*purrrrr*
My town had our local Antique Steam and Gas Engine Show this weekend, which is an exceedingly lovely affair filled with happy purring motors (they're like cats, almost)---most of them belonged to tractors, which are limited in their ability to interest me, but there is however the steam aspect of it.
They have steam-powered tractors. Like small steam locomotives that don't need tracks. I love them. They are slow, but they are beautiful and compelling and the NOISE they make! You can hear the power, especially when they're hooked up to a threshing machine or a buzzsaw by this long belt that loops over the flywheel to power the whatever-it-is---they chug, and hiss, and the pistons go, reallyreally fast . . . my reaction to them is similar to that of a nice purring Mustang or Lamborghini, even though there's no danger of a steam tractor braking the speed limit. Although if that flywheel popped off for any reason, it'd be in the next county before anybody caught up to it.
They have these, and they have a bunch of stationary steam engines---you pump steam into them and that moves the pistons to do whatever the machine was supposed to do; they used these in factories as automated power before there was electricity. There's one that pumps water, several that I'm not quite sure what they're meant to do, and one lovely massive 1913 Worthington vacuum pump, which is thirty feet of jet black cast iron with about ten or twelve feet of flywheel; it turns slowly and on half the piston's movement it sucks air in through a big pipe up top---and it makes noise---in quality, not quantity. When the suction stops, there's this, not loud, not really deep, but resonant sort of thud or shockwave from inside it that makes the ground shake.
I love it.
The Worthington vaccuum pump. The big wheel is about ten feet in diameter, for scale.
From the other direction. I fucking adore this thing. Half-tempted to record the sounds it makes, an hour or so, and then just loop it for a soundtrack to listen to the rest of the year. I love it like I love waterfall sounds, or thunder.
This is an Aultman-Taylor tractor, which runs on probably kerosene. It's huge; if I stand right next to the wheel and reach up, I can't reach the top of it.
This is one of three steam traction engines that they had this year: this one is a Case, and my perennial favorite.
Closeup of the same, with its piston (attached to the green wheel).
One of the other steam engines, whose make I don't remember; this one ran the sawmill.
Closeup of gears on, I think the Aultman-Taylor.
Big thing was, though, I've been loving this stuff for years, and Dad, this year, went up to the guy who was working the boiler for these stationary engines, and asked him how one got into doing it, so that I could learn and take part in working with them next year. Introduced me to him.
We talked for awhile, and the guy gave me a few names and places and suggestions and the rundown of what I need.
So, this spring I'm going to this sort of weeklong school that one of the other steam festivals upstate runs, which is the first step to getting a boiler operator's license, and then I'll get to work with the steam engines this time next year.
Yeah, I'm weird. It's a very happy weird, though.
They have steam-powered tractors. Like small steam locomotives that don't need tracks. I love them. They are slow, but they are beautiful and compelling and the NOISE they make! You can hear the power, especially when they're hooked up to a threshing machine or a buzzsaw by this long belt that loops over the flywheel to power the whatever-it-is---they chug, and hiss, and the pistons go, reallyreally fast . . . my reaction to them is similar to that of a nice purring Mustang or Lamborghini, even though there's no danger of a steam tractor braking the speed limit. Although if that flywheel popped off for any reason, it'd be in the next county before anybody caught up to it.
They have these, and they have a bunch of stationary steam engines---you pump steam into them and that moves the pistons to do whatever the machine was supposed to do; they used these in factories as automated power before there was electricity. There's one that pumps water, several that I'm not quite sure what they're meant to do, and one lovely massive 1913 Worthington vacuum pump, which is thirty feet of jet black cast iron with about ten or twelve feet of flywheel; it turns slowly and on half the piston's movement it sucks air in through a big pipe up top---and it makes noise---in quality, not quantity. When the suction stops, there's this, not loud, not really deep, but resonant sort of thud or shockwave from inside it that makes the ground shake.
I love it.
The Worthington vaccuum pump. The big wheel is about ten feet in diameter, for scale.
From the other direction. I fucking adore this thing. Half-tempted to record the sounds it makes, an hour or so, and then just loop it for a soundtrack to listen to the rest of the year. I love it like I love waterfall sounds, or thunder.
This is an Aultman-Taylor tractor, which runs on probably kerosene. It's huge; if I stand right next to the wheel and reach up, I can't reach the top of it.
This is one of three steam traction engines that they had this year: this one is a Case, and my perennial favorite.
Closeup of the same, with its piston (attached to the green wheel).
One of the other steam engines, whose make I don't remember; this one ran the sawmill.
Closeup of gears on, I think the Aultman-Taylor.
Big thing was, though, I've been loving this stuff for years, and Dad, this year, went up to the guy who was working the boiler for these stationary engines, and asked him how one got into doing it, so that I could learn and take part in working with them next year. Introduced me to him.
We talked for awhile, and the guy gave me a few names and places and suggestions and the rundown of what I need.
So, this spring I'm going to this sort of weeklong school that one of the other steam festivals upstate runs, which is the first step to getting a boiler operator's license, and then I'll get to work with the steam engines this time next year.
Yeah, I'm weird. It's a very happy weird, though.