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Quality Crosleys at Barrett-Jackson

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I never know what to think about the Crosleys that occasionally go across the carpet at the big auto auctions.  One would assume that they'd be the cream of the crop, especially given the prices some of them go for... but the truth is that some of them have been downright unimpressive.

I'm happy to say that's not the case with
the offerings on tap at the next Barrett-Jackson auction.  These are some of the nicest-appearing Crosleys I've seen anywhere.

The blue '52 Super Wagon at the top of the post is really a beautiful car - paint and detailing seem to be flawless.  I'm curious if the 'automatic transmission' listing is a goof - sure looks like the stock shifter to me, and I'd think they'd mention what the conversion was from since Crosley never had a stock automatic.
This green '50 was featured in Hemmings Collectible Car magazine and I'm fairly sure I saw it offered for sale earlier in the year.  Appears to be a very nice amateur resto - probably very close to what rolled out of the factory back in the day.
The ad lists this '47 convertible as one of the nicest Crosleys in existence - sure seems like it.  Very accurate restoration, plus a Braje-equipped motor.  It's only covered 96 miles since the restoration, so there may be some teething problems that haven't surfaced yet, but then I'm always paranoid about break-in periods.
Because of the war, most 1942 US cars are scarce - but 1942 Crosleys are rare.  They made barely over 1000 before ceasing production, and because of wartime rationing of gas and tires, those cars were DRIVEN -  a car that got four times the mileage of other pre-war cars was in high demand.  This one looks stunning and about as correct as you are ever going to find.. a really nice car.   

I'll be very curious to see where the prices end up on these... the auctions usually go quite a bit above what I see similar cars sell for on the regular market, so we may see some records set!


h/t to Jerry Summey of the Crosley Gang for the tip!

Hot Rod Pickup

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Skimming through some of my back issues of Hot Rod Magazine I noticed this goo-gaw laden roundside pickup in the August 1951 issue.  The article is part of a series exploring America's speed shops - this particular Crosley was in the fleet belonging to the Hot Rod Shop of Detroit, Michigan.

Full story below...



Vintage Picture: Crosley Wagon and Toddlers

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Sadly, no story with this one - just a great vintage photo of a Crosley wagon and two cute kids.  John McKnight found this on the HAMB and I thought it was too good not to share...

Better Late Than Never: World of Speed 2012

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So I got WAY off track with my posts at the end of last year... I finished up the 2012 Meet report and then dropped into a wormhole of work.  I skipped some stuff.

The biggest thing I skipped was a whirlwind trip to World of Speed at Bonneville.





When my friend Davide was first planning his trip over from Europe I had suggested that he book the trip in August to coincide with Speed Week at Bonneville.  He was incredulous that such a thing was even an option, but I told him that if he could come all the way from England, I could get him to Utah.  In the end, August didn't work for him... but I noticed that World of Speed, a slightly less crazy landspeed event held at Bonneville, was slated for the early fall timeslot that Davide and his wife Karin were shooting for.  Everything was lining up perfectly until World of Speed announced their dates - with the exact same start date as the Crosley Meet.

A promise is a promise.  Obviously I couldn't miss the Crosley Meet, but there was really no reason we couldn't head for Utah the second the meet was over, right?  And that's how it went.   I headed home after the Sunday brunch and had the wagon off the trailer and back into its spot by lunchtime.  Davide, Karin and I gathered our camping stuff, I found them suitably cheesy straw hats, filled the cooler with snacks and kissed Liv goodbye (she had to work) and we were driving east by late afternoon.
The only bummer (or not, as it turned out) was that I'd had to scrap the plan to drive my '62 Savoy.  Davide was stoked on the idea of taking a genuine Mopar classic on a trip to the Mecca of hotrodding and I really wanted to get some pics of the car on that iconic salt.  I was confident that it would make the trip with no trouble, but there were two problems: it only has two seatbelts, meaning that someone would always be without, and the driver's side windshield wiper had broken a spring and I hadn't had a chance to fix it... so if it rained heavily we'd be screwed.  In the end I chose safe over sorry and we piled into Liv's '99 Toyota pickup.

The plan was to drive all the way to Bonneville on Sunday and get there around midnite so we could make the most of the one day we could spend there.  We made great time up to Nevada, but once we hit what should have been easy street - I80 in the middle of nowhere - we were screwed. Roadwork, everywhere.  Even when we could have made good time, reduced speed signs kept us slow going.   By  about 2AM I was cooked.   I pulled into a truck stop in Wells, about 60 miles short of Bonneville and we set up "camp" - I put them in the camper shell and I curled up in my sleeping bag under the back of the truck, out of the glare of parking lot lights.
My alarm went off at 8AM and I was glad I'd slept under the truck - a light rain had misted the whole area.  Suddenly I was worried, not about windshield wipers, but about World of Speed being rained out.  We gassed up and got a quick breakfast at McDonalds - Davide stopped a family from driving off with their (empty) baby stroller hooked to the back of their car.  I laughed.  We headed east.

The sky was dark to the south - really dark for September.  As we drove we passed spots that were soaked.  I tried not to appear concerned, but I was pretty worried that I'd be taking them all this way to show them an empty, swampy mess.  To their credit, they were both enjoying the trip for what it was - the desert, the crappy road food, the ridiculousness of driving to Utah after we'd already driven halfway around California the week before.  There's a reason I really love these people.

We passed over the state line into Utah.  It was dry, more or less.  We turned off for the salt flats and wound around to the check in.  World of Speed is a smaller event than Speed Week, but I'll hand it to them - they are organized.  We got programs and stickers and directions where to go.  When Liv and  I went to Speed Week a few years ago we paid our $$ and they let us loose... it was a bit more freeform than this.  I asked the lady if it had rained.

"Yesterday it rained right up to this spot but it never got to the track.  The salt's good," she said.  "But we're watching that," she said, pointing to the dark clouds that circled us in nearly every direction...
to be continued....


World of Speed 2012: Part II

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We drove out onto the salt flat, slowly crunching our way toward the line of brightly colored objects about a mile off.  As we approached the line the objects began to differentiate themselves: cars, trucks, motorhomes, motorcycles, trailers and people took shape.  Most of the vehicles were lined up in two lines that stretched for about a quarter mile each and terminated a couple hundred yards apart.

