Some of you might have already gone through this, but I’m turning 60 later this month. The other day at a swap meet I met a guy who is eighty-eight years old, which made me feel a whole lot better about turning 60! LOL (laugh out loud). He still rides and has ridden most of his life, but now he rides a trike because the weight of a big two wheeler was bothering his legs.
He reminded me so much of a dude named Pappy whom I’ve written about many times. In fact I was thinking just that when, believe it or not, I noticed he had “Pappy” on a patch on his vest! I almost LOST it! Of course I told him about “my” Pappy, and he replied that the members of his riding club recently gave him that name just because he was the oldest. But the co-incidences got even weirder when I found out they had many other things in common besides name and age.....it just blew me away.
Anyway, he told me about a bike he has stashed away in his barn.... “It’s a 1911 Yale one cylinder Bummer....my first motorcycle. I’ve kept it all these years. It’s got 26” wheels on the damned thing. I got it in 1940 and it was an antique then.” Then he went on to tell me about something I’ve never even heard of before....
Maybe a lot of the really old bikes used these in their day, and it won’t be news to those of you who know this, but instead of a round inner tube, he used a straight rubber tubular cylinder that was crimped on both ends. He’d wrap the un-inflated straight tube around the inside of the tire, overlapping the ends. Then he’d mount the tire and inflate it through the tube’s valve that he poked through the rim just like a regular tube. One size fit most.
He musta read my mind, because he immediately went on to say, “You’d think the tire would sorta kerflop on the pavement every time the wheel rotated, wouldn’t ya? But it didn’t. It worked great, but of course that bike only goes about 30 MPH.”
Man, the things ya learn when ya listen to us old people.
I was in my garage the other day cleaning up my bench. As I put tools away, I paused to ponder on my grandfather’s old machinist’s tool box. It has his name, “Lewis Baldwin” engraved on a little plaque on the lid from when he kept it in the shop where he worked. I had to laugh when I remembered an incident that happened a long time ago.....
I’ve have an old friend named Deeter for so long that I don’t even remember how we met. I DO know that he’s known ALL of my wives (which goes back a bit) and was around when my first son was born 34 years ago. I further know that if for whatever reason I were to be dropped from a helicopter buck-naked in the middle of a desert with nothing on me except a cell phone, the first person I’d call would be Deeter. And he’d come. He’s that kind of person, and that kind of friend.
Anyway, one day long ago he asked me about the old multi-drawer tool box, and I told him about it being from my grandfather who was a machinist among many other things. I told him about my father telling me how he and Gramps used to drive truck together back in the 1930’s after Dad got out of the Army. How Dad found a job in a factory which soon went on strike. And how when a bus load of strike-breakers showed up, one of the bat wielding thugs that got off the bus turned out to be Dad’s own father (Gramps). Being a union member all my life, I asked Dad,
“How could Gramps even think about doing that?”
“Bum,” he replied, “It was the Great Depression. Ya did what ya had to do to feed and take care of your family. Your grandfather just didn’t know that I had recently started that job.”
“Well, what happened?”
“We both just looked at each other and said, Screw THIS! He dropped his baseball bat, I dropped the sign I was carrying, and then we walked together into a bar across the street and had a beer.”
I went on to tell Deeter how Dad then got hired by an orchestra playing a stand-up bass, and how Gramps used to go watch them perform in ballrooms all over the state with his wife (Granny, the woman who gave me the name “Bum”) and my mom. Finally, I told him how Gramps and Dad both worked for a few years in Warren’s Packard plant making those beautiful old luxury automobiles, and that this was his toolbox.
Over the years Deeter mentioned over and over how he’d REALLY like to have that toolbox. He’d say, “Bummer, this is a Journeyman Machinist’s toolbox. Hell, YOU don’t even know what some of these tools are used for.” And he was right. But since it was passed down to me, and even had Gramps name on it, I wouldn’t even consider parting with it even if it had (for the most part) become just a “bench ornament”.
The years flew by and I was probably about 50, when I realized that I hadn’t updated my will for a long time. Having been divorced a few times, AND my situation changing on what seemed like a daily basis, I was thinking about doing just that......when at our annual ABATE seminar I was told that an attorney was present who would prepare a will for members for free. Now, “free” is just about always a good thing to me, so I took advantage of it and sat down with him to “Get ‘er done”.
