This
year’s ride took a similar route through many of the older residential areas of
Pasadena as it has in the past and
the possibility of rain did not keep many away. In fact, the crowds’ of entrants
and spectators were larger this year than in the past four years. Jay Leno once
again came up with one of the more unusual vehicles; an aircraft engine powered
silver thing that sounded like a train. I think he may have been a former
disciple of “Tim the Tool Man Taylor” in search of more power. I missed the
Stanley Steamers who were not in the line up this time, but there was no
shortage of other fine rare vehicles to view.
Tom
Lovejoy and I met at my place, about thirty miles south of
the starting point. We rode our bikes to the event where we found other members
Tim Graber, Max Bubeck, Kevin
Spear, Homer Knapp, Larry Ramos & Jennifer and several
more motorcycle riders. Like the cars, those riding motorcycles had increased
considerably in number this year. Larry Ramos, with his arm in a cast, was
recovering from his near death experience. Apparently a high powered grinder
got away from him while he was working on a fender at his shop. The tool broke
free from his grip, traveled up his chest and tried to filet him from his navel
to his neck. It then spun its way down his left arm nearly severing it between
the elbow and wrist. Larry was able to pull the power cord from the wall before
the machine could cut him off at the ankles as it danced on the floor still on
full power. He said that he was able to stop the bleeding with a pressure
bandage. Larry then cleaned the blood off the floor, put away his tools and
finally he called a relative to come by and take him to the hospital. He
advised this relative that he would leave the door unlocked just in case he
passed out from a loss of blood, but not to worry or speed over there or
anything. Several hours of surgery were required to put Larry back together.
Much like the case of John “The Roman Candle” Eagles, calmness paid off. Please
be advised that we will be submitting Homer’s name as candidate for the Larry
and John school of cool.
The
Horseless Carriage ride started around 9:30 AM
as planned and we (Tom and I) would have made the whole ride with the group had
it not been for the evil Homer. We (Tom, Homer and me) did follow the planned
route, but far behind the main group, as I will explain in the following “Harry
(Homer Knapp) Potter and the tale of the Sorcerer’s Purse”.
About
a year ago, I spoke of the mystic powers of Homer and Big John. Homer is a
practitioner of the fast working, dark-side forces of witchcraft while Master
John Eagles prefers the long-range effects of voodoo. I’m not here to say that
one is better than the other is. I’m only going to report the facts, as I see
them. It all started, this time, when Homer tried a new riding skill I’ll just
call weird. Homer’s antics caused some people who witnessed the event to
nickname him “Homer the Cowboy, Wild Bill, or Buffalo Bob” just because he
tried to take out two Indian Chiefs in a single blow. I prefer to call him
Custer, General George, or something like that because the “Chiefs’” took him
out instead. We took him down…down, down to China
town.
