Earlier in the day when I had shown her the pictures of them on Craigslist, looking mossy and messy and shabby in their hand-painted camoflauge colors, I was surprised to discover in her reaction true excitement, and she began to yibble about how much she liked these vehicles, and 'had always wanted one', and weren't they cool? It makes me happy to witness enthusiasm firsthand, and to play any part in it at all I consider a cosmic gift, not to mention I am easily swept along with the enthusiasm and excitement of others, so I brought out the cash box and started counting out hundreds and fifties to see how much we had, and if this purchase would even be possible. I had been saving for another Citroen station wagon, and had just made the budget this week. I was going to have to put that off for a while to buy these Rovers, but this type of reaction to a ragged vehicle for sale was rare here, and I wanted to go with it, to do my part to maintain positive momentum with the excitement. We had enough money, I told The Helper. I also told her to get the camera, a notebook, and a new manila folder and write 'ROVER 109s' across the tab, then get in the car and wait for me there. She performed all duties as instructed, and without a hitch as far as I know. I did my part and got the money, my wallet and keys, and we were off. It was getting cold outside, so I grabbed a coat for myself, and another for her in case she didn't already have one with her.
There was a tense standoff earlier that morning when I called the owner of the Rovers, Jim, who lived about an hour and a half away near the coast. The ad had just come out that morning, and there was already another party headed out to look at the trucks. Tessa and I had to go into a holding pattern for about an hour to wait to see if the other guy was going to buy the things. During this time I told her what a great deal they were, and YES we could keep one, and how rare they are, and how neat it will be to have a car with the steering wheel on the other side from where we are used to seeing them, and as a result we were getting more excited. We had become frothy in a near-frenzy of want. After calling Jim again, we learned that the First Guy passed on the Trucks and so we were free to go look at them, unthreatened by the possibility of them being sold out from under us while we were driving.
We were both in pretty great moods. This was The Good Stuff. Good Times. Fun. I was driving her car, and we were just sampling some new Eminem album that had just come out, and to the shame of us both, we were soon bouncing and singing along in the car. I had an envelope fatly stuffed with American currency in the crack between our seats. There was an electrical charge of adventure hanging there in the car with us. I could feel it in the hairs on my arms. Things are happening now! Roadbound! I was going to go buy great big broken heavy things with engines and wheels, which could be convinced to roll once again, helped by my wise hands. Great motorized distractions, ready to be thrust into the center of my vision and resources, pushing all other obligations and reasonable thought out of the spotlight, if only for just a few days. A week or two maybe, TOPS that I would lose all interest in doing anything else but fiddling with these new projects. We were feeling great, and I could tell she could acknowledge and was reacting perfectly to the high spirits we were dancing with this fine day, instead of short-circuiting or raining down on them with black pessimistic opinions like so many before her had done. She had come around! She was part of it! She was feeding the monster too!
Speaking of feeding the monster, I faked an impending need for gasoline as an excuse to pull into a convenience store only fifteen minutes into our trek. I knew this particular store to sell deviled eggs and deep-fried chicken parts as well as dozens of varieties of jerky products, and I'll tell you this about my helper: She's an eater. I know she considers herself an eater of healthy foods, perhaps even possessing fine culinary standards, and maybe she does, but know ye this: with only the tiniest bit of suggestion she will sit and eat an entire 12 piece bucket of KFC - WITH SIDES - , or polish off a banana cream pie with an extra can of Reddi-Whip. I've seen her do it. More than once. This is one of the major reasons she is still my helper after all this time. I need someone like her by my side as much as possible to deflect my food guilt. Because, when I go on a roadtrip I'm buying some road snacks, and I don't want to feel weird or uncomfortable about it. I need to employ the Buddy System in situations like this. I need a Snack Buddy . Not to prevent me from buying crap and eating it, but to encourage and help me do so. She does.
