Roar!

Way back before the nature of the marketing empire came out, I used to go to meetings every Thursday night... Now, I won't disclose the name of the company, because even though I left angry, it's not my place to drag 'em through the mud here 'cause that's not what I'm here to write about.

Stay with me here, and you might recognize 'em anyway. This company provides a service which has been life-changing for lots and lots of people -- alas, they are in a business to make money, not just to help people make these changes. There is a cost to attend the meetings; once you've met your pre-set life-changing "goal," you get to attend the meetings for free.

Can y'all see the "Catch Twenty-Two" there? The person who leads and teaches at the meetings has to get paid, but the more people learn, the less they have to pay. A really great leader who teaches people how to meet their goals isn't bringing in enough money for the company because there are way too many successful people in the group who have met that goal and don't have to pay anymore.

A great leader got "let go" because there were too many "freebies" in her groups.

She was awesome, and I'll never forget her -- she made a tremendous difference for me, but my experience just wasn't the same after she left.

One of the things she told us was this: "If you had a bad week, you need your meeting; if you had a good week, your meeting needs you."

Wow...

So...

I had a few rough moments today. Now that I'm not at work anymore -- sittin' here in my car with the windows down and a bit of a breeze blowin' through -- now that it's just me by myself with the computer and the car, it seems further away and less important, but I said I'd try to write more, so here I am.

We sold a car yesterday, and the kid took it home and tried to put a stereo in it. He's struggling. He's calling, a lot. We had to haul it back in once and change the starter, then he took it back home and tried again; there have been fuses and relays and phone call after phone call -- I'm sure he's a lot more stressed-out than any of us are, but it just seemed like every third phone call I answered, there he was, poor kid.

Boat confusion. Using Go0gle to answer questions over the phone for someone who could just as easily click over to Go0gle without calling me. The creepy guy. Several phone calls from people who weren't sure how the phone is supposed to work -- please, you have to say something else besides "hello" forty times, or I'm gonna hang up. The other creepy guy. That woman from the transmission shop who thinks she has to "talk to a man" every time, even if he turns around and asks me to look up the parts on the computer. The guy who thinks he's a pimp. The girl who flipped Miss Messy in the forehead yesterday.

Seriously, what the feck was that about? I know, I know, you've got fifteen-year-old-girl-hormones and Chemistry homework to deal with, but if you can put up with getting a text message every twenty seconds while you're supposedly doing your homework, there's nothing wrong with a kitten sniffing the edge of your Chemistry book. Just like the ol' man with the Chihuahua said, "This is that kitty's house, you're in her house, you better be nice." Bitch just flipped her right in the forehead while I was on one of those phone calls where somebody wasn't sure what to say after "hello," and it was a hard, full-on middle-finger-from-thumb, hard-thumping flip. I was so mad I wanted to scream. Or just reach over there and flip her in the forehead. I think of her like family; but I really wanted to hit her when she did that.

I'd parked on the very edge of the parking lot this afternoon, right out by the street, and when I got ready to leave and there was a white Chevy truck headed South down the street as I got in my car. He had both windows down, and as I walked toward the street to open my driver's door, I noticed he was leaned over toward the middle of the seat and NOT looking in the direction the truck was going. As he got closer to me, I could see the toddler standing in the middle of the truck, between the driver and the baby carrier car seat in the passenger side. I was reaching for my phone when I saw the paper UD tag...

A black Honda ran the stop sign to pull right out in front of me by the crummy trailer park and I found myself imagining being the next car in line behind some numnutz who ran a stop sign and got smeared under the front bumper of a Freightliner. I couldn't see a driver at all; no head over the seat, nothing visible in the mirrors, and let's be reasonable, a Honda Prelude is a pretty small car -- how small do you have to be to be invisible in there? Ten, eleven years old? The black Honda ran the stop sign at Peoria Avenue too, but there was no Freightliner there either.