We parked, administered sunscreen and headed toward the nearest lineup.  Davide and Karin seemed slightly giddy, like they were not quite convinced that they were actually standing on the same salt that had borne Burt Munro, Malcolm Campbell and Craig Breedlove.  The weather was amazing- warm but not too hot, with heavy clouds that cut the brutal reflection off the salt and made for dramatic photo backdrops.
The speedways at Bonneville are usually two black lines on the salt that start very near each other but head slightly apart as they get further away; they would form a 'V' if you looked down from a plane.  One track is longer (five miles I think) for high speed runs and the other is shorter, for the slower (like under 150MPH or so) runs.  I say 'usually' because when the salt is just right the organizers sometimes add a third track a few miles away.  There were only two tracks this time out.

World of Speed is a smaller event than Speed Week, so I wasn't surprised that there was a bit less traffic than when I'd been to Speed Week a few years back.  I really had no idea what to expect of World of Speed - they had changed their schedule to run Saturday-Thursday this year and no one knew how many people would be left on the Monday, which was the only day we could make it.  The good news is that there was still plenty to see.  The better news is that, just like at Speed Week, the people here were hardcore.
A lot of my friends - even car buddies - don't quite get the appeal of Bonneville.  It's in the middle of nowhere, it's generally hotter than hell, and you can't really even watch the cars hit speed - the tracks are so long you really only get to see the takeoff unless you park yourself miles away and watch through binoculars.  Most people would just rather go to the local drag strip or car show or sports car track.
And that's just it.  Everyone at Bonneville is into it.  They're either running a car or bike, or helping someone else run a car or bike, or are just so fascinated by the whole thing that they took their vacation to come to the middle of nowhere and wear a giant hat, get sunburned and be around other like-minded fanatics.  No one is accidentally at Bonneville.  No one.  If you're there, you're there for one reason: Bonneville.  It's a beautiful thing.
to be continued...



World of Speed: Part III

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After the initial shock of being at THE Bonneville Speedway you get acclimated pretty quickly.  It helps that almost everyone is so dang nice - even the folks who are having a really bad day.
 Bad, like they spent a year preparing for this and now their car is pissing parts and oil all over the salt.  That's bad.
Not that everyone at Bonneville is St. Salt of the Earth... there are a few grumps of course - it wouldn't be earth if there weren't a few.  But even the cranks seem less cranky... like they're skeptical of you, but you are all the way out here so you can't be all bad.  Or maybe everyone is just so stoked to be there that they are all on their best behavior.  I'm probably overthinking all this.
One difference between Speed Week and World of Speed was the strong Volkswagen presence at WoS.  Someone told me that the VW folks go for the September event because of the cooler temperatures... makes sense to me.   No matter what Rommel may have said of his North African Kubelwagens, mid-20th century German aircooled technology just wasn't designed for 116 degree summers.    I cut my teeth on split-window VW busses and finally gave up on them after cooking motors in two of them.  The VW contingent here was a surprising mix of busses, bugs and a Karmann Ghia.  They may not have been going as fast as the small block Chevys, but for a four cylinder that hasn't changed much since Truman was president I thought they did pretty good.
Davide was running around like a kid on Christmas.  His camera battery had given up just after he got to the US and we'd spent several days trying to find a replacement - a surprisingly difficult task given that he had a camera that is easily available in the states.  We finally got one a couple of days before we left, and lucky for that because I think he'd have had an embolism if he'd gone to the salt without a good camera. I'm waiting for some of his Bonneville pics to show up on his blog - nothing so far.
 
He and Karin were so giddy to be there that people were immediately taken with them - especially the German salt addict we met while he was shooting pics of a hopped up eighties sedan.  I can't remember his name, but he turned out to be something of a salt flats legend: an engineer who designs fuselage for modern land speed record vehicles - Davide recognized one of the projects he'd recently worked on.  He works in Kassel, Germany, but you could say he lives in Bonneville... he comes out for both Speed Week and World of Speed every year - and has for over 20 years.  That's him in the orange vest.
After a few hours we headed down to the pits - a line of cars, tarps and trailers that runs parallel to the long track.  In full flush the pits can go on for a couple of miles, but they were only about 1000 yards long this time out. We ran into the guys who'd dumped their oil in the lineup.  Hard to believe, but underneath all that bodywork  was a heavily modified Fiat, so Davide was stoked to chat with them about their experiences.  Despite the seeming disaster, the team was in good spirits - they're running about 250 miles per hour, a fact that made Davide and I ask them to repeat themselves 'cause we were sure we heard them wrong.  Guess they weren't having such a bad day after all.
The skies were getting darker by the minute, and just as we reached the end of the pits we felt a few drops of rain.  It spattered lightly for a minute or two and then it just dumped.  By the time we'd gotten back to where we parked the truck there was an inch of water on the salt.  World of Speed was over.
Not much to do.  It was only about 2 o'clock (Mountain Time)... I did the math and figured out that if we hustled, we could get back to Sac that night. Davide and Karin were up for a try so we grabbed a quick bite in Wendover, stopped by the Nugget to look at the forlorn display of the Eelco Wee Wee Eel Streamliner and then hit the road.
Twelve hours and 557 miles later we pulled up to my house, tired, sweaty and salty - and totally stoked.  What a weekend!





Ebay Watch: Woodland Farm-O-Road

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It's unusual to see any Farm-O-Road for sale, given that there were less then 500 made - and it's even rarer to find one 30 miles from home - but that's what happened to me this morning when I spied this Yolo County driver listed on Ebay.
I don't know anything about this particular car - it hasn't been to any of the West Coast meets in the 15 years that I've been going, but it appears to be straight and fairly original.  The seller says it's had one repaint.
Farm-O-Roads were available with all kinds of options, including plows, well drillers, and this car has one of the coolest options: a hydraulic dump bed.

You might have noticed that the dump action grazes the seats... those are stock Crosley seats, but I don't believe they are correct for the Farm-O-Road.  Those appear to be seats from an earlier Crosley (a '46 or '47); by 1950 Crosley had moved to a more square-backed seat.  I'm still not 100% sure that the dump bed would clear the later seats either, but that's a question for the new owner.
Sure looks like a nice car, and I wish I'd had the opportunity to see it up close at some point.  The price is climbing - it's currently at $4,100 with reserve not met and eight days left on the auction!

Is this Harrison Ford With His Crosley?

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A few months ago I stumbled across a scan of a vintage photo of a Pre War Crosley convertible with a boy in a t shirt leaning on it, staring into the camera.   It was posted on a 'good old days' themed thread on the HAMB hot rod site, and the the person who posted the picture didn't know the original source for the image.
From the boy's hair, clothes and the houses in the background I'd say the picture could have been taken anytime from the late thirties to about 1955.  Aside from the Crosley, it would be a fairly nondescript image - except that the kid in the photo is supposed to be future movie star Harrison Ford!

