Hand Truck Tire Repair

    hand truck
  • A hand truck, also known as a dolly, two wheeler, stack truck, trolley, trolley truck, sack barrow, sack truck, or bag barrow, is an L-shaped box-moving handcart with handles at one end, wheels at the base, with a small ledge to set objects on, flat against the floor when the hand-truck is
  • A manual device used to move piece goods, cartons and appliances. It usually has two wheels.
  • a handcart that has a frame with two low wheels and a ledge at the bottom and handles at the top; used to move crates or other heavy objects
    repair
  • Fix or mend (a thing suffering from damage or a fault)
  • Put right (a damaged relationship or unwelcome situation)
  • restore by replacing a part or putting together what is torn or broken; "She repaired her TV set"; "Repair my shoes please"
  • the act of putting something in working order again
  • a formal way of referring to the condition of something; "the building was in good repair"
  • Make good (such damage) by fixing or repairing it
    tire
  • lose interest or become bored with something or somebody; "I'm so tired of your mother and her complaints about my food"
  • hoop that covers a wheel; "automobile tires are usually made of rubber and filled with compressed air"
  • exhaust or get tired through overuse or great strain or stress; "We wore ourselves out on this hike"
  • Lose interest in; become bored with
  • Become in need of rest or sleep; grow weary
  • Cause to feel in need of rest or sleep; weary
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I saw this picture as I was looking for a book on mushroom cultivation and felt I'd have to copy it for the Star of David then new it when I saw the Priapus. They've been beating on me hard since I finished with my yardwork yesterday and Mrs. Sorenson came out and started screaming at me about the amount of water I'm using. "It's been 5 1/2 hours hours now." Actually, it had been around 9 or 10 hours. She said she started counting at 11:00 and I had turned it on at around 7:00. I started weeding at around 6:30 but waited awhile until I turned the water on. They often torment me using the time I begin a task as a touching point and I was thinking that waiting for a later time would please them in some way. Specifically, I had thought that my turning the water on would awaken Mrs. Sorenson but based on my belief that she doesn't even live there, it was an irrational thought that must have been inspired by the times other neighbors have angrily confronted me about mowing too early,6:30 A.M., and too late, 9:00 P.M. {{{{{There is a male cougher and male Hmmmr here right now. The cougher just imaged himself spitting on the side of of my head as he walked past. The hmmmr is looking pensively into his computer screen with his head cocked to one side as he reads this.}}}}} I wanted to give the bushes a soaking while I weeded and underestimated the time it would take. But still, as I saw the time passing, I felt they needed it. They're raining on me so hard as I copy and write, I can hardly do either. "They've asked you not to use so much water.", "They've told you not to water between 10:00 and 6:00.", Do you see anyone else watering around the neighborhood. Look around. Do you see anyone else watering? Look around, for once", "I've seen mushrooms growing in the lawn.", "Do you know what that means? Well, Do you know what that means? It means your using to much water." I think she said something about how Utah isn't Oregon and how mushrooms are an indication that the lawn is being ruined but I can't be sure. Her rage is always disturbing to me. I know she mentioned that the[hmmm] units on her water bill went from 2 to 16 but I'm not sure for what months and I'll have to read the my own bill again to remind myself of how they count the units. [[[The hmmmr is the one I characterized as a pseudo [[[ suddenly scratch the top of his head then lean toward the screen as he lifts himself from the seat with a hand on each arm of the office chair. As I wrote it, he rocked back and forth violently but it's not in the same spirit as the handsome Brandy's Michael-like. I have the feeling it's just as mean, though. His gestures could be those of one playing a video game or so. The handsome Brandy's Michael-like could be one of a person reading and editing an essay or some other piece of his own writing, much exaggerated, of course.]]] student age male Asian with slept in looking hair, although he has shown himself to be other Asian. [[[[[They just made me think I had erased this page. They did it by delaying the save function until I had begun painting it blue. They then hid the text and as I tried to click into the edit page to see if the text was there, I got a blank page, the when I backed to the previous window [or something] I got this picture with the add a description instruction in place. I think I then clicked the picture and it came [[[[hiccup from by left....I had just noticed that the cougher I said had left is now sitting 2 tables to my left. The table he had left is one to my left.]]]] up with the text I had intended to save. O.K. I just clicked save again and it worked normally this time.]]]]] I remember starting to to say something in reply and she cut me off by holding [[[[[The older middle age back pack male