When I put on my left blinker to turn into my neighborhood, there was a silver foreign SUV behind me that darted to the right, off in the grass to pass on the right -- they ended up having to slow down anyway because there was another car in the intersection. One of these days, if I can just do it in something I don't care about, I'm gonna make a right turn in front of some jerk like that and sell off a car... Just not in the SHO or the Mark 8...

I still really like the ol' three-hundred-dollar Mark 8, I've put just over 33 thousand miles on it now, and I just really like it.

I dashed in the house to grab a quick bite to eat and pick up my Bible -- I really thought about skipping tonight, keepin' my nasty attitude at home instead of being out among other people, and then I thought about the wise words of that wonderful leader from several years ago; "If you had a bad week, you need your meeting; if you had a good week, your meeting needs you."

I tossed a quick snack in a bag and filled an icy glass with some orange caffeine and headed back to the car.

Out I went, out on to the highway and into the evening rush-hour traffic, where there are way too many people doing way too many things that shouldn't happen with the car in gear. If you want to talk on your phone while drinking coffee and working a crossword puzzle, there are many, many far more appropriate places to do that than in your car. If you'd like to talk on the phone and ignore everything outside your car, please do it with your car in "Park." For the love of the planet, turn the car off, and I guess since I'm trying to be a little more humanitarian, crack a window so you don't smother. I know, I know, I shouldn't have to tell people about that whole crack a window thing, but hey, if they're not smart enough to put down the phone long enough to use turn signals and check their blind spot before moving over into traffic at highway speed, you never know what they might need a little extra help with.

Of course, there's always the other extreme -- some move all over the place like drunks, some won't move over at all. Sure enough, I ended up behind two of 'em, side-by-side just like a parking lot. When we came under Highway 11, they were still side-by-side, and I saw my chance, so I went for it...

I'm not crazy, I didn't do anything any more dangerous than staying parking-lot-close-side-by-side at highway speed, and I didn't get anywhere close to any other cars. I've only did it once before, in a "Service Loaner" Ford Escort way back when the SHO still had factory warranty -- and it took everything that little car had to pull it off, I made it, but there was no more car left...

On Southbound 75, where the Highway 11 ramp comes on from the left, there are two extra lanes for a short distance. It's a generous bit of merging area compared to most in the Tulsa area even though it's crazy to send 'em on in the passing lane to begin with.

There were several car-lengths between the two cars side-by-side and the next car ahead of them on to the South, and there was nothing coming down the ramp from Highway 11, so I decided to go for it. Not eating my dinner, not talking on my phone, not fixin' my hair -- just belted into my comfy seat with both hands on my well-worn leather wheel, I hit the blinker and pressed my toes down just as soon as I could pull to the left into that short bit of spare passing lane. The pedal didn't touch the floor, and I never felt like I'd used up all the car had; it just dropped a gear, wound up, dropped another gear, and took off, just as quick and easy as ya please, right blinker on, moving back over, and making the pass with room to spare. For a car that somebody gave up on and sold to a salvage yard, it sure is sweet that way. The person in the car blocking the passing lane may not have even realized I didn't come from Highway 11.

In that moment, with that ol' 4.6 opened up to a smooth roar, I forgot everything I'd been grumbling under my breath about all day and it was all just gone and I didn't have a nasty attitude to worry about anymore. It's a good thing too, 'cause my Wednesday Night group probably has more important things to worry about than what kind of rotten grumpy day I had.

It's a lot like what I love about The Twenty -- when the roar hits me, there's nothing else on my mind, nothing else to bother me, nothing. Nothing else.

Now, just as soon as this weather levels out...

_\,,/

What were they thinking?

When I walked in after work, the ABC Nightly News was on the TV. (it's Channel 8 here in Northeast Oklahoma) I'll be the first to admit I'm not a real big TV Watcher, and I'm pretty sick of hearing about this stupid Toyota mess, but this piece caught my ear/eye, and I stopped to watch the segment.

http://abcnews.go.com/WNT/video/testing-toyota-9914148

It's three and a half minutes, but just in case you'd rather read than watch, the TV News Reporter gets to drive a Toyota that a Professor has wired to recreate the electronic "shorts" that cause throttle malfunction. They also have a hand-held scanner which shows NO error codes in the electronic system, neither during nor after the incident.

