ooops!

11.58 AM: Looks like another school.

12.00 Noon: You can tell by the shadows.

Noon: Blue train snaking through the green terrain.

Noon: Neat landscape.

The power unit that generates enough power
to haul all that awful lot of train all the way
up to 1898m above the mean sea level.

Noon:

12.01 PM:

12.04 PM:
That's why you should take the scenic route by day time.
Is this St Clair's?

Derailed and abandoned!

How many shades of green!

Most of these bridges are more than hundred years old...

Though dangerous, sitting on the foot board
is an awesome way to enjoy this scenic tour.

When I take the highway I used to watch the passing trains longingly.

Now it's your turn to do so guys!

12.09 PM: Just before pulling into Talawakele Staion.

12.10 PM: Talawakele...

12.10 PM: Talawakele Station. Look at the architecture.

12.11 PM: The railway world.

12.21 PM: Blue ridged mountains...

12.13 PM: SLTB bus over the new bridge.

12.13 PM: Fellow passengers.

12.14 PM: What a location for a housing scheme!

12.15 PM

12.15 PM: Upper Kotmale Dam.

Where living is a pleasure, I believe...

Where living must be a pleasure, no doubt.

12.15 PM: Dammed!

12.17 PM: The long and winding road...

12.17 PM:

The bridge we just crossed.

12.19 PM:

There are plenty of streams like this.

12.20 PM:

12.20 PM: Storm Drains in the tea estates.

12.20 PM:

12.21 PM:

12.20 PM:

12.21 PM:
This is the owner of those pink girly stuff,
pink water bottle, the teddy bear blanket and the rest...
She was a fellow passenger.

12.22 AM: Tea plucking.

12.22 PM: Green, green grass of home...

Watagoda Station.
The railroad closer to Watagoda is sharply winding one.

...

12.39 PM:

12.39 AM:
Arriving at Great Western.
I just wonder how this place in the central hills in
Nuwaraeliya District
was named Great Western in the first place.

I heard that the Great Western mountain, at 2212m (7257ft) high,
is the 6th highest peak in the country.
And that's how the station, a nearby tea state got the name.

12.42 PM: Plenty of ragged rocks for ragged robin to run 'round. I think this would be an ideal place for climbing.

1464 meters above the mean sea level, Great western
is a beautiful station with a breathtaking view.

12.45 AM:
The Great Western Station master waiting with the tablet...

(Not a Samsung Tablet, for God'd sake...:D)

12.43 AM:
Wondering if the cowboys wearing ten gallon hats on horseback would appear with blazing guns over the edge, any time...

Dual manual signals...

They say the Sri Pada mountain can be seen clearly from here,
but I didn't see it.

The pleasure of travel. For some strange reason, I love this shot.

Some delay at Great Western, but you never get bored here.

My Special thanks to Anonymous
who rubbed my nose on this awesome open source software
Gimp 2.8.10 and saved me a lot of trouble.

This is not the last.
Await for On Rails To Badulla...The Final Part with more awesome photos.

Also Published in Sinhala @ මගේ ඩෙනිම for Blogger Lovers
and @ මට හිතෙන හැටි for WordPress Lovers.

80. On Rails To Badulla... Part 3 - Up to Hatton

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Sat, 12 Apr 2014 04:12:00 +0000

The Badulla bound පොඩි මැණිකේ and Colombo bound උඩරට මැණිකේ, both Class S12 trains passing each other at Watawala.

So we rolled off from Peradeniya. If you missed the two previous parts, these are the links.

On Rails to Badulla... Part 1
On Rails to Badulla... Part 2 Up to Kandy

9.15 AM: Passing Gelioya.
The station immediately after Peradeniya Junction.

9.20 AM: Traveling light. It snugly fitted to the overhead rack.
No fear of them crashing on top of us.

9.24 AM: Gampola. Waiting for the signal to change.
That peculiar shaped Temple Dagoba on the top of the hill
in the background attracts everyone's attention.

9.24 AM: Still at Gampola.
We had to back out of the way and enter another track
to let another train pass.

9.25 AM: The weed grown tracks, and the railroad furniture
all are part of the nostalgia, a non train enthusiast would find difficult to understand.

9.29 AM: The professional photographers
would frown at the way we handle cameras ,
but there's no other way. All we need is the picture.

9.32 AM: A Class M5 rumbles by...

10.00 AM: At Nawalapitiya.
Is that a Canadian M4 Engine?
Someone please tell me.

10.04 AM: Well, the Computer control connector,
broadcasting connector and multiple connector
are really connected on the right hand side of the car.
I've been looking at the wrong side really.

10.12 AM: This is an important station as
it is the control center for the Up Country Line.

10.15 AM

10.20 AM: Pine Trees and other vegetation.
Interesting shades of green...

10.21 AM: There is a lot of controversy about
growing pines in the central hills,
still, it is a constant reminder that
you are in the cool hill country.

10.22 AM: Everyone clicks away like mad.
This is all that is left at the end.

10.22 AM: Light and dark. What a contrast!

10.22 AM:
A live nature program running on every window.

10.23 AM: Rattling along over a rail bridge is
a sensation of its own, which is difficult to explain.

10.23AM: The mountain side is crisscrossed with
small streams like this.

10.23 AM: I've always wondered how well a
railroad merges with the nature and becomes a part of it!

10.25AM: Inguru Oya is a small way station between Nawalapitiya and Watawala.
We had to wait here for some time for the signal to change.

10.26 AM: This waiting can piss off some,
specially the impatient and the grumpy.
But for us, it was part of the deal...part of nostalgia.
Tell me please...
Is the TVG and the bullet train as fun as this?

10.31 AM: Picture post card views like this are all around us, only if we bother to look... and in the mood...

10.31 AM: We're rolling again...

10.32 AM

10.33 AM:
What it would be like to sit on that rock
with my feet in the cool stream water...

10.33AM: We saw a number of abandoned compartments
like this on the way.

10.33 AM

10.35 AM: Granite mountains in full abundance.
That's what the tunnels are bored through, remember?

10.35 AM: Tunnels are another wonder on this mountainous rail route called Up Country Line. We attempted so many times to get a clear picture like this. It is not easy with the camera in the auto mode as the camera sensors are fooled by this contrast in light which messes the shutter speed added to the motion of the train which most often produces a blurry picture.
This one came out just about right anyway.

10.35 AM: Most of you dudes are thinking about taking a dive and then a drink, huh?

10.34 AM: It's the water that makes all the difference.

10.36 AM: Does it remind you of the wild west? It does to me...

10.36 AM: I don't have to hold your hand and
walk you through this, do I?
I mean do I have to think about something to say to every picture?

10.36 AM: I told you once, this pink water bottle and teddy bear blankets belong to the little girl who was there in the front seat, for God's sake...

10.38 AM: Stuck at the signal again. Is it Galboda? I'm not sure.

10.39 AM: How many of you guys have had this adventurous ride on these connecting plates in the joint, creaking and grinding against each other, when you were kids? When I was a kid, I was so scared that this would grind my foot into mincemeat if placed in the center. Later, I used to show off here riding most of the way with my feet on two plates, till someone asked me to get the hell out of the way.

10.40 AM:
What would it be like to go to this school for a change?
See the playground?

10.40 AM: You tell me...

10.41 AM

10.43 AM

10.47 AM: I thought pine trees had an awesome scent, too. Am I imagining it?

10.54 AM: This desktop background is Hirusha's
like most of his awesome shots that are here.

10.56 AM: Some dudes think the whole Sri Lanka is a tea estate, well thanks to the tourist brochures... :D

10.56 AM: The amazing colors of nature...

10.56 AM: Winding through the mountains
calls for tail chasing shots like this.

10.57 AM

10.59 AM

11.00 AM: Watawala.
162 km from Colombo fort and 993.5m above the sea level.
We spent some time here as we were waiting the Colombo bound train to pass. Even venders are here ready with their ware because this is a routine. The people walking away came on our train and climbed down to the tracks.

11.01 AM: Sights and sounds of the rail tours.
These old sheds which badly needs a paint is a common site everywhere, like the weed grown tracks...

11.02 AM:
This is piece of Sri Lanka's ancient railway history.
One dude told me this is from the times of steam locomotives. This overhead metal tank once held water to fill the steam train engine boilers through metal pipe which had a flexible rubber or leather extension fitted to the end.

11.05 AM: Hello and Goodbye! Blue meets blue. The two sisters traveling up and down.

11.05 AM: This was one of my dream jobs. Still is.

11.05 AM: These modern diesel electrics with digital displays on the dashboard makes these trains a turning point in Sri Lankan Railway Story.

11.06 AM: Me having an eyeful.

11.07 AM: I love this eye pleasing architecture of these country stations on the mountain railway.

11.09 AM: Started rolling again...

11.10 AM

11.12 AM. The complete picture! Tea plantation,
winding roads, the tea factory and the aqua-duct.

11.14 AM: The well worn footpath.

11.15 AM. Highway A7 running from Avissawella to Nuwaraeliya.

11.17 AM

11.18 AM. Hey what's the matter with that mountain.
Harrowed path from top to bottom and one side shaved?

11.19 AM: Looks like a housing scheme to me.

11.20 AM:

11.21 AM. Train passing through rattling the plate rack in the kitchen sure must be a way of life here.

11.22 AM: Crisscrossing rails tracks...

11.22 AM At Rozella.

11.24 AM: Simple life... Simple station.
Rozella.1140.35m above MSL.

11.25 AM

11.26 AM

11.27 AM: The Eucalyptus trees with its peeling white bark
gives a pleasant smell.

11.28.AM:
You have to keep swollowing to unblock the ears. Sometimes you can't hear the rumble of the engine as your ears get locked due to low pressure.

11.30 AM: About 1200 meters up.

11.32 AM

11.33 AM: We were getting hungrier and hungrier as we were climbing higher and higher.
Unfortunately the Cafeteria Car was closed
as the tender for the year had run out.
And to make the matters worse, we didn't find any venders
who sold lunch packets as we expected.

11.34 AM: Arriving at Hatton.

11.35 AM The train had made 175.06km from Colombo
and climbed up to 1260meters above the sea level
when it pulled into the Hatton station.

11.37 AM:
Hatton is comparatively a larger station
compared with the ones we passed along the way.

If the sight of the station is not so picturesque, how about this picture postcard view we had few minutes before we pulled into the station.

This journey is not just a matter of distance. It's a matter of elevations above the sea level,too. The elevation above the sea level is generally mentioned at the bottom of the name board of each station. We started at Gampaha which is merely 10.97m above the MSL and had climbed up to 473.47 meters when we reached PERADENIYA JUNCTION.

Anyway the name board at Peradeniya reads 476.38m.

