Darkness falls

The tides of time have turned again, slowing down the clock. It's darkness for days it almost seems.
Roll out in the morning, roll in at night, darkness stands at the horizon.
It's as if night never turns to day until Saturday, when precious minutes become your own.
To say the draining darkness makes for somewhat of a depressing day is short on words.

I never quite seem to get anything done, only half done. I'm half apart on one project and half together on another. 

I'm in negotiations with my conscious as to whether or not my neighbors would appreciate candle power rated in B.T.U.'s on the front of the house.

Unfortunately, we are on a flight path, I'm not good enough to talk myself out of that conversation. To add to the insult, I recently caught up with old friends that live in a place where a single car garage has a 15 foot door and a 20x40 shop isn't even blinked at.

"Does your car even fit through the door?" He said, actually it does....just barely. I have to push it out to work on it, but at least it's not a carport.

Is it Saturday yet?

Cadillacin'

"Nuthins lacking, when you're Cadillacin" I read that on a customers license plate frame once and I absolutely agree!

I've had several of the big ships in my life. My first was a '77 that was affectionately referred to as "the Helldarado", a 500 c.i. bar car, ripe for Duke brother slides and creeping home after a night of pints, designated drivers on a rotation, everyone got to drive.

I had a '68 named "Bernadine" we had a great six months together until an old timer caved in the quater panel. Fortunately the God's of Low where looking down upon us as a gentleman stepped forward with an offer to purchase it. He was an accomplished craftsman and I knew it was going to a good home.

I had been skowering the paper, a shock to hear these days. I came across a two line ad for a Cadillac about an hour away.
I called early morning and got a older sounding gentleman that said it would be available to view that afternoon, after 5pm when his son was available as he was in his mid 80's and getting around had become difficult. Thus necessitating the sale of his beloved Cadillac.

At lunch that Friday I finalized the sale of "Bernadine", come 5 o'clock cash in hand I headed for adventure.

After some careful consideration and thoroughly looking everything over we settled on a price. I just happened to have the exact amount neatly folded up in my pocket. As I had hoped the gentleman was willing to let it go for the same amount that I had sold the '68 for.

A tank of gas, check the oil, lit off the 429 and slid my 6 foot 250lbs frame down into the couch to where the brim of my baseball hat sat just above the steering wheel and pulled her down into drive.

It was a 3 day weekend and by bbq time on Monday 3 coils had gone missing in the rear and 2 in the front. I had also removed the abnormally large stereo from the trunk of the '68, a little help later and a fresh set of whites and "Nadine" was enjoying the summer sun.

I drove her every day that following year, I had a new car with a car payment, fast motor, sticky tires, but just couldn't compare. Eventually I sold it and used the money for gas.

We once pulled up to a stop lamp after round of the drinks, er links on the course. A well put together lady in her mid sixties driving a Lexus worth more then my last two years of wages stopped next to us and rolled down her window.

"Beautiful!" She yelled over my stereo "I used to have one once, greatest car I ever had!" She then smiled and pulled away.

"Nuthins lacking when you're Cadillacin!"

Everybody's

Everybody thinks, sometimes I think about thinking and wonder if the things I'm thinking about are the same things that others are thinking. I wonder if I've maybe just spent to much time thinking.

I've spent my evenings at the edge of my recliner, waiting and wishing that my countrymen and weman will bring home the coveted medallion. That weak will prefail, the underdog will get his day.

I along with you have watched as the rewards have gone to the deserving. It's been interesting to watch as the telecommunications professionals ramble about the strengths and weaknesses of the athletes.

People that have given their body and soul to the dedication of perfecting a craft. People that are willing to lay their blood on the line for country and honor.
Willing to fight though the pain to be honored the opportunity to kneel down and receive a metal that costs more to earn then it does to own.

I watch as fat men in sport coats and weman in designer ware tell us how and where their routine failed, where they tripped up and what they should have done to prevent it. I've watched as they've made a mountain out of a uncontrollable mistake, watched as they've passed down a verbal judgement, "though shalt not mistake","though shalt not be blinded by drive". I sat in auhw as announcers explained what greatness of a failure had been brought upon a country because a woman's bmx cyclists had fallen. Fallen, that is all.

I raced bmx, alot, for quite awhile, and then I didn't, that fire doesn't leave you. Then I did again, 15 years after I had stopped I started again.

It was the same, coals and embers always lingered, lingered until the gate falls. And when that happens the mind disappears into nothingness. You see nothing, feel nothing, you smell only fear and taste only iron.