Toyota says the computer system won't let it happen; but one second, they're doin' 20mph, the next second, it's tachin' 6500 and the brakes won't shut it down.

The whole thing bugs me in so many different ways...

Toyota has published video of a guy displaying a gas pedal with the electronic parts attached, he's got all the moving parts in his hands, everything that tells the car how far you're mashing that pedal is right there -- it sends signals through the computer system from there. No rods, no cables, just that round rheostat-looking thing attached to a computer system. Who designed that and what the hell were they thinking??? Have they not seen how difficult computers and computerized parts can be? Have they never lost a homework assignment (or a whole computer) to that oh-so-lovely "Blue Screen Of Death?"

More importantly, have they never had a throttle stick open on 'em? Surely I'm not the only one who's ever downshifted to third to beat a yellow light only to discover that the truck didn't rev down when I let up to shift back into fourth... Faster than my buddy in the shotgun seat could figure out what was going on, I got the clutch in, got it in neutral, and hooked my toe under the pedal to pull it loose before it could blow itself up.

That's how it's supposed to work; even though who-knows-how-many people drive around every day without knowing that's how it's supposed to work -- that's how it works. That gas pedal under your toes is connected to a rod that, through leverage and linkages, pulls a cable on a carburetor or throttle body, which lets air in to mix with fuel, which burns to make the car go. No computerized parts to short out and wreck things, just metal parts from your toes to your throttle. If you have the car running and the hood open, you can put your thumb in there and press on the spot where that cable connects and it makes it rev up just like if you had your foot on the gas. If you're a highschool boy, chicks'll think it's cool. If you're a chick, you can use that skill to shock a guy or two, or possibly an unsuspecting used car salesman. I know first-hand about shocking the unsuspecting used car salesman, it's fine fun.

Who puts digital shit in the middle of that? What's the point of taking chances with computers when rods and cables have been working just fine for all these years?

Don't get me wrong, computers have done helpful things for the automotive world. I'm sure "Limp Home" mode has saved lots of motor parts, electronic transmissions save gas, and that "oil change needed" calculator is pretty darn handy -- but a rheostatic control for the throttle? Really?? When I think of rheostatic control, I can't help but think of that vibrator with the malfunctioning rheostatic control that I ripped apart in a last ditch effort to, uhm, finish a task.

If you're fighting to control a car that's "floored" itself, you're not going to be able to crawl under the dash and rip things apart to touch some wires together and attempt to fix the problem.

I'm still not over the whole "Cash For Clunkers" thing. I still think a lot of people got screwed, and some of 'em don't even have a clue. Quite a few might be getting a clue as they struggle to regain control of their Toyota and start to miss the good ol' car they traded off to the boat anchor factory.

Oh yeah, I was gonna write about...

Oh, hi there. I'm back. Sorry 'bout that, letting a month go by... Whups.

Let's see, where shall I start?

I sold The Excursion. The first time I posted it on Cra!gsL!st, all I got was a parade of disappointment -- lots of people asked questions, but nobody ever showed up. The second time was kinda "on a whim" (read that as "God's planning at work whether I realized it or not") and the first person who e-mailed me called within half an hour of my reply and showed up that night after work with cash. I made about a twenty percent profit and he thought he was gettin' a steal of a deal; which I'd say is pretty darn good all the way around. I still want another one though -- my next one will be a darker color with a diesel in it.

Out of that cash, I stashed a hundred bucks in the back of my checkbook 'cause ya never know when I might need it... I made out a deposit slip and took the rest to the bank along with my payroll check the next afternoon -- where I was asked for my ID in the drive-thru. Very interesting...

