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Two Days, 1,200 Miles, One Citation, and Six Heywood Wakefield Chairs – Dining Room Transformation Mission Accomplished!

03 Thursday Sep 2015

Posted by opidells in Pickin' and a Grinnin' - Chad's Rants from the Road

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amish, antiques, auctions, collecting, heywood wakefield, starburst, travel

A lot has happened since my last blog, and this weekend provided the solitude for reflecting on what to include in this update.  We were heading to Pennsylvania for a turn-and-burn pickup of some more 50’s artifacts in the form of Jill’s favorite sexy blondes (Heywood Wakefield furniture) .  I would have plenty of time to ponder changes in the preceding months and how that affected Opidell’s, our home and me.  I needed the hum of the road to lull me to my Zen place, allowing me to sort out such things like the death of the Big Suburban, Jill’s obsession with mid-mod, and the addition of our new-found family friends Heywood and Wakefield.  Lots of things to sort out and lots of miles in which to do it.

We left Lexington at twelve bells, right on time (for once) and aimed the mini-Suburban east, small box trailer in tow.  You see, faithful readers, tragedy has recently descended upon the Walker Hacienda.  The Big Suburban, which has been battling a lifelong illness, due to a less than optimal performing 2007 engine, has taken ill.  The ’07 model has been reported as problematic across internet forums, and although it has performed countless times in the past, the constant addition of oil with no much as a spot on the driveway finally took its toll.  In case you are wondering, the Big ‘Bourbon is resting peacefully in the garage out of the weather.  A constant oil IV is keeping him comfortable, and a battery trickle charger is keeping its spirits up.  I treated him to a full detail last weekend while the weather was warm, but unfortunately, it’s just a matter of time.  On mechanic’s orders, he’s not being driven other than a few miles at a time in hopes of returning his oil pressure back to tolerable levels.  Likely he will be escorted to a dealer retirement home to live out his days in the care of a certified mechanic.  Time will tell.  I have spent 170,000 miles and countless hours with the big beast.  He drove all over this country and never bucked no matter how heavily loaded he was with furniture, hay, bricks and whatever needed to be hauled.

So the weekend traveling landed solely on the shoulders of the mini-Suburban, Jill’s Toyota Highlander. Although a bit more cramped, a little less outfitted and only two wheel drive, the little-Highlander-that-could would be tested this weekend with snowstorms, West Virginia Mountains, limited gas stations and my lead foot. Plus, she had to haul a trailer which added stress to the “There Can Only Be One” Highlander.

The lil’Toyota eased onto the interstate, Jill set the GPS and I stomped the accelerator achieving light speed almost immediately.  Our new pickin’ machine was off to a good start.  The weather forecast was cold but clear all the way to West Virginia.  Our final destination was near Lancaster, Pennsylvania, a little town just shy of Philly.  The reason for the trip was to pick-up a set of Champagne finished Heywood Wakefield dining chairs and to attend an auction that featured some Hey Wake.    Why drive all the way to Pennsylvania for chairs?  Well, just after Christmas Jill acquired a HW table and buffet set at a consignment shop near Chicago.  For you faithful readers you know Jill is partial to the wheat tinted Hey Wake, however this perfect condition original finish Champagne set caught her eye.  In turn, it spawned an entire mission to refinish our former “sittin’ room” into a formal dining room, complete with atomic dishes and blue and pink handled silverware. The only thing missing was the chairs.  So why not just ship the chairs? Yea, yea…I’m getting to that.

One of Jill’s occasional HW sources was a gentleman in Pennsylvania.  She contacted him.  They haggled.  And after many sleepless nights of pacing and self-loathing, she bought the chairs.  I would have paid twice as much for the items since it kept me from endless winter evenings in my non-heated garage refinishing chairs she already had acquired.  After the payment for the chairs were received, Jill arranged for a shipping company to fetch them for us.  Therein lies the problem.  The shipping company, after taking payment, suddenly and inexplicably went out of business.  Apparently the owner made off with funds with many people’s items stranded in transit scattered across the country.  Fortunately, Jill’s chairs were just marooned in Amish country, so that’s where we headed.

Here was the self-inflicted problem with the weekend.  We left at noon and had to arrive at 8:00pm to retrieve the chairs.  For those of you keeping score at home, that’s an eight hour trip and we had, well, eight hours to arrive.  Then we had to load, find a place to sleep and be rested for the next day.  The tomorrow would be equally hectic.  We would drive from Lancaster to New Philadelphia, Ohio to arrive at an auction beginning at 11:00 am.  Then depart that auction and drive the remaining four hours home to Lexington.  Quite the marathon weekend and it all had to be timed just right or we could lose out on the chair retrieval or miss the auction.

