The Scene of the Crash

The Scene of the Crash

In the Northeast, winter is like an unwelcome guest by the end of January. Fact is nobody invited her at all. This is especially true to brain dead young-uns. I being one of those should have known better since ripping a knee cartilage into confetti a few years earlier and having a doctor remove it using the latest technology….a dull chainsaw, a pair of worn dirty vice grips and a stick to bite down on (he told me I’d pay for my ignorance years later!) (he was right!). So I made a promise to her to stay out of her way and she should stay out of mine. Both of us failed to keep our promises. The winter hag is a BITCH!

The day was overcast and cold…winter..duh. We had about a foot and a half of snow on the ground and boredom along with cabin fever was at epidemic levels. I was stalking around the house muttering, slamming doors and sticking pins into a Styrofoam snowman doll when a friend called to say they were going tobogganing. TOBOGGANING!!! I had not been on a sled in what had to be 8 years!! But it sure beat sitting around with a flashlight casting shadow animals on the walls with my hands (pre-computers!)! “PICK ME UP!” I said without thinking of my deal with ole mom nature. Somewhere a wolf howled….and the wind cried Mary!

Ron pulls into my yard with his hippy drippy van and Kevin and Jimmy are with him along with the toboggan. Ah yes the TOBOGGAN! I remember looking at it and thinking what technology! It kind of looks like a stretched garage creeper without the wheels…..no wait …it looks like a rescue backboard…yeah that’s it! Looking back I may have rang the bell on that one!

So we decide we are going to BigAss Hill (I changed the name to protect the innocent!). This is really 3 hills in one. On the left is Kiddy Hill where laughing diapered children are slid down on their parent’s laps. In the middle is Woo Hill which rises sharply and real speed is achieved but the decent is smooth. The hill on the right is Cashew (ya gotta be nutz!) or Cash-In Hill (a play as in boot hill) and a near vertical drop is interrupted by ledges and jumps. Life insurance is suggested and a warning that you are on your own are on a sign with a Skull and Crossed Bones at the top. At the bottom of these hills after a flat of 20 yards or so is a 4 foot fence corralling a baseball field. Ya don’t want those crazy umpires just wandering around all free like because they can be dangerous. Like a Rhino they can’t see very well and have a tendency to charge when startled. Veerryy dangerous critters!

So all day we rocket down Woo Hill having a ball (yup we were yelling “WOO! At times…ya got to!). During this time I notice that Kevin has never taken the front seat. No big deal but it is where you get the coldest and wettest. The sun was sinking low and the place was becoming deserted when we decided to go up on Cashew Hill. As we stood on the top it looked almost straight down. We were also saying how all day we had seen NO ONE go down it. There was evidence that someone had gone down but it didn’t look too fresh. But then again there were no frozen pools of blood or strewn about body parts at the bottom….looked good to me! So we played a little game of calling each other wussie names and all kinds of childish derogatory things until we all HAD to go down. It was getting to dusk when we all caved in.

But wait! Who is going in first? I called attention to the fact that Kevin had never occupied the grand exalted position all day and it was only fitting he took the place of honor. I think right then if I had turned my back on Kevin and he happened to have …let’s say….a tire iron in his hand I would been laid out in the snow. But instead of violence we argued a little bit and then Kevin jumped into the seat and said “Well if we’re doing this lets get it over with!”. I took the cue next and jumped down behind Kevin with Ron and Jim after me.

As soon as the sled broke free of the snow’s grip my spidey sense started to tingle and ancestors voices filled my head with a loud “Oh Nooooooooo!”. I would say it took but a millisecond and we were approaching warp factor 3. Snow was flying up and over the front of the sled blinding us and the terrible speed was INCREASING! Just as I expected the sonic report of the barrier being broken we hit the first dip. We kept the sled under us as the ground fell away and then rose again with sudden murderous intent. The landing caused my teeth to slam shut and my prostate to visit esophagus briefly. Then we were back to the snow blind rocket race. A small rise cleared our vision as the snow flying up from the front ceased but the regaining of sight was only revealing the ultimate horror. Next up was the jump! We were actually on the jump when Kevin decided to bail out. The only problem was that on a toboggan the guy behind you has their legs around you so as he rolled off the sled he dragged my leg with him.

Well I landed in sitting position with my right leg out in front of me which jammed into the snow and ice. Unfortunately I was doing lightspeed at the time and a leg is no good substitute for a pole vault pole. I heard a very loud pop and then a SNAP and was flung onto my stomach for the remainder of the hill. I slid to a stop and knew something wicked had happened. But something else took me away for a second and that was the fact that it was snowing and an eerie bluish cast light had filled the area.

I looked around and my friends were all rising off the snow in various states of consciousness but all seemingly fine. I laid there marveling at the sudden snowstorm and lighting effect. As they approached me I told them I had broken my leg and they laughed and went to get me up. I told them again and said first one who tried to get me up would die. Now they realized I was not fooling around. A few of the people who were left on the other hills came running over and were all yelling that that was the craziest jaw-dropping thing they had ever seen and we had to be 15 feet in the air and lucky we were not all killed. When they realized I was hurt they organized a team and put me on the toboggan AS A RESCUR BOARD (remember?) and transported me over the fence and to Ron’s hippie van ( I am not small and this was no small feat!).