We passed Geli oya, Gampola, Thambiliala, Ulapane, Nawalapitiya, Inguru Oya, Galboda, Watawala, Ihala Watawala, Rozella and reached Hatton gradually climbing up to 1262m above the mean sea level.

The summit level on Sri Lankan Rail Network is 1898.1m somewhere between Ambewela and Pattipola stations.

That's why I said that it's the journey that matters, not the destination.

So the best is yet to come. Await the next episode On Rails To Badulla... Part Four for more.

Also Published in Sinhala language

@ මගේ ඩෙනිම and මට හිතෙන හැටි.

79. On Rails To Badulla... Part Two - Up to Kandy

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Fri, 28 Mar 2014 17:51:00 +0000

If you haven' read "On Rails TO Badulla...Part One|", please click the link.

The Map. Lap one. We are going from Gampaha to Kandy

7.02 AM: Train Podimanike rushing through the countryside...

7.27 AM: Stopped at Polgahawela (One reader said that this is actually Meerigama. Two more said this is non of the above and it is Rambukkana.) This is very controversial, isn't it?
Ok. It's Rambukkana.

7.27 AM: Rambukkana. Waiting for the Green Flag.

7.28 AM: The Travelers full of expectations...

7.49 AM: Pulled up at a small way station.

7.49 AM: Happiness is a way station like this between too much and too little.

7.50 AM: Waiting for the signal...

Nostalgic Sights for Train Lovers...

7.50 AM: Rushing through the rocks...

7.50AM: And the lush green hills bathed in the morning sunlight...

7.51 AM: Grandad and grandson Rail-ties side by side...

7.59 AM: Merging...

8.07 AM: Catching breath at Kadugannawa after a steep

climb

8.15 AM: Rolling Stock...

8.15AM: It takes a while...

8.16AM: To a train lover, it's not just steel, concrete and wood...

8.16AM: Pulling out at last...

8.18 AM: Rushing in to the dark tunnels

8.19 AM: The light at the end of the tunnel...

8.19 AM: Changing Landscape...

Another small way station...

8.22 AM: Pulled up at Peradeniya Nostalgia Junction.

8.22AM: That Other Train is on the Badulla line.

8.22AM: We are sitting on Colombo-Kandy line...

8.22 AM: Down the memory lane...

8.23AM: Kandy bound... Hold on we'll be back shortly.

8.24AM: Crossing the Bridge...

8.25AM: Sarasavi Uyana. The University Gardens.

8.25AM: Preserving the Memories...

This is where we are. Between Peradeniya and Kandy

8.28AM: Over the Dangalle Bridge

8.29 AM: Nobody wants to mess with the King of the Road.

8.33AM: Pulling into the platform of Kandy Station...

8.40 AM: The newly paved platforms of Kandy station in the morning sunlight.

8.40 AM: Waiting...

8.40AM: Guard's cabin.

8.40AM: Isn't it homely?

8.55 AM: Pulling out of Kandy Station, rolling backwards.

8.56AM: Legendary Hunslet Engine on parallel track at Kandy.

9.00 AM: Rolling back to Peradeniya Junction

9.02 AM: Memories are in the making...Badulla Here we come

Visit the next part: 80. On Rails To Badulla... Part 3 - Up to Hatton

Simulblogged @ මට හිතෙන හැටි and මගේ ඩෙනිම in Sinhala Language.

78. On Rails to Badulla... Part One

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Tue, 25 Mar 2014 09:41:00 +0000

Finally we did something we’ve been putting off for years. Last December, We made that long awaited, dream trip to Badulla on rails. Each time we saw a train roaring past us while we were held up at a level crossing or rattling along on rail tracks that ran parallel to the main road, a feeling of nostalgia swept over us. If you just wonder why we went there, crazy as it may sound, it was purely for the pleasure of the journey. Have you set off on a journey, where all that mattered was the pleasure of traveling itself and not the destination at all? Just for the hell of it?

We set off on this just to feel it. The rattle of the steel wheels against steel rails. The deafening roar of the locomotive engine changing its note according to the terrain. The smell of the diesel fumes when you rush through a tunnel and to join in the ritual hooting of the young and the old alike in it. The roller coaster feeling at the top of the world when the train crossed the ancient bridges over ravine and valleys. To get an eyeful of the breathtaking view of the greenish mountains shrouded in the clouds. Pine forests and the rolling in mist. Green tea plantations, vegetable plots, cascading waterfalls, the ever changing, picturesque landscape with the cool fresh mountain air.

A week ago, we walked over booking counter of the Gampaha train station and asked about making a booking in an observation car to Badulla. Leave alone the observation car, even a regular second class compartments had to be booked a month (or forty five days) in advance. Disappointed, we turned back, when the booking clerk asked, if we were interested in third class compartments could be reserved. This didn’t sound very promising as I visualized the crowded uncomfortable third class compartments I had seen where you have to struggle to keep your seat. Still seeing no option we bought three third class return tickets to Badulla paying only LKR. 2400.00.

We wondered whether to go to Gampaha in the van and leave it at a friend’s so that we could come home any time of the day without fear of missing the last bus, but later decided against it. We decided this journey should be entirely on public transport.

We had decided to travel light as never before. We packed one fresh change of clothes for the return trip and one set of pajamas with tooth brushes tooth paste and the usual stuff into one wheeled bag and just one small backpack for water and food. We had decided not to worry about the accommodation and see about that once we got there. We were ready to sleep at the Badulla train station if necessary. So, no laptops, only one camera and two phone cameras for photography, with no chargers as there would be no way to charge phones at the station. We regretted about leaving phone chargers later. Actually we had never traveled that light anywhere.

We woke up to the first alarm and got ready. Locking the door and walking to the road in the dark to wait for the early morning bus was an experience we hadn’t had for over a decade. We arrived at Gampaha station at the day break. We bought the breakfast from a Meals on Wheels parked in front of the station. To survive on street food was also part of the deal, like sleeping at the station. :D

So in several episodes I hope to share a fragment of what we enjoyed on that journey. To some of you daily train commuters, this might be rather disappointing. But I do hope there would still be some of you train lovers like us who’d understand what we did, what we did.

The Gampaha train station was crowded with people. We had the option of catching this Podimanike train either from Colombo Fort or Gampaha. We had the advantage of catching it half an hour late at Gampaha, so we didn’t regret our decision.

The train arrived and we scrambled in. Actually it stopped at Gampaha just to pick us up, because the guard has the name list of the passengers who have made bookings and the stations they get in. Unaware of this, we had got into one of the regular crowded compartments while our reserved seats in a separate compartment next to the engine were empty. We got off at the next station and found our seats.

This train, a new blue colored Chinese power set, was unexpectedly comfortable than we expected. It had cleaner toilets and reasonably better maintained compartments.

So the memorable journey began with a lot of promise. I hope to let the pictures do the talking as far as possible.

Visit the next part:
79. On Rails To Badulla... Part Two - Up to Kandy

Simulblogged @ මට හිතෙන හැටි and මගේ ඩෙනිම in Sinhala Language.

77. SHIT HAPPENS. Nightmare on E01 - Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Mon, 17 Mar 2014 06:50:00 +0000

If you missed the first part of this article Nightmare onE01-the Southern Expressway!, please press here.

I dreamed the luminous markings rushing at me out of the darkness in my sleep that night. However I called Chunji as soon as I woke up.

“Chunji, can I borrow your van battery for a couple of hours?”

“No problem, come and get it.”

“Hey, could you please bring it yourself, if you don’t mind?”

While waiting for Chunji’s battery, I called the auto electrician Lakshman and made an appointment to meet him in an hour.

And within that hour, I removed my battery from the battery compartment and put in Chunji’s one. Once the battery terminals were secured, I turned the ignition and the engine sprang to life. And according to Murphy’s Law, no red discharge lamp either. Isn’t it quite normal for the symptoms of most of our gadgets to miraculously disappear in the presence of the technician? Come to think of that, even the humans are like that! Don’t most of our pains and aches vanish at the doctor’s?

The electrician Lakshman worked at home, not a garage. When I entered through his black painted ornate gate, I saw him on his motorbike waiting to go out. He was going to drop his son at his tuition class. He asked me to wait for his return.

I sat on the beautiful garden bench among Lakshman’s wife’s flowering shrubs and kicked off my flip-flops and rested my bear feet on the green lawn still covered with dewdrops and fell into deep thought.

Most of us develop a kind of emotional attachment with our vehicles over the years, just like the kind we have with our pets. Though this may sound weird to some of you, this is the truth.

This van is no exception.

This old, but reliable vehicle has a reputation of taking us almost all over the island and bringing us home safely. And all the incidents that we faced from time to time has been due to human error than the technical error.

That accident at Yala for example was a direct result of the fully loaded van running over a weakened area of the concrete slab of a badly maintained causeway giving in. Somehow the van arrived home safely, in spite of the damages it suffered to the lower suspension arm which was replaced later.

Another day, one of the four new KYB shock absorbers I got fixed came off en route to Kandy, somewhere in Nittambuva simply because the careless mechanic had forgotten to tighten the lower nut of the front right shock absorber. The hydraulic cylinder of the shock absorber was somewhat dented as a result of being banged about on the axle.

The same mechanic forgot to tighten the nuts of the rear universal joint after replacement and the propeller shaft came off another day near Balummahara just before entering the Kandy road. This act negligence which was much critical than the shock absorber incident, resulted in damaging the differential and causing a hum. Later I had to buy the whole rear axle assembly from a Japanese reconditioned motor part dealer.

Another morning, I found my garage floor flooded with green radiator coolant because the worker at the service station, where I got the radiator coolant replaced the previous evening, hadn’t tightened the drain plug at the bottom of the radiator properly.

Not only the mechanics, some fuel pump attendants at the filling stations also suffer from amnesia. In this very vacation, as soon as we arrived in Sri Lanka, we had to go to Kandy to attend a wedding. I filled the tank up to the brim at a filling station in Gampaha district. When I stopped on the side of the road at Peradeniya, Kandy to ask for the directions to the Wedding reception hall, I noticed fresh patch of diesel near the front wheel. When I opened the fuel flap and checked the fuel cap, it was loose. The pump attendant had forgotten to screw it tight and I’ve been spilling diesel all the way to Kandy. After that I made it a point to personally check if the fuel cap is secured after refueling, ignoring the dirty looks from some fuel pump attendants.

The lesson I learned the hard way from all these incidents was to be vigilant every time a technician is supposed to tighten the nuts and bolts they loosened. I wonder if this is some genetic mutation. They really do forget.

So all those incidents were caused by human error.

And once it was a rodent error!

Once, the engine failed to start because the electric wire to the diesel injector pump was chewed through by a rat. I didn’t know this and I changed the diesel filter. I removed the whole diesel filter assembly from the engine and took it to the service station. The owner who checked the filter which hadn’t done at least quarter of its guaranteed mileage, diagnosed it was badly clogged and replaced it with a new one. When I attached the filter assembly and tried the engine didn’t fire. Later I brought my mechanic who found the rat eaten wire and spliced it back. The engine started immediately.