We pulled in at the gas station and I bought $25 worth of regular-grade, then went into the store. I dropped about $16 on chicken strips, deviled eggs, her corn dog, my chap stick and a couple bottles of water. The car was soon fairly stuffed with the excitement of the impending vehicular purchases, as well as the odor of fried chicken. The food was gone before the second song finished playing on the CD player. I could have eaten more. I regretted not buying more chicken strips, or maybe she had the right idea with the corn dog? Mix it up a little? A corn dog would have made it a REALLY festive occasion, put it over the top so to speak. A corn dog can go places (and I'm talking metaphorically here) that chicken strips just can't go. Not only can they go special places, but they can take you to to special places too. I'm not just talking about the ditch beside the freeway, you on your hands and knees while your stomach heaves again and again, either. I'm talking about being taken to visit memories of the State Fair from childhood, I'm talking about lost memories of long-gone concession stands during SPECIAL EVENTS, those happy days dredged up from some forgotten pit in your mind by a mouth full of corn batter and processed meat, all steaming hot, covered in mustard and ketchup and eaten off of a stick. Fond Memories! I debated turning the car around at the next exit, or just cruising casually across the grassy median to merge with the traffic going back in the opposite direction, but then thought better of it. There was business to conduct soon, and we would be going back by that gas station in just a couple of hours. But could I wait that long?
Exercising uncharacteristic self-control, I kept driving forward, towards our goal for a change. I was feeling quite satisfied with myself and skipped the CD player back to the start of the current song again, one which was growing on me quite a bit. It would have been the third time the song would have been played in a row, and Tessa began to protest - first with a groan and eye rolling - and then she actually leaned forward, and with her pointed finger skipped ahead two songs to the song SHE liked most so far. This initiated a lively debate for a while about the pros and cons of each particular song, and soon judgments were passed between us regarding each others knowledge of music, or tastes. The tone soon began to turn dark and personal, and I tried to override any further argument by reminding her I was paying her, and therefore should have the last word regarding musical choices during business hours, especially on business trips! She made a compelling counter, reminding ME that we were in HER car. I became confused myself at this point, and found it difficult to establish which rules would supersede which here. I briefly considered adding my overwhelming seniority to the matter as well as the proximity of my recently passed birthday in a bid to appeal to her human side, or or her sense of justice, but thought better of it. My birthday was something I was trying to avoid thinking or talking about still, and I thought it best not to mention my age any more than necessary. I begrudgingly conceded she should have last say in the matter considering we were putting extra miles on her vehicle, and we finally agreed that under these particular circumstances, in the event that a democratic solution could not be reached, one of us would have to suffer an autocracy at the will of the other. Right is right, and fair is fair. I resisted the urge to mention that they were MY CDs which were brought along for our entertainment, as I felt at this point it would only confuse matters.
So , we skipped ahead to the song she liked, which, being honest with you, I liked too.
The rest of the journey was more or less uneventful. We listened to the entirety of the CD twice, making comments and notes here and there. The Helper pointed out a huge log-cabin-looking building on the side of the road, which she told me was a restaurant, and she claimed they served excellent ribs. I in turn made a note of THIS and skipped ahead an hour or two in my mind, and imagined us pulling in there, parking the car, and eating again. In what seemed like no time at all, we were off of the main road, and snaking about on a two-laner with no painted stripes, passing decrepit mobile homes and derelict vehicles left out in the moist coastal air to rot. Every now and then we passed a nice-looking house, but in the dank dark environment we were in, all had green mossy roofs like one would imagine seeing in Scotland or in a fairy tale about elves, tucked back into thickets of trees, every brick chimney issuing smoke, suggesting a warm cozy interior.
I found the address easily enough, and we crossed a narrow home-made wooden bridge over a tiny stream before coming to the clearing where we saw the tiny shed with the Land Rovers parked beside it. It was all misty and green and wet and beautiful, but not the sort of place you want to leave a car sitting for six years as these had been left to do.
I pulled up, nose to nose with one of the trucks parked under an awning attached to the little workshop. Tessa made some noise to indicate she was excited, and I admit I was excited too. I love to find old broken cars. I do. You should know this about me. We got out of the car and looked at each other over her car roof. She looked happy. I felt happy. I controlled my urge to go straight over to the trucks and begin poking about, and instead responsibly went to the workshop door, and before I could knock, it was opened before me.
A man, Jim, mustached, stood in the open doorway telling me to go look at the Rovers. I did. Tessa joined me there.
They were rustic, rusty, ruined, but for some reason Tessa liked them. I hesitated. She maintained. I folded. She was right, and she was cute. These trucks were cool enough to buy. We did. We bought them, and paid full price for the opportunity. You. Dude.
So, we had to have a tow truck go out and pick the things up, absent of our persons, at a later time. They did. We did. All was well though. I went to 11.
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