I told Ron to take me to my family physician whom I had not seen in an easy 8 years. He was an old German doctor who had an office over an old pharmacy. Yes OVER a pharmacy. As I leaned on Ron and Jim and looked at those 30 stairs and I thought maybe this was not a good idea when a guy came out of the pharmacy and saw the predicament. He spoke words of deep knowledge when he said turn around and go up on your ass. So I thanked him and crabbed up the steep stairs. I rang the bell and went into the waiting room to wait. No receptionists back then (like I said BC…before computers). The doctor opened the door to the office and looked at us and began closing the door again with this weird look on his face. Here were 3 good sized guys and one monster. All had long hair and beards and looked pretty haggard from sliding and being outside all day. He must have thought we were there for his drugs or his soul. Before he closed the door all the way I yelled out “Doc! I think I broke my leg!”, and as the door clicked shut and clicked locked I heard him say “Then go to the emergency room.”. I almost sicked Ron, Kevin and Jim on him but instead slid back down the stairs on my butt.

*(As a side note I never saw this doctor again…about a year later he got hit by a train…I know 2 people who got killed by a train…what are the odds and how the hell do you get hit by a train? They were not stupid people mind you. I just don’t get it!).

By now the snowing had stopped and the natural color of things was returning to normal but I was also feeling the leg and it was not a good feeling. I found out later that it had never snowed and no blue light had filled the planet. What was happening was I was seeing PAIN. My body was protecting me by turning the pain into visual impute. Now my body was getting sick of playing parlor tricks and was letting the nerves do their jobs. This was not a good turn of events in my book and by the time we reached the emergency room I was pretty distracted by somebody holding my leg in a roaring campfire. They wheeled me into an examination room and started to cut off my nice rubber boot but in a little bit blood started to flow out of their cutting. I’m getting pissed because I think they are cutting me and am letting them know to take it easy. I can still see it today in my mind clear as a bell. They finish cutting the boot and off comes the bottom half and with it a whole lot of blood. My sock is drenched. Then one lifts off the top part of my boot and my foot rotates to this strange angle and with that movement the grand finale of a super fireworks show commences in my head. I hear a couple of “OH!”’s around the room and a flurry of orders are barked. Next thing I am on a gurney waiting for the ambulance to transport me to a REAL Hospital.

I really don’t remember much about the next few days except when they took me for the operation I remember being on a gurney and BANGING through hospital doors with a string of fluorescent lights flying by overhead. Just like the movies I thought! Must have been at least seven sets of doors we banged through. I’m thinking “My, it’s a long way to Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory! I later heard they bring you through a tunnel to the operation rooms and that must have been what I was remembering.

As it turns out I shattered that ankle. Fragged it but good! I don’t remember how long I was in a wheelchair, then crutches and then a cane but I do remember it seemed like 3 lifetimes. Today it bothers me a lot but then again so does the other leg where I walked on ripped up cartilage for 3 years. One girlfriend said it gave me character! Yeah…. and that character is a giant Quasimodo. But then again she was also into horror flicks! I’m lucky!

So you can keep winter and all its fun. Maybe I shouldn’t look at it as winters fault especially since I have put some pretty bad hurts on myself in warm weather too. But anyway I thought I’d share this little trip on the great road of life. Call it a pot hole, call it a frost heave, it’s a side trip and another long diatribe put out there to waste a little of your time and mine! Bring on the warm weather!!!

Be Well

AmbergrismOoOn

We were Hellions I tell you!!!

We were Hellions I tell you!!!

I think it was like the seventh grade and I run in to these two characters. There is a big guy named Stephen Day. Of course that’s not his real last name but it’s kind of a play on words. I did kind of wonder of his estranged father was a famous basketball coach that had a reputation for a bad temper. Nuff said! The other guy is kinda small and is named like a great deceased Rock singer let’s call him Jimmy Blorrison or Jimmy Blor for short. These two meatballs are kinda cool in that they are regular guys. Bustin chops and laughing are the two things to live for kinda friends. But there were a couple of warning shots that I overlooked by choice. I took a switchblade off Stephen one time, cuffed him in back of the head asking him what the hell he was thinking. I must also say there was another guy hanging around that left no doubts that he would be culled early or he was going to be a dependant in the state penal colony for a very long time. His name was Gary Huge-anon. He was sort of a Cro-Magnon greaser with a broad streak of evil in him. He is out of the sunlight last I knew and scheduled to stay that way. Anyway he is a non issue in this story and will not be mentioned again.

So one day we are kind of moaning how we are treated as children and we should go out with the to the left coast with the hippy free love groups. Hit the road and be free and all that excretement. So we pooled out cash and headed to Providence. We go to the bus station and find with our very impressive wealth we can get to Boston! WOW! Well it’s a start anyway but we got an hour wait for the buss. Never having been in the bus station before, we went exploring. Now if you had ever been in a bus station back in the 60’s you will know what I am talking about when I say it’s not the cream of the crop that frequents these places. In fact I think the only place danker, more dangerous and littered with lowlifes than the bus station is the train station, especially at night, but more on that later.

Before long there are guys trying to pick up Jimmy, and nasty grossly painted him/she’s(?) are offering to inseminate n’ edjumacate us all. Steve and I would just glare at them and make them slink back into their little dark cesspools but Jimmy being young looking and small only had his mouth to bludgeon the creeps. But I got to tell you his mouth shot full metal jackets and was always on full auto. It helped having two good sized if not overly big friends laughing and egging him on. (What are friends for?)

So after a lot of laughs and a lot of gross edjumication about the world and the dark places we boarded a bus for Beantown. It’s funny but I remember stepping on the bus thinking “Here it is, the point of no return! The start of freedom and a great adventure. It might take a week or a month but I will call from Haight Ashbury and tell the folks about the hot free love hippy women and Califo…..whew! Are we really doing this? Guess so!”.!

