THINGS FALLING APART/THINGS FALLING TOGETHER

Valuable lessons were learned here and passed on to assist with evolution of the species. After the fact, many a good laugh was shared. 

Sweet Shellski - the patron saint of deadbeat boyfriends - has this quote posted in her kitchen:

"Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don't really get solved. They come together and they fall apart again. It's just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: Room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy." - Pema Chodron

I read those words the very first time I entered Shellski's kitchen, and while I sometimes forget their order, the sentiment has stuck with me. They feel reassuring in my pocket. And they always speak to me when I'm ready to listen. In my experience, the value of a challenge can only be realized when I walk through it. Trying to find a way around it avails me nothing but regret. Speaking of nothing, that's what happens when I balk at the legwork demanded of said challenge. But when I walk through the process willingly, things usually fall back together. Naturally, this all leads directly to Fingerz Mullan and the Nitro Ape altered.
                                                                                 
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                  The "Nitro Ape" Austin Bantam, running amok, as apes and altereds are prone to doing.

Last week on the SGE blog, I spoke of the money crunch that was hindering progress at the Gosson Bros Racing Library. It was difficult for me to make public mention of what I was taught should be a private business matter, but my intuition was to throw the problem out to the world and see if any answers were waiting out there. That leap of faith was rewarded with a solution provided by Fingerz Mullan, partner Andi Whitley, and their historic Bantam roadster (originally the J&J Muffler altered), all featured in my Racing to America book. Seven days later, the book is about to be printed and distributed worldwide, thanks to some receptive drag racers on the other side of the planet, whom I've never met. I'll say it again: This stuff always amazes me, but never surprises me.

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  And what do these disparate images have in common? They were all shot during last weekend's working vacation, of course. Top to bottom: Sheila the Wonder Dog, enjoying our roadside picnic in 107 degree shade; Frightened traveler fending off flies at gas station restroom with fly swatter; Sunbathing treasure discovered in forest clearing; Saint Shellski grilling interviewee in hot seat. The witness was cooperative.

While researching for a recent magazine story, one of my lifelong hot rod heroes was discovered to be living only a few hours away from me. Plans were hastily made for a face-to-face meeting, which took place over this past weekend. You know I can't reveal specifics in public, but I can tell you this much: At this stage of my life, I have been blessed to meet approximately 93% of my heroes, roughly 91% of which have become personal friends. This anonymous individual was no exception. Bonus: Shellski accompanied me and made a solid connection with the subject's wife. Unfortunately, Sheila the Wonder Dog (accustomed to rockstar treatment) was in peril: Dogs are the natural enemy of neighboring sheep ranchers, who are armed and dangerous. Sheila kept a low profile and survived. Everyone else involved savored the christening of new friendship and the possibilities yet to be revealed.

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Happy 4th of July, everyone. Please use caution while tearing it up this weekend in the name of America's birthday party - there's no buzzkill like a 911 call. On the other hand, you'll have a great story to tell! So go nuts and trash everything! Just remember to bring along a camera, okay? Send your Independence Day photos to: Scotty Gosson Exposed, General Delivery, Medford, Oregon, 97501. Let us close with some more previous winners from Independence Days past:

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SUMMER SOLSTICE SIGNS

         An actual spring chicken, photographed during a coffee break at James Drive Studio Farm.

         New England Dragway, last Thursday. Already sold out, this was the calm before the calamity. It rained, the track was narrow and bumpy, pits were overcrowded, there wasn't enough seating, and both port-a-potty and food/drink vendors ran low on supplies. More of this, please!
(Photo courtesy of Brian Lohnes)

June 21st marked the Summer Solstice. Action figures are now officially in season. Overcammed exhaust notes and protesting tire chirps are echoing through the downtown area every night. Creaky racetrack gates have swung open, nationwide. In fact, last weekend, I even got a rare opportunity to watch the NHRA Big Show on TV. Despite the producers' best efforts, I glimpsed vast sections of vacant grandstands in the background. I sighed and switched over to Facebook, where I read a notice that Brian Lohnes (see his interview on this blog) would be the track announcer at the inaugural New England Nationals this weekend in Epping, New Hampshire. From the opening day of qualifying, reports began trickling in of a different kind of  national event - this one had teeth. Rabid New England drag fans made a statement of gratitude by supporting the event in a big way. The buzz was highly contagious and by Thursday night, the freeway clogged to a halt. From Friday through Sunday, fans covered surrounding hills and reports of indigenous railbirds displaced to trees and even phone poles were multiplying. The fever was not lost on the racers, who responded in kind with outstanding performances in every class. It was the most compelling Big Show I'd seen in many years, complete with an inspired and spirited race! I hope someone at NHRA was paying attention.

