Bugatti Type 55

A detail photo of the left front wheel of a Bugatti Type 55. I have no idea why there is safety wire on the knock-offs, as I don’t see any logic to the arrangement. But, it certainly seems correct on the very hand-made, but very high-craft, high-quality of the Bugatti. The Type 55 was the road-legal version of the Type 54 Grand Prix racing car… the XK-SS to the Jaguar D-type as it were. I photographed this while visiting Dean & Wendy Edmonds’ collection in Florida. It was a stop along the final running of the Forza Amelia, the only Vintage Rally where my father and I managed an outright win. That was a ton of fun. Seeing the Edmonds’ collection, and the Collier Museum were two amazing highlights to an incredible week.

It’s… A Ferrari

OK, I’m not a huge fan of Ferraris, but you gotta like this image. I shot it on the Forza Mille in Nova Scotia in autumn 2001. I don’t follow Ferrari models, so somebody will have to fill me in on the model number and name (550 Maranello maybe?)

Along with my collection of “weird car” photos that I already publish under the category of “weird-seen” I figure I’d start sharing my more traditional shots of good stuff too. I’ve called it “car photo of the week” but I reserve the right to publish more, or less than a photo a week. Enjoy.

–chuck

Living in the Past

The choices for dining near my office are slim. We are in a sort of no-man’s land between Boeing Field and Sea-Tac airport. The roads, due to topology only run north-south – we are on a steep hillside, with the Duwamish river below us to the east, and the hill behind us is topped with golf courses (in the flight path of Sea-Tac of course!) North of us is the industrial flat-land of the Duwamish valley. As the Puget Sound developed, industry and agriculture dominated the flat surfaces, and business and residence ended up on hills. Downtown is on a steep slope, located there because at the base of the hill is a natural deepwater port that provided a safe place to moor ships with no risk of grounding as the tides dropped sea-level by 20 feet in 6 hours. Industry filled in the flat areas between the hills (glacial moraines) of West Seattle and Beacon Hill. With the twin residential exceptions of Georgetown and South Park, the course of the Duwamish is flanked by industry; Boeing of course being the largest. Boeing has consumed virtually all of the land between us and Georgetown, which does have some good eats. South Park, which has transformed into a Mexican neighborhood has some awesome food from that region, but requires crossing two bridges to get to. That leaves us with going south. International Blvd (nee Pacific Highway South, nee Route 99) has the redundant array of generic fast food, and a few places near the airport (13 coins, and some hotel places.) It also has a relic …a pre-Grunge, pre-historic, pre-boom Seattle throwback that is a time-warp into the past.

There was a time when Seattle was a very working-class, very industrial, very white place. “Ethnic minorities” consisted of Danes amongst the Norwegians and Swedes. Yeah, there has always been a significant Native American and Asian/Pacific population, but the area up the hill south of my office 40 years ago was not the ethic mishmash it is today. They didn’t have Mexican, Ethiopian, or Somalian groceries; no “Bollywood Video” store; no Halal meat market. They could never have called it “International Boulevard” in the 1960s unless it was a reference to the airport. Oddly enough, the street sees enough traffic that rents are too high for small “mom & pop” ethnic restaurants, so it is basically a long stretch of gas stations and fast food. There is a little Mexican place called “El Rinconsito” … the food is good, but they play the Mexi-pop tunes so loud I can barely stand it. Oh well.

But to take a trip back in time, drive to where I.B. and Military Road S. meet. There you will find “The Pancake Chef.” It is a snapshot of Seattle, before the World’s Fair. At a time when the intersection of Highway 99 and Military Road was as important as where I-5 and I-405 meet today, except unlike the Interstate you could pull over an eat anywhere in those days, instead of either flying along (or more often, staring at the license plate of the car in front of you as you stop, shuffle, stop, shuffle, stop, etc your way along.) The patrons at The Pancake Chef look like they’ve been eating here since 1962 as well. They don’t fit the demographic of the neighborhood as it stands in 2006, that’s for sure. They are pretty much all white, and all very old. The food is excellent, and deserving of that long-term loyalty, but sitting inside I’m reminded of visiting the old Fredrick & Nelson department store on 5th Avenue circa 1987… looking around and knowing that the establishment was doomed because all their customers were going to die… soon. Every time I go there I drop the median age by 25 years, and I’m not that young! Walkers and portable oxygen gear surrounds several tables. There is artwork on the wall for sale, with the business card of the artist. On that card is a phone number without an area code… dating from the days when all of western Washington was “206”. It was almost 20 years ago when 360, 256, and 425 arrived. I wonder if the artist still draws breath? The loudspeakers play a style of music that hasn’t been heard since KBRD… “as beautiful as a bird in flight. K-bird, FM 104 KBRD Seattle”… went off the air goodness knows when! String arrangements of Beatles hits, 70s TV themes, and show tunes. It is surreal to sit and play mental “name that tune” games as the playlist moves on to the next song. I get flashbacks to the dentist office waiting rooms of my childhood… all that is missing is the fish tank.

