Day 65 - Preparation

There is a certain irony to the fact that Death Valley is currently one of the least deadly places in the nation.

It is also ironic that rain and snow are predicted for one of the hottest places on earth during my visit next week.

I found that my drivers license expired last week but was lucky enough to get an appointment for renewal tomorrow. In Utah if you miss the renewal date you get to start all over with a written test and eye exam. The test is 25 questions, open book, but people still manage to fail. Last time I was sitting next to a young guy who was struggling with one question. I leaned over and suggested that he read page 63 carefully. Couldn't help myself, we've all been there.

I got out my travel bag, an L.L. Bean boat bag. My technique is to start throwing things into the bag as I think of them. It minimizes the amount of stuff I forget and reduces the last minute stress. I still miss things but they're usually inconsequential.

Tent, sleeping bag and pad, pocket stove and pot, plus instant oatmeal. What more does one need? GPS, SPOT, first aid kit, RotoPax go into the truck. Stop at a grocery store for a couple of gallons of water and some snacks and I'm good to go.

Maps are handy. Look for those faint gray dotted lines across the desert and that's where I'm headed. Not that avoiding the crowds will be much of a problem on this trip. Everyone is frightened of their own shadow since it refuses to stay 6' away.

Full moon Thursday night. I'm planning on being on the Cerro Gordo road so I can get a picture of the moon rising over the mountains. I'll post photos when I return.

Which brings up the point, I'll be out of range for much of this trip. However, I'll have my little Chromebook with me and will keep up my writing even if I can't post it until I return to civilization.

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Day 64 - AKodaPhobia

It's easy to be sentimental about things that never were. Not that they didn't happen, just that perhaps they may not have happened quite the way I'd like to remember them.

I used my student loan to buy a Pentax 35mm camera one year. I was quite shy and hid behind the lens to cover my social ineptitude. Roll after roll, offering the prints to others as a form of introduction and admission. I had my own personal phobia, AKODAPHOBIA, the fear of running out of film. I carried my camera and extra film wherever I went.

People would tell me, “Don't take my picture.” Later, it would be, “Oh look there's Dave and Catherine. Is there any of me?”

Now I look back at those photos and think about the parties and picnics, the hours in the student union. Were we really that young and carefree?

I have the photos, my memory is still good, was it really as great as they portray?

Andy, Laura, Nancy

Maybe they were

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Day 63 - Ocean City

I had ridden all day and into the night. I got lost several times because I was sure I could remember all the road numbers and turns but couldn't. Reading my map by the light of my headlamp I finally found the campground I intended to stay at. It was closed by the time I got there so I was left on my own to pick a site that was unoccupied.

I woke to a feminine “Hello in there.” I crawled out of my tent to find a young woman who claimed that the spot I had chosen was her very own. I explained my troubles and said that if she were to return in an hour I would be packed up and gone. I offered to pay for her breakfast but she declined and accepted the situation with equanimity. We sometimes forget how many nice people there are in the world.

I rode my bike down to the water's edge and dipped the tires in the Atlantic ocean. From there everything was west. Better still everything would be the original US 50 all the way to California. No map required.

Traffic was turtle slow getting off the shoreline. All traffic funneled across a single 2 lane bridge. Looking ahead at miles of traffic I decided to explore side roads to see if I could make better progress. Maybe I did and maybe I didn't but at least I wasn't trapped in the funereal procession on the main road.

Finally across the bridge and free to blow some wind through my helmet I immediately got lost again. US 50 is not as well marked as it should have been. Some hunting and backtracking got me heading west again. This lost and found theme was to be repeated many times on this trip, mostly with interesting events along the way.

(to be continued)

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Day 62 - C110-2

My young (12 yrs) friend Caleb came over this morning. Our goal was to reassemble the 1965 Honda C110 (50cc) engine. It had been previously disassembled, diagnosed, and new parts ordered. What we had to do was go through the boxes, find what we needed, and install them in the proper order.

The good news is that I knew the engine inside out. The not so good news is that I never had kids and so am a bit lost when it comes to dealing with them. The really good news is that Caleb is smart and eager to learn. The not so really good news is that a 12 year old has virtually no patience. As every good mechanic knows, patience is the most important tool in their toolbox.

Trying to keep it light I explained the difference between a mechanic and a parts replacer in 25 words or less. The difference being that a mechanic knows why they are replacing the part.

