The Answer is Still 42

What is it about this Travco thing? They're heavy, expensive and drink gas like a three dollar whore. Mine especially. For one thing she's small. She strains my brain, making me come up with cleverer and cleverer ways to rehabilitate her. But I'm also starting a business, a micro-distillery (more about that at www.hardtimesdistillery.com) and it's quickly lessening the small amount of funds and time I have available. So why not just sell Molly and be done with it? This thought has often crossed my mind, but especially so last winter when she sat in the shop a dead, cold home for mice.

All that's changed now.

The sun is out, in a northwestern kind of way, and I feel re-energized in my desire to have my way with her. (Have you ever noticed the heavyhanded hint of sexuality men have in the ir relationship with machines?) To that end, I asked my next door neighbor if he would mind my parking Molly in his backyard for a few weeks. I was going to, and eventually still will, park her in our driveway. But first I want to get a jumpstart on the interior. I've removed the ceiling vents--in fact, all the vents. Lots of holes in Molly. I'm buying an AC for the front this Friday. After the vents are remounted, she'll be all dried-in for the winter (her center seam has been fiberglassed over). And hopefully her ceiling and walls will be (mostly) installed. Hopefully. Once we get the distillery up to speed, my time will be severely restricted. So strike now while I have dry days and a few remaining dollars.

Quick note: I borrowed a battery from my truck and crossed my fingers. Not having a front seat, I used a folding chair. Would she crank up? It's been nine months. I slid in the key, pumped the gas, and turned her on. It was thrilling to hear her turn over, and enormously satisfying to hear her start right up. (I had left one of my tool bags sitting on the shop floor. It was about three feet away from the exhaust just aft of the door. One side of it now sports a big black circle from the carbon that shot out of the pipe.) She works! She drives! She is worthy once again!

But I would have to keep it simple.



Sun-dappled beneath a spreading chestnut tree:




Bucolic, ain't it?

Inside, facing aft, looking up:



That swingin' wall paper is the bathroom door.


Same shot, not looking up, with a brilliant glare in your eyes:




Where formerly a kitchen stood:




That's one small step for man, one giant leap for Molly:



Onward! I wish you all a blissful, blister free summer.