Well, actually, his name is Moez, not Tony, and he's still fixing "it". "It", of course, being the little Fiat 850 spider that came home a couple of months ago. Tom and I had been fiddling around with it, trying to get the darn thing to run better than it was - there seemed to be a roughness to the idle, and even when we did get it to smooth out and idle correctly, it had no power when we drove it around the block.
My diagnosis was that at a minimum, something was wonky with the carburetor, most likely a bad float, and that it needed a rebuild. Combine that with some of the other issues (no lights on the driver's side; turn signals didn't work;), I decided to have a real mechanic look at it. Only problem was, where do you find someone who's got the knowledge, time, and experience to fix a 46 year old car? First stop, get a hold of the guy who's President of the local chapter of the Fiat Club of America and see who he might know. Turns out there are two 'recommended' mechanics, one in Woodside, and one in Port Washington.
Decided to check the one in Port out, so I rode up and met Moez and Ike, the owners. Turns out that Moez had lived in Great Britain for about 20 years, and for most of that time, had been working primarily on Fiats - especially 850's! Had a nice chat with them both, and decided to give them the job.
Called my buddy Eddie, who's got a nice Ram pickup truck, and asked him if he'd give me a tow. Rented a Uhaul trailer, and on a nice clear Friday morning, we rolled the little car up on the trailer and dragged it to Port Euro repair shop.
And there it sat. And sat. And sat. No call from them for a couple of weeks, so when I got the thing registered and got the license plates, I decided to take a ride up there. Spoke with Ike, who said they'd had the car running, and there was an issue with the carburetor, as I had guessed, but that they couldn't get it right, and would need to do a little more work. Gave them some contact information for parts, chatted a bit more and left. Ike promised Moez would call me the next day.
And then, the call, featuring the four words you never, ever want to hear from a mechanic: "water in the oil". Arrrrrghhh! NNNOOOOOOO! Water in the oil, never a good thing. Means one of several things is wrong, none of them minor. Could be a blown head gasket; a cracked head; a cracked block. All of them somewhat labor intensive. Moez said he'd need to pull the head to confirm, but he suspected a blown head gasket. He gave me a price to fix the problem, and rebuild the carb, and it was reasonable, so I gave him the go ahead to pull the thing apart. Although he'd given me a good price for replacing the head gasket, I feared that once he pulled the head, he'd find other problems.
That was a few weeks ago, so today I drove up to visit the car, and drop off a new window crank I'd picked up for the passenger door. Had a nice conversation with both Ike and Moez, and to my surprise, I was told the repair was all done - and it was only the head gasket! Of course, this thing being a Fiat, there are other issues. The carb has been rebuilt, but it's still in need of some tweaking, but the engine runs like a top now. The clutch master cylinder had a crack, and was leaking fluid, but Moez repaired it using epoxy (nobody stocks a clutch cylinder for a 46 year old car). He's got the lights fixed, but is waiting for a new turn signal switch to fix the signals. And, as I suspected, the tires are shot and will not pass NY Inspection. They're dry rotted and cracked, which is dangerously unsafe.
Still the good news is that the car should be completely done and ready to be picked up some time next week. The little piece of junk is coming home! And before any snow (I hope)!
So, in the next couple of weeks, be prepared to see a post reviewing what it's really like to go back in time to the early 70's, when I was running all over L.I. in my 850. Should be a trip, however it turns out!
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
Sunday, December 6, 2015
Took a trip to Kansas City; guess what ISN'T there!
You all know from the title of this blog what it's all about; three things I'm passionate about, good food, great music, and classic cars. And those three things all go together pretty well. Sometimes it's all 3, sometimes it's 2 of 3, but whatever, it's a good bet that they combine up more often than not.
Take my trip this week out to Kansas City. Unfortunately, due to time constraints, I had to fly, so the car portion was on hold. But, boy, goin' to Kansas City, there's the food, and, of course, the great song "Kansas City" by Wilbert Harrison.
Now, there's no way I'm going to find, nor meet, any 'crazy little women' there, and I'm certainly not going to 'get me one'. I'm also not likely to have a 'bottle of Kansas City Wine' while I'm there, either. I'm pretty picky about when, and what kind, of wine I might drink; I'm more of a beer guy.
In the song, both of these occurrences are said to happen at the "corner of Twelfth Street and Vine". Now I've heard this song more times than I can count, so when I knew I was going to be in KC for a few days, my sick and twisted mind immediately figured I'd have to get to that corner and get a photo. Got to KC Tuesday, around lunch time, and after a short search, found a favorite destination of mine:
Yeah, Jack In The Box. There's about half a dozen of them in the general KC area, and it was about a 20 minute detour from the airport to reach this one, but I wasn't on any sort of time schedule, all I had to do was find my hotel, check in, and be ready for a 6 pm meeting. So it was a veritable feast, as usual, my two "monster" tacos and onion rings.
Alright, enough of that. Over to the hotel I go, check in, and start poking around "MapQuest" to plan my trip to Twelfth and Vine. Uh-Oh..........this isn't good. Turns out that there is a Twelfth Street; in fact, it's one of the bigger east west arteries, and it runs pretty much right through the center of town. And, hey, out here on the east side of town, look at that, Vine Street! But there's a problem. Vine Street is just a big circle, that's intersected by a couple of smaller streets, but it's a good distance away from Twelfth Street! That's right, the two streets don't come close to intersecting each other. As Charlie Brown might say, 'rats'. Another great idea down the drain, there will be no photo of me "standing on the corner, Twelfth street and Vine". Actually, there'll be no photo of anyone at that corner!
Oh well. On to the next quest. If you're in Kansas City, you're pretty much obligated to get yourself some good KC barbecue. I was in KC about 20 years back, and during that trip I ate at Arthur Bryant's, one of the real legendary names in bbq. This time, we were teaching at the KC Airport Hilton, which is a decent ride away from 'downtown' KC and Arthur Bryant's or Gates barbecue. Fortunately, we had a contact who lives near KC, and they turned us on to a place called The Smokehouse, in a nice upscale shopping district called Zona Rosa, which was only about 5 minutes away from the hotel. The Hilton provides a good shuttle service, and in short order the 7 of us were sitting in The Smokehouse, looking over a pretty large menu.
Kansas City barbecue, whether beef, pork, or chicken, is noted for the sauce. Tomato based, loaded with molasses, it's sweet and thick, with just a little bit of spice to it. Unfortunately, as most of these KC places do, the meat comes already slathered with the sauce. In other areas where bbq is popular, most pitmasters serve up their food dry, with sauce on the side, so as not to cover up the subtle flavors that low, slow smoking over hardwood produces. Still, we ordered and dug in, and the food was pretty darn good.
Starters that were sampled included side house salads which were ridiculously large for a 'side' salad; garlic butter shrimp skewers, which were so large as to be suitable for a main course; and my choice, fried pickles. Unfortunately, these were not good, for several reasons. First, the final quality of a fried pickle begins and ends with the pickle; choose a good pickle, and you get a good result. Choose a poor pickle, and you get a poor result. These were poor pickles. Bland, barely a hint of dill, no garlic, and not the least bit salty, I would have turned my nose up at them had they come as a topping for a burger or a side. Second, the pickles were not sliced into chips, which is the best shape for frying them, but rather, had been sent lengthwise through a french fry cutter, resulting in long thin strips, which were then battered and fried, the end result looking almost exactly like a french fry. Lastly, the batter did not go with the pickles at all. Fluffy and somewhat sweet, it overwhelmed the poorly seasoned pickles. Even a dose of table salt and pepper didn't improve the end product. Oh well. On to the main course.
I chose the half rack of baby back ribs dinner, with two sides, a baked potato, and baked beans.The baked potato was fine, although it was a bit dry, and could have used more butter and sour cream. Still, there's not a lot you can do to really ruin a baked spud, and overall, it was okay. The baked beans were very good, tender, covered in a slightly sweet and spicy sauce, they were a good contrast to the potato.
The ribs were pretty good sized for baby backs, which at some places, can be thin and not very meaty. These had plenty of meat on them, and had been nicely smoked, although, as noted earlier, the sauce which covered them made it a bit difficult to really get that nice smoky flavor. Here's the meal midway through:
The white bread is a KC tradition, though it's not particularly needed when you order ribs; it would be great with their pulled pork however. And, those 'chip pickles' that came with dinner, those are what they should be frying! They were salty and full of dill, just what you need to make a good fried pickle - go figure!
I got to sample their burnt ends of brisket, which were good and meaty, very tender, full of smoke flavor, although a bit fatty; pulled pork, which was moist, tender, and had a great texture to it; and bbq chicken, moist, tender, and just fine.
Overall, pretty good bbq, for Kansas City, and frankly, anyplace. Combine that with a good drink menu, decent draft beer selection, and a friendly staff, and it's a place that I would definitely visit again.
Almost a nice enough visit to make me forget my disappointment in there not being a "Twelfth Street and Vine"!
Take my trip this week out to Kansas City. Unfortunately, due to time constraints, I had to fly, so the car portion was on hold. But, boy, goin' to Kansas City, there's the food, and, of course, the great song "Kansas City" by Wilbert Harrison.
Now, there's no way I'm going to find, nor meet, any 'crazy little women' there, and I'm certainly not going to 'get me one'. I'm also not likely to have a 'bottle of Kansas City Wine' while I'm there, either. I'm pretty picky about when, and what kind, of wine I might drink; I'm more of a beer guy.
In the song, both of these occurrences are said to happen at the "corner of Twelfth Street and Vine". Now I've heard this song more times than I can count, so when I knew I was going to be in KC for a few days, my sick and twisted mind immediately figured I'd have to get to that corner and get a photo. Got to KC Tuesday, around lunch time, and after a short search, found a favorite destination of mine:
Yeah, Jack In The Box. There's about half a dozen of them in the general KC area, and it was about a 20 minute detour from the airport to reach this one, but I wasn't on any sort of time schedule, all I had to do was find my hotel, check in, and be ready for a 6 pm meeting. So it was a veritable feast, as usual, my two "monster" tacos and onion rings.
Oh well. On to the next quest. If you're in Kansas City, you're pretty much obligated to get yourself some good KC barbecue. I was in KC about 20 years back, and during that trip I ate at Arthur Bryant's, one of the real legendary names in bbq. This time, we were teaching at the KC Airport Hilton, which is a decent ride away from 'downtown' KC and Arthur Bryant's or Gates barbecue. Fortunately, we had a contact who lives near KC, and they turned us on to a place called The Smokehouse, in a nice upscale shopping district called Zona Rosa, which was only about 5 minutes away from the hotel. The Hilton provides a good shuttle service, and in short order the 7 of us were sitting in The Smokehouse, looking over a pretty large menu.
Kansas City barbecue, whether beef, pork, or chicken, is noted for the sauce. Tomato based, loaded with molasses, it's sweet and thick, with just a little bit of spice to it. Unfortunately, as most of these KC places do, the meat comes already slathered with the sauce. In other areas where bbq is popular, most pitmasters serve up their food dry, with sauce on the side, so as not to cover up the subtle flavors that low, slow smoking over hardwood produces. Still, we ordered and dug in, and the food was pretty darn good.
