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!"

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

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!!"

L40D

L40D, Espresso brown metallic, that's the color, of all the colors ever to be adorned on the fabulous chassis, brown metallic is my favorite.

Given the rewards of the lottery, all the funds in the world, the collection of Magnus Walker, this is still the color I would choose.

It's not flashy or garish, it doesn't stand out, it's the leather briefcase of 1983 my brother got my dad on Father's day. It doesn't scream out "look at me!, I'm here, notice my splendor".

It says "business is about to be done", it's the chairman of the board walking through the cubicles as the underlines stuff their heads down and look busy.

It's not the color of the first one to move me, that was grey metallic at a dealer in Tacoma, they let me sit in the drivers seat, I might have been 11, maybe 12. I don't know what we where there for, probably one of those father son Saturday outings to look at all the shiny fare. All I remember is the door handle in my hand, the click of the release as I opened the door. And the flare! Big and wide, protruding out from the quarter panel.

I remember opening the door and leaning out to see if I could see around it, I was just in awe of its magnitude. I was in, all in!

Espresso brown metallic is not the color of the one I stole the chance in. She was like the girl at the first real dance, 7th grade, no one is looking, the voice came "kiss the girl!"

That was a light blue metallic Targa, 1988 930. Those fateful words "Hey, run this around to the otherside of the shop and park it." I nodded in understanding and without hesitation grabbed the door handle.

Nervously I edged up to the street, I had to go out on the main road to get to the otherside of the shop to park it. Several 2 stroke dirt bikes had given me enough knowledge to know I had to bring the rpm's up to not be a hazard as I entered the road. 1500, 2500 maybe? Foot quivering on the pedal,  3000 should work I thought.

And with a snap of my neck I was gone, both hands firmly holding the wheel, my adrenaline raced, sweat began to form. Less then 2 minutes was all it took to forever leave that little car in my mind.

If this is as close as I ever come to owning one, then it'll be in my favorite color, all business, Espresso brown metallic.

The Fuch?

They may only be one twenty-fifth of the actual size, they will never dart around a pot hole or have 0.9 tenths of gravity forced against their sidewalls.

They are not real and never will they be. They do however represent something that has become synonymous with precision and craftsmanship.

Even in their tiny scale the details are strictly adhered to. The directional tread, lug nuts and crest fastidiously crafted in absolute dedication to the real thing.

Although there isn't going to be a set under my bench with track tires mounted up waiting for that sunny Saturday to arrive. My reverence for them is unmoved.

They are indistinguishable from any other single auto part ever made for any single automobile. They've stood the test of time and trends, they withstood the decadence of the '80's, they cliché of the '90's and have found a cult following in the new millennium.

They are the representation of a belief, that sticking to your gut and following in your heart no matter what the critics and industry say will pay out in droves.

They on their own are an icon of an industry and a country. They are something to believe in.

The Fuch you gonna do about it?

The Course

I have to pull the door shut behind me sometimes, I need to take a moment to fall away into the darkness. I need everything to be calm, quiet, at rest.

I need to take a few minutes to just sit there and stare. The eyes are open, porch light is on, however knock all you want, nobody is going to answer. I've gone to the attic, I'm in search of something, not entirely sure yet what it is, but I need to find it.

From time to time one may need to reflect on the direction. I have all the drive in the world,  a little bit of the time and just enough of the talent not to embarrass myself.

What I don't have are the tools to do the job. I could have had them by now, surely I've pissed away the money it would have taken to fill my little garage with all the wonderful things of craftsmanship.

I was greedy, I wanted it all, custom built rims on an incredibly expensive bicycle, more then once. Motorcycles with multiple sets of everything. I've spent money on parts cars for the parts car. I've done it all in the quest of glory and speed.

I say now that looking back I would have done it differently, I would have listened to friends as they socked away and amassed a collection of tools. I say I would have done it differently, but, I've known me for a very long time. I wouldn't have done it any differently, I couldn't be trusted. Even if there was a magical wond that would allow me to go back, I would probably bought the 911 instead of the R32.

That's the downfall of searching your life for the one you want to stay with, they where all the one, at least for awhile.

It was always what you could get for what you could afford. "I'm just gonna run this for now, until the right car comes along", famous last words. Next thing you know your on the hook for tabs and insurance for cars that don't drive. The neighbors are calling the city accusing you of illegally dismantling vehicles for profit.

Your in deep, spread so thin mayo and bologna are it everyday. They'd be great if you can just scratch up enough to get one done, eventually a real bill comes along and one of the almost rights has to go find a new home.

Then after years of searching, the one arrives, like the ghost of a tall ship passing through the fog. By some mystery of life, your granted passage.

"Pull all the sails tight!" You yell, "we're going pillaging", but, there's leaks in that old girl, she's taking on water and dry rot in the hull, those sails can propell her right along, although the masts crackle at the force. There comes a time to make port for repairs.

I want to go fast in the Black Pearl and the Black Pearl wants to go fast. Had I taken even half that time and money I wasted away along the way and invested in the tools of the trade, I would be down only a month or so.

I didn't do those things, ultimately I'm ok with it. We've made memories, had fun, drew blood. But no time soon will a truck be dropping off a brand new welder and some fancy suspension parts.

So, I have to apply my talents to aquiring them, I have to save, scratch and fight my way to them. In the meantime I must find a way to slow down and sail my ship on calmer waters, content to enjoy the surroundings as they idly pass by.

Momentarily I must adjust my course, if only for a fortnight or two.

Photo credit to an amazing artist know only as............Ruidl

Clark Kent

There hasn't been much wind in the sails of the Black Pearl this last month or so. It's been one thing after another requiring attention.

The wreck, the appraisal, the verdict, then the subsequent fight for the bombers value. After all the dust settled and the check was cut, it was off to the list of Craig to see if he had any little gems hiding in his chest.

I searched and scrounged, I made good decisions and bad. I panicked, I pleaded, I was short on time and long on needs.

There are so many little things that a daily must live up to. Fuel economy, child seat fitment, ease of maintenance, repair costs. Then there are the personal requests that require thought. It's your ride through the cosmos 97% of the time, so it has some responsibilities. Any old slush box would do the trick, any of them.

I've got the wheel in my hand, it's always there, it's there when I wake and there when I go to sleep. When I turn the key and begin the daily commute, it's that one corner that you wait for. The off ramp you down shift halfway through, the spot that your invisible to prying eyes.

For mine, it's on the way home, halfway between turning the key and needing to be normal. It's nothing amazing in the world of speed.

Just a casual 3rd lope, then check the mirrors,  drop to 2nd, match the revs, take it out to 4000 rpm and pull down to the left, 45 degrees with a rough stumble at the apex.It'll never make a list of anything, but it's on my trip and I've made it my own. Lights get in the way, traffic jambs up the commute at times, but it's those little spots.

Then there the staging lanes. That guy in the BMW convertable with the top down and the tinted windows up that creaps up on the right and sets his tires on the line.
That idle glance he gives as he looks over at my wagon, I can almost hear him everytime. "Ha, soccer mom!"

That bitter taste of crow must have been enjoyable the rest of the way home. 1.8 turbo and 5 speed for this wagon.

Welcome to the family Clark.

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!