“All I’m saying is, at any point during that whole ride through the desert he could have given the horse a name.” When I walked into the Grounds for Divorce yesterday, the debate was already taking place. Chad had apparently staked out his ground on the old song from the group called America that I hadn’t thought about in years. Then I couldn’t get it out of my head. That’s how it goes.
Buttercup would say that’s because there’s not enough more important things rattling around up there to take up all the space. That’s what makes it so easy for the less significant things to whittle their way in and take root. Any time that comes up I have a good rebuttal ready, but then get distracted by what she’s wearing, or not wearing and completely lose my train of thought. That’s exactly why I think she brings it up at those times, but whatever. A Rice Krispie Treat is a Rice Krispie Treat.
While Lucinda was pouring my first cup of Folgers, Rex Hall came in and pulled up a chair next to me at the big roundtable. I can only assume that it was a slow morning at Rex Hall Drug, or he was just going to open up late. Anyway, he shared a new simplified urine test that he was touting. The whole discussion about the anonymous horse in the desert came to an abrupt halt while everyone listened to what he had to say.
“Go outside and pee in the garden,” he said. “If ants gather around it, you’ve got diabetes. If you pee on your feet, you’ve got prostate problems. If it smells like barbecue, you better have your cholesterol checked. It’s not good. If when you’re done peeing your wrist hurts when you shake it, you’ve got osteoarthritis. If you go back into the house and your pecker is still outside your pants, it’s Alzheimer’s. There. I just saved you a grand in medical tests.”
Lucinda rolled her eyes. New Guy was writing notes down on the back of his place mat as quickly as he could.
Congrats to Stratos who took home the Award Formerly Known as Bellcord this week on Bring a Trailer. Third time’s a charm, apparently and he was well deserving. Because elections can’t seem to take place in this country any more without drama of some kind, one of the nominees attempted a campaign of friends and family members to join BaT during the process and votes. Luckily sharp poll watchers took notice and flagged such nonsense. I fear angry mobs would have stormed the headquarters in San Francisco demanding the votes not be certified and who knows where it could have ended up. I miss the good old days.
We tipped our hats to Cornfield Dave’s aunt who passed and was honored with a story on Thursday that could have been about a lot of different aunts from her generation. A 1961 Comet seemed the most fitting vessel. Many of you responded with your own memories about similar aunts or cars or both. It’s funny how we tie people together with the cars they drove and think of them both fondly when they’re gone.
I am sticking with the hope that once she arrived at Heaven’s door she held it open for Bob Uecker to follow her in. “Mr. baseball” died at the age of 90 late this week, having been the announcer for the Milwaukee Brewers for 50 years. The former MLB player turned actor and author had his very own brand of humor that never got old. He appeared on the Johnny Carson Show over 100 times, showing off his style of deadpan and self deprecating humor that made him a hit every single time. The upper Midwest lost two legends this week.
A different legend is back home now. The Fairlane 500 is tucked back into the garage, after a two week stay back at the mechanic’s place. I have no fear of the Chinese ever taking over the world. If they can’t make a replacement fuel pump for a 223 Mileage Maker Six, how could they ever achieve global domination? The one that was cobbled together last time resulted in a puddle on the garage floor slightly smaller than the Exxon Valdez oil spill in Alaska. An actual remanufactured original FoMoCo fuel pump was finally tracked down and installed, solving the problem.
While he had it, the horn got fixed, the emergency brake cable was repaired, and all’s right with the world again. I fully intend to take Mila, my granddaughter, for ice cream soon so she can marvel once more at why everybody honks at us. And we will be able to actually honk back. I would show her what a newly installed NOS fuel pump looks like with the glass bowl on the bottom showing actual fuel in the pump, but will probably save that treat for her 7th birthday. You don’t want to spoil ‘em too soon.
Some commented on the HAPPY MOTORING story that finished the week prior. Questions were asked that didn’t seem to get resolved to everyone’s satisfaction as they finished reading the series. As fate would have it, I was digging around in my desk looking for the staple puller and ran across Chapters VII and VIII buried under some past due bills and a PLAYBOY from 1979. Who would have ever guessed? But you’ll have to wait for February 7th and 8th to read them. There were just too many stories already scheduled to get them posted prior to that. Might be worth the wait; you decide.