with the somewhat dirty clothes and a full beard just cruised me coughing sharply once after he was past. Now he has returned. He's cruised me several times today and earlier was sleeping out in the foyer in an easy chair across from the distinguished looking Negro male with poofy salt and pepper sideburns who was also sleeping also as I passed 2 or 3 times. He generally catbird smiles as he cruises me. The long time gargoyle with the stubble beard and hair too short for the ponytail he ties has cruised me once and if recent history repeats itself, he will again before I leave. The other night, instead of cutting my path on a bicycle, he stood at the top of the incline staring at me with a mocking expression as I walked toward the bus stop. Today a student age male with about the same coloring as the bit older than student age male with wire rim glasses but taller with a more angular face showed me a left dimple similar to his by briefly drawing the corners of his mouth back in a tight sort of grimace. They're dinning me now but at a relatively low level.]]]] her left straight up with the thumb nearest her nose and sweeping it front to back as if
John's Modern Cabins
John's Modern Cabins
The History of John's Modern Cabins By Emily Priddy and Ron Warnick Obscured by a canopy of trees, six tiny, crumbling cabins sit next to a quiet, dead-end stretch of Route 66 that runs parallel to Interstate 44 about 10 miles outside of Rolla, Mo. Two outhouses stand behind the aging buildings; nearby, a faded, broken neon sign identifies the little structures as "John's Modern Cabins." Driving along Route 66 in front of the cabins, a passerby can read the story of the road. To the right, termites and time quietly eat away at John's long-abandoned cabins. To the left, truck drivers roar past at 65 mph, oblivious to the old tourist court and the road leading to it, both casualties of the mighty superslab beneath their tires. John's Modern Cabins began as part of a somewhat seedy juke joint known as Bill and Bess's Place. Six tiny log cabins flanked a shotgun-shack dance hall that in the 1930s was home to music, merriment … and murder. On Halloween night in 1935, 22-year-old Eugene Duncan fatally shot his estranged wife, Billie, 18, and slightly wounded two others in the dance hall's fireplace room. Duncan apparently was angry with his wife because she had left him about 10 days earlier to live with her mother. Duncan initially denied killing his wife, but a week before his trial was set to start, he pleaded guilty to second-degree murder and ended up serving 13 years of a 50-year sentence. He eventually remarried and died of a heart attack at age 60. Ten years later, Bill Bayliss -- who had owned the juke joint with his wife, Beatrice -- sold the property. It changed hands three times before John and Lillian Dausch, a middle-aged, childless couple from Chicago, bought it in 1951 for $5,000. Improvements to Route 66 forced the Dausches to move the business a few feet north of their original location. John Dausch moved several of the cabins but abandoned the shotgun shack and built three more cabins out of a concrete-asbestos mix. Dausch also built a larger log cabin to live in and another building to use as a laundry room and snack bar, from which he also sold beer. Ed Goodridge, owner of the nearby Vernelle's Motel, said Dausch's habit of selling beer on Sundays -- in violation of local laws -- earned him the nickname "Sunday John." In 1965, the Missouri State Highway Commission bought some of Dausch's property so they could make improvements to the road that eventually would become Interstate 44. With the arrival of the interstate, Dausch -- like so many other mom-and-pop business owners along Route 66 -- saw his business begin to dry up. It was a bad year for Dausch; a few months later, his wife died of a coronary thrombosis, and her death -- coupled with his own failing health and declining business -- eventually prompted him to close his little establishment. Dausch continued to live on the property until he died of a stroke in 1971. Another man, Arnold Noel, lived on the property for about a year after Dausch's death. Then Noel died, and with no one around to maintain them, John's Modern Cabins fell into disrepair. In 1976, Loretta Ross of St. Charles, Mo., bought the property with the intent of turning it into a hunting getaway for her family, but after her husband died, those plans were scrapped, and the cabins spent the next 25 years quietly decaying. Now Ross and her son, Kenneth, want to tear down the cabins, which are in such bad condition that they pose a hazard to anyone who might venture into them … and a liability to the Rosses. Ross has said the cabins are beyond repair and simply aren't worth saving. Route 66 enthusiasts disagree. The cabins may never be habitable again, but they are a piece of history that tells the story of the Mother Road better than perhaps any other single image on the highway, and as such, they deserve to be preserved -- preferably on their current site. If on-site preservation is impossible, we'd like to move the sign and one or more of the cabins to another location so future generations will have a chance to see them and imagine what Route 66 might have been like in its heyday.
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