I spent some time at Kadena air base in Okinawa......there were a couple of SR21's there....it is an amazing airplane
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Maggie’s This One Time at Band Camp (Tales of Youth and Indiscretion)
- Thread starter Tucker301
- Start date
So in reference to the request for sm9ke and explosions there is this . I was about 22 and woking brazing medical instruments together . So one day me and the other guy I work with decide we're bored and in need of entertainment. We start throwin ideas around and being that I'm a brain surgeon I suggest blowin up a latex glove with oxygen and acetylene .
To properly paint the picture imagine a large machine shop with high ceiling and open rectangular floor plan . On one of the long walls are offices and rooms for differen1 processes .As it happened one of the rooms was a 14 x 12 ft brazing room . We had two sets of tanks and exhaust hoods etc .
As we get to the business of amusing ourselves we took a latex surgical gl9ve and filled it the size of a fuckin basketball with acetylene and oxygen . My fellow brain surgeon decides he'll light the bulbous latex ordinance while holding it . Someway , somehow God took mercy on this idiot and prompted me to stop him . I told him that we don't know how this is gonna go so we need a fuse . I drew a sizable line of acetone out and told him to ste the ballon at one wnd and light the fuse . I cannot stre$ enough that this was a 14 x 12 ft room . I had plugged my ears with my fingers and was sitting in a high backed computer chair when flame met glove . To this day I remember being amazad that the glove just disappeared in an instant . I mean it must have been transported to an alternate universe because it just vanished . Oddly next thing I remembered was that exerything just whited out whilst I bounced around with fingers in ears for what seemed like an eternity . Once I settled in the chair and my sight came back I realized I couldnt hear an effin thing . I looked over to my cohort and wiyh my face burnin from laughter or maybe the searing flash I mouthed " go back to work act like nothing happened " . Yup cuz Um Summmart . Well I light my torch and start brazing a piece and next thing I know is there is this friggin laser beam borin a hole in me from behind . Now I'm stone def and yet I could feel that fuck somebody is behind me and show nuff its. Bossman . If the guy had feathers he woulda been flyin around the fuckin room from all the arm flailin . I looke at him and in what musta been my best Lou Ferrigno impersonation due to the lack of hearing said " Bill I can't hear a fuckin thing " . I was suddenly gifted with the ability to read lips as I could clearly decipher " you and you get in my fuckin office " . So after sitting in the office for five or ten minutes my hearing returned and I figured I'd keep my mouth shut and listen to see how bad this was . The whole time Im sittin there the phone is ringing of the hook and I hear Boss telling people " yeah we dropped a stack of skidds " . Luckily my cohort kept his mouth shut too . I finally tell the boss my hearing's returned and he tells us that he's not gonna fire us . He told us he did something similar in the Navy down near the Mag on ship and the Marine security detail responded by rushing to the scene and bouncing muzzles off his face . As he described this is obviously how Marines are taught to render assistence and see if you're ok . We were effin Rock Stars after that out in the shop .Yup rock stars or village idiots right . Same thing .
To properly paint the picture imagine a large machine shop with high ceiling and open rectangular floor plan . On one of the long walls are offices and rooms for differen1 processes .As it happened one of the rooms was a 14 x 12 ft brazing room . We had two sets of tanks and exhaust hoods etc .
