On the 4th, we had guests in from Arlington, and I was quick to put one of the rambunctious males to work before things started in earnest. I asked for help to close the south side doors to the barn, which somehow got opened. I don’t know how that happened, but I am adamantly opposed to it, since the last time I left the doors open for an extended period, the Turkey Buzzards moved in and declared sovereignty. This was the reaction from the guest who was forced into labor:

I don’t blame him for the reaction. I have been looking periodically at some of the web sites that handle antique car sales to get a sense of what the market is like. One of them is called “Barn Finds,” a specialty niche for ancient vehicles driven into farm buildings and forgotten. There are some interesting cars there, and though Syclone is not in a barn, it is close enough to one that the buzzards could drive it.

Times are strange. It is sort of like the peaceful demonstrators in Seattle who wound up shooting each other in what was supposed to be a “Summer of Love.” My independent birds here had occupied the barn as an autonomous zone. They were large but no threat, and apparently could not get to Walmart before the lockdown to buy toilet tissue. It cost several hundred to get the tractor and the stalls clean and sanitary again. I am glad the Syclone was carefully placed in the heated garage.

That is what brings us around to the actual progress I made. You may recall that I am the current custodian of Uncle Dick’s hot rod 1991 GMC Syclone pick-up truck. After his passing nearly twenty years ago, I bought it from the estate and got it cleaned up and running strong. Certified Second Owner, which means something in the market, though not much. I don’t drive it much anymore, and since it is in pretty good shape, it may be time to move on. It is officially an antique, and a fairly rare one.

What started this all off was the discovery that I got an email while I was hospitalized and did not see it. A classic car auction concern was interested in a general way, and asked for pictures. I was appalled to discover I had none, except one from Dick’s funeral when I had things under control. After we got the barn doors closed, we wandered over to the garage and popped the doors. The Syclone was not much different in appearance than when I tried to start it a month or so ago, but some people don’t seem to care about that. I do know that you don’t see many of them on the road. They only built 1,500 of them twenty-nine years ago.

I did what I could. The truck doesn’t start at the moment, and a wash was out of the question in the cluttered stall. Too bad, but I understand that there is a market for “patina” on classic cars, so we will see. The pictures I managed to get are above. At least I have that much going the next time someone asks. I need to make this as easy as possible for the kids. At some point, hot rods have to give way to walkers, I have discovered.

Off to Arlington this morning to see the dentist about the dental damage from my face-first landing on the nice wood floor going out to the back deck. My schedule will be turned over to her for the duration.

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