The Limo Bus.

That`s what we called the 1961 IH Travelall.

It was white with windows all around.
Three on the tree and Papa used to put us on his lap to steer going up the driveway.
The first time I would drive a car in person.

We would sled behind the limo bus in 4wd.
We slept in it as young squids on long look at that beautiful house tours around
the northeast. It was a mobile timeshare that we owned. It was very dependable.



The forerunner of picnic tables

A relative of mine owned an International tractor business. I remember the Travelall and thought they were great. Then I saw the scout. His son still has his last one.

I can see you now sledding behind like we did as kids. We used the trunk lid off a second gen Camaro with a fan belt pulled threw the latch for a handle to hold onto.







I have a little 71 IH scout, they are such cool little trucks. I need to get back on mine or let it go to someone who has the time fix it up. You really don't see many of them around any longer.

The BVM.

Bill Jones ran the local Gulf filling station.
A full service garage as was common in the late sixties.
He also ran a trade school of sorts outta that same shop in such a great way.

Bill taught me how to hot patch the inner tube on my hand me down
Schwinn 20 inch. He showed me why tire spoons were a better tool
than a screwdriver for removing a tire from a rim.
He taught me how to hot patch an inner tube the right way.

Bill`s garage was busier after hours than when it was open.
Many of the older kids and adults had worked for Bill at one time or another.
They all helped each other build their cars.
Al Nydam built a black Nomad.

It was amazing. No other car in town sounded that good.
Scratch in third gear.

There were more than a few really fast cars in town back then.

I heard they raced on Mary Dunn Rd.

MDR had a great long straight that went directly into suicide corner, which was
really two corners if you made the first. Many young kids had a bad night there.

we raced on Paradise Rd...

:eek:
Watch out for the RR tracks!

FYI: Mary Dunn is still pretty sketchy...

Is the junkyard still there?

The BVM.

The Barnstable Village Mafia was a loosely guarded secret society of law
enforcement vigilantes.

Most dismissed them as townies or neer do wells from less than fortunate back rounds.
Small town New England will always be Peyton Place and all will know everything
about everyone else.

I can not call myself a native of the Cape because I was not born on Cape.
I remember a salty retort.

Just because there`s batter in the oven doesn't make em muffins.
Never mind the fact that Mom`s family came over on the Arbella in 1630.

My parents had lost a child between myself and my brother.
If mom had been in Cape Cod Hospital, I would not be typing here today.
People died there from strep throat.

Before we had moved to Barnstable, Mr. Clarke had done something.
We never learned what he had done, but his hardware store paid the price.
The store front was all glass and frequently in shards. Sometimes just one
or two panels. Sometimes many. Once it was every one.

The elders heard Mr. Clarke had dropped a dime on someone.

Mr. Clarke had decided to sell the Vista Cruiser.
A late model grey station wagon appeared. It was a former
flower wagon. I thought that a bit strange, but who am I to
define strange.

The Clarkes always parked their cars behind the house.
The older girls who were driving knew this.

Mr. and Mrs. Clarke went to the ski house in N.H.
At late o`clock, I awoke to the sound of the BVM.

Glass. Metal. Swearing. Laughing. Screaming.

I heard the exhaust behind it all and then bang.
The engine lit up. First. Second, and whoa.

We all went outside. The girls were frantic. We squids were told to go back
to bed. Who saw what was being asked as we went inside.

I knew. I had not seen a thing.

The next morning mom asked if I had seen anything.
I said no, but there is only one car around that sounds like that.

She said nothing more.

Mom and I pulled into Jones` gas station to fill up.
Bill rarely came out to fill up any cars or trucks.

Hello Mrs. GFS.

Hi Bill.

Did you see anything funny this weekend Mrs. GFS?

Why, no Bill, we always have our shades down behind the curtains.

Nothing was said, but all had a conversation.

The BVM hung out on the wall in front of the old courthouse. I always thought that
funny. The rules change after dark. Great cars. It was conveniently across the street
from Bill`s garage.

Papa had won a sailfish or sunfish in a raffle.

I was a tot.

