Many years ago, I typed the words; “I gone and ‘dunnit now” as I embarked on littering the cyber-ether with my automotive ramblings on this very blog site. 

Well… I gone and ‘dunnit again ...but this time with something new and exciting! 

I’m opening my own vintage and classic BMW service shop right here in Western Pennsylvania!

I’ve been focused and devoted to these neat little cars for over 35 years, and this is the culmination of a dream, a lot of sweat, experience, knowledge, and a desire keep these vehicles on the road for others to cherish and enjoy. Because I truly believe they are greater than the sum of their parts.

I’ve been entrusted to build multi-million dollar cars in my professional career, but BMWs from the 60s and 70s will always be home to my heart, and they will be my sole focus. 

I’m currently in the process of locating suitable work / shop space since I am rapidly exceeding the capacity of my home shop. I’ll be posting updates here from time to time, as well as on facebook. 

So you might be asking “what do you do, exactly?”

Sympathetic and full mechanical restorations

Repairs, Maintenance, Tuning, Performance Modifications

Reviving long dormant vehicles

Buyer / Seller Services

Project Management of full scale restorations including:

Organizing and expediting large and small client projects

Liaison services between owners and service providers

Parts research

Technical assistance for professionals and owners

On-Site services available throughout the USA.

Now accepting large and small projects from across the United States: Please email me and we can discuss your project and transportation options.

email: zenwrenchpaul@gmail.com

phone: (412) 585 2067

Tools "To Go"

It's been a little bit of forever since I remembered that this blog is lonely and sad and feeling neglected. Since the holidays are among us, I thought I'd shake off the remaining funk of 2018 (it's been quite a year…trust me on this) and get back in to it.

I'm still thinking about road trips…. in fact, it's often the only thing I think about. Before I discuss the ephemeral magic of long distance old car hauls (a topic upon which I could yammer endlessly) I thought it best to address a common question often asked by members of my BMW 2002 tribe:

"I'm going to drive 700 miles to that awesome event I hear about every year. What should I include in my emergency road trip kit?" 

Woah! Easy there, friends! BABY STEPS! 

Start with just focusing on what kind of implements you want to have with you on those daily 20-40 mile drives, because let's face it: even the most well-maintained and prepared old car can push up daisies and make you look like a sentimental dork (aka: sucker) on the side of the highway at a moment's notice. Luckily you can assemble your own "German Swiss Army Knife" of 2002 tools on a budget and keep them contained in something smaller than a 1977 Sampsonite-sized suitcase or Grand Dad's 300lb rusty tool box. (You know the one - it also has plumbing tools and rusty vise-grips that 'sorta' work, if you use a second set of vise grips to keep them tight)  After all, a 2002 can be nearly completely disassembled and rebuilt with about 4 wrenches and a couple hose clamps. This is a good use for your duplicate and cheap tools, while the good stuff stays in your garage or home. 

I've often said that filling the trunk of a classic old car with piles of greasy and heavy obscure tools and parts steals all the romance from the driving experience. If you've ever heaved your car in to a fun fast twistie and heard the contents of the trunk shift or chatter across the quarter panel and paint… you know what I mean. It's a complete bummer. 

Herein, I hope to offer my advice on the what and how to maintain a reasonable daily travel tool kit, while refraining from filling your car with items that sound like two garbage trucks screwing each other in your trunk. And please: resist the urge to put that giant yet awesome 300pc SAE / standard sized tool kit in the car. You don't need it. 

IT'S HOT AND SEXY BUT RESIST THE URGE:

Storage:

Find a suitable container to hold your tools and repair bits. I prefer soft shaving kit bags or plastic boxes often left over from computer or power tool equipment. Sears and similar retailers sell all kinds of containers that do the job. When all else fails, a plastic tackle box works well, too…though I've found in recent years that this can be a little overkill. I stick with containers no larger than the average shoe box. Smaller if I can help it. Maybe 1/2 shoe box sized. Also - I'm a big fan of cheap clear plastic compartment boxes. Those are good for holding fasteners, bulbs, electrical connectors, and razor blades. I put one of those boxes in my "to go" tool kits. Roughly 3" x 5" x 1" in size.

