"the Gift of the Turbi" a post Valentine's Day cla

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patrick young
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"the Gift of the Turbi" a post Valentine's Day cla

Post by patrick young »

There was a man, a young man of good heart and character, and he had a bus that he loved. The bus was the shiny yellow and black apple of his eye, and their love was complete. He veritably lived inside of her, caressing her ample bumpers and buying her all manners of distilled waters and fancy spray paints.

And she loved him too; she loved him as strongly as a bus could love a man, that tall (10 feet) long legged (35 feet) 19,000 lb lady from Hayward, and things were good.

She was a comely bus, old fashioned values and smog, and was blessed by the lord with the gift of turbo, a lovely tress of curly cast iron that adorned her intake manifold like a jewel in a Princess' tiara. It was their pride and her joy.

And the man also possessed one thing of great sentimental and personal value: a classic turbo boost sphygomometer given to him by his grandfather, a toxic filled graduated glass and brass mercury tube of wonderful complexity that he would lovingly plumb into his beloved when he wanted to see her smile. On Sundays they would go to the park and he would gently lift her covers one by one, and there they would sit, whiling away the hours in the joy that only lovers share.

The couple was poor, and didn't drink the finest Rotella, nor could afford Michelins on the table except during special occasions. And then one year, the Saint Valentine's Day holiday approached, and they were both left in a quandary, how could this poor bus and man properly show their love on this special occasion?

Finally February 14th arrived, and after a hard day at the yard, the man came home to find his beloved bride sitting, -parked near the one ton, behind the trailer, near the stack of pallets where he stored the brake drums and the power steering pumps, with tears/condensation in her headlights, but still shining the most lumenous of glows towards her chosen seat taker. And the man excitedly approached her, cleverly concealing a package from his beloved's low beams.

(break for commercial)

(Scene returns to idyllic backyard full of bus parts and Japanese and American pickups)

"Look my dear" he cried, "I have the finest of gifts for the bus that has been my veritable foundation of transportation for so many wonderful years." And from under his cloak, he produced a box. And there, inside the box was a lovely air heat exchanger from Cummins in Paris, painted beautiful flat black and glowing with a non reflective dullness that shone like the night. (with all necessary connectors and fasteners, and a roll of pink teflon tape)

"Oh my Goodness", she screamed in joy, "how could you ever have brought to me such a precious and costly gift my love?" She began to sigh, and with tears now welling up in her turn signals, she said "We are but a poor couple, rich in maintenance but with a limited parts budget..."

"Well" he replied, "my love for you springs internal, just like your fuel lines, and I confess I sold the turbo boost gage to get the lovely part. but it is OK, we can do it by ear my sweet, love can conquer any vaccum problem."

And then he spotted a splendidly wrapped box sitting on the dash. "Is that for me my love?" he asked. "A gift from the bus whose broad hips and leaf spring suspension has seen me thru my longest travels and darkest hours... I can't wait to open it!"

He carefully separated the twine, removed the paper, and gently lifted the lid off the box. And there inside was a 3/16" thru 7/8" SAE and metric adapter set for classic sphygamometers, lovingly hand chromed from Taiwan.

And then tears began to well up in his eyes, as he walked, slowly, to the side (driver's side, door behind the radiator door) of his beloved, and lifted her skirts gently for the thousandth time.

For he knew the truth already........ . . . there in place of her lovely turbo was a simple metal plate, her chestnut colored curl now nothing more than a 5 X 8 piece of aluminum or cast or pot metal or something, (it had paint on it) and her flowing manifolds had been shorn to the scalp.

And as they looked at each other, and felt the love and tender mercies that only a long time committed driver and machine can hold dear, and nurture thru the years,-- there was peace, and then they drove, hand in wheel, down to Flying J for a quiet, intimate fill.

And life was good, and love had flourished and flew and soared for a brief minute on God's Green Earth.

("The Gift of the Turbi", a holiday classic)
available on CD and cassette
http://autos.groups.yahoo.com/group/CrownandGillig/
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