This is also the story of how I first met my neighbors down the street. Laundry Lady’s name is Cloie. Her husband, Steve, was the school district electrician. I wouldn’t meet him until several years later, when I was working for a contractor doing work at the local high school. When I introduced myself to him on the job for the first time, he recalls, “Oh, you’re Bubba’s friend!”, in front of a lot of other people-like school district staff, my new boss, and my new co-workers.
After she gave me a much-needed tow home that morning, I decided to send Cloie a thank-you card. Ironically enough, I found one with a cartoon of a dog on it and some funny, and believe it or not relevant, words inside. I don’t remember what the card actually said, but I do remember that I wrote some sort of thank you in there, and then wrote, “P.S. Tell Bubba thank you for the extra push home!” Again, I do have a strange sense of humor.
The next day, there were several piles of dirt in the street in front of a few houses, put there by unwitting neighbors trying to keep their driveways clean who wondered where all that oil in front of their house came from. A few years later I would meet another neighbor, and somehow my story got out again( I think this time it was Steve and Cloie that told it though). To which the neighbor responded, pointing an accusing finger, “YOU are the one that oiled up the street!”
Perhaps strangest of all was an event that happened several years later. The Baja Bug had been long ago traded in favor of my Ranger prerunner. As I came around the sharp corner at the end of my street, I mashed the go pedal to the floor ( I had been having some throttle response issues and was trying to figure it out). At almost the same time, several things happened. First, my 5.0 V-8 suddenly decided to wake up and make a burst of horse-power. Second, said burst of power pitched the truck into a massive slide/drift, with the truck practically taking up the whole street, sideways. Third, the big red low-oil pressure light came on in the dash. In fear of rolling the truck in the street and into someone’s yard, I had no choice but to keep the throttle pinned and the steering wheel crossed up until the truck straightened out. With the sound of 35 inch BFG Bajas screaming at the abuse of spinning on pavement, and the bellow of the five liter through the dual Flowmasters, I watched that damn oil light stay on, joined immediately by the shift light on the tach. So I slammed the shifter to second, trying desperately to keep the prerunner from turning turtle in the street. Still the oil light, and again the shift light. Hello third gear! ( I must say, this is still one of the coolest power slides I have ever done, even if it was an accident! There is just something awesome about taking up the whole road sideways with the hammer down and the wheels pointed the wrong way for the turn!) Finally the truck straightened out and leveled off, and I killed the ignition and coasted to a stop in the fading light of the early evening. Wanna guess where it coasted to a stop at? Right. In. Front. Of. Bubba’s. House. I kid you not! As I got out of the truck, I happened to look over, and sure enough, here comes Bubba, and I swear he had a little expectant grin on his dog lips, as if remembering the last time I broke down on this spot. “Not this time, you little effer!” I said to him. This time, I had a cell phone and a tow strap, and my sister now lived just up the street to give me a tow. Besides, there is no pushing a 4,700 pound off-road truck. As if that wasn’t enough, once again, the cause of my break-down was total loss of engine oil. This time a motor mount had broken, allowing an oil fitting to contact the steering box and break it. And once again, I had oiled my street. What are the chances?
Finally, Bubba the dog passed on a few years ago. Steve and Cloie had him cremated and took Bubba’s ashes in an urn with them wherever they went. I could understand them missing their friend of many years, though it did get a little weird when they talked constantly to the ashes, and when we were out on a trail, they would open up the urn to “ let Bubba smell the forest.” However, I sleep a little better at night now, knowing that Bubba is no longer waiting to take advantage of me when I’m down and defenseless.