My First "Wordless Wednesday!"

Well, okay, so it's not completely wordless, but it is freakin' awesome beyond words...

The annual trip to Springfield is usually fascinating (with the exception of that one year that I got sick from that restaurant). Clay goes on Thursday afternoon and I leave outta here about mid-day on Saturday and take my time gettin' there, which usually involves stops at multiple Hobby Lobby stores.

I always enjoy walkin' a pass through "The Car Corral," and I shoot random pictures of the stuff I like...









The weekend in Springfield also always includes a trip to the Dirt Track -- I know I've mentioned Springfield before, but it bears repeating: The place is impressive. Even this close to the end of the season, the cars are still straight and shiny 'cause they don't have anywhere near the rough-driving problem we have around here. The pre-race prayer before the National Anthem always makes me cry too.

Some of my pictures turn out kinda cool;


And some turn out kinda blurry;


But still moderately interesting;


Interesting, as in using a Front-Wheel Drive body on an obviously Rear-Wheel Drive car:


Ah, but the most interesting car in the whole bunch was this one, the two-seater Modified:


And Clay surprised me with a ride in it at intermission.


In the shotgun seat with Jerry Hoffman his-own-self;


And Clay took lots of pictures:


Along with a video of the experience:


In the interest of honesty, I showed up in Springfield with a monster of a headache. I took a teensy nap when I got to the hotel, and I took Tylenol with dinner, but it didn't completely go away 'til the first time Jerry hit the gas; and then I forgot all about it.

The two-seater Modified is an incredible experience, and if you ever get the chance to ride in one, by all means, do it!

I can't say I ever worried for my actual safety, 'cause hey, it's only one car out there, so ya know it's already safer than any Pure Stock A Feature I ever pulled out with. The only thing I really worried about was crammin' my ass into a racing seat that was visibly smaller than any of the ones I've had in my own race cars; but it worked out alright. The shotgun seat even has it's own free-spinning steering wheel; which I'd just as soon hand off to somebody who'd get a kick out of holding it, 'cause I didn't put my hands on it once we were out on the track. All I could really think about with a steering wheel that doesn't do anything was the kid mashin' all the buttons on the video game even though he hadn't put a quarter in -- it's not responding, but he's pushin' all those buttons just like he's playin' like crazy 'cause he's not smart enough to know the difference...

I'd kinda hoped it would be a bit of a learning experience, especially since the track had dried out and slicked off some -- I don't seem to do as well on a dry/slick track, so I thought it would be great to see how somebody else drove it. The whole car is boxed-in on both sides, so I didn't really get to see what he was doin', but getting a feel for it was Amazing and four laps is really just not enough when it comes right down to it.

The State Fair wouldn't know a Thrill Ride if it bit 'em...

Full Flickr Set from the whole weekend: Here.

More later. _\,,/

Eight Slappin' Pistons!

After a week of hearing forecasts of rain, we skipped Mid-Am's Friday Night races. I never thought I'd be willing to do that, but with the high fuel prices, it just ain't right to spend all that money gettin' there when the rain might come in and then we wouldn't get to race. As awesome as it would be to race on Friday nights again, that particular Friday night might've been a long one anyway, so we stayed home.

Saturday afternoon, Clay's brother came to hang out with us. He's freakin' awesome, have I mentioned that yet? I'm still stunned! Stunned by the awesomeness of it all!

The hearse runs! It starts, runs, idles, and pulls itself. It sounds so cool, so big, so American!








Next on the list: A Windshield and a few dozen cans of Krylon Flat Black.

I have more pictures and videos all done-up on their own set on My Flickr.

:)

Alert Neighbors Know My Ratios.

How's that for a newspaper headline?

As the youngest kid in a family of "Car People," I learned to drive earlier than most and was countin' they days 'til my sixteenth birthday a couple years in advance. I mastered the manual transmission before I mastered Pre-Algebra. I remember drivin' a red VW around in the yard with one of my friends from elementary school, it must've been around fourth grade or so, 'cause we went to different schools in fifth grade and kinda lost touch.

My birthday is in November, I got my license the Monday after I turned sixteen -- tenth grade. Between getting a license and getting a diploma, I showed up at school in ten different cars. I loved the little black truck I got for my birthday, but I also loved just about any chance to park it and hop into somethin' else for a little while.

The black '91 Ranger. The orangey-red '78 Fiat (which occasionally led to walkin' with Fiat keys and a Bass Trombone, because the trunk wasn't big enough to close with the Trombone Case inside). The red Geo convertible (doin' sixty in that felt about like doin' 120 in anything else). The black Bronco II (AC-DC's "Jailbreak" always reminds me of that one). The Bandit Trans-Am (same one My Mom took me to my first day of kindergarten in). Mom's '75 GMC. Dad's red '92 F-150 (the one I crashed my first Christmas Break in college). The black & grey 80's F-150 with the high-output 351 in it. The red '87 Suzuki Samurai (which was simply too short to sling out sideways in the gravel like the Ranger would). And last but not least, the white '91 Escort 2-door that taught me the difference between Rear and Front wheel drive. Heh. Even though it's a four-cylinder and a five-speed just like the Ranger, there is no way to make it sling sideways under power, no matter how hard ya pop the clutch. Heh heh.

Time to cars, that works out to a ratio of roughly two-point-five to ten.

Ain't much changed over the years; I dearly love the SHO that I got for graduation, but I still get a real kick outta parkin' it for a bit to drive somethin' else. Mom says it keeps the miles off the "good cars," that's why her "good car" is in the garage while she's drivin' her $400 truck. When I met Clayton, I was drivin' my grandma's bright-blue '96 Ford Contour. Well, the night we met, I was drivin' a diesel Ford pickup with a race trailer hung on it, but when I parked that, I hopped back in the little car, anyway.

Clay's neighbor has a little boy who's about four years old or so (I say "or so" 'cause I know I'm bad at guessing ages) -- he knows what's goin' on outside his window, I'm guessin' he's the best of the best when it comes to Alert Neighbors. Friday morning, I took the SHO to the Ford dealership for that Cruise Control Recall -- when I got to Clay's house that night, the little man pointed out the window and said "Clay got his other car back!!" I love that car so much, even a preschooler knows it!