Later I met this service station owner at a clothing store.

“Hey, though you said my old filter was clogged and sold me a new one, the engine didn’t start. A rat had chewed off a wire to the injector pump.”

“Really? But sir, even that filter was no good. There should’ve some effect from that also.”

“May be. Who knows if the same rat ate up the diesel filter, too?” I said.

Interrupting my train of thoughts, Lakshman rode through the huge black gates into his yard. I, who was enjoying the awesomeness of the wet grass under my feet, quickly got up and went near the van.

I described the symptoms to Lakshman who listened attentively.

Let’s go for a test ride, first,” he said climbing into the driver’s seat. As soon as the engine was started the red light went off. Murphy is absolutely correct!

He drove along the treacherous road with sharp hills, curves and potholes. And bringing an immense relief to me the red light suddenly lit up. Lakshman bit his lower lip thoughtfully and said.

“Bro, we gotta take the alternator apart.”

We returned and parked in front of Lakshman’s house.

In these models, you have to remove even the driver’s seat to access the alternator.

“What happens if the alternator is faulty?”

“Let’s see bro. Let’s see if a winding is blown or if we could just service the alternator and get away with it.”

Lakshman who was reaching in to the depths of the engine bay and trying to remove the alternator, surprised me with what he said next. This is one major reason I like this guy.

“Bro, You won’t believe this. Two of the alternator mounting bolts are loose.”

“What the hell! How can that happen?”

“That’s what. You just hang on a sec.”

Then he did is something a technician would rarely do. He gave up the easy chance of making some easy buck and said,

“Let’s tighten them back and check without taking the alternator out.”

He tightened the two mounting bolts. Then he turned the ignition key and the engine sprang to life. And the red light went off immediately. After that we drove the van around for about an hour and checked. The red warning light didn’t come up. The lights, horn, wipers and all worked properly. Lakshman had given up the chance of removing the alternator, performing a make believe repair and swindling me.

After that we took out Chunji’s battery and put in my dead one and tried to start it letting the van roll down the hill. While Lakshman was at the wheel I tried to push it alone towards the road which was downhill. Just then my phone rang. Weni!

“Hang on a second Weni. I’m at the electrician. And I’m pushing the van…”

I shoved the phone into my jeans pocket and pushed the van. As soon as the engine started, I jumped into the passenger seat and pulled out the phone. Weni was still on line and I explained to him briefly what was going on.

To my greatest joy the red battery discharge warning light stayed off while the engine was running. Everything was coming to a happy ending. I paid Lakshman and on my way back, just kept on driving aimlessly until the battery was fully charges. I stopped at several down hills, switched off the engine and checked if the engine restated at the turn of the ignition key. Once I was sure thing were back to normal, I drove home, returning Chunji’s battery en route.

Still the loosened alternator mounting bolts were bugging me. Did they just come loose on their own or did someone forget to tighten them, again, as usual?

I found the answer when I peeped into the box where I keep some removed spare parts for samples and the labels or packings of the new spare parts. Lying on the top were three removed fan, power steering and AC belts slipped into the new Mitsuboshi and Bando cardboard sleeves. I replaced them in the last December vacation. And the alternator was loosened that day. Even after replacing the belts we drove so many miles. And even before last night’s ordeal we drove to Kandy and to Colombo and suburbs almost daily. Yeah, it’s true that the shit happens. But this shit has been waiting to happen and it did last night, at last.

So this is also a direct result of the sheer negligence of a mechanic. In other words, one more case of human error!

EPILOGUE:

Some of my readers wanted to know why I took a risk like that.

Actually, risk taking is what we do throughout our lifetimes, isn’t it? What an enormous risk do the bus drivers who habitually drive on the wrong side of the double white lines and some motor cyclists take on daily basis? Even we prefer night driving. Even though the traffic is less, the danger of falling asleep at the wheel is always there. I find myself struggling to keep awake while driving at the night. And actually have fallen asleep, too, more than once.

Even if I keep awake, I never know if the driver behind the wheel of the oncoming vehicle is really awake. I have honked and woken up the drivers who were hurtling towards me on the wrong lane more than once. Even a passenger on a long haul night flight is taking a risk. It’s common knowledge that the pilots don’t get enough sleep.

On the other hand, this is unknown territory. I couldn’t bring myself to ask Alchemiya to find me a mechanic when they had a funeral to worry about. And even if we found one we’d have no way to know what kind of mechanics they would be. Everyone is not Lakshman’s type. There are types who would make a fortune out of this. And no one knows where this kind of repairs could end up. Some remedies are worse than the ailment. But had our fellow blogger Damith Gunawardene who has enough contacts in this field was at the funeral, things could have been different.

And honestly I didn’t know what caused this problem. No way to tell that without doing an inspection. Actually I had an assumption this would be the rectifier. And unlike a car, the alternator is not easily accessible in a Japanese minivan. And there wouldn’t be a need to do so as this is not a common problem.

I wouldn’t blame my passengers for any of this because I really didn’t share the details of my feelings with them. I rarely share my problems with the others by nature. I solve my own problems my way. And I see nothing wrong with falling asleep in a vehicle in the middle of the night. Even I sleep best, in vehicles (driven by other people) irrespective of the time of the day.

And most of all, I didn’t know that the expressway was not illuminated until then. Even on the way to Galle, I didn’t notice it because we had no light problem then.

And finally, I’m no exemplary character but an ordinary mortal. It’ your choice to classify this story as adventurous, stupid or boastful. For me it is just another poor attempt to present you another of my unforgettable life events.

If there is anything for you to take in this story, my humble suggestion is not to try to do what I did. If you get this kind of symptoms in your vehicle, you know where to check. A blog post like this would have been extremely useful to me that night.

76.Nightmare on E01-the Southern Expressway!

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Thu, 13 Mar 2014 20:18:00 +0000

I stared incredulously at the dull yellow glow of my headlights reflecting off the aluminum garage door. They looked like two fireflies. I stepped out and walked in front of the vehicle for the first time. They were like fireflies alright. This was unbelievable! Then the light outside the garage door came on. I got back into the van and waited patiently for the garage door to complete its leisurely upward crawl. Once the doorway was clear I drove in.

"Now I'm going to switch off the engine, okay? Everything's okay right?"

"Yes, she brought us all the way home by god's willing without an incident."

"Yeah, we were lucky today." I said and switched off the engine

We had planned to go to the blogger Alchemiya's mother’s funeral in the morning. But as the blogger Weni also wanted to join us, we had to make changes to our travel plan. As he had finished his quota of leave for this year, he had no way to take any more leave. And he could join only after work. And at the same time, as he had also organized for the bloggers Rana and Onaya's family to go with us, I had to change the original route to Kottawa through the High-level Road, too.

First we drove to Mulleriyawa, through Kaduwela to pick up Onaya, his wife and the kid. The rain started when we were passing Palawatta which soon had upgraded to a downpour by the time we hit the High-Level road. Weni and Rana got in at Kottawa somewhat drenched.

It was 7.49 PM when we got the token at the Kottawa toll booth at the entrance to the Southern Expressway E 01. I drove well below the speed limit, being extra careful because of the hostile motoring combination of rain and night. In addition to that there was this extra burden of carrying other passengers. And also taking into account the carelessness and erratic behavior of the other drivers in these perilous driving conditions would totally be beyond my control.

Deepa and I rode in the front and our son Hirusha was at the back with other passengers. As I was concentrating heavily on driving I was only paying little attention to the teasing and friendly but relentless bullying going on in the back. As our son Hirusha said later, Weni had been the butt of all jokes.

As we left the expressway at Kurundhugahathapma exit we had taken 57 minutes to make the 67.5km.

Before setting off I had checked the directions given in Alchemiya’s blog and had a rough sketch hurriedly made on a piece of paper. I had left it on the console tray between the driver’s seat and the passenger’s seat. I didn’t consult it much because Weni also had copied the same directions on an A4 sheet and he also had SatNav on his phone.

We missed the first turn to the left as soon as we left the toll booth, because just by judging the width and the condition of it we thought it would be an entrance ramp to the expressway. Unfortunately it was the correct route though we didn’t know it. Anyway drowned in the a rain of abuse aimed at Weni’s SatNav and his so called A4 navigation, which later would become a big time hit on Facebook, we were homing in on the destination through alternative routes.

While we were looking for a spot to empty our bladders we found this lonely and dark stretch of road running through a huge rubber plantation. I pulled over and parked on the shoulder of the road and joined the others who stood along the opposite shoulder of the road and relieved themselves into the ditch. Soon we finished the job and got into the van.

I turned the ignition and was amazed to hear the motor just whine and fail. The battery was brand new and the run on expressway was enough to charge the weakest of the batteries. This Toyota 2C diesel engine has never failed to start up except the day the wire to the diesel injector pump was gnawed off by a mouse. I switched on the headlights which gave off a weak light which soon faded out.

We went to the option of push-starting the van. The men got off and started pushing but it wasn’t easy because it was slightly uphill. And the road was in total darkness and there was the risk of running into the ditch. Somehow in the third attempt as we got enough momentum the engine sprang to life to everyone’s delight.

Once, all were on board, I drove off. I was worried to notice the the red battery discharging lamp on the dashboard, which was supposed to go off as soon as the engine starts, continued to glow. This meant the battery was not charging!

“This vehicle starts even after it stands still for ten and half months of the year when you put in the battery and turn the ignition. This is not possible,” I said shaking my head.

In a little while I discovered that the red discharging lamp turned on and off erratically. Once, when we made another wrong turn and one of us got out to ask the way, I switched off the engine out of habit. As it was on a sharp uphill I went to the only option available and started the engine on the reverse gear by letting the van roll backwards and letting in the clutch, which was a dangerous maneuver in the dark on unknown terrain, with the vehicle fully loaded. The engine started immediately, to my immense relief.

When we reached Alchemiya’s place I was careful to park at a place where it was possible to push start the vehicle. While the others were getting off, I removed the battery compartment cover behind the driver’s seat and disconnected the subwoofer from the battery by removing the fuse in order to relieve the battery of some extra burden.

Even though I was meeting Alchemiya in the flesh for the first time and the others were gathered around and were enjoying each other’s company, my mind was heavy with the vehicle’s technical problem. It wouldn’t have mattered much had it been in a day time. But driving a fully loaded vehicle powered by a non-charging battery, for over hundred kilometers in a rainy, dark night on an expressway was an entirely different kettle of fish. It was not my idea of fun anyway and something I should avoid if I could. But I couldn’t. I was only half listening to the conversation of the group.

“What are we going to do now?” Deepa asked in a low tone.