In the meantime, this week we’re going to have a “3-2-1”. That’s a trilogy, starting tomorrow, followed by a 2-parter, and then a single story to finish the week. And, not to pull the curtain back too far, the week after that will be a whole new series. Seven parts. Seven days. Lawsuits ripped from the headlines, verdicts worthy of debate. Something for everyone.
While we’re on “something for everyone,” I read about 20 paradoxes that apply to our lives whether we realize it or not, and found a couple of them worthy of mentioning. In particular, the concept that “The more choices you have, the less satisfied you are with each one.” It made me think back to when there were three channels on TV (4 if you count public television), and the Big 3 auto manufacturers (4 if you count AMC), and two big department stores at the mall (3 if you count the random regional store to go along with Sears and Wards), and grocery stores were a third of the size they are today.
I never remember feeling like I couldn’t find what I needed or wanted. Now there are 54 automotive brands to choose from in America. Nearly unlimited entertainment choices through cable, streaming, YouTube, or downloads for your smart TV. Over 353 million products are available on Amazon alone. (Only fuel pumps for Mileage Maker Six engines are hard to come by and can take up to two weeks to track down.) Experts tell us that makes us inherently less satisfied with whatever it is we wind up with. Hmmmm.
I’ll leave you with a few thoughts based on three random pictures. All of them reflect something automotive. First, I submit for your consideration, a 1959 Edsel limousine. Certainly this was never considered for production by Ford Motor Company. But an enterprising individual with deep pockets made it happen. Who knows why?
And, in a clash of automotive time periods, someone’s idea of what the Lincoln Navigator would have looked like if it had been dreamed of 20 years earlier:
And lastly, a picture of what appears to be ten young men being stupid in a 1959 Thunderbird convertible. It seems to have been taken when the car was relatively new. There is no context to the picture. I ask you, what is the dumbest thing you ever did in a car that you were fortunate enough to survive and live to tell about? Don’t be shy. We’re all friends here. Share your story in the comments.
In closing, I just want to point out that I have a fairly sizable ass. So, when I half-ass something, you’re still getting something fairly impressive.
Have a good week.
9 responses to “FROM THE BACK OF THE BERMUDA, 1/19/2025”
Thank you Motcat for thinking of me. I have had so many embarrassing moments in cars (and embarrassing cars) it is a wonder that I can look at myself in a mirror.
There is the time Steve Rives tried to shake me off the hood of his ’57 convert VW for a laugh as I attempted to hang onto anything hoping to retain my ability to breathe. It was surprising how fast Steve could get that 1.5 HP VW to go.
There was the time 10 of us piled into a ’64 Chevy Biscayne to see how fast our pilot could spin it in the snow covered parking lot of the Indiana State Fairgrounds before we found a tree in the snow as a stopping point. At the time ’64 Chevys were cheap and no one was injured. The way I heard it, his dad was very upset with his progeny.
And most of you know the story about my mom finding me in the back of the station wagon there at Mount Rushmore. Embarrassing as that was – though some involved may have had mixed feelings about it – it probably wasn’t the all time winner for the “E” crown.
I’d love to tell you the story about a summer day, a ’65 Mustang, mayonnaise, rope, shoulder pads, Playtex, Phillips screwdrivers (vodka & Phillips Milk of Magnesia), sun baked Trojans, and cousins. BUT! The Captain has suggested that I not write quite so much about incest and abuse so perhaps I shouldn’t mention it. I think The Captain was hoping to “class up” the blog but then he ran “Probing Questions” so now I’m a bit confused. Thank you again for having faith in me Mr. Motcat.
Benard Marx
First, ”…if you count AMC”, of course you have to count AMC. Second, I’ll speculate, regardless of whatever stories you get back for the dumb things people did in cars and survived, Bernard Maxx will probably have the winner story. But I’ll give it a go.
Growing up in K-Town had its advantages for doing stupid things in and out of cars. Especially when you mix cold weather, snow, 8 packs of 7 ounce bottled Miller High Life beer, and a red 1965 AMC Rambler Classic Wagon, (nearly identical to the car in Chapter 5 of HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS).