All the way to Boston we talked about the joys of freedom and what it will be like. We hit town with about $5 between us. We got off the bus and looked around. OK now what. Hey lets go see Fenway! Cool. It’s a building. Who knew? Now what? We spend the $5 on drinks and a couple bags of munchies. So we are hanging just watching the big city do it’s big city thing when we get hungry again. I know what we need! Mo money! So we start panhandeling. Me and Stephen are lousy at it. Jimmy is a GOD! AH SO! Looking young and vulnerable is an valuable asset when begging. Good info! Maybe threatening will also increase our luck. Steve is really striking out. I’m only a little better when Steve sees a oriental man bopping down the street and jumps out and asks him for a buck. The guy is like “I no speek de eengrush!” immediately Steve is laughing and yelling for the guy to give him 25 yen and we are all cracking up except the man. He just walks off fast yelling something. I’m embarrassed to say I laughed but I sure did.

We quickly realized that starvation would arrive before we actually made enough for us to eat and decided to pull a chew & screw. We bad or what? So we pick out this little Italian restaurant that looked to be an easy fast exit. I think I had Spaghetti and Meatballs but Jimmy and Stephen got some fancy expensive dishes. As soon as we finished Stephen said lets go and we all got up. Well they were waiting for us. They almost got Jimmy as we were bailing for the door and we could hear them chasing us up the street yelling before we dusted them and quickly got a few blocks away. Even with the full bellies we got out of Dodge purty dern quick.

So now we are in Boston and the evening is wearing thin but we are digging the sights. So we walked and talked but before too long we realized we had no money and no plan and no place to sleep. Funny how some things escape younguns that are high on life juices. I think we all came to the realization that we had not completely thought this our or used a lick of common sense by around 10:00pm.

We were just sort of scuffling along when we see a limo pull up to the curb and a guy and his girl get out all dressed to the 9’s. They go up some steps and we see him flash something and stick it into a slot then go in the door. Then like a golden beacon we see the sign and it’s the Boston Playboy Club. Sort of a Mecca of adolescent dreams. We watch a while and a steady stream of limos and nice cars pull up. Some couples just come walking up the street and go in. I think Jimmy was first to approach a couple and ask for money to get home. Well the dude not wanting to look cheap to his date yanks out a $5 and lays it on him. We are just flabbergasted and quickly form the beggers line. We started hitting everyone up as they came and most of the time they were laying some serious cash on us. At least by our standards.

Again we realize that Jimmy looks the most innocent and needy so Stephen and I lay back and watch the master. He’s playing to the ladies looking all young and scared then when getting the score he’s running back to us and crackin’ wize. It was not long and we had enough to get another meal; and back to Providence. Fact is I think we could have taken a Taxi but we had one more Boston mission before we bid goodbye to Beantown.

We had to get inside the CLUB! There didn’t seem to have a doorman. It looked like members just inserted a card and the door unlocked and in they went. So when Steve saw another couple go in he ran up and put his foot in the door before it closed. He made a sweeping gesture to us to enter and that’s just what we did. We stood just inside the door taking it all in. There was a coat check room and the lady in it with the ears with boobs spilling up over her shiny little pink bathing suit was staring at us. But there were a lot of those ladies walking around. I don’t think any of us could close our mouths or roll out tongues back in. Soon a big fella in a tux ambled over and asked if he could help us. I got the words “We want a job!” out. He laughed and said “I’ll tell you what. Go back outside and down the right side of the building. There is a window there and someone will be there. Ask them for an application!”, and with that he opened the door and made us understand that it was time to leave. Which we did. As we were leaving he told us to not do that again and I believe he meant it. We did go down the alley which I know now was not a very bright thing to do but there was a window and there was someone sitting behind the glass but we never went up to it. We may be dumb but we ‘taint stooped (ha)!

So we get ourselves back to the bus station and are told we can take the last bus back to Providence at midnight which was about half an hour off. So for half an hour we fend off the denizens of the night and creepies in the shadows but we are a little more prepared and having a little fun doing it this time.

The ride back was pretty uneventful but when we get back to good ole Pville it has started drizzling. Upon entering the bus station we are informed that the station will be closing in 10 minutes until 5 in the morning and everyone has to leave. We notice a couple of other kids and they say they are going to the train station that never closes. We decide it’s better than standing in the drizzle but on the way we spot a hot dog vendor. It is a trailer parked on the street and there are people getting hot dogs. So we blow the rest of the tribute on dogs, fries and drinks and proceed to the train station swilling the booty on the way.

Remember when I told you “the only place more dank, dangerous and littered with lowlifes than the bus station is the train station”? The place would have been brighter if they had lit it’s cavernous maw with one candle. It’s wooden benches creaked and rocked sending echo’s not unlike screaming victims of the Spanish Inquisition in the dungeons of despair. Forgotten souls walked zombie like or snored under newspaper or sat muttering obscenities and nonsense. Panhandlers and hookers for the blind deaf and dumb stalked between the benches. I thought the bus station was bad…this place smelled of urine and retch which only added to the stickey floor what was thankfully hidden from sight by the lack of lighting. We picked a bench and circled the wagons.

A couple hours of one eye sleeping and we beat feet outta there. Deciding this life on the road stuff was pretty poor we started walking up US Rt. 44 and back to the country where at least the beds were soft and warm and disease don’t walk up to you asking for incubation rights. Powerful tired we were on that walk and out of the 17 miles (thankfully my house was about 5 miles before Stephen or Jimmys) we got rides for about 8 of them. While trudging through one town I was surprised to see my parents headed towards Providence. They smiled and waved and kept right on going. Thanks! Guess I deserved it.

