Peter Behrens's Blog, page 473
April 15, 2014
The Man LE10 220: road diary
Autoliterate posted this truck last last year, when Alex Emond spotted it in Banff. Now we've heard from the people behind the wheel:"Just found our truck here. "MAN LE10 220 4x4 truck camper in Banff" If you want to learn more about the vehicle and our traveling around North America (traveled for more than a year around your beautiful country - and it was the second time!) you can check our website: www.dergrossewagen.eu There is even a shorter version of our reports in English!"
Christine and Peter
April 14, 2014
1946 Hudson Pickup
Beach day at Goose Rocks. Ice cream on Dock Square. We were driving home when we spotted this at Arundel Place, on the Log Cabin Road in Kennebunkport, Maine. Don't know if the Hudson's for sale, but a bunch of old trucks are. t 207 604 2136.
Revitalized '53 Chevy, Northern California
from Michael Moore in Northern California:
"Here are some pics my brother took of a friend's spiffy '53 Chev over in Stinson Beach, same day you put up the '53 Chev in the Springs...Seems when he got under the hood the "all original" idea went out the door, though..."--MSM
"Here are some pics my brother took of a friend's spiffy '53 Chev over in Stinson Beach, same day you put up the '53 Chev in the Springs...Seems when he got under the hood the "all original" idea went out the door, though..."--MSM
Aerial Work: John Griebsch
I-10 Interchange, Lousiana All images ©2014 John Griebsch. From JG's Artist Statement:
"The aerial photographs present a sense of selective design applied to an extremely small but significant area of the vast landscape over which I fly. I find the need to make geographical sense of the earth, as well as the need to make visual sense of a photograph. I work with ambiguity of scale; the strong graphic quality of nature; and with the hand of man upon nature..." --John Griebsch
(These photographs, and others,are available as limited edition archival art prints. Check Griebsch's stunning website )
Car Heaven, Pennsylvania
Switching Yard, New OrleansApril 13, 2014
1953 Chevrolet truck.
The truck belongs to Frank Ohlin and I've seen it parked next to a GMC truck of the same era which he owns, and which has been posted a couple of times on AL. The Chevrolet is mostly original. We like trucks that are being driven, as this one is. Trailer Queens are kinda boring. Frank told me that in '53 these trucks got the pop-up vent in front of the windshield, the push-button door handles, and--oh yeah, painted (instead of chromed) grills--chrome shortage due to Korean war.
April 12, 2014
Craig Manning and the girl who jumped in the truck
from Craig Manning, in LA:"An illustrated story. Maybe something you could use.I was stopped at a red light. Beautiful Southern California afternoon, window down, music up. My white Tacoma is the perfect ride for this kind of day. Especially since I upgraded the sound.Suddenly this guy appears out of nowhere - white guy, late 60’s, white hair - he’s right in my face and asks for a ride. I am startled. I hesitate. He waves a red plastic gas can. Looks like this
He says he ran out of gas up on Centinela and just needs a lift.
How one behaves in such moments is some combination of current mood, natural trust, and the sum of past experiences. The mood was good, and I tend to be glass-half-full type. But then there was that last item.
One morning when I was grad student I was stopped at a light. We are talking mid ‘80s here. Palo Alto in its post-hippy, pre-tech, scruffy glory. My ride at the time was an early 70’s red Datsun pickup. Sadly I don’t have a photo of that little champ. This is a reasonable approximation though it is an earlier model.
I was crossing El Camino Real, heading in to the Stanford campus. Window down, weather warm, all good. Out of nowhere, a black woman in high heels and a red dress appears. This is not her but it is a reasonable approximation
You know how women run, or at least hustle, in high heeled shoes - it is a combination of speed and baby steps. Effective. Hard not to look. She does this as she crosses in front of me as the light turns green, waving her arms and yelling something. I stare, can’t move. She grabs my unlocked passenger side door, opens it, jumps in. Says: I need a ride. She is highly agitated. Cars behind me honking. I figure just what I need she is escaping her pimp, I’m going to get killed, and Becky will later learn of my death at the side of a prostitute. I hit the gas.
I start to explain, helpfully, that we are going on to the Stanford campus. She says, I know. I say, where do you want to go? (I don’t say that I am not going to East Palo Alto. But I think it.) She says, where you’re going. So now I am really sweating, urgently scanning the rear view for the pimp mobile. How to escape? My vehicle is not up to a chase. Neither am I, in fact.