The guy who posted the picture didn't have more than that.... just the picture and the story that it is supposed to be of Harrison Ford with his first car.  Ford was born in 1942, and the boy in this picture looks to me like he's about 13 or thereabouts, so that would make this photo from sometime around 1955.  The Crosley would be in great shape for a 15 year old car.

The kid in the photo does look a lot like what I'd imagine a young Harrison Ford to look like - but what did Harrison Ford actually look like in his teens?  I managed to find a couple of pictures from his high school yearbook, and at that time he was wearing a buzz cut nothing like the long hair in the Crosley picture.  This could be the moodier, later version of the boy in the photo - or a totally different guy.  I will say that the droopy curl in the front appears to be identical in both photos, even with the shorter hair.
But, that's all I've turned up.  I've done some internet searches trying to find any reference to Harrison Ford owning a Crosley but I haven't found anything more.  I thought I'd throw it out here to see if anyone in Crosleydom knows anything about this.  Anybody?

Crosley Factory Photo, 1946

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Don't know where The Old Motor got this picture, but it's a good one: a whole line of 1947 model sedans on the line at the Marion, Indiana plant.  The photo is dated October 1946; that sounds right - these sedans don't have the Crosley script that went on the bumpers of the very first postwar Crosleys, and they lack the running lights of the slightly later cars.  Neat!

Chuck Klein's Hot Rod Almquist Crosley

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Ed Almquist has a long and storied history as a Hot Rod speed equipment pioneer, and the story of his foray into fiberglass sports car bodies has recently been explored in some depth.  Though the story of the Almquist company is becoming better known, the stories of the dreamers and schemers who built themselves an Almquist have gone largely untold.

Author Chuck Klein was one such dreamer.  Like nearly every teenage boy in 1957, Klein longed for his very own hot rod; unlike most, he actually got his wish - a genuine racing machine.

"[For] my fifteenth birthday, my father bought me a car..." he wrote.  It was, he says "a l952 Crosley two door sedan with its tiny four cylinder engine that barely ran..."  It was a car, but to a kid with a hot rod heart, just barely.  But what the Crosley lacked in automotive 'oomph,' Klein made up for with his imagination. "The dream being to convert this slow, top heavy, unattractive little old lady's car into a screaming, low slung sports car."

In short order Klein had yanked the stock sedan body and sent $295 off to Almquist for the low slung fiberglass roadster body of his dreams.  When the body pieces arrived - with no instructions, natch - he realized that his Crosley chassis was going to need some changes.

"For the finished car to look right and handle correctly, the frame would have to be Z'd and C'd and the engine would have to be moved back and down, alterations I had only read about in hot rod magazines. A quick check of the body to frame/engine alignment made it clear the engine would not be in the center of the hood opening and the car would have a very high center of gravity if mounted to the stock frame. Definitely not the low slung sports car I imagined it should resemble."

I'll stop there, and it won't spoil the story if I say that Klein completed his alterations and had the finished car on the road in short order  - prematurely, you might even say.  Klein tells the whole story better than I could, and I encourage you to check it out at his website, here.    Great stuff, and a fun read for the bench racer in all of us.


Incredible: Putt Mossman's 1949 Crosley Thrill Show

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Just noticed this INCREDIBLE photo of a Crosley Stunt Show: Jimmy Leach and His Death Duckers' Thrill Show of 1949 - 'The Show That's Alive With Death!' Some lucky soul parted with $42 to win one of the coolest Crosley pictures I've ever come across.

A quick internet search turned up zero about Jimmy Leach and his Death Duckers, so I don't know how 'alive with death' the show was, but it seems to have been alive with Crosleys, including a pair of sedans, one of which is airborne over what looks like an uber-rare Crosley Sport Utility.  Seems like the Sport Ute should have had fabric doors, tho, so maybe this is just a cut-down wagon.  Whatever - this whole package is COOL.

The daring driver of the leaping sedan appears to have been Orren 'Putt' Mossman, a stunt driver best known for his motorcycle escapades.   By 1949 Mossman was a thrill show veteran, having been jumping, burning and wrecking two and four-wheeled vehicles for decades.  Despite a penchant for poor prep, and thus, severe injury, Mossman lived to a ripe old age, dying in 1994 at the age of 88.

How Small is a Crosley?

Guess Who's Going to the Great Pacific Northwest MicroCar Extravaganza, June 14-16

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Just firmed up plans to make a quick trip north to check out the Great Pacific Northwest MicroCar Extravaganza that will take place in Forest Grove, Oregon this weekend!

I've wanted to go to this annual show for years but have never managed to make it happen - this time my luck is good: my pal Dave 'Smith' was planning a roundtrip to Portland this weekend before he heads off to parts unknown in his continuing quest to drive a 1966 Ducati 250 around the world.  He hasn't actually driven the Ducati any further than the local Kwik-E-Mart in a few years, but hey, a man's gotta dream.  His blog about his (mis)adventures can be funny as hell but is not for the faint of heart.
Like me, Dave has microcar fever, such that he currently owns a 1963 NSU Sport Prinz and is making deals to acquire three more NSU cars in the month or so before he leaves US soil.  Then, they can gather dust while he works in Saudi Arabia or Korea or Beijing or somewhere, salting away cash to extend his global Ducati assault.

In any case, he was eager to check out the MicroCar Extravaganza and even more eager to visit his girl in Portland before he flies off into the sunset.  I'm stoked to split driving duties and sleep on his girlfriend's couch, so if all goes well I'll be posting from the show soon.  MicroCars ahoy!

*photo on top is from a great Flickr page from last year's event... check it out here!

But First, Jumpin' Johnny....

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Dave and I had planned to leave for Portland as soon as I could get off work Thursday, say 4PM or so. His pickup was running hot so we decided to rent an econobox for the trip and we were scheduled to grab the rental at 5PM.  Then, Jumpin' Johnny called.

Johnny Crasharama has come up on the blog before. He's a friend of mine - a professional stuntman who has been wrecking, rolling and racing cars for outfits like Chitwood's Tournament of Thrills and King Kovaz Auto Daredevils since about 1972.  He had semi-retired some time back because he hated the last guy he'd worked for, but he never quit doing stunts - he'd just block off the street in front of his house and do stunt wrecks for free until the cops made him stop.

A few years ago he was talking to a friend who was still in the business and he found out that the Hell Drivers, the very last old time Auto Thrill Show still on the circuit, was about to close down.  Johnny looks hard as nails, but really, he's the sentimental type; the idea that there wouldn't be a thrill show barnstorming across America the next year - for the first time since 1934 - bothered him deeply.  Two weeks later he had bought the Hell Drivers and was gearing up for life on the road again.
Things have been tough- the economy sucks, fuel is expensive, and it's hard to keep an experienced team of stunt drivers together.  And, times have changed.  The County Fairs and rural dirt tracks that made up most of that Stunt Show circuit tend to book Extreme Motocross, Monster Trucks and other more contemporary shows these days.  Still, Johnny and his Hell Drivers head out each season, doing their best and keeping an American tradition alive.

