Winds

The days have gotten shorter as summer has given way to fall. The gloomy grey skies have returned from their summer resting place.

The return of greater humidity present in the early morning turn of the key. A few hours spent under a drizzled and tamp baseball cap fine tuning the ever diminishing art of the carburetor.

The days when a tackle box full of gaskets, jets, discharge nozzles and tiny screwdrivers is only a wisper from the past. Given way to laptops, USB ports and algorithms. It's knowledge that can be learned faster then gained. One can find the information or program that will greatly assist in fine tuning a computer injected motor far sooner then it takes to know what a particular carbureted car needs. It's not a discredit to the world of injection, I look on with envy as the world of the culture of petrol leaps forward in giant steps year after year. I mention the difference in the respect of needs. Both being needy creatures by nature.

An injected car can assess what has changed and increase or decrease the air, fuel and fire accordingly. It's somewhat more self reliant. Needing your involvement only when the extent of the parameters have been met, strong and resilient like a 10,000 horsepower tug boat plucking away in Boston harbor.

A carburetor on the other hand is far more organic in it's needs. In some respects a tall elegant sail boat gliding upon the back of a north westerly wind through the Puget Sound.

To much humidity and the mixture needs to be adjusted, not this weekend or over the winter when you have the chance, but now, right now if you plan on getting to work. Admittedly, the strength of the sails will have a great reflection on the needs in the wind. A strong motor can handle a little discrepancy here and there. An old battleship that's plied it's time in battle is a little more fickle to the emotions of Mother Nature.

Those men that walked out onto the paddock with a tackle box full, hands calloused from gasoline, wrinkles at the edges of their eyes from hours staring into the glaring sun. Those men and women have the essence of speed, the gifts given by the god's of speed to only those worthy.

The ones that can feel your mis, your rich adjustment from leaning on the fender while you struggle to find the wind.

Lists

Lists, lists, lists.....have I said lists before?
I make a lot of lists. I think a lot of gear heads do. Lists of things to get, things to do, things to look up.

I make a list a day usually, "what'll cost to get the correct size tires on the Pearl? ", "What do I need to get done before spring? ". "What'll it cost to redesign the rear suspension? ", a list for every little thought.

On top of lists there are the fictional cars I build in the recesses of my brain. Some being redo of cars that have came and gone, others are the "what ifs" and "if I had the money". All just being more lists.

I make lists because I can't run out and buy the parts and pieces or tools I need to carry on my current task. I do so as a distraction from the mind that is dwelling on the loss of time. "Tic Toc" the voice wispers, "You're running out of time!"

Time that moves on without you, curiously there has been no deadline set, no event planned, no place to go. The only thing to be done is the ever present task of continuing towards the goal of the Pearl.

Oddly as time pesters the brain, it's that very time that is in abundance by comparison to the tasks.

So as I wait for the opportunity for the parts and tools to catch up the time I can afford.

I make lists, what do you do when the devil comes to idle hands?