Objects in the Mirror...

Jeffrey Butts

It was wet here in January, about 11 inches of rain in the metro area. Not much happening in the Western Chapter of the Butts household, that's for sure. February was another story (and here it is).

Even though the Seahawks were playing in the Super Bowl, I just could not get up enough interest to make it an activity for the day. Other people had different ideas, however, and that morning I got the 914 out and planned a ride over to West Linn (on the Willamette River) to the house of a member of an Internet 914 club. He was hosting a lunch for the game and invited local club members over. There were only six of us who showed up and only one, me, drove his 914. The host is a dentist and he must be successful since he has a big, new house right on the river. I should mention that the river was running pretty high. Not as high as the 1996 flood year but to illustrate the point, he has a golf tee on his back deck. By his own admission, when the river is at "normal" levels, he can drive a ball to the opposite shallows. That's probably somewhere around 275 yards. This day, however, the river is caramel colored brown, running fast, and is easily 400 yards or more across. His house is on a bluff and there are a series of terraces down to the ramp to his floating boat dock. In 1996, the river was half again as high as it is now and reached to the terrace about 12 feet below the level of his home. Yeah, the river is pretty but the folks who buy along the shore often don't think about those "wet" years. Before the game started we migrated to the garage to look at his projects. He has a 1973 914 that is in the process of being converted to a Six. He bought it from a guy who had a European Six with plans to restore that and a 73 two liter that he used as a daily driver. The more this guy got into the tear down of the Six, the more rust he found; longitudinals, suspension supports, pretty near everywhere. Seeing the hopelessness of the restoration he began to switch out parts from the Six to the rust free body of the Four. The 914-6 was only made in 70-71, and the changes they made to subsequent four-cylinder cars were better in many cases with the possible exception of the powerplant. At this point the previous owner decides that this is a project that is taking too long and too much money to do so he sells the nouveaux Six to the dentist. Long story short, the body is ready for the engine and the dentist had purchased 3.2L donor. It was sitting there on the floor and became the topic of much speculation and advice. All of these guys are PCA (except me, I let my membership elapse on purpose) and most are auto-crossers, so the conversation centered primarily on when and how the fenders would be flared so that bigger mitts could be put on. An hour or so before the game started, I excused myself and hopped into the car for a trip over to Yamhill.

It was clear and cool, too cool to be running with the top off (I'm such a wimp), but I had the windows down and the heater cranked to full. One great thing about Super Bowl weekend, the traffic was non-existent. As I drove east from the Willamette and headed up through McMinnville to the old Yamhill wagon road, there were many signs of the wet winter. Farmer's fields were flooded in many places and low spots near the river were completely swamped. My friends from Yamhill, Mike and Cheri Hart, have finally retired once and for all. They sold their restaurant in town and pretty much spend all their time at home working on the house. This is one of the original homes from the early 1900's. Mike grew up in town, although not in this house. At one time this home had been converted into a boarding house and for all the time they've owned it, they have been working on returning it to its original condition, a restoration of a different sort than the one going on at the dentist's place. Since I last saw him, Mike has built a shop on the property in order to facilitate his work. Yamhill has a fascinating history. It was one of the most important cities in the Willamette Valley and was the kick-off location for the stage line that went from the valley to the coast, Tillamook to be specific. At the end of the 1800's right up until the Southern Pacific (under the nom de plume of Portland Railway and Navigation Company) built the line from Hillsboro to the coast, there were only two ways to get to Tillamook. One was by stage out of Yamhill (1874 until 1911) and the other was by boat from Portland to Astoria and by smaller boat from Astoria to Tillamook Bay. The bar at the mouth of Tillamook Bay is treacherous and many a life was lost while waiting to cross or in the actual crossing. The stage road at the time, often called the worst road in the world, was the safer alternative. This summer I hope to be able to drive the road with Scott in his Jeep and write all about it. Well, I watched the first half of the game with Mike and Cheri and then, when it was evident that the 'Hawks were going to get beaten, I headed back home over the Chehalem Pass.

The rain held off for another week and I went down to the hanger to check on the Brick. The Seagrave hadn't been run since November (three months!) and I wanted to take it out and get the fluids circulating. The diesel is very cold-blooded and the usual winter starting routine is to turn the batteries on and then crank the living crap out of the engine. Usually, after 45 seconds or so, and amidst a thick fog of diesel smoke, it will stumble over and then chug unevenly for about another minute before it wakes up. From a distance it looks as if the place is on fire. A pleasant surprise awaited me this time as the big V8 turned over within 10-15 seconds and settled into a nice even rumble in the time it usually took to start. Once it was warmed up I took it on a nice 30-mile ride, up to Beaverton, down the freeway to old Hwy 99, to Tigard, and then back through Sherwood to the hanger again. The Mighty Brick lives!

The following week was a cold one with temps in the mid-20's and the wind chill giving us an equivalent of 15 degrees. Not as cold as Chicago, New York, or Colorado but more than cold enough for my old bones. Ever since last summer when I saw that Harley for sale, I wondered what had happened to it. It had been on consignment at the local Hog farm, as you may recall. It had not sold and the owner pulled it out and put it up on the Internet where I ran across it again. It was marked down about 8% from the summer price/wish. I opened a dialogue with the guy some time in November and told him that I was interested but pretty much left it at that. Then, with the blessing of the rainy January and the ball-numbing cold in February, there seemed little prospect that he would have any buyers. Keeping in mind the unseasonably warm March we had last year I offered him a lowball price, fully a third less than his original consignment deal. We settled on something only slightly more than that and I am now the owner of a 1994 street tracker custom H-D, one of only 10 made, and with only a few miles on the clock. With Russ acting as my chase vehicle, I rode it the 35 miles home without stalling, falling, or otherwise embarrassing myself. This was no small feat considering I haven't ridden for about 25 years. You can't count the hundred or so miles I put on the Triumph across the four years I had it as those were all short rides and some ended with a push home.

So, for all the nasty Oregon weather in January and February, and the limited amount of motorized fun, it hasn't turned out bad at all. I got a chance to drive both Porsches (I took the 911 to work between the Super Bowl and the Seagrave weekends). I drove the truck and ended up with a bonus ride to boot. I really like living here. There are mostly three seasons; cold and rainy with the occasional ice and snow thrown in for good measure, rainy, and dry but, when the nice weather comes we really appreciate it. Sometimes, this year especially, the bad weather provides an occasional pleasant surprise.