Well it was quite a while before I ran away again. Plus the lessons of the first time were not lost on me. Mistakes ain’t half bad as long as you survive and learn by them. Nothing was ever said about the adventure at my house, I guess Jimmy got a beating by his father and Stephen got a guilt trip from his mother but I had already decided I’d cool the friendships with them. Often wonder what happened with them, they disappeared from the school system and I never heard from them again. Maybe they snuck back up to Beantown and filled out an application. Stephen is most likely shooing out the crazy kids that stick their foot in the door of the Bunny Club and Jimmy is perched in the window in the alley. I’m just sitting here trying to get these pages unstuck. “George… tell me about the rabbits again George! The rabbits!”! …. “This month’s top rabbit likes romantic dinners and long walks along deserted beaches at night Lenny!”.

You people need to quit wasting time reading this drivel. I mean really… how much of your time are you gonna let me waste! Hey ya got a buck to help a kid get back to Providence? Huh? You got a pretty girlfriend and a real nice car so howsabout it? Give a kid a break?

Be Well

AmbergrismOoOn

Best Friends

I had a friend that I grew up with. His name was Jeff Palmeri.

We were great fishing buddies and seldom missed coffee on Sunday mornings as we listened to Rock & Roll and poured over fishing magazines and tackle boxes. We were also motorcycle aficionados. Even before we could drive we would go over to the next town and pick up Bridgestone Motorcycle pamphlets and talk and dream of two wheeling it. As I remember it Jeff’s first bike was a Yamaha 350 and mine was a Honda 450. Then he was off to college and I was running wild. After his college days and my wild days we hooked up and forged a solid friendship again.

Back in 1977 I was riding a 1976 Yamaha XS-650B and Jeff was buying a new bike. He bought the bike of the year the 1977 Kawasaki KZ-650. It was billed as a "750 killer". For a 4 cylinder inline it was narrow and it developed 65 horsepower. It came in two colors Emerald Green and Orange. He bought the green one. His favorite color and mine, As much as I loved my twin thumper, his new scooter was a real nice ride.

It wouldn’t be long before I bought a Gold Wing. We rode many miles together and like everything else Jeff owned he meticulously kept the Kawasaki in new condition. I lost my best friend a few years later when he was suddenly taken from us.

His widow Lisa had wanted me to take the bike saying he would have wanted it that way but I couldn’t do it. I did accept his fishing gear and use it to this day. His younger brother got the bike.

Not long after, he slipped out on some sand on a corner and laid the bike down.

The handle bars were ruined there was a ping in the tank, the mirror, clutch lever and turn signal took a beating. The point cover and the speedometer got a rash also. Jeff’s brother put the bike into a shed and forgot it. He did drive it home. Now during this time I went through a few bikes and ended up with a 1100 Honda Sabre. That was up until four years ago when I came down with an aggressive arthritis. During two particular bad flare-ups of this problem I thought that my riding days were waning. And riding a 170+mph crotch rocket was not a wise thing to be doing so I sold the bike to a co-worker. I was bikeless..

It’s very hard to give up a passion. I had been riding bikes since 1969 and had always owned one or two. Well in 1999 Jeff’s brother came to me to fix his laptop. He mentioned that he still had the bike. He wanted to give me the bike but instead I took it in trade for fixing his laptop. His computer wasn’t really broken, it just needed a good file cleaning.

So he told me he had just rolled the bike into the shed about 15 years ago. Horror must have drained into my face at that point. It had been filled with gas and oil and the tires had been sitting on the ground for 15 years. I was prepared for anything. He said to just go pick it up cause he was on the road a lot and my mothers house was about a thousand yards up the road. So I got my nephew and a tire pump and went to get the poor old girl.

When I first saw the bike my heart sank. There was the Emerald Green gas tank covered in dust and dirt. I could see where brake fluid had gotten on the tank and ruined the paint. What was worse was that the side covers and tailpiece had changed color due to the fact that they are plastic. Over the years the sulphur in the plastic outgassed and changed the paint color. They were now a funky blue color that faded to the edge into the old emerald green. Really, really hideous! There was also surface rust everywhere. The tires were flat and weather cracked like a dry lake bed. The seat had a couple of rips and looked dry...real dry.

Well I could see a sort of painful look in my nephew’s eyes as he looked it over too. So I put the pump on the front tire and started pumping. To our disbelief the tire pumped up and held air! Then the back tire did the same Well I could see a sort of painful look in my nephew's eyes as he looked it over too. So I put the pump on the front tire and started pumping. To our disbelief the tire pumped up and held air! Then the back tire did the same and I realized that Jeff was not too far away. Well, we rolled the poor thing right up the street into my mothers yard. We sat looking at it as my brother came back from a walk in the woods. His response was "Looks like it went through a war!". My nephew and my brother left and I went to work.

There are days I can do a lot and days when it's hard to do basic functions, then there are days I should be locked in a dry warm cave and left alone. Slowly I brought the old girl back. While I worked on her Jeff was over one shoulder urging me on and over the other shoulder was my father telling me how crazy I was being.

Soap and water, spit and polish helped her beauty and reduced her rust . I was lucky most of it was surface rust and there was minimal pitting. The carbs were varnished up and their removal and installation proved to be quite a challenge. It is the tightest fit I have ever seen. I was ready to give up many times in re-installing them but perseverance paid off. The drive chain was squeezing out o-rings like spaghetti from a pasta maker. Of course the rear wheel must come off and also part of the exhaust. Cool!

