I’m proud to say, despite the best efforts of my state’s fear worshiping ruling party, I finished the summer by filling it with unashamedly American activities, only made possible through freedom. I wound down the summer exploring new areas by motorcycle, enjoying the fruits of my labors racing my Lotus 7 replica, being greatly entertained by monster trucks, enjoying mask-free worship at a church that understands freedom of religion, finding fresh information on several early 20th century American roadside attractions and beginning a new classic car project.
Last month my wife Kellie was going to visit a friend in Jacksonville, Oregon; I tagged along and brought my SV650 Suzuki motorcycle. While Kellie visited, I set out to explore. The town is a product of a 19th century gold-rush due to the mineral being found throughout the area. Riding around town I was delighted to find a great-looking BSA parked in front of the oldest building in town. It’s the small things!
I found the rider in a nearby coffee shop, and asked him about where to ride. He seemed like a very nice man, but I didn’t get much from our conversation because his mask was thick and he was soft-spoken. I left with a vague inclination to go North-East, but after consulting a map I decided I must have misheard, as that was the only area devoid of roads. I hate masks. Study after study shows they’re ineffective, yet we continue the charade in Oregon.
Jacksonville is well-known for its performing arts pavilion and park, the Britt; I tried to check it out but was denied access because I don’t have a (stabbed) passport. I considered sneaking up anyway, but a creepy masked staffer started ambling my way, obviously intent on checking if I had papers.
I did see a man out front, college-type, holding a sign encouraging people to boycott the Britt for their segregation practices. All the artsy folks coming for a festival walked right by him, without acknowledgement, many fumbling to get their papers out. I gave him a thumbs up as I drove past. I’m starting to understand the 1930s better.
After a couple hours of riding I stopped into a campground to use the restroom. Although the camp-host eyeballed me, I’m glad he didn’t block me from using the restroom. A family friend recently had a crazed woman block a remote Oregon State Park’s bathroom door, with her body, because my friend’s 6-year-old daughter, who desperately needed to use the restroom, wasn’t wearing a mask.
Buncom Ghost Town
After a nice day of riding and exploring the nearby foothills, I decided to ride up to the ski park on Mt. Ashland. The ski park is 4,500 feet above the city of Ashland. During the summer the road approaching the ski park is a rider’s dream with smooth switchbacks and no traffic (I think I encountered four cars).
In a great stroke of luck, the road had been paved within the last month; there were signs warning of fresh oil and striping hadn’t been applied yet. It was one of the smoothest, curviest and potentially fastest rides I’ve had in a long time. There’s even a 270-degree corner that loops back over itself via a little bridge. I held back on the speed though, the hole in my leg from last spring’s empty lockdown roads a constant reminder to self-regulate.
Funny side-note, regarding my crash last year, and evidence of how scared Oregonians are: someone insinuated that I crashed my motorcycle during the lockdowns because God had taken retribution on my selfish act of going outside. Well, I’m sure I was going too fast into a corner on a motorcycle with rotten fork seals and pulled a little too hard on the front brakes. Fork seals that I still haven’t replaced… a thought which also encouraged me to slow-my-roll on Mt. Ashland.
Rolling off Mt. Ashland I passed by Emigrant Lake; due to the West’s ongoing drought the lake was almost empty. I set off on foot to see if I could find any interesting historical artifacts in the bottom of the lake. What I found was the proverbial car motor used as an anchor; I’d always thought that was a joke but sure enough, there it was, laying in the mud with anchor ropes still tied around it. I think it was used to anchor one of the local farmer’s irrigation pumps, many of which were now well-above waterline.
I stopped in at a large Ashland brew-pub to get lunch. They handed me a menu, pointed me to an outside table, and told me there were no servers and I had to order online. Their online system didn’t work, so I found myself inside yelling my order over a 6-foot-tall piece of plexiglass at a frightened looking man.
There are some great roads and history around Jacksonville, it was a nice day riding. My people interactions were a little curious, but I did like the riding.
The next weekend was another local autocross, giving me an opportunity to try again after a rather short-lived 1st attempt. I’ve spent five years building my fake Lotus 7 “Locost”, and my first autocross was ended quickly by a broken throttle cable.
For its second autocross the Locost survived all five runs before breaking on the way back to the pits. The car is a blast and handles surprisingly well for having the cheapest tires Les Schwab. Unfortunately, I’m struggling with my cheap Chinese knock-off camera, so I only managed to video my two worst runs. Then after my laps, returning to the pits the car shot the speedometer gear out of the transmission, spitting some transmission fluid out with it.
