My Woodsplitter Goes to Eleven: Part 3

Woodsplitter wheels are small but they’re fine for moving around the yard (or the forest). I’ve moved mine with ATVs, riding lawnmowers, tractors, trucks, and (when I can’t find any other way) pulling for all I’m worth. (It’s a bitch to hand pull the splitter and if you try to pull it downhill you’re both going to the bottom at a speed determined by physics alone.)

Where things get hinky is when the tree is not on my land. Maybe it’s 10 miles away. If you’re like me, you eye those little shitty wheels, say a silent prayer, hitch it up, and drive real slow. It works. It’s legal. Your truck looks silly with that teeny weeny thing on the back but it gets the job done and everybody does it. Repeat after me; everybody does it.

I know what I’m going to hear in the comments. If you’ve got to go ten miles it would be best to load the splitter in the truck bed or on a trailer. It is the best choice if you’ve got the option. However, if I had enough mechanical advantage to get a 600 pound object into a truck bed I’d just haul the logs home and split them in my yard. Duh! (The world is filled with guys that have three stout cousins who’ll do anything for a case of Budweiser and a Bobcat in their garage and think they’re cleverer than the lone Curmudgeon limping around at 45 MPH. Yes, I am bitter. What makes you ask?)

The little tires are too small to have lug nuts. You have to pull a cotter pin, spin off a castle nut, and remove the whole hub, bearings and all. As is tradition, the bearings are immediately dropped in the dirt and you’ll have to repack them. It’s not a big deal.

I did just that, I jacked it up, spun the nut, ripped off the hub, dropped the bearings in the dirt (of course), and then noticed a branch had stabbed the tire. Can’t blame the splitter for that. It’s an honestly acquired battle wound. I zipped to town to get a replacement tire. The tires are several years old and they’ve had their share of issues. It happens.

The tire store had a cheap replacement tire. You know what was cheaper? A patch kit. I consulted with the tire guy, bought the patch kit, patched the tire in the parking lot, aired it up with their compressor, and felt like a mechanical genius. Back at the compound I rinsed off the dirty bearing in the kitchen sink (wives love it when you do that), slapped on grease, shoved the patched tire & wheel on the spindle, tightened the castle nut (but not too tight), and I was back in business.

Time to retrieve the kids and liberate some firewood.

About Adaptive Curmudgeon

I will neither confirm nor deny that I actually exist.
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4 Responses to My Woodsplitter Goes to Eleven: Part 3

  1. Southern Man says:

    What happened with the cop? Inquiring minds, et cetera.

  2. Tennessee Budd says:

    Cousins? Hell, in TN we have dudes everywhere like that–no kinship necessary.
    Of course, I don’t trust anybody, pretty much, so I’m mostly on my own as well.
    Still, I remember ice storms in my teens: throw a case or two in the truck bed along with some log chain, a chainsaw, & some 4x4s, & go have fun. Folks’d generally offer you $5 or so for helping, & it was long enough ago that was half a case (if you drank really cheap, shitty beer, & who didn’t as a broke teen?)

    • You’re right, kinship isn’t necessary for a “working party”. Mostly a good attitude and some tools. (Tools are optional.)

      I made easy money as a teenager doing yard work and such and I loved it. If the pay was the same (adjusted for inflation) and I didn’t have the duties of a full time job I’d probably still be out there mowing lawns, cleaning gutters, and all that stuff. Even as a kid I marvelled at how easy it was (the jobs were hard but not unpleasant). Alas the days when teens will seek work for pay have faded. Hell, the days when adults will work for pay seems to be on the way out too. (I must admit I hated “haying season” though. I made a point of being out of town on those weekends!)

  3. Robert says:

    “Time to retrieve the kids and liberate some firewood.” That’s foreboding, er, I mean, foreshadowing if I ever heard it. BRB, I’m gettin’ some popcorn.

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