Starters that were sampled included side house salads which were ridiculously large for a 'side' salad; garlic butter shrimp skewers, which were so large as to be suitable for a main course; and my choice, fried pickles. Unfortunately, these were not good, for several reasons. First, the final quality of a fried pickle begins and ends with the pickle; choose a good pickle, and you get a good result. Choose a poor pickle, and you get a poor result. These were poor pickles. Bland, barely a hint of dill, no garlic, and not the least bit salty, I would have turned my nose up at them had they come as a topping for a burger or a side. Second, the pickles were not sliced into chips, which is the best shape for frying them, but rather, had been sent lengthwise through a french fry cutter, resulting in long thin strips, which were then battered and fried, the end result looking almost exactly like a french fry. Lastly, the batter did not go with the pickles at all. Fluffy and somewhat sweet, it overwhelmed the poorly seasoned pickles. Even a dose of table salt and pepper didn't improve the end product. Oh well. On to the main course.
I chose the half rack of baby back ribs dinner, with two sides, a baked potato, and baked beans.The baked potato was fine, although it was a bit dry, and could have used more butter and sour cream. Still, there's not a lot you can do to really ruin a baked spud, and overall, it was okay. The baked beans were very good, tender, covered in a slightly sweet and spicy sauce, they were a good contrast to the potato.
The ribs were pretty good sized for baby backs, which at some places, can be thin and not very meaty. These had plenty of meat on them, and had been nicely smoked, although, as noted earlier, the sauce which covered them made it a bit difficult to really get that nice smoky flavor. Here's the meal midway through:
I got to sample their burnt ends of brisket, which were good and meaty, very tender, full of smoke flavor, although a bit fatty; pulled pork, which was moist, tender, and had a great texture to it; and bbq chicken, moist, tender, and just fine.
Overall, pretty good bbq, for Kansas City, and frankly, anyplace. Combine that with a good drink menu, decent draft beer selection, and a friendly staff, and it's a place that I would definitely visit again.
Almost a nice enough visit to make me forget my disappointment in there not being a "Twelfth Street and Vine"!
Saturday, October 10, 2015
Remember The Whataburger!
Okay, so I co-opted the old "Remember The Alamo" saying for this blog, what can I say, it's been a long Texas Day!
Got back on the road yesterday morning after spending the week in Scottsdale AZ at the World Aquatic Health Conference. Had a really good time doing a CPO Instructor School, moderating some interesting sessions at the Conference, and spending time with my amazing co-instructors, who are also my friends. Long busy days, followed by evenings spent consuming large amounts of liquids. Well hey, we WERE in a desert after all!
Friday was spent making my way through AZ, New Mexico, and the very west portion of Texas along I-10, which runs right past Los Cruces NM, and through El Paso TX. What a large city El Paso turned out to be! And boy, what a scarcity of places to stay there was after I blew through El Paso! Ended up in some place called Van Horn for the night. Odd little town, six or seven motels, and yet very few places to eat. Settled for a chicken sandwich at one of the "Love's" Travel Plazas that was in town.
Saturday, up and out early, more time on I-10, as I make my way towards Spring TX, to visit my cousin Rick and his family. Really in "Texas Hill Country" today, as the road keeps heading up into the mountains. Early on, lots of morning fog, but the strong sunshine finally wins out and the day turns sunny and warm, with some high clouds giving me a break from the eastern sun hitting my eyes. Oh, yes, talk about making time, well, the speed limit on I-80 in TX is 80 mph! Rolled into San Antonio around 2:30, found a nice clean hotel near the city center, checked in, and realized, gee, I'm hungry. A quick check found a Texas tradition a few blocks away; Whataburger!
Hard to miss them, with that huge orange and white 'A' shaped roof most of them sport. Family owned since the first one opened in 1950, I really think Whataburger is a great example of how a privately held, family run business can not just survive, but thrive. The recipe seems pretty simple, keep the restaurants clean, hire friendly people, keep the menu simple, and COOK TO ORDER! No warmed over, sitting in beef broth patties here, all the burgers are grilled up when you order them. Makes quite a difference. So, here we go, today's meal was a #1 combo, a Whataburger with cheese, and sliced jalapenos (yeah, I know, here goes my stomach again).
Now, that's a single Whataburger, and the thing is easily the size of a 'Whopper', and is even a bit thicker than that. Loads of fries came with the burger, and the young lady who dropped it off at my table offered me the famous two ketchups - regular and spicy.
The spicy is really good on the fries, which are the typical fast food 'shoestring' style. Probably as close as you can get to McDonald's fries without actually going into McD's. Fresh, hot, properly salted, they're quite good, although, as usual, I would prefer if they were cooked just a touch more. Still, they are damn tasty! And the burger?
They don't skimp on the toppings here! Three slices of tomatoes, a good amount of chopped lettuce (but not too much, like you'd find on a Whopper), pickles, chopped onions, and mustard. That's the standard topping that comes on a Whataburger. Like most of the country outside of the NY area, mustard is always found on the burger, and interestingly, ketchup is not. I added sliced jalapenos (.50c), and put a bit of ketchup on top. All in all, a good combination, and the right ratio of beef to toppings and roll, the meat wasn't lost in the salad. The jalapenos were hot, but not over the top, and went well with the cheese. All in all, for a 'fast food' place, a good meal. Cost of the meal was $7 and change, which included a 'medium' soda, which, as you can see, was pretty large.
I've reviewed Whataburger previously, so I apologize to those of you who may feel you're seeing a rerun, but since I don't get here that often, this is one place I try to hit at least once whenever I'm in Texas. Tomorrow, looking forward to a nice visit with Rick and Elizabeth, and sure hope David, Chrystie and the girls will be able to join us. Food? Hmmmm, could be Mexican, BBQ, or who knows? But you know if it's good, I'll be writing about it!
Got back on the road yesterday morning after spending the week in Scottsdale AZ at the World Aquatic Health Conference. Had a really good time doing a CPO Instructor School, moderating some interesting sessions at the Conference, and spending time with my amazing co-instructors, who are also my friends. Long busy days, followed by evenings spent consuming large amounts of liquids. Well hey, we WERE in a desert after all!
Friday was spent making my way through AZ, New Mexico, and the very west portion of Texas along I-10, which runs right past Los Cruces NM, and through El Paso TX. What a large city El Paso turned out to be! And boy, what a scarcity of places to stay there was after I blew through El Paso! Ended up in some place called Van Horn for the night. Odd little town, six or seven motels, and yet very few places to eat. Settled for a chicken sandwich at one of the "Love's" Travel Plazas that was in town.
Saturday, up and out early, more time on I-10, as I make my way towards Spring TX, to visit my cousin Rick and his family. Really in "Texas Hill Country" today, as the road keeps heading up into the mountains. Early on, lots of morning fog, but the strong sunshine finally wins out and the day turns sunny and warm, with some high clouds giving me a break from the eastern sun hitting my eyes. Oh, yes, talk about making time, well, the speed limit on I-80 in TX is 80 mph! Rolled into San Antonio around 2:30, found a nice clean hotel near the city center, checked in, and realized, gee, I'm hungry. A quick check found a Texas tradition a few blocks away; Whataburger!
I've reviewed Whataburger previously, so I apologize to those of you who may feel you're seeing a rerun, but since I don't get here that often, this is one place I try to hit at least once whenever I'm in Texas. Tomorrow, looking forward to a nice visit with Rick and Elizabeth, and sure hope David, Chrystie and the girls will be able to join us. Food? Hmmmm, could be Mexican, BBQ, or who knows? But you know if it's good, I'll be writing about it!
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Ridin' The Mother Road
Today was pretty much all new territory for me, when I left Elk City, I ventured into areas that I've not driven through before. The Northern portion of Texas is much different than the southern portion. It's flatter, and parts of it reminded me of driving through Iowa, large fields of corn, mile after mile. Then you cross into New Mexico, and it's similar, at least for a while. You notice the color change, from greens to light tan and brown, spotted with clumpy green trees that stand out from the pale colored grass and hay that covers the ground. Move closer to Albuqurque, and here are the mountains, deep dark brown, striking deep red, rising high, but with flat tops, not the typical peaked mountains you see elsewhere. Past Alburqurque and we're up and down the mountains, the road winding along the side of the inclines. A great ride on a slightly overcast day, with a few quick sprinkles along the way. Finally, here's the destination, Gallup NM. One of the legendary towns that dot The Mother Road, Route 66. Heck, it's even mentioned in the Bobby Troup song "Get Your Kicks On Route 66"! Off the interstate we go, and suddenly, it's 1950 again. The road narrows, and the pavement changes from asphalt to concrete. Horizontal traffic signals stick out over the road, with big "HISTORIC ROUTE 66" signs fastened to them. Make the left onto 66 and here it is, America's original road trip route live and in person. Art deco signs, loaded with neon, many with a southwestern motif and font identify the many small businesses that dot the side of the road. And there's the motel, a real 1950's survivor, the El Capitan.
Clean, comfortable, but definitely old; green and white ceramic tile in the bathroom, stucco ceiling and walls, and the old chrome tissue dispenser over the vanity. Fine for a night's rest, I probably wouldn't stay here long term.
After checking the emails and chatting with Karen for a bit, it's time for an early dinner. There were lots of good local places to choose from, and I have to admit, it was hard to pass up a particular fast food chain. Turns out that in New Mexico, there's a burger chain with 75 or so locations, called Blake's Lotaburgers. Not tonight. Maybe on the return trip I'll find one around lunch time and check it out.
No, tonight it's gotta be a local spot, one in the downtown area, and it's got to have a good version of one of New Mexico's most famous food, the Green Chile Cheesburger. New Mexico is famous for their chiles, and some years back, local chefs began topping their burgers with home made green chiles. It's almost the official state food, and if you check out "Eater.com" or "Yelp", you can find literally hundreds of cafes and restaurants that serve them. My choice was Jerry's Cafe, which is one of the highest rated places on Yelp and Trip Advisor.
The sign is typical of what you see in Gallup, old style, multi colored, and of course, at night, nicely illuminated with the glow of neon. Small place, tiny actually, with a capacity of 60.
Place was pretty busy when I got in, but there were one or two small booths open, so I got seated right away. Hostess hands me a menu, and takes my drink order. In a minute she's back with the soda and a bottle of ketchup and hot sauce; my waitress will be right over. So, even though I know what I want, I check out the menu.
Plenty of choices, including about 10 different burgers, and a similar number of Mexican dishes, burritos, tacos, empanadas, and the like. Waitress asks what I'd like, I order, and she asks, "red or green chile"? Hmmm a quandry. I really want the green, but I've seen a plate of the red at the next booth and it looks amazing. Sensing my indecision, she offers the suggestion of the night: "we can do half and half". Brilliant! Order's in, and I wait, but just for a few minutes - service is quick, they have to be fast with only 60 seats, and by my count, 11 or 12 people working in the place. And then, here it is:
Jerry's serves their version open faced, which sure makes sense, given as how it's really smothered with the chili, and all that melted cheese - shredded cheddar, not sliced 'American'. This is a real knife and fork meal! The burger itself is pretty thin, but large, almost like a Whopper patty, but one that's been cooked correctly and hasn't been laying around in a drawer full of 'beef broth'. Tender, good flavor; the bottom of the roll is still pretty intact, and I can easily get a piece of roll with each piece of meat. The green chile sauce is amazing, with a bit of heat, but not a tongue scorching heat, more of a 'sneaks up from the back of your mouth' heat. Good flavor, almost like roasted green bell peppers, with a little onion, maybe a hint of garlic, just a solid tasty sauce that compliments the cheese and the meat.