I asked him how a 4-stroke engine worked. His reply was that the gas came in and was squished when the piston came up. Then Kablooey the gas exploded and smashed the piston down. Not quite the way I would have put it but from the perspective of kid that had watched Transformers on television I figured this was going to be close enough.

The clutch hub was a bit off center so we had to jury rig a way to re-center it. Working together we got it right. However, when we tried to attach it to the crankshaft we found that the special nut that held held it all together was the wrong size. Welcome to the wonderful world of vintage motorcycles. No problem we'll switch to putting the piston and valves together while we wait for the correct nut to be ordered.

Of course that brought a new set of problems. The cylinder has to be honed and the valves have to be lapped. No lapping compound was on hand so we jumped into the truck to go get some. First we stopped at the Honda dealer just to check out the new models and chat with the parts guy. No valve lapping compound there.

On to O'Reilly's but no luck there either. Fortunately Mickey D's had Eggs McMuffins at the drive-thru so we went to the NAPA store restored and refreshed. At NAPA we found what we needed and headed home.

We adopted a plan where I would explain what we were going to do and why we were doing it. Then I would show him how by doing about half the work. After that it was his turn with a little guidance. We honed the cylinder, lapped the valves, and installed the valve springs in this manner. I tried to give him as much hands-on experience as possible. It's the only way I know of to actually learn and retain anything.

Little by little it came together until we ran out of time. Caleb was expected home for lunch and I had errands to run. However, we made a lot of progress. Caleb learned about engines and mechanics, and I learned about young boys.

Compare this with the pictures from Day 59.

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Day 61 - Drabuary

A drab day in Drabuary. Out working on my trailer because the temperature was up to 46F. No sunshine but no wind so the torment was not so bad.

The pious were out walking through the neighborhood with their families because the churches are closed. The virus has turned the pews inside out. Over the holidays the local ward was passing out drive-thru hot chocolate to the faithful and faithless alike. Oh come all ye whatever.

We were invited to brunch in the city at 9am but passed. Our friends seemed a little unclear on the concept of Sunday Brunch being a ritual of leisurely consumption closer to noon. We made our own omelets and sat down at eleven. Travel time was 45 seconds each way rather than 45 minutes. The eggs with salsa were superb.

While cleaning out the pantry I found a box of Girl Scout cookies hidden away in the back. Best By: March 2019. That they should have lurked in the dark for so long is certainly UnAmerican! No worries, they have been properly disposed of and the box recycled. Now that the Boy Scouts are recruiting girls will we be getting Gender Neutral Scout Cookies in the future? Do Thin Mints have a body image problem?

The Union Pacific main line to Las Vegas and Long Beach is a mile from our house. There is a slight grade so they only go about 20 mph heading south. Three locomotives in front and one more in back pushing. Since they average about 2½ miles long it takes 7-8 minutes for them to pass the crossing. When I was a kid we used to count the number of cars; 35, 36, 37, …  Now 150+ cars is short. Containers and auto carriers and grain hoppers. Everything is headed somewhere while everyone everywhere is stuck at home.

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Day 60 - Birthday

It's my birthday and I have to admit that I'm now closer to 60 than I am to 20. To be honest that condition has existed for a couple of years. I don't mind getting older, I just don't want to get old!

The common wisdom is that you don't stop riding motorcycles because you get old, you get old because you stopped riding motorcycles. Remember to cancel your turn signals after getting around the corner.

I took the neighborhood kids to the town swimming pool which is always fun for all. Afterwards, they provided a present plus treats for us to celebrate. As they were packing up and getting read to leave, Dude, who is 5 years old, handed me a package of Ding Dongs. Then, with the utmost solemnity that only a 5 year old can muster, he handed me another one and said, “Here, you should have two. It's your birthday.”

I'm looking at one of the new Honda Trail bikes. I'll sell my Yamaha Vino motor scooter and buy the trail bike. It's faster and more versatile although I don't see myself going around the world on it. 

The only thing holding me back is finding a milk crate for the back. I don't understand why Honda doesn't make them standard with a couple of bungee-cords. Another one of the mysteries of the Universe.

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Day 59 - C110

What is old is new again. I've mentioned that my first bike was a lowly Honda 50, model C110. Because it only had 5 blazing horsepower and I was always riding like it had much more I became an expert at rebuilding the engine.

It was an overhead valve engine which was advanced for a small bike of the time but was overshadowed by the later overhead cam engines soon to follow. The big difference is that that the cam is down in the engine block and the valves are opened by way of push rods and rocker arms.