The
tale begins right after we left the coffee/donut stop at a local park where
Homer apparently had way too much caffeine. We headed south, then west on a
major roadway. I rode beside a ’48 Chief while Homer, Tom
Lovejoy and the other witnesses brought up the rear. The
“others” included several pre-front brake era cars. After passing a couple of
the older cars, the ‘48 Chief and I stopped for a red light. We were still
stopped side-by-side, a couple of feet apart, when Homer came through us like a
freight train. This was definitely not a good time for Homer to practice that
new riding skill of his called Blindfold Riding. Later, Homer explained that he
once saw a movie called “Star Wars” and he immediately knew that he too
possessed what has come to be known as “The Force”. Homer explained that he was
sure he could thread his way through our bikes and the cross traffic, without
harm, if he allowed himself to be taken over by The Force. Homer pulled
his solid leather flat-track racing mask over his eyes as he approached our
stopped bikes and crashed into us while riding blind as a bat. I guess the
force field failed. This is where Homer’s cool also failed him. He accidentally
shifted into a higher gear rather than applying the brake (he was on a British
bike). Homer actually thought he could take out not one, but two Indians on a
Brit. bike. As it turned out, Homer did leave his mark. I had some tire tread
or foot peg hash marks on the back of my Chief’s rear fender and Homer’s right
foot peg severed my bike’s left rear fender brace, partially removing my left
saddle bag in the process. He then personally assaulted my left leg with said
foot peg and my elbow with his handlebars. Homer then traveled past me and onto
his next event, a bigger Chief with a passenger. Homer was able to get over just
enough to catch a piece of the ‘48 Chief’s crash bar before going ass over
teakettle into the intersection. The big Chief hardly noticed Homer as he went
by but Homer, once again, left his mark on the crash bar. By the time Homer got
to the crosswalk that he was not supposed to be in at the time, he was pretty
much crossed up and on his way down. Needless to say, most of the other
entrants and spectators were quite impressed. It was lucky for Homer that the
fender brace on my bike that he caught with his foot peg had previously been
broken and that it was currently only being held together by a bolt. Otherwise
he would have continued his trip into the intersection minus his bike or with a
’39 Chief in tow. No serious machine or personal damage was noticed at the time
of Homer’s unprovoked attack on the two innocent Indians so we had a few
laughs, mounted up and headed out again. By the time we reached the Rose Bowl
parking lot, Homer noticed that his bike did not have any oil pressure. This is
where things started to get strange again.
Homer
snatched his purse of tools from its shoulder holster position like Dirty Harry
might do and asked his bike if it felt lucky, “Well do you, punk?” The bike
shook a little, but held its ground and refused to give up any oil pressure.
Homer realized that fear wasn’t going to work this time, so he reverted to
witchcraft. He opened his purse and sparks flew as he removed more tools from a
6”x 4”x 2” bag than I could get from a four foot tall, free standing tool box.
Homer
removed various oil lines from both sides of his bike’s motor. We watched as he
gently washed and wiped the business end of one such oil line. He carefully
held the oil line and did something to it that I’m sure is illegal in most of
the western states and cities (excluding San Francisco). I like my Chief a lot,
but I can almost guarantee you that it would pass into the great beyond before
I would put a liplock on a hot orifice to perform CPR, but hey, that’s just me.
Soon Homer realized that he was inflating the carburetor bowl with his
disgusting behavior rather than pressurizing the oil tank. Enter Tom
Lovejoy. Homer conned Tom into sucking on an outlet oil line
on the other side of the motor at the same time Homer blew into the inlet. I
convinced Tom to just put the line in his ear instead. The bike was happy
either way. None of the above tactics were doing any good so Homer said it was
time to get serious. He had already started the bike several times with the oil
lines removed to check for oil movement. Now he removed the gas tank and some
more fuel, oil and breather lines. He started the motor again. Still no oil
movement, so he removed the timing cover and started the bike again. No
evidence oil movement. I looked around at Homer’s bike, now scattered around
the parking lot, then at Homer as he once again started it. The bike started on
one kick and purred like a kitten with no sign of quitting for lack of fuel,
oil, or an ignition system. I asked him
“What in the hell do you care if it has oil pressure or not anyway, it
runs on no gas, oil, or electrical, what else can you ask for?” Homer then
touched something inside the timing cover and the bike regained oil pressure
even though the oil lines where not yet connected.
He
put the rest of the useless parts (gas tank, oil lines, spark plugs, and
ignition wires and timing cover) back on his bike. Homer returned his magical
tools, which included a fingernail size crescent wrench, to the purse and we
were off again. We followed the given route to the Eastwood residence where we
were treated to great desserts and drinks before heading home in the rain.
Diane DDD also attended the event in her Triumph Spitfire but got lost when she
ran out of breadcrumbs.
I
heard rumors that because the event has grown to the size it has that the
promoter might have to revert to his original requirements of pre 1933 model
cars only. Even at that, this has got to be one of the largest rolling antique
shows around.
View Photos from the Horseless
Carriage Run