The oil was like roofing tar and when I drained it I didn't get a lot out so I changed the filter and added the proper amount. I slowly hand cranked the engine about 1 cycle per day to free up the rings and minimize cylinder scoring. Of course the tank was filled with scaling rust so I sealed the openings poured in a couple boxes of BB's and did the mambo every day for a couple of weeks. Finally I bought a tank sealing kit and it worked like a charm. After 4 new plugs I got the bike running using an intervenious like set up.

She ran for a while and smoothed out quickly then there seemed to be a setback. She started to backfire and run ragged so I shut her down. After shutting her down I noticed a puddle of oil under the bike. I was bummed. I found out it was coming through my breather. Then it dawned on me and I checked the oil level. Sure enough it was way over full. Now I drained the oil again and WOW was there a lot of oil in there. When she got warm she had re liquefied the old oil that had not drained out the first time. I did two more quick oil changes and filters and the problem went away. I could have done some real damage with that much oil in her.

I've been working on her for about 5 months now and I just got her painted. I didn't paint her Emerald Green but I was tempted. I gave her a sort of flame color scheme without the garish flame graphics. It's like the Phoenix or Fire Bird who rose from the ashes. I also wanted to call her "Sunny Side Up" hoping to keep her in that attitude. I still have a few things to do so it's not 100% yet but it won't be long.

Here it is 2001...I hope you like it. She is a sweet 23 year old lady and a tribute to a best friend. I don't know how far I can ride it. But if I can ride it once a week for only a mile or two it will be more than enough. And if I can only look at it ......that will be enough. BTW it only had 14,000 miles on it. Jeff, I hope you're going to be my co-pilot and Pop .........I got room for a navigator .....howsaboutit?

12/20/2001

Now it’s December 2005 and Sunny Side Up is finally finished. She is a beautiful bike that gets comments and looks wherever we go. Since 1991 there have been many bikes come and go here. Seems like my brother caught the bike bug and we have been restoring them at a pretty good clip. The list includes

1. 1977 Kawasaki 650B (Sunny Side Up-my favorite ride-a keeper) 2. Honda CB360 (was in a junk pile, my brother used it as a starter bike-sold) 3. 1982 Kawasaki 750 LTD (my brothers 1st real ride) 4. 1982 Honda SilverWing Interstate (my brothers steady steed) 5. 1961 Aermacci /Harley Davidson 250 Sprint (sold on e-bay) 6. 1984 Kawasaki 550 LTD (sweet little ride, but too small-sold) 7. 1982 Suzuki 650 L (great looking bike, but not my style-sold) 8. 1984 Honda NightHawk 700SC (wish I bought this one off my brother -sold) 9. 1976 Kawasaki 900 LTD (she has a bad attitude but real pretty-a keeper) 10. 1974 Suzuki GT750 LeMans (water cooled, 2 stroke, 3 cylinder) (under repair-carbs) 11. 1972 Triumph Trident 750 (3 cylinder British beauty) (under restoration-might be a keeper)

Pre 1991 bikes includes:

1. 1971 CB450 Honda

2. 1976 XS650B Yammie

3. 1974 GT380 Suzuki

4. 1976 GL1000 Gold Wing

5. 1968 BSA Gold Star

6. 1985 1100 Honda Sabre

and about 20 other less mentionable scoots

Like I said it’s now late 2005 and Sunny Side Up is finished. I took a few weeks this summer to freshen up the top end with new gaskets. The addition of a Derail oil cooler, Lester Mags, a DynaS Ignition, Blue Goose Coils and a headlight visor have added to it’s good running and looks. One problem is I put a new set of Dunlops on her two years ago and they are all cracked up so it looks like a set of Bridgestones are in order. I was very disappointed in the Dunlops.

I have a feeling my buddy is riding with me whenever I fire her up and he forgives me for the yellow/red paint. As for my father I think he took the navigator job cause I hear this voice occasionally telling me where to go and once in a while a very loud "Whoo Hoo!!".

Be Well

AmbergrismOoOn

“Dinkin” the Winter Blues Away

“Dinkin” the Winter Blues Away

They sat at the ends of long driveways or on long abandoned cart paths cut into woods off the back roads. They were usually a decade old or more. Some were in pretty good condition just replaced by a shinier and newer model. Some smoked like chimney’s proclaiming their need of a mechanics magic or just singing their death song. But don’t fool yourself. Some were gems in the rough. Their cost was anything from free to $100 and negotiations were expected. We called them DinkMobiles. To others they were junks, cheap transportation or eyesores.

Come fall we would start the hunt just like the camo dressed deerslayers would take to the woods we would take to the roads and search for our own quarry. Some were legendary in their provision of great fun and some gave up the ghost all too easy. There should be a Hall of Fame and a Hall of Shame made to the Great and Noble DinkMobile!! A Masterdon by today’s timeline but a great memory in a older mans heart.

I don’t remember who started it or where the diabolical idea came from. I don’t remember the first DinkMobile. Such information has been struck from modern memory, at least mine (Al Zimer may have something to do with that). But here is how I remember it.

