Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Misadventures of my early twenties....how I met the wrong girl!

The year was 1987. This band Whitesnake was tearin' up the airwaves.  "The Cosby Show" was getting big sitcom ratings, and "Married With Children" introduced us to the Bundy family. Big hair and spandex were everyday fashion statements. Ronald Reagan was in his third year of his last term, and I was mid way through my 20th year on this planet and living in the Ft. Lauderdale FL area.

I had my first real apartment, shared with a room mate chosen not so much as he was a great friend but by mutual circumstance, we both needed a place and each had half the money to get in the door. Wasn't a great place, a 20 or so unit two story concrete building circa early 1960's. We had a two bedroom corner unit downstairs with a view of four lane Powerline Road, just south of Oakland Park Boulevard. 

The manager lived right up stairs, a heavy drinker whom I suspect was on some sort of disability and had the management job for the free rent and minimal upkeep. More than once he hit me up for a buck  for the Seven-11 store across the road, where he could get a tall boy or sometimes a quart of cheap beer at 10 in the morning.

I worked as a helper in a shop that did mobile marine diesel repair and was learning the ropes of the trade. I think I made about 7.50 or 8 bucks an hour, twice minimum wage of the day but still not all that great. It kept me in baloney and Ramen noodles, and the 7-11 had .99 microwave burritos that weren't half bad.  .     

My hobby and main transportation was a '71 VW beetle done up "Baja" style.  Each weekend found me trying some new carburetor combination (swap meet finds of course) or new used tires from the used tire shop.

But this tale is not about the car or the pad, though they played a part in it. It's about a girl.....

Names have been changed, and let's face it, some details have gone fuzzy after 27 years!

 I had a group of friends. Many still lived "at home" or such. We would at times gather at the workplace of my friend "Robert"  He worked his dad's business, where they installed business telephone systems. Robert's job was managing the small warehouse, where the components were stocked for installations. Having a key to the place, many of us would gather there at nights, as most were under age,  and being too broke to get in to the nightclubs anyway. Robert played drums and another couple played guitar. I don't ever recall a complete song played and it mostly sounded like the band in the movie "Slingblade"....

Where was I...ah! Robert was moving on, going to school for HVAC (he has a successful small business in the field these days) and a replacement had been hired.....

"SHE" was named "Stephanie"  18 years old or so, and like me, a transplant from the north.  About 5' 5", slender, with shoulder length brown hair, big brown eyes....an infectious laugh. Big, beautiful smile...and she smelled like sunshine....

 Stephanie saw some pictures Robert had gotten developed of the group of us. I guess she saw me in the pics and commented that I was "cute" and being the good bud he was and knowing I was unencumbered at that time, Robert offered to hook her up!  
 (I am on the top right of the ladder in the cutoff sleeved denim, "Robert" is center in the rising sun tee shirt. This pic about 1986 in the warehouse )
 
A blind date it was. Since her place of work and mine were about five minutes apart, I burned what ever rubber a 1600cc V dub with bolt ons would do at precisely 12pm out of my work parking lot and headed to pick her up. I think we went to Subway or something. We talked and talked and I don't recall eating at all. I was smitten from that moment. 

She, like many other young folk lived a few blocks off the beach, and at that time there were many small "pay by the week" studio apartment/motel type places. This was the pre cell phone era, so my contact was to give her my number and she would call from the pay phone outside the lobby. 

We met up on the next Saturday, she had me pick her up on the corner down the street from the place she lived. I was na├»ve and it did not occur to me why she just did not have me pick her up at the door. We had a date at the flea market and before long we were holding hands. 

A few phone calls and a couple of similar dates later, I learned she had a "roommate" and that she and the "roommate" did not get along all the time. I took it in stride as I didn't care for my roommate a lot of the time. I eventually got the pay phone number as I could call it without her having to fork out change. One time I called at the pre arranged time, and a male answered, he said he was Stephanie's "brother". 

She called half an hour later. I told her I spoke with her "brother" and she got very very quiet.. then started crying and told me he was her older boyfriend that she wanted to get away from.  Then she had to abruptly get off the phone.   

A few days later, she called me crying and said "come get me!" My room mate, whom I had confided the situation to, insisted on coming with. Which was a good thing!

