I can’t believe it.
Only yesterday I was
coasting down Henderson
Street, preparing to pedal
Yorkville, New York's
busy Truck Route over to
Valley Electronics for
an
octal tube socket and the
latest black & white-covered
QST. Or was it
last Sunday
morning
I
was sulkily
hanging out
on 3900 kc,
a DX40 among NCX-3s?
Baby-faced...
Flop-eared...
I was the kind of
kid who dreamed
of
one day
becoming
either Bob Dylan
or
a
ham radio cartoonist.
Time would tell. In the wink of an eye this Whitesboro High student became WB2EXW and all the rest went similarly according to plan.
Forty-five years later, I find myself drawing ham radio cartoons not far from Woodstock. Yes, that one, but closer to the village than the far-distant festival site. There's a bit of the souvenir trade in town, and one sees assorted graphic references here and there, pix of Dylan at the bakery, stuff like that, but the original shaggy prehistoric art colony groove rambles-on. On summer weekends the sidewalks can become boardwalk-like, thick with dawdling middle-aged-plus daytrippers, mixed with milk-safe hobby bikers and younger folks in the usual getups, plus a smattering of raggedy-to-riches townies.
This is not the easiest time to park or hit H. Houst & Son, the rabbit warren of a big ol' hardware store that's soothing as a hot bath after a day of ice skating. But should you find yourself in the village thick-of-it, tiring of the hurly-burly such as it can be, do yourself a favor and head for this port in a storm.
Ham radio cartooning aside, I keep my hand in with a basic-is-beautiful little Icom 718. Mostly I favor CW for both rag-chewing and DX. For contests, I prefer phone, unless the exchange is simple. As a rule, I prefer woolgathering to paying attention.
I've hoisted a 160 meter dipole with open wire feed and hope we'll swap some stories and points soon.
73