Curtain opens on a 57’ Olds sitting in a lower driveway. Paint is a little faded and part of the headliner has fallen down. The steering wheel is full of cracks but the big fancy chrome dash is sparkling like the sun glinting off a windswept bass lake on the summer solstice. There is enough room in the beast to pile a cord of winter fire wood. The owner is on his way down to see what this gang of boys is doing to his prize. By the time he gets there we have the hood open and are thrilled to see the big V-8 staring right back at us. That engine feels us. It knows us. It knows that we will end it’s time in high RPM glory and sent it to Engine Valhalla doing what all big displacement engines were meant to do. Put smiles on the faces of the men and boys who drive them.

After the owner chastises us for touching his gOLDSie without permission and he realizes we are there for her with real folding cash he softens and tells us her history. He bought her new for his 50th birthday and here 12 years later they are going to part ways. She has taken him far and wide and owes him nothing. Obviously this is not true or he wouldn’t be asking the $75 written on the cardboard sign in the window. So we listen, hoping our sympathy may yet garner a $25 or maybe even a $50 discount. He starts the beast and it purrs like a kitten (oh we’ll fix that I think!). He tells us everything works except the radio (oh we’ll fix that too I think). So our designated buyer Abe offers him $40 cash and the guy flintches. But it’s got good tires and doesn’t burn MUCH oil or leak MUCH oil for that matter. “It runs like a top! $60!” he says. Abe says $50 and that concludes the deal. gOLDSie is OURS.

He writes out a BIL O’SALE and we are outta there. BOY he sure didn’t mentions the ORIGINAL SHOCKS we discover as we are wallowing down the street. But who needs stinkin’ shocks anyway!!! We don' neeeeed no steenkin' shocks!! THIS IS A DINKMOBILE BABY!!!! A SNOWPLOWING, DINK HUNTIN, GUTTER RIDING, AVENGER OF WARM WEATHER AND FOE TO OLD MAN WINTER AND HIS MIND NUMMING DOLDRUMS. WITH THIS VEHICLE WE WILL STAB AT COLD AND ICE AND DRIVE THE WINTER FROM OUR LANDS! …….Sorry I got a little carried away there!

gOLDSie has about 20 hands working her over. A cheap tuneup and a check on the hood latch (important Dinking knowledge). Rip the rest of the headliner down before it falls down. Put a few wire coat hangers in the car just in case something needs to be wired down or back on. A set of old registration plates just to get to good Dink areas and something to hang from the mirror just to act as a telltale as to how the car was jumping around while actually in a Dink Run. A good Dinkin’ year meant a lot of snowfalls and a lot of cheap cars to be had.

Right on que old man winter takes a mighty dump on us and the herd of snow plows prepares our target track. This year’s crop looks primo. There are snowballs ranging from 1 foot in diameter to 2 with a few 3 footers sprinkled in various places. There is almost 2 feet of constant snow just outside the banks. Perfect! This untouched snow is just enough to hide exciting things that eventually or should I say usually delivers the coup de grace (killing blow). Things like stumps, culverts rocks and a refrigerator have all brought sudden death or a time or two a badly hurt but noble beast surprisingly has limped us back at least close to our hangout. We usually had a chase car but not always and it was almost as fun being in the chase car as it was in the DinkMobile. It is too bad this was well before video recorders because some of the sights were truly hilarious.

Dinking 101

When buying the car use the name of someone you really don’t like. Best scenario is to buy the car out of town. Secure all lose items in the car. Carry only enough tools to remove the hood if need be and registration plates. Pray to the snow god. Sacrifice a meatball/pepper sandwich if he/she does not cooperate with copious amounts of snow. Scope out your Dinkin’ route before the snow flies. This doesn’t guarantee safe Dinkin’ it just enlarges your gonads and ensures you will Dink at maximum fun speed ensuring maximum adrenaline giggles and screams of “What was I thinking?” after the beast has died. A helmet while deemed to be a wussie move could provide protection from a back seat head meeting a front seat head or slamming where the headliner was with “little birdies and stars” force. One co-patriot thought a pillow would be a good idea but discovered the other Dinkers were jealous and sliced the down pillow on the countdown to a legendary Dink Run. The feathers provided a surrealistic snowstorm INSIDE the car as the real snow flew outside the car. One last note is to always plot your course on a back road. Other drivers that happen across a Dinking vehicle at first think they are seeing a horrific accident happening before their eyes. Then they get a “You guys are MORONS!” look on their face when the figure out you ACTUALLY ARE a car FULL of MORONS and mutter a vow of celibacy so as to not add to our numbers.

So you have a Noble Dinkmobile all rigged to run. You have a course picked and there is 2 feet of snow on the ground. The Plows have complied and evil Dinks wait in ambush on the roadsides. Draw straws, throw fingers or last man standing should decide the driver of the beast. It’s also more fun if the craziest dude in the group holds this esteemed position. Then who is in front and who is in back must be decided before the Official Dink Countdown begins.

3…2….1….remove the safeties….”and the monkey lights the fuse”.. main engines coming on line…….power at maxium…..……NOW! Ludicrous SPEED! With the scenery only a blur out the side windows you see the first Dink a little ahead. Trepidation tells you to take it off the right bumper and a WHUMP and the steering wheel snatches to the right but you were ready and keep her on the road. That was not so bad but it was only a small dink. After a few more your tightey whities are fitting a little more snugly with your increased size when a larger Dink appears on the radar. This one really tugs at your grip and a little snow is blown up over the hood surprising you….. but YOU ARE DA MAN. The crowd is calling for more as a stove sized Dink rises like a specter flipping you da bird and making rude noises in your general direction… and you train the hood ornament on it. The Dink explodes over the hood of the car showering the Dinkmobile with Dinkguts and Dink Hemoglobin AND you smile knowing you have killed a trophy Dink… AND that’s when the right side tire digs in and drags the beast off the road and into the unknown. Suddenly the beast is slamming, banging and bucking. Dinkguts is being thrown up at great amounts over the hood which hopefully stays latched. The god awful sound of Dinks being bludgeoned under the car fills your poor poor ears and you wonder if she will blow when the exhaust system gives up and pulls the ejector handle.