“That’s what I’m also wondering. It’s very dangerous to go back on the Expressway because we can’t stop there even the worst comes to worst. No hazard light either, because of the dead battery. It would be deadly to have a break down. And the other drivers would not see us before it’s too late, because it is a dark and wet and slippery night.”

“You do whatever is the best. It’s your call.

“And, on the other hand, if we take the Galle road, it’ll take three times longer to make it and we have to go an extra distance totally out of the way to drop off these people. And the longer it takes, worse becomes the problem.”

“So what do we do?”

“What we should do is to wait till the morning and deal with it. But we can’t do it because Weni has to go to work and Onaya has the little kid. It won’t be nice.”

“So?”

“I go for plan B. We’ll take the expressway and hope for the best. We need to get home as soon as possible. Sooner, the better. There could be a point when the lights would black out completely. So expressway is the solution because of the time factor.”

“You do whatever it is with the minimum risk.”

After dinner and picking up some apricots from Alchemiya’s tree, we said goodbye to them and walked back to the vehicle. As I feared the battery was fully drained and the motor didn’t turn at all. We push started the engine. After everyone was on board we set off, this time on the correct route.

As I had made up my mind already we headed toward the expressway entrance. But making me wonder if I made the correct decision, this time the red discharge lamp continued to glow obstinately without going off a single time. If anything goes wrong I have no one to blame but myself.

The time showed 12.07AM when I got the token from the entrance toll booth at Kurundhugahahathapma. ‘We can now make it even in a total blackout,’ I thought happily regarding the brightly illuminated expressway.

That happiness was short live as soon as we left lit up area and plunged into total darkness. We realized with a sinking feeling that the expressway was illuminated only at the entrance exit areas, over the bridges and service areas only.

It was like hitting a dark tunnel after bright daylight. My foot automatically eased off the accelerator.

As the eyes gradually got accustomed to the dark we were able to see the dying headlights of ours reflecting off the luminous fogline on the left, the lane marking and the reflectors on steel median fence very weakly. Everything else was pitch-black. Even if an elephant was there in the middle of the road we’d never see it, not that it is likely. And more likely scenarios such as someone without lights like us was traveling slowly, or in the worst case scenario had had a break down in the middle of the night would have been disastrous. The mere thought made a shiver crawl up my spine. All I could do was to keep the vehicle between the luminous fogline on the left and line of reflectors on the steel fence on the right using the dull reflection of my headlights. It was like flying through space more than driving on the road. Just like an aircraft aiming for a badly lit runway in a lonely airfield in the middle of nowhere in bad weather.

Deepa, who realized the danger we were in, unbuckled the seatbelt and perched on the edge of the her seat with her face stuck in the windshield peering into the dark road ahead for better visibility. She helped with navigation through this nightmare warning me from time to time.

“You are little too much to the left, I think.”

“Move a bit more towards to the center, It’s too close to the fence”

The rain that spattered down from time to time made the visibility even poorer. The windshield wipers were useless as the battery had no power to work them. When I switched on the wipers when it became worse and couldn’t see anything, they just managed to drag themselves laboriously just one cycle and died. When the wiper worked the headlights faded out completely, making the guiding fogline and reflectors invisible. I sometimes had to slow down even further and switch off the lights for the wiper to work one cycle. As soon as the glass cleared, I switched off the wipers to save the already overburdened battery.

Though theoretically, when the engine revs up the lights should become a bit brighter, I discovered the opposite happened here. Our eyes had no chance to get accustomed to the dark and see the faint luminous marking continuously as the headlights of the occasional oncoming vehicles on the other side blinded us. Even the vehicles which came from behind and overtook us were more of a hindrance than help. I resisted the very strong temptation to tailgate one of them as I sensed the danger of it.

In a while I learned to speed up arriving at the illuminated short stretches and slow down well before entering the dark stretches. I entered the dark areas with caution till our eyes adjusted to the dark.

My passengers at the back seemed to be unaware of the peril all of us were in and the risk we were running by driving on a wet, dark expressway in a rainy night with malfunctioning headlights, tail lights, brake lights, turn signals and windshield wipers. Onaya and the family seemed to be fast asleep at the back seat. Weni and my son were engaged in some conversation about the latest smart phones with Rana who seemed to be drifting between sleep and wakefulness joined in the smart phone forum from time to time. Deepa, still perched on the passenger seat, peered through the windshield and helped me navigate. I was struggling hawk eyed to keep the vehicle between faint luminous lines.

I felt each kilometer we left behind as an individual victory. Fifty km more…thirty km more…twenty km more…

Finally I saw it was only one kilometer more to Kottawa exit. I passed the sign feeling like an Olympic runner, thanking all the unseen powers who helped us to make it alive through the nightmare and arrive in one piece at the toll booth. It was 1.20AM. As I paid Rs.300 and got the receipt in exchange for the token, I notice that we had taken 73 minutes to make 67.6 km. “Getting out of that without a major incidence is a great achievement,” Deepa reminded. As I expected, no one at the toll gates made any remark about our lights nor roadworthiness.

Anyway the worst part of the nightmare was over.

Even though the best thing to have done would have been to take the exit to the right towards taking the shortest way home, we couldn’t make up our minds to drop the passengers to take a taxi home, especially when Onaya had her little kid, too. So I swung left, towards Colombo…

First to get off was Weni.

I asked Onaya if there was street lighting where he lives. He said yes. I started driving towards his home. Onaya was a fraction of a second too late to show the right turn we were supposed to take and I overshot. I didn’t want to reverse or make a U-turn because of the two cops that were patrolling the stree at that time. I didn’t want them to inquire about my turn signals or reverse or tail lights. So I drove on until Onaya showed another alternative by-road to the right. Rana also got off with Onayas.

Now only three of us were there on our own. Now I that couldn’t afford to let the engine stall under no circumstance, I took extra care.

Driving dead slow through unlit stretches and we crossed Kaduwela and headed home. It was a great relief that the rain had ceased completely. I knew we were over the final hurdle too, when we saw no cops even near our police station. As I was turning off the main road into our drive, I remembered the neighbors who park on the road.

“If these idiots have parked anything on the road, we’d sure hit it today,” I said as I swung off the main road.

Fortunately the road was empty.

Once safely inside the garage, the I stopped the engine and slumped onto a chair and enjoyed the euphoria that swept over me.

“Actually Deepa none of these guys just called to check if we arrived safely, huh?”

“They don’t know what we’ve just gone through, I’m sure,” she said.

Well, I didn’t give it much propaganda either, because I didn’t want to excite them unnecessarily.

TO BE CONTINUED:

COMING UP NEXT:

WHAT EXACTLY WENT WRONG THAT NIGHT?

Also published in මගේ ඩෙනිම & මට හිතෙන හැටි

in Sinhala Language

75. Welcome Home! - Vacation Tales.

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Sat, 11 Jan 2014 14:36:00 +0000

We had started the homeward bound journey early in the morning and after traveling by land, sea and air hauling our heavy baggage through jetties and airports, were quite exhausted. The usual ticketing troubles caused by the reservation errors and many other mishaps that we are destined to have on our return journeys, just to take the thrill of coming home, haven’t been very helpful either. On the way from Katunayaka airport, too, I had to get off the van we had hired airport taxi service, so many times in search of a 5 liter bottle of water. It was past midnight when we reached home as usual. After the taxi departed leaving us home, we hauled the bags into the sitting room.

The lights were working but the faucets were dry. This wasn’t unusual and all I had to do was to prime the water pump filling the suction line using the last bit of water left in the overhead tank through the special plumbing I have made just for that purpose. In the worst case scenario I have to go to the well, bring a bottle of water and use it to prime the pump.

I used the LED rechargeable torch we had brought with us to walk through the garden overgrown with weeds and covered with layers of dried leaves. While my wife was dealing with the spider webs and dust inside, my son helped me to deal with the water problem.

Using the water from the overhead tank didn’t help because there didn’t seem to be any. So, I went to the well and brought a bottle of water and started filling the line. Unlike other times the whole bottle of water just disappeared gurgling down the pipeline and never topped up. Five or six 5 liter cans of water later, we decided to use a huge Sheetrock bucket to bring the water. Hauling the bucket from the well was a killing job even though both my son and I were lifting the bucket from two sides. But just because we wanted to get the job done so badly, we ignored the soggy shoes and muddy water creeping up our jeans legs.

We poured the contents of the entire bucket into the waterline and watched it disappear making gurgling noises. Anyway we switched on the water pump and anxiously waited for the noise of water pouring into the overhead tank. No such luck. The pump was running dry. We switched it off fearing a burnout, running it dry.

“Shall we bring one more bucket of water and try?” I finally asked my son who as disgusted as me.

“We have to get the water running somehow, don’t we? Okay let’s go,” he said.

Bringing another bucket of water was a nightmare but we did it. Not only once. We hauled bucket after bucket of water from the well and poured into the waterline. It never filled up as expected. I suspected the foot valve must be faulty and the water was pouring back into the well. Finally we brought another bucket of water and left it in the bathroom because we couldn’t even flush the toilet.

Wait a minute! I had a priming point under the driveway. Because it used to get damaged by vehicle tires, especially those of tractors and trucks which brought in building materials those days, I had buried it under a layer of concrete. Maybe a leak has sprung there. I got the gardening tools and started digging the driveway while my son shone the flash light beam. After many failed attempts, I managed to dig up the pipe line and find the place covered with the layer of concrete. I hammered away at the concrete and after a long struggle found that the joint was dry.

At about 5 o’clock in the morning, after struggling to get the water for so many hours, we just flopped on the beds with sweat, dirt and mud and tried to sleep. We had tried to boil some water from the 5 liter water bottle and make some tea, but found the gas cylinder was empty.

I woke up in one hour as this water problem was bothering me. I woke up and tried to fill water one more time. After dawn, I went to two neighbors who were awake now and borrowed two lengths of garden hose to attach to my garden hose to get water from the front house faucet instead of manually hauling water from the well. At the same time bought a gas cylinder from the hardware store next door. Then we boiled some water and managed to have a warm cup of tea.

The guy who is renting the front house saw me and asked what the problem was. When I explained he said, “Bro, I think your pipeline could be damaged in the middle.”

“No way? This is a buried along my driveway. It is impossible for that to get damaged. And I checked it digging it up. It sure must be the damn foot valve.”

He wanted to say some more, but obviously changed his mind. He must have been listening to our struggle last night.

I took a long pole and shook the foot valve underwater. Then tried to fill water this time with the garden hose connected to the faucet of the front house. Still the water gurgled down the pipe and disappeared. I bent into the well and tapped the pipeline to make the ball valve drop down in case it was jammed. The tried again. The same result.

