Garage Time

Sometimes, the ride is just an excuse to hangout with friends. In this story, the author explores the nature of a long-standing friendship and the unspoken words between two men who have lived many shared experiences.

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Welcome to the Being There Podcast. Stories from the Road, where we keep the rubber side down. These are stories written by my father, Gene McAlmott. Commentary by his son, me, John McCalmott. This is Episode 6, Garage Time. Written September 2nd, 2002. Sometimes the ride is just an excuse to hang out with friends. And in this story, the author explores the nature of a longstanding friendship and the unspoken words between two men who have lived many, many shared experiences. This is garage time. We pulled into Jerry's garage in Round Rock about 4 30 p.m. It was hot outside, and the slow moving traffic through Cedar Park had raised my temperature to the boiling point. We had just spent eight hours in the hill country heat, and there was nothing anyone could do or say that would cool me off. Jerry disappeared mere seconds after parking his bike. I hauled my beamer up on the center stand and shed my sweaty riding gear. I was hacked off about everything and nothing in general. I looked over and saw a cold bottle of water that had magically appeared on the top of my tank bag. It sat there, inviting, glistening with tiny droplets of cold, frosty dew. I admired the bottle's transparent blue color in its shapely form. Drink it, he said. And now would not be too soon. There are some things in life that are hard to describe, and the coolness of that first sip was one of them. I took another sip and savored the fresh taste as it washed away all of the harshness and assorted car fumes that I had ingested over the last few miles. My mind began to clear, and the throbbing sensation in my head slipped away into nothingness. Jerry turned the garage stereo to the classic rock station, and what was once a place to store bikes and cars had become a concert hall. He pulled out a case of oil and some tools and set them on the floor next to my bike. He looked at my flushed face and grinned. Yeah, you got pretty cooked back there, didn't you? It was more of a statement than a question. Drink it all. Then you can have some of the good stuff. I sat on the box of oil and finished the bottle of water. Jerry disappeared once again into the house. It had been a really good ride up until those last few miles on 1431. Austin had become a congested urban center in sharp contrast to the pristine hill country roads we had just traveled. Some very cold cervasa and a couple of limes followed, and a huge plate of chips and salsa Jerry had set on the workbench. Now that's gonna nuke me, I said. No problem, dude. We've got no place to be, and the guest room is a short walk even you can handle. His logic was impeccable, as usual. We munched and sipped our way through sweeping curves and cattle guards, reliving the best parts of the day. The roller coaster roads of three hundred thirty six and three hundred and thirty five and the vistas of three hundred thirty seven framed our conversation and fanned our larger than life images. Knuckle dragging along the sweeping curves of twenty three twenty three and the gravity wells of one hundred fifty two took on epic proportions no mere mortal could have equaled. We relived our past glories cutting donuts in the grass at City Park and Segan. We relived our past glories, cutting donuts in the grass at City Park. We relived the completeness of the Honda three hundred five Superhawk and the prowess of the Honda three hundred five Scrambler. My sixty seven Bonneville had become the icon of an era rather than the junk pile I knew it to be. Like a true nature's child, we were born. Born to be wild. We can climb so high I never want to die. Born to be wild. I loosened the plug on the bottom of the engine and drained the still warm oil into a catch pan. The filter was a bit stubborn, but we had it out in no time. I cleaned the plug surface, then wetted the new filter gasket with a thin wipe of oil and screwed it into place. Jerry removed the oil filter plug atop the left cylinder. We were ready for the fresh oil. And one last cervas. The late evening air had cooled comfortably and the mellow buzz had opened doors to past adventures long hidden. We slipped into the comfort of well lived lives and consoled ourselves knowing that we still had it, whatever it was. And that we were not likely to lose it any time soon. Jerry poured the first quart down the hole, taking care not to dribble anything on the bike. Like I cared. I noticed the expanding pool beneath the bike, but was too slow to understand its implication. Damn, you forgot the drain plug, he said, jumping to his feet. Who me? What drain plug? He grabbed a water paper towels and shoved them under the drain hole. There wasn't really that much spilled oil. He looked up at me with that sheepish grin I've come to know so well. I don't know what I enjoy more, he said. The ride was great, but this He didn't have to finish the sentence. We both knew what he meant. That garage had become a passageway between points in time. It was a window on two lives. It was a place to hang out and work on bikes. It was a place to experience the simple pleasures of just being and doing something with a good friend. It can't be planned. It just happens. It's when it meets reality. It's the other side of writing that is no less important. I call it garage time. Garage Time. Written by Gene McCalmott, September 2nd, 2002. Hard to believe how long ago this was written, and yet how pertinent and real it is today. I've said this in past podcasts. I'm gonna have Jerry on one of these. It's gonna be a challenge. Um, because after posting this on Facebook, we can't even find Jerry's Facebook page. His wife was messaging me because he hasn't gotten a chance to listen to any of the podcasts yet because he can't figure out how to get it on his phone. So there will be some fun, fun challenges to get him to be able to log into a podcast, but I think we can we can overcome those. And the reason we will overcome those is because of garage time. It'll be a chance for Jerry to experience some garage time through a story that my dad wrote so long ago. You know, it's probably my dad's influence that I have so many good friends in my life right now and can relate to this story so well. Which leads me to this story about me and my dad, our garage time. Of course, when he was alive, I was busy raising a family and we didn't get to spend as much time together. A cigar bar opened up in Rockwall at the harbor called in Fuego, and my dad likes to smoke cigars, and I had the occasional cigar from time to time. So I walked into that cigar bar probably the first week it was open, and I was the second person to buy a locker inside of there to store cigars. Not so much that I needed a locker to store cigars. Not so much that I smoke cigars so much that I needed a locker, but for a general excuse. An excuse to take some of my dad's cigars, put in that locker to keep them good, and give him the excuse to come out and smoke a cigar with me in that cigar lounge. And that became a great excuse. Dad used to come out and we'd sit in there and smoke cigars and solve the world's problems. It became a ritual of ours. So much so when my first daughter was born, we had special cigar wrappers made with her birthday on it, and I still have some of those in that locker in that cigar bar. That place became a place that we spent so much time talking and experiencing and just being together. A lot of good friends made at that time. I still have that humidor inside of Enfuego, and I still keep cigars there. I just don't go there near as much anymore because I miss those times with my dad. One of my very best friends, Mark, took my dad's place after my dad passed away, and he and I would go down there and smoke cigars and solve the world's problems. And then he passed away as well. So I will never give up my cigars in that humidor in Enfuego for as long as I'm around and can afford it. Because even though I don't go up there as often as I used to, when I do, it brings back those garage time memories that are so valuable to me and so precious, and I'm so glad I had that time with my dad and my friend Mark. We all need a little garage time every once in a while. Thank you for listening and spending this time with me. If this stirs your soul like it stirs mine, and you enjoyed today's episode, be sure to subscribe and follow the podcast so you don't miss future readings and commentary. All written material featured in this podcast is the original work of my father and used with his permission. The thoughts and opinions I share are my own. This recording is for personal listening only. My voice, lightness, and performance are protected and may not be recorded, reproduced, or used in any form of AI training, cloning, or synthetic replication without my explicit written consent. Thanks again for being here. Until next time, keep the rubber side down and save travels.