Happy Birthday.

So Dr. Girlfriend's little guy, Chris, had a birthday this week, and rather than go with the typical Super Mario Brothers pi offering, I figured I would get him his first toolbox and set of tools. After an hour and close to a hundred bucks at Harbor Freight, he had a pretty impressive set of starter tools, that, if forgotten, lost, stolen, or broken, would, in the end, just have been Harbor Freight tools. We are slowly going through everything to learn what does what.

With all that stuff, you need a decent toolbox. I was initially just going to get him your basic plastic Stanley (Or similar) box, then I thought about it and asked "What would I want?" The answer was metal. I managed to scrounge up this vintage blue hammertone toolbox at my folk's house. It had been my grandmother's for craft stuff, so it was not only a nice solid box but a nice solid heirloom. So I cleaned up the outer finish with just a wee bit of Minwax Furniture Refinisher and #0000 steel wool to take off the paint spatter and leave just the original hammertone paint. I then hit it with some Meguiar's Cleaner Wax and my yard sale buffer. Brought the shine back quite nicely if I say so m'seff. Finally, I topped it off with a custom set of decals with his name-you can pick ones up like this off Ebay, they are two-layer, but come on one transfer film like any other die or laser cut decals. For about eight bucks, you can really make something pop with personalization.

The toolbox went over like no one's business-we are carefully choosing our first project now. Maybe a birdhouse?

PLUM CRAZY.

(Imagine, if you will, a time when a purple car was feared on the road.)

OK, so things have been a bit car and bike-heavy lately. My apologies to those looking for the little kitschies of the past, they come in dribs and drabs. I've been working on various projects and I'm just getting around to posting these shots from a few weeks ago. While at the lovely Dr. Girlfriend's lair, we caught a small car show, and I saw a few Mopars. My friend b (aka brian) is a bit of a Mopar nut so I never hesitate to hook him up with a few shots of my finds. I saw this squadron of Road Runners and GTXs-the one to the left is tan, the right blue, and of course this Plum Crazy purple in the leader's position. The over the top colors of the late late 60s and early 70s Mopars were the pinnacle of craziness at the time, and no fly yellow Ford Splash or Chevy SSR is ever going to be able to do a thing about it.


(and....in blue)

I feel like I'm phoning this one in, but it's late-more later.

Days Of Thunder Past...

(The size of this post really does not give my new camera's resolution justice-click the photo for a better look)

As a resident of the Pocono Mountains, I love when race weekend comes to the famed Tri-Oval at Pocono Raceway-the hysteria is palpable as you see car haulers, RVs, vendors, and thousands of race fans pour into town for three days of speed,sun and beer. I'm not as much a NASCAR fan as I once was, but I had to snap a picture of Jimmy Spencer's Heinz 57 Pontiac Grand Prix, circa approximately 1990. The Friday's logo is not period perfect, but considering it sits in front of a Friday's in Wilkes-Barre, about twenty minutes from the track, I'll let it slide, as it's obviously for promotional purposes. While I was certainly not a pre-teen in 1990, I did enjoy building the Monogram model kit of this car:


(Of course the driver of the car at the time was Hut Stricklin, seen molded in plastic at bottom right. Jimmy would have been too expensive to cast even in plastic, given his size in 1990.)
NASCAR has jumped the shark for me-the fancy graphics on TV and the WWE-ness of it turns me away. I like the old days when it was grittier and no one knew much about it north of the Mason Dixon line. But I'm halfway to Old Fart now, so what do you expect?

The Sweet, Crunchy Joy of Recognition.

Whilst cruising through Berwick, PA with the beautiful Dr. Girlfriend recently, I began to react to a landmark with familiarity....this was odd, you see, because I had never been down this particular street before in my life....the small car lot sales office above is what I saw....

For the life of me, I could not remember at first where I had seen it, but it soon came to me-it is a vintage Shell station-you see, in a previous life I was a gas jockey, and quickly became interested in the various architectures of different oil companies' stations..This small Shell dates back to the 1930s if I am not mistaken. Here's a stock photo of one:


(This photo is probably originally from company literature...it has appeared in various books I have read and owned about gas stations, so I can't really properly credit it.)


