Monday, April 11, 2016

AND HE STUCK THE LANDING!

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Home at last! It sits at the end of a dead-end midtown street - nice and quiet. The upstairs is all mine. This structure was built in 1948. The large building in background holds four more units, one of which is occupied by a Georgia woman who ran Fuel Altereds with her husband in the Sixties. She's a painter now. Her current guy is authoring a book about an abandoned amusement park. Small world.


Also constructed in '48, this two-car garage (currently being restored) should make a comfy nest for the SGE Model A project... 


... I just have to convince the landlord and the other five tenants that this is a good idea. Wish me luck with that. (Scotty shots)

My friends tell me, "You have an uncanny knack for landing on your feet." True, I've been lucky to land on all twos, but take no credit for it. I know from experience that if I'm willing to do the legwork, things will work out however they're supposed to, and that result usually surpasses any efforts, hopes or expectations on my part.

The latest example of this phenomenon played out last Friday. During my recent weeks of aimless drifting, I somehow managed to fill out enough forms and jump through enough hoops to animate some very rusty wheels. There were admittedly some dark moments when I questioned my future, but some pesky inner voice kept reminding me not to give up five minutes before the miracle. Sure enough, on Friday I signed the papers on an apartment. At this writing, that's been five days ago, but I'm still riding the pink cloud of gratitude!

Great thanks to the Veterans Administration and the local Access office for finally implementing their Veterans Now! program. They scooped me up and put me in an apartment (which I love, so far), and are working on even more benefits for my future. Again, I did absolutely nothing to earn this generous gift. I was a total screw-up in the Army and still am. But I apparently have more work to do. This time around, I'm making an extra effort to do work that benefits others. That seems to be the primary lesson presented to me lately. I feel very small. And I can't stop grinning.



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OVERDUE UPDATES:

While I was busy doing nothing, SGE Northern Oregon correspondent Marty Strode was doing plenty as usual, thanks to pesky customer and longtime pal Jim "Little Bastard" Lindsay. Remember Lindsay's blown flathead Modified Roadster landspeedster? Marty reports that the former salt blaster is now now being prepped for its next assignment: "He's going to run it at El Mirage dry lake in May." (Photo courtesy Peter Vincent)


"Jim decided he could sit a little lower in the seat, so I built a new 'cage, three inches lower."













"Jim also requested that I enclose the rollcage in aluminum, and extend it to the rear for some streamlining." While he was cheating the wind, Strode also installed Moon discs to the inner front wheels, noting, "I'm going to make an attempt to clean up the aero factor in the front axle area."






While researching obscure aerodynamic trickery, Jim Lindsay happened across the forgotten world of crate racing. Consequently, Marty whipped up a hood for Lindsay's tribute to his hot rodding roots. And yeah, it runs a crate engine. (Photos courtesy Marty Strode)

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Make no mistake, a loyal support vehicle is crucial to any shop or racing endeavor. So when not fabbing for the stars, Marty Strode has been steadily assembling his latest road dog, a '53 Ford cabover. For those not familiar with the project, here's a brief Q&A session with Marty.

Q: You started with a low mileage original truck. How does that happen?

A: My love for Ford cabovers began in 1963, when I saw Jonathan Winters as Lenny Pike in It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, driving a ten year old '53. I got lucky and found this one with 53,000 miles.

A friend of mine was moving some trucks around during the filming of The Hunted, starring Tommy Lee Jones. They had modified four Grumman bread trucks to resemble paddy wagons, and rolled one over during a scene. They were 1979 Ford E-350 chassis, with 351 Windsors and C-6 transmissions. When the filming was over, my friend was told to take them to the scrap yard, but he hauled them to his storage unit. He gave two of them to me, and I was able to make one decent one by cutting the cab portion off just ahead of the sliding side doors and building a front section that matched the early cab. I installed a 460" engine with a Comp Cams 260H, Dougs Headers, and a U.S. Geardrive behind the C-6.

The box will have two swing-out doors in the back. I'm going to build something similar to a tilting car trailer frame that will mount inside. It'll have a winch, and double-folding ramps that swing up 90 degrees and pin in place. The whole unit will be removable in a few minutes with a forklift. With a hot rod or race car loaded inside (and a vacation trailer hooked to it), with A/C, cruise, and airbags, travelling around the U.S. will be a pleasure.

Yet another retired movie star takes up residence in Oregon. But Marty Strode's training regimen will soon have it fit for summer touring.

The majority of the wiring has been completed since our last update, when the '53 resembled a spaghetti wagon. Much better now. 


This warmed-up 460 now occupies the dog house. Thanks to a supplemental U.S. Gear overdrive, the gobs of bigblock torque should ease the cabover right on down the road.

A pleasant operating room is crucial to successful over-the-road adventuring. Marty's office features sano organization, proper Feng Shui, and well thought out ergonomics. Bingo.