As we get to the business of amusing ourselves we took a latex surgical gl9ve and filled it the size of a fuckin basketball with acetylene and oxygen . My fellow brain surgeon decides he'll light the bulbous latex ordinance while holding it . Someway , somehow God took mercy on this idiot and prompted me to stop him . I told him that we don't know how this is gonna go so we need a fuse . I drew a sizable line of acetone out and told him to ste the ballon at one wnd and light the fuse . I cannot stre$ enough that this was a 14 x 12 ft room . I had plugged my ears with my fingers and was sitting in a high backed computer chair when flame met glove . To this day I remember being amazad that the glove just disappeared in an instant . I mean it must have been transported to an alternate universe because it just vanished . Oddly next thing I remembered was that exerything just whited out whilst I bounced around with fingers in ears for what seemed like an eternity . Once I settled in the chair and my sight came back I realized I couldnt hear an effin thing . I looked over to my cohort and wiyh my face burnin from laughter or maybe the searing flash I mouthed " go back to work act like nothing happened " . Yup cuz Um Summmart . Well I light my torch and start brazing a piece and next thing I know is there is this friggin laser beam borin a hole in me from behind . Now I'm stone def and yet I could feel that fuck somebody is behind me and show nuff its. Bossman . If the guy had feathers he woulda been flyin around the fuckin room from all the arm flailin . I looke at him and in what musta been my best Lou Ferrigno impersonation due to the lack of hearing said " Bill I can't hear a fuckin thing " . I was suddenly gifted with the ability to read lips as I could clearly decipher " you and you get in my fuckin office " . So after sitting in the office for five or ten minutes my hearing returned and I figured I'd keep my mouth shut and listen to see how bad this was . The whole time Im sittin there the phone is ringing of the hook and I hear Boss telling people " yeah we dropped a stack of skidds " . Luckily my cohort kept his mouth shut too . I finally tell the boss my hearing's returned and he tells us that he's not gonna fire us . He told us he did something similar in the Navy down near the Mag on ship and the Marine security detail responded by rushing to the scene and bouncing muzzles off his face . As he described this is obviously how Marines are taught to render assistence and see if you're ok . We were effin Rock Stars after that out in the shop .Yup rock stars or village idiots right . Same thing .
We did something similar to that in auto body shop class in high school. One of the guys filled a paper bag with acetylene, wrapped the end like a fuse and lit it. All it did was go whoosh. I told him to try a little acetylene and a lot of oxygen. So one of the guys comes up with a condom. We fill it up a little acetylene and a lot of oxygen, and put it in a paper bag with the end wrapped like a fuse. We took it outside between two buildings, lit the bag, and ran back inside. When it exploded it shook the whole building, and I was surprised none of the windows broke. The teacher asked what happened and we told him a passing vehicle backfired. He knew that was bullshit but didn't press for a real answer.
ALPHATREEDOG, too fucking funny, i invite you to christmas next year...
i figured i would keep my mouth shut and see how bad this was, oh man have i been there before...oh boy
i was a weldor, for you young guys out there, used 1 gallon ziplock bags and after blown up too big from a neutral knocked out flame, tape a paper towell to it, like crunched up in a tube...
too fun
oh man i enjoyed reading that, i am still giggling
i figured i would keep my mouth shut and see how bad this was, oh man have i been there before...oh boy
i was a weldor, for you young guys out there, used 1 gallon ziplock bags and after blown up too big from a neutral knocked out flame, tape a paper towell to it, like crunched up in a tube...
too fun
oh man i enjoyed reading that, i am still giggling
Never ceases to amaze me just how funny stupid can be and I have had a few Coronations .As kingvof stupid that is .
Seen it done with a trash bag, drop light with the glass broken off the bulb and a 100' extension cord.........100' is not near far enough away.....
Reminds me of an old mob trick . Dri) a little hole in a light bulb that is motion activated . Add a pinch of gasoline . When mark walks by bulb , message sent . As I've heard it's an attention getter .
My Grandpa told me about one he did when he was a kid. This would have been around 1920. The father of one of his neighbor kids had black powder. He and the neighbor kid filled a pipe with powder, made a wick with a rag, and set if off in the neighbor kids shed. They ran out of the shed and hid behind a tree before it blew. It was a good thing they did because it blew the door off of the shed, blew a hole in the ground, and the tree they hid behind had shrapnel in it. Grandpa said this resulted in the worst as whoopin his dad ever gave him.
We were kids, but 50 years old. At a friend's 50th birthday party, we filled balloons with oxygen and acetylene, covered them with a wet towel, and detonated them with bottle rockets shot through a 20 ft length of PVC pipe. You had to light the fuse and "get away quick".
His wife had hired an Elvis impersonator to do a little show at the party. After his show, he was invited to stay and join the party. The image of drunk Elvis (in the white sequined outfit) lighting the fuse and running away is forever burned into my memory.