The thing about WI winters is your beer doesn’t get warm. We’d get 4 or 5 of us together, park at the liquor store, and each of us would buy our own 8 pack of Miller. We were only 17 and 18 years old and luckily the WI drinking age was 18. Much better than 21, like in Illinois just a few miles away. Those damn FIBs across the border would come to WI to get drunk and cause all kinds of problems. Story for another day.
We would sit in the Rambler wagon drinking with everyone’s 8 pack outside of the car staying cold. Never a warm beer. That is the first part of being stupid. If you can picture a red 1965 AMC Rambler wagon in a fully lit liquor parking lot with 4 or 5 packs of beer surrounding the car, which is a perfect storm for an AMC Matador patrol car passing by to take a closer look. Luckily laws weren’t as strict back then and the cops would tell us to go home and drink. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the stupid part.
As long as there was snow on the street, and after downing the 8 packs, one of the guys had a super slippery pair of boots. Flat soles with no grooves for traction and we’d each take turns with the boots. The fun and stupid part was to grab on to the bumper of the wagon and the driver would take off and the guy holding on would be boot skiing. I don’t remember how fast the guy driving would go. But it was fast enough to make you hang on for dear life especially when he’d fish tail with the rear wheel drive Rambler. It was a contest who could hold on the longest and who could get through the busy intersections without letting go and getting hit by other cars on the road.
There are a few more stupider stories with similarities to Tara Browne driving dad’s Cherokee Chief to Chicago for a Bad Company and Jethro Tull concert. That would have to be told around the big table at the GFD, not in print.
I knew Motcat would come through with a winner.
“9 men and 1 female in the T-Bird.”
And, seemingly, a cow. At least a calf.
That is the jacket she is wearing . . .
I am going to stick with 10 individuals, all male. But will entertain any argument you might have that could change my mind. Certainly there is no livestock in the Thunderbird.
If it please The Court,
The cowhide coat is being worn by one of the college boys who lost his tennis shoe and is leaning out of the T-Bird to retrieve it. I believe if the wearer was an attractive coed, the other college boys onboard would be more attentive and appreciative of her assets during this operation than seems to be the case in the photo. Also, attractive coeds of the day did not wear unattractive tennis shoes much less would they retrieve them from the road amidst a gaggle of eager frat boys.
In closing, the following website indicates these coats were marketed to ‘both’ genders.
Defense rests.
https://www.etsy.com/listing/1841652506/vtg-1960-rare-cowhide-hair-leather-women?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=vintage+cowhide+coat&ref=sr_gallery-1-2&sts=1&content_source=475374570c7485c09096ee0d0e6dbd4a43ed212a%253A1841652506&organic_search_click=1
Compelling arguments. I think we’re ready to send this to the jury.
9 men and 1 female in the T-Bird. She gonna have fun fun fun til daddy takes the T-bird away . . .
in 1975 ran from the law in my 1970 RoadRunner 383 4 sp, and the law lost . . .
In 1973 RKT in the front seat of my 1969 Impala Custom Coupe 396 auto in Germany . . . (just lucky I guess)
Also in 1973, driving 4 other soldiers from Nurenberg, FRG to a rock concert in Frankfurt, FRG in said Impala while they were all tripping balls on acid (I was not)
On Easter weekend 1974 I-40 from Flagstaff to Greensboro, NC (where I-40 ended at that time) hit a blizzard as I crested the mountains going into Albuquerque in my 1965 Ford Custom 4 dr 352 auto. with big fat wide bias plys on the back. Kept right on going, albeit at slightly reduced speed (from 65 to about 20).
February 2006 drove my then new to me 2002 Ferrari 360 Spider 6 spd from Myrtle Beach to Palm Beach with no license plate. Did get stopped by FHP, showed him the SC title signed over to me, let me go.
May 2007 at Sun Fest drove my 2004 Murcielago 6 spd straight pipes (as in NO muffler or cats) at 140 over the North Bridge (2.5 miles long) from WPB to Palm Beach. Got stopped by 4 PBC Deputies. They just wanted to see the car! (fyi – drawbridges in the US are operated by the US Army Corps of Engineers. Local LEO have no jurisdiction on those bridges)