A couple days later, I fired up the ol' online bill-pay and paid off the credit card I'd bought the truck with, and then with what was left, I paid off every other piddly little bit of anything I had left on all my other cards too. I'm not carrying a balance on a single one of 'em now -- just the ones that I use regularly and I pay 'em off every month; that's how I rack up the "Cashback Bonus," by paying my phone, cell phone, and internet every month with Discover.

Now... Fast-forward to Monday...

A little somethin' interesting turned up on the insurance auction's website, and it was in Oklahoma City. Since I wasn't makin' payments on anything else, I didn't mind the idea of makin' a few payments on a cool piece of rolling stock.

I'm pretty sure it'll be easy enough to fix.

It ended up bein' about a grand less than what I spent on the Excursion.

I'm pretty sure I can make a little bit of a profit off of it; but if I can't, it was cheap enough I don't mind the idea of payin' it off and keeping it.

It was only bumped a little bit, I was able to drive it home.

It has fully functional air conditioning.

It's white on the outside and very, very bluuuuuuue on the inside.

It has six doors.

It's on my Flickr account:



More Pictures Here.

For Dogs and Short People.

Last night when the sleet started, I decided I probably should hurry up and head home before it got any worse. I left Clay's house a little after nine, and the sleet was starting to show white on the ground.

Somewhere between growing up in the car business and racing several seasons on the dirt, I've learned to enjoy the feel of knowing what the car is doing. When it comes right down to it, I'll mostly avoid being out when the roads are icy; but there comes a time when staying in is the last thing I want to do. The SHO was alright the time or two I had to get home in bad weather, most front-wheel-drive cars are okay if ya drive 'em easy, but I wasn't about to take a chance on someone else hitting me in it. That's why I'd find something else to drive for those occasions -- both of the three-quarter-ton pickups stayed put pretty good, and I never had any close calls with the big Chevy Van or the Windstar either. I can't say I really liked the big Chevy Van, but I do remember coming home in a blinding snow one night and feeling just fine about it.

The Mark 8 is my first experience with Traction Control, and since the SHO lost it's anti-lock brakes somewhere around sixty thousand miles in '98 or so, I've found the anti-lock brakes amusing as well. I've fiddled with the digital traction goodies a little bit, but when it comes right down to it, I'd rather drive with my own brain and keep it together to the point where that stuff doesn't kick in. The feel of the difference between front and rear wheel drive is an experience every driver should have. I can't help but think I've learned a good bit from the feel of the race car, but I can't say the same about that being an experience everyone should have -- mostly because we've got enough crazies out there who don't know what's goin' on, but that's a whole 'nother rant by itself. That's not where I was going with this... Back from the rabbit-chase...

When I left Clay's house, the traction control light came on just a bit at the first stoplight, so I took it easy on around to the highway entrance ramp. I got on the highway real easy and ended up behind a fairly new white GMC Pickup. There was a pet taxi in the back, and I hoped there wasn't a pet in there freezin' in the cold. I stayed behind the GMC, we did 35 or 40, and all was well. When the highway widened out to three lanes, the truck moved over one lane to the left; he was in the middle, I was on the right, the left was empty.

I was just thinking I'd go ahead and move over behind the truck when I car came flyin' up behind us. A new blue Mustang appeared quickly behind the GMC and stayed right beside me for quite a while. When wondering "what the hell?" finally got the best of me, I looked over and was stunned by what I saw.

She was sitting up super-straight, that tensed-up impatient pose often seen in heavy traffic. She was the only human in the car, but she was not alone. She had a dog in her lap. Not a little purse-poodle, but a good-sized black & white dog, like maybe a Border Collie, up in her lap and nuzzling her face.

I know it's terrible, and what I had in mind was every bit as unsafe as a dog-in-the-face, but I couldn't help it, I reached for my camera.

I wasn't fast enough. Before I could get my hand over into the shotgun seat and reach into my laptop bag, she moved on over into that left lane, passed the GMC, and was gone.

I moved over and got behind the truck again, and we took our time making our way slowly around the loop toward US75 North. As we made our way around toward the overpass near Cain's, I could see red & blue flashing lights.

