Living in the Past

1941 Chevrolet AK series 1/2 ton pick-up truck

I'll give first credit to Jethro Tull for this posting's title, I've always liked the feel of it. And its interesting multiple interpretations - but I'll use this one: this is living, in the past, this is its life, and what is it - what are we studying and what are we dealing with?

If we're going to look at past, present, and future, I'm going to argue that they're all existing simultaneously. The age of things, from the ancient rock crushed into a gravel driveway to the morning's newspaper, are not broken into time frames on their own, we do that for them.

There is, there must be, a very seamless link between them all. We may be far removed but we can trace a line between these things. Like this (bear with me):


. . you'll note that bit of "for sale" sign in the cracked windshield. Or you're still mesmerized by the amount of chrome.

"Does it run?" Yep, let me start it up and let it idle . . you ever double-clutch a non-synchronized transmission?" "No? - well, here's how you do it."

"What kind of work does it need? . . hmm, okay."

So we bought it. Amber and I had talked about a truck for a while, but nothing came of it. Nothing seemed worth the effort. Earlier this week, we came across this, for about as much as a used, non-descript, albeit possibly newer truck. It runs, it shifts, it needs some interior work and some lights wired up. No, I don't think it needs a paint job. Yes, we really did buy it.

Chevrolet started production, of what became known as the "art-deco chevy" in late 1940, and this was the only year during WWII that the grill work was chromed. The cab and bed are actually from a 1941 military issue truck; olive drab paint is visible on the firewall and door handles. And if you fix one up really well, it can look like this. But not this one: I'm going to do some interior work, and fix the lights. I found out it came stock with a single housing in the back, on the left, for a running light and brake light. Still from the age of hand signals.

It came with three pairs of running boards, extra windshield . . and a full bed of spare parts.

6 cylinder, 216 cubic inch. 12 Volt upgrade (but 6V lights), 4 speed manual. Yes, it runs.

Enclosed driveshaft, leaf springs, gas tank (moved from under the bench seat!), worn tires.

I mentioned the interior needs a little work. . .

In this great state of Colorado, transfer of title is a cinch. Bring your paperwork, and the county will send you your plates. No safety inspection in this part of the country.

Somewhere, not too long before this was just starting down the assembly line, my grandfather, Bas Kamerbeek, was enlisted in the Dutch army. This is him, on the left. He was a motorcycle guy his whole life, whether or not he owned one. I remember him telling me once about riding in the middle of winter, and getting so cold that he felt like everything shut down mentally and physically except the push to get through to his destination. Well, what he really said was that he got so cold that after a while he couldn't even take a leak, even if he'd wanted to.

He recently passed away and my mom and dad went back to the Netherlands for the funeral. He didn't leave much as far as physical mementos, but a family member scanned some of these pictures. This next picture was with them, I don't know if he's in this one or not:
It makes it a funny sense of timing. I got sent these pictures the same week that a truck, almost as old, ends up in our driveway. From the same intense period of war, and aggression, and occupation. But 60 years later, where I am, there's some very different feelings as well. The intensity lessens, and something a little richer and deeper remains with me from my point in this time. I'm left with something very real but indescribable from these things: the expression on my grandfather's face, the pictures that were once in his possession, the captivating sheet metal and the simplicity of an old truck. And there it is.

GATSquad--Crazy Action!

So lately the Squad hasn't been doing the best job of living up to our billing on Team Velveeta. There are some good reasons for the slow action, and, that's about to change, baby! (Wow, two in-jokes in one word.) A and A have been, for the most part, thoroughly occupied with the first trimester. Good news is, that has been getting incrementally better.

I've be working on an altogether different sort of egg--Bike Shop Remodel Version XXVICIVICCXX!!! Absolute now has four workstands, our two primary repair stations plus a dedicated assembly station and a 'Short Order' stand. There is now also enhanced bike displays out front, a comprehensive arrangement of men's and women's clothing and a brand new changing room to try it out in, a spiffy new sales kiosk, a dedicated service writing and rental workstation, additional bikes-in-for-service storage, and the super-duper Wall o'Tires. Oh yes, and a helmet camera rental kiosk. All in eight short weeks. If any of you happen to stumble upon my life laying around somewhere, send it back to me would ya? I'll pay for shipping.

Short Order Workstand and Service Writing Station

Point of Sale Kiosk and Map Case

Brainstorming the logo for the POS Kiosk--Campy tools that have finally 'broken in' to obsolescence...

Ahh, but that's not all. Salida Mountain Trails has just gotten approval from Salida City Council for our second singletrack project near S-Mtn. This will be a key bit of trail, about 1.5 miles, that connects a major parking area to our proposed 'backbone' trail that forms the heart of our proposed system.
Even more exciting is this: SMT, SPOT, and the Arkansas River Trust recently had a face to face meeting with some Union Pacific Railroad representatives. Turns out, they're actually pretty into our idea of continuing the Salida urban trails system across and along the river, and creating legal underpass rail crossings (absolutely key access to SMT's Ark Hills singletrack network.) Next step is another meeting with them next week and working up a proposal. This is a huge step forward, and very exciting.