If you are good and if you are still conscious you might be able to wrestle the car back onto the road. If she truly is a Dinkmobile she will want to go offroad again. That is if you have not crushed and ripped open the oil pan or taken off a wheel. Sometimes they will just start squealing but eagerly search for the next victims. Another weak point is the radiator but it will usually give you some time before overheating. The cold helps longevity and it adds to the ambiance to see great billowing clouds of steam or condensation piling out of the front of the beast. At times we had Dinkmobiles 12 feet off the road and doing 40 mph through 2+ feet of snow only to come back and keep going. But some cars were also duds and took almost no punishment at all before all animation faded from their lives.

Oh but there were the great ones too. Al’s 53 Chevy bubble top comes to mind. We were going downhill about 45-50mph and a road went off to the left on a 30 degree angle and steeply down. The sides of the road sloped back up at a crazy angle but were littered with great dinks. Al just cranked into the shoulder that grabbed us and brought us up the slope… and just like that we rolled. The top of that car was just like the old sledding flying saucers. We came down the roadside spinning like a top and onto the road where we slid another 100 feet or so just spinning away. The car ended up in the middle of the street like a giant egg. We were the yokes and we were scrambled. No serious injuries, in fact we hurried up and gathered about a dozen guys and righted the beast which continued serious Dinking after a timeout. The real bummer is I think back on all the DinkMobiles and there are a few that I would absolutely love to have today. That 53’ Chevy is one of them.

The end of Dinkin’

Dinkin lasted a couple of years. It was at the end of the second Dinkin season and Spring was in the air. The snow and Dinks were but a recent memory when a bunch of us were riding around in a DinkMobile just itching for Dinktrouble. Roddney was driving the old Fairlane and we pulled into a Town Park and Recreation area. Sometime during the winter a truck had dumped a load of sand at one end of the parking lot. Someone in the car spotted it and called out the LAST Dink of the Season. Wha? A sandpile? So Roddney pulls up and looks at the innocent looking sandpile and then does the unthinkable. He puts the Fairlane in reverse and slowly backs up. Half of us are egging him on and half are beseeching him to think it over. He gets us about 100 yards away from the very evil dink.

The Fairlane is pretty nice. Slow as frozen molasses but a solid nice car all the same. It seemed like everything everywhere held its breath. The universe knew that an era was ending and in an infinitesimal little corner of it a bunch of local country crazies were ending a chapter of life in which they were supermen. Afraid of nothing since each and every one of them were immortal and would live forever raising Cain, laughing and joking. As the tires on that old Fairlane started to roll we all came together and let our waning youth spill out with a rebel yell. 10mph….20….30 we hit the sandbank going maybe 40mph and the little sandbank’s force field held. The Fairlane went from 40mph to ZERO in about ¼ of an INCH and about 1/1000th of a second. NO…. I am wrong here! PARTS of the Fairlane went to ZERO in that miniscule time. Some parts became suddenly customized and some parts relocated to a new ZIP CODE. The carbon based life forms careened off whatever was in front of them at the time of impact. A spiritual person would have seen souls rising suddenly from the car trying desperately to separate from their dumb as stumps earthly vessels. Only to be yanked back by youthful invincibility. But I think we were all given a warning that day. Some heard and some thumbed their nose at the booming voice.

I run into those that listened from time to time and I often think about those who didn’t listen. One of the things it did was to prove to me the importance of seatbelts but those were not invented until a few years later. Well, that’s about it for Dinkin’ ….I wouldn’t have missed it for the world but if you think that was crazy ask me about BellyWompin’ sometime. At times I am genuinely surprised any of us are still around. I am also genuinely saddened that some of us are not. To those who have gone before me I say this…”Well met!”!

In winter I still see Dinks and they take me back. For some reason today’s Dinks don’t seem to measure up to yesterday’s Dinks. Maybe it snowplow design, maybe it’s snowstorm design. Maybe it’s just growing up. Nah! That’s just crazy talk! I never grew up! Anybody got a real cheap runner?

DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!!! THESE STUNTS WERE PERFORMED BY BRAIN DAMAGED KIDS WHO TEASED THE BULL AND LIVED. YOUR EXPERIENCES MAY BE DIFFERENT! HORRIBLY DIFFERENT!! THERE ARE THOSE WHO ARE CALLED AND SOME WHO ARE CULLED!! BE THE FORMER!!!

Be Well

AmbergrismOoOn

Belly Whompin' 101

Belly Whompin' 101

Did some one ask for the Belly Whompin’ story? Weeeellll….. you’re gonna get it anyway! PPPPffffttt!

If you didn’t grow up were there were dirt roads then you grew up Belly Whompin’ poor. I can only remember 3 of us really Whompin but we sort of took it to a plateau few would dare to go. Wayne did it a few times in his 63 Chevy and scared the kibble right out of our poop chutes. His brother Roy who I swear Jim Croce sang about in “Rapid Roy that Stock car Boy” did it in a few cars, a 64 Chevy Impala SS, a Pontiac Bonny and in my 63 Chevy Impala SS when I sold it to him, he was the original “Dirt Track Demon” (had the hula girl tattoo and everything). I did it in my 63 Chevy SS, an old Toyota Carolla and my 68 Mustang Fastback GT. Yep… I is a #1 idjuit!

