Chapter 6: Paranoia

I’ve got ten bucks to my name and five days to get ready in. That’s very little time, free time, to prepare. My farm work and chores aren’t diminished and the hours devoted to that work not diminished. Ever hear the phrase ‘fields under constant cultivation’? Leaves me extremely little free time for preparing the beast.

Tires have some sidewall weathering cracks, but plenty of tread. Air holds steady pressure. Spare is only fit for a spare. I wouldn’t want to trust it too long mounted on the truck. After cleaning and gapping the plugs, I re-gapped the distributer rotor condenser while I was at it. Wish I had a light bar to put on top of the cab for driving at night. Maybe I’ll make one.

My dime is kept in the dash ashtray for a gapping shim gauge. There’s a foil wrapped worn bar of soap in there too, as belt dressing to stop squealing belts. I almost never smoke, so the ashtray is used only for those and other small parts, tins of fuses and spare bulbs.

Only a social smoker, and only when someone offers me a cig and everybody else is smoking, do I indulge. I generally get all the nicotine anybody needs working the tobacco, absorbing it through my skin from the sappy plants. Sometimes, some-days, it’s so sappy I get nauseated and have to get out of it awhile.

That happened today.

I’m doing a pre-run inspection on beast, while I recuperate from tobacco sickness. Should change the oil filter but the oils fine. Dark, but when rubbed between thumb and forefinger has good lubricity.

Wipers need new rubber elements. Battery? Doesn’t look too healthy but works. Can’t afford a new one, so I hope it keeps on working. I may as well get the grease gun and crawl underneath for a good greasing and close-to eyeballing of everything.

“Ricky?” I roll out from beneath the beast in bit of a flurry. Dad is never home this early, unless there’s trouble. Scrambling to my feet,

“Yes, Sir?”

“I need your help and your truck.”

“Yes, Sir. Where do you want to go?”

“The wharf.”

Dad’s skiff is fully loaded with crab pots stacked three high. He barely left himself enough room to squeeze in behind the controls.

“You dragging up? Does that mean trouble Dad?”

“Pot robbers. When they come back around, my pots won’t be where they last found and emptied them.”

“Are you going to pull all of them?”

“Only the ones I find empty. Like I did these.”

“Maybe the area is crabbed out?”

“All of them?” Dad jerks a disgusted thumb at the racked up pots.

“Sorry, Dad, it was a stupid suggestion. What you going to do?”

“I’m going to clean em, paint em, service and overhaul em, then relocate em. From now on until it’s no longer necessary, I’m arming myself out there. I’ll shoot dead any pot pirates I catch in the act.”

“Going to use their corpses for crab bait, maybe?”

“You got ambitions for getting hold of the rest of my bull lips? You ain’t used what I already gave you, yet!”

I bought those bull lips but now ain’t the best time to mention that.

Took several trips to transport all the pots to the potting shed. You thought a potting shed was for potting around with house plants? You’re right. Sometimes it is, if you aren’t a crabber. Crabbers make their own pots. A shed to make them in, is called whatever they like.

It’s also a place for storing pots that need repairs. There is casting equipment too, for making lead identification plaque anchors. An inch thick lead casting with the crabbers name, commercial license number, and phone number cast into it, is wired in the bottom of the cage. Keeps it upright. Should you find a pot adrift or washed up somewhere, give the owner a call. Takes considerable investment in time and material to make one. Owner might be grateful enough to reward you with a fresh mess of live crabs. His pots mean a lot to him. His livelihood and his families.

Dad never threatens lightly. I hope Dad don’t run into pot pirates. I don’t want to have to drive Mom up to the prison on visiting days.

I don’t want to part with cash I might need on the upcoming long haul, but I have to do something about some things regarding the beast’s suitability.

The vehicles Moses promises to be my payment for the haul, also begin tickling my fancy. What exactly is a King Midget kit? Current advertisements tout the latest models. The one I’m getting is older. Somebody bought it and forgot it. Maybe they got sick, is why it remains unassembled all these years. I don’t even know what year or model it is. Looking through ancient issues of Popular Mechanics, Dad saved everyone, we have stacks, seeking for info on early model Kings in earlier adverts, I came across an article about a Tucker 48. The picture shows a third headlight mounted in the nose.

That’s as far as I perused the article, but my imagination went much further. I can already see the entire assembly in my head.

I only need a bright headlight in case we’re running late and aren’t back before dark. Battery life for a single headlight is reasonably estimated at least two hours and that’s all I should ever need. If I’m still running after the twelve volt light dims away, I’ll just slow so I don’t outrun my regular lights. The twelve volt battery can be recharged by a 110 volt powered bench charger at home, so an on-board charger’s not needed.

Is an old teardrop headlamp affordable? A trip to the auto salvage yard will provide the answer. I also want to look for an extra spare tire and rim. An affordable price is of paramount concern.

Success. Two good used tires, taller, 40X12.50-20 instead of the 37X12.50-20 beast now wears, and one used GM twenty inch truck rim that fits the Reo, all for six bucks. Taller tires should provide higher than 45 mph speeds. It’s the low gearing slowing beast down. I feel safer now. Just have to buy new tubes and mount them on the rear axle. Lucked out on a Guide Light Co. aftermarket hotrod teadrop. Came off of a wrecked hotrod, complete with a working twelve volt sealedbeam inside. Cost me two-fifty. I’m still going to need wiper blades, but Dad let me swipe/borrow the oil filter housing off the big tractor, on condition I order him a new one from JC Whitney, when I make some money. A roll of toilet paper fits in the housing as a replaceable oil filter element.