Now my plan was to empty the well, get into it and check and replace the foot valve. I went to the neighbor who rents submersible water pumps. The sign on his door said OPEN, but he was still going through his daily religious rituals prior to business. I walked back home intending to return a little later.

I shook the foot valve one more time and tried to fill the waterline. Same result! Frustrated, I was walking along the driveway back to the well when I noticed the patch of water in the middle of the drive. Well as it had rained the previous day there was water on the drive, but this pool of water was different. I just thought it was growing. I squatted down and watched the edges of the pool of water. Hell! It was growing. I was overwhelmed with relief! At least I found the cause and I don’t have to empty the well!

This place was a few feet away from the place I dug in the night. And I started excavating with a lot of care. And the hole I dug started to fill with muddy water. The water, we have been feeding the pipeline with all night. And what I saw swept me off my feet. The pipeline was severed in the middle. Actually a piece about a foot long was missing. No wonder the water never topped up! And What I saw next made me throw a fit. The other end of the pipeline was neatly blocked with an end cap!

Then I understood. The neighbors have cut down a tree and a falling tree or a stub of a limb has pierced the earth and severed the pipeline. Why the hell nobody told me and save us all the back breaking labor we had last night? Actually the guy next door knew this but didn’t want to get involved. And why the hell didn’t they repair the damage and save us all the trouble?

I walked to my brother in law, who is always there to help. He was back from night duty and was sleeping. The thrill of seeing me didn’t last long when I explained the situation to him.

“Oh my god!” he said. “Yes, they cut down a tree and a trunk fell on to your driveway severing your pipeline middle. Actually a stub of a branch had pierced the ground. I was the one to fix the end cap. I actually intended to repair that, but I forgot!

He volunteered to come with me to help me. Together we cleaned the two ends and with an extra length of pipe and PVC Glue and managed to mend it.

After that I watched the water filling up the line and top up and when I switched on the water pump the note changed and it started to pump water into the overhead tank, the sound of which was sweet music to our ears. I waited eagerly to see the tank fill up and overflow into the garden.

I opened a faucet and listened to the sweet music the water made splashing the sink singing Welcome home!

Epilogue:

I looked around the garden. The garbage pit was full of junk. There were broken glasses neatly packed in poly-sacks and left on my toilet pit. There were broken old fashioned four foot florescent lights which we don’t use. Windows glasses we don’t have, glassware we have never seen, perfume bottles we never used. And to top it off, I had huge pile of coconut branches piled up near the staircase from a tree that was cut. And we have no coconut trees. Anyway it was easier to remove than the tree trunks they had piled up last time when we came, which gave us a hell of a time to return to the proper owners. It was nice to be back anyway.

Simulblogged in මගේ ඩෙනිම in Sinhala Language.

74. PANIC ATTACK!

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Fri, 04 Oct 2013 08:00:00 +0000

PANIC ATTACK!

30^th Aug 2013 2200Hrs

The flight EY0279 (call sign ETD279) has just disappeared from the live flight radar screen. All of us had watched this AIRBUS A320 taking off at 2025hrs from Malé International Airport and climbing at 2000fpm on the live flight radar on the laptop screen. Once the aircraft gained 40000ft, we disconnected the data connection and went to have dinner as this was a 04 hour 15 minute flight to Abu Dhabi which is 3025 kilometers away.

We had dinner watching another episode of 'Burn Notice' as we do these days and returned to check the progress of the flight. I woke the laptop up, switched the data connection on and refreshed the page as the session had expired.

Amazingly there was no trace of it!

Then I typed ETD279 in the the search box of www.flightradar24.com website and hit enter.

Still no result would return.

Then I zoomed in and checked all the flights on the flight path. Still no sign of ETD279. As there were over eight thousand flights in the sky that night I used the filter to make only Etihad flights visible on the screen and checked each flight separately.

Still, it was missing.

I didn’t show my panic but sensed that both the other members of our family were very worried. Then I went to the Etihad’s official site and searched for the plane.

There were no updates.

Then I Googled for similar live flight radar programs and searched again only to find that the flight that took off one and half hours ago, with our daughter on board, did not exist.

I suppressed the sudden desire to turn on to a news channel to check out the Breaking News simply because I didn’t want my wife and my son to freak out. I also tried to forget about the site that Ishara Gunawardene had said in a comment where one could get updates of the air crashes.

None of us were disclosing our true feelings to each other. We decided to go to bed declaring these flight radar programs could be very unstable, unreliable and malfunctioning any time.

Sleep didn’t come easily and I tossed and turned in bed. Most of this flight path was over the sea, the Indian Ocean. And to make it worse, it was a night flight. While we are lying in bed, we don’t know if she was trying to stay afloat among the debris in a cold stormy sea, in the pitch dark, thinking about us. Well that was if she was alive. And the sharks! And several tons of jet fuel floating on the sea waiting to ignite…

Did they have a chance to put on the life jackets, or was it so sudden? Bad weather was a major contributor to majority of the air crashes. And human error. All the episodes of Air Crash Investigations began to replay in front of my eyes. Once a masking tape pasted over the altitude sensor during maintenance work, crashed a plane. Another time the pilot misread the imperial and metric units and ran out of fuel in midair. Faulty doors, reconditioned parts, metal fatigue, stuck controls, fire in the AC ducts, oops, possibilities are endless!

Was it an irony that I felt like completing the last page of her passport with my details, to be notified in case of death or accident, just before her departure this time?

I felt so guilty to sleep, to be home and dry while my kid could be fighting for life.

Or did they discover something was wrong and return to Malé for and emergency landing?

All this started, when she came to Maldives from Russia to spend her summer vacation with us.

Friday the 5^th July. 1450Hrs:

I was there watching the LCD displays of the ARRIVALS lounge at Malé International Airport. ETA of her connecting flight, Etihad EY278 was 1455 hrs. There were five minutes more. The sky was cloudy and the weather wasn’t so good. Suddenly it started to rain heavily.

The display showed 1455 and the flight didn’t land. I was getting worried.

The problem with me is I always get worked up unnecessarily.

Then to my immense relief, the word LANDED started flashing against her flight.

After a long delay at the customs she appeared in the doorway pushing her luggage trolley.

She had flown from Moscow to Abu Dhabi and after a long wait as a transit passenger flown the rest of the way from Abu Dhabi to Malé.

While we were walking out pushing the trolley, she paused to check the SMS she just received. It was from her friends. “We saw you landing.” It said. They had watched her landing on the live flight radar.

We reached our island several days later as the final leg of our journey was by sea on a ferry which took 13 hours.

And the rest of the vacation was a blur.

As all the good things has to come to an end, the vacation just slipped through our fingers. It was time for her to go back.

30^th Aug 2013

This time we chartered a speed boat and took her to our domestic airport to catch the small domestic flight which would take her to Malé International Airport. We waited till the small De Havilland Dash 8 aircraft with her on board took off and disappeared into the blue sky. As we sped back across the rough sea in the speedboat, we found our hearts heavy. We had got off at the jetty and were riding in a taxi when she called and said she landed at Malé International Airport. She had arrived several hours early so that she could check in without a rush. The night flight EY 0279 would take her to Abu Dhabi where she would be in transit before she boards flight EY 0069 to Domodedovo Airport in Moscow.

We watched this AIRBUS A320 taking off at 2025hrs from Malé International Airport and climbing at 2000fpm on the live flight radar on the laptop screen.

And this is the flight that went missing.

31^st Aug 2013. Early morning:

I was drifting between wakefulness and sleep. Suddenly, I found myself wide awake at about 4.00 AM. I immediately opened my laptop that was sitting on the bedside table and booted up. Before anything, I opened Yahoo Mail. Yahoo Messenger notification popped up and informed me of a new mail in the inbox. I was praying that mail to be from her. I couldn't wait for the mail to load. And finally the inbox appeared. Yeah! A Letter from Her.

"Arrived safely in Abu Dhabi:

got the food coupon too. got a sheet too.now found a nice place to stay.took everything from the flight. didn't leave anything behind angels. going to set many alarms don't worry. i will send a message when i go to Moscow. dont worry ok. will send another mail if net works before i go. gave rice in the flight. ate and very full now. brought the biscuits and things in the bag.

dont worry and jump up. im fine ok

I was so relieved I jumped with joy and woke up both wife and son to break the good news. It is an awesome thing to be able to wake up someone and tell something good. The rest of the night (or morning) we slept peacefully, feeling at the top of the world.

31^st Aug 2013. 0700Hrs

In the morning while she was still waiting in Abu Dhabi airport for her Moscow flight, I checked the live flight radar program and checked the situation. Though I didn’t notice the previous night, there were a number of flights with missing for status in the list of flights airborne at the moment. It was normal for a flight to be missing from the program and there was nothing to be alarmed about that.

By 0845 hrs she had boarded the Moscow flight for her 3707km 5 hour 25 minute journey. We zoomed into the runway and watched the aircraft take off from runway 2121 and climb. We returned to normal household chore after the flight leveled off at the cruising altitude. Now not worried any more about the sudden disappearance of flights from the radar screen.

At 1400Hrs we checked the progress and located the EY0069 (ETD69) approaching Moscow DOMODEDOVO Airport for landing. As soon as the plane touched down and slowed up my phone got the SMS,

“Angels, landed in Moscow just now. Still in the aircraft. Taking all the hand luggage. Don’t worry."

We stopped worrying.

The eagle has landed.

And what was once shared on my son’s Facebook page brought a smile to my lips.

PS: This is not a story about aviation,

but parenting.

73. AFTER SIX LONG YEARS...

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Mon, 29 Jul 2013 03:31:00 +0000

I was hanging around at the airport to meet our daughter's plane. A terrible pain and a loneliness swept over me when I saw this lonely luggage trolly, someone left at the end of the airport jetty. I kept snapping away with my camera, feeling a lump in my throat and my sight slightly blurred for some unknown reason. Maybe I'm crazy. For some weird reason this trolly reminded me of a Dad.

DAD

With you my son,

This is as far as I can come,

Shouldering your burden for you.

Unlike me, my son,

Who's at the end of the line,

Whole new world's waiting for you.

For you my son,

The limit is the sky,

Like a bird soaring high, with a twinkle in yer eye.

For you my son,

I'll be hanging around,

Praying for the day, our paths will cross again.

I dedicate this poem to our son Hirusha who celebrates his 16th birthday today.

So the daughter I was hanging around at the airport to meet is here with us for her brother's birthday after six long years. So that alone makes this birthday so special.

So she wrote this for her brother.

Seeing how you've grown
I'm so totally blown
You've changed so much
It is hard to believe such

But yet in your heart
You are the same kind one
So full of wit and
Driving us all nuts

How you've become
Who you are today
The charming young man
You've turned out to be

Though in life we may
Take our separate ways
But nothing can ever change
Your place in our hearts

Malli, we are Blessed
to have one like you
Wishing you very very many
Happy returns of the day

Wish you a very happy b'day my malla!!!!!