OK here is the setup.

Find a dirt road, hopefully pretty narrow and very curvy. Oh yeah, not heavily trafficked would be a good thing too. The road should have some gulleys and washouts. Bonus points if the dirt road comes close to a pond or river. The closer, the more points awarded. Also, any jumps or donut do-able areas contain added value points.

Patience is usually rewarded by a couple days of rain or generally wet weather. We have a time just after winter (Dink Season see other story) that we call the Line Storm. It’s usually a couple days of wet miserable weather that comes in the transition between Winter and Spring. Just enough wet to get a nice skim of mud on the roads and to fill the gulleys and pot holes with water. In other words Slip n’ Slide weather.

The idea is to travel this slick as boogers road as close to the edge of control and as fast as you can. Style plays an important part of Belly Whompin’ as you are required to drift through the turns. Yes drift, as in the new today’s craze by hanging your arse end out as you power through the curves or get her sideways as you empty a mud puddle in the road. It was pre Dukes of Hazzard Dukes of Hazzard driving.

We had one road that was an old farm road and part of it ran along a long pond curving in and out as the pond did. Man…. I can remember my heart interfering with my swallowing process so many times riding sideways looking out the front windshield at the pond while doing 40 or 50 mph! Only to hit a mud puddle and spraying a great wall of brown goo while bleeding down speed only to straighten out and gas her up again.

It was a 68 Mustang Fastback with a 4 speed and a slightly breathed on 302. It had pretty good guts and was just right on the dirt and mud. But the suspension was the gem. With station wagon springs there was not a bit of roll to her and she could fly and land better than the General Lee ever could. I had a 69 Charger 383 too and while it was nasty snarling fast. Just like in Bullitt movie the Stang was top cat.

The Mustang could not be bottomed out so I could fly into the dips and puddles in the old roads. Passengers would be screaming, beating on seats and closing their eyes as not to see the horrific crash they were about to participate in or see themselves go slamming into the ponds of unknown boogity snapping turtle depths.

Once past the pond we’d come to the farm and roll past nice and easy…just some good old boys out for a nice ride on a country road. Nothing to see here….”these are not the ‘droids you are looking for!” and once we were out of sight the foot hits the floor, the smile hits your ears and your underwear begins to tighten up! The second half of the road is all whoop-T-doos and hillside dropoffs. Large trees whose roots ran under the gravel road reached for the speeding metal bezerkers but I cannot remember even a single one reaching us. We kinda felt like they were not real and were only added to the scene to give a greater illusion of speed and danger. Which they did all to well!

All good things come to an end and for me so did Belly Whompin’. I had not done it for quite some time and had bought a great beast of a car. A 68 Impala with a dog slow 307 in it. A big boat of a car and far from one of my favorite cars. Well we had been bending the elbow all day long and I had a couple of friends in the car and we got invited to a party in another town. It was at a favorite swimming hole out in the woods and at the end of a long dirt path. As I nosed the sled into the path I could see it ran some great twisties and it was pretty muddy so I gassed it. We were flying down the path when we literally went flying. Ground control to Major Tom stuff! I know you have seen the Dukes do it and I had done it plenty but that sled was super nose heavy and when re-entry arrived touch…er..slamdown came upon a GInormous rock ridge down the center of the path that that did absolutely no good for my oilpan or flywheel not to mention the whole front suspension. She chugged and clacked to a stop and the lights in her eyes slowly dimmed and unfocused. Que the bugle and the honor guard’s guns! I began searching for the tip of my tongue that I was sure I had bitten off. Turns out I was wrong but my tongue was showing off it’s amazing ability to discharge volumes of crimson fluid.

So we walked down to the party that was soon busted by the cops who asked if I was in the crowd. They told me I had 24 hrs to move the hulk or fines would be levied. So she was carted off to the boneyard and I never went Belly Whompin’ again. Er…. Haven’t gone Belly Whompin’ again…. yet! That’s better!

• I had always thought of Roy as the best driver among us. He had no fear and knew how to make a car do his will. One day while driving my Mustang through town way too fast after a light drizzle I was confronted with a car pulling off into a parking lot only to be stopped with his ass out in my lane of travel. The real problem came when another car that was pulling in behind him saw him stop and he stopped with a gap that looked to be too small for the Stang to get through. I knew it was a little late to stop but I put my foot heavily into the brake anyway and the brakes locked turning the Stang sideways. I downshifted and put the spurs to her and snapped her back into the right attitude and I threaded her through between the two obstacles with inches to spare. I kept going like nothing ever happened after a bit I looked at Roy and Roy looked at me and told me he would never be scared to drive with me ! Ever! And that remains to today some 30+ years later as the most proud moment of my driving ever. I will also admit that Roy was the only person to ever scare me in a car other than myself. In fact he did it a couple of times. You quickly learned to never show fear in Roy’s driving because he fed on it and then he fed on you. Roy left the planet way too early in a diving accident in the Florida Keys. And so it goes. I usually stop and see old Roy Boy a few times a year when I go up to talk to my late father. Their markers are pretty close.

Disclaimer:

These stories are not intended to make the impressionable run out and do these lunatic things. They are for enjoying a story only. If you decide you want to try these things come see me first so I can install the program Intelligence 3.0 into your skull. A simple installation using a Louisville slugger or a ham sized fist depending on your skull thickness will insure safe roads for everyone and extend the warranty on your soul. Do the math Bunky…we are mere mortals!