Her agitation subsides in a couple minutes. It turns out she means what she said - she really wants to get onto the campus. She is a hairdresser, at the salon in the student union. There is no one chasing her, she would have been late for work had she not found a quick ride in. I dutifully drop her off, she politely thanks me and heads in to punch the clock. The cab is quiet, the only evidence of our brief, intense, non-intersecting traumas is her lingering scent and my private humiliation.
Now 30 years later, it all erupts again. But this time I can choose. And I say to the old white guy: get in. He is chatty. He says hey thanks buddy but in the way they say it in movies from the 40’s and 50’s. We cruise up Centinela and there, on the right curb, is a mint 1965 Chevy C-10. The below is a reasonable approximation. It really was red and white, just like this.
I pull in behind. He jumps out and cheerfully says, I hope good kharma comes to you buddy. Of course he says it; this is California. But I am thinking I already got it.
He says he ran out of gas up on Centinela and just needs a lift. How one behaves in such moments is some combination of current mood, natural trust, and the sum of past experiences. The mood was good, and I tend to be glass-half-full type. But then there was that last item.
One morning when I was grad student I was stopped at a light. We are talking mid ‘80s here. Palo Alto in its post-hippy, pre-tech, scruffy glory. My ride at the time was an early 70’s red Datsun pickup. Sadly I don’t have a photo of that little champ. This is a reasonable approximation though it is an earlier model.
I was crossing El Camino Real, heading in to the Stanford campus. Window down, weather warm, all good. Out of nowhere, a black woman in high heels and a red dress appears. This is not her but it is a reasonable approximation
You know how women run, or at least hustle, in high heeled shoes - it is a combination of speed and baby steps. Effective. Hard not to look. She does this as she crosses in front of me as the light turns green, waving her arms and yelling something. I stare, can’t move. She grabs my unlocked passenger side door, opens it, jumps in. Says: I need a ride. She is highly agitated. Cars behind me honking. I figure just what I need she is escaping her pimp, I’m going to get killed, and Becky will later learn of my death at the side of a prostitute. I hit the gas.I start to explain, helpfully, that we are going on to the Stanford campus. She says, I know. I say, where do you want to go? (I don’t say that I am not going to East Palo Alto. But I think it.) She says, where you’re going. So now I am really sweating, urgently scanning the rear view for the pimp mobile. How to escape? My vehicle is not up to a chase. Neither am I, in fact.
Her agitation subsides in a couple minutes. It turns out she means what she said - she really wants to get onto the campus. She is a hairdresser, at the salon in the student union. There is no one chasing her, she would have been late for work had she not found a quick ride in. I dutifully drop her off, she politely thanks me and heads in to punch the clock. The cab is quiet, the only evidence of our brief, intense, non-intersecting traumas is her lingering scent and my private humiliation.
Now 30 years later, it all erupts again. But this time I can choose. And I say to the old white guy: get in. He is chatty. He says hey thanks buddy but in the way they say it in movies from the 40’s and 50’s. We cruise up Centinela and there, on the right curb, is a mint 1965 Chevy C-10. The below is a reasonable approximation. It really was red and white, just like this.
I pull in behind. He jumps out and cheerfully says, I hope good kharma comes to you buddy. Of course he says it; this is California. But I am thinking I already got it.1964 Mercury Meteor. Colorado Springs
It's not a Comet. It's a Meteor.
1965 Mercury Meteor. Colorado Springs
It's not a Comet, it's a Meteor.
April 11, 2014
Phil Linhares' '34 Ford, Northern California
From Michael S. Moore in No. Calif.
"Though he's still got the Graham for sale - where it's still available] and the other other car is a clean little '37 roadster, luxurious leather seat and rumble seat, black primer the last time I looked. This is the one he built/had built about fifteen years ago out at Vern Tardel's in Santa Rosa. Depending who you talk to it's either Phil's [curator emeritus from the OMCA, who wrote one of the essays in my book] or his wife Sharon's, but whoever belongs to it it's been a regular at Bonneville Speed Week most years since. A good little camper - surfer-style there's no back seat - and he's looking for a mid-thirties sedan delivery so he can add a fifth [rear] door...Has a built and balanced 305 chevy, automatic...discs on the front, etc. etc. and, Phil being Phil, really nice leather interior soundproofed to the max. Wish I'd gotten more pictures.......oh, and yes, it's a 1934 Ford, just like it says on the door."-MSM
