We think that we're converting time into energy... that's the engineering principle.

In the 1820s, stacks, ovens, and gasometers rose over the docklands of Dublin. The Hibernian Gas Company, one of several gasworks that would eventually occupy the land around the Grand Canal Docks, heated coal to produce town gas. That gas would soon supply thousands of lights on the streets of Dublin, a quiet revolution in municipal development that paved the way for electrification---both conceptually, as it proved the case for public lighting, and literally, as town gas fired the city's first small power plants.

Ireland's supply of coal became scarce during the Second World War; as part of rationing of the town gas supply most street lights were shut off. Town gas would never make a full recovery. By that time, electricity had proven its case for lighting. Although coal became plentiful after the war, imported from England and transported from the docks to the gasworks by horse teams, even into the 1960s---this form of energy had become obsolete. In the 1980s, the gasworks stoked their brick retorts for the last time. Natural gas had arrived. It was cheaper, cleaner, safer.

The Docklands still echo with the legacy of the town gas industry. The former site of the Hibernian gasworks is now the Bord Gáis Energy Theatre, a performing arts center named for the British-owned energy conglomerate that had once run Ireland's entire gas industry as a state monopoly. Metal poles, the Red Sticks, jut into the sky from the Grand Canal Square. They are an homage to the stacks that once loomed over the industrial docks. Today, those docks have turned over to gastropubs, offices, the European headquarters of Google.

Out on the water, a new form of energy once spun to life. In December of 2009, a man named Sean McCarthy booked the Waterways Ireland Visitors Centre for a press event. In the dockside event space, and around the world through a live stream, he invited the public to witness a demonstration of his life's work. The culmination of three years of hype, controversy, and no small amount of ridicule, this was his opportunity to prove what famed physicist Michio Kaku and his own hand-picked jury of scientists had called a sham.

Where we left off, Albuquerque's boosters, together with the Forest Service, had completed construction of the Ellis Ranch Loop and a spur to the Sandia Crest. It was possible, even easy, to drive from Albuquerque east through Tijeras Pass, north to the present-day location of Sandia Park, and through the mountains to Placitas before reaching Bernalillo to return by the highway. The road provided access to the Ellis Ranch summer resort, now operated by the Cooper family and the First Presbyterian Church, and to the crest itself.

The road situation would remain much the same for decades to come, although not due to a lack of investment. One of the road-building trends of the 1920s and 1930s was the general maturation of the United States' formidable highway construction program. The Federal Aid Highway Act of 1921 established the pattern that much of western road building would follow: the federal government would split costs 50:50 to help western states build highways. This funding would bring about many of the US highways that we use today.

A share of the money, called the forest highway fund, was specifically set aside for highways that were in national forests or connected national forests to existing state highways. By 1926, the Federal Lands Transportation Program had taken its first form, a set of partnerships between the Bureau of Public Roads (later the Federal Highway Administration) and federal land management agencies to develop roads for economic and recreational use of federal land. For the Forest Service of the era, a forest without road access was of limited use. The following years saw a systematic survey of the national forests of New Mexico with an eye towards construction.

The Federal Aid Highway Act presaged the later interstate freeway program in several ways. First, the state-federal cost sharing model would become the norm for new highways and drive the politics of road construction to this day. Second, despite the nominal responsibility of the states for highways, the Act established the pattern of the federal government determining a map of "desirable" or "meritorious" road routes that states would be expected to follow. And finally, the Act enshrined the relationship between the military and road building. The first notional map of an integrated US highway system, developed mostly by the Army for the Bureau of Public Roads, was presented to Congress by esteemed General of the Armies John Pershing. This plan, the Pershing Map, is now over 100 years old but still resembles our contemporary freeway system.

The Rotary Club will take immediate action on the Ellis ranch loop project. The Rotarians reached this decision at their weekly luncheon, held yesterday at the Albarado hotel.

The club's plan is not merely to give Albuquerque a good, short road to the Ellis ranch... They embrace the building of a seventy-mile scenic loop. ¹

Many Western cities are defined, in part, by their mountains. Those moving from town to town often comment on the disorientation, the disruption, caused by a change in the city's relation to the peaks. If you have ever lived in a place with the mountains on the west, and then a place with the mountains on the east, you will know what I mean. We get used to living in the shadows of mountains.

One of the appeals of mountains, perhaps the source of their mysticism, is inaccessibility. Despite their close proximity to Albuquerque, steep slopes and difficult terrain kept the Sandias a world apart from the city, even to this day. Yet we have always been driven to climb, to ascend to the summit.