You don't see the mistake when it's coming, you are simply the wolf on the tail of the rabbit. Blind and blissful to the world around you. Tasting and longing for only the hunt, the art and the craft of the quest.

The Pearl waits for the artists to rise, the craftsman to create, she waits for the process to unfold.

The craft may not all days be rubber and steel, methanol and lateral G's. The craft is the fire that drives us to our end goal.

Not everyone deserves a medal, but the Pearl will raise her sails to everyone that fought it out until the end and left everything on the battlefield.

To that we salute you!

The Problem with Sleeping

You lay back on the pillow and gaze up at the ceiling, feeling the ache from the day. The stress begins to fall away as a calming blue feeling envelopes you as you slip off into another nights rejuvenating slumber. The mind wonders through fantasies and mystery, intrigue and sometimes drama.

Often you'll wake the next day alive and ready for the new day, atleast most people feel this experience.

For some, the slumber only brings with it several hours of mental delinquency. Awake you hear the mind slipping into irrational thoughts and ideas. Awake you have the opportunity to head it off at the pass before something Ill-advised takes place. Awake your in control, or if at nothing else, have influence over the outcome.

Asleep, the mind is free, uninhibited by the constraints of society, physics, common sense. Asleep, the mind will take your random thoughts out beyond the Sun and leave you there.

5 a.m. I wake to the alarm clock every morning, 5 a.m. my day gets under way. 5 a.m. is when I get to begin to decipher where the brain has been for the last 6 hours.

I reach over to the nightstand and shut off the alarm, I lay my head back down, "Maybe just a few more?" I ask myself.

Ding, ding, dingdingding, ding ding ding ding ding bwahp! brawhp! brawhp! "What the Hellll!!!" I sit up and make my way for coffee to clear the webs.

As I stand half asleep in the kitchen watching the clock on the pot slowly click through, waiting impatiently for salvation to fill my mug. Dingdingding, dingdingding brawhp! brawhp!

"Where have you gone this time?" I ask, half knowing the answer that would come I most likely didn't want to know. "If you build it, it would be amazing!" The voices reply, "beyond the Sun amazing!"

I hang my head as I stir my first cup and head for the clarity of the shower. "I'm gonna regret this won't I?" I ask myself while the water heats up. "Never" they reply,"Have we ever steered you wrong before?","Ha! Famous last words" I decided to bite.

By the time I've finished my cup and readied myself for the day, the sound in my head has explained in thorough detail what they feel would be the greatest example of classical Hotrod minding set to an unorthodox use of medium.

A 1979 Honda CR250r converted for street use, with hidden lights and turn signals. Updated controls and valving, big pegs, custom expansion chamber, LCD display tucked behind the number plate.

Dingdingding, dingdingding, dingdingding I love sleeping sometimes.

Photo credit goes to the Internet

Greenwood

4:45 a.m. Saturday, it's the weekend, my day off, everyone's day off, why is the alarm clock going off? The mind slowly stumbles into consciousness, "Oh yeah! Greenwood's today!"

The rhythm of the race begins, stubble down the stairs to the kitchen.  "I know it's yesterday's coffee, I don't care!" I grumble back at my brain as I fumble to get a cup out of the cupboard without waking the entire house.

I make a fresh pot and begin the rituals, camp chairs, check, cleaners, towels, granola bars, check. "Was it supposed to rain today? , eh, doesn't matter!" Car! Don't forget the car!

The birds even growled as I raised the garage door, I have to push the Pearl from dry dock. I don't dare attempt to fire the sails while the house is sleeping.

A few more cups of coffee and some kisses to their foreheads and the calm of the morning is abruptly disturbed as the dual glasspacks begin to patter out their song.

No one else is up, no one but the initiated few, I hear them out there in the early morning light. Chokes still have shut, they burble up to the lights, blip, blip, green!

WHAH!! WHAH!! I hear them tear down the hill towards the Wood. The glint in my eye flashes as the goosebumps raise on my arms. The God's of Speed are very happy this morning, the children are coming to church today.

15 minutes later, the Black Pearl and 700 or so of her closest kin and relatives impatiently stand idling in line waiting for everything to be organized.

I get to be the pot 'o gold at the end of the rainbow this year, last in first out you might say. I get the pleasure of enjoy the sights from my helm. My gear drive wirring away as I struggle to keep the Pearl up above a stalling idle. She seems to favor 2 speeds, parked in the garage and butterflies up against the stops, everything else just aggrovates her sense of purpose.

After all the dresses have been pressed it's out to take in the sights and meet the people. I always make a point to stop through John Walkers Workshop to see what fantastic bits he has been working on and chat him up for a few, another year without disappointment.