Sizes:

If you're new to working on your 2002, you'll find yourself test fitting every imaginable sized wrench on every nut and bolt, until you find the one that fits. This is maddening and so completely avoidable. On the side of the interstate, this wastes time and adds to the very REAL danger of the roadside fix. 

Bury that 15mm wrench. You will never need it. 

You only need a few sizes to fix just about anything on a 2002:

6mm

7mm

8mm

10mm

11mm

12mm

13mm

17mm

19mm

I carry wrenches in the above sizes and a neat, self contained 1/4" drive socket/ratchet set. For the bigger 17mm and 19mm stuff, I get 3/8" sockets and a 1/4" to 3/8" adapter, so that I don't have to carry any larger ratchets. With a 1/4" ratchet, you can usually get things tight enough to get you home or to your destination or to a parts store. Remember: We're talking about daily drive distances. For longer road trips, there are other items you'll want on hand. 

Other hand tools I carry:

vise grips and / or adjustable wrench

razor blades

(good for stripping wire, in a pinch - smaller than pliers)

fine (220 grit?)sand paper (for cleaning ignition parts - cap/rotor/points/sparkplugs)

assorted coarse metric fasteners (6mm/8mm/10mm nuts, bolts, washers)

6mm allen head "hex bit" (for the few allen bolts you may encounter, such as axles and sway bar brackets)

2" and 6" extensions for the 1/4" drive ratchet

feeler gauge set (for plug gap and ignition points)

electrical tape

old bakelite spark plug ends (I harvest these every time I replace plug wires - simply unscrew)

zip ties (not so good for holding up broken exhausts…but people do it…sigh)

assorted fuses

flat and phillips screwdrivers

ignition points

ignition condenser

ignition rotor

spare fan belt

extra 4mm screw for ignition points / condenser (because, you know… gravity)

6-10" of medium gauge wire

male and female crimp style electrical connectors (2-4 of each)

test light

spark plug socket (the factory 2002 one takes up less room and doesn't require a 3/8" ratchet or extensions… That's why I love those things! Easily sourced from junk yards or BMW

Efficient. Small. Dialed in. The Essentials:

My thinking is: "If I can't fix it with these things….I ain't gonna fix it on the side of the road anyway."

Now… how do you keep all this "fun in a bag" stuff from moving around in your trunk? Soft bungee cords, wedging it in to the rear shock tower gap, hiding it under the rear seat…. all of those are viable options. I keep a spare injection pump belt in the rear seat side pocket of my tii… it's good for confusing rear passengers. 

Yesterday was bitchin'!

As we passed the “Welcome to Colorado” sign, I must have yelled “We made it to fucking COLORADO!” about four times. Minutes afterward, I saw my first tumbleweed in decades. I think I have an unnatural fascination with those things. We plowed right in to one, and I thought; “I hope it sticks in the grill so we can take a snapshot of it later.

Our travels brought us from the corn fields of central Iowa to a place that I can only think of as “cow-centric”. I mean cows.....EVERYWHERE. If you didn't see them...you smelled them. Rolling the final 80 miles in to Denver, we get our first glimpse of the Rockies through the thick but mellow rain clouds off to our West. I'm desperately trying to enjoy the impending altitude changes, while squelching my fears about fuel mixtures at 8,000 feet.

The car has been running like a dream. I'm trying to repress my natural inclination to think, that we'll pay for this good fortune later.

Maybe we already have... but it isn't the car's problem, it's mine.

We arrived at an old friends' home in town, and what I thought was simple road weariness, has apparently evolved in to full blown sinus and upper respiratory shittiness. Luckily I was able to get a script for some antibiotics this morning, in hopes my nasal rebellion doesn't get worse...and eventually even goes away. We're taking today as our leisurely drive day. Soaking up great conversation until we hit the road again around 10:30am.

I've spent the last two weeks obsessing over everything mechanical on the car, that might cause us problems...the entire time neglecting my own mental health and sleep patterns. It caught up to me after two 14 hour drive days. My immune system decided to go tits up. Poor Gary will have to endure my whining, sniffling bullshit for at least another day. 