One of the tactics used in the early days of gas stations was the 'homey' design of stations like the one you see here-the idea was, if a person felt as if they were going to someone's home, they would be more comfortable with pulling in for gas. As more women began driving during and after WWII, this and other methods were employed to get their business. Texaco's "Registered" restrooms was one such method-a company inspector would make rounds to franchises and check the restrooms for cleanliness, giving them their seal of approval. Texaco then used this in their ad campaigns, with the slogan "Something a Lady Appreciates". The signs also appeared outside the station restrooms:



Sometime later, the restrooms became "certified"-it is likely the certification was merely with Texaco, not unlike the "registration" before it... But "certification" sure sounds official enough when you are needing to badly take a dump and are worried about pubic crabs being able to pole-vault out of an unfamiliar john via tossed out matches floating in the water. For you, the travelling shitter, this was surely a relieving sight:

(Aahhhhh....no chance of unwanted pregnancy at THIS unfamiliar gas station! It's CERTIFIED!)

Speaking of Texaco, on another side street we spotted THIS used car lot, which has the giveaway green and white porcelain enameled exterior that could only come from the Sign of The Star:


I've been poking around for a picture of a 'corner' design Texaco Station like this one, in original Texaco livery-if anyone sees one, let me know, I want to post it for comparison.

The Ultimate in Luxury, To Be Sure?

Perhaps circa 1969...Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Tenny Town Motel, Route 11, outside Bloomsburg, PA. This sign has surely remained unchanged as long as I have been alive, save for maybe a few repairs over the decades. The candle is no doubt part of a trend I have noticed in marketing of motels of this era-the notion of being available even late-the defunct Lamplighter chain of hotels with their name also hint at this trend, and of course most recently the Motel 6 slogan of "we'll leave the light on for ya" hearkens back to this folksy trend from a time when the guy behind the desk was probably on the deed as well. My apologies for shooting in the sun-Dr. Girlfriend and I were stopped momentarily, and since by sheer sake of taking pictures Homeland Security now labels you a terrorist, I had to work quick. I did get this nice closeup however, in better light:


(COLOR TV! By RCA no less! I want that little piece of vacu-formed goodness so bad it hurts-if this place ever closes down, I am sooo watching the roll-off for that thing.)

A Sad Passage of Time, and Hope for One Possible Future.

(Beauty and Sadness....all at once-a slice of life, a look at a simpler time.)



Take a look at the above picture. Look at the twinkling chrome of a new motorcycle on a glorious late spring day. Look at a bike that has yet to see Reagan getting shot, Yuppies, or the fall of the Berlin Wall. Breathe deep and note the mind goes to fresh cut grass, the faint whiff of gasoline, the unmistakably fresh smell of May. Smile at styling trends like sissy bars and aftermarket fairings, that have yet to become passe' or ridiculous with the rolling of the years and fleeting and fickle tastes of the Human Race. Revel in the nostalgia of this literal snapshot of time each and every time you see an old Honda CB750. Like this one:


(Reality-always more ugly, more painful to look at-the realization of One's Own Mortality in the form of a rusted hunk of metal and rubber and fiberglass.)

The same bike-the VERY same bike-just this month. The owner was nice enough to provide 'before' and 'after' pics to potential Craigslist buyers, and Jon was nice enough to provide them to me, for my endless contemplation and full range of emotions.

What stories could it now tell? How many miles? How many riders, how many passengers on how many of those countless spring and summer days? How many tires, fill ups, rest stops, toll booths, roadside hot dogs, wrong turns, speeding tickets, smiles? How many regretted and missed rides due to inclement weather, prior commitments, kids, soccer games, communions, graduations? How many times hearing oneself utter the phrase "I gotta get that thing running again"? How many things placed on the seat for storage, with the knowledge that the bike was not going anywhere any time soon? How many tears shed at the sight of this forgotten piece of Japanese, American and personal history? How many regrets?