The Achilles Heel of this setup is the pushrod. It's long and will flex under load at high rpm. Then it breaks stopping all forward progress. Also, because it has mass, at high rpm the momentum can continue to keep the valve open when it should be closing. Flexing leads to breaking and the momentum, known as valve float, causes the valves to hit the top of the piston with catastrophic results.

Breaking pushrods became such a common experience for me that I carried a spare set taped under the seat and could replace them in a matter of minutes. A feat I proved while crossing the Bay Bridge as cars and trucks whizzed by by only the tiniest margin.

Good judgment comes from experience and experience comes from bad judgment!

I was the most experienced C110 engine overhauler on the planet! I took apart the top end and replaced valves. I took apart the bottom end and replaced gears. I rebuilt it more times than I can count and became quite a good motorcycle mechanic who could diagnose problems quickly and wasn't afraid to take things apart. Friends came for advice and with their own machines.

Fast forward to today and, voila, another C110 engine!

You will notice that it is in several small boxes. When I worked in dealerships people would come in with a long tale of woe. All about how they were going to fix it felt confident because they had once changed the spark plug in their lawn mower but now it was just too much for them. Did we think we could reverse their incompetence and make it run again?

We would look it over for signs of gross destruction, there were usually none, pull out the Honda Flat Rate Manual and show them the standard cost.

They would be so happy that we could restore their bike to running condition and didn't make them feel like total toads that they would thank us for our help. We would be thinking that they had already taken the engine out of the frame and torn it down, thereby doing half our work for us. If they had lost a clip or a bolt we had the entire parts department only 10' away. This was easy money!

Now I am looking at an engine I know all too well and all I have to do is put it back together like a jigsaw puzzle. It's cleaned up and ready to reassemble so first thing tomorrow morning I'll be out in the garage, right after I finish my oatmeal.

Stand by for further announcements.

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Day 58 - Photos II

A perfect way to waste a day. My photo album software decided to index all the people on my disk using facial recognition. This is 93,198 photos in 2,659 folders composing 572 gigabytes of data. It's a third of the way through the collection and so far has found 142 people that I've identified. 

Many great memories of friends and adventures from past. I've always considered myself lucky that I've kept in touch with so many of them across time and distance.

This one is from the UConn days. Obviously celebrating a successful exam!

Here's my favorite motorcycle photo. It was taken on a trip through Baja.

A picture of Tres Hombres at SXSW; Scotty, Kevin, y yo.

Beth racing for a land speed record at the Bonneville Salt Flats.

If a picture is worth a thousand words this should cover my quota for today. It's been something fun to look back on.

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Day 57 - Stuff

I was going to talk about the political morass today but I don't have the heart to go through it all again. By now it's just theater. Posing and posturing for narrow factional gain. “Look at me. I'm taking a stand for whatever will make me look good in front of my fans” I and everyone I talk to is sick and tired of these political games. All I can say is, “Get back to work dealing with the very real problems facing this nation and show some leadership!”

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You know that things are really bad when you call your best friend to tell them you will be in town and they tell you not to drop by. Supposedly 1 in 5 Californians is or has been infected with the virus. Maybe next year …

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Trying to buy a used car is an exercise in frustration. A nice car but when we sat down to run the numbers I wanted tell him my mother raised ugly children, not stupid ones!

• Document Fee ($495) is nothing more than pure profit tacked on with an official sounding title. It is documenting that you are an idiot to pay it.
• Inspection Fee ($158) Yup! It's a car!
• Property Tax ($150) Why would I pay their taxes?
• Filing Fee ($30) is what? Hitting Enter at the end of the form?
• State Tax ($1275) is factored on the Sale Price + Doc Fee proving that the fee is a sham to increase the selling price.

I suggested that they call me when they had better numbers. The phone isn't ringing.

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Day 56 - Photos

San Francisco from Yerba Buena Island with my Brownie Instamatic

A new computer means that everything is a total disaster for at least the first month. If you don't want a cookie cutter setup according to the whims of the gods you are screwed!

If you don't want MS Office you must be an idiot so we'll install it anyway. Want to organize your files? We have a helpful wizard that will do it just the way we like. We'll even ask you endless questions to pretend to care about what you want.
Then we'll do it our way.

I keep all of my pictures on my local drive. Google almost demands that I store them in their cloud if I want to view them conveniently. I compromise by keeping them in both places plus my local backup drive.