Mike Welch and Holly Felsen Welch, torture testing the 2013 Chevy Whatzit on the I-5 corridor. "The dash looks like it was stolen from the space shuttle. But the V-6 has some gow". So far, so good.

On Thursday, I got a call from Holly Felsen Welch (see her interview on this blog). Holly and husband Mike had flown from their Iowa home to Portland, Oregon for a wedding, but were willing to drive their rental car down to Roseburg (our halfway point) to meet me for lunch! I Honda'd up to Roseburg and finally met them in person for the first time. What a great pair of humans! This is another of the amazing connections that have been gifted to me, tax free. Holly's dad Henry and I began a correspondence in 1985 by pen and typewriter, and he encouraged my writing until his death in 1995. Fourteen years after that, Holly made her surprise appearance in my life. We now routinely compare notes on publishing, writing, and the finer points of building early Ford roadsters (Holly has a beautiful black '32 highboy). We caught up on each other's highs and lows over a leisure lunch, then Holly and Mike blasted off for the Oregon coast, in search of whales. And I floated back to the SGE complex on a warm pink cloud of gratitude for the relationships I've staggered into.

Holly took this photo of dad Henry Gregor Felsen pondering his next move in tuning the 216" 6-cylinder in his '50 Chevy.  He souped the engine (dual carbs!) and repainted the body (gold metallic), as research for his Boy Gets Car book, which he dedicated to Holly. (Photo courtesy of Holly Felsen Welch)

Cutting through southern Oregon via I-5 in my first "reasonable car", a 1998 Honda Civic. That can't be right. What's happening to me?

Back at the luxurious SGE offices, I reflected on this spring's events. Thanks to the input of a plethora of very loving and inspiring people, several projects are now approaching closure. The first Gosson Bros Racing Library book ("Racing to America") is finished and ready to print (just need to finance printing); The first GBRL music CD is also finished and ready to mass produce (just need to finance burning copies and printing covers); Hot Rod Deluxe magazine coverage of this summer's events is now decided on and locked in (just need to finance travel costs); Meanwhile, three more GBRL books are finished and patiently waiting their turn to print, while new projects continue to roll in. Several outside contributors (all familiar names) have approached GBRL with promising projects of their own, for consideration. The budget crunch is the only negative in the mix, but has prompted me to consider major changes to my business and personal life in the immediate future. Stay tuned. The silver platter is heaped with promise and could tip either way at this point...

Alas, all was not unicorns and rainbows on the 21st. Summer Solstice is a dark day for blingsters, as the indoor car show season expired. But don't despair - help has arrived in the form of America's Wildest Show Rods, now on the shelf at your favorite bookstore and at Amazon.com! More on this momentous occasion, next week. Until then, memorize this cover image and ask for it at the checkout counter. It's a once-in-a-lifetime car show that will last until the paper disintegrates. (Photo courtesy of CarTech Inc.)

 This guy has probably been interviewed on this blog. I just can't keep track anymore. (Photo courtesy of Rooster Cogburn)

