MIke Gigante just left my humble grease pit, headed to a rendezvous at
Gerard's place. Michelin Man? No, I was more reminded of those guys you see
on the cable channel playing rugby. If Mike didn't play a ton of rugby I'd be
surprised. His timing was excellent, arriving just after I finished washing
the whole dang fleet. The Morris is up and running, bugeye was washed and
ready to go for a scoot in the country and the new Mini and Austin were out in
the driveway so I could finally sweep out the garage. Mike checked out the
fleet and got a look at the turbocharger before we took it out for a quick run
out of town. I realized only later I should have handed him the key and let
him wind it up a bit. I thought about it a bit and realized I've never
offered anyone the key. Like the kid whose mom tells him to share his
favorite toy with a cousin, the hand might reach out, but the fingers are
clenched tight. Sorry Mike, I'll work on it.
Pity he didn't have a bit more time, but he added in at least 4 hours of
driving to squeeze in a visit and still make Gerard's place. After hearing
how he once brought home a 40' trailer full of of sprites from the US, my wife
decided that my level of addiction is still not a concern. Hummmmmmm.....?
Glen
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