For posterity…here's a photo of Gary catching some ZZzzzs in Nebraska. 

I can't hear you anymore

Well... it's been boring. No catastrophic failures. No suspicious noises (from the car at least). And no speeding tickets.

Topics of road trip conversation have included:

Female rabbits going on “Bunny benders” (don't ask)

Those poor bastards burdened with “adulthood”

“Hey! There's an RV / Mobile Home MUSEUM in Illinois/Indiana! Let's hit that on the way back!”

and...

“How much of the corn plant is really used in producing ethanol?” If you saw the volume of corn fields that we've seen, you'd understand the urgency of this query.

As an added bonus: We passed a gigantic manufacturing facility for Barilla pasta. Wayyy cooler than Reagan's birthplace.

In short; We are in the middle of Iowa.

We're staying with an old grade school friend of mine (a guy I've known about 40 years), and his frightfully gifted family. The brain power in this building is a little intimidating. Even his young children are on some higher plane. I'm totally digging it. His kids created an “F Bomb Parking Only” banner. That's the first thing we saw as we rolled in to their driveway. Dinner was exceptional. Fresh beef, fresh corn (as if you had to ask), potatoes, and jalapeno sausage. Fresh baked cookies for dessert.

This road trip gig is pretty alright. 

I've decided that Indiana is my least favorite state for driving, so far. Even the rest areas are like mid 1960s YMCA bath houses. 

I've had a headache since 5:30am, thanks in no small part, to an infernal piece of hood trim, that sounds like a bottle rocket strapped to my temple at any speed above 45 mph. We were at it for 13 hours today. 

Duct tape helps.

The waiting is the hardest part...

So it's friday night. We hit the road on Sunday morning. I'm hoping to be on the road as the sun rises. That's the most spiritually connected time, to be behind the wheel of a classic car. I can't explain it...it's clean and cool...and as light gradually breaks, the engine takes on its familiar rhythm at cooler temperatures. That's where its happiest.

I've gathered together way too many parts, tools, fluids, and gear, for this trip. I've always said that loading an old car up with 200lbs of greasy junk, ruins the romance of a great road trip... but this is 5600+ miles we're talking about. And even though I know every nut and bolt on the F Bomb, I don't want to leave some small piece behind, that might save me from a day or two of repair time/waiting for parts, while out on the highway. I've got everything from a used clutch disk to a ball joint splitter in my rubbermaid totes. Gear oil, brake fluid, coolant, even a spare radiator. My biggest concerns are high temperatures, fuel mixture in the mountains, and poor quality fuel. She needs to run on 93, with the current factory timing settings. Anything less and I'll have to dial back the ignition timing.

Tomorrow I'm spending a few hours with the car on a lift at work, laying my eyeballs on every nut and bolt under the car. Checking fluids one last time, and touching every bit of fuel line, to check for weak spots. Nearly everything at risk, has already been replaced about 5 years ago... but I'll feel better knowing I've looked at it again. Fresh ignition points, re-set the timing, and it's GO time. Of course I have mundane tasks ahead, like laundry, buying ice and water, and spending some cherished time with my father, before I head to bed on that final eveining. I know I won't be able to sleep a wink... but that's OK.

Our goal is to stay with old friends in Ames Iowa, on the first day. Slogging across Ohio and through Chicago's potential traffic snags. This is the part of the drive I want to get through as quickly as possible. From there, it's off to Denver, where more old friends await us. After Denver, we'll take a leisurely drive to Los Gatos spanning three days. The route from Denver to California is unknown. We'll make a decision eventually. For those of you in to data, here's the stats on the car:

1972 BMW 2002tii.

10:1 compression

stock engine, bottom end rebuilt last winter

4 speed transmission

3.64:1 differential, freshly re-sealed

new, genuine BMW radiator

electric aux 12” cooling fan plus stock 400mm fan

Bilstein HD shocks

all new bushings, ball joints

stainless exhaust

no radio / stereo

…I mean it *HAS* a radio, but no speakers. I take comfort in knowing the shy and feeble little green light will slowly come on, if I rotate the dial on the left. That's all I really need. 