CRUISIN USA - NOT REALLY

From 1977 to 1996, I made my home in Omaha, Nebraska - a surreal story in itself, which will wait for another day. I had come of age via seven-night-a-week cruising in small Oregon towns from The Dalles to Redmond to Medford. But Omaha boasted over 100,000 citizens when I arrived and adjusting to the scene there was akin to swinging from little league to the majors. My Omaha peer group would meet at a greasy little neighborhood burger joint, then make our way across town to the dense action on Dodge Street. During the '80s, Omaha brothers Mark and Scott Grimes were snagging national ink with their Pro Street cars and whispers of magazine types lurking around town were commonplace. And so it came to pass that an anonymous rumor monger planted an ad in the Sunday classifieds (our gearhead community lifeline at the time) touting a Car Craft magazine visit for their Cruisin' USA series. The Want Ad notice was totally unauthorized by Car Craft, and considered bogus by most locals, but that didn't stop a seething horde from creating a massive traffic nightmare, "just in case". The police were not amused and somehow managed to locate Car Craft editor Jeff Smith, who was actually there, embedded among the cast of thousands. The cops demanded Smith make an announcement (via police bullhorn) to disperse the crowd, but Jeff opted for a jail cell, instead. Journalistic integrity and the people's will were both served that night, and what an evening of hot rod mayhem it was - an exclamation point to the final days of free form automotive expressionism. Street racers performed for perhaps their largest audience in history, and at least one civilian vehicle was literally run over (luckily sustaining no personal injuries). We immediately paid for our sins with a firmly enforced cruising ban, which may still be in effect, for all I know. End of era. Due to statute of limitations guidelines, the details of the preceding story must wait until the passing of Jeff Smith or Source Interlink Media - whichever comes first.

By the time I arrived back home in Oregon in '96, my hometown of Medford had joined hundreds of other communities in the cycle of banning cruising, then later offering a one-night "cruise" in an effort to draw consumers back to their dying downtown districts. The fact that these so-called cruises were no more than parade routes didn't seem to faze anyone. Baffled, I entered the '96 Medford edition out of curiosity. I found the experience to be better-than-nothing at first, but ultimately hollow, but for a lingering depression. I drove my hot rod to a couple more of these, parked it at the far edge of the event, watched for a while, and drove it home. Then I quit going, altogether.

The participants in these events pay good money to be exploited and seem to have a great time. I'm happy for them. The community also seems to enjoy the show, and it does bring some much needed revenue into town. Today, I have accepted the fact that cruising as I knew it is long gone, period. We've all moved on. Today, garage crawls and caravanning to races are still honest grassroots car activities, and we enjoy several  non-lawnchair car gatherings, many featuring driving events. The scene is different, but still kicking. There's plenty to smile about. Just don't call a car show or a parade a "cruise", okay? The dishonesty is too insulting.

Medford Cruise Weekend, 2013. Saturday morning, I was heading to Dr. Lockjaw's shop to work on my Model A, when a sudden compulsion to walk to breakfast in the park overtook me. This was the scene in the alley outside the SGE office backdoor at 7:00 AM.

They were setting up the show 'n' shine in Hawthorne Park, as I ate a six dollar plate of eggs, "cooked" by local Boy Scouts, none of whom displayed cooking badges on their uniforms. Livin' on the edge, as usual.

A local brought these stereo Cadillacs. Two approaches from two vastly different eras, both bullseyes.

The only real hot rod I found was this local street/strip big block Opel Kadett - built on a Model A frame, with chrome Anglia front suspension and '57 Olds rear. It's been wandering local streets for a long time, but is finally in rehab and looking better already.

Out at Doc's place, we kicked his coupe out of the shop and proceeded to fine-tune my frame rails in preparation of installing the front crossmember. Another productive day of sweat and grinding dust.

I got home from Doc's at 3:00 PM to find the alley jumping. Funny to see people affecting an elitist foodie/wine connoisseur persona in a back alley jammed with beer tents and taco vendors.

Typical examples of what was hyped as "Cruising, just like back in the day!" I cringed when I saw two customer cars that I helped build making laps (not shown). But, good for them. There's a reason we call these "Brown Sedans" ("Red Flags" might be more appropriate). Shot from the SGE office window.

My pal Ray Willet recently posted this shot of he and his grandson on Facebook. It looks like we're going to be just fine, after all...

Sunday was spent repenting for my snobbery in the holy temple of James Drive Studio. The Scotty Gosson Combo album is inches from the stripe and sounding good. At break time, Rob installed a fresh ignition in his driver.

And just for the record, while I drool over the cars, I don't care for Cacklefests, either. So there.