Despite the time-warp decor and surroundings, the food is excellent. I bet the menu hasn’t changed, other than prices, since the day it opened four years or so before my birth. They close early (3pm!) so it is strictly breakfast and lunch. Odd-hour meals, a staple of the 7/24/365 business I’m in, are off the menu (for that, we have 13 Coins, which I’ll have to write about someday.) Everything I’ve ordered has been fresh, tasty and served swiftly. The Club Sandwich is excellent, with buttery toasted bread, thick bacon, and tasty smoked turkey. Breakfasts are awesome. I need to work my way through their specialty pancakes and waffles at some point. My sons say their pancakes are great.

I hope The Pancake Chef doesn’t suffer the same fate as F&N, but I suspect it is inevitable. If some good breakfasts and an old-Seattle flashback is in order, I suggest a run down to Sea-Tac.

4th of July

A few weeks ago I contacted the organizer of the 4th of July Parade here in Arlington and asked if they needed an old car. The parade here is a fun little affair, with old cars, tractors, business vehicles, the high school marching band, etc. We’ve always gone and watched, and had a great time. Neighbors always told me I should put my car in, so I called. The organizer asked “Is it a convertible? I need convertibles to carry people” and when I replied affirmatively she said “Yes, you’re my hero! I need a convertible to carry the Police Chief.” I confirmed with her the start time & place, washed the car that morning, and headed into Arlington for the big day.

When I arrived I was told that my position was #1, which meant I’d be leading the parade. Very cool. I was given a pair of large magnets with the Police Chief’s name and title on them, and told where to line up. Then it was just a matter of waiting. Thankfully I had left the tonneau cover on the car and was able to put it on to keep the interior cool in the hot sun. The Arlington Fire Department lined up behind me, including an beautiful antique fire engine. I had a look at the engine’s engine… a unique machine. It was a flathead straight six, with two plugs per cylinder. I took a photo, which I’ll link to later. As parade time approached, more participants lined up, and I noted another Jaguar, in this case an XK8 lined up opposite me.

How symmetrical. Two open topped Jaguars, each carrying a “top cop” in my case the Arlington Police Chief, in the other the Snohomish County Sheriff. That’s cool.

BUT. My dignitary had yet to arrive! Literally as the moment arrived to start the parade, (The Color Guard had lined up right behind my car and raised the flag) the organizer came up to me and told me that the Police Chief was not going to ride in my car, but would instead ride in a patrol car. Her walkie- talkie was going like mad, and I was not able to ask what I was supposed to do (drive along behind him? go to the back of the line? carry the Dairy Princess? go home?) A cop came along and took the signs off my car. So here I was, at the head of the line, stripped of my “parade gear” and left with no instruction. I hopped out of my car and ran after the parade organizer, but she already was climbing into her truck, still talking on the walkie-talkie, and pulled away.

I climbed back into the Jag and told the Color Guard to be careful of the exhaust, and fired it up and pulled away, and found a spot at the back of the parade lineup. I ran up and found my family and offered the passenger spot to my boys, which Nicholas gladly accepted. He really wanted to throw candy to his friends – I had bought 3 pounds of smarties at the Food Pavilion for the purpose. By the time we got back to the car the Parade was progressing and we only had a few minutes to chat with the guys from the Stilly Valley Pioneer Museum who we were parked behind. They had two old Fords, a Model A and Model T, out for the parade. The guy in the Model T lives near me and owns a couple of really old Rolls Royce’s, so he had an appreciation for old British six cylinder machinery.

So as we pulled away, and followed the Fords, Nicholas prepared to start slinging Smarties. We pulled inline and started down Olympic Avenue. I was primarily concerned with not abusing my clutch, and staying an even distance behind the Fords. As such I didn’t have too much time to relish the experience. I was able to throw some candy to kids who looked like they needed/wanted it – including my wife, who caught the candy I flung at her with a smile. Nick was able to wave to his friends, and throw way too much candy out… in fact he ran out about halfway down Olympic avenue! Should we ever participate again he’ll have to pace himself.

They had an announcer on a loudspeaker calling out what was in the parade, as we passed there was silence. We were out of order due to the last minute change with the Police Chief, which obviously confused things. I did have at least FOUR people walk away from the curb and ask me about the car, plus innumerable “nice car!” shouts from folks who stayed on the curb. I answered the questions, and said “thank you” to all the compliments. I’m indeed lucky to be the caretaker of such a nice machine.

It was all over, way too soon. The car did well, never looked like it would overheat or stall.

Nick & I went home, enjoying the ride. After our arrival, I went to work at replacing the front plate that had been removed from the car after the incident with the pickup truck. The repair of which removed the plate from the car.

It was a fun job. I hadn’t done any wet burnishing in a while. You can see if you look closely, that I used fishing line as a guide to make sure I lined up the plate level. I built a grid by tying down the line at various places on the car, then misted and placed the plate down. After it was down, I noted that it was just a bit higher than it was before… oh well. Next I’ll put the numbers on.

All my pictures from the day are here.