Do You Have This In Bright Blue?

I took Lil’ Buddy to a Festival in Brookshire. It was glorious weather so I took the carriage top off and slathered on the SPF 45 sunscreen lotion, donned my suit and set out. The trip to Brookshire normally takes about 25 minutes in the Blazer. With Lil’ Buddy doing a blazing speed of 45 mph, not to mention how tough it is to ride in the wind at that speed, we arrive at our destinations at a considerably slower pace.

Upon my arrival at the festival, I checked in and introduced myself to the couple with the covered wagon pulled by a beautiful team of matching draft horses. I told them Lil’ Buddy spits, sputters and backfires a bit and noted that I didn’t want to frighten the horses. They merely laughed and said the horses would probably take off thinking it was time to work. The tractor on the farm backfires all the time - it’s practically a signal to the team to pull the wagon to gather the hay.

I had a lot of fun taking folks on rides around the old town square. The streets were, let's just say rugged, and my passengers quickly gained appreciation for their own modes of transportation that actually had suspensions. Lil’ Buddy is a rough ride, to say the least. The kids had a barrel of fun in the rumble seat, and, it doesn’t matter if it is a school bus full of children or a big, hairy motorcyclist pulling along side us, the phrase I hear the most is, “Blow the horn!” AOOOGA gets rounds of applause all the time.

Let me be quick to honesty here. Lil’ Buddy is not an antique Model A. In 1978, Harry Shay approached Ford Motors about reproducing 10,000 model A’s and a few other classics. Ford gave them permission for some patents and loaned Shay the platform on which to build them. An agreement was in place that every Ford dealership in the nation would get one car for the showroom floor. Private orders were also to be filled, and colors other than black were offered. The cars were to be built by hand by teams of six men, just as the A was, but they tooled with engine parts and body specifications that would make them street legal for all roads. Negotiations were brokered with the government to receive exemptions to a number of emissions rules because the cars were being built with a bare bones standard shift 4 cylinder engine with extreme limitations. Everything got rubber-stamped and production began. Shay went bankrupt before they could build 5,000 cars. Only 2,989 Deluxe Model A Roadsters were built. Lil’ Buddy’s birthday is 1981, so he is considered a classic auto.

Having been built with as much originality as possible, Lil’ Buddy has tube tires. Back in the day folks could drive for years patching tires and tubes. The outer tires are Firestone tires, and I have been toodling around on wheels I know I can replace fairly easily. When I bought the car, I knew the spare was good but did not take inventory of any other emergency equipment I needed. I have had him on the road for months without a hitch. Until I drove home from Brookshire, that is.

I was at an intersection on a country road when the car joggled lop-sided. I turned carefully to get to the shoulder and maneuvered myself out of the intersection. Being the self-sufficient broad I am I knew I had seen a jack up in the rumble seat area, knew I had a spare and decided to take care of myself.

I looked to ensure no one was coming. I slipped into the back and crawled down into the space under my front seat and started wrenching this monstrous jack out. It weighed in at just under 48 pounds. I needed better leverage and dove further down, placing my ‘Buick parked on the back porch’ clearly in the air. About that time a local farmer walked up and asked if I needed help. Startled by a voice looming near the location of my backside, my head crashed into the iron bar under my seat. My left leg slipped underneath me and twisted. Now I was firmly wedged between the rumble seat and the front seat. Thank goodness for the button-down shirt with the necktie or the twins would have been exposed to view. With dignity banished to hell in a handbasket I asked him to give me a hand hauling out the jack. The infernal piece of iron finally made daylight after a little more effort. It was almost as tall as me. The farmer chuckled and said, “You gonna lift this here car with this? This here’s a barn jack. You raise barns and houses with it.” Well, I thought, what the hell good is that? Then he asked me if I had a lug wrench. Uh, no would be that answer.

Now we have company. Several cars have slowed to look. Ain’t none stopping to offer help, but they were looking real good. Then the local Sheriff drove up to see if I needed assistance. I had just called my brother in law so I told the Sheriff someone was on the way. And yes, the Sheriff humored the little woman with the typical jokes, “Was that you I heard peeling out at the intersection in Fulshear? Did you get that there flat popping wheelies? Don’t let me catch you speeding in my neighborhood.” I answered with, “Yeah, that will be me messing up your hair when I fly by at 45 mph.” He was bald. Don’t know how well that one really went over… Oh, and guess what else I heard from the folks slowing down to look but not offering to help? “Blow the horn!”

At last, brother in law showed up to rescue the uselessly self-sufficient female. [I used to contend that the only reason women got married was because men came with tools. Then I discovered Home Depot!] I went straight to Firestone in my little town of Richmond. The young man behind the counter asked if he could help me. “I have a flat.” “Oh, we can fix that right up.” “I don’t think you can.” I caught him off guard. I pointed out the window toward the car, and informed him that, if the bolt I had run over had merely punctured the tire and tube, they could probably have patched both and I’d have been good to go, but the bolt had time to wiggle and really tore into the tube. While they are Firestone tires, the tube would have to be ordered. I told him to call Cooper Tires and said it was an odd size tube since it is a 1981 Shay. He kept staring at me. I wondered, “Do I sound like the school teacher on Charlie Brown’s Peanuts show?” Wha, wha wha wha wha.. Dude, listen to me. I know what I am talking about. Get someone with some gray hair over here, please. Well, after consulting the books, the old broad appeared to be correct and a tube and tire were ordered.

My next decision was to equip myself with a hydraulic jack and a tire iron. (Remember that we are talking about the type-A person who has to have everything to match.) I waltzed into the auto store and told them I wanted a good tire iron with a choice of lug sizes and a hydraulic jack. You bet, I asked the question, “Do you have one in bright blue?” Expecting to get that ‘stupid woman shopping in a man’s auto store’ look from the clerk, I was amazed at the response. Do you know that they really do come in bright blue? When taken to the display area I stared in awe. I saw red jacks and yellow jacks and some with checked racing flags and others with Dixie flags or Harley Davidson painted on them! There were key chains for cowboys, cowgirls, fans of rock bands, dog and cat lovers and some key chains had feathers and twinkles. I saw windshield wiper blades in vivid neon colors. There was a dizzying array of things to put on cars and trucks the likes of which I had never seen. They had floor mats in the wildest of designs, trailer hitches with the Astros’ logo and steering wheel covers with bling! Standing in the auto store filled with appointments for car buffs to trick out their ride, I felt I landed in heaven. It was a heady moment, and the room practically spun around me in a drunken rush with all manner of goodies for the vehicle. My heart fluttered. I had an epiphany. I, world-renowned shopping-hater, now have a cause and reason to shop. I need to bedeck my adorable Lil’ Buddy with everything I can find an excuse to buy. My family will read this and know that I have lost my mind. Now I understand how those old geezers feel when they are sporting a 20-something piece of blonde arm candy - totally besotted and foolish, only my mid-life crisis love affair is with a bright blue two door roadster. While I was surrounded by auto bliss, my little car was being surrounded by guys climbing down from jacked-up trucks to take a closer look. Sure enough, when I exited the building, they collectively said, “Blow the horn!”

AOOOGA.

I am having way too much fun at 53.