I guess the surprising thing was that the Bluesmobile had not spontaneously combusted since the last time I actually had the hood open. That is a problem with cars that are used sometimes as lawn decorations. I forget how it got back up here- I think we took the JG’s Explorer down to the Farm, and the police car was the way we got back.

That left two vehicles up here, but the car had mostly been on the trickle charger down there and now was a static display in the parking lot where I could see it from the apartment window and the Panzer sleeps, by pride of place, down in the garage.

So the P-71 Cruiser spent the fall and winter outdoors, and it was clean enough on the outside, if a little raffish, but as I mentioned a while back, I discovered it was dead as a doornail when I was going to run out to get eggs at the Harris Teeter. All mechanical problems have a progression of resolution; the first of these was that the changing seasons had frozen the hood in the lock-down mode. That meant looking at the battery was a real problem.

The straightforward answer was to use a tire-iron on the problem, but there naturally were some attendant issues to that, notably the bending of the sleek sheet-metal. I am not going to run off on auto-mechanical issues this morning, nor the wooden backscratcher that solved the first problem, and the loose negative cable on the battery that resolved the second, but the ants and the packed leaves that the persistent winter winds had blown up into the engine compartment were really troubling from a fire-safety perspective.

I wound up in the wash-bay under my dining-room window, housing down the engine compartment until most of insects and flammable debris were sluiced away. Confident that the immediate threat of driving a moving fire-ball down I-66, I left the engine running until I could relocate the beast to a flat parking space where I could jump the battery if required, and added a trip to the Ford dealer for later in the week.

A little research indicated that Ford did not start quipping the Police Interceptors with fire suppression kits until the year after mine was built. My bad.

Anyway, it was a splendid day for working on the car outdoors: cool and sunny with a few puffy clouds and a refreshing light breeze. With the immediate problem out of the way I came back in the house and checked my email. The Governor had dropped a note in response to an earlier query. He and TLB were heading for a family event, and accordingly he had visited A Taste of Arlington as soon as it opened for business.

“Lines are way long to buy tickets,” he wrote. “Try the booths down on Randolph Street. See you at Willow this week.”

That meant a solo trip, but that was fine. I am still a little unsteady on my feet, between the injury and arthritis, so being able to take my own pace was perfectly acceptable. I drove over to the nearest lot I could think of close to Willow. I knew the parking was going to be problematic, and I should have biked or skateboarded or roller-bladed over, I know. Goodness, we are an organic lot here. We love our dogs, and our strollers- you should see the rolling contraptions that the strollers of yesteryear have become- literally SUVs versus the old umbrella folding things- and the bikes.

Lord, look out before you open your car door, or you might have a Lance Armstrong-wannbee plastered on the inside like an enormous bug.

Anyway, it was a short drive over to the Holiday Inn near I-66 and I parked the car, forgot my phone, and limped off toward Fairfax Drive, which I assumed would be blocked off. On the way across Glebe I swing past Old Jim’s house to say hello, and then realized that the festival wasn’t on Fairfax Drive, it was on Wilson, two blocks over.

My mistake was natural. Tracy O’Grady had named her creation for the street fair “The Fairfax Drive,” which was a new take on her signature flatbread, in this incarnation

adorned with “broccoli rabe pesto, braised shredded pork, sautéed wild mushrooms, garlic sautéed broccoli rabe, red pepper flake, Fontina & Parmesan cheeses.”

The most excellent day had brought out a big crowd. There was live music at both ends of the three blocks that were blocked for foot traffic and tents. Virtually all the restaurants I know about and many I did not had tents- but the Governor was right: the long pole in the tent was purchasing the red tickets to exchange for food samples.

It would have taken longer to stand in the line to buy the coupons than I was willing to spend at the street far, and so I wandered down the north side of the street, looking at the vendors and the lines in front of the popular ones, dodging dogs on leashes, SUV baby carriages and people wandering with little plates of food.

There were beer tents and this year the County said it was OK to carry a beverage along with you. Big Buns and the Liberty Tavern and Screw Top and Lyon Hall were all there, with the host of others.

Willow was working hard on the south side of the tent row. Brian was working the customer, Debra and Kate and Tracy were all sautéing, serving, toasting and garnishing away.

The Fairfax Drive is a marvelous creation. Brian cut me a deal- no ticket for my slice! I wandered off, munching as I went. It was the only taste of Arlington I got, but it was delicious.

Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303