eidemaddin
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Just Ride.
- Thread starter Jim
- Start date
I went from Redmond, Or to Newport, Wa years ago but my bike was on the back of a flatbed as I had to drive the crash truck for some other riders. Not as picturesque but I did see a big horned sheep for the first time. Epic ride
Wish it had worked for my father. <sigh>
Yes, mine went that way too. Pretty grim.
He's still with us, and even lives "on his own," but with a lot of assistance from my sister and I. My sister lives about an hour from him, and goes over once or twice a week to make sure his medicine calendars are filled, and he has food in the fridge (she prepares meals for him so all he has to do is microwave them). She calls him at least twice a day to remind him to take his meds and feed his puppy. I go down (he's in The Villages, Florida, we're in East Tennessee) every couple of months for a couple weeks to give her a break. I also call at least twice a day. I have my Xfinity web remote set for his Xfinity account and send him movies whenever he wants them (it's my job to find good ones he hasn't seen).
We know sooner or later he'll need more assistance. My sister has a tiny-home/apartment she built on her property and we've all discussed his moving there at some point. I'm really blessed. All my life I've had a great family, and most definitely the best sister in the world. She is an angel and a godsend as, if she didn't live so close or wasn't so willing to do so much, this would all be 10-times more difficult.
One of the hardest things to accept has been the loss of my project-buddy. Through the years he and I have worked together on everything from building a garage, to home improvement projects, to building a string of cars.
The first was back in 1979/1980 when we built a replica of the first car he ever purchased new; a 1961 Impala. It had a 348 with 3-2 barrels and a 3-speed on the column. I learned to drive a stick in that car. No power steering, no power brakes, and a 120 pound 15 year old!
I eventually bought the car from him. Unfortunately, I also eventually sold it. <sigh>
He and I (more him than me at that point) built my first car, too. It was a 1966 Chevelle convertible into which we stuffed a 1980s LS-6 crate engine (eventually installing a roller cam), an M-20 4-speed, and a 3.31:1 posi 12-bolt. Ran low 12s. We even installed factory air conditioning!
We built my mom a 1957 BelAir for their 25th wedding anniversary. Just recently I discovered it still exists, complete with the paint we did back in the late 80s! Back when we built it it had spoked hubcaps off an 80s Impala, but the rest is just how we finished it.
Back around 1996 or so we began a 4-year build of his "last car" (it wasn't), a 1956 BelAir convertible. That one is probably the one I'm proudest of. At a Classic Chevy International Meet/show it took 1st Place in '56 Custom, and a Platinum Certificate.
It had the front subframe from a '79 Firebird, the rear differential from the same, a 1996 LT4 assembly line crate engine, 700R4, power steering, power brakes, 6-way power seat, power windows, power vent windows, custom interior, Cadillac trunk pull down, customized A/C from 1970s GM cars, and a whole lot of other subtle modifications.
He sold that (wish he hadn't, but...) and built what has turned out to be his true last car; a 1959 Impala. Again we did a bunch of modifications, but not quite as many as the '56. It's got an L99/4L60E, power steering and brakes, power windows, power vent windows, bucket seats and a a custom console.
Sorry if I rambled on a bit on this. Just got me thinking.
I guess you could say I'm damned proud of my dad.
..with good reason!
Lots of nice cars and a life well-spent with your Dad! 348 Tripower, very nice, but the lucky kid with the built '66 Chevelle... fantastic!
Yeah, I guess we were spoiled (that being my first car). My sister's first car was a 1986 IROC Camaro. But somehow we both also learned to respect and appreciate what we were given. We both had to work around the house on every project (from building fences to redoing bathrooms), and we also saw how hard our parents worked for all we had. To an extent, we were the "rich kids" on the block, but we never felt like we were better. We just wanted everyone to come over and have fun with us, whether in the pool or inside with whatever toys we had. Neither of us were ever the "Mine!" kid.
As a smaller chile, I had a 4X8 foot sandbox, a good foot or so deep with construction sand. Me and my friends could build roads and drive Matchbox cars around that thing for hours. Dad even put a lid on it so the local cats wouldn't use it for a litter box.
I guess I'm sitting here (with yet another big, dumb, tension headache) just kind of reminiscing and feeling a bit mellow. My mom will be gone 3 years this November. Hardly seems possible. And now, watching dad slowly decline. Just sucks. I know it's a road we all have to walk, but...
Like the title of the thread says, "Just Ride." Get out and enjoy your loved ones.
I had a tractor tire filled with sand. Did not have a lid.
Eventually it became the place we grew watermelons.
I had a tractor tire filled with sand. Did not have a lid.
Eventually it became the place we grew watermelons.
We had a... hobby horse I guess you would call it... He took a car spring he brought home from work and buried part of it into a concrete filled hole, then mounted the horse on it. For a 5 year old, that thing was awsome!
Our swing set was probably 14 feet tall. Nice long swinging arc.
For a long while, we had 2 above ground pools. One was 4' deep and the other was a kid's pool. Later, we removed those and thy had an iniground pool installed.
But we (my sister and I) were even involved in the work for that. Funny story, I was digging up the above ground pools vertical braces. I was 10 or 11. I put the shovel in the ground and stomped on it, but it hit gravel or something. This threw me off balance, and I braced myself by putting my hand on the vertical brace. Unfortunately, the energy from stomping on the shovel caused the handle to smash my thumb so hard, it blew the last 1/4" open, leaving that bit kind of hanging from a thin sliver.
Now, as a 10 or 11 year old boy, I was prone to overreacting, with a bit of drama thrown in. So while my parents (and my aunt and uncle) are sitting on the back porch (a 12X20 concrete edifice so overbuilt by my father it will likely be found intact by some civilization a thousand years from now), I'm out in the yard screaming my bloody head off. To no effect!
That is, until I (apparently, as I don't remember this bit) opened my hand and looked at the mess my thumb now was. That's when I bellowed across the yard, "J**** C***** I've cut my f****** thumb off!"
That got their attention!
We took a trip to Holy Cross Hospital in Silver Spring, Maryland, and, some ten hours later, they'd managed to take an x-ray and determine I'd broken the tip of the thumb off and thus needed a plastic surgeon. We actually knew a good plastic surgeon (and a hand specialist at that), and so met him at P.G. General (nastiest hospital this side of The Ganges) where he removed the thumbnail and sewed my thumb back together.
Come to think of it, I spent a fair amount if my childhood showing up at emergency rooms. Ususaly (as this time was) on my mother's birthday.
Took madness downtown for the Thursday evening band concert, Panchromatic steel band, Caribbean calypso, soca, reggae, jazz, latin music, and pop/rock
Always good times at the summer band concerts on the square series.
After a rain scare, gearing up, watched a brain dead phone talker go by on the sidewalk. He suddenly stopped and said beautiful bike!
My opinion of the guy went up dramatically.
Always good times at the summer band concerts on the square series.
After a rain scare, gearing up, watched a brain dead phone talker go by on the sidewalk. He suddenly stopped and said beautiful bike!
My opinion of the guy went up dramatically.
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Change museum to concert...
