Gifts

For some the aquisition of new and shiny is in the hunt. The quest is the adventure, the goal sometimes not worth the efforts and lengths gone through to achieve it.

"New and shiny"  doesn't always represents actually new or actually shiny for that matter. Sometimes it just new to you, others it's just new because you remembered where it was, what box it was in. Occasionally it's shiny after hours of steel wool, sandpaper, carnauba wax or a full can of lacquer.

Whatever the end results, the road to it carries an often forgotten tail of adventures.

At times it's just a click away, a readily available aftermarket piece waiting to be dropped Into a box and sent out the door.
A phone call to a friend can generate a search party of people willing to scour their treasure chests to find it.

Quite often it's digging through crusty old boxes at 7:15 a.m., just after the gates have opened of the  local swap meet. Talking to people to see if they happened to see one while they where routing around in search of there truffles.

Sometimes, just sometimes though, a jolly old man with a deep laugh and a belly to match finds his way down the chimney to leave you a brightly colored package under the tree.

They are all gifts the god's of speed.

Karma

After all the emotional upheaval, laying on the cold concrete staring up at the axle, trying to decide if it's gonna be worth it. Considered again hopping in the daily shuffler and running the blocks back to the store.

The box just layed there mocking me, "Coward!", "it's how the old timers did it, what're you afraid of?" The nagging continued "You gonna get your feelings hurt when people are laughing at your broken leaf spring!?, man up sucker!"

"Fine! You sonofabitch!, don't say I never warned you!", I folded like a paper airplane, grabbed the jack and proceeded to over reach the bounds of rational thinking purely for the desire to lay out the Black Pearl just a little bit more.

Ofcourse there was no hiccups, everything went as smooth as could be. The damn u-bolts where even the correct diameter and length. There was no jacking around,  struggling to get the axle to line back up on the center pin. Non of the countless things that normally go wrong where even slightly present.

It didn't feel that bad, I was ok with my decision, I pushed the Pearl out of dry dock into the waiting sun. Bounced up and down on the bumper a few times, not to bad.

That little voice came back "See? You can trust me!" I hopped in and turned the key...click.....click

Sonofabitch!

Dirty

I feel dirty, I've done something knowing whole heartedly that it was wrong. I regretted the decision the minute I made it. I could have turned around, swallowed my pride and went about my day like it never happened.

No one would have been the wiser, it would have just been a dark secret I kept to myself. A shame I would carry with me deep in the recesses of my soul.

However that's not what I did, those Demon's voices, they grew louder. Screaming at a fever pitch, an eerie wail from the depths of the sea.

The rationale is sane, their argument valid. "The go will be no this time dear friend, have the cake, it's just as good as the pie!" They said as I sat there in the parking lot, engine idling. "Everyone has to make a few compromises to their morals at times" I thought to myself out load.

There are people that spend countless hours to achieve the water level of the Black Pearl, what's 2 more inches between the deck and the surface. I can change it later, I can always change it later. Will later ever come?

It's as though I'm the flag at the center of a tug of war. On my left the incredible desire for speed. Speeds into, through and out of corners.  While on my right the nagging enticement of the aesthetic of it all.

One surely doesn't always support the other. Tucked whitewalls on 15's with tire swallowing skirts isn't the first thing that comes to the mind when imagining a carver. Wood rimmed steering wheels are usually reserved for temperamental Italians, while feather quick turn in is an attribute of engineered Germans, not big American classics.

The Pearl has still a great distance to travel, years of nobal service left to give. Although one day before she sails off after I've lost my abilities the wrestle the helm, we'll make our way through those corners together.

For now, as we wait, idling in the parade line for a spot at the curb for the springs first coming shows, I'll hold my head in shame, knowing that I bought that extra 2 inch lowering block.