Simulblogged @ මගේ ඩෙනිම

72. MY WEIRD WAYS.

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Wed, 10 Jul 2013 18:10:00 +0000

How many tasks can you do at the same time. Well, I guess I know what you think. That depends on what kind of tasks they are, right? Okay, let's put it this way. How many books can you read at a time?

Please don't misunderstand this as having several books open in front of you and reading at the same time. Nooooo. What I mean is you don't finish one book and start the other, as you are supposed to do. You are in the middle of several books and you pick up any one of them that suit the mood whenever you are free to read. And you never mix up the plots.

I don't know about you. I read several books at the same time, just like that. I read books while I eat. I read books in bed and fall asleep on them.

For example, I was reading the three books that you see on my bed side table, in the photo,

1. A BIKE RIDE,
2. ROMANCING THE RENEGADE and
3. BOY and GOING SOLO,

when I came across this Biggles Comic The Flight Of The Wallenstein.

So I'm in the middle of reading four books these days. Ha ha.

And four genres and tastes.

A Bike Ride by Anne Mustoe, is a Travelog about a 54 year old school principal who describes herself as, an overweight, out of condition woman who made a road trip on an unfamiliar bicycle, around the world.

Romancing The Renegade is a Romantic Adventure.

Boy and Going Solo by Roald Dahl about his childhood, flying career and travel.

Biggles Comic The Flight Of The Wallenstein is the first comic I'm reading in this series. Though aviation and adventure stories of Biggles, written by W. E. Johns have been one of my favorites for a long time, I hadn't even seen the comic series before. The illustrations just blow your mind away.

Well, are you any good at multitasking like me?

71. Flight Beyond All Hope. Part 3. Dude's Originals.

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Thu, 27 Jun 2013 20:05:00 +0000

“So the captain grits his teeth and wrestles the bird to a grinding halt, with brakes screeching and tires burning, with the flaps fully deployed. Then he says to his co-pilot, “This must be the shortest ****ing runway we’ve ever landed in!” The co-pilot looks over his shoulder out of the side window and says, “And the ****ing widest!”

IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE PART I AND 2, PLEASE CLICK THE FOLLOWING LINKS.

FLIGHT BEYOND ALL HOPE PART 1
FLIGHT BEYOND ALL HOPE PART 2

Captain Kevin Landers let out a loud guffaw and in fact, a too loud one, that made the first Officer, 25 year old Alvin Rogers look at him suspiciously.

“I just wondered if you’ve heard that one before,” he said timidly.

“ 'Course I have, but I didn’t wanna disappoint you.”

“Damn!”

Forty three year old Captain Kevin Landers was known in the circles to be an amiable person with easy going attitude and larger than life sense of humor.

“Heard this one?” Landers asked putting his meal tray on the cockpit floor. “A plane has taken off JFK and climbing. Then the captain comes on the intercom, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Welcome aboard the non-stop flight from JFK to L. A. International. The weather report says it is going to be fine ahead. So, we can look forward to a smooth flight all the way. Just sit back and enjoy the ride… OH MY GOD!”

And silence. Pin drop silence. After several minutes, the passengers hear captain's voice again.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I apologize if I scared you witless. What happened was, while I was talking, the flight attendant accidently spilled some hot coffee on my lap. You should see the front of my pants!” Then a dude in the business class yells, “That is nothing. You should see the back of mine!””

Alvin rocked with laughter and spilled his coffee on the front of his pants.

෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴

The Boeing 777 cruised on auto pilot through the night skies at 37,000ft. The flight so far has been uneventful as it should be for a fine night like this, with fine weather for flying.

෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴

The Boeing 777 was homing in on Miami International Airport, Florida.

Flight attendant Annie Davis was teasing the new crew member Michelle Cooper about her crush on the handsome First Officer Alvin Rogers. Michelle, a 23 year old voluptuous blond, who was eating a burger standing by the galley sink, blushed.

෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴

Two hours later, the PA system crackled and on came the announcement, that they would be landing in Miami International Airport, in a while. The Boeing 777 started losing altitude, as it was closing in on its destination.
Some passengers were filling out the embarkation forms flight attendants had distributed, a while ago. Those without ballpoint pens were waiting to borrow from the neighbors who had enough sense to have one on them.

A young mom changed a diaper of her infant, while her husband watched in awe.

The aircraft banked left in a wide curve, to enter the landing pattern.

෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴


Photo from Wikimedia

The Boeing 777 was on the final approach on the glide slope with the onboard computers tuned and locked on the ILS frequency of the runway 12/30. The aircraft was now 5 miles out from the runway and 2000ft up in the air. The captain Kevin Landers lowered the first notch of the flaps. It was time to deploy the landing gears. The skilled hands of the pilots went through the motions.

First officer Alvin Rogers watched the indicators on the bank of instruments turn white crosshatched as the wheel bay flaps opened and landing gear bogies were in transit. There was a hum and a thud that felt inside the aircraft as the wheels were down and locked and the indicators turned into green.

With the airspeed now reduced to just above the stall speed. The engine note audibly changed due to the deployed flaps and the armed speed brakes.

The big jet came in screaming out of the skies, toward the lit up runway 12/30. The engines slightly accelerating to compensate the drag caused by the lowered landing gears and flaps. The runway threshold whizzed past, as the Captain Kevin Landers pulled back the control column to execute the flair, causing the nose to lift off increasing the angle of attack. The Boeing 777 swooped down like a giant eagle, with its wings spread and claws outstretched to grab the prey.
The main landing gear sets just skimmed the runway and then sparks flew as the rubber met the tarmac at the touchdown, emitting a cloud of smoke and the wheels at once started to

Photo from Wikimedia.

spin like crazy, accelerating from 0 to 250kmph in a fraction of a second . The thud was felt in the fuselage as the main landing gear suspension hissed and took over the total weight of the aircraft.

In a few seconds, the nose wheels touched down adding more rubber to the runway. Captain Landers slid the elevator control neutral and used the rudder pedals to steer the aircraft down the middle of the runway. The fully deployed flaps and spoilers, the reverse thrust of the engine and speed brakes, combined made a howl and roar and scream at the same time which reached a crescendo.

As the ground handling crew watched, the Boeing 777 thundered down the runway making the windows rattle in the surrounding buildings. The giant bird slowed up at the end of the runway and made a ninety degree turn into the taxiway. The passengers went through their usual routine of getting ready to deplane with usual chatter.

෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴

Several hours later, Nick Ortega stood in the floodlights on the concrete ramp and ticked off the check list on the clipboard inspecting each item of the aircraft. He walked under the wing and inspected the wheel bogie and ticked a few boxes. He grimaced at the noise when one after another jets landed with a tremendous roar and whizzed past. He licked the tip of the pencil and casually glanced up the wheel strut when he heard a soft clang of metal hitting metal.

His eyes narrowed and a puzzled expression creased his face when he saw the car seat belt dangling from the tubular steel leg, swinging in the wind, its steel buckle clanging on the steel strut.

“What the …!”

He swung the beam of the powerful flashlight upwards on the wheel bay. Nothing! For good measure, he stepped onto the axle of the landing gear and shone the flashlight into the wheel bay. It was empty. He licked the tip of the pencil once more while he tried to form the sentence he had to scribble in the Comments box. ‘Car seatbelt hanging from the strut’ sounded just stupid.

He brought his walkie-talkie to mouth, pushed the talk button and started talking into it rapidly.

෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴ ~ ෴ * * ෴

Two weeks later, henryblogwalker
sat with a cup of coffee and opened
the inbox of Yahoo Mail.

23 unread messages! Well when you are a blogger you are never short of incoming mail, he thought.

But the Third mail jumped at him.

Carlos! Hey Dude 8.55 AM

"Don’t know what the hell dude has done about that mad scheme of his," he muttered to himself.

He clicked on the name and waited impatiently for the email to load, with his fingers drumming an impatient tune on the edge of the laptop keyboard.

THE END

WARNING: THIS IS FICTION. PLEASE DON'T TRY THIS. THIS IS DEADLY. THE STATISTICS ARE TRUE.

References:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-32111/Cuban-stowaways-died-jet-soared.html#ixzz2J5vFW3af

http://en.wikipedia.org

http://www.boeing.com/boeing/commercial/777family/pf/pf_200product.page

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-19562101

http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/explainer/2003/12/do_jet_stowaways_ever_survive.html

http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/explainer/2003/12/do_jet_stowaways_ever_survive.html

70. Flight Beyond All Hope. Part 2. Dude's Originals.

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Sun, 16 Jun 2013 15:15:00 +0000

Carlos arrived at the rear port side landing gear precisely at the same moment the crew got the control tower clearance for takeoff. The huge wheels began to roll. He felt the blast of the big jet engines hanging from the giant wings just a few feet away to his left. He ran between two rear wheels and grabbed a protrusion on the wheel strut and scrambled up.

IF YOU ARE WONDERING WHAT CARLOS IS DOING HERE, YOU HAVEN'T READ THE PART ONE. PLEASE CLICK HERE.

The wheels started to roll faster, gathering speed, only centimeters away from his dangling feet. A few seconds later, they finally found the foothold they were desperately searching for. He hauled himself up grabbing the hydraulic pipes that ran down the strut. He felt the pipe bend under his weight. He shifted his weight on to the now diagonal metal bar and grabbed for the top of the wheel strut flap, which was now hanging open, and climbed into the wheel bay.

First of all Carlos, there is no guarantee that you won’t be crushed to death being pinned by the hydraulically operated retracting landing gear in that cramped place which is designed to accommodate only the landing gear.

Carlos watched the tarmac rushing under him at alarming speed. The black rubber burn marks on the runway together with the rushing row of runway lights and markings made blurred patterns at high speed. The undercarriage banged, creaked, shuddered and groaned below him. The roar of the jet engines sounded incredibly loud in the confines of the wheel bay. Suddenly the creaking, shuddering and groaning ceased as the giant wheels lifted off the runway with hiss of hydraulics as the suspension was freed from weight of the aircraft. He watched white pedestrian crossing like markings at the threshold of the runway dropping below. The Scenery which was zooming out rapidly filled the view. The runway, the airport buildings, perimeter fence the tree tops the highway, the fields, …. What a view!

Dude, they say, depending on the type of aircraft and the landing gear set selected and also the build of the stowaway, sufficient space would be available for a tight squeeze. For example, on an old DC-8 the right landing gear compartment would have enough space to accommodate a stowaway. But if he was unfortunate enough to select the left landing gear compartment, he would be in for surprise when the landing gear retracts, because hydraulic fluid reservoirs and other fittings take up most of the free space. It would then be too late to abort mission as the giant retracting landing gear would trap him and crush him before he realizes that there isn’t enough space for him, landing gear and wheel strut and everything. Anyway the compartment doors would close beneath with finality and the aircraft would be climbing higher.