Eighth grade, my warped Buddy and I have this fake firecracker (the red empty cardboard tube with about 4" of cannon fuse, all empty and like).
This cannot stand.
He pulls the cannon fuse and substitutes a regular 1 1/2" firecracker running down the center, and then proceeds to pack the surrounding.space with paper match heads.
Oboy...
We go down to the empty lot around the block (with a back path up the hill to his back yard). He stands at the top of the path, lights the fuse, and lofts it up and out over the lot, turns tail and makes it to his back porch when the most Gawdawful KaWompa occurs.
Two minutes later, the air raid siren goes off.
No lie...
Three year later, and I'm into model rocketry.
I get to developing a fireworks rocket. Basically, an Estes motor rolled in a butcher paper tube, and seven regular firecrackers neatly stuffed in the front end with the fuses twisted together and pushed into contact with the ejection charge, paper cap removed. Balsa fins, and launched from a section of carpet roll cardboard tube, straight up. Big hiss on a moonlit night, a trail of sparks extending to a trail of smoke, then a pattering of small flashes, with the sound reaching us on a small distance delay. Neat. Harmless.
But then...
Pulled the bullets from some 22 shells, decanted the powder. Mixed in snippings from old nitrocellulose movie film. Substituted the mixture for the seven firecrackers.
Mischief Night. The local park is deserted, the Park Police are patrolling in cars, showing the flag, nobody's there to see it, the truly wise among the local miscreants laying low, building their alibis. A foot bridge crosses over the park road. Concrete, really old fashioned, looks like a castle complete with crenelations atop the low shoulder height concrete walls.
Me and a couple of cohorts are reaaaaly stickin' our necks out this night. We take up the high over watch position near one end of the bridge, cardboard tube at the ready, waiting for the next patrol car.
Presently, one heaves into view. I stick the tube through the notch in the wall, tracking the cruiser while my buddy lights the rocket fuse, best bazooka fashion. The rocket launches, streaks down toward the cruiser, ducks under the hood and.... nothing. The cruiser slams on the brakes the two park cops bail, and then there's soft thump from under the hood. This is followed by voluminous billowing smoke.
The cops slap leather, draw their revolvers, and we flat out fly down the end of the bridge in a low flying crouch, disappearing into the woods, making it home in one piece.
Not a peep anywhere on the radar for what turns out to be forever. Sorta anticlimactic, until...
Eight, maybe ten years later, I'm a Scoutmaster at a local Camporee sitting around the campfire with some other leaders late after taps.
One of the leaders relates a puzzled tale that soon reveals he was on the other end of the smoke trail that night. He never did figure out whether it was kids (right), other cops, (nope), or maybe even aliens (enhhh...). No harm done, no report filed, nobody the wiser, it was just all so puzzling for years on end...
I'm dyin', trying to keep a straight face. I could not let him hang out there on that limb any longer.
I raise my hand and begin with, "Uh, well, maybe I can help you with that...".
Greg
This cannot stand.
He pulls the cannon fuse and substitutes a regular 1 1/2" firecracker running down the center, and then proceeds to pack the surrounding.space with paper match heads.
Oboy...
We go down to the empty lot around the block (with a back path up the hill to his back yard). He stands at the top of the path, lights the fuse, and lofts it up and out over the lot, turns tail and makes it to his back porch when the most Gawdawful KaWompa occurs.
Two minutes later, the air raid siren goes off.
No lie...
Three year later, and I'm into model rocketry.
I get to developing a fireworks rocket. Basically, an Estes motor rolled in a butcher paper tube, and seven regular firecrackers neatly stuffed in the front end with the fuses twisted together and pushed into contact with the ejection charge, paper cap removed. Balsa fins, and launched from a section of carpet roll cardboard tube, straight up. Big hiss on a moonlit night, a trail of sparks extending to a trail of smoke, then a pattering of small flashes, with the sound reaching us on a small distance delay. Neat. Harmless.
But then...
