First part of the story left off with me heading home to change my oil. But the part I left out happened while I was driving back down Ward Parkway. I happened to be first in line as we left the last light before a particularly long and uninterrupted stretch of road. It was nice cruising down the parkway with no one in front of me. Nice and cool out. I was even able to lift my goggles and air my eyes out a bit. Then I heard someone approaching on my right and glanced over. It was the older gentleman driving the TR6. I looked over, he gave a nod, floored it and zipped past then cut in front of me just in time to make a sharp left onto a side street. Was this an acknowledgment or a "show of force"? I decided it was probably a bit of both and finished my drive home. Back to where I was: Got a call from my wife letting me know she would be later than expected. So I headed back out to find dinner. The little Mexican joint up the street was packed so I just started driving. Ended up at the Plaza and made a snap decision to hit McDonalds. Waded through the parking garage and finally found a spot. Walked over to McDonalds and it was closed - at 9:00 on a Friday. I guess management decided the would rather lose revenue than deal with a teenage Fri. night crowd. Get back to my space and try to start my car. Let me take a minute to explain that my start ****on had stopped working earlier so I ripped it out and let it hang from the dash. I just have to ground the post to get it started. Well I grounded it to the wrong thing and the whole car went dead. No fuel pump, no ignition... and no spare fuses. Looked in the one spare slot in my fuse block and it was already blown. I find a good fuse in the block and pop it in the ignition slot. Fuel pump now works. But what did I lose? Headlights? Nope, those work. I only have three live fuses so what's left? It was the brakelight. Should I risk driving through the Plaza on a Friday night with no brakelight? Nope. So I start looking for a fix. I have nothing. No wire, paperclip, anything. So I start scrounging around the garage and find a gum wrapper. Wrapped it around the dead fuse a few times, tore off the excess and popped it back into place. The brakelight now works. I take the other half of the wrapper and wrap it around my spare/dead fuse just in case. I still haven't eaten. I figure I'll just head back home but then I remembered Antonio's. Grubby Pizza place on Main St. Pull in to park and get the best goofy comment yet about my car. As I'm climbing over the back a guy stops, looks at me, looks at the car and says, "Is that some kind of motorcycle?" Haha. I am always nice when people as questions but I was so stumped by this one I didn't know what to say. By the time I said "no"? he was gone. What happened next made my night. As I'm getting back in a see a sketchy looking guy approaching. Probably in his late fifties, slightly built, longish hair, sleeved with old tattoos, baseball hat pulled low. Not that any one of those things really made him sketchy. But the whole package combined with the way he appeared and the look on his face added up to it. By the time I noticed him pop around the corner it only took three steps to reach my car. His arm shot out - finger pointing at the motor. "That's a Ford flathead." He said. Absolutely deadpan. "Yes it is." I shot back matter of of factly. He pumped his arm again pointing at the top. "Those are Stromberg carburetors." This time with a little more life and a bit of a smile. "Yes sir they are." I replied. "START IT." He half begged half demanded. You could tell he was stoked to see it. I lit it off and the guy couldn't help himself. He reached over to the linkage and blipped the throttle then instantly looked at me - like he was looking for forgiveness for touching a guy's car and all. I just smiled and reved it myself so he'd know it was all good. "Buick transmission?" He asked. "'39 Ford... you used to have one of these?" I said. He just nodded a slow nod as he peered inside. He rested his hands on the door. "Take me for a ride, man." He pleaded. "I can't." I don't know this guy? I can't just let him jump in, you know? "I have to get home." Which was the truth. "Come on, around the block man, around the block." He looked desperate but sincere. I got the feeling he had lived a hard life - and is still living it. I looked him dead in the eye and said, "Look, I can't. I have to get home. And I don't really know you, right? But maybe if I see you around someday I can hook it up." He leaned in and offered his hand. "Bobby, Bobby Mercer. You know that old building down on **** and ******x?" "Yeah." As I shook his hand. "That's my building - I squat there." I extended my other hand to cover the back of his heavily tattoed hand and gave it one last firm shake. "Be safe man. Be safe." He reached out to the linkage again as he asked. "Can I do it again?" "Yup." He leaned down close to the motor. So close his face disappeard behind the cowl. Then peeked back over with one eye squinting like a movie pirate and wacked the throttle a good three times. Nothing stupid. Just enough to really hear it echo off of the buildings. Huge grin. Then he slid his hand accross the cowl, took a few steps toward the back of the car and bent down again to run his hand over the tread of the back tire. I started reving the motor and he jumped up, pumped his fist in the air and yelled, "BURN 'em man, burn 'em. I eased up the alleyway as he watched and then put it all on the line with a savage burnout through the parking lot and sideways onto 39th Street that left me wondering howinhell I pulled it off and very well could have left a Yellow cab driver with pissed pants. I love livin' in the city...