These photos go back to the old San Francisco days and I've got them cataloged just the way I want them. Google wants me to put them into albums that I can share with my friends.

I don't have any friends. I don't do social media unless you want to count this blog. I send emails to specific people when I have something specific to share. I don't do cutesy cat pictures.

To get even Google Photos is now duplicating every picture on my hard drive which is about 600 megabytes at last count. This will take about an hour after which I will spend several hours deleting the duplicates and taking back control of my system.

I think this is the last computer I will every buy. Until the next one … 

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Day 55 - Books

I enjoy books because I'm old fashioned and like the feel and weight of them in my hands as I read. I prefer them to starring at screens with megablobs of glowing pixels. I spend too much of my time doing that every day.

I buy used books not because I want to save the world by recycling but because I'm cheap. There is an added bonus to used books, the messages:

Dear Bonnie,
May you come to love this book as much as I have.
    Nancy – May 22, 1968

A micro mystery. Who was Bonnie? Who was Nancy? Were they lovers or only friends? Curious for a book of sentimental poetry.

One page has a mark -

Thank you for the sun you brought this morning
even though the sky was full of clouds.
And thank you for the way
you held me yesterday
and steered me through the noisy Paris crowds.

A careless ink smudge? or a note of something more? The mystery goes on …

From Listen to the Warm by Rod McKuen

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Day 54 - Lombard St

San Francisco used to be fun. I only hear the reports about it now but all my friends who claim to live in San Francisco actually live in the suburbs or across the bay so that tells me something. 

I just bought a Honda Scrambler like the one I used to own when I lived there. In those days you could ride in the hills south of the city. The ones you see from the freeway as you drive in from the airport. It was legal before the Green Taliban took it away to be used by only the carefully anointed. Sharing has never been their thing.

We were a young and smart set who drank cocktails and drove sports cars. At one party the talk turned to cars and who was faster than who.

My Triumph will beat your MG. My Alfa will walk all over your Triumph. My Jag will eat your Alfa alive. And so forth.

All in good fun until the 3^rd or 4^th round of martinis.

Somebody had the grand idea that a little competition was good for the soul. Since the party was over by Ghirardelli Square it was decided that racing down Lombard Street was a reasonably good idea. This would take away the power advantage from the big cars and put a premium on handling and brakes.

If you don't know Lombard Street it is a steep downhill stretch of tight hairpin curves. Look closely at the picture and you will see that the surface is paved with bricks. One of the favorite pastimes of the residents is to go out and water the little gardens which drains onto the bricks. The yahoos who think themselves great and speedy drivers hit the wet bricks and then the retaining walls all to the amusement of the onlookers.

That night our plan was simple, a couple of people went to the bottom at Hyde Street and got out stopwatches to check the times. The rest of us lined up at the top on Leavenworth. The ones at the bottom would beep their horn and start the Heuers. As the car passed by at the bottom they would record the time and note the driver. Somebody measured the distance and could calculate the speed from the time elapsed.

It didn't take long before San Francisco's finest showed up in their black and white. However, they didn't stop the fun. They found it rather amusing and let us proceed. In fact, to make it all official, they handed out City of San Francisco Timing Certificates to each driver proclaiming that they had actually gone XX mph down the hill.

True, I had to go to court to pay the fine for the frivolity but I got to keep my Timing Certificate (speeding ticket) which I treasured for years.

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Day 53 - Vintage

Click here for a little light hearted fun. Something we all need right now!

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The battle rages on. No, not that battle, a really important one. Namely, what constitutes “Vintage”.

When I was in high school my dad had a Packard that he thought was absolutely the greatest. I thought it was a Jurassic relic. It was over 20 years old!!!

Now I'm riding a bike I bought new while at UConn in '89. I don't consider it vintage and yet it's over 30 years old! The same number of years I've been married and I certainly wouldn't tell my wife she's vintage!

The current object of concern is the Honda Trail 90. Originally brought out over 50 years ago it has been re-released as the Trail 125.

Same look, same function, virtually the same price. Some of the purists are claiming that this is not vintage and should be banned from club events. Riders who have bought the new model claim that it is very much in the spirit of the original and should be accepted on an equal basis. 

If drum brakes were appropriate for the '71 model then what's the problem with disk brakes which is current technology? Honda would have used disks back then if they had them so the reasoning goes.

My '89 Transalp has a disk in the front and a drum brake in the rear so it straddles the issue. Personally, I just want to go for a ride!