That may not seem like much, but in the light of my "time to cars ratio," he's good! Clay and I have been together for almost three years -- it'll be three in July. In those not-quite-three years, I've showed up here with a lot of cars!

My Green SHO. Grandma's blue Contour. Mom's burgundy $400 '96 Ranger. Dad's white '03 F-150 "7700." The white '92 F-250 Diesel that I used to pull the race trailer with. The Ambulance. The blue '93 Taurus Wagon from Cra!gsL!st. The green '95 Windstar with the odd-colored front end parts (and "No Bells = No Fair" on the windows). Dad's white '91 Bronco that I borrowed while it was icy (that was the night The Black Keys played in Tulsa). The burgundy Taurus that I washed in the driveway 'cause it was naaaasty inside. The red '03 Mustang that I was driving the night we went to see The Gourds. And the Mark 8, which I got right after the Mustang sold in November and drove 'til I got the SHO out Thursday evening.

Just under three years. Twelve cars. Two-point-eight to twelve. Heh.

The Mark 8 has been consistently "the other car in Clay's driveway" for a solid six months after a string of others; but a four-year-old still remembers the Green SHO.

That kid will be a "car guy" in no time at all!!

Three Hundred Bucks...

Thanksgiving was nice, notably less stressful than I'd figured. "Black Friday" was also nicer than expected -- much like last year, Mom and I went to Skiatook for a little morning shopping and lunch and it was a really nice time.

Thanksgiving was my first "long trip" (Mounds) in the Mark 8, and Friday was Mom's first "close look" at it too. I like it a lot, but I'm still not about to give up the SHO. I said a while back that I wanted something two-doored, rear-wheel-drive, and V-8-powered, and this Lincoln coupe turned up with perfect timing. I hadn't really considered a Mark 8, but...

It was a call-n-haul, the guy we got it from said he was leaving soon and didn't want to mess with having it fixed. The pump for the air suspension had quit working and he took the three hundred dollar offer on it. That was the day before that red Mustang sold, and I'd just came back from Claremore in it when I walked in and saw 'em unloading the Lincoln off the truck. Pearly white with tan leather, reasonably slick for ten years old, and not too raggedy inside either -- I leaned into the passenger door to take a little peek, and following in the footsteps of My Mom with her four hundred dollar truck, I went back inside and said "It's nice, I think I want it." The next day, when we got it inside the building to really check it out, I was sure I wanted it. It's got goodies like I've never played with -- even with all these years in the car biz, I'd never had my hands on anything with a power tilt & telescope steering column, and honestly, that little joystick is pretty damn fascinating. When ya turn the key off, it pulls in and up to let ya get out, and when ya get back in, it moves itself back to where it was. Same with the front seats -- when ya flip the backs forward to get in the back seat, the power track moves the seat all the way forward to widen the gap.

For three hundred bucks, you bet I want it... I was ready to reach for the checkbook when Dad told Mom we "had the birthday taken care of." I took it home the night before Thanksgiving.

On the highway, it has a little heavier feel than the SHO and doesn't seem to wiggle it's ass around as much as the Mustang did; the 4.6 is tremendously well-powered and the car seems very stable at (reportedly insane rates of) speed. It really sticks to the ground and handles real nice, but I sometimes wonder if it might not be quite as nimble as the SHO -- that could be my habits from 12-plus years with the feel of the SHO though...

Yes, I do smile when I see it across the parking lot... But I am still keeping the SHO, because I Love them both. Maybe it's a little like having more than one kid. Maybe. Don't worry, I'm not about to adopt any other ten-year-old. Heh.

I hope Mr. S.C. is healthy/safe/happy on his trip to Singapore, and I wish him all the best, 'cause I'm sure diggin' the car he sold before he left Tulsa...



More Later. _\,,/

One Out Of The Ditch...

Back in May, I wrote a little piece involving a car that looked just like mine off in the ditch up North of here.

Since I go by there almost every day, I saw the car in the water several times. It was fairly deep, nasty lookin' water, and I watched it recede a bit and come back up a bit a couple times. While the water was still there, the car disappeared. Not deep enough to completely cover the car; but still deep enough most wrecker services would say "just wait,"

At the end of that piece, I said I hoped they'd call us about it...

Two guys pulled it out with a pickup before the water went down at all, and today, they called, and we bought it!




Not the SHO like I'd figured and it looks to have been pretty rough before the water came, but still, a bit of a parts car nonetheless.

More later... _\,,/

Disjointed Thursday!

Well, I had this nice long post in the works about how awesome it is to have friends who'll crawl under your car to try to give ya a hand even when there's a storm coming; and how great it is to have friends who'll get ya some dinner or give ya a ride somewhere; and also how great it is to have friends who'll call to see if you need to borrow a car to get home & get to work the next day. It's also great to think somebody cares enough to make that offer even when that car is a schweet little hotrod Miata... It's good to have friends like that, it really is.

Also part of that potential post was a rant about a family member who'd drank so much that same night that he barely knew who I was on the phone, and had no idea what I was talking about when I asked where to look for the plug to reconnect the wire that had fallen off (hence me & a friend being under the Windstar), he actually asked "What van?"

--

I was kinda in the middle of that potential post when an interesting thing happened... Three guys in a big Chevy Van showed up Tuesday afternoon and looked over a few of the cars out front. They asked if we had anything else out back, and after they'd checked out one in the back building, they noticed the ol' Velvetteen Rabbit Windstar sittin' under the awning. Amazingly enough, before I could "drive the last of the transmission out of it" and think about partin' it out, it sold. They bought five cars all together, handed over cash, and started puzzlin' over how to get 'em back to Dallas. All three guys were totally busy like a well-oiled machine, unloading chains and parts and tools out of the back of the Chevy while I was stackin' my crap out of the Windstar, and lemme tell ya, I was very glad I'd hung onto that blue plastic storage bin... Once I'd made sure I didn't leave anything in there (except the frog), they loaded it onto a tow dolly behind the big Chevy -- they bolted tow bars onto two of the others, chained 'em up in pairs, and the three guys took off with their two cars, two trucks, and two vans. It was quite a sight.

--

I mailed off my AAA Registration anyway though; still never know what I might end up runnin' around in.