Did you learn to sail the fish? I had my first beer with my BF, his older sister, and her girlfriend had fake IDs when the drinking age was 18 in Jersey. I was 13? That little sail boat and those girls were quite fun on Toms River!

Vezo, Part II

I have no memory of the sunfish/sailfish.
I`ll ask Pif more about her memory as I was maybe 3 or 4.
Her memory of childhood sucks, so I may not get much more there.

She did say I laughed nonstop and she thought Mom made him sell the boat
as Mom thought one of us might drown.
That would have been me I guess.

BYC.

Barnstable Yacht Club was anything but a yacht club.
It was a wonderland for squids.

No phone.
No electricity.
No running water.
A hand pump on the pier by the water to be primed for use.

I will never forget the taste of that well.
Hard and full of stone, salt, and minerals.

It cost little to join in relative terms and times.

The pier went down to the sway of the gangway and the floating docks.
The last dock had the flipped skiffs. This is where we started.
Flip the skiff. Row the skiff and have races. We learned about wind, tide, and work.
Haul the skiff up on the dock, flip it and tie a line down.

Bunny Howard was the owner of a fine wooden boat shop on the property.
He was one of the kindest men I have ever known if he liked you. I tested him a bit.
His shop had a phone, electricity, and running water.

He was a sailor`s sailor. Say that again. His name is on many cups.

I was 9 when I first met him.
I was 10 when I started learning.
Beetle Cats.

https://beetlecat.com/

Bunny built a utopia for us.
Two clay courts and a plywood backboard.
Tennis anyone?

Sand volley ball?

We all rode our bikes to Beale way everyday we could.
If it rained, we got wet.

The Clarkes had clambakes many Fridays.
Backyard affairs. We squids rowed out to the sand bar to harvest clams.
Stomp and dig. Put your sneakers on and go to the east end of the bar
for Quahogs.

Beetle Cats were much like Whaler 13`s for squids. Simple and safe. Craft which were
well suited for curiosity and education.

Bunny taught sailing to those who wanted to learn. We all wanted to learn and we did
with varying degrees of success. I had already been exposed to whalers and other
powered vessels. Pulling a tiller back and forth to find wind in the doldrums was not
my idea of propulsion.

I remember Bunny saying a squid would have a hard time capsizing a Beetle Cat when
he was expounding their virtues to our parents.

Challenge taken.

There were regattas all summer long and the racing was taken quite seriously.
I crewed for Pif a few times, but I soon learned it was just about as boring as riding
a pony.

There was a race one day and Pif was crewing for a boy who was already involved
with Lasers and Hobie 16`s. He was from a family of cup winners. He was one of those
smug sailors.

Bunny always ran the committee boat. A 17 Montauk. Papa had leased a Beetle
for the summer to gauge our interest. White Cloud was her name and many clouds
were indeed faster. She was just slow for many reasons. Decades of paint. Poor
sails and a mast which was stepped badly.

Well as luck would have it, the afternoon had a great blow and I was bored.
I took White Cloud out around the race. I watched the start and sailed back to watch
the tack. It was rare to have gusty wind and many smiles were on display.

I took a tight course back to the dock. I was sailing beyond my ability by myself.
I pulled a flying jibe and the fun began. I almost cleared the main sheet.
I not only capsized a Beetle, I had achieved full turtle. Maybe sailing can be fun?

I had tacked to set myself up to come in and dock. I was in deep water.
I had not checked the tide. It was outgoing. I looked at my situation and
decided to swim the boat in to the beach. Well that quickly proved to be a losing
battle. I thought about just swimming in, but that would mean abandoning a boat
Papa had leased.

A few minnows later I see a boat that looks remarkably like the committee boat
headed on point. Bunny was not happy at all. He was downright exasperated.
If his eyes had been lasers, I would have perfect vision today all these many years
later.

The tricycle front end Farmall was driven to the tide line. A line was swum out.
The mainsail was brought down or upside down depending on your perspective.

I was not allowed to put her back on the mooring.

Bunny went back out to finish his duties. I`m not sure if he got back in time,
but I could venture a guess.