On to the red chile sauce. Now, here's the heat - still not over the top, but more than the green, and a deeper flavor, there's some tomato base in here, maybe paste; and onion and garlic. Damn tasty! And it's great for dipping the fries in!
Ahhh yes, the fries. Okay, gotta admit, nothing special here. Frozen crinkle cut (my favorite cut), cooked properly, served hot, but bland - needed salt, and ketchup, or a dip in the red chile sauce!
The finale? Using the top of the bun to soak up the remnants of the chile sauces! I'm pretty sure that's the intended use, as even if you cut the burger carefully, there's no way you could eat this thing with your hands. Overall? Terrific meal, neat location, very friendly and helpful staff, I can highly recommend Jerry's Cafe if you're in Gallup.
After dinner, I took a cruise up and down 66 and soaked in the sights a bit. Ran the car through one of those automatic car wash (didn't do much), and gassed it up for the drive tomorrow.
I've been on portions of Route 66 in the past, in AZ, Oklahoma, and in Alburqurque many years back when I flew in and had a rental car. And I've always had the urge to do the whole Chicago to CA route, on as much of the old road as I can find. I've got the Route 66 maps and travel guide at home, and just from this short trip today, now i REALLY want to do that! Maybe even in an old car; old road, old car, right? Maybe something like this?
Well, we shall see. That might be asking a lot from the old girl, even though it's had a lot of work done on it this past year. All I know for sure is that on the way home from AZ, I'm going to hit 66 for at least a couple of half days, just to soak in a little more of it's flavor.
After checking the emails and chatting with Karen for a bit, it's time for an early dinner. There were lots of good local places to choose from, and I have to admit, it was hard to pass up a particular fast food chain. Turns out that in New Mexico, there's a burger chain with 75 or so locations, called Blake's Lotaburgers. Not tonight. Maybe on the return trip I'll find one around lunch time and check it out.
No, tonight it's gotta be a local spot, one in the downtown area, and it's got to have a good version of one of New Mexico's most famous food, the Green Chile Cheesburger. New Mexico is famous for their chiles, and some years back, local chefs began topping their burgers with home made green chiles. It's almost the official state food, and if you check out "Eater.com" or "Yelp", you can find literally hundreds of cafes and restaurants that serve them. My choice was Jerry's Cafe, which is one of the highest rated places on Yelp and Trip Advisor.
On to the red chile sauce. Now, here's the heat - still not over the top, but more than the green, and a deeper flavor, there's some tomato base in here, maybe paste; and onion and garlic. Damn tasty! And it's great for dipping the fries in!
The finale? Using the top of the bun to soak up the remnants of the chile sauces! I'm pretty sure that's the intended use, as even if you cut the burger carefully, there's no way you could eat this thing with your hands. Overall? Terrific meal, neat location, very friendly and helpful staff, I can highly recommend Jerry's Cafe if you're in Gallup.
After dinner, I took a cruise up and down 66 and soaked in the sights a bit. Ran the car through one of those automatic car wash (didn't do much), and gassed it up for the drive tomorrow.
I've been on portions of Route 66 in the past, in AZ, Oklahoma, and in Alburqurque many years back when I flew in and had a rental car. And I've always had the urge to do the whole Chicago to CA route, on as much of the old road as I can find. I've got the Route 66 maps and travel guide at home, and just from this short trip today, now i REALLY want to do that! Maybe even in an old car; old road, old car, right? Maybe something like this?
Friday, October 2, 2015
Oklahoma Mexican - who'da thunk?
Another fun filled day on the road finds me in Elk City, Oklahoma tonight. Nice little spot, more than the usual interstate exit, including a pretty sizeable portion of old Route 66. There's even a Route 66 museum here, which I'll think about checking out on the return trip. In the meantime, a nice easy night, decent, clean motel, and as a bonus, a Mexican restaurant attached to the motel! Now with that sort of temptation, how could I resist? So, I checked in, stretched out my back a bit, then wandered down to Mama Tona's for dinner. Now to be honest, I did check out "Yelp", and the reviews were good, so I wasn't flying as blind as I could have been.
Big place, Mama Tona's. Clean, very clean. Stainless steel half walls separate tables into different sections. Kitchen partially open to diners to view, and it is also very clean. Hey, look, a tortilla press, sort of like at "On The Border"; nice touch, home made flour and corn tortillas! Hostess leads me to a table, asks what I'd like to drink; Dos Equis Amber, and served with a tall, very frosty mug, and also brings a tall glass of ice water. So far so good.
Waitress brings over chips, salsa, AND queso dip, along with a tortilla holder filled with fresh, soft, warm corn tortillas.
Sorry for the somewhat fuzzy photo; apparently the phone camera lens was a little dirty. Didn't discover that until after dinner. Anyway, good chips, good salsa, although a bit too mild. The queso, home made, but not great. Someone didn't cook the roux long enough before they added in the cheese, it had a pretty strong taste like raw flour. Not awful, but not what you'd want to eat a lot of. The beer? Cold, and perfect.
Pretty diverse menu, lots of familiar items, but missing some of the usuals. No Pollo Con Arrozo, and no 'chicken, shrimp, steak' special. Almost got the shredded beef Chimichanga, but last minute went for shrimp rancheros. Put the order in, and sat back. After a few minutes, first up was this:
Big plate of refried beans and Mexican rice. And very good Mexican rice, nicely seasoned, and with corn, peas, and diced carrot in with the rice. Refried beans, nice and creamy, not at all pasty, topped with just a touch of cheese. And both served nice and hot. And then, out came the main.
Served sizzling on a fajita platter, ten nice sized shrimp, sautee'd with green bell peppers, onions, tomatos, and fresh jalapeno slices. On the side, fresh warm flour tortillas. Very generous portion, add in the rice and beans and it was a very filling meal, and quite tasty as well! The shrimp were perfectly cooked, the onions were done well, some were quite soft and carmelized, some still had a bit of crunch; bell peppers were fine, as were the tomato pieces. The fresh jalapeno had quite a kick, it's always hotter than the pickled ones you find in a lot of places. I packed all of the ingredients into flour tortillas and ate them fajita style, and was very happy. Added a touch of salt and pepper, as the only thing missing was a little bit of seasoning, which seems to be missing from most places when they do fajita style food. Sizzling the ingredients and getting a little browning is a good idea, but you HAVE to give them a little help - salt, pepper, garlic powder, like I'd use on my fajitas.
Finished all the shrimp and a good amount of the veggies, and that was it, full.
So I had a really nice meal, in a clean, friendly place, all for a final price of $14.30. Talk about a bargain!
Complaints? Just one. The place was too darn cold! Turn down (or up) the A/C!
And tomorrow night, it'll be something cool in Gallup NM, possibly a popular 'burger joint on old Route 66.
As they used to say, 'stay tuned for more'!
Big place, Mama Tona's. Clean, very clean. Stainless steel half walls separate tables into different sections. Kitchen partially open to diners to view, and it is also very clean. Hey, look, a tortilla press, sort of like at "On The Border"; nice touch, home made flour and corn tortillas! Hostess leads me to a table, asks what I'd like to drink; Dos Equis Amber, and served with a tall, very frosty mug, and also brings a tall glass of ice water. So far so good.
Waitress brings over chips, salsa, AND queso dip, along with a tortilla holder filled with fresh, soft, warm corn tortillas.
Pretty diverse menu, lots of familiar items, but missing some of the usuals. No Pollo Con Arrozo, and no 'chicken, shrimp, steak' special. Almost got the shredded beef Chimichanga, but last minute went for shrimp rancheros. Put the order in, and sat back. After a few minutes, first up was this:
Finished all the shrimp and a good amount of the veggies, and that was it, full.
So I had a really nice meal, in a clean, friendly place, all for a final price of $14.30. Talk about a bargain!
Complaints? Just one. The place was too darn cold! Turn down (or up) the A/C!
And tomorrow night, it'll be something cool in Gallup NM, possibly a popular 'burger joint on old Route 66.
As they used to say, 'stay tuned for more'!
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Chasing the warm weather west
Back out on the Interstates, heading from Long Island to Scottsdale Arizona, for a CPO Instructor School, and the World Aquatic Health Conference. Got a nice early start on Wednesday, as I cranked up the Bluecuda and pulled away from the curb right at 5 am. If you're going to make any time in the NY area, you've got to beat the majority of the rush hour traffic. Which, by the way, is a hell of a lot longer than 'an hour'! Especially since it was raining on Wednesday, which always slows things to somewhat less than a crawl.
Over the GW Bridge and onto I-80 I went, nice light traffic, and good tunes on the XM 60's channel. Had spotty rain most of the way until I stopped for the night, which is no fun to drive in, but what can you do?
I wanted to get to Columbus Ohio for the night, that's a decent run of about 575 miles. But I was doing so well, I pushed right on and made it to Springfield, just outside of Dayton. Found a nice clean motel, and settled in for the night. Nothing exciting to report on the food front, I skipped lunch, and had a frozen dinner in my room.
Thursday dawned much nicer, sunny and bright. Got on the road at 7, with a goal of getting to the Rolla/St. Cloud MO region; I had a hotel reservation in St. Cloud, so that was an easy drive.
Stopped for gas in western Illinois, and lo and behold, right next door to the gas station was a Jack In The Box; it must have been fate! Grabbed a couple of tacos and a drink, and back on the road I went. Fought a very strong urge to stop off (again) at Meramec Caverns, one of the great Roadside Attractions that we stopped at 50 years ago on our trip to Dallas. As I'd been there 3 years ago, I passed it up and kept going.
When I got to the hotel, I was done for the day at around 3 pm. Answered a few emails, took a couple of calls, then just relaxed a while. Realized that 3 pm was really 2 pm, as I passed into Central Time at some point late this morning. Nice big room, a suite, this is near Ft. Leonard Wood, and I think a lot of military families stay here when they are relocated to Ft. Wood, at least until they can arrange for more permanent housing.
It's been more than a bit chilly the last two days, and, of course, I didn't take a jacket of any sort with me - I'm going to AZ, and it's always warm there, right? Right. But it isn't always warm in Ohio, or Missouri. So off to the local Wal-Mart I went, to pick up a couple of things, and a light jacket. On the way there, I considered my choices for dinner; Ruby Tuesday; Chili's; McDonald's; Cracker Barrel; the usual suspects. And then, off in the distance, I spotted this:
The "Route 66" Diner. A real chrome and vinyl "Gulfstream" diner, the kind we used to have all over the place on LI until they all started expanding them into huge 'restaurants'. Decided that I had to stop in and eat here. A little closer up:
On the front door, this sign; "We proudly serve those who serve". And there were more than a few military types inside, usually a good sign, sort of like the old line about truck drivers eating at good places.