--

The fun part: we just finished fixin' this fire-engine-red Mustang, it's got that bodyshop smell and it's perrrrrrrty. So when Dad said "So, how you gettin' home?" I couldn't resist. It's nice (for a 6-cylinder), and I like it, even in red. I'm holdin' out for a V-8 in black or blue or green or maybe silver. Manual or automatic, you can surprise me... It's a good feelin' car though, I think I'll add "V-8 Mustang" to the list -- whichever I find a good deal on first, New Hemi Challenger, Powerstroke Excursion, or V-8 Mustang. But I'm still keepin' the SHO. ;)

--

Last night I finished the last of the knitting on Little Miss Caroline's stripedy sweater. I really like the way it works with the stripes, it takes the guesswork out of knowing when it's long enough and it's time to stop -- it's soooooo much easier to count the stripes and match 'em up instead of trying to figure out if I've made too many rows or if I stretched it a little bit when I was measuring. Button hole placement is very easy with the stripes as well -- four stripes then make a hole is a lot easier to line up than worrying if I stretched it a bit too. The Stripes make for a lot of ends to weave in, but they're totally worth it, I like the looks of it, I'm real happy with how it turned out. So tonight, I'll be stitching seams and weaving in ends and hopefully gettin' it ready to mail!

--

It got awful freakin' cold around here, awful freakin' fast.

--

The Gourds are playin' in Tulsa this Friday (eh, I just realized that's tomorrow), and I can't wait to see 'em!!

--

The Crab is gettin' married Saturday, and I think I've finally found something to wear... I didn't want to wear "that one dress" because it's been seen way too much at other dressy events; so I spent a good part of the weekend dragging Clay (and eventually draggin' my own tracks out as well) from store to store in hopes of finding something that wasn't "totally not me." I didn't have much luck. Really, it shouldn't be that hard, I just want something dressy-ish that isn't black and doesn't look like Grandpa's pajama top. Why is everything hangin' in the stores so hurtfully ugly lately?? I tried on one dress but niether one of us liked it much at all... Finally, Monday after class I ended up at "Fashion Bug" (a store I'd never set foot in before) and I found a nifty little blue & white skirt that should look okay with a white top -- so I'm

--

Wait, I just moved my freakin' purse so you wouldn't spray gas on it while you were testing that fuel pump over there by the power converter, so why the hell are you dangling a drippy fucking fuel pump over here on top of the CPU where I moved my gawdamn purse to keep it from getting gas on it? Move it, bitch, NOW!

--

Where was I? Oh yeah, "Fashion Bug." They had quite a few pieces of the hurtfully ugly stuff like the other stores, but they also had some cute stuff too -- and a big, big clearance rack, so I picked up a handful of three dollar tops for next summer along with my new skirt; which would go with any of those tops, if only it wasn't so damn cold and I wasn't so damn pale right now.

--

We finally tried Sperry's newest dining establishment, so far I'm impressed; and it's not just the Wi-Fi that wins my vote. I'm sure there are noses wrinkling at this, but the Fried Green Beans are excellent, so excellent I didn't even touch the Ranch "dipping sauce."

--

More later... Is it time to go home yet??

_\,,/

Oops. I missed "Blog Action Day."

But I'm still scared shitless.

Okay, okay, I'll be honest, I really hadn't paid any attention to "Blog Action Day" until Robin mentioned it... Whups. I read her post from yesterday this morning, so I missed it by a day.

Since The Environment is something to write about that's not a cheese sandwich, I'll get my thoughts on the topic out here anyway.

Here in Oklahoma, when somebody wrecks a car that ends up too bad to fix, the insurance company pays off on that car and it goes to an Auction. The only people who can go through the gate and into that auction to buy those crashed cars are people with Salvage Licenses, they won't even let ya in to look at 'em without the Identification Card issued by the state of Oklahoma.

Getting and/or keeping a Salvage License in Oklahoma involves jumpin' through a lot of hoops -- there are way too many other licenses that are too easy to get, but the Salvage License folks run a tight ship. The Salvage License involves examination of city permits, record-keeping, storage of cars & parts, and most importantly, the EPA's certification.

The EPA is very, very concerned about what's goin' on in Salvage Yards, mainly because cars give off a notable lot of non-environment-friendly substances, and even more mean-n-scary stuff flies out when they're taken apart. One of the strictest requirements for a Salvage License (the only one tougher than the paperwork for tracking the purchase of each car for theft prevention) is meeting the EPA's requirements. The EPA requires us, as Recycling Facility Operators, to track where all those car-related substances go when they leave our hands. Used oil from motors, fluid from transmissions (or grease from the manual ones), anti-freeze and other fluids, batteries, old tires, refrigerant from air conditioners -- just about every drop has to be accounted for. They've even started a campaign to collect and recycle switches and sensors, like that little light that comes on when you open the trunk, because they contain Mercury.

The EPA collects stormwater runoff from Salvage Yards and tests it for any myriad of substances; essentially, just about anything that comes from a car had better not be left layin' on the ground anywhere that it might get washed off the edge of the place, and anything that gets collected in containers to be sold off or sent somewhere else had better have paperwork so they can be sure it's not just washin' off the edge of some other patch of land into some other creek. Refrigerant must be collected for re-use, not just released into the atmosphere. Batteries go to a certified bulk buyer, used oil is collected for pickup by licensed buyers, anti-freeze is filtered for re-use in other vehicles, like the delivery trucks, or lot cars, or The Twenty because we can't just toss all that stuff in the garbage can or down the nearest drain.

For years and years, the only people who could get their hands on those severely crashed cars were the Salvage Yards, because once the good stuff if re-used or re-sold, Salvage Yards have the means for collection and disposal of the goo that's left over.

When November First gets here, it's all going to change. The State Of Oklahoma has passed a new law doing away with those ID Cards, and starting with the first Auction in November, anybody with the cash or a credit card can buy severely damaged cars at the Salvage Auctions.

I (and several folks from other Licensed Recycling Facilities) have several problems with this, but our phone calls and letters to elected officials were not enough to stop this law from getting passed.