Edit: Oh! And here's a photo of the current console, complete with the gifted speaker grill featuring a karmic road trip gift, from a great local 2002er, hanging from the knob!

All other elements of the car remain stock and "as original", with the exception of Recaro E21 sport seats.

4800 rpm all day...every day...for 12 days. 

No Filter

"Yes, I wash my car"

     I watched their jaw drop as I said it. Believe it or not, I really DO like the thing to be clean.


     My stewardship of this car revolves around the basic premise that I respect it. That means respecting the mechanical components as well as the history it has accumulated over the last 44 years, since it was lovingly crafted by some (and I'm going out on a limb here) hungover Bavarians.

     I don't lay dirty or heavy tools or other objects on the paint (or what passes for paint) and I really don't like seeing people rest beer cans on it…although I refuse to be uptight about it. It's a car to be saved and enjoyed by everyone. I like seeing people smile.

     So, in preparation for next week's drive, I have washed it. With real car soap. And I even cleaned the wheels…by hand…with a paint brush. And I put stuff on the rubber and vinyl to give it a little sheen. And the clock even works.

BEHOLD! 

Observe how the water glistens off the thing, like dew on a young lily petal! Like a newborn fawn or baby bunny, waking up after a summer dawn shower!

Yeah. It's just like that. 

Follow along with the F Bomb's adventures!

Watch THIS for a little background on our journey, beginning next week!

It's official. I have a co-pilot

     

As much as I try, I'm unable to really capture Gary's energy, personality, or history with mere words. Here's a guy, that once waited for eight hours with me, at an upstate New York rest area, while I was stranded with a borrowed BMW 2002. But it goes so much farther than that.

     The back story: It was 2003 or 2004. I was asked to drive a friend's car to Hartford CT from Baltimore MD, so that the folks at my destination; “Sports Car Restoration”, could perform an estimate on some minor touch up work. The guys at SCR live and breath 2002s. Since I was having them do all the metal and paintwork on my own car at the time, this was an easy favor. The car was already beautiful...and remains so to this day.

     On the way back, it lost a head gasket. This was years before I owned a cell phone. I called the guys at SCR using one of those “pay phone” thinguses, and they said Gary (who was having them restore his own 2002) was on his way back to New York City, but hadn't left yet. Gary got on the phone, asked where I was, and proceeded to drive about 70 miles to meet me. He then used his phone to call a flatbed truck, and we waited. And waited. And waited. We followed the truck back to Hartford in Gary's other 2002, and arrived around 10:00pm. After the formalities of unloading the car and handing the keys over, he offered me a ride back to New York, where he'd make sure I had a train ticket back to Baltimore. I somehow arrived home, in the back of a taxi, around 5:00am. Longest Day Ever.....and the beginning of a lifelong friendship.

     Now that Gary and I have been friends for a few years, I realize this is just pure, standard behavior for him. It's just what he DOES. I moved back to Western Pennsylvania about six years ago, and (as fate would have it) landed a job about 4 miles from Gary's farm in Evans City (yes, film geeks.... THAT Evans City). I signed a lease and kept in touch with him, occasionally seeing him during visits to the shop to talk about our mutual love of 2002s. Gary still owns the very same 2002tii he bought new in 1972. One day, he offers up this tantalizing statement; “You know, I have another one behind my barn. Are you interested in it?” The rest is history.

     Seven weeks after I dragged the car from the back of Gary's barn, he and I cruised on a seven hour road trip to North Carolina, for “The Vintage”....an annual event focused on classic and vintage BMWs. As we rolled in to the parking lot, there were standing ovations. This car...and Gary... ooze positive energy.

Mojo is its own fuel.

     Along the way, we talked about everything under the sun. Sex, Drugs, Rock N Roll, Movies, Wine, Cars, Travel.... and we still haven't finished running out of things to talk about. We made a superb traveling team.