Good menu, lots of dinner specials, from salads and soups, to comfort food, such as meat loaf, roast chicken, chicken noodle soup - good diner food. I opted for the "Route 66 Burger", which, my waitress explained, was the special of the day. I saved .50c because of that! And here's the meal:
Nice burger, big, juicy, and cooked exactly right, as I ordered it. Topped with lettuce, tomato, pickles, onion and 'garlic mayo', which, of course, I had them hold. Didn't put the tomato on, as it just wasn't ripe looking. Squirt of ketchup, dollop of cheap yellow mustard, and dig in. Good burger! The roll was toasted, but soft, and had a hint of garlic, sort of like the ones that we used to get at Dempsey's in East Meadow (which, sadly, closed).
The fries appear to be hand cut, the skin is still on, and they came out properly hot. But.....they were 'once cooked', and ended up soft and squishy instead of crispy, and the larger ones were not quite cooked through. If you're going to go to the trouble of hand cutting the fries, you need to double cook them. Blanch them at 300 or so, take 'em out, let them rest a few minutes, then finish them off at 350. That way you get fluffy insides and crispy outsides. Still with ketchup on them, they were pretty good.
The Diner was built in 2001, and it's obvious that the owners care about the place. It's spotless inside, and a real reflection of the 50's. Black and white tile floor, red and white vinyl booths, a counter with stools, and chrome everywhere you look. The table tops had that nice formica with the flying triangles on it, and the sound system was playing really good 50's and 60's music. Definitely worth the stop, and recommended to anyone who's passing through this area of Missouri!
And for those who are interested, yes, the old Route 66 does run right through here. I'm on a pretty tight time schedule on the westward trip, as I must be in AZ on Sunday. But on the way back, I just might take a day and wander along the Mother Road for a while.
Back to the hotel, and time to do a little editing on tomorrow's drive. I was aiming for Elk City OK, but if I can get out early, I may hold out and try for Amarillo TX. We'll see how the weather, traffic, and back do.
Stay tuned for more!
Over the GW Bridge and onto I-80 I went, nice light traffic, and good tunes on the XM 60's channel. Had spotty rain most of the way until I stopped for the night, which is no fun to drive in, but what can you do?
I wanted to get to Columbus Ohio for the night, that's a decent run of about 575 miles. But I was doing so well, I pushed right on and made it to Springfield, just outside of Dayton. Found a nice clean motel, and settled in for the night. Nothing exciting to report on the food front, I skipped lunch, and had a frozen dinner in my room.
Thursday dawned much nicer, sunny and bright. Got on the road at 7, with a goal of getting to the Rolla/St. Cloud MO region; I had a hotel reservation in St. Cloud, so that was an easy drive.
Stopped for gas in western Illinois, and lo and behold, right next door to the gas station was a Jack In The Box; it must have been fate! Grabbed a couple of tacos and a drink, and back on the road I went. Fought a very strong urge to stop off (again) at Meramec Caverns, one of the great Roadside Attractions that we stopped at 50 years ago on our trip to Dallas. As I'd been there 3 years ago, I passed it up and kept going.
When I got to the hotel, I was done for the day at around 3 pm. Answered a few emails, took a couple of calls, then just relaxed a while. Realized that 3 pm was really 2 pm, as I passed into Central Time at some point late this morning. Nice big room, a suite, this is near Ft. Leonard Wood, and I think a lot of military families stay here when they are relocated to Ft. Wood, at least until they can arrange for more permanent housing.
It's been more than a bit chilly the last two days, and, of course, I didn't take a jacket of any sort with me - I'm going to AZ, and it's always warm there, right? Right. But it isn't always warm in Ohio, or Missouri. So off to the local Wal-Mart I went, to pick up a couple of things, and a light jacket. On the way there, I considered my choices for dinner; Ruby Tuesday; Chili's; McDonald's; Cracker Barrel; the usual suspects. And then, off in the distance, I spotted this:
Good menu, lots of dinner specials, from salads and soups, to comfort food, such as meat loaf, roast chicken, chicken noodle soup - good diner food. I opted for the "Route 66 Burger", which, my waitress explained, was the special of the day. I saved .50c because of that! And here's the meal:
The fries appear to be hand cut, the skin is still on, and they came out properly hot. But.....they were 'once cooked', and ended up soft and squishy instead of crispy, and the larger ones were not quite cooked through. If you're going to go to the trouble of hand cutting the fries, you need to double cook them. Blanch them at 300 or so, take 'em out, let them rest a few minutes, then finish them off at 350. That way you get fluffy insides and crispy outsides. Still with ketchup on them, they were pretty good.
The Diner was built in 2001, and it's obvious that the owners care about the place. It's spotless inside, and a real reflection of the 50's. Black and white tile floor, red and white vinyl booths, a counter with stools, and chrome everywhere you look. The table tops had that nice formica with the flying triangles on it, and the sound system was playing really good 50's and 60's music. Definitely worth the stop, and recommended to anyone who's passing through this area of Missouri!
And for those who are interested, yes, the old Route 66 does run right through here. I'm on a pretty tight time schedule on the westward trip, as I must be in AZ on Sunday. But on the way back, I just might take a day and wander along the Mother Road for a while.
Back to the hotel, and time to do a little editing on tomorrow's drive. I was aiming for Elk City OK, but if I can get out early, I may hold out and try for Amarillo TX. We'll see how the weather, traffic, and back do.
Stay tuned for more!
Monday, September 14, 2015
On the road again; well, more like in the air again!
It's been a while since I've been on any sort of road trip, but now that summer is rapidly coming to a close, I have a few trips on the way that should be fun. In early October, I'm off to Scottsdale AZ for a CPO Instructor School and the World Aquatic Health Conference. In early December, it'll be Kansas City for another CPO Instructor School. Both of those are going to be actual 'road' trips, as I'll be driving to each of them.
But up first, starting tomorrow, will be a trip to the entertainment capital of the desert, beautiful (?) Las Vegas. Unfortunately, due to time restrictions, I am flying to this one. And yes, for those who know me, I'm already annoyed at that fact, and dreading the entire air travel experience.
Okay, 'Fabulous' Las Vegas, as the iconic sign says. It's time for the annual National Recreation and Park Association Congress for Parks. Since it's the 50th anniversary of the foundation of NRPA, I guess they decided to really glitz it up for us. Of course, for many Park and Recreation Professionals, telling their bosses that the annual conference is in Las Vegas made for a quick 'no way you're going there!' attitude.
And, you know, I get it. Vegas certainly has the reputation for being a place where you go to goof off, not to get serious education and information about your profession. On top of that, an awful lot of administrators look at our various Recreation Conferences with a skeptical attitude. After all, what is so hard about operating a Park? What is it that you need to learn? What kind of crap sessions could they possibly be presenting?
On and on it goes, year after year, as we try to persuade our superiors that there is real value to be had from attending these conferences. And to their credit, NRPA does a great job of identifying the benefits that attendees get from the various seminars and sessions which are presented each year. If one looks at the published schedule of seminars for this year, they will find subjects that range from the simple to the very complex, with presenters who are experts in their areas. Of course, there is the occasional oddball session, such as the one I am presenting, called "How To Survive In A Toxic Workplace". I presented this one at the last LILSA/Saint Joseph's Conference, and it was very well received, so I figured I'd inflict it on a large group of people that I don't know. Should be fun!
So many of us are looking forward to this conference as a way to increase our operating knowledge, expand our network of contacts, and yes, celebrate the 50th anniversary of NRPA.
Many of us from New York will be staying at this place, the Excalibur. Lisa Morahan, Executive Director of the state's Recreation and Park Society, got us an amazing deal at this spot. I know the Excalibur from a visit many years ago when we were on a family vacation to the Grand Canyon and Los Angeles, and we stopped over in Vegas for a couple of days. It's right on the strip, and just a couple of tram stops away from the Mandalay Bay Convention Center, where the NRPA show is going to be. I'm sure that for the three days of the Conference, I'll find a few good spots to report back on, as I will have to find places for lunch and dinner. All of us from NY are getting together on Tuesday night for a welcome social at, of course, New York, NY. I'll try to get a few photos at that gathering and post them later this week.
On Friday, Karen is flying out to meet me, and we'll have the weekend to poke around and relax a bit. We aren't staying at the Excalibur, we will be at a lovely place that's sort of off the strip called the Alexis Park Resort.
We've stayed here before, when we were in Vegas for a CPO Instructor School, and it's a lovely place. It's right across the street from the Hard Rock Casino and Hotel, so we'll be able to wander around there and take advantage of what they offer. And I'm sure we'll be doing some sightseeing, perhaps taking a ride over to the "World Famous Gold & Silver Pawn Shop", which is seen on the tv show "Pawn Stars". Might get over to 'old' Vegas and see Freemont Street and the rest of the remaining heritage casinos and restaurants. Might even stop in to Binion's, one of the oldest and still best food value spots in Vegas.
So keep your eyes peeled for new posts here in the coming weeks. Should be a few fun trips, and hopefully some good, fun road trip news!
But up first, starting tomorrow, will be a trip to the entertainment capital of the desert, beautiful (?) Las Vegas. Unfortunately, due to time restrictions, I am flying to this one. And yes, for those who know me, I'm already annoyed at that fact, and dreading the entire air travel experience.
And, you know, I get it. Vegas certainly has the reputation for being a place where you go to goof off, not to get serious education and information about your profession. On top of that, an awful lot of administrators look at our various Recreation Conferences with a skeptical attitude. After all, what is so hard about operating a Park? What is it that you need to learn? What kind of crap sessions could they possibly be presenting?
On and on it goes, year after year, as we try to persuade our superiors that there is real value to be had from attending these conferences. And to their credit, NRPA does a great job of identifying the benefits that attendees get from the various seminars and sessions which are presented each year. If one looks at the published schedule of seminars for this year, they will find subjects that range from the simple to the very complex, with presenters who are experts in their areas. Of course, there is the occasional oddball session, such as the one I am presenting, called "How To Survive In A Toxic Workplace". I presented this one at the last LILSA/Saint Joseph's Conference, and it was very well received, so I figured I'd inflict it on a large group of people that I don't know. Should be fun!
So many of us are looking forward to this conference as a way to increase our operating knowledge, expand our network of contacts, and yes, celebrate the 50th anniversary of NRPA.
On Friday, Karen is flying out to meet me, and we'll have the weekend to poke around and relax a bit. We aren't staying at the Excalibur, we will be at a lovely place that's sort of off the strip called the Alexis Park Resort.
So keep your eyes peeled for new posts here in the coming weeks. Should be a few fun trips, and hopefully some good, fun road trip news!
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
The Itsy Bitsy Spider crawled up the driveway....
Well, the little 850 showed up here last Friday, after completing the long trip from Oregon riding on the top rack of the car carrier. Had to laugh as the driver rolled the car off the ramp, the silly thing is so narrow that it barely spanned the space between the two sides of the ramp on the truck; one mis-steer and it would have been *splat*!
Once off the truck, the driver said 'you can start it and move it'. Uhhhh, okay, well, let's see, I haven't driven one of these things in well over 40 years, and with my recently balky back, getting into the thing seemed to be problematic.