The place was called the Sandpiper or the Beachcomber or such. We pulled in and went to the ground floor room. "Steph" had started dumping her clothes out in to Hefty bags and I began to help her.  "What's going on man?" Said a voice......and there was the recently arrived "roommate".  Flanked by my room mate......  This memory is very clear. The guy was about my height (5' 7") but wiry. He was built like a welterweight boxer, and he had what I can only describe as "serial killer" eyes!  And from the way his veins were all pumped up and he was twitching, he was definitely on some crank of some sort. (Google it if needed)

I tried in vain to think of what the etiquette in this situation was- "What to do when  you are dumping a gal's panties in a trash bag when the guy she is leaving who is jacked up on coke walks in?" sort of thing, but came up blank.  Dad taught me a lot about felling trees, mending fences, but not one dammed THING about this pickle I'd mired myself in!

Mr. Serial Killer Eyes recognized there were two of us, but one of him, and said very calmly to the shaking gal....  "Steph, can I see you for a minute?" and took her in the one bedroom off the combination living/dining room/kitchen.

My roomie and I did not know what to do....grab her shit and toss it in the car?  Then we heard a sound that still rings in my ear to this day....the distinctive "Shiick!" of a clip being slid in to an automatic pistol!

Did I commit an act of fearless chivalry?  Throw myself between the lass and her aggressor in a selfless act of sacrifice?  

Fuck no! I recall my roomie silently mouthing "GO!" as we both headed out the propped open door. I don't recall opening the v dub's door, nor do I remember stopping at any stop signs or red lights on the way back to our place, about 15 minutes away.....

Did I read about a grizzly murder down on the beach in the Sun Sentinel the next day? Was a decomposed body found in the Everglades six months later? No.......she was alive and well enough to screw my room mate a few weeks later!

THE END 
 






















    

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

.Navigating the old way- with a MAP!

Last weekend I had to make a trip to pick up my oldest daughter, who has spent the week with my sister in North Carolina.  The drive took us up I-95 northbound out of Georgia and in to South Carolina, where I intersected interstate 26 to head west/northwest.



The plan was to meet at an exit off I-26 that is about half way mileage and time wise for both of us to drive. On the way up there was an accident about a dozen miles shy of the exit to 26, some sort of three car affair that took nearly half an hour to get past.  The interstate is only two lanes wide in SC and really needs to be three laned in each direction, which is not likely to happen soon.  Traffic south bound, I noted, was very heavy.  Between spring break starting and it being Bike Week in Daytona Beach Florida, lots of traffic headed south. Enough for me to want to try a different route back.



We met at a Hardee's off an exit and "exchanged the prisoner".  I got on I-26 headed east, wanting to find another route south. I pulled a dog eared atlas from the back seat and handed it to Brooke.  (I am sorry if you are a dog, able to read, and find this offensive)



Now, why did I do this, rather than tell her to take her I phone and find us another route? Simple! Last Christmas the family and I were faced with the same dilemma, traffic backed up and trying to find a back route.  The problem with those GPS and nav applications is they all want an ending address.....but they always and I mean always want to put you on the interstate, which was gridlocked and the reason we wanted another route! Then you get frustrated telling it to re route. Guess what else.....they don't work when you loose cell signal, which happens in rural areas.  

I can pull out a paper atlas, look at the WHOLE PICTURE, and see a way out quicker than you can punch the data in on the screen. 

Thus we did. After I told her to open the book and find South Carolina, I pointed to where we were, and told her to find highway 601, which intersected with our direction a few miles down. What do you know, we could take 601, a two laner, all the way across the border into Sylvania, GA which was about 40 minutes from our place on the west side of Savannah, or go just a few miles south on 601 and pick up highway 21 in Orangeburg SC which would take us more east/southeast.



On we went, oh, not moving the potential 75 we would do IF the interstate was clear, but we were moving at 55-60 mph with occasional slowdowns for small towns.  Which is better than 0 to 5 mph with a diesel rig idling on one side of me, and an SUV with a domestic argument going on inside, while their big navigation screen shows a clear, blue road with an arrow pointing in the way they are SLOWLY going!   

