We interrupt this feed of wonderful cars to give you news that the latest installment of sludgo’s Mile Markers will be postponed until next week. That’s the bad news. The good news is that we will have a new edition of sludgo’s Riding Shotgun interview series ready to publish early next week. Please subscribe to the Mile Markers page to make sure you don’t miss out on either!
And now back to your regularly scheduled auction pages.
The ramp wasn’t that high. Only about up to my knees when I stood next to it. And it seemed sturdy. I’d walked up and down it and bounced on it a couple times and it had passed my boy-daredevil’s inspection with flying colors. So I hopped onto my trusty battle-worn lemon-yellow Sting-Ray and rode slowly up to the other end of the long sidewalk where I turned around and stopped. Took a moment to ask the Big Kahuna to provide his oversight on my upcoming flight then clenched my teeth as I stood up off that silver-sparkly banana-seat and began pedaling down the walk hard as I could.
It was a simmering-hot late Friday evening at the end of August in the summer of ’79, the year I’d graduated high school. I’d driven the Gremlin out to the new Hardee’s by the four-lane to meet Dean and Dave and Jeff and Steve and Kent and Robbie. We’d all arrived just before closing time and the counter people and cooks moaned and groaned a bit when we walked in but Steve’s second cousin was the Assistant Manager on duty and she said it was cool. I was glad. Not only was I starving but I was also looking forward to another Friday night doing nothing but goofing off with my buddies. It would be our last such night because come Saturday morning we were all leaving sludgoville and going our separate ways. Jeff was scheduled to report to the Army. Steve, the Marines. Dean was off to Arizona in his sweet ’56 Chevy to attend automotive-tech school and Robbie was taking his dad’s old F-100 west to work in the oil fields. Meanwhile, Kent—the most adventurous of us—had packed his microbus to the hilt, ready to embark on his solo trip to Alaska. And me and Dave? We were the college boys—Dave heading to NDSU in Fargo and me heading to UND in Grand Forks. And as we gathered, it was a bittersweet occasion. We all knew it was the end of the line. The end of an era. The end of the Norton Buffalo Fan Club.
We are planning a special surprise to celebrate sludgo’s 200th installment of Mile Markers. Because of this, publication is delayed by one week—you’ll see #200 next Friday, August 29. Stay tuned!
This is Part Two of a three-part series. To read Part One, click this link. Part Three is linked at the end of this piece.
My flight to Phoenix got in on time. Wasn’t as bad as most. My seatmate was a chatty blonde eighteen-year-old with big blinky blue eyes who cheerily introduced herself when I first sat down. Saw me glance at her name tag and explained she was on her way to Lubbock, Texas, to attend missionary training school. I asked if she’d ever been to Lubbock before and she shook her head sweetly. I said I had and found it to be a pretty cool town. Told her it was Buddy Holly’s birthplace and she crinkled her nose and said she didn’t know who that was. I laughed then quickly sang a few choruses of his more famous tunes—“Peggy Sue,” “That’ll Be the Day,” “Oh Boy”—but only got a goofy grin out of her. No matter. I spent the next two hours listening to her talk about how wonderful her life had been thus far and how excited she was about all the terrific plans she had for her future. I smiled wistfully all the while, remembering what it was like when I had more days in front of me than behind me, back when I was giddily optimistic and ever-excited for tomorrow, constantly wishing it’d hurry up and get here. Then, just like that, it had.
Riding Shotgun is a new series from sludgo featuring interviews with notable members of the BaT community. Last month we published his first interview with Cobrahandler, and this week he has talked to ValiantJim, winner of the 2024 Cognoscenti Award and prominent member of the BaT MOPAR mob. He had a lot to say, only some of it about Valiants!
sludgo can take it from here:
This is Part Three of a multi-part series. Click the links to read Part One and Part Two.
I threw my hands up in the air. Instinct. Tried to speak but my voice caught somewhere in the back of my throat and I choked on whatever it was I was going to say. Found out it’s true that you see your life pass before your eyes when you’re facing death but since I was only twelve my retrospective went by pretty quickly and just like that I was back in the here and now, August of 1973, standing in Old Man Granger’s dark and dank and dingy garage, staring straight up the barrel of his shotgun.