The response so far to my request for funds has been quite favorable, judging
by the onslaught of email I've had over the last few days. A few folks on some
of the various lists have offered their wisdom about what the list means to
them, what it means for the hobby in general, and so on. Well, this weekend
something happened that demonstrates how our virtual community works.
It's the end of summer here in the northern hemisphere, and the top down
sporting season will soon be over for many. The local club with which I am
involved has an end of the season dinner every October, and the weekend before
that I host a "Tinker Day" down at my shop. I also do one in April, as the
dust is brushed off the car covers, the fluids [Did I spell that right?] are
topped up and the cars once again strut their stuff in the sunshine.
Basically it is a chance for anyone who wishes to come by and make use of the
bead blaster, the MIG setup, the impact wrench on that crankshaft nut,
whatever. Depending on the weather, we either stand around grumbling about
the snow, or flit about tweaking carbs, checking timing, adjusting valves,
whatever.
So Saturday morning I get up way too, uh, fetching early for me, jump in the
Mark 1, and clatter down to the shop. I shuffle things around, make a pot of
the world's worst coffee, and get ready for Tinker Day. Various folks show up,
it is sunny but cold, a hearty soul or two motor up with the top down. I work
on an MGB door handle, put the tail of a TR4A in the air to investigate the odd
clunk or two (diff mounts are NOT cracked, thank goodness) and work on getting
a driver's seat out of a basket case GT6.
A bit later I get a phone call from a woman whose voice I do not recognise,
asking for directions. I rattle off some stuff that should be helpful, on the
assumption these folks know their way around the Salt lake valley. Back to
the task at hand, retorque the head and adjust the valves of the TR-250 with
the fresh rings I sold a while back. Another phone call, they are somewhat
lost, but turns out they are only a few blocks away. This freeway construction
is a pain. More directions, back to work. By this time it is mid afternoon,
most folks have headed out. Moments later Bud Rolofson and his wife show up,
we chat about stuff. Eventually everyone is gone, I close up and head home.
Hours later, it hits me. Bud is NOT from Utah. He lives *hundreds* of miles
away. I've seen his name, talked to him at VTR, I think, looked at his cruise
control, and so on. And there he was in my shop on a saturday afternoon, and
I acted as if it were a normal, everyday happening. He was just one of the
guys.
Thanks to this list and network technology, distance was not an issue, all that
mattered was a common interest in our old sports cars.
Neat.
mjb.
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