Sure enough, there it was, the blue Mustang, spun out and pointin' the wrong way with the front end tore up and the driver's door against the right side wall overlooking Tulsa's landmark ballroom.

Airbags can be deadly for short-legged folks who have to sit too close. I'm sure an airbag would be undoubtedly deadly for a Border Collie who's wedged ever-so-close between his human and the steering wheel.

I've heard they're smart dogs... Maybe he figured out what was goin' on and made a dive for the back seat.

Wear your seatbelt, think about your safety and the safety and health of your pets, and most importantly, slow the fuck down out there. Traction control, anti-lock brakes, four-wheel-drive, sure, they're helpful, but they're no substitute for brains and they don't mean you can do 80 and be invincible.

More later... _\,,/

There was a time, and there is now.

There is a sameness, and there is a difference. As humans, we're all the same in some ways, and we're all different in some ways.

I have a few little secrets I keep; I have a few things I'm not afraid to talk about.

One thing I'm not afraid to talk about is that I know what $40K in credit card debt looks like, and I know what it feels like to mail off that last payment and feel free from it all. It was an amazing feeling, and when I opened the envelope the following month, I took a picture of the statement where it said "Due: $0.00."

Don't look at me like that, I also know without a doubt what it was like wading into that $40K, and I'll never do it again.

That know-it-all-guy just walked in here and asked me if I'd "already given up the monster truck."

I'll be honest, I was a teensy bit puzzled. When I think of "monster truck," I think of the big, serious, massive, six-foot-tires, jumpin' over cars Monster Trucks. Maybe something like that new commercial for washing machines where the guy drives one across the top of a row of machines. Maybe those shows they have alongside the car show every year. Maybe, possibly, something like that Suzuki Samurai with the big fat knobby tires. Maybe.

My first response was a no-brainer. "Do what?" I think "Do what?" may be the wordy replacement for "Huh?"

"Well, the white Lincoln's back out there, did ya already get rid of that silver truck?" Oh. The Excursion. Once I figured that out, I mentioned that the Mark 8 gets about twice the gas mileage so I've been switchin' off every once in a while.

His turn to make the puzzled face, he says "Oh, so you're going to have both?"

I just nodded and went back to the PC without saying anything else.

Yeah, actually, I'm gonna have all three; the SHO, the Mark 8, and the Big Silver Monster Truck, four or five if you count the Hearse and/or the ol' Outlaw Stock Camaro, and I don't really understand why people think that's so odd. It's always good to have a truck around, ain't it? Ask anybody who's ever had to try and borrow one from somebody else -- now, if I want to move something or haul something, I just pop that third-row seat out and cram whatever I want in there, whenever I want to. I don't have to wait for anybody else to make time for me, and I don't have to struggle with starting the ol' diesel Racin' Ambulance in the cold.

While I'm on that topic, that third-row seat is sooooooo much easier to deal with than the one in that Windstar that I had for a while. The third-row seat in the Excursion has wheels on it, so once it's un-latched and rocked forward, it just rolls right out -- get it to the ground and it'll roll right over into the corner of the garage. Handy. As. Can. Be.

The charge on my card for the Excursion would not even come close to a reasonable tip on that dollar amount that I mentioned earlier. It was such a cheap deal, seriously cheap, I'm talkin' cheaper than a new 17" MacBook Pro... I know my interest rates, I've planned my payments, everything'll be alright. Why'd I do it? Because I wanted to. Because I can. There was a time when I couldn't do that, but now, I can, so I did.

Don't get me wrong, it's still the first thing for sale, first for-profit offer can drive it home, I just wanna christen it with a road trip first. The SHO's been with me too long to let go, the $300 Mark 8 was a Birthday Present so selling it would be just tacky. For right now, yeah, I'm keepin' all three.

I'll talk cars with just about anybody, but that know-it-all-guy can just bite me.

Y'all wanna hear about that lady who tried to get me kicked outta the Monster Truck Rally??