Later in the evening I walked up to Deeter who was standing in the hallway bullshitting with a few people. I told him how I had revised my will, and went on to tell him that he’s mentioned in it. He solemnly took a swig of Pabst’s Blue Ribbon. Then he took a hit off one of the Old Gold cigarettes he’s always smoking and read the will that I had thrust into his hands. After a minute of reading it his eyes widened and he looked up at me to exclaim, ...
“YOUR ASHES??? You left it up to me to decide what to do with your damned ASHES?? Hell! I thought you were leaving me your grandfather’s TOOLBOX!!”
Eventually I had the will revised yet again, and with my sons having grown into men, the new executor (my son Jason) asked me if maybe I should consider changing it once more......
“Dad, maybe ya might wanna reconsider this part...........”
“Why? What’s that? Show me.”
And he pointed to one of the clauses.
“Well, it’s just that I’d appreciate having your ashes....that’s all. Did Deeter ever tell ya what he planned on doing with them?”
“No. I just assumed they’d be tossed on a little road trip, memorial run or something.”
“Well, if ya don’t mind....give them to me. I’d like to keep them.”
“It sure as hell ain’t gonna make no difference to ME. And I’m sure he ain’t gonna mind. I’ll just tell Deeter of the change in plans.”
And I did. (What I didn’t tell him though, was that I also told Jason to give Deeter the toolbox, but only if that was okay with both him and his brother Ben. He said he’d have to talk to Ben. So, if you’re reading this Deeter, ya gotta talk to them about it LOL)
I stopped at a garage sale the other day. I really don’t need anything these days, but I did keep an eye out for a big wooden rolling pin. I seem to have mysteriously lost mine last time I got divorced. Of course I rarely used it, but I DO make great biscuits from scratch. I guess the rolling pin was the price I paid for my most recent ex teaching me how to make ‘em.
In fact, over the years I’ve learned to cook-up quite a few things from the women in my life, as well as a few hearty originals. Like: Chili (anybody can make it hot.....I make it GOOD), tuna noodle casserole, various things on the grill, and one of my favorites, something that I call “Slop”.....
To make “Bummer’s Slop”, ya brown a whole lotta ground beef, add to it noodles, little whole mushrooms, and lotsa undiluted condensed mushroom soup. Then ya throw in some shelled walnuts (yes, walnuts), garlic, soy sauce and just about anything else ya got layin’ around. And just like chili, the more often ya warm it up, the better it tastes.
Granny taught me to make something that she called “Fried Shredded Wheat”: Ya soak a few big old shredded wheat biscuits in salt water for a few seconds, fry em for however long ya like and lay ‘em on a plate. Next ya butter and salt the hell outta them while they’re steaming hot, then top ‘em off with a few eggs fried over easy. Add sausage or whatever, and it’s pure heaven when ya got the morning hungers. AND, ya don’t even need dippin’ toast for the eggs ‘cause the yolks soak into the shredded wheat!
Gettin’ back to it, when I stopped at this garage sale I couldn’t find a rolling pin (so I guess I just gotta keep using stolen bar glasses to roll out the biscuits). I was fixin’ to leave empty-handed when I noticed a little black trunk that would fit perfectly on the luggage rack of my Road King. Being a cheap bastard, I long ago decided against buying one of those “store bought” motorcycle luggage things because I wouldn’t use it often enough to justify the high price. The woman had a $5 sticker on it. So I thought, What the hell? As I was digging for my wallet she told me I could have it for $3, then said something that freaked me out so much that I almost set the damned thing down and left.
“We’ll just call this Senior Day.”
Then she laughed.
Since she had good intentions, I smiled and paid the $3. But I thought, DO I LOOK LIKE A DAMNED SENIOR??
I guess I do.
A few months ago I went to watch an old friend who plays in a Stevie Ray Vaughn tribute band. When they took a break he came to where I stood and we talked for a while. As we were standing there, a few young honeys slid between us on their way to the bathroom. Kurt (my buddy) noticed my eyes following them as they walked away. I was never really into young chicks, but my eyes apparently have minds of their own.
“To them we’re invisible Bummer.” Kurt stated flatly.
I immediately knew exactly what he was talking about. Like I said, I’m NOT into young-uns and never was. I just don’t wanna be invisible!
Okay.... Maybe by next month you won’t have to hear me bitching about my personal problems with my age, at least for a while. One thing I CAN boast about is that I’m a survivor and can adapt to almost anything.
I’m just sick and tired of having to.
Be seein’ ya,
Bummer