FIrst, prices are goin' up at the auctions, and that's going to make it even harder for the folks who have been runnin' legitimate yards all this time. Money is what it's all about though, that's why the insurance companies had a much louder voice than Recyclers who were barely keeping their heads above water to begin with -- the insurance companies had the big bucks to spend on lobbying, and now they're going to make even more money from those auctions. Safety? Schmafety. If they cared about anyone's safety, they wouldn't have lobbied to take away one of the last safeguards against rollin' wrecks down the highway. If they cared about anyone else's money besides their own, they wouldn't be so quick to deny claims, would they? More Salvage-Titled cars on the road possibly causing more wrecks means they have greater chances of finding a reason to deny claims. Oh, and full-coverage insurance on a Salvage-Titled car? Good luck with that. And hey, what-do-ya-know, no full-coverage means no loans on 'em either.

Second, as the insurance lobby apparently did not consider, it's going to put the driving public at risk, 'cause now anybody can buy anything and attempt to put it back on the road whether they know what they're doing or not. Sure, some "totaled" cars can be re-built, but not all of 'em -- and everybody's got their own opinion on what it takes to be "too far gone," but who do you want making that decision for the used car you might buy and drive? A Licensed, Bonded Professional who's been in the business for several years, or some wanna-be-rebuilder who's just gotta sell this shitheap that he did a half-assed job on just to pay off the Visa bill from where he bid way too much on it without really lookin' it over?

Last but not least, where's all that stuff the EPA is watching for going to go? If that wanna-be rebuilder is bangin' away on that wreck in his garage and washing the mess down the driveway, it's going straight into the storm sewer or into the backyard to seep into the neighbor's yard or the creek; but the EPA isn't watching the houses, they're watching the Salvage Yards. Sure, the work-at-home rebuilders may think they're being careful and covering all their bases; but are they going to show up at their local "household pollutant collection event" to hand over a dozen half-mashed car batteries? Probably not; they'll just dump all of that stuff wherever they think they can get away with it, 'cause hey, the EPA won't see 'cause they're too busy keeping an eye on those evil scary Salvage yards.

I remember seeing a TV news show about shoddy rebuilders -- if you think it's a scary situation now, just wait!

The first time a wheel flies off something and bounces into my windshield at highway speed, the first time a car battery washes up on the swimming beach at the lake, the first time a trash truck mashes the garbage and squeezes out a gallon or so of nasty used motor oil, I'm callin' up Stone Phillips and the folks at 20/20.

Really? That Guy??

The other night, Clay asked me how it felt to be the only intellegent one around here. Right this minute, those words are on my mind.

Right now, it's just me and the HoMeSkOoLeRz [tm] and their dad. They're all yelling and throwing some kind of a ball around in here, amongst the computers and everything. Gawd, the yelling... If I hear the word "Monkey" mis-pronounced as "muuuh-kee" one more time, I might have to shit in my hand and throw it at somebody. There are not any toddlers here, and I sure think that by the time you're sneakin' up on your tenth birthday, you could say "Monkey" without leaving the damn "n" outta there... But that's a whole different rant...

So, while I'm playin' defense and tryin' to make sure their ball doesn't hit my MacBook, HoMeSkOoL dAd answers a phone. I could only hear part of what was said, but somebody was lookin' for a convertible; we already sold the last one we re-built, which is what he told 'em -- then he gave 'em a number for one of his buddies downtown.

After he hung up the phone, I asked him what the call was...

HoMeSkOoL dAd: "They were lookin' for a convertible to haul the Homecoming Queen in the parade this weekend."

Me: "Well, hell, I could've got the little white Mercury out."

HoMeSkOoL dAd: "Uuuuhh, I don't know that guy's number though."

What? What did I just say? What the hell did he think I just said? Who's this guy we don't have a number for and what kind of say does he have about me unlockin' the garage and gettin' the Merc out?? We don't need anybody's number; it's in the garage right next to my SHO, and the keys to the garage are in my freakin' purse. Seriously, "Uuuuhh, I don't know that guy's number though."

I worry that my brother has fried his brains.

The Importance Of Caring.

When someone cares, it shows in many, many ways...

How sad it is to see that no one's cared for you in quite a while. Did they not think you were beautiful, not even at the start? Did nobody see your finer points? You're not old enough to look this old, you haven't been around long enough to be forgotten, treated so bad.

Did no one ever sit with you just to be with you, just to enjoy your company or share a little music? Did no one ever look forward to their time with you? Did no one ever wish they could skip work just be near you? Did no one ever smile when they saw you at a distance? Did no one ever see you as a place of solace and contentment, and come to you just to get away from it all? Did no one ever feel glad to have you? Did no one ever stand up for you? Did no one ever come to you when they were so happy they didn't know what to do? Did no one ever come to you when they just needed to cry? Did no one ever worry for you when the storms came? Did no one ever Love you like a child?

Did no one ever want to care for you just for the loving feeling of doing good things, of doing things that need to be done? Did no one ever take pride in you? Was no one ever glad to show you to their friends?

I'm doing all I can; but I know that all the care my hands can give is probably not enough to fix the things that happened before I came along. I'm trying my best, but I know that I can't give back what others took away, for you were surely mistreated more than I can imagine in the short time before you came to me.

I hope that the kindness I give will carry you through, because I know you can't stay with me long, it just wasn't meant to be. I hope I can work to bring out your best, to make your qualities shine and diminish your flaws so that maybe the next person to have you will fall in love with you and care for you with the diligence you deserve. I hope that you'll be well kept and touched by hands of love; appreciated and handled with gentleness; cared for and thought of with fondness.

So, I just finished cleaning (and cleaning, and cleaning) this 2000 Taurus that we replaced the V6 in; or, well, I quit for the day, since I'll probably see some bit of something I missed and have to clean some more. It's certainly nothin' like my SHO, but it's a good car... It's lipstick-y burgundy with grey cloth inside, it's got the "Flex-Fuel" 3.0 with the little tree-huggin' emblems on the fenders and it seems like a pretty nice car. I'm still kinda stunned to see a fifty-some-thousand mile car with the motor blown up; and I'm also quite shocked by the amount of sheer filth we've scrubbed out of the inside. I'm completely serious, I was almost afraid to put my purse in this car. I'm baffled by the nastiness; as if people aren't careful at all -- spilling things, not ever wipin' anything off... 50K is not high-mileage, especially in something that's seven years old -- these people must've left it parked somewhere and lived in it like a big ol' cardboard box for the last four years or so.