      
I do like my techno devices. I own a smart phone. I have a cool GoPro hi definition camera. I have a small hand held GPS I use for boating, fishing and snowmobiling.  I have used auto nav systems for finding an urban address. But in the country? My folks have had people come to visit, who INSIST on "just give me the address!" when the 'ol man tries to tell them how to get there (3 1/2 miles north on 102!) and they get routed about 12 miles out of the way in a big circle......since GPS units often don't recognize unpaved township roads.

Well I sound like a crotchety old fart in this entry...but so many have no clue where they are without devices. A sense of direction, the ability to find North from South, East from West. read a paper map, come on people! 

OK ranting on.......some years back we had a hurricane evacuation, mind you pre GPS, but none the less, I knew the two lanes leading in and out of the area, while others spent hours on a grid locked interstate. Some of whom I am sure have lived here most of their lives. It amazes me how little some folk know about their own surroundings. 

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Gator delivery part III- a few days in Minnesota then back home-

  "What's that green thing you brought on the trailer?"  I was asked.  I handed dad the keys, and said this was payback for blowing the engine in his pickup when I was 17.

He looked perplexed, I explained how I had acquired the machine.  I got my plank ramps out, un strapped and unloaded the Gator,  and we took a quick ride around the place as I demonstrated the operation, then he drove.  I think he may have cracked a smile in the process.  We pulled in behind the house and he came in and got mom.

As predicted she proclaimed it "cute" and I took her on a long circuit of the back forty, I caught a giggle now and then and she gripped the dash handle tightly. Mom's got a knee that bothers her some and doesn't get way out on the woods trails like she used to so this was neat.

Dad and I went out and cut up some ash from a tree that had fallen in a storm earlier in the summer -


 

And off the old settler drives......


When you get back to the wood pile, flip the switch and dump the bed. 



While there, I fixed a few things as I usually do.  The right brake on the 8N Ford dad picked up was soaked in oil from a leaking axle seal, leaking oil on to the brake assembly from the transmission. I had ordered parts ahead of time from Stiener Tractor parts so I had what I needed. 


From what I can tell, this tractor had been a "blue belly" at one time, and the leaking seal was due to being ineptly installed, it was not "square" in the carrier, and they used (re used!) gaskets and about two tubes of nasty black RTV.



I used the Gator as a work bench that day.


It is a very good running tractor, a 1950 model from the serial number and it has a 12 volt electrical conversion.  However, there are a few things I think of as "hackery" done to it. First off, if you are going to "restore" a tractor, at least do some body work! A few hours with some bondo and a ball peen hammer would have gone a long way on the hood, the fenders were painted right over rust pits and are bleeding rust back through all ready.  Then there is the brake issue I had to fix, and I have found a few loose bolts here and there.  Sure, it may look great in this picture but the hood is rough as hell from ten feet away.

I then patched up a roof on the sap shack a bit.  I think a metal roof is in order here in the next couple years.




 The stovepipe coming out the side is from the sap boiler used each spring for maple syrup.

The Central Minnesota Heritage Club was having it's summer show just a couple miles from the house so I went over and took it in.  One thing I really liked was the number of machines in "working clothes", in other words not overly restored. 

This Case "CC" was I believe a 1934 model and originally on steel wheels I would imagine, I saw it run pulling the stone boat with a big water tank on it and folks jumping on as it pulled down the track. It sure sounded sweet lugging down! 


And here is a home added log splitter on an Allis Chalmers "B"  Allis Chalmers was this year's show featured brand.


Shorthorn oxen?  I didn't see them at work though the owners have a little wagon they pull. Docile creatures for sure. 

 

Lawn mower pullers! The lawn tractor pulls were held Sunday.


Video I took of the threshing machine-



I also dug the '74 model six horse Johnson outboard from the shed, it gets run every few summers on the johnboat dad bought along with it.  When we lived on the other side of the road, my grandmother had a dock on Big Swan lake it was kept at.




I shall also mention that these were probably the two hottest days of the summer, in the high 90's.  That dip I took on a Sunday afternoon after anchoring the boat and jumping over the side sure felt good. :)

Since I had an empty trailer, it had to be loaded! Back in the early 80's, dad bought this wagon running gear from a farm auction for 25 dollars or so.  A tad of research showed it was constructed (quite well so) with a pair of '37-'39 Ford front axles, which were flipped over 180* to raise them (they "smile" in the car but are "unhappy" on the wagon) and the large bolt pattern wheels.

