Key is forgiveness and finding out what really happened

He walks through the house of his past, hoping he'll find the right door, hoping he'll find the key.” 
__ Steven Herrick

Generally, I am a peaceful man. But on at least three occasions, Scott Weinmaster has gotten my back up. It involved a key in each case. 

I could of beat the guy senseless, if I could have beaten him senseless. However, that would have required me to wait for him to fall asleep, and then strapping him down like the Lilliputian army did in Gulliver's Travels. A task that I was up for. But I assume it takes all the fun out of beating somebody senseless when they are strapped down.

The first case involved the key to my 1974 green Vega. I can't remember what kind of cockamamy story he told me originally to convince me to hand over the key. Chances are it had something to do with a girl. Many stories that started with Scott, and ended in trouble had that common theme.  

The only thing I know is, that he said he only needed to borrow it for about a half hour, and he would be right back. 

Wasn't that about three and half hours ago? Steam is coming out of my ears. And when he finally shows, it looks like the right front tire is flat. I go to change it — and what the heck, the spare is flat too. "I don't know," he says. "You ought to buy some new tires, man."

It took me about 30 years to forgive him, but that was only after I learned what really happened about a year later. 

Ordinarily, I am an intelligent man. You would think I would never fall for "let me borrow the key to your car, I will be back in about 30 minutes," again. That did not prove to be the case.

Once again, I loan the key. But hey, this was a big party at the Rico Court House. I personally was having a great time and my defenses were apparently compromised.

Once again, long after the prescribed half hour has come and gone, I am searching for my car and my "so-called friend" when I see red lights down the street, behind what looks like a green 1974 Vega. 

"It is lights," I confirm. "And it looks like the the car is halfway hanging over a retainer wall in that little, old lady's yard."

Turns out, it was lights on the Rico Town Police car. The green Vega was hanging over the retaining wall. And we spent the next few hours explaining to Officer Sheperic how we planned to remove the car, repair the damaged wall, and manage to get home to Dolores, without getting into any additional trouble.

It took me about 30 years to forgive him, but that was only after I learned what really happened, about six months later.

Commonly, I am easily-educated man. That is why, when Weinmaster says one day, "Lets go over to Durango," I say "Okay, but you are driving."  We hopped in Granny's Ford Fiesta and made our way over high trail to the big city. Me, thinking all the way over, "I am in safe territory, because I am not driving, and my car is not even here to worry about."

Fort Lewis College happened to be having "freshman orientation" that evening, and somehow, we ended up in the presence of a particularly beautiful young woman with long wavy hair and stunning blue eyes. 

As was his custom, Weinmaster was once-again very adept in striking up a conversation with such creatures, and I, once again, was the odd man out. Which wouldn't have been so bad  if that particular night hadn't been about 40 degrees, having no coat, and you guessed it, the absence of a key to get into Granny's Ford Fiesta.

He told told me later, "I couldn't give you the key. You would have left me there." Probably correct.

It took me about 30 years to forgive him, but that was only after I learned what really happened, about three weeks later.

Weinmaster can really get my back up at times. The key is, I feel like I probably should have beat him senseless several times. But it would take him 30 years to forgive me — and then only, when he found out what really happened.

Mean, green, and not too far in between

Some I would just leave for artistic effect in the sculpture it became

By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com

Green technology is really nothing new with me.
My first car was a ‘green’ 1974 Vega that I bought in 1978 from some friend of my older sister. I paid $750 for it and the purchase included the quadraphonic Pioneer 8-track, AM-FM stereo and Citizen’s Band radio plus a full tank of gas.
The first day I owned it, I backed out of the Dolores High School parking lot in a simulated Rockford Files style peel out and tagged the corner of a parked orange and white Ford Pinto. Fortunately, I didn’t hit the gas tank side of the Pinto or my story could have ended right there. The incident foretold of a violent future of bent fenders, broken glass, twisted sheet metal and dinged paint jobs that was to be that car’s legacy.
Before retiring its services, (It was still running when I sold it for $300 to some ‘bigger fool’ that was going fix it up) I think we attributed seven real accidents – not to mention dozens of ditch drives, near misses, killed animals and true cliff hangers. By my definition at the time, a ‘real accident’ would involve a report to the authorities.
“The 1974 Chevrolet Vega concentrated on cosmetic extras in a period when gas shortages and high car insurance rates were spelling the end of performance as a selling point,” wrote the editors of Consumer Guide in “How Stuff Works.”
Lack of performance was a constant theme regarding the Vega and other vehicles of the era. Not many had good things to say about Detroit’s offerings of the period. Here in the Rockies, it was no different, as evident in comments such as this by Denver Post columnist Ed Quillen’s recent missive on the auto industry.
“The newest car I've ever owned was a 1974 Chevrolet Vega that I bought in 1976. Early in 1977, it burned up in front of the Kremmling post office because the cigarette lighter stuck, overheated, and ignited the dashboard,” wrote Quillen.
In an unfortunate failure in long-term testing of engineering, the aluminum block in the beast, the first of its kind, was brought to production in only two years. Reynolds Metal Co. came up with an alloy called A-390, composed of 77 percent aluminum, 17 percent silicon, 4 percent copper, 1 percent iron, and traces of phosphorus, zinc, manganese, and titanium. The A-390 alloy was suitable for faster production diecasting which made the Vega block $8 less expensive to manufacture than other aluminum engines. Less expensive with good reason, the 85-horsepower engine with a two-barrel carburetor would start burning oil like a Kuwaiti pipeline terrorist after about 30,000 miles.
But despite such a poor reputation, a lot of them were produced. In 1974, it was among the top ten best selling cars in America and 450,000 of that model year hit the blacktop on U.S. highways.
The Vega was also the first American car to use the structural aluminum for bumpers. It had a huge front bumper, beginning in 1974, when new federal impact rules kicked in. The new standards forced a slight redesign to soften the front by sloping the metal grill with cooling slots, similar to the Camaro.
In my particular case, the huge front bumper was the car’s saving grace.
My ‘so-called’ friends were known to drive it over retaining walls in Rico, through the ditches of Lebanon, and the fires of the Pump Pasture. I myself, had executed a silver fox at the top of the hill on the way to Cortez and put it into a 360 spin to avoid elk out on the Ridge. My next door neighbor in Dolores ran into the back of it at a stoplight in Cortez. A driver in New Mexico, (with no insurance, I might add) jacked it up down on the border. Air band concerts took place on the hood as music from the soundtrack of the movie FM blared from the speakers inside.
"It's alright if you love me. It's alright if you don't. I'm not afraid of you running away from me, honey. I get the feeling you won't," sang Tom Petty . Break down, car. Go ahead and give it to me.
Sometimes I would pound them out, and spray gray primer over them. Sometimes I would buy replacement fender that was painted black. Some I would patch with “Bondo.” Some I would just leave for artistic effect in the sculpture it became.
But it survived. The dents and damage added character, if not style.
When I hit the fox, for instance, a passenger who claimed to know what he was doing, tried to skin it in hopes of salvaging the hide. Unsuccessful, the car wore the foxtail on CB antenna for months.
The floor in the back seat was frequently obscured by empty Coors bottles. In place of the gear-shift knob, I had drilled a hole and tapped out threads to place a 14-ball.
I have to say I very much enjoyed my own tenure and the interesting quirks involved with Vega ownership. I am proud to note that I owned a ‘green’ car, 20 years before it was ‘in thing’ to do. All you hybrid drivers and bio-diesel jockies perhaps have nothing on me. But where can I get bumper like that for my Subaru.
“Now, fill up the oil, and check the gas.”
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