So, if ya think ya might want to get a good deal on a fairly nice, freshly-cleaned, ordinary decent car with a new motor in it, e-mail me.

And in the words of Neil Young, "Long May You Run!"

More later... _\,,/

Philosophical Rowing...

Yesterday's Doctor Appointment went a lot easier than I'd expected; way less browbeating, anyway. That appointment is always a little rough, but I can almost overlook the, ahem, violation if I don't have to get bitched at afterward.

After dinner, Clay and I swapped cars. He's got "The Short Bus" for now, so we can get the Red SHO up on the lift and see what's goin' on with the front end. There's just somethin' about the Manual-Transmission SHO... I don't think there's anything I'd ever trade my Automatic for, but if I ever run onto another one with a Manual in it, I'll probably buy it just to have another one around. I'm not real crazy about havin' to move the seat up closer to the airbag so I can get the clutch all the way down, but it's worth puttin' up with 'cause it's just so much fun to drive -- up through the gears with lots of tight-windin' pull, and then back down with it buzzin' the exhaust just like that sky-blue Mustang that My Mom had when I was five or six...

I'd say it's got a little somethin' goin' on, but it still wasn't too bad on the way home. I took it easy up through the neighborhood streets and I couldn't hear anything; so I went ahead and laced into it once I made it to the highway on-ramp. Clay thinks I'm crazy, but I didn't feel anything that made me worry, so I opened it on up once I made it to US75; man, ya gotta love anything that'll pull like that. It was smooth and easy right on up to 80 or so; it certainly didn't shake-rattle-protest like the Windstar did on the turnpike goin' to Springfield, that's for sure.

Drivin' home last night, I got to thinkin' about bein' 16 and runnin' around in that Ranger with the five-speed, and how I always got a kick out of how many of my friends hadn't ever seen anything like that. After having a relatively pleasant Doctor Visit yesterday afternoon, I was far, far away from thinking of myself as feelin' old, but rowin' gears made me feel young; and rowin' gears in somethin' with some power always makes me smile.

I also got to thinkin' about Clay's niece gettin' that little white Mercury that I found on Cr@igsList, and how I said that surely amongst the bunch of us, some of us could help her learn to drive it. Would I be a good teacher? I like to think I'm pretty good at it, but do I have what it takes to teach someone else how? I know what I'm doing, I love the feel of it all, but would I be able to put that into words well enough to help a new learner figure it out like my folks helped me figure it out??

I really don't remember My Dad ever actually yelling at me in the car; I can only think of three times he really chewed my ass, and I probably needed it. Once for takin' the Toyota truck around a left turn a little too hard (almost hung the stop sign), once for bouncin' Mom's Explorer over the curb at Braum's in Owasso, and once for tryin' to beat the train on 86th Street in the Samurai... Don't worry, don't yell, it wasn't moving, it was just parked where it kept the lights flashing. My Mom covered the basics via discussion and observation in her Accord or whatever myriad of lot cars and rebuilders she happened to pick me up at school in; and she also insisted that learning with the manual transmission was the only option. My Dad handled the hands-on part, including tearing the back yard to rutty pieces in that brown Toyota truck. My Mom was rarely willing to ride with me at all, and somewhere between hangin' the Ranger out sideways in the sand at 116th & Sheridan and crashing the F-150 when I was nineteen, Mom wouldn't ride with me at all for several years. Dad was always cool though, he'd let me drive just about anything we went somewhere in, from the '57 T-bird to the GMC with the Pontoon Boat on the trailer, to the wrecker with a couple cars on it.

Best I can figure, trust is the most important factor in it all. My finest memories are of when Dad would pull over on 96th Street as soon as we'd crossed the highway and let me drive to the house from there; it started when I was 12 or 13, and he stopped there just about every time 'til I had my permit. He trusted me with just about everything he ever drove home; lot cars, rebuilders, cars, trucks, vans, whatever, he trusted me. The afternoon that my middle brother nodded off in the passenger seat of the Ranger comin' home from Fairfax was also a memorable moment of trust, especially considering I hadn't really expected him to even let me drive.

My most amazing moment of trust came not from family, but from near stranger, a guy I'd only seen three or four times -- I knew his name, but that's about it. In a true coming-of-age moment in '98 or so, a wrecker salesman pitched me the keys to a brand-ass-new fire-engine red Ford F-550 crew-cab with a 24-foot rollback bed -- just smiled and tossed 'em to me like he wasn't worried at all. It was the biggest thing I'd had my hands on at the time, and also the first six-speed I'd had the chance to drive. As I made a lap around Sperry in it, I couldn't help but think I had officially reached the age where I was not just some kid anymore...

"Oh God, I'm The Grown-Up Here now..."

I'm still not sure if I'd have what it takes (in English, anyway) to teach a first-timer the magic of the manual transmission. I guess I'd need something huge like that F-550, so if we crashed, we'd be nice & safe. ;)

More later... _\,,/

Viva Velvetteen Rabbit Theory!!

Apparently, it works.

Remember that sweet little story "The Velvetteen Rabbit?" The details have escaped me over the years, but the general gist of it all has certainly stuck. "A child's love will make you real!" It's about believing; that's where "The Velvetteen Rabbit Theory" comes from. I've come to the conclusion that believing is important; like believing that the ol' three-colored Windstar with the iffy transmission would make the trip to Springfield and back even though it chattered pretty hard when I pulled out of the QuickTrip in Claremore. I'm guessing that some people, okay, most people, would've turned around and headed back home at that point; but I figured that if it had enough left to go as long as it had, it surely had enough left to go a little further.

Don't get me wrong, I have no real idea how to quantify Transmission Failure by feel other than when it's gone, it's gone; it's just that I figure that if it's slipping a little bit now, it'll surely slip a little bit for a while and then most likely get a little worse before it's completely gone like some of the goners we've had turn up around here. Since the slipping usually occurs at low speeds and usually in first or second gear; I also figure that a 600-mile highway trip shouldn't be quite so taxing as 600 miles around town since highway driving involves mostly fourth or occasionally third gear.

