No Should Ofs
Shannan and I were off the interstate and meandering the back road that is Smokey Park Highway. It was partly cloudy afternoon, our wheels humming along a fine strip of asphalt between Asheville and Maggie Valley, North Carolina.
Folks who opt for the Interstate on the premise that the shortest distance between two points is four lanes of superhighway don't know what they are missing. For starters, you're not going to get The Hot Dog King, May Motors, railroad graffiti art, and an aging VW bus on I-40.
My wife embraces and endures my circuitous quests. She knows I enjoy the sublime and the ridiculous, and especially any piece of Detroit steel regal or rusting from "better days." Of course this means quick stops, U-turns, curb-hopping, field-crossing, back-tracking, and long pauses so I can get a picture or in this unfolding story, talk. But what I am about to share with you would never have occurred if the Mrs and I had not adopted our driving rule.
No Should Ofs
Our years of meandering the “Blue Highways” have left us with at least one “rule” — No Should Ofs. You know the feeling don’t you? You’re zipping along on your way to somewhere — mind made up, destination set, making time — when, “What was that?” The “that” of course is some piece of yard art, an intriguing cafe, doughnut shop . . . or in my case some rusting automotive relic. Curiosity aroused, your heart whispers (or shouts), “Stop and check it out!”, but your GPS, that little electronic slave driver, reminds you “your still on the fastest route,” and these days getting somewhere fast trumps being somewhere fully in the moment.
Tension! Tension! Tension! You have mere seconds to decide: Do I stop and turn around or (driven by that destination mindset), press on!
In these moments, how many times a couple miles down the road have you said, “I should of stopped and checked it out”? Way too many for me! So some years ago, Shannan and I adopted the motto: NO SHOULD OFS! We all know the airport rule, See Something, Say Something. Well, our driving rule is See Something, STOP! And that is what we did on this little back roads excursion.
Harley and the Octogenarian
Having just stopped to take a shot of the Hot Dog King, we were back on the highway and building some fine motoring momentum when I spotted a 1950 GMC Suburban on the other side of the highway, down a little valley, resting in a driveway . . . . I saw a future hot rod project (Yes, my dreams outnumber my days), but it was quickly disappearing in my rear-view mirror.
No Should Ofs!
So we slowed down, pulled a u-turn, and backtracked. I nosed Shannan's SUV down the hill and pulled up pulled into the drive. On a whim I asked the young man standing near the car (he was on the phone but I wasn't going to let that stop me) if he would consider selling.
"It's my dad's, but he's out back if you want to talk with him." I did.
Out back, I met Harley. Harley is a 60-something, Harley-loving, arm-tatted, proud father, mechanic and artist. His shop was any motorcyclist or hot-rodder's dream. What this man created and fabricated is living testimony to the creativity God breathes in people. And for the next hour we had a d-lightful time talking with this man and enjoying seeing the fruit of his creativity.
The intrigue of the GMC pulled me in, but peering into Harley’s shop, I saw the car the tugged at my heart, a 1936 Chevrolet Master Coupe Deluxe, all original on the outside, all hot rod underneath. Yes, I was in love!
I had to ask, “Harley, would you consider selling that car?” “Noooo,” he said. Not today. I asked if I could check back with him in a couple of weeks. He said, “Yes.” Back in Boca Raton two weeks later, I called. The answer was still a kind, “No.” I let it go! Then . . . about 8-MONTHS LATER . . . I walked into my office to find the Voice Mail light on my phone blinking. It was Harley, ready to sell. Shannan borrowed a friends truck and trailer and made a bee-line for North Carolina. We hauled it back through pouring rain and tucked it in the garage next to our Cutlass.
At the end of my days, I won’t be looking back with fond affection on how quickly I traveled between points A and B, but I’ll never forget that back roads encounter with Harley and the good times we have had with the Octogenarian. No Should Ofs!
About CarSafari . . .
That episode of life conveys the essence of CarSafari: Back Roads, Hot Rods, Hidden Beauty; the beauty of the rides, but even more the joy of meeting people; the beauty of relationships. Harley named the ‘36, “Bandolero,” we also call it The Octogenarian. To read more about this ride check out The Sweet Satisfaction of Hard Work, my About page, or Our Rides.