Pulled the bullets from some 22 shells, decanted the powder. Mixed in snippings from old nitrocellulose movie film. Substituted the mixture for the seven firecrackers.
Mischief Night. The local park is deserted, the Park Police are patrolling in cars, showing the flag, nobody's there to see it, the truly wise among the local miscreants laying low, building their alibis. A foot bridge crosses over the park road. Concrete, really old fashioned, looks like a castle complete with crenelations atop the low shoulder height concrete walls.
Me and a couple of cohorts are reaaaaly stickin' our necks out this night. We take up the high over watch position near one end of the bridge, cardboard tube at the ready, waiting for the next patrol car.
Presently, one heaves into view. I stick the tube through the notch in the wall, tracking the cruiser while my buddy lights the rocket fuse, best bazooka fashion. The rocket launches, streaks down toward the cruiser, ducks under the hood and.... nothing. The cruiser slams on the brakes the two park cops bail, and then there's soft thump from under the hood. This is followed by voluminous billowing smoke.
The cops slap leather, draw their revolvers, and we flat out fly down the end of the bridge in a low flying crouch, disappearing into the woods, making it home in one piece.
Not a peep anywhere on the radar for what turns out to be forever. Sorta anticlimactic, until...
Eight, maybe ten years later, I'm a Scoutmaster at a local Camporee sitting around the campfire with some other leaders late after taps.
One of the leaders relates a puzzled tale that soon reveals he was on the other end of the smoke trail that night. He never did figure out whether it was kids (right), other cops, (nope), or maybe even aliens (enhhh...). No harm done, no report filed, nobody the wiser, it was just all so puzzling for years on end...
I'm dyin', trying to keep a straight face. I could not let him hang out there on that limb any longer.
I raise my hand and begin with, "Uh, well, maybe I can help you with that...".
Greg
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My folks moved to a small country subdivision when I was 8 years old. The neighbor boys were all 2 to 5 years older than me so I got to learn many things you should not do. One day one of the older boys took a shotgun shell and emptied the shot, then cut off the paper. He took a hammer and used a nail to strike the primer. I learned that it made very ugly blood blisters on his finger and thumb.
Small town, and my best buddy in high school has this stealthy little bright orange-red 1969 MGB Coupe. Certainly the only one for several counties, and possibly the only one in the state.
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We decide the late May weather is way too damned nice for school, so we buy beer and fireworks, and it's off to the lake.
Se spend a few hours at the lake, get hit on by some skanky older chicks, and decide to look for other projects.
He decides he want to drive to the community college and leave a note on his girlfriend's car, so we're off to do that.
Zipping along down old US Route #1, sipping beers, and tossing whistling chasers out the window. Well, most went out the window.
There was the one that got loose in the floorboards. Those fuckers are HOT on bare feet and exposed legs in swim trunks, and the cockpit of the little two seated soup can is TIGHT when there's something in there that you're trying to avoid.
So we're on the way back from the college, and we pass this charred smoldering section of median on the highway, and we look at each other perplexed like, "What happened there?"
Then we look ahead, and here come the fire trucks.
Did I mention that his dad was on the volunteer fire department? The same dad who helped him with the down payment on that orange "hey look it's me!" sports car. The same dad who knows that car is supposed to be parked in the lot at the high school?
Yeah, him.
OHHHHHH SHIT!!!
He fucking freaks out!
"You gotta come to the house tonight, or he's going to kill me!"
- Why would I want to be there for that? I'm in school.
"Fuck you, man! PLEEEEASE??!"
- If you rat me out I'm telling Susan about Sarah.
" Asshole!"
- What should I wear for the funeral? Do you like flowers? Nah. That would be queer.
"ASSHOLE!!"
His dad, somehow, miraculously, didn't see us.
I don't know how and I don't know why, but he didn't.
Some 10 years later, we told his dad about it. He laughed and said he didn't even remember the fire call.
A good man! He passed last year from a horrible affliction called Lewy Body Dementia.
A damned good man.
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2Sx1jvT-3TA" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
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We decide the late May weather is way too damned nice for school, so we buy beer and fireworks, and it's off to the lake.