This is an animation of how it roughly works. This diagram shows a single wheel to simplify the mechanics. The 777 has multiple wheels . Image from Wikipedia.

And then, he heard the hiss of the hydraulics and the hum of a giant motor which surprisingly muffled the roar of the jet engines. The wheel bay cover opened downwards to make way for the wheels that started retracting. The wheel strut bent inwards, with the diagonal arms telescoping in. The giant wheels rushed toward him menacingly, blocking the breathtaking view and threatening to crush anything in its way to pulp, if he didn’t watch out.

The huge wheels which were still spinning, narrowly missed Carlos’ head because he pushed himself sideways using the onrushing landing gear strut for leverage. The wheel bay suddenly became even more cramped and darker giving Carlos a feeling of claustrophobia. As soon as the landing gear came to a rest in its womb, the wheel bay flaps started to close on them shutting out the fading lights from the outside world and completing the nightmare.

If you managed to survive that, dude, then,the temperature dropping by each foot the airplane climbs, will work against you.

To make the matters worse, as the aircraft will gradually climb to cruise altitude, at about 18,000 ft, as the oxygen level thins out the hypoxia will slowly start setting in. As a result, you will feel fatigue, nausea and a splitting headache. Then you’ll be struggling to breathe, and in the worst case scenario, end up in a coma or even death. It would be a colorful death ‘cos, you’ll turn blue most probably, ha ha. Well, it’s not a joke, though I tried to make it sound like one. Okay, it's a bad joke.

I know you did science stream at school. So, you know what I mean.

Suddenly Carlos felt that the rubber tire was burning his face. He hadn’t realized that an aircraft tire can get so hot during the takeoff run. He moved his face as far away as the cramped enclosure allowed him.

Above 20,000ft, you will also be at the risk of being exposed to nitrogen gas embolism and Decompression Sickness anyway. That is why the cabin of the aircraft is pressurized.

At 22,000ft, you will feel lightheaded and weak and will be shuddering and struggling to keep conscious as eyesight and hearing will be impaired as your blood oxygen level will drop further.

Above 33,000ft (10,065m), the lungs require artificial pressure to function normally. Do I sound like a goddamn manual or a textbook?

Those stowaways whose bodies are not mangled by the retracting landing gear or killed by these extreme conditions will almost certainly be unconscious by the time the compartment doors re-open a few thousand feet above ground, causing them to plunge to their deaths.

Carlos wriggled his feet because he felt they were trapped. Luckily, he could free them when he tried to pull them out one foot at a time. He moved around to find the most comfortable and natural, possible posture and in a few minutes settled down for one, turning a bit.

Carlos groped for the seat belt and found its buckle. He held the buckle with his left hand while his right was groping for a possible anchorage to pass the belt around. Finding two levers, one huge and the other smaller next to each other, he chose the latter and proceeded to work on the buckle to take as much slack on the belt to pass it around himself and the lever. With a sigh of relief, he finally clicked the buckle home. “Now, at least, I wouldn’t fall off the wheel bay into a lake or a forest, as henryblogwalker had said,” he thought.

I don’t mean to sound very pessimistic, but these are the facts I found as a result of my search just to make you realize what you have in mind is just stupid.

As the ambient temperature drops as so will the PP O2 (Partial Pressure of Oxygen) causing a blackout. Buildup of acid in body fluids due to these extreme conditions is not rare, which can cause coma or death.

So being alive at the cruising altitude of say 39,000ft is a miracle against all these odds.

So don’t be a moron, Just give up.

The noise from the giant jet engines sounded incredibly louder in the confines of the landing gear bay. He checked if his earplugs were still in place. Of course, they were. The rubber wheels were still radiating enough heat to make him sweat in all the layers of clothing. And the steel levers were still hot perhaps from the hot hydraulic fluids in them. He felt like a loaf of bread in an oven.

Carlos swallowed hard several times to ease the stabbing pain he felt in his ears. The jet seemed to be climbing steeply and steadily into its cruising altitude. The whine of the jet engines gave him a headache. It was beginning to get colder.

At the same time, hypothermia is likely to be brought on, with temperatures dropping as low as -63˚C. The Hypothermia will get in the way of normal metabolism as your core temperature is dropped causing mental confusion, even if you are still conscious. And you will start to shiver uncontrollably which would be made worse if you are not wearing proper warm clothing.

It was growing colder and colder. Carlos started to wriggle his feet and slap his cheeks with his gloved hands. On top of that, he was feeling light headed. Henryblogwalker was right. His breath was becoming shallower and shallower. He suddenly remembered his friend Juan who was suffering from chronic asthma. He used to breathe like this sometimes until he had a puff from his inhaler.

The heat from the tire was comforting now, though it was diminishing fast. He found a new source of heat from the steel tubular arm next to him, which was still warm from the hot hydraulic fluid inside them.

Frostbite will be one of your worst enemies at these high altitudes. Some stowaways were found frozen.

Dude, when I was surfing the net, I saw Cuban refugee Victor Alvarez Molina who arrived in Montreal Canada, hiding in the wheel well of a DC10, miraculously survived the 4 hour journey in -40˚C, thanks to a faulty pipe in the wheel compartment which leaked warm air for him to survive, in addition to providing him a handle grip to hang on for dear life when the landing gear lowered beneath him for landing.

It was a lucky break, nothing else. You can’t expect the same miracle twice. So don’t do it, dude. Anyway, if you try this ignoring all I said, God bless you, you stupid idiot!

Take care,

henryblogwalker.

Carlos was floating between wakefulness and unconsciousness. The breathing was so hard that his chest was aching as if he had a ton of bricks on it. He felt as if he was being strangled. He struggled for breath. Surprisingly the roar of the jets seemed to be muted from time to time. He thought it was funny that there were thousands of gallons of sloshing jet fuel inside the wing, just next to him only a few feet away from the roaring furnace fire of the giant jet engines hanging from the same wing. Only a few feet away… Only… a... few…

Carlos lay unconscious in the wheel bay. The air temperature and oxygen levels around dropped further.

The Boeing 777 leveled out at 37,000 feet and settled to cruise at a steady speed of 0.84 Mach.

The flight attendants served dinner to the flight deck crew and the passengers. The plane shuddered a little as the plane flew through some mild turbulence. Flight attendants were wearing their professional reassuring smiles.

The Boeing 777 cruised through the silent night skies without incident, its body glowing silver in the moonlight.

Will Carlos make it?
You will find out in the final episode. Please Click Here.

References:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-32111/Cuban-stowaways-died-jet-soared.html#ixzz2J5vFW3af

http://en.wikipedia.org

http://www.boeing.com/boeing/commercial/777family/pf/pf_200product.page

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-19562101

http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/explainer/2003/12/do_jet_stowaways_ever_survive.html

http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/explainer/2003/12/do_jet_stowaways_ever_survive.html

69. Flight Beyond All Hope. Part 1. Dude's Originals.

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 09:55:00 +0000

Dude, Please Don't Try It.

From: henryblogwalker

Dear Carlos,

Dude, I’m writing this to ask you not to do what you are about to do. Maybe we‘ve never met. Maybe we are just Facebook friends. Yeah, I got to know you through the first comment you made to one of my posts in my blog HeyDude. What was that post? Yeah, “Forgive Me Dude, If You Can”. Actually, I had to delete your comment. Something I never do. That’s how it all started.
Still, I am your buddy. Please listen to me. DON’T DO IT. What you are trying to do is stupid.

Carlos checked his gear for the last time with his checklist. The thermos, the harness he rigged up with the old car seat belt, ear plugs, winter gloves,…

I once read in an old Reader’s Digest, under ‘Drama In real Life,’ about a boy who hid in the landing gear bay of a jet, with a friend and tried to fly out of the country. Was his name Miguel? I remember it had some Spanish ring to it, like yours. The landing gear bay or the undercarriage compartment or wheel well or whatever you call it is neither heated nor pressurized. To make the matters worse, there is no oxygen supply. How they survived, beats me!

Another jet roared overhead climbing steeply into the gathering dusk and banking left. That is the Lufthansa flight to Munich. Carlos knew the flight schedule by heart, now. He has been careful. Not only had he memorized flight schedules, he had studied the target area thoroughly for the past six months.

Then he heard the crunch of gravel under heavy military boots, as he was expecting. The two guards with the AK47s were passing the spot he was hiding patrolling the airport perimeter. He lay flat on his belly, behind the bush.

I checked this on the internet because you said your mind was set on this weird idea of getting into the US as a wheel bay stowaway. What I found was amazing. This daredevil stunt is performed every now and then by various people, under the popular cover names, like, asylum seekers, refugees and fortune hunters in the west. The FAA counted 13 wheel well arrivals in the United States in year 2000 and three survives. The next year none of the six attempted the feat survived it.

Another departing Boeing 777 thundered down the runway with the powerful Rolls Royce engines roaring and whistling at the same time. The jet lifted into the air emitting blue flames in the exhaust of the giant engines. Carlos watched with mixed feelings as the landing gear beginning to fold up into the wheel bay immediately after the aircraft was airborne. The compartment door closed over them smoothly. Carlos felt butterflies in his stomach.

Dude, like I said, when I checked on the net, the records went all the way back to 1947. Since then, 96 people have tried hiding in the wheel wells of 85 flights and 73 of them didn’t make it. Only 23 survived the ordeal. And, the youngest was only nine years old. Just one person survived the cruising altitude of 39,000ft. The survival rate of a wheel well passenger is merely 20.3, dude. This may not be accurate as the ones who could have fallen off the aircraft into water or remote areas and were not even recovered, could be not included in the survey.

Carlos peeped for any sign of the security guard and seeing that the coast was clear, sprinted along the hedge towards the end of the runway. He was careful to dart from bush to bush. His heavily padded winter boots with thick rubber soles made no noise on the grass.

The higher the altitude and longer the flight time, fewer the odds of survival in a unpressurized unheated wheel well of an aircraft.

As the temperature could drop as low as -45˚C, most of the stowaways who are not equipped for this, could get frozen to death.

On top of that, they suffer from asphyxiation as higher the altitudes the oxygen level is too low to survive and low pressure makes it difficult for the lungs to work normally.

Due to oxygen deprivation and freezing temperatures, the wheel well passengers are most likely to blackout. And, on arrival in preparation for landing, when the wheels bay covers open and landing gear is deployed approximately at 1500 feet, the unconscious passengers face the danger of tumbling off the wheel well and plunging towards the earth, to their inevitable death. Those who were lucky enough to be conscious at that crucial moment and managed to hold onto something inside the wheel bay with their frostbitten hands, had a chance of survival.

Do I sound like a teacher?

