Dances With Wolverines

Here We Go Again

I live in a Trailer Park in Florida.

I know, we've talked about this before, but I want to Addendum the Story, so to speak.  And no doubt add to my impressive reputation for Political Incorrectness.

What's This Got To Do With Bicycles?

 Life here at the Whispering Pines Trailer Park  is remarkably like what I visualize an Indian Village in the Old Days as being like. We certainly are Tribal in our existence. Every trailer, like every teepee, is well acquainted with each other. There are communal feasts and communal celebrations. (Almost every night.) When an Elder Passes, the rest of the tribe swarms like Benevolent Vultures unto that trailer for the Passing Out of the Belongings. Sometimes the simple act of one member of the Tribe moving on to New Hunting Grounds Down the Street (or Jail) means a Bonanza of Crap to be shared amongst Those Still Free.

The Smoke From A Distant Fire

Also, there are Visual Similarities. Many of the people here, myself included, go about clothed in what might pass for quaint Indian garb. That means we spend most of the time in a pair of worn out shorts, flip-flops and little else. (The Braves,  I mean.  The Trailer Park Girls...well, that is a subject for another time).  The Smoke of Many Fires fills the air, because everybody does a lot of their cooking on a grill. It just makes sense in an environment that seldom sees temperatures less than ninety degrees and usually closer to 100 for most of the summer. Why heat up a hot-ass trailer with cooking heat when you can just step outside and throw some fresh caught fish on the grill or at worst resort to some cheap Winn-Dixie cheeseburgers?

It Ain't Over 'Till It's Over, Rover

Also the Dogs. I don't know how things were set up in Old Indian Villages, but I am pretty sure they had dogs. If not, we are making up for it now. Every trailer in Whispering Pines has at least One Dog. I know I do. But I Am Poor, and One Dog is all I can afford. Both my neighbors have at least two and Coyote, who has lived here the longest, has four. But his dogs are Chihuahuas and Four Chihuahuas actually equals Two Dogs. (But For the Great Spirit's sake  don't tell them that)  When a Stranger or the Bluecoats (guess) enter the Park the combined howling and growling and general cacophany of barking is impressive. It's funny but true: I know Every Dog's Bark and from my teepee (I mean trailer) at Center Court I can get a pretty good idea of what's going on by which dog is barking which bark at any given time and place.

We Pause For A Senior Moment

Did I ever tell you guys what Three Dog Night means? Probably. I Am Ancient and thus privileged to the Rite of Repetition. Or did I already say that? For example, did any of you know that the Wright Brothers started out as Bicycle Mechanics? Not just any old bicycle mechanics either: they had their own line of bicycles known as Atlantis, Columbia, Enterprise, Endeavor etc. that they stole from the names of old Sailing Ships. 

Now we return you to our regular programming.

The Crux of the Matter

Every Old Indian Village had a Shaman, or, as we call them now, Old Fart Who Thinks He Knows Everything. The Shaman was usually a pretty weird dude who mumbled a lot and could often be found Staring at the Sky and he usually drank Potions with Eagle Signs on them. And with that comes the Truth: today, in casual conversation with Miss Jo the Trailer Park Manager (My New Boss) I realized I am the Second Oldest Guy In the Park. Old Charlie the Refrigerator Repair Guy got carted off last month. He was still alive, but I suspect the Wolves In the Great Forest Beyond the Park have got his scent by now. That only leaves Jungle Jim between me and Eldest Status. What burden will that carry?

Well, for one thing, I will have to step up my intake of Potions With Eagle Signs.

I Ain't John Smith,  But That's What They Call Me At the Village Motel

Be that as it may, I am enamored of this Romantic New View of my life here at Whispering Pines. Miss Jo the New Manager is one Smokin' Hot Pocohantas of a Certain Age and the easiest Boss I ever had, so far. If I wanted to carry the analogy further, I guess Bobby the Trailer Park Mayor would have to serve as our Chief and I could go on and on with the whole thing but in reality, I'm just riffing along until I start being a Bicycle Guy again.

Feel My Pain

I have no idea what that entails but there is one Bicycle in the Stand for Uncle Bill (A Wally Comfort) and my own dear Mongoose Alta (awaiting a wheel) sitting on the side. Bill's Bike only needs Two Tubes and a Lube 'n Tune but since I refuse to drive anywhere for Bike Parts and we have had Afternoon Storms for a month now I don't have the parts. Tomorrow that will change because it is Wednesday and from now on, On Wednesdays We Ride.

No,  I Said My Pain

Thus Speaks the Second Oldest Bike Shaman In Training At Whispering Pines Trailer Park. Plus, I need a break from Pressure Washing and Roach Killing and Rot Removing and Air-conditioner Swapping. I need a break from Linoleum Laying and Wall Painting and Barbecue Sauce Empire Starting and On and On and On.

Ruby,  Don't Take Your Love To Town

Somehow I fear my readers need a break from my endless ramblings that have Nothing To Do With Bicycling but what the heck, We're All Friends, right? Right?

Whispering Pines Trailer Park and Historical Diorama

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