Se spend a few hours at the lake, get hit on by some skanky older chicks, and decide to look for other projects.
He decides he want to drive to the community college and leave a note on his girlfriend's car, so we're off to do that.
Zipping along down old US Route #1, sipping beers, and tossing whistling chasers out the window. Well, most went out the window.
There was the one that got loose in the floorboards. Those fuckers are HOT on bare feet and exposed legs in swim trunks, and the cockpit of the little two seated soup can is TIGHT when there's something in there that you're trying to avoid.
So we're on the way back from the college, and we pass this charred smoldering section of median on the highway, and we look at each other perplexed like, "What happened there?"
Then we look ahead, and here come the fire trucks.
Did I mention that his dad was on the volunteer fire department? The same dad who helped him with the down payment on that orange "hey look it's me!" sports car. The same dad who knows that car is supposed to be parked in the lot at the high school?
Yeah, him.
OHHHHHH SHIT!!!
He fucking freaks out!
"You gotta come to the house tonight, or he's going to kill me!"
- Why would I want to be there for that? I'm in school.
"Fuck you, man! PLEEEEASE??!"
- If you rat me out I'm telling Susan about Sarah.
" Asshole!"
- What should I wear for the funeral? Do you like flowers? Nah. That would be queer.
"ASSHOLE!!"
His dad, somehow, miraculously, didn't see us.
I don't know how and I don't know why, but he didn't.
Some 10 years later, we told his dad about it. He laughed and said he didn't even remember the fire call.
A good man! He passed last year from a horrible affliction called Lewy Body Dementia.
A damned good man.
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2Sx1jvT-3TA" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Growing up in the country in central alabama, I can't remember a day without a red rider or pump up pellet gun in hand. Making our rounds every evening after school to the best bird hunting grounds to see who could kill the most birds and the ocassional squirrel. One day walking past a field that had been fixed as a dove field and had been shot on the weekend before, someone in haste of loading his 12 gauge had dropped a shell by the fenceline. I picked it up and had a great idea. I sat it on a fencepost and we stepped back about 15 or so steps and I told my buddy, " we take turns shooting at the primer with our crossman pellet rifles.( we were always competitive as who was the best shot) we must have knocked it off the post 4 or 5 times by hitting around the edge, until I finally fired the magic bb. Boom! !And as we were shoulder to shoulder the hull of the shell passed between our heads at a high rate of speed! Not even a cats reflex would have helped. It was over before we even flinched.we were lucky that day we still had our eyes. Lesson learned! We still laugh about it some 40 years later.
I some times wonder how I lived through my youth. We thought it would be a good idea to drill out the ass end of the used CO2 gas cartridges from our pellet pistol, then stuff them full of paper match heads. We would then stack up paper matches head to head to make a kind of fuse, stick the whole contraption in a piece of .75" pipe about 4-5 feet long and light them off. They had enough power to stick into a piece of half inch plywood at about 25-30 yards. We used to shoot them at all sorts of things. One of our favorite tricks was getting the night watchman at the Safeway store to come outside and try to find out what was smacking the rear freight door. God must have wanted us to live for something later in life, because I am amazed we didn't blow our selves up.
Such memories. CO2 bulbs were our favorite container for many homemade powders from "chemistry set refills" from the local craft store. Rockets, hand grenades, depth charges, seems like nothing you couldn't do with some empties and some cannon fuse. For some reason, cannon fuse was always available.
What we did with those CO2 bottles was so stupid, I am amazed that it didn't start with something like "here, hold my beer and watch this!"
Dynamite.
When I was a senior in high school and all throughout college, I worked in ski shops, mostly handling challenging boot fitting for customers. There was one co-worker that would come in at closing and work through the night mounting bindings in the winter. He would work summers at one of the local ski areas on the trail clearing crew. One of his (self imposed) "bennies" was that of absconding with a couple of sticks of dynamite, blasting caps and fuse every day in his lunch box. Think Radar O'Reilly mailing home a jeep, one piece at a time. He would then sell them to the highest bidder, which happened to be me one day. Bought six sticks and caps. At that time, I had a girlfriend and a '72 240Z (sure wish I still had it (the car)). That car had a "secret" compartment on the back sill (no back seat) just behind the driver's seat. Six sticks fit just perfectly in the secret compartment, along with the fuse and caps.