That tradition is a big deal to Johnny.  He knows about all of the old time Stunt Shows and can rattle off stories of long-dead stunt drivers - most of them killed in action - for hours. I mentioned the photo I saw labeled 'Jimmy Leach and his Death Duckers' and Johnny says, "Do you mean Jimmy Lynch and his Death Dodgers?" This stuff is in his blood (after all his accidents, literally).  Johnny worked for many of the old timers in his early days, and back then he was driving '40s and 50's cars nearly every show, just like his heroes did before him.
One of Johnny's biggest heroes is Lucky Teter, the first really successful Thrill Show driver and first Hell Driver.  Teter was a big star in the thirties and early forties - until his spectacular death on July 4, 1942.  The July 4 show was billed as his farewell to Thrill Shows- he was scheduled to enlist in the military the next day.  He never made it.  On his third jump of the day, Teter was attempting to set a ramp-to-ramp jump record: 150 feet.   Spectators heard his '38 Plymouth misfiring as he approached the ramp, but he tried to jump anyway.  The Plymouth fell short, hitting the landing ramp at windshield height, killing Teter instantly in front of thousands of spectators.

When Johnny told me that he was thinking of fixing up a 1938 Plymouth and taking it out on the circuit with him as a tribute to Teter I thought it was pretty cool.    Then when he told me he'd probably try some stunts with it I thought it was kinda nuts - jumping a four year old car in 1942 is one thing - jumping a 75 year old car in 2013 is a whole other level of 'Extreme.' But not to Johnny.  He had trouble finding a suitable '38 Plymouth, so he settled on someone's stalled '37 Dodge project.  It had been sitting for 30+ years, but Johnny had it running and driving in a few months and local artist Bruce Gossett painted it up to look like a forties Thrill Show car.  Only thing left was to test it with a few small jumps.  He called to see if I wanted to check it out before he headed for the East Coast.  Dave and I postponed our departure.
Johnny set up ramps on the street in front of his house and a small group of us waited around while he got everything set up.  He'd replaced the shocks since the car had been bottoming out in earlier tests and he wanted to make sure it was sorted.  By about 7PM everyone was there and he fired up the stock 217 flat six and drove to the end of the street - a quick U turn and he was barreling toward the ramps, straight pipe roaring.

He hit the ramps going about 50 and the car sailed through the air as clean as can be... planting firmly 20-30 feet down the street.  No bottoming out.  After that it was just fun.   He made another half dozen jumps, with the car performing perfectly each time.  Then a cop rolled up, looked at Johnny's car, the ramps and all of us.  He and Johnny talked for a second and the cop left, smiling.  Show was over.  Dave and I got in the rental and headed for Portland...

2013 Great Pacific Northwest MicroCar Extravaganza, Part 1

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By the time Dave and I actually got on the road for Portland it was after 9PM. We made it about 50 miles past the Oregon border before we pulled into a truckstop and got a few hours of sleep in the car.  I'd brought my computer so I managed to do a little work while we ate breakfast and Dave frantically tried to nail down a really good job offer in China that had come in just before we'd left Sacto.

Our first stop was Estacada, a tiny town in the woods outside Portland where Dave had a motorcycle buddy who'd been storing some of Dave's gear.  We checked out his piles of projects, including several late thirties Mopar coupe bodies, a pair of NOS Fiberfab sportscar bodies that had never been mounted and too many motorcycle projects to count.  Dave loaded the trunk with leather riding gear and Ducati parts and from there we drove into Portland, to pick up Dave's girlfriend, Kris.

By 6PM the three ofus were headed for Forest Grove and the Friday night meet-and-greet that opened the weekend.  When we pulled into the meet parking lot Dave and I started geeking out immediately.
There were microcars of all colors and varieties zipping around - Subaru 360s (THREE of 'em - two coupes and a van), Honda 600s, a Lloyd, a 2CV, a Fiat Topolino hotrod, a Goggomobil, a Freeway, two Berkeleys, an NSU Prinz, and even a Messerschmitt.  Paydirt!
I ran around taking pictures and chatting with people and within a few minutes Dave had cadged a ride in the Messerschmitt. On the drive up from California he'd been joking about buying one if he got that job in China - by the time he got back from the spin around the neighborhood you could see the gears turning.  Messerschmitts are expensive - $25,000 is a lotta dough for a tiny little car - but you probably can't get a wackier ride for your money.
The cars ranged from meticulous restorations to dinged-up drivers.  Every car ran and several had been driven a good distance to the meet.   Lucky for us, summer days are loooong in Portland so we had almost two hours to nerd out on the cars before it started to get dark.
When the sun dropped we headed over to the hotel for a beer with everyone.  The event is headquartered at McMenamin's Grand Lodge; McMenamin's is an amazing chain that buys iconic historic properties and meticulously restores/rehabs them into a combo hotel/restaurant/brewery.  Each one is different, taking inspiration from the building's original use... in this case a Masonic and Eastern Star home.  They are really neat, and it was a perfect spot for a gathering of weird little cars.
As I suspected, general microcar folk are kinda like Crosley folk: congenial oddballs who don't take themselves - or their cars - too seriously.  We shared a few beers with a lot of nice people, including meet organizer Mark Hatten and a great couple who had come all the way from Atlanta for the meet - and no, not in a microcar.  They are longtime friends of Mark and his wife, and own a Messerchmitt and a Rovin they bought from Bruce Weiner before he shut down his museum.
By the time we headed back to Portland, Dave and I were giddy and exhausted.... I'm sure Kris thought we were a couple of loons.  I hit the hay and set my alarm for an early wake up - I could barely wait for tomorrow to get there.

Click here for Part II...