The lil’ Toyota eased onto the interstate, Jill set the GPS and I stomped the accelerator achieving light speed almost immediately.  Our new pickin’ machine was off to a good start.  The weather forecast was cold but clear all the way to West Virginia.  Our final destination was near Lancaster, Pennsylvania, a little town just shy of Philly.  The reason for the trip was to pick-up a set of Champagne finished Heywood Wakefield dining chairs and to attend an auction that featured some Hey Wake.    Why drive all the way to Pennsylvania for chairs?  Well, just after Christmas Jill acquired a HW table and buffet set at a consignment shop near Chicago.  For you faithful readers you know Jill is partial to the wheat tinted Hey Wake, however this perfect condition original finish Champagne set caught her eye.  In turn, it spawned an entire mission to refinish our former “sittin’ room” into a formal dining room, complete with atomic dishes and blue and pink handled silverware. The only thing missing was the chairs.  So why not just ship the chairs? Yea, yea…I’m getting to that.

One of Jill’s occasional HW sources was a gentleman in Pennsylvania.  She contacted him.  They haggled.  And after many sleepless nights of pacing and self-loathing, she bought the chairs.  I would have paid twice as much for the items since it kept me from endless winter evenings in my non-heated garage refinishing chairs she already had acquired.  After the payment for the chairs were received, Jill arranged for a shipping company to fetch them for us.  Therein lies the problem.  The shipping company, after taking payment, suddenly and inexplicably went out of business.  Apparently the owner made off with funds with many people’s items stranded in transit scattered across the country.  Fortunately, Jill’s chairs were just marooned in Amish country, so that’s where we headed.

Here was the self-inflicted problem with the weekend.  We left at noon and had to arrive at 8:00 pm to retrieve the chairs.  For those of you keeping score at home, that’s an eight hour trip and we had, well, eight hours to arrive.  Then we had to load, find a place to sleep and be rested for the next day.  The tomorrow would be equally hectic.  We would drive from Lancaster to New Philadelphia, Ohio to arrive at an auction beginning at 11:00 am.  Then depart that auction and drive the remaining four hours home to Lexington.  Quite the marathon weekend and it all had to be timed just right or we could lose out on the chair retrieval or miss the auction.

Back at the helm of the Highlander, she was trudging along.  The steep hills after Charleston, West Virginia gave the ol’gal some trouble.  She handled it, but not without returning to the previous gear time and time again trying to fight the trailer and gravity.  Even with the overdrive off, her constant shifting bucking against my need for a constant high reading on the speedometer caused Jill to look from her reading material to consult the going-ons.   Then the sleet came.  Little hard pellets of precipitation belted the windshield.  It slowed traffic although the track was still fast.  I kept up my speed with a cautious grip on the steering wheel.  Jill buried her head in more reading material, like an ostrich in the sand.  I could hear her mind above the pellets on the glass: “Go to your happy place.  Go to your happy place. Not much longer on the road.  He knows what he’s doing.  Go to your happy place.”

As we crested the mountain overlooking Cumberland, Maryland, my co-pilot yelled, “Look at that traffic.  Take the exit!”  Evasive maneuvers landed me on a parallel track to the off-ramp, much to the surprise of the cars trailing me.  The upcoming hillside was littered with all manners of blinking lights, signaling an accident.  Thanks to my co-pilots sharp eyes and a reckless regard for my fellow motorists, we took the exit and detoured around traffic.  Problem was, with every additional fuel stop and unscheduled route change, our arrival was becoming delayed.  Time to make up some, well, time.

Now back on the interstate, I decided to do some time traveling.  I eased the gas pedal closer to the floor as the speedometer climbed.  In case you are wondering, I’ll tell you a little trick.  In Kentucky, the speed limit on most interstates is seventy miles-per-hour.  Here’s the fun part.  If you are going ten miles-per-hour or less over the speed limit on a limited access highway, interstates (or pretty much any “limited highway” with on and off ramps) then there’s no points off your license if you get a ticket.  The general consensus of law enforcement is that there’s no reason to pull over a motorist for a “no-points” speed violation.  Other than the fine, there’s basically no incentive to issue a citation.  So, I set my cruise control at 80.  The first problem with the above-mentioned scenario is that the speed limit in Maryland is 65. The second problem is that, when you are towing a trailer with a smaller vehicle it can “push” you down the mountain.

