October 16, 2019

Yesteryear
One year ago today: October 16, 2018, it’s really 20%, y’know.
Five years ago today: October 16, 2014, the aging Honda.
Nine years ago today: October 16, 2010, Jag, still my best guitarist.
Random years ago today: October 16, 2008, Redlands, Florida.

           This was not my day. The last deposit was rejected by the issuing bank as stale-dated even though it was not. Checks are good for six months (used to be a year) and this was only five months. Because the check was foreign, and the banks still handle checks (which banks would dearly love to outlaw) via the pharaohnic postal system, they rejected the check because, get this, when it arrived back to them, it “might” be too close to the stale date. Next news, the Taurus needs a new radiator. I’ll get you those details, but first here is an excellent picture of my 1-speed, the bike that has never let me down. Except

           for the pesky times it throws the chain.
The hose I replaced may not have needed it. The leak was coming from two places, both sides of the radiator. I discover they do not make an all-aluminum model of this particular radiator and replacing such things from the scrap yard is taking the same chances all over again. This is the Ford car that requires a lot of dismantling to replace parts and the radiator is no exception. It has to slide out the bottom of the car.

           Thus, my decision was to go ahead with a new radiator ($193) and several hours labor, bringing the total to around $800. As odd as this may seem to many people, I still come out ahead. One could say this will now be my $7,000 car and I could have got a nice one for that. Wrong, I was spared the sting of coming up with so much cash and I’m not fooled by those ads that say buy a new car for $295 per month. Do the math, you cannot buy a $24,000 car on time payments for $300 per month even in five years. And I cannot imagine spending that much on a car every month.
           My original budget was $1,200 per year to keep a used car full of familiar technology on the road and the average has been around half. Much of the squawking you hear is over things like registration and insurance, not repairs. I have the money for the repairs tucked away, so check back with me late Friday to see if I’ve got my wheels back. I believe I’ll be leaving for Nashville from Miami on the morning of the 27th. I’ve got less than a week to get my bathroom floor finished, or when I get back there will be a cat colony in here.

Picture of the day.
The Ambalangoda (Sri Lankan) Mask Museum
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           The Yamaha. It is the only 50cc two-stroke engine I’ve ever owned. I never did like the zing-zing sound and they never idle right, but for $750 it’s a steal. Agt. R could have gotten twice that from somebody else except nobody had the money. Remember, I’d offered him the $750 over a year ago, so any serious buyer could have come forward. Now the nitty-gritty. I told you I’d never test driven it. It has a choke and I noticed it was full open, which probably explains the sputtering that Agt. R reported. The odometer shows 1395 miles, but the speedometer doesn’t work. Hmmmm. Nonetheless, the Yamaha quality is there and my first investment was a cover tarp. And I’m about to find out, methinks, why the Reb was so interested in seeing picture of this vehicle.

           The only evident damage is both front signal lights have the stems broken. There are no body scrapes so it hasn’t fallen over. What’s more likely is transporting it lying down snaps off the plastic parts. The lenses are intact and the bulbs still flash, so I’ll order up the replacement parts. Other than that, the battery is stone cold dead. The kickstarter works if you know the trick—and it is a neat design that cannot work unless the scooter is on the stand. That’s good thinking, considering how most people crank the gas if it doesn’t start first try. I checked the battery compartment and the whole arrangement is really crammed in there. I have a spare battery but will it even fit?

           Confession. I’m going to commit a crime. Since I don’t dare drive my car until that new radiator is installed, I have the plates from the orange scooter which do not expire until December. Both vehicles are foreign with hard to find serial numbers and were originally the same color of red. Officer, anybody can make a mistake. And there’s the Hunt Brothers defense. “People who know how many motorcycles they own probably do not own very many motorcycles.” Anything would be first offense and there’s always the chance of a sympathetic judge. “Your honor, I didn’t know they were dead. I thought they worked for the city.”
           I am going to have to learn how to keep the oil supply right on this unit. There is an auto-inject mechanism that spare me from having to mix the fuel, but I’m prepared to do that. Aha, moments later I see the dashboard has an oil light that monitors the oil level for the motor. I took it for an idiot light, but it is integral to the oil injector system. There are some hand-written check marks in the manual which imply the correct 600-mile engine break-in period was proper. The tires are that 10” tinker-toy size designed to be driven on dry pavement only, but I’ve heaps of experience dealing with that.
           It isn’t a chain drive, as I first thought. It is a v-belt and we know those need replacing every 2,000 miles. My hope is this scooter will go a ways to restoring my traditional gas budget of only $66 per month. That’s a dream, since a full tank on the car is $40. Plus the car is being used for purposes never intended. After the next trip, I’ll have put 10,900 miles on it just going to Tennessee this year.