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Day 52 - Insight

My main computer is being backed up so that I can replace it with a new one. This will be a short 100 words so that I can keep up with my challenge.

When the mind wanders where does it go? An existential question to be sure. I've talked to a lot of people and they all agree that some of their best ideas some while taking a shower or doing something equally mindless. The body is occupied but the mind has no boundaries. It is free from the constraints of thought and can free associate within itself.

This leads one to wonder what the mind could accomplish if it were freed from the physical shell it lives within. Sci-Fi authors have long sought answers to how the impulses of the brain could be transformed into an electronic network. There is actual research into how this transformation could be effected.

Imagine an internet of the mind. Imagine being all places at the speed of light and having all knowledge available instantaneously. Then imagine the vile poison spilling into the internet we have now. That is certainly a dark place.

We have progressed from cavemen (and women) to what we have now and think it progress. But each generation thinks it is the modern generation with everything at its beck and call. Then it finds itself to be yesterday's newsprint good only for wrapping day old fish. A harsh joke for our children and our children's children.

To look back is to see our folly. To look forward is to see our conceit. Only our arrogance keeps us from slashing our wrists and admitting our failure. The future's so bright we have to wear sunglasses until it's so dark we can't see the boogieman in front of our face. 

All the better because that boogieman is us.

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Day 51 - Republic

Halfway through this challenge and I have nothing to say. Yesterday's events have left me speechless. I would back a 25^th Amendment removal if Trump had not stated that he would leave in an orderly manner in two weeks. Any attempt to remove him would only further divide the country. 

I admit that I voted for him, thinking that he would bring business experience to the running of the government. I'm not saying that he didn't accomplish many things but his constant verbal diarrhea put everything in a shadow.

Would Hillary have done better? I doubt it. She just would have been horrible in different ways. I don't think anyone voted for either one of the candidates in the last election. I think most people voted against the one they distrusted the most.

Unlike some of the friends I've talked to I don't think the country is doomed or will fall to some bizarre revolution. We've had bad presidents before and we will have them again.

The Republic will persevere!

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Day 50 - Rally

Notes on organizing a motorcycle rally

1. Keep it simple.
   If this is your first time organizing a rally, keep it simple.
   The simplest rally that I know of was held annually in Brooklyn. A day and time were announced and everyone gathered at the starting place. Just before the appointed time a person would walk out in front of the old Town Hall and set up a card table. On it they would place a pile of route sheets. When the Town Hall clock stuck the hour the riders would rush up, grab a route sheet, and hit the road. At the destination the same person would be sitting with the same card table and a pile of Award Certificates. The route was somewhat obfuscated so there were plenty of challenges to it. The Awards became bragging points until the next year.

2. Decide what kind of rally you want.
   On road, off road, combination of the two? Strict time/distance, fun tour with questions about route points, a set of destinations to be taken in any order?
   One group bought shop towels and spray painted letters on them. The route sheet was a list of points of interest in the surrounding area. Each rider had to find the place, put their shop towel on the bike in front of the destination, take a photo, and then text it to rally central. The first person to complete the list and get back to the start was the winner.
   Another rally for vintage tiddlers was a simple tour with specific directions through the New England countryside. 1.3 miles Turn Right, 2.7 miles Left at Fork, etc. Sometimes the roads would be named, other times not. The destination was always the organizer's home so that people could find their way if they got lost.

3. Lay out the route several times.
   If it includes mileages, run the route with different vehicles to get an average of each leg. Odometers vary so have several Reset stops so that riders aren't constantly doing math in their heads to figure out where the next way point is.
   Run the route the night before to make sure that there are no surprises. Construction may have closed a road since the last time you went that way. Any number of things can happen, and will!

4. Determine your resources
   How many people will you need for support? In the Brooklyn rally one person did it all. The tiddler rally required a person to set up the route and a person to follow the route with a truck and trailer to pickup bikes that had broken down.
   Many will promise but few will show up. This is just human nature. Their puppy got sick, the in-laws suddenly showed up, they forgot … Have backups for everything and call the night before to verify their commitment.

5. Know your audience
   Who are you aiming this at? Old British bikes rules out rough dirt roads because all the parts will fall off from the vibration. New and experienced adventure riders? Have challenging expert sections but with cutouts so the newbies don't get frustrated or worse. Don't put small bikes on big highways!