Needless to say, I saw the cop too late.  I passed him, trying to drive casual, even singing “la-la-la” as I rocketed by. He was already pulling out, lights blazing the night sky.  Fortunately from the passenger seat I could hear a lecture series while I searched for inappropriate place to stop.  The dissertation continued until the no-nonsense officer leaned in, sternly requesting “license and registration.”  I had both presented before the last “shun” syllable left his lips.  It had been years since I had been pulled over, but, like riding a bike, you never forget. Since I was well practiced in receiving moving citations, it was like seeing an old friend I haven’t seen in a while.  Some things are nice if for no other reason than being familiar.

“You know how fast you were going?”

Ah, it was coming back to me.    “No sir.”

“83 in a 65.”

Shit, I’m out of practice.  “Oh!”

“Where you heading?”

“Huh?” He was on my 50% deaf, left ear side.

“Where you headin’?”

“Oh, up to Lititz,” Ha, ha, I said “tit” to a cop, “To buy some furniture.” Figured I would attempt to garner some pity from a fellow man.

“From Kentucky going to Lititz to buy furniture?”

I could almost hear him thinking… “Good Lord Son, we will give you police escort out of Maryland you poor bastard.”

“Stay right here, I’ll be back.”  He left.  The sermon was now replaced with a staring contest, of which I was losing.

“How much will this cost dummy?”  My supportive and understanding bride questioned.  My mind took over:  tell her less than the damn chairs you’re driving eight hours each direction to get!  No, don’t say that.  Just sit there and look dumb.  Good job…that came easy. I was contemplating my retort when the officer returned.

“All right son, I’m just giving you a warning.  Just keep your speed under control.”

WHAT!  REALLY!  “Oh, thank you sir.  I really appreciate that.”

“Ok, drive safe.”  He began to walk off when my overzealous co-pilot interjected.

“We are from Kentucky!”

What the hell is she doing?  We’re free damnit!

“The speed limit there is 70.” She belted out.

The trooper was halfway to his car when he heard the conversation aimed at him, turned on his heels and stopped in an inquisitive, “you talking to me punk” stance.  I motioned him off and waved and rejoined traffic, into obscurity.    The biggest shit-eating grin creeped up on my face.  Jill just shook her head and giggled.

“You are so lucky it’s ridiculous.”

Despite the additional fuel stops, back road detours and run-in with the law, we arrived in Lancaster just a few minutes after eight.  Immediately we noticed slow moving flashing boxes jamming every corner of the highway.  Amish.  We were in Amish-land.  In virtual harmony we looked at each other and mused aloud, “Is this guy Amish?  What if this guy IS Amish?

“Hell Jill, I can’t talk to him.  What would I say?  I mean, I curse sometimes…is he going to smite me?  I know, I know…I’ll ask who won the annual Abe Lincoln look-alike contest.  That should be a good conversation starter.”  Jill rolled her eyes at my angst.  Being in the presence of anyone so convinced of their purpose in life is intimidating. I’m too much a pluralist and a genuine smart-ass not to have questions, legitimate on not.

He wasn’t Amish, fortunately for both of us.  Our Heywood Wakefield Pennsylvania-connection was a pleasant fellow with a huge shop.  I remembered him from his eBay postings; he always posed his pet Collie with the pieces offered for sale.  We soon found out the business mascot and friend had passed away last year.  As a dog owner myself, I felt sad for his former master.  That pup was an iconic fixture in the mid-mod collecting community, more famous than I could ever hope to be.      Then the snow came.  The sky had been laboring to produce solid precipitation the majority of the journey, as we skirted in and out along the storm’s edge.  But now the havens opened and rained down huge fluffy flakes Forrest Gump would surely describe as “big ole fat snow.”

We headed toward our lodging.    Along the way we passed a hotel that had been built to resemble a steamboat, several music venues and an amateur wrestling arena.  Lancaster had obviously embraced the simple culture influence of its Amish neighbors.  On the edge of town, one sign summed up the duality of the town:  “Amish Stuff for Sale.  Lots of people sell stuff, but this stuff is Amish.”  Funny.

Our lodging for the evening was reserved at the Cork Factory Hotel.  The Cork was a good example of reuse of an old dilapidated property and turning it into something cool and viable. Revitalization at its finest.  The entry was nice.  The lobby was nice.

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Comfy haven for four hours of sleep…

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Cork Factory Hotel

But upon exiting the elevator onto the third floor, we both became oddly dizzy.  I can only assume that the hotel did not utilize its Amish craftsmen neighbors since the entire place was out of plum.  The floors were woozy, the walls crooked as a politician and signs were completely cattywhompus.  The combination of all the odd angles caused us both to grab the walls like we were on day three of a four day bender.    We dropped our bags inside and headed to the restaurant downstairs.  It was a nice place with good food.  Jill had a hanger steak and I went for the chicken with plum Marsala.  The setup was cozy and the staff was helpful without being intrusive.  I wish I could write more concerning the meal, but after nine plus hours on the road running full out, things sort of ran together.  The first beer was good.  So was the second. But ahhh, the third beer.  The third beer was truly divine.