I implore any and all with the notion, tools and means to restore an old bike. Resurrect it. Like Lazarus, make it live-Rise and Ride. Scrape knuckles. Make dirty Levi's. Stain driveways and garage floors. Connect or reconnect with your kids by working on it together-Leave it for a new generation, with new stories to tell. Relive your OWN childhood, or start a new one-screw the notion of Midlife Crisis. LIVE. RIDE.

These bikes are still plentiful, cheap and available, as are parts and advice. Restoration can be as cheap or expensive as you choose, with credit going to the riders, the Road Dogs, the Rats, the ones that are out there on Saturdays or getting you to work on time no matter how they look-the frowns go to the primadonnas who park them in concours condition on engineered wood living room floors, or suspended from ceilings, sneering to themselves and all who will listen for the sake of "The Cycle as Art".

The nods of approval from those in Mini vans and SUVs with LCD screens for the kids, and from those who have gone, singly tracking, down this road before you, are free. The knowledge gained from the guy who Had One of Those Way Back When, that you meet at the auto parts store or gas station cannot be put in terms of dollars and cents.

The Internet Age leaves us with myriad resources and scores of others who have gone before us. It was not until I realized I had legions of enthusiasts with the patience of saints behind me, incapable and above flaming me as a 'noob', that I would come to the conclusion that I too could restore a vintage bike. It was not until I would meet a guy two hours away with nothing else in common with me but a free Saturday afternoon and a similarly-equipped, thirty year-old hunk of steel (in better shape than mine), that I would know that Brotherhood could exist outside ones family. It was not until that guy would be willing to ride that same two hours to help me rebuild carbs for the first time, that my faith in humanity would be restored. Life has begun again, and hope springs as eternal as a singular May day that seems like a million years ago.

Finally. And still NOT FOR SALE!

(Yep, still NOT FOR SALE (sign sits on dash, can't you read?) is this crumbling '57 Chevy BelAir 2-door Hartop. Makes you wonder what the dude is clinging to. I didn't ask.)

After much blogging about it in the past, I finally had the chance, WITH the camera in the car, to snap a pic of the Famed '57 before the ogre came out to get me. This car has sat here for no less than THIRTY YEARS that I know of for sure, and shows no signs of moving any time soon. Sad.

Bus of The Living Dead.

(From the right angle with some careful cropping, this chopped-up bus appears to be rising from the grave. Rte. 611 South, North of Martins Creek, PA.)

Moon and Space Culture.

(Spotted on the roof of a small recycling center in Wilkes-Barre, PA, this "capsule", most likely cobbled together from recycled junk, looks to be spaceworthy and ready for flight.)

This little unit reminds me of the Andy Griffith TV Show Salvage from 1979:



(Check out the pre "Silver Spoons" Joel Higgins as the washed-up astronaut!)





(This home-built capsule has sat behind a gas station outside Martins Creek, PA for as long as I can remember. It has been slid back a bit, but at one time I think it was there to attract business-I also think at one time a space-suited, helmeted mannequin sat inside. Someone spent some time on this. Check out what appeared to be an authentic Strategic Air Command decal on the side.)

John F. Kennedy's promise to put the US on the moon was a watershed event for the nation, still in the midst of the Cold War. While the true motive remains a matter of conjecture, in the 1960s, America fell in love with Space Culture. The idea of the office of the future being in outer space appealed to more than one youngster, and more than one NASA astronaut or specialist of today can trace his decision to head for the stars back to those original Gemini and Apollo missions. As the idea of space travel began to settle in the nation's psyche, it appeared in art, architecture, advertising and the like.





(Why build a rocket when you can just buy one from US Surplus? This Titan rocket is near Cordell, GA)


















(What better place to have a Rocket Lounge, than outside Alamogordo, New Mexico? Sadly, the idea only WAS a good one-the Rocket Lounge is now closed.)











(Space Culture is not exclusive to the US-here, an abandoned gas station in France sports a fancy rocket with steel contrail-talk about things I love! Abandoned places, gas stations....still, I ain't goin' to France)
















(Williamcreek, Australia. What makes me grin at this is the notion that this stuff probably actually fell from space and landed here.)