For the drive home, Jon, a fellow Locost owner and autocross racer helped me get the car back together using a combination of zip ties and a stick to jam the gear back in. I appreciated his help, perhaps more than “normal” since it seems like many Oregonians are scared to be within six feet of me.
I’d taken the transmission cover off, to get better access to the transmission, and was going to leave it off until I executed a real fix, but Jon suggested it might be safer to put it back on for the drive home. About ten miles from the autocross, at 55 mph, a large pile of roadkill went under the car and caught the stick. There was loud banging and slamming as the stick made its way out of the car; I pulled over and inspected but the zip ties still held the gear in. I realized that if Jon hadn’t encouraged me to put the transmission cover back on, I would have been showered in stick and roadkill fragments!
The following weekend found my family at the Sublimity Harvest Fest, which celebrates a successful season of working the land by crushing cars with monster trucks. I support this.
It was the first time I’d attended a monster truck event and I was blown away. Everyone in my family loved the monster trucks. There is something epic about a bump side Ford launching itself 10 feet into the air while running over a mini-van, much like the van we used to own (and a fate it deserved).
Monster truck wheelies and nose-stands were equally as impressive as the jumps.
The smiles were very real, and on everyone’s faces. And I could see most of the audience’s faces and smiles. That was nice.
Uncovered smiles, just like at our church the next day.
On Sunday’s we attend a church where the pastor believes the American constitution protects our freedom to worship, and that includes doing so mask-free. At least once-a-week our church is a nice change, where we get to see mask-free, happy, smiling faces and friends with similar values.
And here’s a statistical anomaly, after meeting this way for well-over a year, in a church of many thousands (I think we’re approaching 10k) not one person has died as a result. You’re confronted with two conclusions, the narrative is wrong, or we’re supernaturally blessed. Because statistically we should be experiencing death often, if the narrative were true.
And it turns out my pastor’s right, regarding the Constitution. The State of Oregon stopped harassing us after several churches in California were awarded millions after suing California for breeching their constitutional ability to worship. Coincidentally, the lawyer for the California churches was also our church’s lawyer. But how sad is it when you need a power-house lawyer to meet as a church? What are small churches in Oregon doing? Are they still getting threats from the governor’s office? Do their congregants still feel that oppression as they stay six feet away from other families and worship into their mask? It’s not necessary. We’re a large church and statistically significant (if you’re into science); we’ve been at it well over a year and all is good.
A Recent Church Event for the Kids
I’m not trying to hoard this goodness to myself either. I want it for everyone, so much. Partly why I write these little vignettes, since I’m not much of a talker. This is my “outreach”, as insignificant as it may be. There is so much hope, life and love in Christ, which is exactly what I think our society wants and needs. It can be yours too, if it’s not yet. To quote the old song, “Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of his Glory and Grace.”
Not all of my recent thoughts have been theological though. I recently came across photographs of old roadside attractions and pursued more information about them, coming up with interesting discoveries.
You’ve perhaps seen the images of the building shaped as a Studebaker at the 1933 Chicago Century of Progress world fair?
Image posted by WendyCityChicago.com
That was the second large Studebaker the company made, the other was erected roadside in front of their testing grounds in South Bend, Indiana. After some years, when the roadside Studebaker became ratty, the company burned it down, but witnesses recalled that an employee rescued the hubcaps.
The Studebaker plays a large role in this recently re-discovered bizarre music video
Curious about the hubcaps, I reached out to the Studebaker National Museum to see if the hubcaps still existed. It turns out, the museum has two of them, and they sent me a picture. Here you see what remains of the two 1930s giant Studebakers.
Photograph Courtesy of the Studebaker National Museum
Another side-note: If viewed from above, on Google Earth, you can still see the word “Studebaker” made by tree canopies at the old proving ground, another remnant from Studebaker’s 1930s marketing efforts. To see it Google search “Navistar Proving Grounds, South Bend Indiana” and view the satellite image.
But wait, there’s more. There’s a second roadside attraction I’m determined to find the remnants of. In the 1930s Dorothea Lange, an American documentary photographer, captured two photos of a decrepit Forest Grove, Oregon roadside hot dog stand. What’s become of the stand, no one knows. But, I’m on the trail (chasing its tail?).
Highway 99, Lane County. Courtesy Library of Congress, Dorothea Lange, LC-USF34-021137-E
And, while researching it, I came across an earlier photograph of the building in a magazine. I think this earlier photograph of the hot dog stand has been forgotten by history. This 1935 Popular Mechanics photo shows the dog in much better condition. The article noted the eyes were automotive headlights. You may be the first to see this in a long time.