We returned to the room and opened the window.  The heat had been set at a tropical 75, so the open window provided a nice cool breeze.  The air was crisp and still with only the faint murmur of millions of tiny snowflakes passing through it and landing softly on the ground below.  I looked at the clock.  It was nearing midnight.  Now for those of you keeping score at home, we had five hours to drive in the morning to New Philadelphia, Ohio.  In order to arrive in enough time to preview the items, we would need to leave at 5:00 am to arrive by 11:00 am. The unexpected variable to the trip was the snow.  The forecast predicted it would continue throughout the am hours until the mid-morning.  We calculated and debated. Then it was agreed…we would set the alarms for 4:15 am in order to be on the road by 5:00 am at the absolute latest.  That would allow for a little over four hours sleep.  Ugh.

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The snow began to fall…

We crawled into comfortable the bed.  The rustic sounds of old creaking timbers from the room overhead became downright annoying with such limited time to sleep.  I cursed the fate of our upstairs neighbor as I finally entered a heavy slumber.    Four a.m. came much too early, as it typically does. I continued the previous evening’s cursing of our upstairs neighbor.  I cursed Jill.  I cursed Heywood and Wakefield and I cursed myself.  I scurried to the bathroom to stare in the mirror and beg Mr. Hyde to return his body to the good doctor.  After banging around the room until the cursing subsided, I donned my clothes, awoke Jill and headed toward the truck.  We departed on time again!  Two-for-two; our personal best.

It was still snowing.  Heavy snow.  The kind of snow that ruins visibility streaking the black of night. The eyes cannot focus past the big fluffy particles just over the hood.  It looks like the bridge on the U.S.S. Enterprise after entering warp speed. Promise came in the form of a pair of golden arches just over the horizon.  We would refuel with some much needed greasy treats and caffeine.  But the promise was short-lived as that particular McDonalds was the slowest on the planet.  It was truly amazing the complete ambivalence exhibited by its employees who casually took our orders then went about whatever mundane business in which they were previously engaged, finally to remember that people were staring at them for some reason.  Only then would they return to see what was taking so long.  I wondered if they hired Amish to work the drive thru.  That would be the only explanation as to the aversion for electronic devices or speedy food.

After two corrections in our meal, we left bizarre-o McDonalds, middle finger extended at full mast.    Thanks to our time-challenged friends, we left the pit-stop behind the pace car.  In this case, the pace car was a slow moving snow plow that blocked both lanes of the highway.  We took the left position while a UPS truck was on the high side.  I wondered if a relative of a McDonald’s employee worked the snowplow as well.    After battling the elements the majority of the trip, we burst thru the clouds about half-past-nine.  Smooth sailing from here on out.  I floored the pedal, confident we would not cross paths with the Maryland trooper as we were taking an alternate route thru Ohio.

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High-tailing it through the snow!

We arrived in New Philly with approximately half-an-hour to spare, plenty of time for Jill to inspect the furniture while I reveled in my groundbreaking time.  That poor Highlander will never be the same.    The auction went smooth.  The house, a beautiful ranch style home on a corner lot, sold first.  I wandered around outside while Jill put on her game face.  I was just happy to stretch my legs for a bit.  I wandered around the neighborhood for a spell.  New Philly may have not invented mid-century modern, but it had a great collection of it.  Nearly every other house was a striking atomic ranch, all retro, all unique and all preserved.  I would love to take a tour inside some of these old museums of shag carpet, wall clocks and ugly lamps.    Even though the auctioneer was inside, he left his remote mic on, which relayed outside.  It was like listening to a basketball game on the radio.  He was the play-by-play guy and I sat huddled in the cold listening for Jill’s bid number.

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The house sells for around $115K

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There was a real cool bar with knotty pine walls in the basement. Good times were surely had here!

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The living room was classic mid century, ugly lamps, fiberglass drapes and all!

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This HW buffet sold for around $200. A good price, but Jill already had one, so she passed.

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There were two of these corner cabinets, each selling for around $600. Too much for us!

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But she did score two bookcases that we later realized weren’t even HW, but they looked the part and were worth the $60 she paid for them.