I ain't gonna lie to ya, I knew it was a little risky, but ya know, my head's like a rock -- I wanted to go, I wanted to drive somethin' big enough to haul back some stuff if I decided to, so I went. I figured if the transmission gave up, I'd still have cold A/C, and I'd have lots of room to stretch out and get comfy, put on a movie, and knit a bit while I waited. I figured that if it gave out in Springfield, I could rent a tow-dolly and we'd just haul it back home; and I even found one for sale, I could've bought one if I'd decided to. If it gave out in Oklahoma, Clay's AAA Card would get it home. Maybe having a "backup plan" or two helped as well, but I really didn't think I'd need either back-up plan, and it turned out I didn't.

I left outta here thinkin' I was going to get comfy in my seat, eat a candy bar, drink a 'dew, and listen to some short stories all while getting to Springfield and back without having any problems I couldn't handle, so I did, and it worked. I can't help but compare the situation with someone leaving here to head to midtown Tulsa, grumbling and bitching, and then ending up grumbling and bitching beside the highway with a broken truck ten minutes into what would've been a twenty minute drive; but I'm not gettin' into a rant about that damn drunk, not today...

I had a nice time in MO, it was a nice short little trip for the most part. I enjoyed the drive, and the iPod -- I know I've said this before, but if you've ever thought about gettin' one, get one, you'll love it; I still wish I hadn't waited so long to buy mine. Other than gettin' siiiiiiiiick Saturday night, I had a great time -- I'm not goin' back to that restaurant next time, but I really would like to go back to the Dirt Track in Springfield; it was a nice show and I was impressed. They said a little prayer before the national anthem and I thought it was real nice to hear 'em ask for a "clean, safe night of racing and a safe trip home for all of us."

A Clean, Safe Night Of Racing. God bless 'em, each and every one. I know, deep down, that seeing it from a seat in the stands really doesn't compare to seeing it from a seat with a wheel in my hands, but I really think there was a difference in the driving there. There wasn't a lot of obvious beatin'-bangin'-leanin'-bankin'-rammin' like I've seen way too much of over the years. Lots of the cars were still straight and shiny even this far into the season, and I was stunned to see 'em side-by-side and sometimes three or four wide without touchin' even in hotlaps; and I saw several occasions where they were actually using the brakes to keep from hitting each other. Yes, seriously, when ya let out to set it in and turn, the car behind you lets out too instead of just bashing into you, and after gettin' rammed a couple times at a couple different tracks, I started to wonder if the guy behind me had trouble figuring out there happened to be a car there. I'm also really diggin' that black & orange Ford that was just off and gone for the heat race and then won the feature too...

The swap-meet was huge, but my T-Tops-from-the-Ex didn't sell; I'm thinkin' about puttin' 'em on Cr@igsL!st. Maybe I'll offer to trade 'em for a Dremel Set, an ArtCarved ring, and a 2002 Ch!li Bowl T-shirt, since that's what I couldn't ever get back from the ex who can't seem to be enough of a grown-up to act respectable on the phone, let alone give my stuff back or get his stuff back.

I guess since I'm "being the grown-up" in that situation, getting a little cash for 'em on Cr@igsL!st is a better, more mature option than smashing them into a Wal-Mart bag and leaving it in his front yard... Since he claimed he "had multiple personalities"* and was also seen cuttin' up somethin' white and powdery on the kitchen table, who knows, maybe he doesn't even remember the Camaro or the T-Tops; it might even be a mystery as to where the ring and the T-shirt and the Dremel came from, and the humor of a million tiny pieces of mirrory glass in a plastic bag would be completely lost on him. Or at least on the other six of his seven "personalities." Heh.

* : I'm not passing judgement on people with mental-health issues; I'm just takin' a poke at that guy who walked out of a movie about a schizophrenic criminal and then turned to me and said, "Did I ever tell you I have multiple personalities?" Seriously... And if he's reading this, uhm, hey, I don't care about your nasty attitude, I don't care about the damn Dremel, but I would really like to have my ring and my clothes back. I really don't give a damn about keepin' these T-Tops either, so if you want 'em, get over here and get 'em out of my way, it won't bother me a bit just as long as you leave your childish personalitles at home, send the guy in his thirties, okay? I don't do well with kids.

More later... _\,,/

Three Years...

(Alternate Title: Maybe I Should've Taken A Picture.)

This Windstar that I've been drivin' these last few weeks sat in the tall grass beside Dad's house for about three years best I can guess. I've been trying to remember exactly when I last parked it there, but I keep gettin' confused. I do have a clue of real proof because there was a page out of the newspaper in the driver's door pocket that's from sometime in November of 2004. It kinda makes sense, 'cause I'm pretty sure that was the 2004 awards banquet when Bigfoot got mad and left at three-something in the morning; I remember walkin' all the way through the hotel in my PJ's to go move it closer to my room 'cause I wasn't sure if he'd locked the doors or not...

I'm still not entirely sure, but I think it came sometime after the silver VW and/or the big brown Chevy van, 'cause I remember lettin' The Mail Man drive both of those while we were near-dating, but I think he was outta-the-picture by the time this one turned up. I guess being "Car-Sentimental" makes me put history into categories by what I was drivin' at the time -- I know I had the VW duing racing season, 'cause I remember drivin' it to Booster Club Meetings; but I had the big van for that last banquet that was downtown; drove it for Christmas and most of the winter into the summertime, and then I got the Windstar sometime before the next banquet out on South Yale... Shit, which summer was that? It was freakin' hot outside and... Oh yeah, we took that VW to that stupid "rally" at the football field, so I know for sure that this Windstar came after that...

Gawd, that "rally" sucked. I love My Country, but I can't help but think there must be a better way to show it than to go sing the National Anthem, say the Pledge of Allegiance, and then sit in the hundred-and-some-degree sun on metal bleachers while some asshole from the uber-conservative AM radio station blathers on and on. Couldn't we show our patriotism by doing something besides just getting sunburned?

Something besides getting sunburned -- that's where I was going with all that. In the ashtray of this Windstar that's been parked for a little over three years, I found that tube/stick of sunscreen that I bought before that damn "rally." I remember it vividly because I was hoping to find "good" sunscreen that wasn't insanely expensive and came in a container small enough I could toss it in my purse. It was perfect; probably about an inch in diameter and a little less than three inches tall, it was setup like a really fat lipstick or really small deodorant stick -- it had a little twisty-thing at the bottom and a nice tight lid at the top. I (or we, oh dear) used it for the "rally" and then I tossed it in my purse just as planned.

