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?

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

Animals I have known

I was digging through the phone the other day looking for something, now I can't remember what it was. Somewhere in the process I ran across a picture of the ones that came before.

Sometimes so much time is given to thinking about the future, that one forgets about the past and all the great memories that have been made.

I wouldn't say I've had a ton of cars, but I've had my share. Officially I've been legally operating a motor vehicle for 25 years, and in that time I've had the opportunity to have some good, great and questionable relationships with the metal mistress.

Everyone of them has brought with it a learning experience so I thought I would take a minute to remember them all. The details will remain concealed, but in cronilogical order.

1965 I.H. Scout (2 years)
1974 Ford Courier (1 year)
1983 Toyota pickup(3 months)
1958 Volkswagen Beetle (19 year)
1974 Jeep CJ5 (5 years)
1988 Toyota pickup (10 years)
1987 Volkswagen GTI(5 years)
1989 Volkswagen GTI (6 month)
1991 Toyota pickup (7 years)
1992 Volkswagen GTI(9 years)
1957 Volkswagen Beetle (1 year)
1970 Volkswagen Type 2 (8 years)
1977 Cadillac Eldorado (1 month)
1967 Volkswagen Beetle (9 months)
1963 Volkswagen Beetle (2 years)
1993 Volkswagen Corrado (6 months)
1968 Cadillac Sedan Deville (1.5 years)
2004 Volkswagen R32 (1 year)
1966 Cadillac Sedan Deville(3 years)
1953 GMC pickup (6 months)
1955 Chevrolet Belair (eternity)
1974 I.H. Scout II (10 years)
1992 BMW 525i (3 years)
1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee(3 months)
2003 Volkswagen Jetta wagon (currently)

Maybe some day, if i can ever dig up some good pictures, I'll come and tell a little bit of their stories, every car needs it's story told at sometime in it's life.

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

Satin paint

Another dawn of spring has brought with it countless chores, dandelions and the realization that I didn't spend near enough time over the winter months preparing myself for this eventuality.

I was planning on pulling the radiator out and detailing it. Polish the tanks, repaint the core, maybe throw in some new hoses and anti-freeze, give it a nice little shine. Maybe sand it down and throw some fresh satin black under the hood.

I had all the these glorious plans as the temperatures began to fall. I was gonna get my air pressure finally settled into a comfortable place, take the old ship in and actually get an alignment. Take a little time to reroute some wiring and gauges, maybe, just maybe finally install a radio.

I was gonna do a lot of things, but there is always a lot things to be done. Even if I could have a stack of cash sitting in front of me, with a dedicated team of specialists that where able to fill all my requests at the drop of a hat, I don't think I could ever go down that road.

The road traveled in the Black Pearl is the road earned the right to be on. The adventure and experiences garnered during the travels to set wind at your back make the sunset a little brighter.

It's the gallon pickle jar full of random nuts and bolts that you sift through on the garage floor because "seriously! , I saw one in here!" Is more of a challenge then a declaration, like Lego's for the adulted. It's calculating the fuel mileage on a car with a heavy pedal and no fuel gauge, "Well...I should make it".

Sometimes the task is merely the adventure unto itself, proving to yourself that despite all limitations, lack of tools, talent and knowledge your able to resurrect an otherwise sinking ship.

So, I didn't get it all done this year, I have a detailed list now of the first things I want to get started on.....atleast as soon as I'm done with the lawn.