;) More later... _\,,/

Because it made me feel young.

Sunday afternoon, Clay and I drove out toward Grand Lake for an afternoon at The Diecast Drags. Tables, tablecloths, and good food in crockpots set up in a bodyshop with the cars moved out -- at a first glance, it kinda reminded me of Christmas with Grandma way back in the day.

My Grandma never had a fully detailed-to-scale Hotwheels dragstrip though...



I'd read about this whole diecast racin' thing before, it sounded like fun -- so, in the weeks leading up to this particular race, I took to keeping an eye out for likely racers, both in my present collection and on the pegs in the stores. I rounded up a few that seemed like they'd be good for the "open package" class; the double-decker bus had to be a sure bet, and I couldn't resist that little blue '65 VW Fastback that felt heavy even in it's little cardboard package.

I'd also did a little drilling and prying and stuck some lead into a few cars too. I cut up weights from the wheel balancer, and I also used lots of split-shot sinkers. Along the way, I learned (the hard way, and not for the first time) that Super Glue is evil, nail polish remover melts Matchbox Car wheels, and the hot glue gun isn't always the best bet. I stuffed lead into a Hearse, a fertilizer truck, a new Dodge Charger, and a old-style VW Beetle. That Beetle just had a real crummy feel to it, so I didn't even waste time puttin' it on the track. The Charger wasn't much better -- one front wheel was stuck up in the inner fender and wouldn't move, but after a discussion of friction and three wheels being less friction than four, I tossed 'er in.

I didn't take very many cars with me; I thought I'd really gathered up a fleet, but once I managed to round 'em all up, there weren't that many. I ended up with one of those plastic baskets that's about as big as the bottom of a paper grocery sack and about eight inches tall -- a miniature laundry basket, full, but not crammed full. I tossed in my sinkers, glue, and paint pens just for good measure. I had the only basket in the bunch. One plastic tote, one shoebox, one Hotwheels carrying case, and several of those huge tackle boxes, the big, serious, hard-core tackle boxes. I'm talkin' about makin' Jimmy Houston proud, big, biiiiig tackle boxes.

Maybe it's part of OCD, but I'm a sucker for anything that comes in it's own "handy carrying case." The tackle box with a car in every slot and tools & glue in the bottom along with a bag of racin' quarters, oh my my, how freakin' cool is that... Heyyyyy, I think I still have a huge peach Caboodle buried way back in the very far corner of the bathroom cabinet... I could bring the "only-girl-factor" into another form of racing!

My favorite, I'd say my best of the day was the '65 VW Fastback -- built like a dragster to begin with, it had a fully detailed rollcage and a meaty little motor sittin' on it's metal frame under a metal body. The weight made it do a great job, it won several rounds, as did the double-decker bus. Impressed by the "open package" performance, I stuffed it full with as many sinkers as I could to race it again in the leaded class, where it beat out a lead-filled fertilizer truck even bigger than the one I'd brought -- mine wouldn't track straight enough.

And oh, the fun of being the only girl in the bunch... My Mom worries about it, but there was no hostility here, just good fun. I often worry about not being quick enough to think on my feet, and I often think of just the right thing to say about five minutes past the opportunity to say it. Being asked one of the most odd questions I've ever been asked as an adult was a real shocker, but I think I did alright with it.

I know I'm different, I know I often don't fit the mold, I've grown accustomed to a certain number of odd questions. I can enjoy the ones like "How did you end up in the parts business?" or "How the hell do you drive so many different cars all the time?" I grin when people see my nine earrings and ask if any of 'em hurt, and I always love the racing-related questions like "How do you get that hair into a helmet?"

Standing there between Clay and our buddy Donald, I hear a voice behind me. He's got a beer in his hand and several more in his belly, and sure enough, he's tryin' to get my attention.

"Hey... Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

Holy shit. Do I have something on my pants? Or my shirt? Am I standing funny? Am I squirming? I don't feel any need at the moment, but is there something I'm doing that makes me look like I'm in need???