The girlfriend and I go over to her grandparent's place for the 4th of July, which was on a Saturday and required a ferry ride. Her brother was there and he and I were good buddies. We decided to set off a couple of sticks, somewhat "anonymously". Which meant that we'd put enough fuse on each stick for about a 90 second delay. We lit the fuse on one in the woods across the street, calmly walked back into the grandparents house via the side door, sat down, made small talk with everyone and a few seconds later, Boom! Startled everyone in the room. My girlfriend's dad noticed that my buddy and myself were the only ones that didn't jump and he just gave me the stare down. I didn't say a word, nor did he. He just stared.
The festivities continued throughout the day and on into the early evening. About 10:00PM, it's time for my girlfriend and I to make the journey home. We get down to the ferry landing about 11:00 PM, it's dark and there is a fairly significant wait. We park in line, on a dock that only has about a third of the lanes occupied. There were a lot of empty lanes to the right of us and I get a bright idea. I take one of the sticks, prep it with a cap and about 60 seconds of fuse, get out of the car and walk over to the furthest piling from all the cars. I set the stick on top of the piling, about 6 feet up, and make sure the fuse hangs down on the opposite side of the piling from where the cars are, so no one can see the burning rosebud. I light it and again, walk calmly back towards my car. About halfway there, I meet up with an older guy walking the other way, right towards the piling. Oh shit moment. When we meet shoulder to shoulder, I say "I wouldn't go over there right now if I were you" and I keep walking. I'm now shaking as I get in my car. Fortunately, for the grace of God, he listened to my cryptic message, turned around and got back in his car before it went off.
At that stage of my life, there were very few things as magnificent as that brilliant white flash and chest compressing Boom (other than maybe banging the back out of my buddy's sister). I remember at the moment I was lighting the fuse that it was probably a bad idea and the cops would show up, figure it out and I'd spend the night in jail. No cops come, the ferry starts loading (a very long) 10 minutes later, we drive on, take the boat ride and drive off the other side. I was never so relieved to drive off a ferry in my life.
When I was a senior in high school and all throughout college, I worked in ski shops, mostly handling challenging boot fitting for customers. There was one co-worker that would come in at closing and work through the night mounting bindings in the winter. He would work summers at one of the local ski areas on the trail clearing crew. One of his (self imposed) "bennies" was that of absconding with a couple of sticks of dynamite, blasting caps and fuse every day in his lunch box. Think Radar O'Reilly mailing home a jeep, one piece at a time. He would then sell them to the highest bidder, which happened to be me one day. Bought six sticks and caps. At that time, I had a girlfriend and a '72 240Z (sure wish I still had it (the car)). That car had a "secret" compartment on the back sill (no back seat) just behind the driver's seat. Six sticks fit just perfectly in the secret compartment, along with the fuse and caps.
The girlfriend and I go over to her grandparent's place for the 4th of July, which was on a Saturday and required a ferry ride. Her brother was there and he and I were good buddies. We decided to set off a couple of sticks, somewhat "anonymously". Which meant that we'd put enough fuse on each stick for about a 90 second delay. We lit the fuse on one in the woods across the street, calmly walked back into the grandparents house via the side door, sat down, made small talk with everyone and a few seconds later, Boom! Startled everyone in the room. My girlfriend's dad noticed that my buddy and myself were the only ones that didn't jump and he just gave me the stare down. I didn't say a word, nor did he. He just stared.