I was my parents worst nightmare. An upper middle class redneck townie wannabe.

The main pier and floating docks were always well maintained.

Bunny`s pier was kept in a state of confrontation. Planks missing. Many barely
nailed down. Sketchy stringers. Pilings leaning to and fro.
Just the way Bunny wanted it.

It was the easiest fishing ever. Grab some mussels off the pilings and bury the hook.
My Zebco 101 and flounder.

Low tide was my favorite time of day in the harbor.

Little necks.

I`d like to take some time here to clean up the name of clams.

I just cringe when I see all of our culinary friends laughing at us.

Clams have a great sense of humor.

Cherrystone clams are little Quahogs.

They do not only vacation in Ipswich.

I have no dog in this fight, nor do I mean any offense. As a born and raised Giants fan, who does not care much for Philadelphia, How bout them Eggles, I mean apples? Made me think of Sandman. My roots seem to be in NE. Go Pats!

Rum Dumb!?!
Michael.

It was easy rowing out to the sand bar at low tide.
The sun and salt. The orders from land.

Everyone loved clams.

I started driving the fire roads. They went to many new neighborhoods.
Not to the front door, but close in road seconds. I mostly kept track of
favorite trees and my compass in the sun.

I did fail my friend one morning. I was coming down to the plank bridge
across the brook. It was covered with winter pine needles. I pulled the string
tight as I settled the slight turn over the apex.

My first meaningful lesson in trailing throttle over steer.
She snapped right off and into the mud and water.
Tout Suite.

No water was ingested by either player.
Hard to believe, I know. I walked back to the house and Paul helped me drag her back
on the trail. Off I went to mark trails with spray painted trees.

I continued to broaden my map of other neighborhoods and points of access.

A Sunday afternoon was getting cooler as a fire truck went by.
Another went by. This was big news. I was alone at the house.
I went after them.

Why?

Excellent question.

No plate?
Check.

Public road?

Yes.

Sirens in front of you?
Yup.

Luckily, they turned left on Woodland rd. and stopped shortly there after.

I saw a kitchen fire fully involved.

Maybe 20 people were there.

As luck would have it, the parental units were coming back from their foray.

Papa asked me how I got here.
I said on the fire road by Mr. Eame`s house.

Three houses away and the deflection was working.

Not so fast.
Pee Wee`s dad came over after the fire was out. He was not happy at all.

I see a trend here.

Mr. Perkins had been behind me a bit in his personal FD pickup.
He saw the whole mistake and made a point of my discretion.
He invited me to the fire house. A very large firehouse for a one light town.

He did not call the parental units.

Thanks Mr. P

Bump for wanting more yarns from sandman.

Talked to sandman while he was driving his rented Kia Soul in Vamont on his way to board a Spirit flight home this afternoon ! :eek:

Funny how we miss him when he is away... :rolleyes:

He got to see his sister & brother-in-law in Maine yesterday...
Attachment 20721

Had to send me this one as well ! :)

Attachment 20722

Back to normal tomorrow ..

I just figure he will be loaded up with stories when he gets back.

Normal?
Snicker snicker. I will write more here. There is much more to tell.

Heck of a weekend. The Gully Boys played for five hours. So many friends.
I`ve ended my war with photo bucket. Have some go pro video shot at 1080s 60 fps.
Have not seen it yet. Sig kept shutting down my camera every 3 minnows.

He was always funny like that. Had a Monarch butterfly land on my shoulder before leaving
today. It was Sig. I was driving east on Rt. 4 this morning when a truck crossed into my lane. Funeral averted.

Thanks Sig.

Every mile is an adventure when riding with GFS. Sandy, are you going to Cayo Costa?

We caught sooo many species today.

Had a rainbow follow us in the cut. Thanks Zig.

When was the last time you caught a Bermuda Chub?

I now have a gazzilion FB friend requests. Staying radio silent with most.

Was thinking smoked brisket and grilled, marinated veggie terrine?
I can feed many more this way.

I spent the next few weeks learning the fire trails.
I had white paint and blue paint. The trails went far
beyond my tankage. White was north and blue was east.

Go west young man, go west !