My day started well enough, going for a drive with thirty crisp fresh hundred dollar bills in my pocket, my lovely shiny truck and my best gal.
Ahh, life was sweet!
We got fueled up at Sam's Club filling station because it was cheap as hell, wound up using the same space/pump as when our van died and needed major work, we laughed frivolously about this amusing happenstance, tee hee.
BEEP!
Huh? A warning? look! a light is on! It says "Check Gauges"
Whoah! Lookit the temp gauge! Youzer!
So we shut 'er down, and fill 'er up, hoping its a glitch of some ugly sort.
Uh, no.
We get to a valvoline rapid oil change place and have 'em check the coolant, it's seemingly DRY!
How very odd!
There has been no sign of deviation from the factory delineated 'normal' mark on the temp gauge, now it's quite suddenly dry?
Well, they filled it up, looked it over, no obvious leaks, water pump looks/sounds fine, yet it drank like a camel. Beeezarrr.
But it was holding well, so we decided to see HOW WELL. by taking a long drive to a random location quite a distance away that we had happened to make an appointment to see a boat the day before.
It takes real foresight and preparedness to make random and spontaneous appointments the day before, or maybe a time machine....
But I dissemble.
Long drive, many many many orange trucks hauling whatever orange trucks haul when they divert traffic everywhere. We have two seasons here in Minnesota, Winter and road construction.
Stop at wally World to buy hitch stuff, and then we were there, at the spontaneous random location, as expected, and there she was.
She was a beauty, classic lines, showing signs of the years that, while being kind to her, had undeniably passed. It had been some time for her shut in, away from the sun and the wind, and she longed to get out on the water again, and stretch out her legs like the old times, but those times had passed and she despaired that it might be time to pack it in.
Eighteen feet long, covered by a custom made boat cover, and resting on an almost new Shorelander trailer, The Lady was ready to entertain visitors.
When she was uncovered, her chrome glinted, her pristine vinyl shone, and her paint did its best to gleam... The old gal pulled out all the stops to impress these latest visitors in the hopes they would take her home, let her run flat out once again; and from the look in Becky's eyes, it was working. Heck, I could feel that stack of hundreds trying to climb out of my pocket!
The nice folks lowered the the out-drive into a big tank of water and let the old gal roar to life! 230 cube 150hp Chevy in-line six, just like my old Malibu!
I wondered why she hadn't sold yet, and they said most people thought she was too old; Yet she was no older than I, a Deluxe 1965 model!
As I counted out hundred dollar bills to the nice man, I almost think the old boat winked at me.
He hooked up and drove off, gingerly at first because we were being followed very closely by a vehicle damn-near as big as the truck!
The truck was a pulling machine, the light was golden, traffic gave me a wide berth and a lingering gaze, and the old gal rode proudly behind the apostatruck, a 1965 Mark Twain closed bow runabout finally feeling some wind at long last.
There we sat at the bottom of the damnedest driveway you ever saw, I knew it was going to be a futhermucker getting that boat up that drive, damn-near vertical with a bend in the middle and trees close on both sides.
Backwards.
I knew it was going to be a bitch, that it would blow stringy goat-chunks, that it would be, at the very least a harrowing experience.
I had no fucking idea.
Turn left! Turn Right! straighten it out, go forward and try again! watch out for that tree! Oops, the wheels weren't straight, keep the boat on the drive, get the truck BACK ON the drive!
What is that SCRAPING sound off my starboard beam?
A FUCKING PHONE POLE that jumped out and scuffed my TRUCK! MY TRUCK!!!! ARRRRGH!
Finally got the old gal on my parking pad, and almost all of the truck as well. I didn't leave any bits by the phone pole, but i just couldn't get the truck AND trailer on the pad at the same time.
I just shut 'er down. the others here can find their own ways to park, that beast is where it is. they can try to nestle in on the drive itself under the truck's reproachful chrome glare, the Aposta-Truck don't like being scuffed. I'll have to get out the ol' Devilbiss paint gun and fix the clear-coat or my truck might never speak to me again. Might have to give it flames to make up for the indignity.
And a class-3 hitch receiver under the front bumper, I am NEVER doing that again backwards!
So, after I organize my Upper Mississippi Aposta-Shakedown, I might have to get together an ApostaCruise.
All pictures at http://machinedreamer.com/pictures/Vehicles/Boat/
Any suggestions for what to name the old gal?
Roller (of the 'At least the temp guage held steady!' sheep class)