Mind = Blown! 2013 GPNW MicroCar Extravaganza, Part II

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Dave, Kris and I were up early and on the way to Forest Grove before 9AM.  We led a Citroen DS21 for much of the trip and then were shocked when they rolled past the show entrance without stopping - apparently they weren't MicroCar fans because we never saw them again.  The parking lot at McMenamin's was already rich with Micro and Mini cars - several of which had arrived since last night.
  The first thing I noticed was an immaculate Fiat Multipla, looking like it had just rolled out of the showroom.  The owners had finished the restoration the night before! Everything was perfect, including the NOS factory floor mats which cost the owners over a thousand bucks.  Seems crazy, but when you find something like that, you buy it!
I reconnected with several Sacramento folks I hadn't seen in years, and for good reason - unbeknownst to me they'd relocated to the northwest.  One BMC Mini-loving couple (whose names I forget- sorry!) had organized a Sacramento Microcar Club 15 or so years ago - Dave and I had gone to a couple of meetings and then the whole thing petered out at some point when I wasn't paying attention.  Through that club I'd I met a guy named Tony Grillo who, it turned out, had bought the '62 Multipla I'd passed on when I decided to buy my first Crosley.  Later he'd also bought the Goliath station wagon that Dave and I had both passed on because it was 'too far gone.'   He's a genius mechanic (he'd gotten the Goliath  - which had been sitting in mud for 30 years - running in a day) and it turned out that he'd relocated to Washington state not long after the BMC fans.  Tony didn't bring a car but the Mini owners brought two Minis, including a purple pickup conversion.  Nice folks, all.
Neat stuff kept rolling in: a Citroen Ami, a 2CV, a Goggomobil, another Mini Cooper truck, another two stroke Subaru, more Hondas... before long there were over 25 Microcars buzzing around the McMenamin's lot.  Total sensory overload for me.
Around 11AM Mark (the event organizer) began getting people into their cars and directing them to the front of the Lodge.  A long line of tiny, brightly colored cars stretched from the lot to the rapidly-filling area at the head of the McMenamin's entryway.  Mark and his helpers busily directed traffic into the too-small lot and I wondered what he was doing.





It didn't take long to figure out that he was arranging a carefully posed group photo (no same-color cars parked next to each other!) something I'd never thought about doing at the Crosley meet.  When everybody was staged, a photographer took a shot from an upstairs window in the lodge.  It's a great idea, and I can't believe that we haven't always done this at our meets.
As soon as the photos were taken we got on to the REAL business of the day: the tour.  Dave and I didn't know any details - just that Saturday featured a drive through the Oregon countryside.  We were hoping we could scrounge rides so that we wouldn't have to follow along in our rented Mazda - the shame!  I got an invite to ride shotgun in one of the Berkeleys and Kris and Dave got into one of Mark's Subarus.
There were two Berkeleys on hand, both owned and restored by John Lindh.  I was riding with him in a bright yellow '58 that he'd pieced together out of a project car he'd found hanging upside down in a buddy's shop. It sports a Honda 4 cylinder engine out of a motorcycle but it looks pretty stock from the outside.  He did a heck of a job on the resto-mod and then promptly turned around and restored another Berkeley for his wife - this one totally stock.  He's still not sure exactly what made him launch into Berkeleys since he'd never been a microcar guy before.
We buzzed through the lush green countryside, which got rural pretty quick.  Half the cars got lost pretty quick too - we'd left the hotel out of a different exit than planned, which made it difficult to follow the directions we'd all been handed.  We pulled over and waited for the assortment of underhorsed iron to catch up.  Once we had reassembled our multitude Mark led the way in the Messerschmitt and we took a leisurely  cruise through the rolling hills of central Oregon. After 15 or so minutes we arrived at our surprise destination: a heliport!
I'm not sure why this seemed like such a perfect fit - maybe because the Messerchmitt already looks like an aviation vehicle to begin with.  We pretty much filled the parking lot which made for another great photo opp.  We had gained another car or two since leaving the hotel, making about 25 cars on the tour - and what an assortment!  Air-cooled, water-cooled, four-stroke, two-stroke, three wheeled, four wheeled, British, German, Japanese, Italian, French - the only thing missing was the Freeway.  It was new to the owner and he wasn't quite sure how it would do on a trip so he left it at McMenamin's and hopped into another car.
We got a tour of the facilities and a look at the copters on hand - they even let us climb all over the huge   Viet Nam-era  troop carrier that they used for training.  Dave scrambled up the side and ogled the big motors on top after our tour guide said, 'Sure, go ahead, but if you fall off it's your own damn fault.' The tour guide was a big, clean cut guy who had some writing tattooed on his fingers - I didn't want to stare so I never figured out what it said.
At some point the guide offered to launch one of the helicopters and take a photographer up for a really great shot if we'd cover part of the gas - the hat was passed and we scrounged up $100 instantly.  The obvious choice for the shot was the one photog on hand with the professional camera gear. She was excited to go and the copter made a few passes for her to get some good shots.
As we got ready to leave I noticed that the Messerschmitt had no co-pilot. I asked Mark if I could ride along and he told me to hop in.  Mark's Messerschmitt is a KR200, which has foot controls and is more car-like than the KR175 the smaller, more motorcycle-ish version. Then there is also the Tiger, the bigger, rarer, 4-wheeled version - few of them still exist and the one that sold at the Bruce Weiner auction recently went for a small mountain of money.  Lynn (Messerschmitt/Rovin owner from Atlanta) made sure we posed for photos.

Dave had warned me that it got warm riding in the clear canopy, but I didn't notice that at all.  There was a good breeze as we cruised along and I smelled two-stroke oil.  I was in charge of navigation and all went well til we got to a small road that Mark had google-mapped but hadn't actually driven when he planned the route... it turned out to be gravel and uphill, two things that weren't going to fly.  Mark shrugged, skipped the turn and off we headed for parts unknown...

To be continued...

Back to Part I








GPNW MicroCar Extravaganza, Part III

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We soon came to the small town of Carlton and stopped for lunch.  This was a choose-your-own-adventure affair... there were a half dozen food options on the tiny main street. Dave, Kris and I chose a food cart right by where we parked - great food but we were totally on our own - everyone else had gone for a 'real' restaurant.   Kris called her folks who happened to be close by.  They drove over and eyeballed the street-full of micro machinery while giving Dave a hard time just like any daughter's Dad should.

I chatted with the photographer who had taken the aerial shot at the heliport - she turned out to be a Subaru fanatic- she and her husband have five of them (including the spotless red 360 van on the tour), they race Subarus, and both work for Subaru!  Not a bad deal if you can make it work!  Her van was clean and very original except for one repaint.  She told me that all Subaru 360 vans originally came in white, something I did not know.
After lunch we prepared for the drive back to McMenamin's and suffered our first casualty of the day: Mark's Honda 600 rat lost the brakes just as it pulled up behind the Messerschmitt.  Lucky for all, the driver (a friend of Mark's) reacted quickly and managed to avoid contact - Mark would have been wearing that Messerschmitt for life!  The catch-truck loaded the Honda and we were on our way.
We zipped out onto the highway, this time in a Lloyd sedan that had been redone as a taxi - the owner really liked yellow!   The Lloyd cruised along comfortably, not showing any signs of strain despite three passengers - I know my Crosley is noticeably slower for each passenger on board.