           Since today was starved for good news, I’m reporting a nice little surprise. You know those little flashlights they give away free at Harbor Freight? The ones that the batteries go dead so you have a draw full of them? I took one apart for the metal tube, which are surprisingly hand for robotics, and discovered the off/on pushbutton switch on the base is surprisingly well-constructed. They are latching, so again a good robotics choice. In this age, when switches can run between $2 to $3 each, this is a bit of a find.

           I will be testing them on 12 volt circuitry shortly. I’ve always been dissatisfied with that millennial armrest contraption in my car. The one where the chintzy “storage compartment” plastic hinges break the first time you put something a bit too big into it, and how it blocks the cigarette lighter when folded down. So you can’t get at the lighter socket, I mean. Or it’s only use is to hold three coffee cups for the two passengers who can reach them. Yeah, that stupid thing. I need to replace it with something that works and has plugs for all my accessories. GPS, tape recorder, CD player, proper map light, and portable air compressor.
           Yes, I have a tape recorder. A good old-fashioned cassette recorder. When on the road, I have a one-hour timer and I make a quick report on the situation. You’ve never heard these, but some of you are familiar with my old travel diary habit of an hourly entry along the way. Look back far enough and you’ll find an example. I wish I’d kept that up. I do have the reports. But on tape.

ADDENDUM
           Here’s some potential gossip. I stopped at the old club last evening. To catch up on my posts, nice guy that I am. That’s the spot I keep forgetting they moved the Karaoke to Tuesday. It’s that guy I don’t like, but he is a piano player and he never missed a show when he broke his leg. That’s gossip number one. How did he break his leg in three places? He rides horses and races motorcycles, but that’s not it. He broke in playing the electric piano. You heard me. Playing standing up, he turned around to look at a TV, and turning back, caught his foot under the carpet. As he fell it caught under the piano stand, then on the bench. Says he heard it snap. His foot was dangling.
           Then, I notice this lady standing near where I was typing. I was busy and didn’t really notice for nearly forty minutes, except to glance at her sprayed-on jeans. I walked past her twice and while she always kept her back to me, made sure and elbow or something always brushed lightly against me. Then, the Karaoke guy calls her up. Very distinctive name. It’s the mother from that mother-daughter duo mentioned here time to time. Where the daughter got picked off by a guitar player that ruined the band.

           What’s she doing here? Nashville is 750 miles that-a-way and why is she decked out like a schoolgirl? She’s got a great body, I knew I recognized the sequined jeans, and she’s changed her hair from that old-lady-ish butch cut to a slightly longer style. That’s probably why I did not recognize. I missed an opportunity because she was obviously standing where I had to notice. As she returned to the spot from the stage, I looked again and seriously, she was hard to recognize.
           As it went, just that moment some local goof recognizes her and invites her to his table. Well, that’s a chance for me that will never happen again. She probably thinks I ignored her, but then, she’s seen me when I’m busy before, the way I tune out everything. The question is why is she here on the prowl without the daughter? The are inseparable. Could it be? The predicted scenario was, to summarize, the daughter gets pregnant, breaks up the band, she’s out of work, and I’m the only one around Polk county that can already play her song list.

           That’s her old song list, minus the guitar-goof songs that the guitar-goof brought in over the last ten months. I’m really out of practice, but I did get up and sing. She mouthed a hello and I only waved back as she was still sitting with the local. I had gotten there late. It was old song day, a small crowd listening to ballads and love songs. The last song of the evening is considered a prize spot around here and I got called up. The only slow song I know is Buffett’s “Pirate Looks At Forty”, a tune I don’t particularly think I do that well.
           This has happened before with that song, there is some spontaneous but mild crowd reaction. I glanced around and everybody was watching me, like in suspended animation. Not momentary, I mean through most of the song. I doubt it is my voice but don’t rule anything out. Here’s the part I was getting to. Right after she said hi to me, the local moved her down to the furthest corner, where he stood blocking her view of the stage and dominating the talk. When the crowd hushed, I looked over and saw her brush the guy aside so as to stare at me.
           What is going on? I missed a break here but so did she. Why didn’t she approach me, by now she knows that is okay. I’ll wait to hear the rumors. No was she was here stag dressed like that if everything else was the same. If she wanted to join up, would I? Yes, but now there would be a few conditions not there before. I don’t like guitar-goofs on my stage.

Last Laugh