Humans climb mountains not only as a matter of individual achievement, but also as a matter of infrastructure. Whether the inaccessibility of mountain peaks is a good thing or a bad thing depends on the observer; and even the most challenging mountain ascents are sometimes developed to the scale of an industrial tourism operation.

And somewhere, in between, are the Sandias. Not technically part of the Rocky Mountains but roughly aligned with them, the Sandias lack a clear peak. Instead, the range is an elongated ridge, making up the entire eastern boundary of the city of Albuquerque and extending some distance further north into the Sandia Pueblo. The highest point is at 10,679', relatively modest for the mountain states---but still one of the most prominent in New Mexico, moreso even than the higher-elevation Mt. Taylor and Wheeler Peak.

Few aspects of commercial telecommunications have quite the allure of the T-carrier. Well, to me, at least, but then I have very specific interests.

T-carrier has this odd, enduring influence on discussion of internet connections. I remember that for years, some video game installers (perhaps those using Gamespy?) used to ask what kind of internet service you had, with T1 as the "highest" option. The Steam Hardware Survey included T1 among the options for a long time. This was odd, in a lot of ways. It set T1 as sort of the "gold standard" in the minds of gamers, but residential internet service over T1 would have been very rare. Besides, even by the standards of the 2000s T1 service was actually pretty slow.

Still, T1 involved a healthy life as an important "common denominator" in internet connectivity. As a regulated telephone service, it was expensive, but available pretty much anywhere. It also provided a very high standard for reliability and latency, beyond many of the last-mile media we use today.

Telephone Carriers

We think of telephone calls as being carried over a pair of wires. In the early days of the telephone system, it wasn't all that far off to imagine a phone call as a single long circuit of two wires that extended all the way from your telephone to the phone you had called. This was the most naive and straightforward version of circuit switching: connections were established by creating a circuit.

The era of this extremely literal form of circuit switching did not last as long as you might think. First, we have to remember that two-wire telephone circuits don't actually work that well. Low install cost and convenience means that they are the norm between a telephone exchange and its local callers, but for long-distance carriage over the phone network, you get far better results by splitting the "talk" and "listen" sides into two separate pairs. This is called a four-wire telephone circuit, and while you will rarely see four-wire service at a customer's premises, almost all connectivity between telephone exchanges (and even in the internals of the telephone exchange itself) has been four-wire since the dawn of long-distance service.

An opening note: would you believe that I have been at this for five years, now? If I planned ahead better, I would have done this on the five-year anniversary, but I missed it. Computers Are Bad is now five years and four months old.

When I originally launched CAB, it was my second attempt at keeping up a blog. The first, which I had called 12 Bit Word, went nowhere and I stopped keeping it up. One of the reasons, I figured, is that I had put too much effort into it. CAB was a very low-effort affair, which was perhaps best exemplified by the website itself. It was monospace and 80 characters wide, a decision that I found funny (in a shitposty way) and generated constant complaints. To be fair, if you didn't like the font, it was "user error:" I only ever specified "monospace" and I can't be blamed that certain platforms default to Courier. But there were problems beyond the appearance; the tool that generated the website was extremely rough and made new features frustrating to implement.

Over the years, I have not invested much (or really any) effort in promoting CAB or even making it presentable. I figured my readership, interested in vintage computing, would probably put up with it anyway. That is at least partially true, and I am not going to put any more effort into promotion, but some things have changed. Over time I have broadened my topics quite a bit, and I now regularly write about things that I would have dropped as "off topic" three or four years ago. Similarly, my readership has broadened, and probably to a set of people that find 80 characters of monospace text less charming.

I think I've also changed my mind in some ways about what is "special" about CAB. One of the things that I really value about it, that I don't think comes across to readers well, is the extent to which it is what I call artisanal internet. It's like something you'd get at the farmer's market. What I mean by this is that CAB is a website generated by a static site generator that I wrote, and a newsletter sent by a mailing list system that I wrote, and you access them by connecting directly to a VM that I administer, on a VM cluster that I administer, on hardware that I own, in a rack that I lease in a data center in downtown Albuquerque, New Mexico. This is a very old-fashioned way of doing things, now, and one of the ironies is that it is a very expensive way of doing things. It would be radically cheaper and easier to use wordpress.com, and it would probably go down less often and definitely go down for reasons that are my fault less often. But I figure people listen to me in part because I don't use wordpress.com, because I have weird and often impractical opinions about how to best contribute to internet culture.