Tuesday, June 24, 2025

I’m sitting in a hotel room in Bowling Green, the home of the Tri-Five Nationals the first week of August. My wife and I are driving the wagon down, though I am nervous about doing so. Why? I’ll explain.

For starters, I don’t have complete confidence in the wagon’s mechanical ability. Now the truth is, the car runs and drives well. But I’m I still in the “get to know me” stage of building a relationship with a new-to-me classic car.

My old 55 hardtop I owned 40 years ago, I trusted completely, and I would drive it just about anywhere. I drove it to University of Kentucky to see my gf/now wife. I drove to Jasper Ind. where i worked. Part of the difference — I believe — is that I was younger and more niave. As much blood, sweat and tears I had poured into the car, it was simply unfathomable to me that the car would let me down by breaking down on me, you know?

There really doesn’t seem to be anything that’s about to go south on the car, other than the exhaust dragging from time to time.

I’m going to be here in Bowling Green the next two-and-a-half weeks for what could be called the murder trial of this century — at least for our little town in Kentucky.

WITHDRAWAL SYMPTOMS. I realized today that I’m having withdrawal symptoms — I absolutely miss my garage and I miss my cars (especially the 55 wagon). I miss the smell of the car after I’ve fired her up for a couple of minutes, just because I want to hear her run.

I miss my tools. I miss working on the Chevy. I miss mowing the grass. I miss bushhogging down the hill.