I'm as flattered by his desire to go with me, as he is for my request that he be my running mate for this high mileage, high speed tomfoolery. He said to me, after he made the decision; “Look! I wouldn't go on a cross country trip with just ANYBODY, you know. I rely on known talent, for such an adventure!”

Me too, my friend. 

Photo Credit: Linda Lovecraft

This is going to be long. Because it needs to be long.

     “Overwhelmed” is the word I keep typing in each and every “thank you” message I write. I've spent the last hour writing them to people that have chosen to offer their support (financially and otherwise) for this insane road trip in a crusty old car.

     I'd like to state publicly and for the record, that choosing a fund raising site for this cause was not an easy task. The world is so full of injured and damaged lives. Inequity. Need. True need, that asking for help in the pursuit of my own ridiculous travel goals seemed almost insulting to those that use such fund raising websites for softening the absolute devastation that comes with life's pain and loss. I've experienced loss. I'm intimate with it. I'll leave it at that, for now.

     While formulating the plan to raise funds for this epic adventure, I decided to do a quick “self Google” - just to see what kinds of things people might find, if they didn't already know about me or this weird little car I chose to save and drive. What I found was heartbreaking in the finest manner imaginable. There, six or seven links down, was a GoFundMe site started by someone I have never personally met, dedicated to raising money so that I could fix up my car. The BMW 2002 community is a tightly knit one. Given the kind of support I've witnessed, over the last few years of ownership of this particular rat, I can't say I was thoroughly surprised by such generosity. Our little group is famous for it. I guess it was just my turn to be on the receiving end. From what I could tell, the GFM site hadn't ever gone “live” and was sort of a pipedream of good karma, perpetrated by a fellow, former 2002 owner. I was floored, and forced to think about a few serious issues, regarding the frivolity of such fund raising, and what I really wanted and needed out of this road trip and why it was important. I'll get to that another time, but here's the thing I need to share with you all, and what became the weight that tipped the scales for me, when pondering the guilt of using a fund raising site for my little adventure.

     The man that started the previous GFM site on my behalf, himself benefitted from such a fundraiser. Organized and perpetrated by the very same 2002 owner group that I consider family. His needs were different than mine. Very different. About 12 years ago, his wife was in an absolutely devastating automobile accident. The impact of her head and brain against the door glass of her own car, left her in a state that can only be described as “shattering”. I cannot dictate with accuracy the condition of her mental, emotional, or physical condition in the days, weeks, and months that followed her injury, but I can tell you I was given a small window, through which to see the emotional destruction, and eventual, never ending process of rebuilding, this event had on her husband and family in every aspect of their lives...minute by minute.

     I am reminded almost hourly, that my problems are so very small. Let me assure you – I have them. And I am not very skilled at asking for help. This later point was made very clear to me in recent weeks.

     The fact that a human being, who himself, had endured such a life eviscerating experience, and who turned to the generosity of others to help heal some of the wounds, chose MY SELFISH CAUSE to champion a few months ago by creating a GFM site dedicated to me, razed me level with the earth. He writes poems about his feelings and frustration and gratitude, that his wife is still alive. The kind of poems that made me cry openly when I read them, yesterday. If he thinks I'm worthy of this generosity, that's good enough for me. 

I'll just leave this here...

This is what $2.2 Million dollars sounds like.

     The car is a 1963 Ferrari 250GT Lusso. One of 350 manufactured between 1963 and 1964. It was Ferrari's attempt at building a "luxury" coupe'. That means it had a heater fan and a cigarette lighter. This machine was purchased by its current owner in 1979, and has been in our shop for nearly five years undergoing a complete nut-and-bolt restoration. Countless hours have been invested in making the sheet metal and body even better than the original product. The interior has been completely re-done, and I took responsibility for building its 3.0 liter, V12 powerplant, and subsequent tuning.

     As an automobile mechanic.... this a dream come true. The task was a mixture of both hilarity *and* terror in building such an iconic engine, complete with three beautiful Weber carburetors. Little reference material is available for these motors. What you learn.. you learn from old skilled hands and kind hearted advice from those well versed in Italia.

