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Secret spy shot of the SGE garage, where car repair/maintenance is forbidden. The rest of the place is equally cool. (Photo courtesy of Mr. X)
Last week, I alluded to changes on the horizon of my personal life. Today, the tale can be told. Long story short, a spun thyroid bearing raised hell with my memory and energy capacities over time, ultimately rendering me unemployable for the last few months. With zero income, the notice of eviction from the SGE compound came as no surprise. I have to be out in a couple of hours, so future blog posts will be iffy as I resume couch surfing and praying for my medications to kick in.
Being raised by squirrels, "self care" was not in my vocabulary until it was almost too late. As it turns out, gathering nuts can only take one so far before trouble sets in. Lesson learned. My health issues are of my own making. So begins a new chapter in my pretzeled saga. It's certain to be interesting.
So I leave you with a private tour of Scottyville, circa 2016. I can only hope my next hideout is as accommodating to my needs.
Typical of the brutes that patrol Central Avenue, just outside my window. They taunt me at night with ridiculous cam overlap, punctuated with open headers and chirping tires. Bullies! This is the view through the window blinds of the third floor bunker. Alas, I have no matching Mopar shots to complete the trifecta, but they're definitely out there, every night. At my landlord's request, I'm not posting a photo of the building's fascia. He's had enough of these guys.
From the top of the garage, one can view the shiny new space that Lithia Motors built over the bones of the grimy streets I once scalded with rubber. To the right of those light poles is a public park that hosts a farmer's market, a Starbucks, and an amphitheater featuring free live music.
The only vestige of originality in the 'hood today is the arch under which countless Greyhound buses rolled, beginning in 1949. I think I rode on most of them. Beyond the arch, the amphitheater stage awaits decent music weather.
The ominous Lithia Motors monolith (apparently designed by Tim Burton) casts its shadow over downtown Medford, Oregon (and the rest of the United States). Click image to view Monty Burns counting money in top floor corner office.
The Sam Jennings Brake and Bearing Company is the last business on the block to resist a Lithia buyout, bless their hearts. Jennings mostly stocks industrial parts today, but is still the only bar in town for obsolete automotive oddities. They've been a Godsend to me and countless other wrench twirlers like fuel altered shoe Ronnie Mankins, who's '56 sedan apparently broke down at the best possible spot in town. (Photo courtesy of Ronnie Mankins)
The corner of Main and Riverside was Medford's ground zero up through the Eighties. This building is now being restored. It could become a Toyota dealership or an art gallery. Its chances of retaining its former dignity are precarious. I'm cheering it on.
The alley next to my building seems too nice to be called an alley. But late night bar surfers instill a dysfunctional wild west ethos that equals the nastiest alleyways on earth. You name it, I've seen it done here, more than once.
The secret rear entrance to my building can now be revealed. Through that glass top-floor landing door lies the twisted wonderland that is Scottyville. Or was.
Random alley shots.
The steel roll-up fascia of a marijuana dispensary. It changes color every five seconds, providing excellent traffic light entertainment.
Garage ground floor at 2:00 AM. I was hoping to catch some of the feral skate boarders and bicycle tricksters who haunt this space at night, but settled for a rare serenity shot instead.
The neighborhood isn't all imported brick and government concrete. Most of the older alleys remain in service. You never know what you'll find here, at any hour. These guys were warming up for a gig somewhere, and were amazing!
Reality slap: Same alley, a few feet downstream. These are my people. Again.
Out take from a shoot of John Ott's coupe (he built it in '61), in the alley just across from my building. (Scotty shots)
The alley prowler, pretending to have a purpose/destination. Maybe I'll see you out there somewhere. (Photo courtesy of Mary Wilkins-Kelly)
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UPDATE
What does a gearhead do with a car in mid project when he or she becomes homeless? I got a little help from my friends. Local hot rod czar Allen Stewart offered this corner of his office to store my goodies for the winter. What a hero stud guy! Thanks Allen! Stuffed into those boxes is your basic Model A hot rod kit. Some assembly required.
An abandoned Can Am racer, rotting in the woods? Contrare, mon frere. Ron double-wrapped my chassis for winter hibernation! Bonus: Camouflage tarp renders it invisible to aspiring thieves. Did I mention he's a good guy? Thanks Ron! Whenever I get back on this project, it won't be soon enough. (Scotty shots)
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Last week, I alluded to changes on the horizon of my personal life. Today, the tale can be told. Long story short, a spun thyroid bearing raised hell with my memory and energy capacities over time, ultimately rendering me unemployable for the last few months. With zero income, the notice of eviction from the SGE compound came as no surprise. I have to be out in a couple of hours, so future blog posts will be iffy as I resume couch surfing and praying for my medications to kick in.
Being raised by squirrels, "self care" was not in my vocabulary until it was almost too late. As it turns out, gathering nuts can only take one so far before trouble sets in. Lesson learned. My health issues are of my own making. So begins a new chapter in my pretzeled saga. It's certain to be interesting.
So I leave you with a private tour of Scottyville, circa 2016. I can only hope my next hideout is as accommodating to my needs.
*
UPDATE
When I arrived at Allen's with my load (during an unusually rowdy rain storm), I found his lovely assistant Ron Pope working on his '59 Apache project in the space formerly occupied by the SGE Model A. Ron's a solid guy, and I'm happy that he's making progress. But where's my A-bone chassis?
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