“An-a-forty-five…no fifty…now fifty five…now sixty.  Anymore?  All in, all done?  Sold to number seventy-three.  Seventy three.”  That’s Jill’s number!  She won.  Atta girl, show then New Philly boys who’s boss.    After winning the few select items she wanted, Jill paid and I loaded.  Total time at the auction was about an hour, yet another record for the weekend.  The precious chairs were carefully stacked, two by two, in the back of the Highlander while the bookcases and chairs were arranged in the covered trailer.  I wrapped them, but not especially well since they would undergo a refinishing before being allowed to consort with the other Hey Wake pieces.

Our post-auction feast is traditionally Mexican food, and this outing was no different.  The El San Jose would be our spot to dine, tell tales, and gather ourselves before heading south.  They knew we were coming as their sign read, “Fiesta Time.”  Damn right fiesta time, San Jose.   I don’t know, it made me laugh and that’s all that matters.    Queso dip, a Margarita for Jill and a Dos Equis for me, we toasted our successful trip.  We made our deadlines, miraculously, and arrived at all our destinations in one piece.  Jill was getting better at navigating.  She was also becoming more in tune to my ridiculous pilot to co-pilot requests.  I was constantly having her look-up obscure things that pop in my head.  But she tolerated it with grace, at least most of the time.

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Fiesta Time!!!

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Poor headless Burro!

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The artwork was breath taking 🙂

We headed south.  We made a quick stop in Columbus to Jill could browse Flower Child, her favorite shop in that city.  We would also swing in our favorite wine shop, across the bridge from Cincinnati and barely into Kentucky, and select a bottle for the debriefing at home.  Total mileage for the trip was just over 1,200 miles.  Total time behind the wheel would top seventeen hours.  And total sleep in the past twenty-four hours was under four hours.  But I would change that soon.

Back at home, our driveway was still covered with snow, a result of the winter storm we were barely missed on Friday.  I quickly went to work.  I unloaded our suitcases, tossed leftover Mexi in the fridge, opened the wine and unloaded Jill’s coveted chairs.  She placed them around her matching Champagne colored table, the missing pieces that completed her formal dining room renovation.

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Mission accomplished! The dining room is complete!

It looked lovely.  She promised me a hero’s breakfast in the morning, to be served on her new table and presented on her atomic plates.  I puffed my chest and sipped my beverage to a mission accomplished.  To the victor go the spoils…but not until after I get some sleep.  Good night world. Mr. Heywood and Mr. Wakefield, she’s yours tonight boys.

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A much-deserved Hero’s Breakfast, and cup of coffee, for my efforts.

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Losing an iPad – by Chaddy Daddy

08 Thursday Nov 2012

Posted by opidells in Pickin' and a Grinnin' - Chad's Rants from the Road

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antique, auction, collecting, ipad, picking, VINTAGE

There are going to be bad days.  Lots of them.  Sometimes it seems that the bad days pile on and consume what few good days we are fortunate enough to have.  Of course, that sentiment is usually reflected while in the eye of a really bad day.  And even though our pickin’ days are usually filled with fun, sun and lots of bidding, this would not be that type of weekend.

The day started dreary and cold.  There had been so many nice days leading to this day, you would think I could remember those nice days just recently in my wake, but I couldn’t.  Bone chilling air tends to erase the memory of anything other than the previous cold breath hanging in space in the form of a personal dark cloud.

I was already a bit grumpy because I was to strike out on my own this morning.  Business was doing well so Jill opted to man the warm shop while I set out in search of elusive goodies.  To clarify, I was grumpy since I would not have Jill to chat with while riding the rolling hills of Kentucky, not because she would stay behind in the warm shop.  Ok, I have described it as “warm shop” twice, so maybe I was a bit envious.

The first sale was a couple going thru, what the locals tell me, a bitter divorce.  I speculated that the morning matched their expectation for the mood the sale would soon establish.  Not much to pick from, but I did find some unexpected treasures in the form of a custom dresser, a sewing table and a couple of hand-made wood sculptures.  The church pew went for way too much.  As did the pie safe.  As did all the miscellaneous beer signage and collectables.  The auctioneer thought they should have gone for even more money!  “What, no Catholics in the crowd?  They usually pay tons for these things!”  Auctioneers are not yet bound by the laws of political correctness, far as I can tell.

I enlisted the help of a skinny armed 15 year-old to load my trailer.  This time I had the open trailer, regardless of the possibility of inclement weather.  Fuel prices had killed us on the last run with the covered trailer so I was determined to use my pilot abilities to dodge the weather, and use my expertise in tarp-tying to protect the goods.  The skinny armed boy huffed and grunted to help me with my purchases.  He finally gave up on the dresser and I was left to load the big unit myself.  We chatted about his upcoming car fantasies, even though that dream was a good year off being realized.  He told me of some possible treasures he saw hidden in the basement while they were staging the auction.  I gave him a few bucks for the info and assistance, finished the auction and headed down the road.