Then It's back to the Pearl to do my duty of answering questions and keeping my lawn chairs warm. Street meat for a mid-day snack, a couple pints to keep the energy up, then home for the evening to enjoy more pints and something roasted over open flame.

It may seem like a lot and a waste of a Saturday to some, maybe to the droves that come out to gawk in the chrome and splendor. But the endless inspiration and ideas that come make every moment worth the trip.

Thank you to the Greenwood Knights for another fantastic day, I'm not sure how many times the Pearl has gone or how many more she'll have. But it feels good when people recognize your ship from the Father of the person you got it from, sitting in that same spot, in that same weekend 25 years ago.

Monsters of the deep

After the hair pulling finally of the 24, it's been time to return to the regularly scheduled programming.

The return to the projects at had began with the search for actual factory paint for the 930 project. While it would have been easier to just hop on the intronet, type in a few key words and wait for some mystical place in the Amazon to deliver me a can matching the code.

But I want everything to be perfect, exact. I wanted to have a tiny little can of Espresso brown metallic sitting on the shelf with the crest on it. Glowing down on me from high above. It's weird, maybe indulgent, very much obsessive. It's the little things though. 

So I grabbed the phone and rang up the dealer. I was excited, waiting for those magic words "Yea, no problem, it'll be about a week, we'll call you when it comes in", alas that was not to be.

Not only do they not provide such a product, I hung up the phone with the definite impression that I just annoyed him by calling in the first place. I know I couldn't get away with that when I pick up the phone, but I'll let Karma and the God's of Speed deal with his future. Instead it'll be back to the webs of the world to find my coveted color.

While I wait I opened the can of worms lying beneath the dashboard of the Black Pearl. No taillights, no worries, hast to be the switch. All other lights function clearly and correctly, just as Mother intended.

I took to the web to find the actual part number from the local parts store, I have lost all faith in their ability to look things up on their own. It's far more efficient for me to provide them the number when I walk in. They save face and I don't risk an anurism in frustration.

Despite the best laid plans, that was not the crack in the hull. Somewhere in the web of wires that snakes around the column and out to the taillights is a failure, sitting there, mocking.

Like Ahab's white wale, my nemesis has arrived, electronic monster flouting around, just when I've already pre-registered for a show.

"Curse you!!"

956

In 1984 I was 10 years old, I had no idea where France was. I was familiar with Nascar racing, I lived to race BMX and Porsche was just a name on one of my Hot Wheels.

With the 84th running of the 24 hours of LeMans just around the corner and attempting to build a Porsche model I have found myself recounting memories of how they both came to be a part of my identity.

My father was always an avid car guy, there was countless magazines to troll through as a child. He may never gotten the chance to build that custom '56 Ford pickup he always wanted. Despite the responsibilities of work, family, commuting, raising two young boys, he would build the most amazing model cars.

Looking back, I'm not sure where he found the time or patience to put that level of detail into each one. The paint was always flawless, smooth and shiny, decals laid down with mechanical precision, nuts and bolts detailed, speedometers numbered freely by hand. I've built a few, but not a one that could ever compare.

With my anticipation building for the drama to unfold on Saturday I couldn't help myself from thinking back to being 10 and steeling down from the shelf a model of the 1984 Newman Porsche 956, number 7.

Parents out, older brother technically making sure I didn't set the house on fire, I would carefully take it onto the kitchen floor and begin my love affair with racing Porsches.

I would play until I heard my brother rustling in the other room. Repeatedly it would take place, until the heat from my sweaty little hands finally lifted a decal from the body side. The jig was up, I tried to hide it by getting it wet and reapplying it. However my fear made me tremble and I couldn't make it line up.

My brother was also highly adept at modeling, but the last thing I could have done was to ask for assistance in my cover up.

I don't know if I got in trouble, I'm sure I did, and it was well deserved. It's been over 30 years now, I don't remember.

It's that shape that stays, the fascinating speed as it sat there on that shelf. The fabled legacy now of a company that has won the greatest endurance race in the world some 16 times now.

It's perfecting a design that raced for almost 20 years and was competitive the entire time. As manufactures struggled to design a car that could defeat it, it continued it's dominance.

That car has left a mark on all that have experienced it and that model left a mark on me. It's said that it forgives your ignorance and applauds your courage all while demanding more then your able to give to it. Some may say it's the single greatest racing car ever to dawn a set of slicks.

True or not I'll never know,  nor will I ever care. It was the big bang for me, the race in my heart had begun.