Open the door, sit down on the seat (my God this thing is low to the ground!), and drag my legs in. Jeez, forgot how small the pedals on this car are; the brake and clutch pedals are about the size of a Fig Newton; the gas pedal is the size of a Milky Way bar. Pull out the choke, crank it up, it fires and dies; repeat, it fires and dies again. Crank it 3 or 4 more times, finally get it to run! Found reverse on the first shot, unusual on this car, back it up, put it in first, gas it, and up the driveway it goes. Pull up to the fence, set the brake, shut it down, it's home.
For those of you who don't remember these little beasts, it is a rear engine car, similar to the old VW Bug, but with a water cooled engine that's only about half the size of the VW. It makes a huge 52 horsepower, a low amount even for back in 1969 (my '65 Barracuda makes 150+). Here's a shot of the power plant:
And, of course, nothing says 'old car' like the interior of a '69 850! Lap belts only, no shoulder belt, and they don't retract; when you unbuckle them, they just lie there on the floor. No radio in this car, it was an extra cost option in '69. No a/c, of course, no cruise control, no power steering or power brakes. No electric windows (and, of course, as noted in my last post, the cheap cable in the passenger door is busted), no 'frills' of any kind. But, it does have a good clutch and gearshift combination, a very tight turning radius, and due to the small wheelbase and light weight, it is very nimble on the road.
That's the downside to picking up a car like this. The upside? Well, much of the work is stuff that I can do, and have done on my past 850's. I've ordered all the parts to tune it up, and Tommy is coming over on Saturday to help with that. I'll poke around the wiring a bit and see if I can't find what's wrong. If I can't, there are a couple of good electrical shops that can track that down for me. And overall, the body is solid, the chassis is pretty much rust free, and it shouldn't take too much to put it into decent 'weekend shape', which is all I really want to do at this point.
I've already sourced a good parts company, and Rock Auto carries a lot of typical wear and tear parts like brake pads, shocks, etc. And I've joined the Fiat Club of America. What the hell, if you're going to dive into a crappy old car, you may as well go in up to your neck!
Monday, August 17, 2015
Fix It Again Tony; The Sequel
This post is pretty much all about cars; one car model in particular, so if you're looking for a food post, or a music post, you'll have to wait a bit for the next one in those areas.
Today, it's a look back at my first car, and a look ahead, to 'part two' of the story.
Many of you know of my strange addiction to Fiat cars. Over the years, I've had four of the little beasts, two 850 spiders, and two 124 spiders. Of those cars, I actually drove three of them; the fourth was one I had planned to 'restore' and use as a weekend cruiser. That plan came to an end after the engine went on fire one evening when I was trying to fit it with a new carburetor.
So the cars I owned, all three of the daily drivers, were somewhat less than reliable. Probably due partly to my having bought them used, for not a lot of money, and partly because, well, back in the day, they just weren't particularly well made cars. The 124 spiders were definitely a better design than the 850 was. The 124 had a strong four cylinder dual overhead cam engine, and a nice slick five speed gearbox. Great balance and handling, plenty of power, and four wheel disc brakes made the car a blast on the road.
The first 124 I owned was green with a tan interior, and had great power; I could 'chirp' the tires right up to third gear. Unfortunately, after owning it for about six months, the engine went all off kilter, a small part failed, and the pistons hit the valves, causing much damage, and resulting in a major repair. The mechanic I was using at the time fixed everything, EXCEPT the small part which had caused the problem. The result? Same damn thing happened about three weeks later, requiring that the major repair be done for a second time (and of course, I was charged a second time). That sort of put me off Fiats for a while, but, like any good addict, I came back for more, a second 124 spider that I bought just as we were moving into our first house, out in Selden. Bought the car from a guy who had it in a shop in Lindenhurst, where he'd had it painted. Bright red, it looked great. Picked it up on a Friday night, drove it home and buzzed around in it over the weekend, it ran well, and all was fine.
Monday morning rolls around, and I hop in the car and head off to work in Garden City (a 40 mile ride). Got about halfway there, and don't you know, the damn car stalls out in heavy traffic on the Northern State Parkway. The first day I needed the thing to get me to work! NOT a good sign. As I stood by the car off to the side of the road with the hood up, my brother in law Bob pulled up - he was also on his way to work - and between us, we got the thing running, although it was a real rough idle. Got to work, dropped the car off at my 'regular' mechanic, who said the thing needed new points, and while he'd be happy to fix it, this model used two duplicate sets of points, and he 'wasn't sure' just how to get them set correctly. He got it running though, and eventually I figured out the trick to setting the points. But that first day pretty much describes the experience of owning that thing.
But the Fiat that started it all was my little 1968 850 Spider. Those of you who are old enough to remember back to the late 60's know that they sold a ton of these things, they were sporty looking, fun to drive, and cheap as hell; I think they sold for under $2,300 brand new!
Cute car, right? And a real oddball too, in lots of ways. It was rear engined, with the trunk in the front of the car, and the engine well behind the seats in the back. Very few options were available, there was only one engine, and one transmission, a four speed manual. The convertible top folded down and was hidden by a flip up body panel, so when the top was down, the car really looked slick.
At 45 horsepower, the car was no speed demon; but the short wheelbase, rack and pinion steering, and good brakes made the car fun to drive, especially on curvy roads. Since I bought the car in 1972, I owned it during the first gas crisis - when the price of gas went from around .29c per gallon to over .50c, and people were freaking out. Many cars of the time got lousy mileage, due to the first really strict emission controls they had, and because the cars were big and heavy. But this little thing, weighing only 1,600 lbs, got GREAT mileage - about 36 mpg - which was outstanding for those days. With it's six gallon tank, I could fill the car for under $3.00, and drive it almost 200 miles. All good features, things you'd want in a car, even today.
But, of course, there was the down side. As noted by the title of this post, Fiat pretty much stood for 'Fix It Again Tony', or 'Fix It All'a Time'. The damn car always seemed to have something wrong with it. And really odd stuff would go bad on it, not the usual engine problems. In fact, as I thought back on this car over the past few days, I couldn't remember a single time that I got 'stranded' or had to be towed when I owned this car. No, the problems were all really dumb.
For example, in the two years or so that I owned the car, I think I had to replace the starter motor 4 times. You'd turn the key, and the damn thing wouldn't make a sound; dead silence, and the engine wouldn't turn over. So you'd get out, give the car a shove, hop in, pop the clutch, causing the engine to start, and off you'd go.
Every once in a while, I'd get in the car, start driving, and suddenly the gear shift lever would be about three inches to the left of where it should have been. Broke yet another engine mount, which caused the whole drive train,engine and transmission, to get out of line. That happened at least three or four times, as the 'engine mount' was just a cheap bolt that ran through a fat rubber washer. The bolt would break, and that was that.
Start the car up, put it in gear, punch the gas, and suddenly it sounded like a mack truck - part of the muffler had blown off. That happened three times; yes, that's right, three muffler replacements in about two years. I finally bought a set of headers and a one piece muffler from J.C. Whitney, and that cured that problem.
Cranking up the window, and you'd hear 'boing!' like a piece of wire cable snapping. Which is just what happened; the windows went up and down on a cheap piece of cable that ran around four pulleys in the door. About once every 3 or 4 months, the cable would snap, and the window wouldn't go up, or down. Must have changed 4 or 5 of those things, and that was a nasty, knuckle scraping job.
Want to drive the car in the cold weather? Well, the car did have the best heater I ever saw, it would roast you if you ran it full out. But getting the car started? Good luck. Under about 35 degrees, the engine just did not want to crank. Can't recall how many times I ran the battery down trying to get the cold engine to turn over fast enough to start. Finally solved that problem by getting a heated dipstick. Had to back the car up to the garage, and plug this thing in to the wall. It kept the engine oil warm (and thus thin) overnight, so that the car would actually start in the morning.
What a nightmare. But, it was my first car. And my first taste of independence. If I wanted to go somewhere, I could. It was MY choice. If I wanted to drive out to Montauk one summer day, I could (and did). If I wanted to run down to Virginia to pick up fireworks for the 4th of July I could (and did). I had plenty of really fun times in that little car, from going to LI Ducks hockey games out in Commack just about every week in the winter, to running back and forth to multiple softball games each week in the summer, to just cruising around with my buddies. That little Fiat was a great, if unreliable car, which I'm sure I remember with much too much fondness. I only have this one photo of it just now, sorry it's so small; it was taken with an old Kodak brownie star-mite camera.
So why post this today? Well, I guess I've prattled on about this car a little too often, especially around the boys. Tommy has been looking at Fiats on various web sites for some time now, and good instigator that he is, he sends over photos and listings from places like Craigslist, and eBay. I pretty much ignored them, as I really figured my Fiat days were done. But then, last week, in a moment of weakness, I put a bid in on a car on eBay. Not a 124 or 850, but the replacement for the 850, a car I always wanted, but never owned, a Fiat X-19. Mid-engined, great balance, and actually a well built and somewhat reliable car.
I didn't win that car, as the price went over and above what I would have been comfortable with. Then, last Wednesday, I weakened and gave in to what can only be described as a sentimental nostalgic whim; I bid on a 1969 850 spider. I knew it was a stupid thing to do, but, as I'm a typical male, I did it anyway. It was a very low ball bid, way under what the car should have sold for given the condition it was in. And for the next two days, I watched the auction, figuring that there was no way I was going to win it, as I was about $500 - $800 below the value of the car.
I won it. A bright red 850 spider, happily living in Lake Oswego Oregon, in really good running condition, being used as a daily driver by the guy selling it (who sold it because he has, by my count, at least 7 or 8 cars). And here it is:
Much to my shock and dismay, the car sold for well under what it should have; in fact, it sold for less than my top bid was!
So down the road I go, adding another silly car to the stable. I've gotten past the disbelief I felt when I won the car, and am actually looking forward to getting the damn thing here. Tommy and Billy are both excited about the car, and I'm feeling good that they'll be able to share in a little bit of my past, with what was a pretty special car to me. Tommy has already been poking around the internet, looking for places that sell parts and accessories, as the car does need a few things. I've arranged to have the car shipped here (I'm not quite crazy enough to push a tiny 46 year old car 2,900 miles over the Interstates), and am looking forward to cleaning it up a bit, and bringing it to one of the many cruise nights we go to. There aren't many 850's left, especially here in the east. They either rusted out, or were discarded and crushed, as they weren't considered to be collectible cars. They were cheap when they were new, and were cheap when they got old. The only person who'd put value on them would be someone with an attachment to them. Someone who maybe wished that he hadn't gotten rid of it. Someone who's always had an affection and attachment to cars they've owned. Someone, I guess, like me.
And so, some 41 years after I sold my little 850 to a friend of a friend (who ran it into a telephone pole less than a month after he bought it), I'm getting a second one. And I know the boys and I will have plenty of fun times with it, and maybe they'll get a glimpse of what it was like to be young and carefree as I was when I had my original 850. I know that our little Barracuda has been a real blast for all of us, and I'm sure that this will be as well.
Now, if only I can remember how those damn window cables get installed!
Today, it's a look back at my first car, and a look ahead, to 'part two' of the story.
