We jumped into Brownie, the worlds greatest crappy RV, and fired up the old 440 motor, ready to pull the trailer up to Berkley and claim my new prize, a 1977 MGB named Lazarus...
The previous week I had driven Brownie to work daily, mostly because parking is at a premium at the house. After the passenger side exhaust fell off coming home from Freezearseapolooza, it was wicked loud in a deviant sort of way. After 3 days of driving around what sounded like a 10,000 lb race car, I decided to patch the exhaust together temporarily as best I could.
A trip to the parts store netted me a length of flex pipe and some clamps. In the back of the RV I found random bits that I was able to fashion into a crude mounting system, which consisted of some bailing wire, a length of chain and a carabineer. It hung and swayed in the wind, but at least it was securely attached to the motorhome, unlike our previous trip. A few solid kicks confirmed it was there to stay until proper repairs could be done.
We picked up a trailer and made our way up to Bezerkley.
Once we arrived I once again met up with Hillary, and handed him the rest of the cash minus 20 bucks that I had inadvertently spent on breakfast without thinking. I promised I would give the last 20 bucks to his friend Dave next time I saw him, who would forward it to him in Florida.
As he signed over the car and we set out to try and put it on the trailer I made the nearly fatal mistake of asking Dave if he knew another MG guy named Ed so-and-so. Suddenly Hillary stood up and snapped “You aren’t entering this thing in that race are you?!?!” Still with half signed title in his hand.
I played stupid and confused. Heck, I WAS confused, but for a different reason. How in the world did he make THAT jump of logic? Hit it square on the head, but still…
“I’m sorry?” I replied? My heart started pounding… Have I been caught red handed? My plan for world domination was suddenly at the mercy of the stroke of an old fellow’s pen. What on earth could I say? Oh, hai, I’m going to kill your beloved old car, bwaa-haa-haa!!?
Hillary was still trying to remember the name of the race as he turned towards his friend; “You know, the jalopy race. That stupid 500 dollar car race he is always carrying on about!” When he said the words 500 dollars the light bulb flashed in his head, his face became angry and he leveled his eyes back on me like lazers.
I started to open my mouth without a real clue what I was should say next, and just as I began to speak Dave came to my rescue and yelled “Oh for crying out loud, that’s just crazy Ed!! He’s always doing something crazy like that. Now come on Hillary!! Let’s get back to work!
Dave had been watching me and observing my reaction, and I was pretty sure he figured it out too. But he just wanted to get the shop-move over with, and finally go home to eat. His sudden distraction seemed to work; Hillary finished signing the documents and we put the car on the trailer, which looked like 4 angry monkeys playing with a greased football. Never try to do something in front of 4 older men. Each man will have a better idea on how to do it.
We finally got the car home and safe in the driveway late Sunday night.
As we plopped down on the couch I asked my “not-a-peep-spouse” what she thought.
“I didn’t think it would be here so soon” she replied with a tinge of exasperation...
We drove Obie, our ’79 Orange MGB, (Obie, Orange-B, get it?) up to Berkley to see the prospective 24 Hours of Lemons race car. I was able to talk my last-straw-spouse into going with me on one condition;
Later while sitting at the computer surfing for cheap cars for sale under 500 dollars, my surprise-me-spouse came up behind me and gave me a big hug. “I had a good time this weekend. That was fun.” She said. “I liked hanging out in Brownie. You should keep it.”
I spun around and looked at her in disbelief. “What? Really?”
“Yeah. I like him. We should do that again” She said.
“Well ok! I can do that! I just got to fix a few things on him first.” I was stunned.
She walked away smiling and I almost forgot what I was doing. I had been looking for a late Rubber Bumper MGB to buy cheap.
“It's got a cop motor, a 440 cubic inch plant, it's got cop tires, cop suspensions, cop shocks. It's a model made before catalytic converters so it'll run good on regular gas. What do you say, is it the new Bluesmobile or what?”
“Fix the cigarette lighter.“
That scene from the Blues Brothers comes to mind every time I start that good old big-block Dodge in the RV. Granted it’s a far cry from a cop car, but has big brakes, HD suspension and no catalytic converters. And now it sounded pretty wicked with the open exhaust belching fire underneath us. I threw on my sunglasses for good effect, but could not see anything in the dark.