6. Check the date
   Research all the other events that might cause a conflict. Super Bowl Sunday is probably not a good choice. Neither is any date that is the same as a local club event that would gather to the same riders you want to appeal to. Sometimes it can't be helped and you just have to hope for the best.

7. Get the word out
   Think of how you're going to publicize the event. If it's a club function that's easy but if it's a special affair you're going to have to put it out there for the people who will be most likely to join in. Flyers and a website are good. Make it interesting and try to enlist the help of clubs and dealers. They are generally in favor of anything that will promote the sport.

8. Have fun
   My experience is that laying out the route is the most fun of all. Finding a tricky hill that will slow the riders down or an easily missed turn that will force the fast guys to backtrack to find what they missed. Some rally masters are known and loved/loathed for their diabolical tricks.

9. Go back and look at #1
   Don't overthink your plan. If it's a good one everyone will have a great time and plan on coming back for the next one. Experience will tell you what works and what doesn't. Don't try to do it all. Save some of the surprises for next time.
   
   

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Day 49 - Taxi II

When I drove taxi I was popular with the gay crowd in the South End (as opposed to South Boston which was the Irish ghetto). I treated them with respect and always came when they requested me. In time we got to know each other and had a lot of fun telling jokes and acting up.

One of my favorites was a transvestite named Trixie. She did a lip sync show at a club down in the Combat Zone. This was an area of hard core clubs, bars, and all night Chinese restaurants. She was always trying to get me to come down and see her act.

Finally, one night I said yes and she left my name at the door so that they would let me in without a hassle. Talk about stepping into a different world. Wow! The women in there were beyond gorgeous. I just stopped with my mouth open and gawked like some plow boy fresh off the farm. Seriously, I just about had to slap myself to pull it together.

I watched Trixie do her numbers with a backup chorus of hot babes. She spotted me from the stage and came running over to plant a sweet kiss on my cheek. I had picked her up (in my cab) many times but there was a world of difference when she was standing right in front of me in spectacular form.

“What did you think?”

I blurted out something like, “You were amazing. Where did you learn to learn to sing like that?”

She giggled and wanted to flirt. I had a drink and was sociable but had to keep reminding myself - Not A Girl! - Not A Girl! - Not A Girl!

A few days later I got a request, “Cab 791 Your girlfriend Trixie wants you to pick her up at the Copley Plaza.” I wheeled around and got down there but didn't see her. I got out of the cab and looked around.

“Over here J.”

I heard the voice but didn't see the girl. Then I got it, she wasn't in drag and looked like a regular guy. Holy Crap, what a switch that was. She sat up front and we chatted as I drove her home. I didn't ask and she didn't say anything about it. Just another day in the South End.

She was a normal person, not schizo in any way. I don't know how she handled the dual persona but I enjoyed our many discussions as we drove through the city late at night.

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Day 48 - Taxi

I drove a taxi in Boston for a while. For all its liberal pretensions, Boston is a very bigoted city. Neighborhoods are clearly marked by their racial and economic boundaries. People in Roxbury don't go to Beacon Hill and vice-versa.

I was no hero but I believed that once you got into my taxi it was my job to take you where you wanted to go, no matter who you were or what your destination. This led to a few interesting situations.

One time I picked up this elderly black woman at the Stop and Shop. She wanted to go to the Franklin Hill apartments and asked me if I would take her there before even getting into the car. No surprise, Franklin Hill was notorious for gang activity and most drivers wouldn't go anywhere near the place for fear of being robbed, or worse. I told her that if that's where she wanted to go then that's where I'd take her.

When we got to the edge of the complex she told me to pull over and she would walk the rest of the way. She had several bags of groceries which would have been a heavy load so I told her I would take her to her building. She shook her head but gave me directions. When we pulled up I offered to help bring the bags up to her apartment.

She looked at me as if I was crazy and said, “It's bad enough that I have to live here without having the death of some crazy white cab driver on my conscience!” She took her bags and I left with the sound of gunshots behind me. Either they were firing at somebody else or they were just bad shots. I didn't really care which.

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Day 47 - Triumph

While I was at UConn I had this totally disreputable Triumph TR250. I can't remember if my brother gave it to me or sold it to me but it was transportation when I needed it. The tires didn't match and the heater didn't work but it got me to campus and back which was all I cared about.

However, it was a sports car when everyone else was either driving a mommy hand-me-down or walking so I was cool. The seats were out of some other car and weren't bolted down. On a fast takeoff they would rock back as if to do a flip. On Rt 32 there was a long hill with a sharp drop at the top. One of those things that would make your tummy bump when your dad went over them in the family sedan.

