R TERRY (207.230.142.240)
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Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Thursday, August 28, 2003 - 12:53 am: | |
My son and I got to work on the bus with the pretentious air of confidence that, to the handful of onlookers, implied that we would soon be on our way, having accomplished the impossible. Rule of thumb: If you don’t know what you’re doing, don’t let on.
Thankfully, I didn’t make the first potential mistake. I noticed the fat battery terminal end was connected to ground, so I hooked up the cables accordingly. Having checked the fluids and adding a gallon of oil, we set out two fire extinguishers, made sure the shift lever was in neutral, told everybody to stand back, and then hit the start switch. The engine roared to life, spewing out the exhaust pipe a multi-colored cloud of deadly nerve gas…. sorry…. I mean… belching forth a profound mixture of life threatening toxins… I mean…“Hey! Stand WAY back!”
This went on for 12 whole seconds! After that, it refused to restart.
One time I went to the Humane Society with my brother who fancied getting a rabbit. I ended up walking out of there with The World’s Best Dog! I had no intention of buying a dog, cat, hamster, snake, or anything. But… there he was. I’d never seen him before, I was not in the market for a dog (I knew better), but… I soon realized that that sweet, doggy smile was on the face of our new dog. (I was in trouble when I got home. I mean BIG TROUBLE!)
Lying in bed that night at the motel while my son watched HBO, I thought about The World’s Best Dog. I decided right then to give the bus a second chance and look at it from a different perspective. After all, I did own that thing.
The next day it was overcast, cool and threatening to rain. We’re from Arizona; it was like being in Heaven, or, at least it was a great day to be in Tennessee (for us). And, with my new attitude, the bus didn’t look too bad. Maybe it was the subdued lighting.
Upon closer examination, the exterior body turned out to be in better condition than any of the other old bus heaps in my inventory. It was lightly banged up in only three places, all on the front, no big deal. Most surprising was the lack of any rust-gobbling body rot. Oh, everything was rusty, but it was Naval Jelly rusty, unlike anything on my other buses. The 4104 is so devastated with corrosion, it may implode into a heap of white powder should someone sneezes too hard. (“Federal Law Prohibits Sneezing in Front of the White Line.”) The 1950 3704 is so rusty, whole sections need to be ripped off (or allowed to fall off on their own) and remanufactured. And the 4905 has rust-bulging paint blisters the size of Lake Michigan.
All the glass was intact, a few cracks here and there, mostly looking poorly from the house paint. The front bumper was in near perfect shape; the rear bumper not so lucky with a section having been cut out to make way for the trailer hitch. Hey, that’s a bonus! Light socket and all. The hanging headlight just needs a new spring and they both need the chrome rings.
Inside the bus, I had to fortify my new attitude adjustment with a moment of deep thought, or rather, a major abandonment of standards. I told myself, I could get through this and see the good wherever the good lies. It was hard, mentally, to get past that folded mattress couch.
The diver’s seat was circa 1948 and unattached to the frame. But, there in front of the perfect 1948 steering wheel with the horn button in the middle was a perfect 1948 dash panel! All of the gauges were present, as were the original switches, buttons and warning lights. Even the classic decorative trim pieces on each side of the panel, looking more like art deco bookends, were intact. The side window slid open, and only the parking brake seemed not to work.
This ain’t so bad, I thought. I mean, it could be a lot worse. It’s all that nasty green paint that makes it look so bad. I was beginning to believe that we might have an honest-to-goodness classic coach here. Maybe even an antique, who knows?
Yes, but will it run?
Now, why did I have to bring that up? Is it time to snap back into reality?
I stopped talking to myself and got to work.
R TERRY |