Somewhere along the way, most likely in the blistering Oklahoma heat, I discovered that the lid wasn't completely keeping the "stick" contained quite like I thought it should. In an effort to keep greazy-sticky sunscreen goo out of the inside of my purse (I think it was the black Coach bag around that time), I must've tossed it into the ashtray of the Windstar instead of tossing it into the purse. I also remember when we thought the transmission was for-sure goin' South and I decided to get the SHO back out -- I had a hard time shuffling my usual accumulation of stuff from the van into my car, and I probably wasn't thinkin' about needin' sunscreen and wasn't thinkin' that there might've been anything inside that ashtray, so I just left it there when I moved everything else.

Closed, black ashtray, inside a closed, dark green van, parked outdoors through a little over three years of Oklahoma freeze-thaw-bake-freeze-again cycles. I'll let your imagination run with that one... Yeah, I'll bet your imagination really wants to wash those hands now, doesn't it?

When I started driving it again a few weeks ago, the first time I pulled that ashtray/cupholder thing out, I was almost surprised to see it; as in "heyyyy, so that's where I left that..." Even though I knew it was my tube of sunscreen and I had left it there and nobody else had been in the van or used the ashtray or the sunscreen, I was not about to touch it. All that heat and all that melting? Ewwww. Sunday when Clay and I were at Sonic, he tossed one of those stripedy peppermints in there and all I could think of was "Ewwww! Not There! Ewwww!!" and I was certainly not about to touch that peppermint either. I like those swirly peppermints, but I wouldn't fish one out of a mud puddle or a purse from a thrift store -- and I definitely was not about to eat one out of a puddle of three-year-old melted sunscreen stick.

So, today, I figured that since I'm going to claim "The Velvetteen Rabbit Theory"* and drive the Windstar to Springfield this weekend, today was as good a time as any to see if that ashtray came out without having to un-bolt the whole cupholder or tear the dash up or turn the van upside-down so I could see about gettin' that mess outta there. Sure enough, it does come out real easy; so I used the two-finger damn-sure-don't-wanna-touch-this-thing method to carry the ashtray to the bathroom where I could dump the near-empty tube out of the melty puddle and into the trash can. I had to beat the ashtray on the side of the trashcan to get the tube to come out, and just as I was about to toss the ashtray into the sink full of burning-hot-soapy water, I saw it.

Lodged floating in the gooey puddle of melted-out sunscreen, there it was...

Not too long ago, Robin mentioned "the fries that never rot." Now, I, as a fat kid, used to be a big fan of Mc D's. The most important words in that sentence are used to be. I didn't see that film "Supersize Me," I only heard about it second-hand through my buddy Pete and through NPR; but what I heard was enough to knock the Mc D's cravings right outta me. Here lately, even since we got one right here close to us in Skiatook, I still don't go there more than once every few months; and usually only if the HoMeSkOoLeRz are here and buggin' us for it. The handy thing about Skiatook Mc D's is that it's very close to a major grocery store, where I can grab a frozen dinner and microwave it.

Robin's mention of "the fries that never rot" made me grin, but I didn't really put much thought into it one way or another until today. Floating in the melted sunscreen nastiness, there it was. Easily recognized, none the worse for wear, was a single, two-inch, Mc D's french fry. I know without a doubt that it had been there a long, long time because I have not eaten anything from Mc D's in these last few weeks that I've been back in this van. I'm not kidding, it looked just like they look when you pull one out of the red box with the yellow and white stripes on the inside and there was absolutely no indication that it had been through three years of Oklahoma weather in a closed car; and if three years of Oklahoma weather won't rot ya, nothin' will. Robin was totally right, McFries never rot.

What about those Sonic Tots that I'm so crazy about? Should I stash one under the seat and see how long it stays?

I wish I'd thought to take a picture of the fry stuck in the sunscreen in the ashtray; or at least take a picture of the fry floating in the toilet after I banged the ashtray on the lid 'til it came un-stuck from the sunscreen and fell out into the water; but I didn't.

I've seen actual proof they never rot -- that page of the newspaper had turned yellow and got crumbly, the Renuzit air freshener that was in the back cupholder had dried and shrunk and dried and shrunk until there was nothing left but the plastic cover. Everything rots, except McFries.

The sunscreen itself is pretty relentless too; that ashtray has been soakin' in that hot water for quite a while and it's not turnin' loose as easy as most ordinary car-crud usually does. I'd think about tossin' it in the dishwasher, but we eat our food off of those dishes...

I'm really not itchin' to put my hands into that water and try to scrub that stuff out. Since I don't smoke, maybe I don't really need to put the ashtray back into the van.

More later. _\,,/

*: I'll write about "The Velvetteen Rabbit Theory" and how it relates to Vehicular Reliability when I get back from Springfield -- as in after I see if the Windstar makes it to Springfield and back without me having to rent a U-Haul and a Tow Dolly to get it home. I'm sure it'll be fine. I'm sure it'll be fine -- that's the main point of TVRT. Heh.

Well, Here We Go For Disjointed Friday!

Today was Mom's first day back at the shop -- I used to wonder how she did it; after trying to do my part to keep up with what needed to be done in the back office, I really wonder how she does it. Of course, I'm sure she was probably wondering what to do to try & fix the mess we'd all made in the nearly three weeks she's been gone. Maybe if runnin' the back office was my only job, I could stick with the "system" and keep track of it all; but comin' in in the middle of things made it hard to make sense of what went where.

I'm so glad Mom's back though -- and not just 'cause I don't have to deal with the office anymore.

Apparently there really is something to be said for stress having effects on the body... Yesterday I freaked out enough to give in and call my Dr's office to ask about (ahem) stuff that shouldn't be happening during the top rows of the pill pack. (Go0gling for Yasmin? E-mail me if ya wanna chat about it.) The nurse asked several questions, and after several answers of "no," she asked if I'd been under stress lately. Uh, Yeah. So I guess it's just like my "third dare theory" that I mentioned earlier; I can hold up for so long, and then it starts to show. I kept my shit together most of the time, 'til I lost it that one morning and just about smashed all the glass out of the truck. I was fine for quite a while 'til a friend called to chat and when I told him about what was goin' on, he asked "And how are you doing?" and I lost it, can't tell ya how long I hid to cry.