Popular Mechanics, September 1935
Is this how I spend my time? While I am fascinated by programmatic architecture, I find I have very little time to give it consideration. Nor do I have the time to drive down to Forest Grove to go poking around in the bushes… but someday, maybe.
And on the topic of time, after some consideration, I decided that my Lotus 7 Locost build is in a pretty-good place. It’s drivable and fun, although there’s many ways it could be upgraded.
Bearing that in mind, I thought I’d start on my 1957 MGA convertible. I’m elbow deep in cleaning and painting chassis parts right now.
But a MGA isn’t an American car, why mess with it?
I would contend a MGA is more American than most think. Britain experienced financial hardship after WWII and the MGA was designed with American buyers in mind. Most MGAs were exported to the U.S.. MGAs are more ingrained with American car history than we now give them credit for. For example, in many 1950s sports car racing photos you’ll find MGAs. Also, I’ve also noticed quite a few MGAs in the 60s custom shop photos; a good example is the photo of Von Dutch pinstriping a MGA.
Also, probably because they aren’t as trendy as a Roadkill-style Dodge Charger, MGA parts are (mostly) very affordable.
I will say, I’m thankful that the America before 2020, has allowed me the space, time and finances to embark on classic car projects. I like creating and I’m thankful that I have a home with a garage large enough for two fun cars, a work schedule which affords me spare-time, and the finances to afford the parts I need. I’m quickly becoming less confident in our future, as people seriously consider the ridiculous concepts of socialism. I’m so tired of hearing that Christians are socialists; read Jesus’ parable of the talents and you’ll quickly realize that’s bad theology. In the parable, the master (an analogy to God) provides and rewards people according to their abilities and responsibility, not equally.
The other trendy argument: we should hate affluence! Spending money on car parts makes me a terrible person who is embracing the god of consumerism.
No, that’s simply not true. Having an outlet for God given creative and mechanical inclinations is not a sin. I’m sure of it. It can be sinful, if done in the wrong way, but that’s true of all things. I choose to be happy that I have the opportunity to pursue those endeavors. I’m thankful I live in a nation that allows and affords endeavors like playing with old cars.
It doesn’t seem like a better path to make everyone poorer and spend more time working for a company or government; no, that path seems sad, and our family sends money monthly to poor families in several impoverished countries to help improve their quality of life. I certainly don’t think we need to become like those countries so that all can be equal. Again, reference back to the parable of the talents. Although the question does arise: can we be entrusted with the same responsibilities as previous American generations?
Meanwhile, Oregon keeps getting crazier and crazier. This week we found out several Oregon health providers are refusing to see patients, who are our friends, until they get stabbed. At the same time, Oregon had to call in the National Guard to fill the need for health-care positions because many health-care professionals quit or were fired because they were unwilling to do what is being required; but yet, we’re being told to ignore that, those healthcare professionals must have been the dumb ones (but I refuse to turn a blind eye to this litmus test). Also, rainbow-mask wearing protestors were blocking the park entryway to my kid’s youth soccer games, this weekend, because our town voted to remove the pride and BLM flags from schools. Protestors also (ironically) vandalized our town flag pole and the surrounding area, and have been attacking our high school kids at regional sports events, for the same reason. Exiting a parking garage in downtown Portland, after work, three of my co-workers had guns drawn on them by protestors who didn’t want them driving out into their demonstration.
And Oregon is only going to get more left-leaning as many conservatives are leaving the state. We’ve seen quite a few people from our circle move in the last two years.
I may need to sacrifice my endeavors for the sake of placing my family in a healthier place. “Healthier” might be quite literal if we can’t get healthcare because we don’t carry papers. While not being able to access Jacksonville’s Britt seems trivial, healthcare for my family is important. That may mean selling the MGA, or both cars, if I have to. I’m actively applying for jobs in conservative states.
So, the idea of moving my family is a motivating factor to get the MGA together. If I have to sell the MGA, it’ll bring more money if it’s running. Perhaps I’m preparing a second car to enjoy, but it’s becoming likely that I’m preparing a “moving fund”.
Wish me luck. Better yet, and with an actual chance of having some effect, pray for us. Please. We need it. “We” being my family, your family, and our country. And if you’re reading this in the future, pray just the same, please. Family and country will always need prayer. And know that I want (or wanted) you to know the redeeming and awesome love of God through faith in Jesus; it’s largely what’s sustaining me these days. My faith in man’s solutions and wisdom are at an all-time low.
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