I work with some astoundingly talented and conscientious people. The end result of all this earnest work and extreme effort is nothing less than stunning. Hours upon hours were spent making sure the grill fit flawlessly. The door shells were re-made by hand, from aluminum. Even the tapered spark plug looms were made from scratch, as were the clamps holding the foglight rings to the bodywork. Every fastener was re-plated and re-installed in its original location, on the machine. 

     Perhaps the thing I love most about this car, is that it will be DRIVEN. It will not be immediately put up for auction, nor will it hide in a garage, languishing for years. It will be enjoyed. And loved. And flogged. 

   


I'd like to dedicate this post to Mr Walter Spak of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania. Walter specialized in Italian machinery from the 1950s-60s, and was a kind and thoughtful human being. We lost Walt last year and the world is a bit sadder without him. I wish he could have seen and driven this car.

Ferris ain't got nuthin' on me. I get to drive it again today!

I could totally sell the shit out of that shit.

As often happens while driving a boring vehicle down the road, my mind wanders as I start reading the names off the back of various cars on the highway. This morphs its way into a minor fit of ADHD as thoughts clang off the innards of my noggin. I start thinking about the process used to come up with the names of new car models.

How *DO* they figure out what they'll call the next motorized appliance? Here's a few things I picked up that might aid in illuminating my dear readers, and a few thoughts I've added on my own. I figured all I need to do in order to be a successful automotive marketing genius is throw a bunch more hair gel in, wear some metrosexual black T shirts and stop wearing socks with my slip on shoes. Oh...and I have to be completely disconnected from the actual appreciation of automobilia. That's absolutely crucial. 

FIRST: Buy a thesaurus. Look up synonyms for words like "speed", "fast", intimidating", "sexy" and other things we want our cars to be. 

SECOND: Make it a Masculine name. Nobody wants a car named "Muira","Ginetta" or "Fulvia", right? Of course not. Those cars all suck.

THIRD: Get the thesaurus out again. Look up words that promote trustworthy engineering. Words like "precision", "accuracy", "heartiness".

FOURTH: Pick a good country of origin for your imaginary car company. Italy and Germany are good ones. Stay away from tiny Asian or Eastern European countries that get invaded a lot.


FIFTH: Close your eyes and pick up the nearest book written entirely in Latin. Open it up and put your finger on the right side page about 1/3 of the way down. Write down that word. (It doesn't matter what it means, it's not YOUR language after all, right?) Stay away from medical books that discuss things like lung infections and glandular cysts.

SIXTH: Make sure the name ends with a vowel. Words like "turd", "weasel", and "grunt" don't end in vowels... see how this works? Avoidance.

Now.... pick a word from each step. Take three letters from each. Put them together in a random order and make it three words somehow. 

OK I confess. This doesn't really work. I'm just making a point here, ok?

What happens when you don't follow the rules? You end up with names like the "Lamprey Flatus Mk IV" or the "Bowl Clinger 5000".

If all else fails. Pick a city. Name your car after the last native resident kicked out or the first white man to invade it. Never fails. And be sure to mention something patriotic.

So my sideshow has a sideshow!

It's been a busy week! I'm in full speed production mode for a few Art festivals this spring and working out the details on some custom commissioned work.

Here's the latest work as of March 27th:

I had a lot of fun making this one, but almost lost it in the beginning phase.

"Fallen"

For the wine savvy gardener. Stand stakes in to ground or a large planter.

Metalsmith and Jewelry maker Aileen Lampman's presentation concept for the "steel twigs" is brilliant.

To see more of my work, visit
my WEBSITE 

The overwhelming power of Beauty

     My father suffered a heart attack this week. I found him face down on the carpet of his apartment on Wednesday. He was conscious and fairly alert, but shaky and extremely weak. I am unable to fully comprehend the idea that he may have been there for hours, helpless and alone.

     For the last few days, my brother and I have been by his side at the hospital, where he appears stable and is being moderately sedated. It will take some time before we can make any decisions about his long term care. I've been back and forth to his apartment in a retirement community several times, cleaning and sorting through things in an attempt at summarizing the final hours of his presence there and preparing the space, hopeful for his eventual return.