Many of you know of my strange addiction to Fiat cars. Over the years, I've had four of the little beasts, two 850 spiders, and two 124 spiders. Of those cars, I actually drove three of them; the fourth was one I had planned to 'restore' and use as a weekend cruiser. That plan came to an end after the engine went on fire one evening when I was trying to fit it with a new carburetor.
So the cars I owned, all three of the daily drivers, were somewhat less than reliable. Probably due partly to my having bought them used, for not a lot of money, and partly because, well, back in the day, they just weren't particularly well made cars. The 124 spiders were definitely a better design than the 850 was. The 124 had a strong four cylinder dual overhead cam engine, and a nice slick five speed gearbox. Great balance and handling, plenty of power, and four wheel disc brakes made the car a blast on the road.
The first 124 I owned was green with a tan interior, and had great power; I could 'chirp' the tires right up to third gear. Unfortunately, after owning it for about six months, the engine went all off kilter, a small part failed, and the pistons hit the valves, causing much damage, and resulting in a major repair. The mechanic I was using at the time fixed everything, EXCEPT the small part which had caused the problem. The result? Same damn thing happened about three weeks later, requiring that the major repair be done for a second time (and of course, I was charged a second time). That sort of put me off Fiats for a while, but, like any good addict, I came back for more, a second 124 spider that I bought just as we were moving into our first house, out in Selden. Bought the car from a guy who had it in a shop in Lindenhurst, where he'd had it painted. Bright red, it looked great. Picked it up on a Friday night, drove it home and buzzed around in it over the weekend, it ran well, and all was fine.
Monday morning rolls around, and I hop in the car and head off to work in Garden City (a 40 mile ride). Got about halfway there, and don't you know, the damn car stalls out in heavy traffic on the Northern State Parkway. The first day I needed the thing to get me to work! NOT a good sign. As I stood by the car off to the side of the road with the hood up, my brother in law Bob pulled up - he was also on his way to work - and between us, we got the thing running, although it was a real rough idle. Got to work, dropped the car off at my 'regular' mechanic, who said the thing needed new points, and while he'd be happy to fix it, this model used two duplicate sets of points, and he 'wasn't sure' just how to get them set correctly. He got it running though, and eventually I figured out the trick to setting the points. But that first day pretty much describes the experience of owning that thing.
But the Fiat that started it all was my little 1968 850 Spider. Those of you who are old enough to remember back to the late 60's know that they sold a ton of these things, they were sporty looking, fun to drive, and cheap as hell; I think they sold for under $2,300 brand new!
But, of course, there was the down side. As noted by the title of this post, Fiat pretty much stood for 'Fix It Again Tony', or 'Fix It All'a Time'. The damn car always seemed to have something wrong with it. And really odd stuff would go bad on it, not the usual engine problems. In fact, as I thought back on this car over the past few days, I couldn't remember a single time that I got 'stranded' or had to be towed when I owned this car. No, the problems were all really dumb.
For example, in the two years or so that I owned the car, I think I had to replace the starter motor 4 times. You'd turn the key, and the damn thing wouldn't make a sound; dead silence, and the engine wouldn't turn over. So you'd get out, give the car a shove, hop in, pop the clutch, causing the engine to start, and off you'd go.
Every once in a while, I'd get in the car, start driving, and suddenly the gear shift lever would be about three inches to the left of where it should have been. Broke yet another engine mount, which caused the whole drive train,engine and transmission, to get out of line. That happened at least three or four times, as the 'engine mount' was just a cheap bolt that ran through a fat rubber washer. The bolt would break, and that was that.
Start the car up, put it in gear, punch the gas, and suddenly it sounded like a mack truck - part of the muffler had blown off. That happened three times; yes, that's right, three muffler replacements in about two years. I finally bought a set of headers and a one piece muffler from J.C. Whitney, and that cured that problem.
Cranking up the window, and you'd hear 'boing!' like a piece of wire cable snapping. Which is just what happened; the windows went up and down on a cheap piece of cable that ran around four pulleys in the door. About once every 3 or 4 months, the cable would snap, and the window wouldn't go up, or down. Must have changed 4 or 5 of those things, and that was a nasty, knuckle scraping job.
Want to drive the car in the cold weather? Well, the car did have the best heater I ever saw, it would roast you if you ran it full out. But getting the car started? Good luck. Under about 35 degrees, the engine just did not want to crank. Can't recall how many times I ran the battery down trying to get the cold engine to turn over fast enough to start. Finally solved that problem by getting a heated dipstick. Had to back the car up to the garage, and plug this thing in to the wall. It kept the engine oil warm (and thus thin) overnight, so that the car would actually start in the morning.
What a nightmare. But, it was my first car. And my first taste of independence. If I wanted to go somewhere, I could. It was MY choice. If I wanted to drive out to Montauk one summer day, I could (and did). If I wanted to run down to Virginia to pick up fireworks for the 4th of July I could (and did). I had plenty of really fun times in that little car, from going to LI Ducks hockey games out in Commack just about every week in the winter, to running back and forth to multiple softball games each week in the summer, to just cruising around with my buddies. That little Fiat was a great, if unreliable car, which I'm sure I remember with much too much fondness. I only have this one photo of it just now, sorry it's so small; it was taken with an old Kodak brownie star-mite camera.
So why post this today? Well, I guess I've prattled on about this car a little too often, especially around the boys. Tommy has been looking at Fiats on various web sites for some time now, and good instigator that he is, he sends over photos and listings from places like Craigslist, and eBay. I pretty much ignored them, as I really figured my Fiat days were done. But then, last week, in a moment of weakness, I put a bid in on a car on eBay. Not a 124 or 850, but the replacement for the 850, a car I always wanted, but never owned, a Fiat X-19. Mid-engined, great balance, and actually a well built and somewhat reliable car.
I didn't win that car, as the price went over and above what I would have been comfortable with. Then, last Wednesday, I weakened and gave in to what can only be described as a sentimental nostalgic whim; I bid on a 1969 850 spider. I knew it was a stupid thing to do, but, as I'm a typical male, I did it anyway. It was a very low ball bid, way under what the car should have sold for given the condition it was in. And for the next two days, I watched the auction, figuring that there was no way I was going to win it, as I was about $500 - $800 below the value of the car.
I won it. A bright red 850 spider, happily living in Lake Oswego Oregon, in really good running condition, being used as a daily driver by the guy selling it (who sold it because he has, by my count, at least 7 or 8 cars). And here it is:
Much to my shock and dismay, the car sold for well under what it should have; in fact, it sold for less than my top bid was!
So down the road I go, adding another silly car to the stable. I've gotten past the disbelief I felt when I won the car, and am actually looking forward to getting the damn thing here. Tommy and Billy are both excited about the car, and I'm feeling good that they'll be able to share in a little bit of my past, with what was a pretty special car to me. Tommy has already been poking around the internet, looking for places that sell parts and accessories, as the car does need a few things. I've arranged to have the car shipped here (I'm not quite crazy enough to push a tiny 46 year old car 2,900 miles over the Interstates), and am looking forward to cleaning it up a bit, and bringing it to one of the many cruise nights we go to. There aren't many 850's left, especially here in the east. They either rusted out, or were discarded and crushed, as they weren't considered to be collectible cars. They were cheap when they were new, and were cheap when they got old. The only person who'd put value on them would be someone with an attachment to them. Someone who maybe wished that he hadn't gotten rid of it. Someone who's always had an affection and attachment to cars they've owned. Someone, I guess, like me.
And so, some 41 years after I sold my little 850 to a friend of a friend (who ran it into a telephone pole less than a month after he bought it), I'm getting a second one. And I know the boys and I will have plenty of fun times with it, and maybe they'll get a glimpse of what it was like to be young and carefree as I was when I had my original 850. I know that our little Barracuda has been a real blast for all of us, and I'm sure that this will be as well.
Now, if only I can remember how those damn window cables get installed!
Thursday, July 9, 2015
On the road again, in the odd little car!
Well gang, here we are at the second weekend in July, and for all the MOPAR nuts on the eastern side of the Mississippi that can only mean one thing - Chryslers At Carlisle! Time for us to polish up our rides and head down to that sleepy little town in Pennsylvania for a couple of days of drooling over some of the coolest cars ever made, shaking our heads at some of the silliest, and fondly remembering some of our own prior cars. Here's what it looked like last year:
I think they had approximately 2,800 cars on display; down a little from the last few years, when it reached over 3,000, but still a LOT of cars. And as a very inclusive show, Carlisle allows a lot of Chrysler related brands, some of which haven't been made for many years (DeSoto, Plymouth), others that were at one time owned by Chrysler (American Motors), and now, of course, FIAT, which is actually the majority owner of Chrysler. So there's plenty of cars to see, kind of 'something for everyone'. Like this little Dodge Rampage, an odd little half truck based on the old Omni/Horizon. Billy was looking at one of these a few years ago.
Of course, for us 'older' guys, nothing brings back the memories like the cars we lusted after when we were kids. Like this 'Cuda.
Yeah, that's the ticket! And you can see where the 'strobe stripes' that I have on my car got started. Chrysler always had the coolest graphic packages back in the day!
One of the fun parts of going to the show is taking the old cars. There are some guys who put them up on a trailer, and pull 'em along behind a Ram truck, while others have them shipped in via an enclosed car carrier. Those are the nicest, most expensive cars you'll see there, and I suppose if I had a 'Cuda worth a quarter of a million dollars, I might be tempted to trailer it. Then again, maybe I wouldn't! Because to me, these cars were made to be driven. And the only way we truly preserve their special nature is by driving them. If you don't drive them, then they aren't cars any more, they're museum pieces. So, on Friday morning, Tommy will hop in my 'Bluecuda' and I'll crank up the 'Yellow Fish', and off we'll go.
It does take a certain amount of blind faith to make a journey like this in an old car. You never really can tell what might go wrong along the way. Especially with the crazy column shifter in this car. It has a nasty habit of getting jammed in first gear at the worst possible times, forcing you to pull over, pop the hood, and fiddle around with the linkage until you free the shifter. Loads of fun on the side of I-78 with traffic flying past at 75+ mph! But we had a lot of work done on the car this past winter, and it's running really well just now. So we'll say a few words to the god of acceleration, buckle the old lap belts, and hope that it isn't too terribly hot on the road.
I'll post up some photos of the place after we get back, and hopefully have some good tales about places we ate, cars we saw, and people we met.
One of the fun parts of going to the show is taking the old cars. There are some guys who put them up on a trailer, and pull 'em along behind a Ram truck, while others have them shipped in via an enclosed car carrier. Those are the nicest, most expensive cars you'll see there, and I suppose if I had a 'Cuda worth a quarter of a million dollars, I might be tempted to trailer it. Then again, maybe I wouldn't! Because to me, these cars were made to be driven. And the only way we truly preserve their special nature is by driving them. If you don't drive them, then they aren't cars any more, they're museum pieces. So, on Friday morning, Tommy will hop in my 'Bluecuda' and I'll crank up the 'Yellow Fish', and off we'll go.
I'll post up some photos of the place after we get back, and hopefully have some good tales about places we ate, cars we saw, and people we met.
Monday, July 6, 2015
I can't believe this burger! Even worse, I can't believe I ATE this burger!