While en route, I passed a downed road sign.  I have a thing for road signs.  My garage is nearly covered with them.  I even have friends and family bring me signs they have found or purchased.  The way I figure, if the sign has been laying there long enough to grow grass, it’s fair game. I chalk it up as my own Kentucky beautification project.  I went past the sign, turned around in a driveway and headed back for my roadside prize.  Checking that the coast was clear, I stepped from my truck and begin masquerading as though I was looking at my trailer.  Then I heard it!  “GRRRRRRRR!”  I turned around to find a pair of Pit Bull dogs staring at me with the same intensity as a Grizzly stares at a steak.  As a Biker stares at a Beer.  As a West Virginian stares at a math problem.  I mean intense.  I eased around the back side of my truck, always facing the dogs and occasionally gruffing “No!” or “You be good.”  I got to the front the same time they did…damn dogs, always finding a short-cut.  I eased in the driver’s seat as a car popped the hill.  The dogs scurried away, and so did I, although only one of us had their tail between their legs.  Those beasts can have their sign!

Chased by a dog!  Hmph…not a bad day yet.  I continued down the road to the next auction.  I knew I would be arriving late, but I figured I would give it a shot.  By the time I found the place, parked and found the entrance it was pretty much over.  I didn’t even bother getting a bid number.  I asked one of the ring men if they were wrapping up.

“Yep…we’re ’bout done.”

“I guess I should have been here sooner huh?” I said, just trying to be nice.

“Yea man!  Things went cheap!  I mean, you see that couch right thar?”  I looked where his crooked finger abstractly  pointed.  Now I am not exaggerating…before me sat the ugliest couch I have ever laid eyes upon.  It was so ugly, it wasn’t even cool ugly.  I was just plain-ole UG-LEEEE!  “Well sir, that thar couch only sold fer a doller!”

“No kidding.”  I returned, again just being nice.  And a little sarcastic.  “That’s pretty cheap.”

“Hell yea it is.  Tell you what, what’ll ya give me fer it?”  He bought the couch!  And he was trying to up his UG-LEEE investment on me!

“Oh, I don’t have any room left on the trailer, but believe me, I would!  That’s a nice ‘en.”  I quickly scurried off for the second time in a day.

Chased by a dog and missed an auction.  Ok, still pretty good day.  Afterall, I was heading to the shop to unload my finds and see my Jill.  After a quick assessment and needed validation of the days labor, Jill and I headed out for a bite-to-eat and beverage.  We chatted about the day, the dogs, the couch and such.  I could tell she missed going to the auction, so I told here about one more sale within driving distance that didn’t start until 6:00.  It wasn’t far away.  We woofed down our final bites of food and headed to the house for a quick equipment change (unloading the trailer and putting on clean clothes) and headed out.

The drive was a bit longer than I calculated.  I usually under-estimate time figuring I can make up the difference by driving a smidge below maniac classification.  But this was a narrow two lane highway and we got stuck behind a school bus.  To make matters worse, the school bus had one of those flashing bulbs on the roof.  Why do they do that?  I know the claim is that the flashing lights make it easier to see the bus, therefore more safe, but you can’t see when you are behind flashing lights in the darkness.  It practically blinds you!  Can’t imagine how that makes if safer, having a bunch of blinded drivers bearing down on the little ones.

A short while later, following the recovery of my rods and cones, we arrived at the last auction of the day.  We walked inside to find this little middle-of-nowhere packed to the ceiling with people.  And although the stuff was really neat, it was going for astronomical prices.  Where did this auction house get such cool stuff?  And where did all these people come from?  It was a little Twilight Zone-ish.  I was tired, Jill was tired, and the horrible PA system was getting on our nerves.  I can only assume the auction house bought their speaker second-hand from an old Long John Silvers drive-thru because that is what it sounded like.  We decided to ditch the auction, lick our wounds and head home to a warm bed.

Chased by a dog, missed an auction and had to ditch an auction after a long drive.  Still a good day.  At least we would be home soon.  We arrived home about an hour later.  Jill headed to the computer to check her emails and I hit the couch for a much needed review of some bad television.  I had just gotten comfortable when I decided to check my email.

“Jill, where’s the iPad?”

“I dunno, you had it last.”

“I thought you had it.”