All the comforts of a new millennium apartment. Bonus points for the trick cutaway photo! (Photos courtesy Marty Strode)

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SQUIRREL AND TOOLBOX

Cast iron squirrels are scarce enough, but this example doubles as a nut cracker. Thank you for your service, sir. This guy is a fixture at James Drive Studio, where we just finished the latest Scotty Gosson Combo album. Expect spam soon. Meanwhile, we've started on a third album, featuring all vocal songs, with lyrics and singers and everything. (Scotty shot)


When the heat is on, save the tools first! (Image courtesy Craig Clents)



GRIN

My personal stairway to heaven. How heavenly? There's hot and cold running water, a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and a living room up there. And the key to the place is in my pocket. Somebody throw me a white gown and a damn harp! (Scotty shot)


Just a friendly reminder: On April 18th, Lost Drag Strips II will be available wherever money is accepted. Please support your local bookstore. If they don't stock this product, Amazon.com always has the best deals. (Image courtesy Gosson Bros. Racing Library/Cartech Inc.)

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Wednesday, March 30, 2016

DYSFUNCTION JUNCTION UPDATE

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Apparently, I'm not the only one impressed by this waterfront property (our local tributary - Bear Creek - runs behind it). In fact, it looks better to me every day.

What a ride. First, a heartfelt thanks to those who have asked after me. I'm fine. Just very tired. Today marks my first day back online since making a hasty exit on the last blog post (where I revealed a thyroid condition that had rendered me unemployable and ultimately homeless). The consequent days have seemed an endless train of Catch-22s that now find me barely across the starting line, weeks after the green flag dropped. As a matter of habit - and as a coping mechanism - I've been documenting the journey thus far with my battery-powered wireless cellphone.

My new daily driver. With no money for insurance or gas, and nowhere to store my car, it made sense to sell it. I had use of a bicycle for a while, but pushed it around more often than I pedaled it (damn Oregon geography), so I gave it back. This 5 year old pair of Keen work boots have been getting me around okay, but they're overdue for a complete overhaul.

The upside to being bootbound is walking as the crow flies to take in the sights I missed while driving. This example reveals the character of the East-side neighborhood I lived in before moving downtown to the SGE compound. I'm hoping to re-establish residency in this area, but no dice yet.

The couch surfing began at James Drive Studio, where host Rob James and I had just finished up the new Scotty Gosson Combo album (brace yourselves for future spam). Under the carpet lays a concrete slab that soaks up frigid temps like an ice flow.

4:00 AM. Too cold to sleep. The cold has been my nemesis as far back as I can remember. Recent research indicates a connection to failed thyroids, which the experts tell me likely happened in early childhood. This is my thanks-for-the-information look.

Now this is more like it. My next stop was at (Scotty Gosson Combo vocalist) Tricia Murphy's sumptuous digs, only a few blocks from the studio. It's heated. You're looking at my new best friend, Roy Orbison (he lets me call him 'Roy'). Great guy. Bonus: He radiates heat while sleeping.

Scotty Nobody, kickin' it with Roy fricking Orbison! I know! But what is it with rockstars and leopard skin? I never got that.

Speaking of decadent rockstar lifestyles... Yeah, that's a Jacuzzi at poolside. 

My host Tricia Murphy (at left) and pal Lisa Allred (right) conjured some last minute vocal stylings at the house, which we tacked onto the new album shortly after this shot. There's a humbling amount of talent in this image. Plenty of character, too.

Some random walking-around-town shots...








I see these abandoned temporary homes every day. I like to think they're signs of hope, like maybe the tenant found some actual housing. With a one percent vacancy rating in this valley, finding an available dwelling is a cut-throat endeavor.

And I see an amazing amount of jettisoned baggage. The other day, I helped a cop round up some women's purses and bags of clothing at roadside. The very next day, I watched two cops count thousands of dollars (at least a dozen stacks of $100 bills) they found on the hood of a car. Surreal. 


It took a couple of weeks of aimless wandering before it finally came to me: I'd sold my car (and my tools), and had money in the bank! So...

Yes! I missed my comforts more than expected. 

Privacy, independence, this place has it all! There's also a shower, color TV, hot and cold air, and a fully stocked vending machine. 

Okay, I experience occasional moments of boredom at the motel, but am not complaining.

Oh yeah, this happened. An advance copy of the new book (on sale April 15th). The stories and photos are cool, but I made some unfortunate choices in the final edit that I now regret. I did my best under the conditions though.

Thanks to the efforts of old pal Richie Rich, I recently enjoyed a visit with an old friend at the motel. As always, my trusty old Fenton inline-6 slapped a grin on my face. I'm still eating peanut butter & jelly and washing my clothes in the sink, but that's living pretty large, considering my condition. And my future is still waiting out there somewhere.

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UPDATE: 

As of 3-30-2016, I may have finally found an apartment (via the Veterans Administration). Fingers crossed. This is a big deal to me. More news when the dust settles. 

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Saturday, January 30, 2016

A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

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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.



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?

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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