The festivities continued throughout the day and on into the early evening. About 10:00PM, it's time for my girlfriend and I to make the journey home. We get down to the ferry landing about 11:00 PM, it's dark and there is a fairly significant wait. We park in line, on a dock that only has about a third of the lanes occupied. There were a lot of empty lanes to the right of us and I get a bright idea. I take one of the sticks, prep it with a cap and about 60 seconds of fuse, get out of the car and walk over to the furthest piling from all the cars. I set the stick on top of the piling, about 6 feet up, and make sure the fuse hangs down on the opposite side of the piling from where the cars are, so no one can see the burning rosebud. I light it and again, walk calmly back towards my car. About halfway there, I meet up with an older guy walking the other way, right towards the piling. Oh shit moment. When we meet shoulder to shoulder, I say "I wouldn't go over there right now if I were you" and I keep walking. I'm now shaking as I get in my car. Fortunately, for the grace of God, he listened to my cryptic message, turned around and got back in his car before it went off.
At that stage of my life, there were very few things as magnificent as that brilliant white flash and chest compressing Boom (other than maybe banging the back out of my buddy's sister). I remember at the moment I was lighting the fuse that it was probably a bad idea and the cops would show up, figure it out and I'd spend the night in jail. No cops come, the ferry starts loading (a very long) 10 minutes later, we drive on, take the boat ride and drive off the other side. I was never so relieved to drive off a ferry in my life.
i wouldnt know what you are talking about, not me, nope, dont do that type of stuff, i heard something like maybe from over there i dont know
Without a doubt, the single dumbest thing we (my buddies and I) ever did, was to discover a large spent CO2 bottle. Green, Steel, wrinkle finish. You know old school CO2 cartridge, only quite large, about 6 inches, by about an inch in diameter. And I mean within a split second, not even measurable, someone comes up with the bright idea to make a rocket.
One kid had a soldering iron and some silver solder, another kid (me maybe) came up with a tomato paste can and cut out nicely curved fins, someone had a pair of pliars and pulled the lead cap off the bottom, and someone else had a box of strike anywhere matches. A production line soon had a pile of match heads which were stuffed into the rocket, then a small pile set in a mound under the vent. Stuck it into the wooden slat of a park bench. We then matched lots to see who got to touch it off. The first kid touched a remaining match to the pile. It flared, but nothing happened, and the flame died out. So, the eldest, pushed his way to the center of the group, and took his dad's propane torch out ant lit it. We all scooted back. Way back. Maybe 10 feet. Not nearly enough, but we were kids, didn't want to miss anything. He leaned forward, and pushed the flame up to the vent........
BANG!!!
The concussion knocked me over, and when I stood back up, scrambling to my feet, He was still standing there, bent over with his hand and the torch outstretched. It was still hissing but the flame had been blown out. I looked skyward, and all around. NO rocket. I noticed all three fins were still bedded into the wooden slat. NO scorch marks! That no one was injured is way beyond my understanding.
Our ears rang for a few days, and though we looked and looked, we never found that CO2 bottle. It may have reached orbit, or it completely disintegrated in our faces. We never found out, nor did we ever discuss this episode with anyone else in the neighborhood.
One kid had a soldering iron and some silver solder, another kid (me maybe) came up with a tomato paste can and cut out nicely curved fins, someone had a pair of pliars and pulled the lead cap off the bottom, and someone else had a box of strike anywhere matches. A production line soon had a pile of match heads which were stuffed into the rocket, then a small pile set in a mound under the vent. Stuck it into the wooden slat of a park bench. We then matched lots to see who got to touch it off. The first kid touched a remaining match to the pile. It flared, but nothing happened, and the flame died out. So, the eldest, pushed his way to the center of the group, and took his dad's propane torch out ant lit it. We all scooted back. Way back. Maybe 10 feet. Not nearly enough, but we were kids, didn't want to miss anything. He leaned forward, and pushed the flame up to the vent........
BANG!!!
The concussion knocked me over, and when I stood back up, scrambling to my feet, He was still standing there, bent over with his hand and the torch outstretched. It was still hissing but the flame had been blown out. I looked skyward, and all around. NO rocket. I noticed all three fins were still bedded into the wooden slat. NO scorch marks! That no one was injured is way beyond my understanding.
Our ears rang for a few days, and though we looked and looked, we never found that CO2 bottle. It may have reached orbit, or it completely disintegrated in our faces. We never found out, nor did we ever discuss this episode with anyone else in the neighborhood.
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