So there I was:
No Vehicle

No vehicle, no transportation, I ain't going nowhere tonight.
My bus is in the shop, awaiting it's turn on the diagnostic computer.

Me? I am waiting for the results of the diagnostic testing, hoping that this is one of the less expensive fixes, knowing full well that I might need an engine for the bus. The thought of having to spring for a new engine sends a shiver up my spine. I am the type of guy who has always had to do his own maintenance on his vehicles, one who has never allowed himself the luxury of having someone else crawl under his transpo, looking up and seeing something that's not quite right.

Unfortunately, this bus is too new. I can't repair it by myself, and that really sucks...I am at the mercy of the mechanic's diagnostic computer...

More about my first legal car...

My first legal car was a 1964 Chevy Biscayne wagon. Scroll down for more another story about it.
My friend's father told me he was selling it, and he offered me a 10% finder's fee if I could move it for him. After giving it the ole once over. I knew it was the car for me.

I took the 10 % discount and applied it to the purchase price. I vividly remember driving it home. It was my buddies family car, and I remember driving in it. Rides to the store, to Mountain Park, to places that my parents wouldn't ever drive me to. I always liked that car, even though, looking back, that it really wasn't anything special. To ME, though, it was the culmination of many months of hard work. When you are sixteen years old, the prospect of having your own ride was an intoxicating proposition. I just knew I had to have that car... I had gotten a job with the express purpose of getting that car for me...

And now it was mine! Yeah! Finally I could escape from the confines of the city. I longed to go to the country, where I had heard that everything was much more relaxed than the city life that I had grown up with. I knew of a few transplanted city dwellers who had moved to the country, and every one of them talked up the niceties of country life.

So I am fiilled with anxiety now. Will the bus survive a nother day? Stay tuned.

Cars and trouble

So I load the bus up after I finish my last performance, and head off down the road towards home. It was during our last spring snowstorm, and I was playing at Mount snow in Vermont.

A few miles down the road I notice something has gone awry: The bus started bucking like a mule, and the service engine light illuminated. Turning up the radio doesn't work this time, either. Uh, oh...

So there I was, at 3 A.M. on the highway in Vermont, snow falling like crazy, it's APRIL, I have a bus full of equipment, and I am hoping that the thing doesn't break down before I get home. Going about thirty-five miles an hour certainly makes the trip home quite longer that the ride up. I had lots of time to think. I wouldn't want to leave the thing on the side of the road because there is a lot of music equipment in it, and I tend to worry about things like losing it. It would be tough to replace it all.

OK, the temperature and oil gauges are in their normal ranges, that's a good sign. When I push hard on the accelerator, as in going up a hill, (Vermont certainly has more than it's share of those,) the engine starts to sputter and shake. Which is not a good sign. I am still making forward progress, which is good, and at this time of the morning there is no traffic to speak of, which is another good thing.

Three hours later I pull into my driveway, shaken and pissed off but very happy to have made it all the way home. Let's see: one and a half hours to get there, and three hours to get home. Oh well...

Later that morning I get out the phonebook and calI my mechanic. Hmmm, I forgot there is a war going on. He's a reservist and was recently activated. Not good news. I get a few more phone numbers to try and I actually do track down my mechanic. While he was indeed activated because of the war, this time he is working at a local Air Force base in a support position. He is very happy because he is married with kids and wasn't especially happy to be trotting off to the desert like the last time they activated him. He says that he'll need to put my vehicle on a diagnostic computer to see what's going on. Fortunately for me he has a space available on Friday, and will look at the bus and determine what I need to get it running properly again.

I do miss the old days when I could repair my own car. Now the repair guy has to have access to a diagnostic computer, and the car tells him what is wrong. Gone are the simple old days of "Do It Yourself."

I dropped off the bus and now I wait for the dreaded phone call. I am reminded of Dirty Harry's little saying, "Do you feel lucky?" I dread car trouble as it's so frustrating to me to not know what's wrong. Is this one going to be an easy fix, or a nightmare? I can only hope for the former.

I'll post the update later this weekend.

posted by ®acy

Piano
A spinster lived in the house next to the house I grew up in. I have memories from many years of my youth wherein I did lots of maintenance around her house: cutting the grass during the warm months, shovelling snow in the cold months, general cleaning up around her place, etc.

The house had been in her family for generations. She was born and raised there, and lived her entire life there. For most of her time here on earth, she lived alone in that large old house.

Eventually she died, and I was the first person to enter the house in many years. It was like walking back into time: the house had gas lights that were functional, toilets with tanks overhead and chains, lots of very cool old furniture, large brown and white photographs of very rugged looking women and children.

My brother bought the place, and we spent a few months cleaning it out. As compensation for helping with the needed work, I was given a turn of the century Weber upright piano. I visited the Weber website and found out via the serial number that the piano is from 1903, and was made in New York. It's quite nice: the piano has hand carvings etched into the front, and very ornate scrollwork on the legs. The tone is dark and marvelous to my ears. I'm a happy camper.

So now I own a piano. Let's see, what comes next? The evil word "Move" comes to mind. This piano is built like a tank and must weigh one thousand pounds. Oh happy day. I pick up the phone and see if I can call in a favor from a pickup truck owning friend that I have helped out previously. After some heming and hawing I reel him in, and together with two other big burly types, we load the piano into his truck and drive off towards my place. It was quite the sight: I was playing the piano as we drove down the street. Seems to me I just saw a video recently on MTV where some young female singer was doing the same thing. When I was doing it the image conveyed was quite different, thank you.

Ah, home. We back the truck up to my door and set up two planks in ramplike fashion and succeed in getting the piano into it's new home. It is looking resplendent in it's featured place against the wall in the den.

Posted by ®acy