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!"

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.

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?

From the closet

As it turns out, to much time alone in a dark room with my mind is a rather troubling event. Not that I don't recommend it given the opportunity, but one may be advised not to let the door shut all the way.

I had sat in the corner of my mind with the intended plan of devising a way to sway the odds in my favor, count the cards, stack the deck. Maybe even make a penny a dollar.

What I came across was even more deprived and desperate decisions then I had originally planned. Having the need to create,  to build and make something happen, the Kraken won't rest until it's hunger has been satisfied.

They came slowly at first, "maybe I could just build a little side project, nothing to crazy" from that first glancing thought the entire ship began to list to Port, the decks became slick with ooze of irrational thought.

You begin to slide down towards the waiting jaws, dragging nails against the planks, always justifying the decisions that lead up to this dilemma.

Finally throwing the garage door open and squinting into the blaring Sun, "Wait!" The mind bellows in protest. "What else can be done?"

As the face begins to warm from the rays, I realize there is plenty of ways to create, to appease that nagging itching at the back of the skull. Several of them as a matter of fact, just sitting there on the shelf waiting.

I won't be able to hear them out loud, I won't feel the tightness of the leather in my hand. I'll only be able to imagine the sweet smell of exhaust while I labor at perfection.

What I will get is the satisfaction of creating something, putting in labor and attention to detail. I'll have the opportunity to put a twist of my personality into some amazing automobiles.

The fog of over spray will linger out of the garage door, finger pints will be lost to sandpaper and the steadiness of the brush hand will be tested.

I feel the excitement building in my gut, the Kraken is resistant to accept the offer. Eventually slipping back to the depths and releasing the Pearl to sail on.

A gift made to the God's of Speed, if only in 1/25th scale.

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

The Hustle

I read an article today over on Road & Track about a gentleman by the name of Binks, fascinating article, not just because I'm an avid fan of the the C7.R racing program, because I'm more then just an avid fan of racing. I probably give it more time then I should.

It's more about the hustle, the intensity of those situations. When things have to get done, not by the end of the week or when you get a chance. But now, right now, actually why isn't it already done kind of situations.

When the pressure is so high that failing is not an option. That eating, sleeping, even going to the bathroom are somehow magically suppressed. It's the hustle,  that hustle that some people have to complete any given task.

The drive to win or just set out to achieve a given goal. I set out to put a solid daily on the road for as little cash out of pocket that I could. I've come close, maybe a few Benjamins past the mark, but I've hustled to get close.

It could be I come from one of the last generations that still want to work for it, or I just grew up around people that are willing to work for it. I could have bought a car that was a turn key shiner, I had the cash to do so,  but there was no sence of achievement in that.

The  Black Pearl rests in the very same metaphor. I could burn the credit cards at both ends, buy all the fancy off the shelf nik naks that would drop right in. However there's no sense of aucompleshment in that, no pride in my work, no need to hustle.

Somewhere in the far reaches of my brain there is a little bit that says "if you don't struggle for your art, it's not yours" it could be an over exaggerated sense that what I'm trying for is some kind of art, maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Either way, when something is finished and I sit back on the porch and sip at my malted barelys, I feel as though of done something that has left my mark on the world, even it may only be ever so small.

The same mind drives the daily process, pushing to get things done. I wonder what it'll be like it 10 years, when those who won't hustled have somehow managed to weasel away the power. I guess maybe they are hustling someone else, while I had my head down working.

Either way I like to hear that if you push, and put in the hardest work, longest hours, break the most knuckles and carry all the burden on your shoulders. You can still be rewarded for your achievements.

I'll keep hustling

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.