Need A Lift – Caven Moorehead
Once upon a time, and long, long ago I used to have a house that I lived in that was made of bricks and wood. I had to bury some wheels under it so that I could sleep and I would feel comfortable. When the economy crashed, and they took my house away I felt a little upset, but I had already put my contingency plan in place. I bought another trailer. Once trailer trash, always trailer trash. …
Looking back at it, I don’t miss having all the expenses that come along with owning property, and I despise the thought of being taxed for simply owning something. It seems that there is little or no freedom from the bureaucrats who continue to take and take from the people and provide little or no support to those very same folks that need representation. This, my friends, is the reason that I am Trailer Trash, and for the first time in my life I can actually enjoy being a free man in a free life. Judge me if you will, but as we all recall from last month, Spyke and Mike visited me here in the trailer park to discuss the content in his column regarding some silly rules. I hate rules, but always try to offer advice. …
The Trailer Trash Court however is based upon sensibility, righteousness and the opinions and dedications of those of us whom have decided to live our life on wheels instead of concrete foundations and brick walls. Ask Spyke and Mike about that, as we had a session of TT Court last month regarding his predisposed opinions regarding women, men and in his case – BIRDS. I’m sure that Mike probably learned (just a little) from hanging out with some folks who live in the gap between homelessness and financial security, but we all have to respect the fact that no matter your monetary wherewithal we ALL have to live together in this messed up society that we so love. If we spend all our time despising the government, the city, and our neighbors, we lose a lot of time enjoying the simple freedom we have here in the greatest country on the globe. Plus – we will miss a lot of positive drinking dwelling on the negative nuances!
I, at one time had a small motorcycle shop on the lot next to my house. Although after years of living there, the robo-signer mortgage scam caused me to lose that particular piece of property, but the lot still belonged to me, and regardless of the city’s continuous attempts to eliminate my ownership through fines and harassment, the day came when I was able to sell the lot and liquidate the tools and equipment that remained there. One of those particular pieces of equipment (and the subject of this story) was a very nice pneumatic motorcycle lift. This wasn’t one of those ‘cheep-o bargain tool store’ lifts, it was one of those that you would see in your local dealership—very nice and VERY heavy. I had moved the lift to a storage warehouse near the trailer park while I attempted to sell it.
One day, I was sitting in the local tavern shooting the $#!t with some friends and the topic of the motorcycle shop came up. One of my friends “Greasy” expressed an interest in having such a piece of equipment and we soon struck up a deal for him to purchase it. Greasy is an auto mechanic but an avid H-D rider and he stated the fact that he needed a lift to do a major job on his Harley. I told him that I and my partner Rick had done a ton of bikes on that lift and that he would enjoy having it to use for his own service problems. Unfortunately Rick had some medical problems and some surgeries that prevented him from continuing with our plan of moving the shop. Rick is doing well, and our prayers are with him! He will survive but will Greasy?
After the initial conversation regarding the purchase of the lift, Greasy and I went to the shop to see the item. We both decided that the thing was way too heavy to load into his truck with just the two of us plus, when I moved the lift to the shop it had locked itself into the raised position making it almost impossible to move. Knowing this we returned to the bar to recruit some help. No problem! After a few beers and a little BS we had four helpers that were dedicated to getting the lift onto Greasy’s truck. That’s when it got kinda funny. …
In an expose’ of macho stupidity, I rolled the lift out of the shop onto the tarmac behind the truck. I said “The problem here is that we won’t be able to load it in the upright position” and everyone agreed that we needed to lower it all the way down to get it in the pickup. While our ‘helpers’ watched, I once again executed another feat of superman ignorance by lifting up on the table portion of the device while Greasy kept his foot on the lower part of the unit which probably wasn’t a good idea. We released the locking bar that held the unit in the upright position while I alone holding the table watched in agony as Greasy’s foot was crushed between the table and the lower unit. “I’m alright – I’m alright!” Greasy hollered as everyone else stood laughing at us, “it only got my shoe!” – Okay that’s fine but as I stood there with the weight of the lift and Greasy’s leg in my hands I had to holler out for a little help! The guys still laughing their collective asses off eventually came over to try to lift the table just a little while Greasy untied his shoe to escape. He got his foot out and there were no missing toes or blood thank God, but the shoe was still stuck. We were finally able to retrieve the shoe and our composure. Needless to say that incident was one of those “you had to be there” situations but at the time it was fairly hilarious, and has been talked about amongst us for quite a while. Back at the bar we discussed the fact that Greasy should invest in some steel toed boots, but he probably won’t. …
Until next month – ‘Speed Safely’ and watch yer toes bros. …