  I had to put air and a valve stem core in ONE tire.  Sure, some were low, but dad figures this thing had not moved in 27 years!


We had a flat bed on this when I was a kid, here is a pic from 1982 baling some hay- the rest of the equipment is long gone but the running gear remains.  The guy on the Minneapolis-Moline RTU tractor is a 15 year old me, the guy on top of the load now owns a successful pool and spa business, the third guy I lost track of. 



Loaded that wagon up along with an old horse drawn walking plow and a better chassis to replace the rusted chassis on a '67 Ski Doo I have.

 
 
Monday morning came, and it was time to leave for Georgia again.  I had the load strapped down to the trailer, said my good byes and headed out about 6am on a Monday. I stopped in the town of Grey Eagle, 3 1/2 miles down the road, and checked the straps, and who came walking by but this guy Vance who I recall from school, on his way to get a cup of coffee from the Clark station that was opening up.  We summarized our lives since we last talked in four minutes or less, and I got on the road again!  
 
Down two lane country roads as dawn became morning and I headed on down I-94 towards Minneapolis.  Baled road ditches anyone?


Below is a load of sweet corn, to compliment the load of tomatoes I got behind in Indiana. I was not pelted with corn this time however. This was after merging to 1-35.

 
Iowa, here we come.  The roads proved much smoother than the Wisconsin route on the way up.
 
 
I'm not sure what this place is- airport?
 

Several hours later, the "worlds largest truck stop"  which has a separate truck museum that I did NOT go in to due to time.
 

Here is the base, or part of it, for one of the many giant wind turbines being transported -


Inside the actual truck stop store, which reminds me of a shopping mall, there was this neat Dodge Power Wagon on display.



 
Things sure have come a long way, neat old truck but I sure would not want to, nor be able to, knock down 850 miles in a day in that iron dog!
 
 
Above is a Caterpillar building in Peoria, IL.
 
I pressed on, making it east to the outskirts of Indianapolis, then south on I-65.  About 12:30 AM and 18 hours since leaving the home place, this guy needed a place to rest. Only the rest area on the big slab was backed up on the the on ramp with big rigs. I pulled in a TA truck stop parking lot in Seymore, IN. 
 
This time I was not as lucky. Ended up parked between two rigs and it was warmer, more humid out than it was on the overnight in Kentucky on the way up.  I woke up sweaty a couple times and had to start the engine to run the AC and cool off the cab.  With rigs coming and going all the time, GOOD sleep was not possible. 
 
About 6 hours later I gave up on trying to sleep more, and hit the road.  Here are the lights coming in to Louisville at dawn.
 

   
Once in Louisville, I hit I-64 and headed east. This time, instead of bearing south on I-75 at Lexington I continued east/southeast on Combs Mountain Parkway. This took me on a very scenic route, most of which was a divided four lane. At Pikeville, I headed south on US 19-23. At about noon, I pulled in to my inlaw's yard.
 
I backed the trailer in to a spot and unhooked it, as the wagon and plow were to stay there. Chris was doing better after the ATV roll over but still couldn't really use his arm.
       




 
The story pretty much ends here. After unhooking and shooting the breeze with Chris, I headed to Savannah, getting home about 7pm.
I can't find my notes, but the trip back was 330 or so miles longer than the trip up, due to the Iowa route (extra 80 miles) and going home with a detour to Wise, VA to drop the trailer.  
 
I don't have one of those GPS navigation units and chuckle when I am driving down the interstate, and look over to see a car lower than me (which you can see well while driving a 4x4 truck) and see the screen with the arrow pointing straight ahead! Now I will admit they are nice in a city trying to find a place, but I do just fine with a Rand McNally altas. I have a Garmin E-trex GPS I use basically as a trip meter. It records mileage, time moving and time stopped. It will surprise you just how long those gas stops take!  I snapped this shot close to the VA/TN border, you can see the elevation displayed on the bottom, 3750 ft.  
 

I also have a small Uniden CB that is powered through a plug to a lighter socket. I use a magnet mount antenna on the front fender. This was handy in the construction traffic I encountered in Illinois. I had a means of finding out what lane was closed up ahead and what the hold up was.