“Well I know we had it at the auction…”

Any married couple knows the scene that followed.  Code red, thrashing thru the house, dismantling the Suburban, searching every nook and cranny…to no avail.  We had somehow left the iPad at the last auction house.  It was a two hour trip far, far away from my comfortable couch.  We weren’t sure who left it, but it didn’t matter.  We had to go get it.  We called and called, trying to reach the auction house to see if our trip was even necessary.  We figured it was long gone.  We finally did reach the auction house about 10 minutes out.  They hadn’t seen the iPad but promised to make an announcement to see if anyone had found it.  By the time we arrived the iPad was sitting up front waiting for us.  GREAT!  What a relief.  We gave each other a glance and finally…finally…were headed for home.

Chased by a dog, missed an auction, bad auction house, lost iPad.  Ugh…what a rough day.  The final nail in the coffin came from my trusty GPS.  Apparently the “Geep-Us”, as I call it, was tired as well.  It routed us home a different direction than our inbound route.  I just figured she must have found a quicker route.  Maybe the “Geep-Us” knew of an unpublished route, or maybe a bridge to a teleportation wormhole that would instantly return me to my couch.  No such luck.

For some reason she took me the long route, increasing our time home by half.  I had been on the road over eight hours thru the course of the day and never left Kentucky.  Hell I hadn’t even gone more that about an hour and-a-half from home at any given time.  I was exhausted.  Ok, to sum up:  chased by a dog, missed an auction, went to a bad-loud-expensive auction, lost my iPad and “Geep-Us” took the long way home.  Pretty bad day.  But I still wouldn’t change it for anything.

Ziggin’ and a Zaggin’ – by Chaddy Daddy

04 Sunday Nov 2012

Posted by opidells in Pickin' and a Grinnin' - Chad's Rants from the Road

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

amish, collecting, driving, estate sales, picking, VINTAGE

After an entire weekend of zigging and zagging America’s backroads to bring unique goods to our customers, I figured this would be as good a place as any to begin our blog.  Obligatory introductions are in order:  I am Chad, Jill’s sometimes partner, full time husband and overtime muscle.  If you ever venture to her shop, I will be the one grunting and sweating to lift cool items in to your vehicle.

Jill had the wonderful idea to begin blogging about all our misadventures in the relentless search for the unique, odd and cool items we bring to her shop.  And since I usually have a respectable amount of downtime between lifting stuff, I was nominated to put pen to paper, or rather fingers to keys, to tell the tale of how we came to posess some of the coolest stuff in Lexington.

Now, let me first preface by saying that you will not find out any secrets here.  Sorry.  A good fisherman won’t divulge their honeyholes and neither will we.  If you are in fact interested in learning the antique, junk, collectable, oddities market, I will tell you this…there is no one place we go.  We go everywhere!  (cue Johnny Cash.)  Estate sales, garage sales, auctions, abandoned warehouses…you name it, we’ve probably been there.  Rather the real reason for keeping this journal is to document the truly odd and wonderful adventures we have had while on the road, much like American Pickers but without being staged!

This past weekend proved to be a great weekend to begin our blog!  We left Saturday morning with high hopes of filling our (borrowed) covered trailer with all kinds of goodies.  At least enough goodies to get us thru the desolate winter months when auctions and garage sales dry up.  The first sale we targeted was mostly a bust.  I say mostly because we did get to see some beautiful fall foliage and the drive was magnificent.  But there weren’t any items we deemed worthly of a seat on the Opidell Express back to Lexington.  After nearly getting the trailer hung on an electric wire while departing the auction, we continued down the road…

We happened upon a bizarre scene after getting moderately lost leaving our last location.  We topped a hill to find the entire road littered with some sort of sale lining both sides of this tiny two-lane stretch of road.  Could we have found a Picker’s Oasis?  I dropped Jill at what looked to be the source of the sale then began looking for a place to park my mammoth machine.  When I finally did settle on a landing strip, I departed my vehicle and began searching for Jill.  She was already knee deep in negotiations when I found her.  The trailer would have some passengers after all.  We continued up and down the road until all was seen.

Turns our there was a festival in the works.  I believe the main reason God created fall was for festivals.  The cool air never seems to transport the smells of chili and the sounds of Bluegrass music as efficiently as during Fall.  Since we had already put in a hard day of sitting, driving, and raising our bidding arms, we decided to treat ourselves to a much deserved snack.  The fare was fair food…both in style and quality.  But that didn’t stop us for enjoying the culinary version of a walking heart attack.  I chose a cheeseburger and Jill settled on a fried-balogna sandwhich (which was thicker than the burger!) and we both had Frito Pie.  If you have never had Frito pie, then your Hillybilly card may be challenged.  Frito pie is a wonderful concoction consisting of Fritos covered in Chili then nacho cheese.  It is known by others names, but regardless of it’s title, believe me when I tell you…it is job security for Cardiologists everythere.