And if all that isn't enough, now we're linking you to Kittybait.net. Run by another former Snitger's Bicycle Store scallywag and some of the minions from Pasadena Cyclery, Kittybait brings the rest of us a lurid window into southern California bike culture. Which is kind of like infiltrating Area 51 to sneak a peek at one of their unwilling residents; you're not sure what you're looking at, you don't know where it came from, it behaves rather strangely, and you're pretty sure you shouldn't even be there in the first place. Enjoy!

BAM Ride

Every week, a handful of South Central Racing riders meet for the BAM ride--B-Team, A.M.--a nice mellow ride for ideal for newcomers to road riding or folks looking for a good social recovery ride. Last week, it was socked in, snowing and rather uninviting. I waited at the rally point but no one else showed. The weather just made me feel nostalgic for my early days of riding Pennsylvania roads, not to mention I was relishing the though of the first ride of the year without a 30mph head/crosswind, so I mounted up on the 28 Special and rolled forth.
I choose one of my favorite hour long routes that connects all the existing SPOT (Salida Parks, Open Space, and Trails) trails around Salida. Starting out on the Monarch Spur Trail, I rolled out under a light sprinkling of snow. By the time I reached the pipeline construction zone on CR 140, the sun was trying to peek out. I like to do a lap around the dirt roads at Fairview Cemetery; I imagine I'm riding some tree-lined avenue on continental Europe in the 1920's, which Fairview resembles, except with more headstones.

Onward to Franz Lake, as the overcast burned away from Tenderfoot and Mt Shavano, to test out the 28's dirt handling with a new absurdly expensive Conti Top Contact rear tire to complement the Specialized Houffalize CX front (You know, if someone would just call their tire a 'Mk II' or something, I'd buy it just because it was easier to say.)
After a couple laps of Franz I paid my respects to the mallards, and headed for Sand Lake and work, taking a little diversion onto singletrack along the way. A nice little ride to work.

Tax Day

With three day of summer weather, finally, I'd been looking forward to taking this road bike out. A donation to Brooktondale Bikes, it took me a while to figure out what to do with it. A wide cyclocross bar, 32c tires, and a wide ratio freewheel gave it some wandering potential. As a congratulations for doing taxes all by myself this year, I told myself I could go for a ride as soon as I finished.
We're having a baby, which I'm really happy about. My wife not so much, she's suffered through weeks and weeks of nausea. So our taxes were my deal this year. We sold the fixer upper that we bought in 2002, and the one here locally. The one that now makes me take a glowing reference to "stick built" with a grain of salt. Try "dirt sill". And then we bought our current house, which I call "the last fixer upper".
So taxes were a bit more than last year. But at 4:00 pm, April 15th, I rolled down to the Post Office and dropped everything off. And headed towards County Road 250, which leads to the base of Mount Shavano.
Old schoolhouse, a project of the Colorado Historical Society.

. . stop and feed the horse along the road. A welcome break from the very sturdy west wind.

That saw blade seems to be connected to the drive shaft. Conversion kit?

Finally, the dirt.

I like these shots.

Breathing a little heavy, passing one of many side roads.

And here's a snow bank. Followed by another. Sun's setting, time to turn around.

The sturdy west wind provides. A short section of highway to County Road 160, I note how slowly I'm getting passed. Not just courtesy, but relative speed as well. Nice when the winds don't shift on the way home.

A last little bit of dirt, in a small low valley along the Arkansas. Dust picking up, making the sky a bit hazy.

Sand & Sandstone Study

A collection of pictures from the last few years. Documenting the weather, the terrain, and notable features of nearby locales. First we start with Andrew, during a lunch break from mountain biking, near Gemini Bridges in Moab, Utah:

A rest day from the bikes that week had us hiking through Arches National Park. Perfect day. This picture is looking across a canyon, looking into a bowl carved out into the side of a cliff, from a trail heading up to the Delicate Arch:


. . and the Delicate Arch:


A year or so later, another trip to Moab found different weather. Snow. Cold snow. Just two days into the trip, we headed south to Flagstaff, Arizona. To where the weather followed us every step of the way. Much like a four-cylinder Winnebago finds chance to draft a rolling Taco Stand:



We woke up with the vehicles covered in snow, in late March, in Flagstaff. And went down, down, 2500 feet or so, to nearby Sedona. And found perfect temperatures and trail conditions.

We survived, and thrived, and took the spaced-out town dwellers in stride. Before the long drive back to Salida. (Overheard at an excellent Sedona Chinese restaraunt: "yeah my avedic, umm, arved-ah-ahryervedic (ayurvedic?) teacher asked: no, what do you usually eat? I said cheeseburgers and fries mostly").


Then my parents came to visit last fall. They took a few hikes in the hills way up behind our house. Here's one of my dad. They're from central New York, and the weather insisted on making them feel at home.


A few months later, in those same foothills, more sunshine, and a little bit of snow.


This is the kind of footprint a 125 pound dog leaves all around the house:


We've got our springtime winds blowing through, with blue skies, and melting snow. The prevailing winds from the west mean I'm in a low gear while heading downhill - and more often than not big-ringing it while loaded with groceries, heading back up the hill. Go figure. I'll take it.