Carlos was out of breath when he finally arrived at the vantage point. He selected a leafy bush, crouched behind it, and slid his backpack off his shoulders. He was already sweating in the two jeans he was wearing one over the other and the two long sleeved sweatshirts. He decided to wear the thick leather jacket and the jeans at the last possible moment with the woolen padded leather gloves. Henryblogwalker’s email gave him that idea. And, the safety belt made out of the old car seat belt, he salvaged from the scrap yard should be worn over the jacket.

It’s not easy for a prospective wheel bay stowaway to slip through the airfield perimeter fence with all that tight security and get near aircraft unnoticed. But the airport security and specially the airside area movement control is not the same everywhere. So they get into position and wait to make a run for it immediately before the takeoff. I don’t know about yours, Carlos. Still, it is a mad scheme to try.

Carlos glanced at his cheap digital wristwatch. It should be here now. He watched the activity at the distant airport with his eyes narrowed a little to filter the glare from the airport terminal buildings and airport vehicles. Is that the tow tractor pushing his airplane out of the ramp? He strained his eyes to make sure that the plane actually started to taxi towards the runway under its own power.

It’s no wonder so many of them pay the air fare of traveling in the unheated, unpressurized, landing gear compartment with no oxygen supply, with their lives.

The Boeing 777 taxied slowly towards the end of the runway where he was hiding. He opened the backpack and took the articles out. First he slipped on the leather jeans over the two denim jeans he was already wearing and zipped up the fly with some difficulty before he put on heavily padded leather jacket. Then he put on the leather winter gloves. Finally, he passed the seat belt harness around his waist and snapped on the buckle. By the time he finished he was sweating. He picked up the orange colored soft rubber ear plugs and rolled them into thin wicks before inserting them deep into his ears.

The rumble of the Boeing 777’s powerful engines changed the note as it slowed up. It came to a halt at the holding position, only few meters away from where Carlos was hiding, waiting for the clearance from the control tower. It was now or never.

The stowaways usually hide nearby the end of the runway where the aircraft would taxi to, make a 180 degree turn and wait or the clearance from the control tower for takeoff. Or depending on the layout of the airport, wait in a storm drain near the holding position at the end of the taxiway where the aircraft would sit waiting for the clearance to takeoff before entering the runway. The stowaway would run and mount the landing gear and haul himself into the wheel compartment.

Carlos looked around. The coast was clear. As he was behind the tail of the aircraft, he could not see the heads of the pilots through the cockpit windows. He could not see any faces peeping at him through any one of the fuselage portholes. If I can’t see you, you can’t see me. It’s as simple as that. Something his dad had taught him. He sprang to his feet and raced towards the giant undercarriage.

Part 2 is NOW just a CLICK away.

70. Flight Beyond All Hope. Part 2. Dude's Originals.

P.S:

This is the blog post I took the longest to compose. If you just check the last countdown post I published as a prologue to this, you would understand what I mean. It was published on February 28th. I started writing this even before that. Obviously, it took so much research as I wanted to be as accurate with facts as possible.

I also would like to thank my children Hirusha and Hiruni, my wife Deepa and the fellow bloggers Senna and Chams who kept reminding me of this post ever since the countdown post was published.

References:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-32111/Cuban-stowaways-died-jet-soared.html#ixzz2J5vFW3af

http://en.wikipedia.org

http://www.boeing.com/boeing/commercial/777family/pf/pf_200product.page

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-19562101

http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/explainer/2003/12/do_jet_stowaways_ever_survive.html

http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/explainer/2003/12/do_jet_stowaways_ever_survive.html

Revised.

68. YEAH I DID IT! චන්දන උඹට ස්තුතියි!

noreply@blogger.com (Dude) — Sun, 24 Mar 2013 07:57:00 +0000

මගේ බ්ලොගර් අවුල දැන් කවුරුත් දන්නවනෙ. දන්නෙ නැති අය මෙතනින් ගිහින් බලන්නකො මගේ SOS පෝස්ට් එක. :)

සරළව කිව්වොත් පබ්ලිෂ් කරන අලුත් පෝස්ට් රීඩර් වල වත් මගේ හෝ උඹලගේ බ්ලොග් රෝල් වලවත් අප්ඩේට් වෙන්නෙ නෑ, අඩියට වෙලා පරණ පෝස්ට් එකක් පෙන්නගෙන ඉන්නවා.

මම කරපු දේවල් මෙන්න:

ජාලේ හැමතැනම බැලුවා සර්ච් කරලා. ප්‍රශ්ණෙ විතරයි. කිසිම තැනක උත්තරයක් හම්බවුනේ නෑ.

යාලුවන්ගෙන් ඇහුවා. හුඟදෙනෙක් කිව්වෙ ටෙම්ප්ලේට් එක වෙනස් කරන්න කියලා.

මට ටෙම්ප්ලේට් එක වෙනස් කරන්න දුක නිසා, අලුතෙන් ඇරියා බ්ලොග් එකක් ඒ සඳහාම Glidepath කියලා.

අපරාදෙ කියන්න බෑ Glidepath නිසාත්, ජාලෙ සර්ච් කරලත් සෑහෙන වෙනත් දේවල් ඉගෙනගත්ත, හොයා ගත්තා. (උඹලටත් කියන්න, වෙනත් ප්‍රශ්ණවලටත් උත්තර ලැබුනෙ)

අන්තිමේදි ටෙම්ප්ලේට් එකත් වෙනස් කලා, අකමැත්තෙන්. රෙදි ගැලෙව්වා අප්පා. ඩෙනිම හේදුවා. දුකේ බැරුවා!

අන්තිමේදි අර SOS පෝස්ට් එක දාලා හැමෝගෙන්ම ඉලුවා HeyDude සහ මට හිතෙන හැටි බ්ලොග් රෝල් වල එල්ලගන්න කියලා. e-mail subscribe කරන්න කියලත් කිව්වා.

ඒ අතරෙ මගෙ යාලුවො කරපු දේවල්:

චන්දන වෙනම බ්ලොග් පෝස්ට් එකක්ම දැම්මා මා වෙනුවෙන් redirect වෙන්න.

අයිලාස් සැමරුමේ සයිඩ් බාර් එකේ ගැජට් එකක් එල්ලුවා මගේ ඩෙනිමට ලින්ක් කරලා.

බුද්ධියා දුන්නා වැප් දොස්තරගෙ ඊ මේල් එකත්.

අනිත් උන් ප්‍රාර්ථනා කලා ඉක්මන් සුව සහ වෙනත් විකල්ප.

බැරිම තැන උණුවතුර ලිඳකට පනින්නත් හදලා...

...වතුර රස්නෙ හන්දා පැන්නෙ නෑ

අන්තිමේදි මෙහෙමයි ගොඩදාගත්තෙ!

චන්දන කිව්වා මෙහෙම:

මේ වෙනකොට මම ෆීඩ් චෙක් කරලා තිබ්බෙ. කිසිම අප්සෙට් එකක් පේන්න තිබ්බෙ නෑ.

මම කල්පනා කලා චන්දනයගෙ ‍රැවුල නැතුවට හෙඩ් ෆෝන් දාලා කැප් එක දාලත් ඉන්න එකේ (ඉස්සර ඕකා ජොකෙක් ඔලුවෙ දාගෙනත් හිටියා නෙව) මූ කියන එකත් කරලා බලන්න.

ඇලෙව්වා චන්දන කියන feed එක කොපි කරලා ටෙක්ස්ට් ඩොක් එකක. (හරි ඒක තමයි දැනටත් තියෙන්නෙ)

ඕනෙ ගුද මාර්ගයක් කියලා ඇලෙව්වා සෙටිංස් වල තියෙන original එකත් ඊට යටින්.

http://bluejeansntshirts.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss    - What Chandhana says

http://bluejeansntshirts.blogspot.com//feeds/posts/default?alt=rss   - original

ඉතින්? ඒක තමයි යකෝ තියෙන්නෙ.

ඈ?

මොනවා?

මේ යට පේලිය පොඩ්ඩක් දිගයි නේද?

ම්ම්ම්ම්?

ඔව් නේ!

ඊට පස්සෙ අකුරෙන් අකුර චෙක් කලා. සල්ලි සල්ලි කියලා බැලුවෙ නෑ.

යුරේකා! මෙන්න ප්‍රොබ්ලම් එක! යේ!

http://bluejeansntshirts.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default?alt=rss    - What Chandhana says

http://bluejeansntshirts.blogspot.com//feeds/posts/default?alt=rss   - original

මෙතන / වෙනුවට // තියෙනවනෙ යකෝ!!!!! ඒකනෙ අවුල!

අම්මා ගහයි කී බෝඩ් එකෙන්!

චන්දන නිසයි මේක අහුවුනේ.

අරක remove කලා. සෙටිංස් සේව් කලා.

ඇලෙව්වා තනි / එකේ ෆීඩ් එක.

සෙටිංස් සේව් කලා.

හම්ම්.

දැන් රිලෝඩ් කරලා බලමු බ්ලොග්.

නෑ වෙනසක්. බලමු.

ඇරියා පොස්ට් එක එඩිට් කරන්න. ඇලෙව්වා මේ කෑල්ල

(Glidepath එක පර්යේෂණ බ්ලොගක් හන්දා මම කාටවත් ඒක ගැන කිව්වෙ නෑ. මෙන්න මගෙ බොක්කවල් ඒකත් එල්ලගෙන! බොක්කෙන්ම තෑන්ක්ස් වේවා.)

අප්ඩේට් කලා.

දැන් මේ දවස් තුනක් උදේ ඉඳලා රෑවෙනකල් ලැපිය ඉස්සරහ ඉඳගෙන ඇස්වල පොට යනකල් මේක විසඳන්න කාපු කට්ටෙ අග්‍ර ඵලය භුක්ති විඳින්නයි යන්නෙ.

අඩේ මෙන්න අප්ඩේට් වුනා. මගේ ඩෙනිමේ බ්ලොග් රෝලෙම.

ඇරියා මගේ පර්යේෂණ බ්ලොග Glidepath

රීලෝඩ් කලා.

මෙන්න බඩු වැඩ! එළ නේ!

උඹට ස්තුතියි චන්දන! අක්මාවෙන්ම! උණ්ඩුක පුච්ඡයෙන්ම! උඹව මුණ ගැහිච්චදවසක උඹයි මමයි කමු ඉඳි ආප්ප වක්‍ර පිධාන දිගෑරෙන්නම! ලැංගර්හැන් දීපිකා පරල වෙන්න! ආමාෂයික යුෂ දෝරෙ ගලන්නම!මට වචන එනවා මදි අර සිතුම් පැතුම් රයිටරයා තමයි මේවගේ හැඟීම් විස්තර කරන්න දන්නෙ! :D

උඹලා හැමෝටම ස්තුතියි බොක්කෙන්ම!