After a while it became clear that we were lost... not just the Lloyd, the whole group.  A few cars had peeled off after lunch and a few more cars had drifted away during the ride, and now there were less than a dozen cars cruising... none of us exactly sure where we were since Mark had gotten separated from the group.  We were behind the 250 cc Goggomobil sedan - it was really struggling to keep up on the hills and I think we must have missed a turn that the lead cars had taken.
We pulled over to regroup and I went over to the owners of the Multipla - they had mentioned that they lived in Forest Grove, so I knew they'd be able to find their way back.  They agreed to lead the contingent home and I took advantage of the stop to ask if I could ride in their car.  They told me to hop in.
The Fiat Multipla is probably the only car I could imagine selling a Crosley for.  I've loved Fiat 600s since seeing home movie footage of the one my Dad had back in the early sixties - if Fiats hadn't been so hard to find parts for pack in the nineties this blog might well have been called "Fiatkook." I loved 600s, but I flipped for Multiplas when I ran across a picture of one 20 or so years ago - I'd cut my teeth on VW busses, and the Multipla was like a half-sized bus, only cooler.  I wanted one in the worst way, but when the only one I'd ever heard of for sale popped up in the local paper, my pal Chris Sanchez snapped it up instantly. It had some problems, but it was still one of the coolest cars I'd ever seen and I was terribly jealous.
Cut to 1997, when I'd just discovered Crosleys and had been looking all over California for one.  After nearly a year of searching I'd found a derelict Super Sports right in Sacramento - the price was in my ballpark and I was saving up to close the deal.  Right then is when Chris called to let me know that he'd decided to sell his Multipla - running and driving - for $1250, $250 less than I was about to pay for a basket case project Crosley.  I went over to test drive it.

Chris had already done a bunch of work and it was running pretty well. There was some stuff that still needed to be done, but it was a serviceable driver, and by far the neatest car I'd ever driven.  To say I was torn is to way understate the situation - I was in knots.  In the end, I said no.  Parts availability was one of the things that had made the Crosley so appealing - whatever I bought was planned to be my daily driver at that point - and parts availability for Fiat Multiplas in 1997 was basically zero.  So, I said no, Chris sold the car to Tony Grillo (who totally restored it and still has it) and I haven't stopped kicking myself ever since.  The Fiat Multipla - my unrequited love.
So, here I was, in a Multipla for the first time in 16 years.  This thing was perfect, absolutely brand new in every way... the owners had finished the car the day before the meet and it had less than 50 miles on it when I sat down in the middle row seat - this was the 6 seater with the rear seats that fold flat into the floor.  The engine sounded great and hadn't seeped a drop of oil so far - the owner kept checking the engine compartment at every stop.  He even had a temp gun for checking the block and exhaust - everything was perfect.  Except for one missing hubcap.

He'd lost a cap just as we'd started the tour - it had zinged off as we rounded a corner and rolled into the bramble-filled ditch on the side of the road.  He'd pulled over and made a quick look at the time but hadn't found anything so we stopped again on the way back for a more thorough search.  The whole gaggle of cars pulled off, making for quite a sight for passing cars.  The roadbed was raised about 10 feet above the ground level and the slope was full of bushes, small trees and poison oak.  We all started digging into the bush and after ten minutes Tony emerged, hubcap in hand.  "I figured it'd be in the darkest, deepest spot, so I started looking there and there it was!" Amazingly, the hubcap looked brand new, with no rash from bouncing down the road.
The rest of the trip back to McMenamin's was anticlimactic.  We cruised comfortably toward Forest Grove, as oncoming traffic ogled our fleet of brightly-hued oddities.  The best moment was watching the Goggomobil struggle to overtake a cyclist on a long straight - I don't think they'd have ever passed him if they hadn't come to a hill. We cheered when they finally left him behind in a cloud of exhaust.
We'd just gotten back to the hotel when Mark suggested a run for ice cream - and who can say no to ice cream on a balmy summer afternoon?  A small group headed out - I had cadged a ride in a Subaru 360 truck which was a neat little cruiser.  As luck would have it, Rex, the owner, was restoring a Crosley station wagon, so I finally had at least a little bit of Crosley-interaction.  Unfortunately I realized that I had forgotten to bring some copies of the Tin Block Times for any Crosley nuts I might meet.  I promised to help him try to find some of the bits he was missing for his restoration.
We chilled at the ice cream place, swapping stories about absurdly tiny cars and the interesting folks you meet driving them.  After about an hour we headed back to McMenamin's to put the cap on a very full day....

to be continued

Back to Part II




West Coast Crosley Club Meet: Next Weekend!

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Sutter Creek, September 21-22 - Details HERE.  See you there!


Report: 2013 West Coast Crosley Club Meet in Sutter Creek

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Hard to believe it's been two weeks since the annual West Coast regional meet - it already seems like ancient history, kinda the way it is the week after Christmas.


This was kind of a weird meet.  We'd planned on going to Morro Bay this year to keep the norcal/socal (well, central cal) balance, but after months of research we couldn't find an appropriate site in that area.  So, club Prez Rick Alexander asked me if the same Sutter Creek site as last year was available - it was, so back we went.  That's OK, it's a great site for the meet - I just don't want people to burn out on it.
Another thing that made the meet odd was the absence of Mike Bainter, one of the club's founders and an indefatigable Crosley nut who has only missed one other meet in 27 years.   It turned out that the date conflicted with his High School reunion - of which he was the scheduled MC - so he was in Clear Lake, Iowa as we Crosleyed through the Gold Country.

