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Run Over by a Car Show

June 2, 2013

Yesterday was the BIG car show in here.  B is an big wheel in the car club, and my presence at the show was deemed critical to him.  Sort of my coming out party in car-guy terms.  This event is held in conjunction with a gigantic, sanctioned BBQ competition, 5K Run, and softball tournaments… in short, the place is crawling with people… cars, motorcycles, street vendors, volunteers, and me.  While that is no problem for the average person and I despise being any sort of Victim(TM) every once in a while, it comes back to haunt me.

B left to help with the set-up for the show at 5:15 am.  My job was to help with registration tables starting at 8.  I took the extra time to ensure that the girls had breakfast, I ironed my clothes, curled my hair and carefully applied make-up.  I was show-ready like the cars that would be displayed, and ready to meet The. Inner. Circle. Even though I could have gone with him at the crack of before dawn, my plan was to be all shined up and meet him at the appointed time, which I did; and I looked like $70K dollars worth of wicked steel, chrome and paint:

gasser motor1960’s “Gasser” engine detail, a high-octane-fueled beast that is highly detailed and wickedly fast despite a rather conservative outward appearance

I left the kids my phone so they could text B in case of problems, and left for the show about 7:45.  “Meet me at the registration table, baby.” OK, armed with my parking pass and nothing else, I arrived to the already large, noisy crowd, and I knew virtually no one at all.  Two cups of coffee and three cigarettes later, I was ready to go find B, but he wasn’t there.  Ten minutes.  I am alone, ALONE, in the crowd and then it sets in…

where is he…look for the bright green shirts…he is waiting for you…no one is staring at you…this place is safe…he will be here…check where they are setting up barricades…people are not staring at you…no one can see your heart beating…chat with a familiar person…he’s here, be patient…you’re supposed to be here…calm the fuck down…(flashback)…stop shaking…oh, shit tears…my heartbeat is louder than the cars, people can hear my hear beat…FUCK…go to the truck and get the fuck out of here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

fire protection truck

I felt like this truck looks.  It appears to be all beat to hell by the world and time, in reality, it is fake, fake, fake.  The rust and body filler are as fake as my very padded bra and the inside of this pile of crap is a brand new creation, and painstaking labor of love lies at the heart of this beast and the world never sees it, only those who are privileged to take a peek under the hood.

fire protection truckbumper

The problem is that I *was* this truck. Together, we saw the world around us: all distorted in a grotesque reflection of  reality… 

Yeah, that is a small fraction of what happens during a panic attack… 25 minutes felt like five hundred years. I cried and then vomited on the 6 mile trip back to the house.  Adrenaline is NOT my friend… I texted to tell him of the fiasco, thinking that he would be very understanding… Which He Wasn’t.  My expectation of what I could handle was too high.  B had been called away to trouble shoot the sound system on top of a freaking building, not his fault…He was not impressed, but he caught on a little and we reformulated a plan. I changed clothes, re-applied make up and he was waiting for me at the pre-designated location.  It took less than no time at all for him to get the full picture… Even once I felt more calm and reassured, with B there, I thought then, that I  looked like this to crowd:

cougarFelt like i was being judged, too. 

In reality, once I was there with B and he outfitted me with a protective coating of a “Event Staff” t-shirt, and some introductions to other key players there, I calmed down and enjoyed the show. Before he had to attend to his judging duties at the show, he had me get my weapon of choice for defending myself against the outside world, I prefer to use a Canon. and following is how that worked out for me.  The dreadful tunnel vision of PTSD and the “hypervigilance” that goes along with it, make me see the world a little differently than most of you.  Here are the results:

 chevy with old glory

Who goes to a car show and doesn’t take pics of cars??? Yep, me.  This pics is only missing apple pie, like the MILF, apple pie and Chevrolet days of old.

hatchery rat rod

Ceresco Hatchery Rat Rod… the level of de-TAIL here is unparalleled!

i work

Love this sign.  This truck is driven nearly daily and it is a work in progress, unlike the totally finished Lincoln next to it, owned by the same guy.  I hope he doesn’t ruin the truck by fixing it up too much. 

landoll ford ford picA Ford with the Ford dealership as the backdrop; Clever,no?

NRA rat rod sticker

‘Nuf said.

plymouth with flags

Old Glory and the Kansas State Flag fly in the background of this ’40s Plymouth.

sledsel bill

Dude in the bright green shirt (see reflection) is the car owner.  You can’t imagine the confusion when you tell a dude you want to take a picture of them with their car and then aim the camera in the opposite direction!

sledsel driver side

This is the coolest Edsel in the world.  I sits 1/4″ off the ground when parked.  It is called the Sledsel. Even at it’s lowest, it is quite a beautiful old gal. All it needs is someone to turn a key and touch the right switch and it is uplifted and ready for whatever lies ahead on the open road. 

You can see the entire gallery here.  Hope you enjoyed the ride on this post!

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2 Comments
  1. You really have some interesting photos. I rally like the truck in the second pic.

    • AM Dad… that truck is amazing.. I didn’t (because of the focus of my post) do it justice… That body was done One Hundred Percent ready for “shiny show paint”… instead, it was painstakingly made to look like a beat up old rusty truck… in the context of what I wrote, it is the perfect example of my post. A completely new creation, but only the outward appearance of an old thing that had a hard life… In terms of the show, I can only imagine the artistry involved in making that look like it is smeared in “Bondo” and rusted out… all paint, my friend, all cosmetic!

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