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.

The side project

The Unauthorized autobiography of John Butler

I've decided that I need a hobby, I've taken my favorite road tunes and began to elaborate on it.

I'm attempting to tell the story of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man"

Here is an excerpt from it, the Black Pearl may need a better stereo.

Sabbath Bloody Sabbath

"I know why you're here! " General Carl Southerland said, spitting blood from his mouth as he crawled to his hands and knees. " This won't change anything, it was never my decision to make, I only followed orders, the same as you." Gasping for air from a punctured lung " You think that you're the worlds savior, that you have come to right the wrongs of society. Maybe you will, but you'll never live to see the results! They'll come for you, even if you kill all of us, they'll still find you and kill you! You're dead anyway, you've been dead inside for a long time! Your bullshit just won't let you see it" Southerland paused,"How's the wife and daughter?" With that the final blow, breaking another four ribs and causing severe internal bleeding. He stood there quietly and watched as Southerland gasped and struggled to to get to his feet, while his lungs quickly filled with blood. No remorse, no emotion, not even a bat of the eye. He hasn't been able to feel anything in twenty years it's true. " No one ever tells you when you ask the reasons why, they just tell you that you're on your own, fill your head all full of lies, living just for dying, dying just for you!"

Tuesday 3:11 p.m.

He sat in the drivers seat of his '67 Mercedes waiting for the school to let out, staring through the windshield as the children filled out of the door. Mind in another place, a place filled with hatred and death. His wife couldn't comprehend the things he had seen, she could only sit there and tell him about her day. "You won't believe the house I found, it's a split level on Walnut St., three blocks from the Carlson's place" Cynthia  said "It's perfect for us, I've scheduled a walk through with realtor tomorrow at 6:30, You can make that?". "You can make that right?" , she pointed the comment with a tone "It's like you're not even listening to me!, where are you right now?" "I'm sorry" he said" there's a lot going on at the office right now."

On the art of driving

I was starting to think I was just really busy, starting to feel as though I was neglecting my duties.

I was beginning to feel that maybe I didn't have anything to say, that the inner voice had dried up. The flame of speed had gone out, my drive to drive had been fulfilled. Turns out after some time had passed, my little cage had just been rattled a bit.

I take the quest for the wheel very seriously, I do it with the utmost devotion. I prefer no cup holders, navigation, or distractions that take away from the joy of the craft, loud music and 3 pedals when available.

Unfortunately for me the Emerald city ranks in the top 5 for traffic and bad drivers.

During a recent commute in the Brown bomber I had the misfortune of encountering one of proud distracted ones. I don't know what one has to do to make certain decisions, a lack of planning, needing an updated navigation disc, beleriing groms in the back seats. Either way, the art of driving was left in the trash bin along with a third or fourth mocha that day.

As I saw the left front wheel twitch into it's arch and the taillights flicker. I knew that my trip was about to become considerably longer that day. As there was little time to maneuver and considerably less space. I grabbed the fat pedal,  turned into the direction they where going and hoped I wasn't able to remove the front clip from a WRX along the way.

After the dust settled and all the fingers where counted, Seattle got to keep their fire hydrant and telephone pole. I got a check for my inconvenience, a rental car and the chance to find a new daily. Somebody got a reminder why you don't turn left from the right lane on a one way street and a hefty insurance bill from now on. The guy in the Subaru got a show and nobody got hurt.

Thankfully I wasn't driving the Black Pearl that day, I'd like to keep out of jail.

Making driving an art is for everyone with the right to practice it, so with practice it becomes an art.

Not a right.

Remembering

A little reminder of whence we came, I've been so busy of late with a little side project I've been working on and the things that come along with day to day life.

I was sitting and thinking to myself about how far there is left to go on the Black Pearl, allowing the tasks ahead to overwelm me a bit.

So I thought now would be a good time to remind myself how far we have come. While some things have changed greatly and others stayed the same.

The Essence of the Pearl remains the same, live fast!

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.