I couldn't think of what else to say, so that's just about the list of questions that I asked in response.

His answers, amongst stifled laughter from the guys on either side of me, were just as odd as the original question. There was something about offering to let me take his truck (and his two kids) "around the corner" to his house to use the can, and while I was there, I could ask his wife to find his other glasses so I could bring 'em back for him. Apparently there was some drunken thought put into that which made it look like a win-win situation, he'd get his glasses, I'd get a chance to use the can -- drunken thought apparently makes it okay to ask a relative stranger if they need to go to the bathroom, and drunken thought also must've made it seem okay to turn the two kids and the truck keys over to somebody he'd just met an hour or so before.

After he finally figured out that what he'd said was quite odd, he tried to justify it with "Well hell, ya try to use somebody, and..." Gee, drunk thought makes logical conclusions? Wow... Then he tried again and asked me if I'd "watch the kids" while he was gone around the corner to get his glasses. Really?? Oh come on, it's not like he was payin' attention to 'em at all, what's the damn difference?

I never saw him leave, but I did see him stumble around with the sunglasses on well into the evening.

Along with the youthful feeling of playin' with Hotwheels, I also got the five-and-under feeling of being asked about needin' to go to the potty.

Ain't life grand?

Oh, and we're all gettin' miles and miles outta that "hey, do you need to go to the bathroom?"

I gotta remember to pick up some new drill bits so I can crack open a few more cars & get 'em ready for lead.

More later... _\,,/

Since 2000...

My first time in a race car was the last night of the 1999 season. A few months later, with a little cash, a little leftover Pell Grant money (shhh, don't tell), and a little help from my Discover Card, I bought the first Twenty. Shortly thereafter, I tumbled head-long into an era of my personal history that's often known as "The Dave Experience."

That first year of racing was quite interesting. Dave had a trailer, which I ended up with, but when it came to pulling that trailer, sometimes we were so close to up-a-creek it wasn't even funny. Sometimes it was Dad's ol' six-cylinder F-150, sometimes it was whatever Dave had brought home from wherever he happened to be working at the time, anything from a half-ton Chevy from a small family-owned concrete company to an enormous crew-cab International diesel from a big contractor.

In 2000, Ford came out with The Excursion; the big four-door SUV based on a single-wheel one-ton, seats for eight, Powerstroke Diesel, big enough to handle a good-size trailer... I didn't need any convincing, I wanted one. I so seriously wanted one, but the price scared the shit outta me. I knew there was nooooo way I could make the payments on something like that.

Toward the end of the 2000 racing season, Dave was makin' good money even though he had bad credit, so I finally agreed to go take a walk through the Ford dealership out in Sand Springs. I still wanted an Excursion, but I knew that since it was his money, I really had to let him have the final say. We ended up at the Chevy dealership on the other side of the fence, checkin' out an F-250 on the back row. It was less money, a long bed, and it had a big block too, so that's what we got... That black & silver truck is the reason why the second Twenty ended up with black paint, and even after we went with a fully orange paint scheme, the 20's are still orange numbers with white trim on a black background.

Here I am, years later. The big-block F-250 is long gone, to wherever good ol' trucks go when the insurance company pays 'em off. Dave's still close, but long gone to wherever good Catholic boys go when God calls 'em away from their prayin' Baptist girlfriends. The first Twenty will never see the track again, save for parts that have migrated through other cars and into the present Twenty. My Discover Card, which was with me before college and stayed with me (thankfully) even through "credit counseling," is still with me.

Saturday morning, I flicked out my Discover Card for something I'd wanted for a long time. With a salute to The Salvation Army of Tulsa, I handed the Mark 8 keys to Clay and drove home in this:



It's not perfect, but it's very, very nice for the money I spent. It's not the Powerstroke Diesel that I wanted, but it was such a deal, I really don't mind. It feels nice out on the road, it's fairly clean inside, and it's huge. It's seriously big, and I'm seriously crazy about it!

More later... _\,,/