Most people confuse speed with acceleration. Blast away from a stop light or make sharp bends around corners and they think you're Speed Racer even though you never go past 25 mph. On the other hand, add speed slowly and you can go down the freeway at 100mph and they will never notice.

One sunny day in the Triumph with the top down I was out driving with my friend Dave. Ahead of us was the hill with the drop. I slowly fed speed to the car while keeping Dave engaged in conversation so that he wouldn't notice.

At the top of the hill we had actually left the ground for a couple of feet which I thought was lots of fun. When I looked over at Dave he was half out of the car flapping in the wind. He was holding onto the top of the windshield for dear life with a terrified look on his face. A moment he would not soon forget.

Another time a popular girl asked me if I would drive her over to town to do some shopping. “Absolutely, your chariot awaits!”

We drove along Rt 195 with the top down (I never put it up short of a blizzard) chatting away when we came to the stop light at Rt 72. Along side of me pulls up a guy in one of those “Woodie” station wagons. He looks at me and Nancy and I look at him, his dumpy wife, and the three screaming kids in the back. I nodded and give him a knowing smile, a thumbs up, and hit the gas.

She wasn't my girlfriend and the car was far from a Ferrari but he wanted to believe the dream was still alive and I couldn't let him down.

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Day 46 - Squad Car

I left San Diego to take a new job in Boston in the winter of 1979. There were more reasons to make the move than just the promise of a new position. I know leaving the sunny beaches for the winter storms of New England sounds crazy but it was something I had to do.

I had a 1963 Dodge Dart convertible that we referred to as the Squad Car. It had more than a few rust spots and a cheap replacement top from J. C. Whitney. A slant 6 engine and a push button automatic transmission. It was called the Squad Car because wherever we went it was the car we took. To the beach, to the clubs, 3 people, 8 people, the Squad Car was it.

Now I was driving across Kansas in the middle of the night heading for another new beginning. I had just passed an off-ramp for some unknown town when I began to hear a squeal from under the car. Normally I would just press on and trust to luck but something about this noise made me turn around and make my way to the town I had just passed.

It was one of those Middle America towns with maybe 600 people and a high school for all the farm kids in the county. I came down Main Street and parked in front of a service garage. It was freezing cold so I hunkered down and turned on the engine every once in a while for what little warmth the heater had to offer.

I woke to the sound of people coming to work and went in to explain my troubles to the manager. Hearing that I was on my way to a new job he told me to bring it into the service bay and they would look at it immediately. I had just started up the ramp when the right front wheel fell off! The squealing sound I'd heard was the wheel bearings committing suicide! Lucky that I had turned around when I did. 

They rushed out and lifted the front end with one of those jacks with wheels and I slowly inched the car forward onto the lift. Once there they came to the conclusion that it was indeed fatal. The parts would cost more than the car was worth. Just as I was contemplating hitchhiking to Boston one of the mechanics remarked that he thought there was another Dart out at the junk yard and they might be able to get parts off of it. A phone call confirmed the existence of the parts for the total sum of $25.

The crew seemed to think that this was the most excitement they'd had in a long time and threw themselves into gear. In the mean time I was stranded with nothing to do while they went to get the parts. The manager suggested a diner down the street for coffee and breakfast.

I walked into 1945 when I entered the diner. I took a stool at the counter and a waitress walked up. “You must be that guy with the car that the wheel fell off. Want some coffee?” 30 minutes haven't gone by since the incident and I'm already famous! I had coffee with eggs and bacon when the waitress told me that the crew had come back with the parts but it would still be a couple of hours before they would be done. She assured me that I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted. I thanked her but said I wanted to walk around a bit.

As cold as it was that didn't last long and I headed into the town library for warmth. The librarian came up to inform me that they were closed except for school kids. Then she looked at me with a smile and said, “I'll bet you're the guy with the car that the wheel fell off.” Word travels fast in a small town. She told me that I was welcome to take a seat over to one side and to let her know if the kids made too much noise.

She come over later and let me know that my car was ready. My own personal assistant. I walked back to the garage and there was my car sitting out front on all four wheels. They informed me that my timing was off so they had set that correctly and did a couple of other things that “needed attention”

The bill was absurdly low for all the work and care they had put into it. This was America at its best. People helping people without agenda or expectation just because they needed it.

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