--

I'm really-really close to finishing that soft green baby sweater; but "start-itis" caught up with me and I got a little distracted. I don't even remember how I stumbled onto BitterSweet, but I got a big kick out of those adorable pictures and just had to take a shot at The Knitted Kiwi. I've learned a couple new "tricks" by knitting the little bird (thanks to the video link she put in the pattern, thank you, thank you, thank you!!), and learning the "wrap-&-turn" is just what I needed; I think I may be able to take a shot at that Boobie Scarf -- just as soon as I finish knitting up a few more Kiwi's. Last night I finished the body, stuffing and all, tonight it's time for the legs & beak! Clay says I'll probably have to knit a whole basket full of 'em; I'm already up to three 'cause I want one, and I know for sure of two people who'll most likely think the Kiwi is a cool gift.

--

Speakin' of Clay... He e-mailed me a website the other day with some pictures of The 2008 SHO Concept, and lemme tell ya, I like it! I like that blue one with the honeycomb grille so much I made it the wallpaper on my MacBook. I know that when it comes right down to it, there's probably no real comparison between that SHO and a new Dodge Challenger -- but those are the two I've got in mind when it comes to replacing this ol' '94 that I love so much. I just really need something that I can love like that though... I need that feeling, that way it makes me smile when I see it across the parking lot, 'cause I'm insanely car-sentimental.

--

Speakin' of car-sentimental... We finally got a transmission in here that's the right year, so I got the Windstar back out for a little while, the one that got turned into an infield party-wagon when we went to that last USAC Silver Crown Race at the fairgrounds. I'm pretty sure I'm still way outside the minivan demographic -- I'm single, I'm totally sans-kids, I don't babysit, I don't deliver flowers -- if anything ever needed a funeral home sign on it, the Windstar does. Heh. I don't mind it so much though, it's comfy enough (and uh, big enough you can throw almost anything in the back) and it's something different; which makes it even nicer when I open the garage back up and get my SHO back out.

Last night when it was time to go get dinner (yeah, we eat a lot of take-out around my house), Dad had parked behind it 'cause the driveway's kinda full; I drove his truck into Owasso for chow. If ya wanna discuss insanely car-sentimental, that's what we took to AR to pick up my race trailer; I'd been drivin' it for a few weeks when it was fresh out of the bodyshop that summer. I really can't believe it's over 100K now, and I really can't believe that 5.4 has taken to gettin' a little hot every now and then 'cause I still see it as a new truck even though it's an '03.

While bored outta-my-mind waitin' at the drive-thru, I popped the center console. I don't know why I opened it, I guess it's just because I was thinkin' about Dad tellin' me to get my stuff outta there...



Holy Crap! I can't imagine... I mean... Geez... I used to keep Altoids and a brush and some hairspray in there, but... Holy Crap!

--

Uh, yeah, I do wanna be just like My Dad. I wanna have enough cash that I don't have to worry about keepin' it all in one place.

--

Hey, maybe this "Disjointed Friday" did kinda tie together, maybe it wasn't so Disjointed after all.

--

I gotta go buy a freakin' Powerball Ticket, so maybe I can toss a gob of cash into my center console. Heh.

--

Oh, and one more thing: We're goin' racin' at Caney tomorrow night!!

--

_\,,/ More Later...

Ask Debbie...

Dear Sam:

Please, Please don't listen to Amy on this one!

I really don't think she "truly understands" the situation. She has a forty-year-old car that she's keeping, but she says it's not reasonable for you. So it's okay for her, but not for you? She says it's "unsafe at any speed;" which Amy's Corvair may well be, but if you've loved your Suburban this long, I'm sure you've taken care of it quite well, and let's face it, something built in 1990 was put together a lot better (and built a lot safer to begin with) than those ol' Corvairs. She also says that "women don't seem to get so sentimental about cars," and I can tell ya that's a load of crap right there. That's three good reasons I think Amy's way off-base on this one.

No, Sam, you are not crazy; there's nothing crazy about emotional connection. When it comes to insensetive, I don't know for sure, but I doubt it. I get the feeling from your letter that you do care about your wife's wishes; surely she cares about yours too. Maybe you can explain your thoughts to her so that she'll see why you want to keep the Suburban.

There's no real reason to worry about the safety of a 1990 model unless it's been abused or poorly maintained; which I'm sure yours has not; since you say you're emotionally attached to it, I'd say you've most likely taken good care of it. With six kids, there's nothing unreasonable about a big American-made 1990 Suburban where everybody has a seatbelt and nobody's crowded.

If you want to keep it, I say by all means, keep it! Surely keeping it maintained & insured is cheaper than making payments on something brand-new that's big enough for a family of eight. On an emotional level, if you just really need something else to drive, there's nothing wrong with keeping it around just in case you might want to get it out every now and then or maybe hang onto it to pass it along to one of the kids as a sentimental classic. I'll never forget driving to the Homecoming Game my Senior Year in the Trans-Am that My Mom drove me to my first day of Kindergarten in; Mom and I both still Love that car, it's not goin' anywhere -- surely one of your kids is sentimental too!

Where I come from, there are more memories stored-up in rollin'-stock than you'd ever believe. Words can't describe the feeling of finding that Indy Pace Car Mustang that I watched My Dad rebuild when I was in first grade; I was so proud to bring that home years later for Mom to see. I still smile when I see my ol' 94 Ford across the parking lot, and I plan to keep it for a long long time. I still get goosebumps when I think about bein' seventeen and crusin' down the highway in that limited-edition '75 GMC that My Mom drove when I was a baby. I still remember the shine of red paint, the smell of black leather, and the rumble of that '72 Pantera that My Dad sold shortly before I got a driver's license; and I'd give anything for a chance to have it back. Oh, the 351, and the smell, and the rumble like thunder that shook the whole neighborhood... It's makin' me feel all funny inside!

If you want to hang onto it, by all means, hang onto it! It's better than letting it go and wishing you hadn't!


_\,,/ More later...