This one is definitely a case of 'taking one for the team'! Over the July 4th weekend, Karen and I went to North Carolina to visit her son and his family. As with any road trip we take, we try hard to avoid restaurants that we have here in NY. So, no MacDonald's, Burger King, Wendy's, even Arby's is on that list now that they've opened a place in Wantagh and at Broadway Mall. So bearing that in mind, and with the knowledge that even though we don't have places like Chick-Fil-A, Captain D's Seafood, and Hardees in our area, we occasionally see a commercial for them on a national network or cable channel (like TBS).
On Saturday, we took a ride to the farmer's market in Elizabeth City. Picked up some amazing blueberries which had been picked less than 24 hours earlier at a local farm. Huge, sweet, wonderful. Got a couple of deep red, ripe heirloom tomatoes (I sense a BLT happening soon!), a pound of farm cured bacon, and a ring of bratwurst for the cookout we had on July 4th evening. Donated to the local VFW, and got a bag of fresh roasted peanuts as a thank you. All in all, a small, but very nice market.
Off to lunch we went. Dennis and Maggie have 4 kids, and as those of you who are parents know, if the kids aren't happy, pretty much nobody's happy. We know that all of the kids like Chick-Fil-A, so we went there. As usual, great food and very nice, friendly service. I've written up their food previously, so if you're really curious, page back through these posts and you'll find it.
Sunday we decided to leave for home right after breakfast, which we had at a local place called Southland. They do a breakfast buffet that is really good, all the usual breakfast items, plus a great fresh fruit bar. We had a good meal, and got on the road.
Around 1 pm, we decided we would stop and get lunch, rather than try to get home and have dinner. As we drove up route 113 through Maryland and into Delaware, we had a lot of options to choose from; but, I'd been joking about this ridiculous burger that Hardee's has been advertising, called the "Most American Thickburger". Now, Hardees is unashamedly politically incorrect, both in their advertising, and their food, which, of course, places it high on my list of places to stop. Hardees pays tribute to their rather humble beginnings with nice art throughout the restaurant, such as this one.
Their burgers aren't skinny little things on a flat, floppy bun, topped with a piece of orange wax masquerading as a tomato; no, they're big, thick, patties, topped with fresh red tomatoes, crisp deep green lettuce, and all sorts of silly things, like six or eight slices of bacon. Or the bbq burger, with sauteed onions, onion rings, bbq sauce and cheddar cheese. They're just big, juicy, tasty burgers that are overloaded with toppings. The patties come in 1/4, 1/3, and 1/2 pound sizes, and you can get up to three patties on your burger.
The "Most American" thickburger, however, is a major step forward in culinary craziness. It's your choice of beef patty, with cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickle, and onion; topped with potato chips, and a hot dog! Yes, you read that right, the whole burger is topped with a hot dog! And some ketchup and mustard to dress it up. Here's the burger as it arrived at our table.
Looks innocent enough, right? If you look closely at the bun by the fries, you can just see the tip of the hot dog poking out from under the bun. And here, in all it's uncovered glory, is the entire mess.
The patty is a 1/4 lb burger, but not like you'd get at MacDonald's in their 'quarter pounder', it's thick (hence, 'Thickburger'); the dog, not a small one, but a full size dog, split and grilled to a nice crust. Smoky, spicy, not the usual bologna dog like you'd get at a typical fast food place, but one with real character. And, not surprisingly, the dog actually overwhelms the burger. The potato chips are underneath the burger, nestled in below the pickles, lettuce and tomato. Unfortunately, the fresh tomato juice rendered most of the chips soggy, but the ones that remained dry added a nice crunch to the whole mess.
Now, truth be told, I didn't eat the entire thing; Karen took a bite. But I DID eat all that was left after she had her taste, and I'm almost ashamed to say the damn thing was really good! I don't think I'd order it again, as it's just too ridiculous, even for me. But, after seeing the commercials multiple times, and saying to myself 'they must be kidding', I'm glad I had the chance to try it. It's a limited time offering, so who knows if it'll ever show up again. And if it doesn't, at least I can say that I had one. And, most surprisingly, no nasty after effects from it! I guess once in a while, taking one for the team isn't a bad thing!
On Saturday, we took a ride to the farmer's market in Elizabeth City. Picked up some amazing blueberries which had been picked less than 24 hours earlier at a local farm. Huge, sweet, wonderful. Got a couple of deep red, ripe heirloom tomatoes (I sense a BLT happening soon!), a pound of farm cured bacon, and a ring of bratwurst for the cookout we had on July 4th evening. Donated to the local VFW, and got a bag of fresh roasted peanuts as a thank you. All in all, a small, but very nice market.
Off to lunch we went. Dennis and Maggie have 4 kids, and as those of you who are parents know, if the kids aren't happy, pretty much nobody's happy. We know that all of the kids like Chick-Fil-A, so we went there. As usual, great food and very nice, friendly service. I've written up their food previously, so if you're really curious, page back through these posts and you'll find it.
Sunday we decided to leave for home right after breakfast, which we had at a local place called Southland. They do a breakfast buffet that is really good, all the usual breakfast items, plus a great fresh fruit bar. We had a good meal, and got on the road.
Around 1 pm, we decided we would stop and get lunch, rather than try to get home and have dinner. As we drove up route 113 through Maryland and into Delaware, we had a lot of options to choose from; but, I'd been joking about this ridiculous burger that Hardee's has been advertising, called the "Most American Thickburger". Now, Hardees is unashamedly politically incorrect, both in their advertising, and their food, which, of course, places it high on my list of places to stop. Hardees pays tribute to their rather humble beginnings with nice art throughout the restaurant, such as this one.
Their burgers aren't skinny little things on a flat, floppy bun, topped with a piece of orange wax masquerading as a tomato; no, they're big, thick, patties, topped with fresh red tomatoes, crisp deep green lettuce, and all sorts of silly things, like six or eight slices of bacon. Or the bbq burger, with sauteed onions, onion rings, bbq sauce and cheddar cheese. They're just big, juicy, tasty burgers that are overloaded with toppings. The patties come in 1/4, 1/3, and 1/2 pound sizes, and you can get up to three patties on your burger.
The "Most American" thickburger, however, is a major step forward in culinary craziness. It's your choice of beef patty, with cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickle, and onion; topped with potato chips, and a hot dog! Yes, you read that right, the whole burger is topped with a hot dog! And some ketchup and mustard to dress it up. Here's the burger as it arrived at our table.
Now, truth be told, I didn't eat the entire thing; Karen took a bite. But I DID eat all that was left after she had her taste, and I'm almost ashamed to say the damn thing was really good! I don't think I'd order it again, as it's just too ridiculous, even for me. But, after seeing the commercials multiple times, and saying to myself 'they must be kidding', I'm glad I had the chance to try it. It's a limited time offering, so who knows if it'll ever show up again. And if it doesn't, at least I can say that I had one. And, most surprisingly, no nasty after effects from it! I guess once in a while, taking one for the team isn't a bad thing!
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Father's Day, & The First Day of Summer
Yesterday was Father's Day, and as it does each year, it got me to thinking about my Dad, and some of the things we have in common. Or more precisely, perhaps, common interests; and how some of them are being passed along to my sons.
Dad, for those of you who don't know, had what could be called a rough life, right from the start. He was born quite prematurely, weighing something like 3.5 lbs at birth. Back in those days, babies that small didn't survive too often. But he did, struggling and fighting until he was healthy enough to go home. Not that going home was much better, as Dad was part of a large family, with an overwhelmed Mother and a rather abusive, alcoholic Father. His Mother died shortly thereafter as a result of an 'accident' (falling down the stairs) and his Father didn't live much longer, leaving Dad and his siblings as orphans. Into a Catholic orphanage they went, staying there longer than one would hope, until a wonderful couple, Thomas and Margaret Flood took Dad and his brother Ken home with them. Dad always considered the Floods his 'real' parents, and he was extremely close with his adoptive Dad. I remember as a little kid, sitting in the Flood house, and hearing Dad and 'Pop Pop' talking about their life together, and how 'Pop Pop' and 'Grandma' Flood had tried to give Dad and Ken whatever they could to make their lives a bit happier. I think that's when I first heard Dad say what I remember to this day, 'put a smile on the face of a child and you've done something important'. Or words to that effect. I always carried it as 'nothing's more important than putting a smile on the face of a child'. Whichever way it was said, it's something I've tried to keep in the front of my mind through the years. Being employed in the Recreation field, those were certainly words that rang true in all the years of working at the local parks, and especially when I became the Superintendent of Recreation.]
Here's Mom & Dad on their wedding day:
Last night, Karen and I went to Ice Works in Syosset, to watch Tom play hockey. And as we sat there, and I shot a few pictures, I got to thinking about how similar both Bill and Tom are to how I was when I was their age; and how much I modeled myself after my Dad.
When I was a kid, Dad and Mom never had a lot of extra money in the household, so lots of things that would normally be done by 'professionals' were done by them. I remember Dad, on at least two occasions, spending most of his three week vacation painting our house. And of course, he wouldn't just 'paint the house' standing on an extension ladder. No, Dad bought a set of painters scaffold jacks, and used them to do the job. He'd be out on that silly thing all day long, walking back and forth, cranking it up and down. He wouldn't even come in to eat; Mom passed him sandwiches and drinks out of the windows! I never saw a plumber in our house, nor an electrician or carpenter. If Dad couldn't fix it (which was really unusual), one of Mom's brothers, or a neighbor, would help out.
I especially remember Dad working on his cars from time to time. Back then, although we remember the cars with much fondness, they weren't as reliable, nor as maintenance free as they are today. Dad was always fooling around with the car, 'tuning it up', changing the oil, or replacing a battery, generator, regulator, carburetor - whatever. And who would be sitting right next to him while all this was going on? Yeah, me of course. Handing him tools while he was laying underneath the car, or cleaning off a piece of hardware, getting him a beer, whatever he needed. Most of Dad's cars were used cars; in his entire life, he owned one brand new car. The '54 Plymouth he bought used; the '52 Dodge had been 'Pop Pop' Floods'; the '60 Vailiant came used from a local gas station. And despite the fact that they were all used, Dad treated them like they were gold. To him, they weren't just a means of getting from point a to point b. They were, like the many professional tools he owned, a means to earn his living, as he drove to work all over the metro area, and also an escape mechanism that he used to get those short breaks from his work life. He cherished those cars, and was grateful to have them, and he gave me an appreciation for not just the cars, but for the people who created them, the strong men and women who welded and bolted them together. It was Dad who sparked my lifelong interest in cars. Hell, I used to sit in his old Valiant and read the owners manual from cover to cover - and to this day, I have read each and every owners manual I've ever had, from cover to cover. As he might say, you never know when you'll need to know something that's in that book.
Tom, playing hockey:
And as I sat in the ice rink last night, I thought about how both Bill and Tom are also very much into cars. At the moment, Tom a little more so than Bill, but Bill has a lot on his plate, being back in college, and having just gotten married. But the both have an interest in cars, and each of them has been to multiple car shows with me, and they both know how to, and have driven, the Yellow Fish, 'our' '65 Barracuda. We've gone to the Chrysler show in Carlisle together; the NY Auto Show was a tradition for many years; and it's not unusual for either of them to text me with a comment about something they've seen on an automotive web site, a question about their own cars, or a general comment about a car or a car company. And I know that when it comes to the old cars, they appreciate the fact that they were made by human beings, not robots nor machines. As Dad would have said, and as I say, those old cars have souls; the engine on our Barracuda was assembled by hand 50 years ago, and it was only just opened up for the first time since it left the factory earlier this spring. The work those men and women did, while not always perfect, has more meaning to me, and is 'better' than the best robot built car of today. But that's just me.
