Friday, May 3, 2013

The Big Five Oh

Yes, that's right—it's the long-awaited iron run number fifty. Yes, that's five-zero, as in fifty times we have brought a load of iron from this yard to be scrapped.

I'm afraid this is going to be rather anti-climactic.

First of all, it wasn't we this time. We had talked about doing a run a couple days after the show; to that end Tara came by earlyish Wednesday. But I think she really only pulled out a couple more things; for the most part she just took the trailer full of stuff she had filled up for the show and drove it straight to the junkyard. Behold:

She didn't even bother getting me, as I wasn't ready and my putting on some shoes was too much hassle when she could just drive off. So she went without me. I didn't even know she'd done an iron run until she came back and handed me some cash. How's that for a milestone?

Gosh. I'm all broke up to miss that.

And yes, Numero Fifty or no, there's still plenty more, especially given that Tara now knows that old doors and hoods and such are not worth saving. That can just all go, which is good.

So it was a pretty light load, as doors and hoods and such are bulky but mostly hollow, as well as awkward, and only came to four hundred and twenty pounds worth. Still, that brings the total up to 41,400 pounds of iron taken out of here, or 20.7 tons. And again, there's still more. I have no idea how many iron runs it will actually take to clean this place out. I really don't. I sort of can't fathom it. Any guesses? Should we start taking bets?

That Local Show

Okay, here are a couple new posts because I've been remiss. First thing is that a couple Sundays ago now we went off to that (very) local Volkswagen show at the (really rather pitiful) racetrack a couple towns over; and even though the show itself is more about new tricked-out Volkswagens (or V-Dubs, as they are bafflingly called, because why?) and less about old air-cooled stuff, we still go, as it's just so gosh-darned local and it doesn't take forever to get there in the old Bus.

We got there stupidly early (well, stupidly early for us, about nine-ish in the morning), and the guy there guided us to our spot on the tarmac, which was a little tricky to navigate given the trailer; but with a little help Tara managed, and we settled in to set up.

Now last year April saw fit to go all April on us, what with her customary showers; this year though it was nice and sunny.

Or at least it certainly looked like a nice sunny day. But then there was this thing called wind.

So we spent most of the morning criminally underdressed huddling in the lee side of the bus wrapped in the old crappy comforters Tara had brought for padding when she packed the Bus. It was not fun for a while there, let me tell you, but we lived. (We generally do.)

By the afternoon it had warmed up a bit as the sun got around to the lee side, which was much nicer, though I stayed inside the Bus as best I could, since I know what happens when Mr. Sun meets my High Goth Vampiric skin tone. I went home sunburnt anyway, which was annoying, because it hurts and it ruins my Goth cred, though I suppose the suffering involved might bump it back up. Maybe it was a wash?

Anyway, here's the spread:

Pictures by Tara.  And incidentally, taking photos so that the horizon is on the diagonal isn't artsy, Sister; it just gives me vertigo and means more work in Photoshop for me.  So stop it.

The trailer was full of larger bulkier stuff; as it was so local it was worth dragging the thing there. Tara set up some of the pieces in a three-dimensional trompe-l'oeil fashion, but I'm pretty sure she wasn't fooling anyone:

Though I suppose that set-up might have more structural integrity than a real old Bug these days.

We had set up right across from the racetrack concession stand; and for some reason the overly-cheerful dude working it opted to blast the local country music station. Yes, we have one of those in Massachusetts. Just the one, thank the Gods; but really, people, Massachusetts. This is supposed to be a safe haven from that kind of crap.

So I persuaded Tara to put a CD in. Yes, the Bus has a CD player. No, I don't really know why, as given the noise the Bus makes just puttering along it's nearly impossible to hear anything while driving; but as we were parked with the engine off it was worth a shot. She first put in some Rush, good GOD; but after a bit of whining re: What the FUCK are these atrocious lyrics Holy Mother of the Canadian Gods she was prevailed upon to put in some genuine Massachusetts music, namely Mink Car by They Might Be Giants, which liner artwork, by the bye, features an exploded model car remarkably like that Bug just above. So we listened to that for a bit, so as to not be done in by the nasty country music. It did help, I thought.

Anyway. God DAMN but I hate country music.

So we sat there in the wind, and then the sun, and watched the people, mostly young dudes in skinny jeans, which, despite the purported skinniness, still don't seem to be able to stay up (no wonder the Doctor wears suspenders). And I wondered about fashion, and we got in a discussion about what the Hel is this crap? What is the point of skinny jeans if they're still all baggy about the ass? It's like they're cut to hug the legs really well but towards they waist they're just this cone shape that's far too big, like two funnels sewn together. They must be aggravating as Hel to wear as they never stay up, and they're not much to look at either let me tell you, from this heterosexual girl's point of view. And you know I've had an apparel design course, and so I know they are cut that way on purpose, i.e., they are purposefully cut to not really fit anyone. It was just kind of gross. Seriously give me a nice pair of bell bottoms on a cute guy and we can talk. Which reminds me of the damned nineties. Sure, bell bottoms were in then, but only for girls. All the boys were still wearing those giant baggy jeans and man may I just register my disappointment for a moment here? What is wrong with this world?*

Okay. Better now. A little.

We had a couple people come up to us and ask us if we were interested in buying any old Volkswagen parts. They even told us they were trying to get rid of them and figured we of course would want them. We told them what for, without swearing even, and that oh ho no the reason we have so many is not because we are a business but because our father was a hoarder who kept a pretty much literally unbelievable amount of junk and we're really just trying to clean up the damned yard. I may have even thrown in the bit about how I hate old Volkswagens and how this is not something I am doing for the love of it O no precious. They didn't seem to get it. They usually don't, but that is not my problem.

Anyway. So the thing was over in the early afternoon or so (these car shows that start early—in the morning!—just baffle me) and we packed it all up and got ready to go.

But when Tara turned the key nothing happened. It wouldn't even turn over.

That's right. About an hour's worth of running the CD player was enough to kill the battery. (I feel quite comfortable blaming Rush. And by extension, Canada.)

Now, it's not nearly as embarrassing to have something like that happen in an old Bus as it would be in some kind of newer car. Everyone knows those things are cranky bastards sometimes, or, if not cranky, more or less on their last legs. So the people around us smiled indulgently and knowingly and ran off to find some jumper cables. It may also have been a bit of a damsel-in-distress thing. Tara certainly knows how to bat her eyelashes, shall we say. But they managed to get the thing running soon enough, and off we went on our merry way.

So. Given that it was a show for the new Volkswagens, we didn't sell as much as at the other shows, but that's all right as we were expecting that. It's just that given the location, we can't really turn it down. We did make enough to go out for Chinese afterwards (where we sat a booth over from an old high school gym teacher, whom we very studiously ignored as neither of us were interested in talking to the dude) and still have a bit left over.

But we learned something at this show. No one seemed interested in the fenders and doors. Someone may have bought a bumper if I remember correctly, but the big bulky stuff in the trailer for the most part? No takers. And we have plenty of that stuff still, stuff that Tara had been saving thinking it was in decent enough condition to sell. But as it turns out, most people restoring their old Volkswagens already have that stuff. Which brings me to the next post...

*Oh right, patriarchy. Yep.