Taking DIY to the extreme. Please check with your doctor before attempting this at home. And wear proper shoes, for god’s sake.
Well, the hands were gloved. And truthfully, in hindsight, it was pretty whack-o. But you should see my biceps.
Reducing the width of the parking area in my driveway has been a slow-but-steady project since Labor Day weekend, but the end is in sight. Grassy lawn is in my future. A better driveway, too. Improved curb appeal. Hallelujah.
As I’ve shown before, the driveway needs some work. That, and the house looked especially ghet-to last April without the porch railings or new storm door. (Mr. Silver Carport in the neighbor’s driveway doesn’t help either.) My driveway runs alongside the house but also offers extra parking space in the front yard. Room for three extra cars to be exact, meaning I have more asphalt than grass or garden.
No problem, one of my big goals of the summer was to have the driveway fully replaced; a little wrench was thrown in those plans when a team of city surveyors who worked on my street casually mentioned that the road, sidewalks, and driveway aprons were going to be repaired (hopefully) next spring. I changed my plans, not wanting to invest in asphalt that would be damaged and replaced (free) so soon.
What I could do in the interim though, is reduce the size of the driveway overall. Which is exactly what I did, and exactly why every muscle is so freaking sore.
In sort of the same fashion as when I planted the myrtle, I pried up the asphalt layer piece by piece (I like to compare it to ripping apart a cookie cake). The asphalt closest to the house was crumbling and thin and came up reasonably easy, which naturally led me to believe that the whole shebang would be done within a few days of light lifting. Foreshadowing.
In one short morning, I had removed a substantial chunk of driveway (and max-ed out the weight limit of the city-provided garbage can, meaning, I couldn’t move it myself anymore).
I decided not to let capacity issues hold me up, figuring that I could keep loosening the asphalt, bagging it in smaller quantities, and testing out the strength of the city garbage men to see what they’d accept. Worst they could do is deny it, or maybe break the bags into a million pieces and leave me with a bigger mess.
Actually, one of those big ol’ machines that the city uses to pick up curbed couches did the biting. Best described as an arcade game claw that repels from the top of a dump truck, the asphalt-filled bags were removed in a swift 2-minute jobber, as if the driver spent his entire childhood dropping quarters hoping to win a stuffed animal at the fair. (Best job ever? Or best job ever.)
Just like with the myrtle-planting project, there was a base of 3-6″ of coarse rock left to clean up. The rocks were by far the worst part of the clean-up process last time, so this time I left it up to friends on facebook and randoms on Craigslist to fight it out; afterall, I knew that underlay was valuable, salvageable, and something that pretty much anyone could have used for their own patio base, garden filler, drainage project, or whatnot. It was theirs for free… if they wanted to dig it.
I was pleasantly surprised by the response, happily allowing a reader of the blog and her family to come remove the rock for her own garden (thanks, Rebecca + fam!). I unfortunately wasn’t home to watch them sweat it out, but returned to a cleaned out space that was essentially ready for new soil. Which hasn’t been ordered. But is on my to-do list for todayyy.
I gave a little foreshadowing earlier on about the ease of asphalt retrieval; the upper part of the driveway crumbled in my hand with minimal effort, as did the apron between the sidewalk and the road, but there was an angry little section about 70 sq. ft. in size that did. not. want. to. be. removed.
This was the only section that had also been doubly paved, interestingly. It had no cracks, no weeds poking through, and was a solid, thick mass that chipped away at my energy level for 3 days. Three exhausting days.
Use the shovel as a lever between the asphalt and the earth. Apply full body weight (sitting on the shovel handle) to lift the block an inch, so when you sledge it, it had some chance of giving way. That pile of asphalt to either side of me? Shovel butted.
Don’t wimp out, keep on going. Like my rubber wellies? No idea why I slipped them on.
Seriously, you’re almost done. But what happened to your protective eyewear? Probably launched it into the grass in muscular fury. And check out the pieces of asphalt in that RIDGID box – I’d like you to know that those are the size of my torso.
Try not to get too wussy-ish when you get a dime-sized blister on the most crucial spot of your sledging hand; just ACE bandage the thing up and put on a man’s-size glove. Perfecto-mundo, even if I look like I have a disease.
Can you say D-O-N-E? I actually tried to take a picture of me standing at the end of the cleared driveway smiling, but forgot that I had the camera zoomed in, and my face did not end up in the frame so much as other body parts, so you won’t be seeing those photos today.
The neighbor kindly gave me 4 large cardboard boxes that were on their way out to recycling, which were perfect little asphalt holders. Saved me an hour’s worth of bagging, that’s for sure.
Relieved? Relieved. Better driveway. Lots of sleep in my future. And lots of soil to distribute, once I place the order.
How does it look?