Sitting in the stands, watching Tom skate reminded me of how Dad supported both Ginny and I when we were playing sports.Both Dad and his brother Ken were terrific baseball players, and both of them played semi pro ball in Queens NY. Dad loved playing ball, and it was also a way for he and Ken to make a few extra dollars each week. Ken was a little taller and bigger than Dad, but Dad was a better ballplayer. He could run like the wind, had a great arm, and was a darn good hitter. Ken may have had more natural talent, but Dad worked hard and got the most out of his abilities. When I wanted to join Little League, Dad was thrilled, as he and 'Pop Pop' Flood were both great Yankee fans, and loved the game of baseball. Despite his crazy work schedule (one year he worked 1,000 hours of overtime, in addition to his 'regular' hours!), Dad volunteered to help coach my team. He taught me the basics, how to judge a fly ball (when you can see over the top of the ball, you're in position to catch it), how to hit, and how to set yourself to make good, strong throws. Through the years, whenever I'd get in a slump, or went a couple of games without making good contact, Dad would take me to the park, and throw pitch after pitch to me, tinkering with my stance and swing until I was again hitting the ball well. He probably missed his true calling, that of a batting coach. He could fix anyone's swing in just a short time.
After I turned 18, the game changed from 'hardball' to 'softball', and I started playing on a bunch of different teams. It became a passion, one I probably took too seriously, and I played pretty regularly until my mid 40's.
Billy, getting into one:
And now, don't you know, Billy has been playing ever since he got back from the Marines, and Tom played last year. I think Tom would have kept playing, but he was on a pretty bad team, and most of them gave it up after having a very poor season.
Tom, giving one a ride:
Billy's team, on the other hand, has won two league championships already. They have a very balanced team, and Billy is a really good player. I watch him, and I can't help but remember how Dad watched me, not just in Little League, but in softball as well. In fact, one of my favorite memories is the time when I was maybe 19 or 20, and Dad and I played with his VFW buddies in a couple of games against other local VFW Posts. By then of course, the cigarettes had taken their toll, and Dad couldn't play the way I knew he'd been able to when I was younger. But it was still a blast, and I think going back to the pub after the game and sharing a couple of cold ones with him and his friends was as much fun as the game!
All of these things went through my mind as Karen and I were leaving the rink after watching Tom's game (they won, in a rout, 9-2). And what I kept thinking about was how blessed I'd been to have picked up some of Dad's interests and passions, and have kept them alive by passing them on to Billy and Tom. I think, and I certainly hope, that they've picked up and will keep alive only the good things I've done in my life, and some of the not so good things, will be forgotten and left behind.
Because as humans, that's what we do over time. The memories get kind of cloudy, and we bury the bad stuff way way down in the dark little corners of our minds where we don't go very often. To me, that's the way we cope with things that weren't so pleasant, by more often re-running the good things over and over in the front, or well lighted part of our brain. And so on Father's Day, the dark corners will stay dark, and I'll enjoy poking around in the bright spots of my mind, where all the very deep, very loving memories of my Dad live each and every day. I hope that when the time comes for Billy and Tom to open up their memories, that they'll have learned the same thing!
Dad, for those of you who don't know, had what could be called a rough life, right from the start. He was born quite prematurely, weighing something like 3.5 lbs at birth. Back in those days, babies that small didn't survive too often. But he did, struggling and fighting until he was healthy enough to go home. Not that going home was much better, as Dad was part of a large family, with an overwhelmed Mother and a rather abusive, alcoholic Father. His Mother died shortly thereafter as a result of an 'accident' (falling down the stairs) and his Father didn't live much longer, leaving Dad and his siblings as orphans. Into a Catholic orphanage they went, staying there longer than one would hope, until a wonderful couple, Thomas and Margaret Flood took Dad and his brother Ken home with them. Dad always considered the Floods his 'real' parents, and he was extremely close with his adoptive Dad. I remember as a little kid, sitting in the Flood house, and hearing Dad and 'Pop Pop' talking about their life together, and how 'Pop Pop' and 'Grandma' Flood had tried to give Dad and Ken whatever they could to make their lives a bit happier. I think that's when I first heard Dad say what I remember to this day, 'put a smile on the face of a child and you've done something important'. Or words to that effect. I always carried it as 'nothing's more important than putting a smile on the face of a child'. Whichever way it was said, it's something I've tried to keep in the front of my mind through the years. Being employed in the Recreation field, those were certainly words that rang true in all the years of working at the local parks, and especially when I became the Superintendent of Recreation.]
Here's Mom & Dad on their wedding day:
Last night, Karen and I went to Ice Works in Syosset, to watch Tom play hockey. And as we sat there, and I shot a few pictures, I got to thinking about how similar both Bill and Tom are to how I was when I was their age; and how much I modeled myself after my Dad.
When I was a kid, Dad and Mom never had a lot of extra money in the household, so lots of things that would normally be done by 'professionals' were done by them. I remember Dad, on at least two occasions, spending most of his three week vacation painting our house. And of course, he wouldn't just 'paint the house' standing on an extension ladder. No, Dad bought a set of painters scaffold jacks, and used them to do the job. He'd be out on that silly thing all day long, walking back and forth, cranking it up and down. He wouldn't even come in to eat; Mom passed him sandwiches and drinks out of the windows! I never saw a plumber in our house, nor an electrician or carpenter. If Dad couldn't fix it (which was really unusual), one of Mom's brothers, or a neighbor, would help out.
I especially remember Dad working on his cars from time to time. Back then, although we remember the cars with much fondness, they weren't as reliable, nor as maintenance free as they are today. Dad was always fooling around with the car, 'tuning it up', changing the oil, or replacing a battery, generator, regulator, carburetor - whatever. And who would be sitting right next to him while all this was going on? Yeah, me of course. Handing him tools while he was laying underneath the car, or cleaning off a piece of hardware, getting him a beer, whatever he needed. Most of Dad's cars were used cars; in his entire life, he owned one brand new car. The '54 Plymouth he bought used; the '52 Dodge had been 'Pop Pop' Floods'; the '60 Vailiant came used from a local gas station. And despite the fact that they were all used, Dad treated them like they were gold. To him, they weren't just a means of getting from point a to point b. They were, like the many professional tools he owned, a means to earn his living, as he drove to work all over the metro area, and also an escape mechanism that he used to get those short breaks from his work life. He cherished those cars, and was grateful to have them, and he gave me an appreciation for not just the cars, but for the people who created them, the strong men and women who welded and bolted them together. It was Dad who sparked my lifelong interest in cars. Hell, I used to sit in his old Valiant and read the owners manual from cover to cover - and to this day, I have read each and every owners manual I've ever had, from cover to cover. As he might say, you never know when you'll need to know something that's in that book.
Tom, playing hockey:
And as I sat in the ice rink last night, I thought about how both Bill and Tom are also very much into cars. At the moment, Tom a little more so than Bill, but Bill has a lot on his plate, being back in college, and having just gotten married. But the both have an interest in cars, and each of them has been to multiple car shows with me, and they both know how to, and have driven, the Yellow Fish, 'our' '65 Barracuda. We've gone to the Chrysler show in Carlisle together; the NY Auto Show was a tradition for many years; and it's not unusual for either of them to text me with a comment about something they've seen on an automotive web site, a question about their own cars, or a general comment about a car or a car company. And I know that when it comes to the old cars, they appreciate the fact that they were made by human beings, not robots nor machines. As Dad would have said, and as I say, those old cars have souls; the engine on our Barracuda was assembled by hand 50 years ago, and it was only just opened up for the first time since it left the factory earlier this spring. The work those men and women did, while not always perfect, has more meaning to me, and is 'better' than the best robot built car of today. But that's just me.
Sitting in the stands, watching Tom skate reminded me of how Dad supported both Ginny and I when we were playing sports.Both Dad and his brother Ken were terrific baseball players, and both of them played semi pro ball in Queens NY. Dad loved playing ball, and it was also a way for he and Ken to make a few extra dollars each week. Ken was a little taller and bigger than Dad, but Dad was a better ballplayer. He could run like the wind, had a great arm, and was a darn good hitter. Ken may have had more natural talent, but Dad worked hard and got the most out of his abilities. When I wanted to join Little League, Dad was thrilled, as he and 'Pop Pop' Flood were both great Yankee fans, and loved the game of baseball. Despite his crazy work schedule (one year he worked 1,000 hours of overtime, in addition to his 'regular' hours!), Dad volunteered to help coach my team. He taught me the basics, how to judge a fly ball (when you can see over the top of the ball, you're in position to catch it), how to hit, and how to set yourself to make good, strong throws. Through the years, whenever I'd get in a slump, or went a couple of games without making good contact, Dad would take me to the park, and throw pitch after pitch to me, tinkering with my stance and swing until I was again hitting the ball well. He probably missed his true calling, that of a batting coach. He could fix anyone's swing in just a short time.
After I turned 18, the game changed from 'hardball' to 'softball', and I started playing on a bunch of different teams. It became a passion, one I probably took too seriously, and I played pretty regularly until my mid 40's.
Billy, getting into one:
And now, don't you know, Billy has been playing ever since he got back from the Marines, and Tom played last year. I think Tom would have kept playing, but he was on a pretty bad team, and most of them gave it up after having a very poor season.
Tom, giving one a ride:
Billy's team, on the other hand, has won two league championships already. They have a very balanced team, and Billy is a really good player. I watch him, and I can't help but remember how Dad watched me, not just in Little League, but in softball as well. In fact, one of my favorite memories is the time when I was maybe 19 or 20, and Dad and I played with his VFW buddies in a couple of games against other local VFW Posts. By then of course, the cigarettes had taken their toll, and Dad couldn't play the way I knew he'd been able to when I was younger. But it was still a blast, and I think going back to the pub after the game and sharing a couple of cold ones with him and his friends was as much fun as the game!
All of these things went through my mind as Karen and I were leaving the rink after watching Tom's game (they won, in a rout, 9-2). And what I kept thinking about was how blessed I'd been to have picked up some of Dad's interests and passions, and have kept them alive by passing them on to Billy and Tom. I think, and I certainly hope, that they've picked up and will keep alive only the good things I've done in my life, and some of the not so good things, will be forgotten and left behind.
Because as humans, that's what we do over time. The memories get kind of cloudy, and we bury the bad stuff way way down in the dark little corners of our minds where we don't go very often. To me, that's the way we cope with things that weren't so pleasant, by more often re-running the good things over and over in the front, or well lighted part of our brain. And so on Father's Day, the dark corners will stay dark, and I'll enjoy poking around in the bright spots of my mind, where all the very deep, very loving memories of my Dad live each and every day. I hope that when the time comes for Billy and Tom to open up their memories, that they'll have learned the same thing!
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