Part III of weirdness was that this was the first meet in a long time that I didn't bring a Crosley.  I've been buried in work and house projects (regular readers may have noticed that my blog posts have all but stopped lately) and I just couldn't get any of the cars unearthed from storage in time for the meet.  It was ridiculous that the show was 50 miles from my house, yet I couldn't get a car there, but the truth is that I was scrambling just to get ME there on time!
I did manage to arrive early enough on Friday to help Rick assemble registration packets which included hot-off-the-press copies of the new Tin Block Times which I'd barely gotten finished in time.  We had the packets done for the meet-and-greet, and wow, what a gathering!  This was probably the most people I've ever seen at the Friday potluck.  As always, Friday is a great time to reconnect with people I don't talk to nearly enough, and there were several folks on hand I hadn't seen in years, so it was super fun.  And there were quite a few new people I'd never met in person before, all of whom were really nice.
As usual, we gravitated out to the parking lot to check out the assorted cars, and I noticed that there weren't as many Crosleys on hand as there had been the year before.  Of course part of that was that the Liebherr family alone had brought FIVE cars last year, and this time it was just Dale and Sherri and their '49 wagon - which they had driven solo from Minden to the meet.   I also couldn't help noticing that ominous clouds were gathering to the west.
I was out the door by 7AM and a light drizzle had already coated the parking lot meet site by the time we got there to start setting up.  Luckily we'd brought a bunch of Easy-ups that we thought we'd use as sun shades, but they were great for keeping the occasional drops off the registration table and raffle items.  From the look of things, sunburn would be the least of our worries.
I was floored by how much stuff people brought for the swap meet - it was by far the largest I've ever seen at a regional meet.  One benefit of all the house projects I've been doing lately is that as I've moved Crosley parts out of my way for months I've realized exactly how much I've squirreled away over the years.  That realization is how I managed to NOT load up on swap meet goodies like NOS fenders, spare gauges, wheels, complete engines, Hot Shot headlight buckets, Braje parts... you name it, it was probably there.  I couldn't say no to a vintage Crosley license plate frame and a $5 Crosley engine block.
Cars started rolling in about 8AM, and it soon became clear that this was going to be the year of the Farm-O-Road.  Crosley's oddball farm implement was rare from the start - it's believed that less than 500 were made - and they are rarely seen, even in Crosley circles.  By 9AM we had four of them lined up in the lot!
A brand new Nevada member named Reed brought the very original F-O-R he'd bought off Ebay a few months back - an amazing time capsule with a dump bed.  My friend Nick Shelley brought the custom Farm-O-Road that had been in his family since the sixties - he'd floored me last year when he casually mentioned that his Uncle had a Crosley in the barn!   Of course Mike and Robin Stoner brought their beautiful F-O-R, always a contender for Best Crosley at the show.   They bring it in the back of a huge truck and it's hair-raising watching Mike back it down the spindly little ramps.

The star of the show was Bob Chase's Farm-O-Road-based firetruck - a special-order vehicle that came from the factory equipped to fight fires in tight spaces.  Aerojet's Sacto headquarters ordered one, and it stayed in service until it was retired circa 1970.  Fire Captain Bob Chase got it in 1971 but only recently completed a full restoration.   He took the fire engine to the national Crosley meet in Wauseon, Ohio this year and swept the awards, including 'Best of Show.'  I don't think I'm spoiling any drama by saying it swept our awards too - it's an amazing, amazing restoration and is very likely the only one of its kind built by Crosley.
Considering the weather, we had a pretty good turnout - about 15 cars - well, vehicles, since the Crosley-powered forklift isn't technically a car - and there were four more cars that started out but didn't make it:  Skorpion owner Glen Brynsvold's tow vehicle lost a fuel pump on the way to the meet from San Jose; Mike Blackburn's '51 Crosley panel lost ITS fuel pump about five miles from the meet - he'd hauled it all the way from San Diego, but he didn't have time to get the car back on the trailer and then over to Sutter Creek - he ended up taking a taxi to get around;  Marty Stein's Siata was loaded up in the trailer in Jackson, but he wasn't comfortable bringing out an open car in the rain;  and, there was a mystery station wagon on a trailer - a project car - that never left the hotel parking lot.  We never did figure out who owned it.  If it hadn't been for bad fuel pumps and rain we'd have had a killer turnout!
We all eyed the grey skies as we had lunch and ran through the raffle.  It sprinkled here and there, but we stayed dry for the most part.  The rain may have kept some cars out of the meet, but we ended up with a lot of members in attendance, and a lot of raffle stuff, which is great since it's the biggest fundraiser for the club every year.  Marty Stein and I huddled in the back, checking the weather report and scheming on what to do about the Cruise.
After the uproar over last year's 'fast and furious' Crosley Cruise, Marty was determined to find a more mellow route for this year's trip.  He'd explored backroads surrounding Sutter Creek and had come up with a scenic 10 mile drive that went through the tiny town of Amador City and then wound back to Sutter Creek on one lane country roads.  Liv and I went up a few weeks ago and the three of us drove the route - I gave it the official 'Crosley-friendly' thumbs up.
The raffle wrapped up at about 2PM, and Marty and I hemmed and hawed about whether or not we should attempt the Cruise.  And then, the decision was made for us.  It DUMPED.  The clouds that had been sprinkling suddenly let go, pouring rain.  A wind whipped up at the same time and almost everyone in the lot just scattered.  People struggled to get cars on trailers and anyone not moving a car huddled under the remaining Easy-ups, watching the parking lot start to flood.  The Stoners were having a heck of a time getting their Farm-O-Road back on the truck when someone had the idea of walking an Easy-up over to them.  Four of us each grabbed a corner and moved the tent over the Stoners so they'd be covered as they got the car situated on the truck.  It worked like a giant umbrella, but I wished we'd thought of it a little earlier since they were totally soaked by the time we got there.

I got back to the hotel before 3PM, meaning I had three hours to kill before the banquet.  Liv and her sister had come up to the Meet with me, but they had gone shopping just as the raffle wrapped up.  I decided to kill time before the banquet checking out some of the local second hand stores, and I found a 1935 Spicy Detective pulp magazine, one of the rarest - and raciest - pulps of the era.  I remembered Spicy Detective being an expensive title back when I was collecting comics in the '80s and '90s, but the internet has changed the value of so many things that I wasn't sure what something like that would be worth these days.  I flipped through it, marveling at the drawings of topless women being whipped by masked men and figured it had to be worth more than the $5 asking price.  I'm glad I decided to pick it up: I put it on Ebay the day I got home and it just sold for $237!
We held the banquet at a local institution: Teresa's Place in Jackson.  Despite the rain, people were in high spirits and the general sense was that it had been a really fun meet.  I was relieved - after such a great meet last year I was worried that Sutter Creek II might be a big letdown, but that didn't seem to be the case, even with the ridiculous weather.

It was nice to chat with several new members, including two who had inherited Crosleys their parents had bought new or near-new! I'd spoken with both of them on the phone before but it was nice to put faces to the names.  Paula Whitney's dad had bought his Crosley new, drove it for about five years and then did what he did with all of his cars eventually: parked it in his garage when he got a new car.  There it sat for over 50 years, until she moved it to her own garage; she and her husband have never restored a car, but they hope to get it running again soon.  Mark Beauchamp's story is more bittersweet: his mom's Crosley was parked in the barn when she died in 1962, when he was just nine years old.  Amazingly, he still has the car - and a color photo of it, showing it nearly new - although 50 years in a barn has been hard on his Crosley.  He was incredibly enthusiastic and is already working on the restoration - he is gung ho to be driving it at the next meet.  Both couples were very sweet and it was really nice to meet them in person.
I also had a nice talk with Dale Liebherr - maybe the most Crosley-obsessed person in the whole West Coast Club.  Dale not only thinks nothing of driving a Crosley across the Sierra, he also races one at Bonneville and has a side business building or rebuilding anything Crosley.  He's hardcore.