Kevin, I've been missing studying for a final to read the rest of this. You made my day my young friend. Now I can go get ready to p*** my summer course and get on with life. you be safe.
The funny part? Brush - You're the reason I decided to oblige the guy with a burnout. If I didn't have that spare '39 box sitting in the garage that you hooked me with - I would have just waved and putted off like a chump.
What are u McGuyver? Nice read. It's cool to know that a simple drive can be full of surprises. I've always enjoyed the pics and stories about your Hot Rod. Too Cool. Thanks Ken
Nice. Good story bro. Looking forward to the day when I can take a REAL ride in your hotrod, been so many times I've ridden along in prose.
LOL -- like the improvised part. I popped a clutch cable one time, was motoring over on I35 and truck dropped something . . . just like those commercials on TV. I put both feet in and my clutch stayed right there on the floor. I coasted to the side and tried to cobble anything from beer caps on side of road (yikes!) to anything I could possibly find to hold the thing. Finally I got to looking around and found a bracket on the side of the carb for something I had long since ditched -- but it was just right to be pressed into service for the clutch. I got it back going and was off like a flash. That's the fun of old cars at times . . . knowing if you break down you can fix it yourself. If my daily quit on me, beyond the stupidly obvious, I'd have to wait around for someone to hook it up and diagnose it. Tech is blessing and curse at times. Ugh.
Pretty funny - I just Googled Bobby Mercer. I had no idea. I made the name up on the spot as I was writing. Bobby is my uncle's name - kind of a rough guy - and I picked Mercer out of thin air. Must've heard it before. Random X's for the street names because I didn't want to out this guy in an way.
I had no idea who Bobby Mercer was either, I was just jack'n with ya. You probably would have made that dude's year maybe even 10 with a ride. Cool story.
That probably made that guys day to do that. You should find him and give him a ride sometime if he's not too creepy. haha
All good writers know that one line they live by: "Write what you know." Very cool story Mr. Lee...and it could become a cl***ic: Bobby Mercer now owns that old building downtown...the one that's been standing there since 1923...his Dad built it/owned it...left it to Bobby when he p***ed on...But...the best thing is what's still stored inside that old building with no windows...it takes a man like Bobby to appreciate what you've got... I'll be watching for the next installment... R-
Sorry I missed you driving buy or tearing up the side streets. Cool story and there are great storys to be had in the "city". I had to gal's lift their shirts and flash me on a Saturday afternoon after going to Wabash recycling. I about wrecked, because you have to look. Chris Nelson
Kevie baby. If you are talking about the McDonalds next to the theatre on the Plaza, that's right where my momma lives. I'm sure she would have helped you push start it..... -Abone.
.......I'da taken his skinny *** for a ride. I mean, ****.....I've ridden in the car a few times myself. I dig it. got good oil pressure now? Bring it to the drags this year. You're outta excuses.
Hahaha. Rocky - Please replace that nasty ****ing picture of me with Brush's version. And take some different pictures at the drags or something. Because that one and the one with me in front of my house are like El Mosquito. Ugly.
Old thread, missed it when we were living in the camper and had no net while building the Strawshop! I did the same thing with the drunk that lived in the subsidized apartments when I had the Rocky33. He wanted a ride to Safeway SO bad to buy a 40 of some **** that I finally gave in. Was really a great 10 minute cruise in my life, I NEVER had to worry about teh 33, my 54 or our dailies after that. He kept the tweakers and freaks away from our **** in the alley. Sad to see him leave but teh Indians directly behind us took over when he left, I just had to give em a smoke show every couple weeks to keep tehm on our side.
The Jalopy Journal
