You can drive my car

We went to the British car show at Shelton Vineyards this past weekend. Packed full of Triumphs, MGs, and quite a few Austin Healeys, it was, as usual, a fun day out for us. The vineyard is a nice setting for a show, and a picnic, and a great spot for my daughter to wander around, as well as get invited to sit in a bunch of old cars. Those things are so tiny, she almost fits now. Give her a phone book and she could drive on of those Triumphs.

On the tractor ride around the farm, one guy, a member of the Triumph club, suggested I get her a pink Triumph. I agreed, as that would be a good way to keep her at home. I don't know if he got it or not. See, Triumphs and other little British cars are notoriously unreliable and... well, there's a lot of baling wire involved.

I must say, I am surprised that I don't see the roads leading up to Shelton littered with little MGs steaming and smoking, dying by the side of the road like a squashed groundhog. When I lived in California, I enjoyed going to the different shows at Monterey Historics Weekend. The place was crawling with Ferraris. Lamborghinis, Bentleys, and more. We would take the day off on Friday to go to the big Concorso Italiano to see all the new and old Italian cars. And that spot, wow, those things would overheat as soon as they stopped. Those high end Ferraris really needed air going into their radiators to keep them from popping. 

Having a sports car, whether it is a classic little machine or a high end supercar, is a challenge and a risk. There's a reason you can find Maseratis that normally coast close to $100K on sale used at around $35,000. The brake job on many of those cars can cost more than an entire car. It may not stop you from wanting one of these, but don't think that a classic can be a good daily driver.

I remember seeing a Jaguar XK120 at a dealership in Monterey once. I was commenting on how nice looking it was, when the salesman pointed out that it had no seatbelt, and the unpadded dash was probably right at the height your chin would be if your head went forward in a crash. 

I'm liking my SUV with a dozen air bags more and more.

Cross That Bridge When You Come To It

I made a big, fast journey down to, well, I keep wondering if the whole area has a name. I started near the SC border and made my way up through Carolina Beach. I gotta figure out where I was because I need a name for the book. Anyway, after my first stop, I made it quickly to the old pontoon bridge that used to cross the intracoastal waterway to Sunset Beach. I planned to stay just for a bit, take a few pictures, then get on the road, hit the other spots I needed to, meet up with someone I planned to meet, and get in to Southport early so I could shoot a little, eat a good dinner and go to bed early.

No such luck.

Actually, my luck got a whole lot better. The pontoon bridge had a volunteer there that happily spent the better part of an hour telling me old stories about the bridge and all the people who got to cross it, or wait to cross it. I missed out on a lot of other places, but I got so much out of that stop. Sometime, you just have to roll with it, and something good comes out of your time.

The pontoon bridge was a very simple design, meant to do the menial job of letting cars cross the water to the newly developed Sunset Beach, while at the same time, letting boats go through the waterway it spanned. The bridge itself was a low simple design, separated by a floating barge of sorts, on pontoons, so that it rose and fell with the tide, that swung out as if on a hinge to open a breech in the bridge for boats to go through. On the hour, two ramps lifted up, and then a big diesel engine would work a winch to pull the floating part open for boats to get through. Because the bridge was so low, pretty much every boat had to wait for the bridge to open to get through. It opened on the hour and closed when the line of boats got through. If a boat came by late, it either tried to run the closing gap, often catching the closing wire on the winch that shut the bridge, or had to wait until the next hour. Because of this, many people traveling the waterway had to plan their visits according to the time of the bridge's opening. It's 15 minutes til? We gotta go!

Of course, when the bridge was open, the road was closed. Traffic would stack up, cars would turn off their engines, and people got out to watch. No use sitting in the hot cars. You weren't going anywhere. You just hoped the bridge got closed before your cold food got warm, or melted.There was no shopping on the island, so people had to take everything in.

Now, this seems like one of those idyllic old timey stories from back long ago when people piled into the big station wagon and traveled to the beach, their only toys a towel and maybe a bucket and shovel. Which would be true. Except that the bridge was used up until January of 2011. And it wasn't like the bridge was even 1950s technology when it was built. This thing was pretty much thrown together to make things work, to get people over to the island.

So there are lots of stories about waiting for the bridge. Lots of stories of being stuck while the bridge was open, or closed. Or broken. And I got to hear them. I can't wait to put them all down in my book.

The bridge was picked up and moved to preserve it, along with the bridge tender house. It;s now a bridge over land. And a lot of history.

The best of times

I just got back from the Outer Banks. It was unfortunate that I had the dregs of a cold, icky sinuses, rainy days, and a wrenched muscle in my back. On the plus side, I spent time with my father. So, all in all, it was a positive trip.

My father has all the best stories. Best in good stories, best in adventures, best in tales. Not all stories are happy, but they are good. He told me this one before, but he added a little more this time.

Once when he was in college, he and some buddies of his went out sailing in the Pamlico Sound. Now this way before the days of checking the weather reports and radar. Heck, it might have been before flare guns for all I know. Anyway, it was a nice day, so they went for a sail.

Of course, as you can guess it, a storm came up, and their boat tipped over. Unable to right it, they all clung to the hull of the ship. My father looked about in all directions, but there was no sign of land, just stirring water and waves everywhere. Only in the far off distance was a house on a point. So my father said, "Look, we can't just stay here. No one knows we're gone, no one is going to come looking for us. I'm going to swim to that house to get help. You all stay here, don't move. (He meant don't swim off from the boat.) Keep watching that house. When I get there, I'll wave my shirt so you know I got there." And he and one friend set off through the churning water to get to the house, miles away.

Of course, he finally made it to the house. Only to discover that the house was abandoned and dilapidated. However, he figured there had to be a path to the house, and a road at the beginning of the path. So they set off over a grassy track and finally made it to a road. Walking down the road, he was finally able to flag down a truck, go in to nearby Aurora, and get help for his friends.

That is where the story usually ended for him, when he told it to me. This weekend, he was reminiscing about his friend he swam with, as he had recently attended his funeral. So this time, he added a little bit more.

He said he always held the people of Aurora in high regard. When they were rescued, the whole town turned out, gave them a warm place, hot food, dry clothes, a place to stay. What they did was important. It was a an act of kindness by a whole town.

Now, I love the story, and the addition I just heard. But more than that, I like that he has a story to tell. It might be a little scary, and at least it has a happy ending, but mostly, he has stories to tell his family. Stories are important. Sometimes it's better to have a memory than a photograph.