As we chatted, he mentioned a concern: had I noticed how old the average Crosley Club member was?

I couldn't help it, I laughed.  The truth is that West Coast Crosley Club membership has gotten quite a bit younger since I joined in 1997.   When I joined, almost every member of the club remembered Crosleys being brand new - most of them had owned Crosleys back in the forties or fifties.  One member, Bob Heinze, had actually been a Crosley dealer!  In '97 I was probably one of only a few members who had been born after Crosley halted production; now, many, if not most, of our club members are younger than their Crosleys.
I had offered that info as a reassurance to Dale that the club isn't exactly heading off into the sunset, but as I looked around the banquet hall, it really hit me how many of the old time guys were gone.   Frank Bell, Nick Brajevich, Gordon Becher, Bob Carson, Dez Telmont, Dick and Ed Scanlan, and a lot more.... all gone.

Talking to Dale it suddenly struck me that the paradigm had shifted. When I first got into Crosleys, most of the people I knew that were into them had owned one back when Crosleys were new, or nearly new.  Now, many club members got into them because their parents had owned a Crosley.
Of course things change, and I think it's great that new people are discovering Crosleys - obviously I don't remember Crosleys being new cars either, so I was once that same 'newbie.' Still, there is always a melancholy aspect to the end of an era, and it hit me that we're approaching a time where no one will remember buying a brand new Crosley off the lot, or watching #19 win at Sebring, or the day that Crosley announced that it was shutting down.

Sad, strange, but.. normal.  Things change, and the world spins, and we all have to make room for the next generations - that's the nature of existence and that's the way it always will be.  But still weird.








Fine Line

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Back in the days when I played a lot more music than I do now, my bands did all the normal band stuff: took band photos, released records, toured, and we even made a video.  Starring my Crosley, natch.

Fine Line - Th' Losin Streaks from Alex Zangeneh on Vimeo.

I started Th' Losin Streaks back in 2003 since my earlier bands had slowed down and weren't doing much.  I'd just graduated from art school and had all kinds of energy so I called a couple pals I knew from other bands and suggested we put a new project together.  Within a couple of months we had a set worked up, a mix of songs I'd written and covers of obscure sixties bands like The Sonics.  We were sounding pretty good, but my limitations as a guitar player were very evident.

Enter Mike Farrell.

Outside of Sacramento Mike is almost unknown - in Sacramento, he's a legend.  Imagine Jimi Hendrix crossed with Keith Richards and you're in the ballpark.  He plays rock, jazz, country, folk, blues, avant-garde and heavy metal.  That's pretty impressive; what's really impressive is that he'll fit all of that seamlessly into the same song.  

We'd crossed paths many times and had talked about playing together, but it had never worked out - until the Streaks.  He loved the songs, the name, the sixties schtick, and the fact that me, the bassist and drummer were all nerds - he had recently gotten himself off drugs and we were about as square as you are going to find in a rock and roll band.

We started recording our first album two weeks after Mike joined the band and finished it in a second session a few months later.  I wrote most of the songs, we did a few covers and Mike added two songs of his own.  Everything turned out well, and one of the songs, "Your Love, Now," got some airplay and was even labeled "the coolest song in the world this week," in Billboard magazine.  To this day th' Losin Streaks album is the recording I'm most proud of.
My friends Alex and Marina Zangeneh Azam approached us about making a video for one of the songs off the record.  They had picked one of Mike's songs, a Who-inspired romp called "Fine Line," and had come up with a whole story concept around it.  We loved their idea and shot the whole thing on 8mm movie film over a blistering summer weekend.  It was fun to do and I was super excited that they had included several scenes using the Crosley. Alex is a car and motorcycle nut of the highest order (that's his Ford Anglia parked behind the Crosley in front of the coffee shop) so it makes sense that he wouldn't let a resource like a Crosley go to waste.  The video turned out great.

But, this was 2004.  No Youtube, no Vimeo, no way for us to really promote it, so not many people outside of our immediate circle ever even saw the video.  We'd planned to include it as a 'bonus' on CD versions of our follow up record, but we never did get around to making a second album.  Eventually we got busy with other stuff and just sort of forgot about it.
We toured the US and europe, got some really great opportunities (like opening up for The Zombies) and basically had a blast for five or so years.  Playing with that group was a life changing experience, definitely the highlight of my music 'career' such as it was. But, toward the end we were drifting in different directions - Mike and our drummer Matt were each working on solo albums, and I was pretty burnt out from standard band drama and taking care of the drudgework like booking shows and fixing our 1969 Ford van.  We called it quits while we were all still friends.
Matt, Stan (the bass player) and I kept in close touch, but I saw less and less of Mike as time went by.  He was busy with his new projects, and was running with people I didn't know at all.  I started to hear ominous rumblings from mutual friends, and eventually it became pretty clear that he had fallen off the wagon and gotten back into heroin.

I don't know what to make of that.  I play in rock and roll bands and all that, but I'm a square - I've never even smoked pot.  I mentioned in my last blog post that one of the hardest parts of my car hobby is that many of my friends from the Crosley community have passed over the years. I've lost a lot of friends, but at least they died of old age, for the most part. There's a logic there.  It makes sense.

With my music friends it's different.  I've had friends die from drug overdoses, from suicide, from unhealthy lifestyles - and they're young.  My friend Micah died because his liver gave out at 38 years old.  Thirty-Eight.  There's no logic there.  It just doesn't make any sense.

Last month, Mike hit bottom.  I don't need to go into details, but he was homeless, jobless, and ended up in jail.

When Alex and Marina heard about Mike's situation they went into their archive and dusted off the master for the video.  It took some tweaking to get it into a digital format that would work these days, but they got it done and posted it online to help remind people - and Mike himself - who he really is.

The good news is that Mike is in rehab and seems to be doing pretty well - he's clean, and working on staying that way.  I hope so.  One of our friends put together an online donation site to help defray expenses and has raised over $5000 in less than two weeks.  That tells you something - not a lot of heroin addicts have that many friends.  Mike isn't just a good guitar player - he's a good guy.  I'm not going to say that he hasn't gotten lost at times, but at his core, Mike is one of the sweetest people I've never known, and I'm proud to call him my friend.

Get well, buddy.  Soon.

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