     Last night I had a truly profound experience. In the lobby, assembled near the lit fireplace were 20 or so of his neighbors and fellow residents. They urgently asked me to provide them with details of my father's condition. At first I was just going to stand and tell them that he's stable and should come through it, but then I decided to sit and truly speak with them.

     I filled them in on many of the details. Perhaps too many. Each and every one of them expressed how much they've missed him in the last few days. How they grew to really love him, and how much they appreciated his often off-center outlook on things. These people love him in much the same way as my brother and I do. At this moment, I began to realize how much interaction he really had with people where he lives. And how he affected them by being there. A part of their community.

     Until last night, I had only provided information on his condition to the staff and one other resident with whom he appears to have a wonderful relationship and friendship. I wanted her to know he was alive and seemingly stable. Though I don't know her feelings for my father, I do know that he adores her character, her experiences, and her completely on-point and razor sharp intellect.

     The residents in the lobby said they had been asking her for as many details as she could provide, and that she was especially concerned for my father's health. I could no longer keep it together. I lost it completely and broke down in the elevator as it graced it's way up to the third floor, where his apartment is.

     I've learned that the things that trigger my tears, are from beauty and love and caring. Whenever I think about how much my father is appreciated or adored, or loved... my emotions overflow and I begin to weep.

     When I think about all the things that my father loves and cherishes, the same wave of overwhelming emotion hits me. His love of music. Of brilliant women. The beauty of Jellyfish. The fragility fossils. Of automobiles. And of my late mother.

     I hope to get him back in the coming weeks. I want to shed tears for his recovery next.

Breaking Mental Bread

     It seems I'm destined to be surrounded by a shit ton of independent thinking and creative people with vastly different skills and interests than myself. I'm not sure if this a conscious decision or something else entirely. It's not luck or destiny. But I'll take it.

     Cabinet makers, metal smiths, wood workers, potters, contractors, film makers... the list goes on. Every time I peer in to one of their worlds I learn something new and gain an even greater appreciation for whatever their alien craft might be. There's always more beneath the surface of these people I tend to encounter, than one might imagine. What makes each of them the object of my intrigue and affection, is the way in which our common interests and passions tide in and out in our day-to-day being.

     The man that fixed my leaking ceiling tonight and I talked about Latin and South American food. He's a middle aged white guy in a small rural Pennsylvania town just like me, and yet he spoke of his love of Argentina and Brazil (particularly the music), and his affinity for Cubans.

     I winked and showed him a photograph of the most stunning Paella I've ever seen. One created by my "second family's" mother. A woman of Cuban descent I've known for over three decades.

     Immediately he gasped and asked me to e mail him the photograph. He's the second person that's made that request of me after seeing this image (photo courtesy of George Lampman) and yet I hardly know him. This plumber / carpenter / apartment maintenance savior / world traveler in my living room. 

     Apparently there's a market for serious food porn. I should probably start a website and sell advertizing to chili enhancement pharmaceutical companies. 

     I really don't know. I just fix cars.

     So... as a test of the ether's ability to enable lusts of all kinds, I now present it to you all.

Remember: This is an experiment. A social one.

I love a good story

     I bet you're wondering how we fared in the “Chump Car” race...and probably wondering why I've been so lazy in continuing the telling of it's outcome. I'll spoil the ending early. We got knocked out.

     It was an innocent mistake and there were no long lasting hard feelings. But racing stuff happens...and it happened to us. While Adrienne Hughes (one of our four drivers) was pulling in to the pits for a routine tire and fuel stop, she got dinked in a crucial portion of the front suspension by another car. What followed was a lightening fast swap of front strut and spring from our donor car, and a short lived return to the action. Alas – the aluminum motor mount arms had sheared, and the engine soon leaned against it's own pulleys and hoses causing a rapid loss of power steering. Even after we decided that coming in 10^th or 11^th wasn't worth the headache and further risk to the car, Roy crawled under the machine and began chaining the engine down against anything he could find. Yes... even scraps of wood were used to support an engine. In the end, we thought that the altered geometry of the drivetrain would inevitably grind other expensive bits and we decided to engage in my other favorite part of racing... the comradery.

