Might as well get this out-of-the-way right at the top. Last weekend Gene and I fired-up the Pony, I climbed up on the place where the seat should be, pushed the clutch pedal down, and shifted into first. When I did so there was a grinding of gears as I forced the shifter lever into first gear. Yes, I did get it into gear, but it was totally without help from the clutch. Gene and I were afraid of this, but it took this long to confirm our fears. We’re not sure what we did wrong, but we can’t blame this one on the Pony. Back when we installed the clutch we must have missed something pretty important. So, we’ve got a big job ahead of us, because to have another go at the clutch, we’ll need to pull the engine. Poop!
I suppose we can take some solace in the fact that once in gear, our drive shaft, transmission and differential were all working, because the jacked-up Pony’s back wheels were spinning around merrily. That’s something the Pony hadn’t done on its own in decades. I apologize that I have no video of this, but when son Andy said, “Make sure you’ve got fresh batteries in the camera,” I said, “Oh, no problem, I just put new batteries in.” Apparently not! Again, poop.
But I do have a photo for you. I’ve got a number of unwritten blog rules. one of them goes something like this. If I’m in any situation where I and anyone who’s around me spontaneously break out in laughter, the thing that caused the laughter is probably good blog material. With that rule in mind we’ll go to the topic of mushrooms. Here specifically is the little devil to which I refer.
I haven’t even bothered to look it up, because I like the name I’ve given it. I call it the North Carolina Stink Head. These babies can range from just a couple of inches to six or seven inches tall. And of course due to their shape and size I suppose a name something like the North Carolina Phalic Stinker might be appropriate as well, but I’m not really here to go into the phalic aspect. I would suggest, however, that there’d be a lot less sex going on if, well, you know, “they” really looked like that. No, I’m going to concentrate on the stink, because folks, even if “they” looked like that, if “they” smelled like that mushroom smells…well, Adam and Eve probably never would have sinned and started this whole over-population thing.
How bad does it smell? These things grow out of the wood chips they spread in the beds in front of our place. When I open the garage door in the morning, I know immediately, I mean RIGHT NOW, if one of these stinkers has popped up. This horrendous mushroom smell takes over the garage. But it’s not just the smell of mushroom, it’s putrified mushroom. This thing is the arm pit, the dog turd, the Limburger cheese of mushrooms. It’s the ginkgo berry of mushrooms. If you’re not familiar with ginkgo berries they smell like dog vomit. Before we moved down here, we had them all over the place in Philly, disgusting! It’s funny, but we’d see certain folks come collecting them, don’t ask me what for. Maybe they used them to put curses on things, or people. I sure hope they didn’t eat ’em. Something here actually does eat the stink heads. I suspect it’s squirrels; god, the bad breath they must have!
What brought on the laughter on this recent occasion was my description to Andy of how I attempted to deal with the last one of these that popped up, which should do as an example of just how bad these things smell. First I went out with a trowel, and while breathing through my mouth scooped the noxious nasal offender into a plastic grocery bag. I thought right away, that’s not enough, I better double bag it, so I did. I pitched it in our garbage can and went about other business. The next day I brought down a bag of garbage to throw in the can, lifted the lid and Holy Jesus, it smelled awful in there. I grabbed two more plastic bags to further encase the stinker and figured that ought to take care of it. Oh no, next time into the can, still just disgusting. The week was moving on toward garbage day, so at this point I dumped all the little garbage bags into a big Hefty bag, cinched it up tight and thought, if that don’t do it, the little bugger wins.
I’m here to say that the stink head won. The smell got through everything, and even after the garbage truck came and the stink head became someone else’s problem, my garbage can still stank. It stank for a week. It stank for two weeks. And finally this week I went at it with Mr. Clean (with Fabreze), and scrubbed it good with a broom and then let the can air-out. You won’t believe it, but now the can smells pretty good…but with just a slight under layer of stink head.
It was Tuesday night, I’d just gotten home from my “guinea pig gig,” and The Princess announced we were having spaghetti with MUSHROOM sauce. I ate a few, but I’m telling you, the ol’ stink head has messed with my appetite for any kind of mushroom.
Lots of movement in the various meters on the homepage. Click the highlighted word to check them out. Included there is the cost, primarily shipping, of some fabulous welding work Doc Fullofit did on the Pony’s seat. I’ll feature that in the next post.
A bit of a post script on the stink head story. The Princess and I went out to dinner tonight. Unfortunately I’d left the car in the drive with the garage door open. As soon as we entered the garage we knew what was up, literally. That’s right, as if to mock me another of the first mushroom’s brethren had popped up and was makin’ a STINK. He was 3 times the size of the one I photographed. We got in the car as quickly as we could, but even with the car doors open for just 30 seconds, it took a couple of blocks of driving before we’d flushed out the bad air. When we got home we ran the “stink head gauntlet” in the driveway, shot into the garage and closed the door. If that thing hasn’t been eaten by morning, I’m getting the shovel, and this time I’m burying it in the woods…about a mile from here!
Hope you weren’t planning a mushroom omelette for breakfast, and thanks for reading.