Feeling full and guilty, we continued onward.  Our next unscheduled stop was a strange little impropt junk market filed with wonderful treasures and friendly hosts.  We found an awesome min-century modern chair, a great retro lamp and a display case formerly used as a Woodford Reserve Bourbon rack.  Unfortunately the brown water was not included.  Then something odd happened.  I struck up a conversation with the owner that focused on interesting things we each have purchased in the last few weeks.  Some how, I related that I had purchased an old 8mm projector and she had just sold a projector.  Nothing earth shattering.  Just chit-chat.  I left the conversation to wander one last time thru the maze of goodies when the owner approached me.  Her husband had just delivered a box of new wares and inside were two 8mm reels.  She said I could just have them since I would need something to test my new projector.  I asked how much and she again said they were free as she could not charge me for something like that, you know, given the title and everything.  I looked down.  Right there in big black letters said “Slave and Master.”  Oh great…Chris Hanson is monitoring this conversation, I just know it.  I bade her thanks, we paid, left, and promptly discarded the reels at the next receptacle.

Continuing down the highway we stumbled upon more garage sales, odd folks, and even a pair of first class airline seats in a town far far away from any airport.  Our final spot Saturday was an auction that began earlier in the day.  We hoped to catch the tail end and maybe some good bargains.  Now, I know we all have mental hobbies.  That is, hobbies that we keep to ourselves in our own mind.  Punch bug could fit this description.  Trying to figure out vanity plates.  That’s a good one.  I once had a friend who loved to spot mullets.  Just little mental games we play inside our own head for entertainment or a laugh.  Well, one of mine is Amish people who bid at auctions.  I love it!  I really don’t know why, but it makes me giggle every time!  Given our location, it’s not even rare to see Amish men (never women) bid.  Mostly tools, sometimes livestock, but occasionally they bid and win a very peculiar item.  Like a hat!  Their hats are basically issued.  I saw one Amish fellow bidding on a steering wheel.  WHY?  It’s like me bidding on a quantum phisics text…it just plain ain’t gonna be used.

Let me back up for a second.  For anyone who is unfamiliar with the auction format, I will give you a basic tutorial.  When you arrive at an auction, you show your driver’s license and are given a bidder number.  This number is usually on a piece of paper that is assigned to you and you alone.  You and others will bid against each other in an effort to win the item on which you are bidding.  At the conclusion of the sale of a particular item, the auctioneer will say something like, “Sold…$5.00 to bidder number 43.”  The Amish gentleman bidding this weekend didn’t have a bidder number.  He didn’t have a driver’s license so he didn’t have a bidder number.  I guess the auction house knew him and allowed him to bid regardless of his lack of proper state issued identification.  Fine with me.  Here’s the funny part though…when he won an item, he gave an initial…EB.  Now, that in inself wasn’t funny.  But I heard a gentleman speaking with him at one point during the evening.  The gentleman called the Amish person by his name, and although I don’t know if it was the Amish fellow’s first or last name, I am damm sure the name he gave started with neither an “E” or a “B.”  So what could the “EB” stand for?  My friends, it will just have to remain a mystery.  I know the Amish don’t like their photo taken, so I assumed they didn’t like being asked what their bidder initials mean either.  Might take their spirit or something.  And why, if you lead a semi-eventless existense as the Amish do, why not for a day be uber-cool.  Why not say something like, “Oh yea, I won the butter churn.  But that on Sparrow’s tab my good man.”  Or, “that’s right.  $10.00 for the bonnett.  Bidder number Crazy Train if you will.”  Time will tell.

We wrapped up the auction and pointed the old Suburban and trailer southward.  Then east.  I dunno exactly which direction we headed, but since we were headed home I can say with some certanity I had a big smile on my face.  As the sun dropped behind the hills to begin its encore for the other side of the world, I began to ponder the luck we had that day.  We saw so much of the world few get to see.  Anyone can book a trip to Hawaii or head to the Biltmore and although neither should be missed, true America can’t be found on the pages of a travel brocure.  It’s on the two lane highways and in the backwoods.  That’s where you will truly find us, as Americans, and you, as a person.

With the trusty GPS guiding the direction and a fresh Mountain Dew helping me guide the wheel, I suddenly felt very lucky to be able to lead the life I am leading.  With Jill’s SNORE-SLURP-AHEM-SNORE cadence resonating thru the truck and the highway noise humming underfoot, I grinned and allowed myself a daze into appifinay. I was transporting cool items and products from one location to the next on a wonderful roadtrip.  And although many will never see the backroads and byways I am describing, that stuff trailing behind the trusty truck got an all inclusive journey just to make their way to our shop, then maybe to your home.

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