     Our neighbors in the paddock area had a full on luxury hotel on wheels, complete with TeeVees, stereo, cooking devices, showers, and refrigeration. They fixed up one hell of a lunch. It was a simple affair but so very welcomed after a morning of chill damp temperatures and grime. They fixed up a giant batch of chicken and dumplings, fresh vegetables, soup, coffee, and the requisite adult beverages. The topics of conversation that grew out of our breaking bread were the stuff of fantasy... and yet they were very real.

     In my exposure to both amateur and professional racing, I've learned that there's a particular economic level one must attain to participate in this activity. I had always hoped that somehow I'd be swept up in it and gain my wealth through some kind of osmosis. That never happened. I owned a real race car for about six months and soon realized the resources required to maintain and race a car are far from my Visa card's already stretched limits. It appears that I'm destined to live only vicariously through the people with whom I share my fascination with “behind the scenes” race track energy. It's not envy. It's an appreciation for the great experiences that their lifestyle affords them. I respect and value unique experiences and stories above all else – and it makes for some great and valued acquaintances. The stories swapped while standing next to a race car or eating in a lawn chair at the track are wonderful, colorful tales filled with heroic characters and chaotic hilarity. What I realized that weekend was that each story teller truly reveled in the experience about which they spoke. Not the objects or means by which these experiences came upon them. I'm not sure what gene separates “rich pricks” from people of means that have true and genuine CHARACTER, but I can tell you that being surrounded by the good ones can be a real intellectual exercise. Like reading a great book, it spawns wonderful dreams and creative inspiration. These folks didn't gain their lifestyle by being lazy. Maybe that's the secret DNA element.

     I have hundreds of their stories rolling around in my head, and though the particular facts of each one may get blended with the elements of another, I love them all. I'll share bits of one from the Chump Car weekend that stuck with me. Naturally it involved the glamorous elements of fast machines and international travel. It included phrases like this:

“We arrived in Geneva at 10pm local time and (our host) picked us up in their minivan, which he then drove at 80 mph through dark country roads for about an hour to his house, where he prepared a gourmet meal using only the leftover ingredients found in his kitchen.”

What caught my attention was that their Swiss host was not only an avid and accomplished European race car driver – but also a well known Chocolatier. I pictured a 250 year old chalet, bathed in the warm glow of antique lighting and dark, well worn floor boards. A stone fireplace with a swinging kettle for soup, and probably a couple of wolf hounds. This imagery and a full belly of dumplings made me completely forget about my cold wet feet, or smelly fuely hands.

     I have many other race track stories that have affected me. One of my favorites involves a woman I met at a vintage race several years ago. She was about 70 and friends with the driver we were there to support. She parked her rusty 1980s pick up truck next to us and proceeded to unload the grim black trailer that followed it. On that trailer was a Porsche. I could tell this was no ordinary car. It was a 1971 911 in bright Germanic orange with the headlights taped over. On one headlight, she had drawn a well detailed eye and on the other, a closed winking one - eye lashes and all. The more I learned about this woman the more enthralled I became. She and the car ….had a story.

     She and her husband bought the car new in 1971 and it was their daily driver for many decades. Though they still kept it in street legal trim (license plate and all) they decided to race it at occasional events up and down the East Coast. At one race, her husband wrecked the car. I'm told it was a bad accident, but that he escaped unharmed, only to suffer a fatal heart attack on the way to the hospital for a “post incident check-up”. It's a sad and tragic thing, but it's not the end of the story. This woman (remember – she's about 70) had the car rebuilt, and now races it herself...and wins. She has a bazillion dollars in the bank, yet carts the car solo with an old beat up truck and a crusty trailer. Unloads it herself, and leaves the keys in it. She even told us: “If you need to run downtown this weekend, go ahead and take it. The keys are in it.”

     See? **THAT'S** what it's all about. I really don't give a shit how fast your car is... I care more about how far you'll go with it. You're the people that are my heroes.