It all began while frame off renovation my BFF, Curt’s ‘62 TR3.
His choice of silver and white interior leather colors lent to questioning his manliness. Once the car was back on the road and driving we decided to see how best we could embarrass him. The purchase of some magnetic funny signs let to the need for revenge. Who says red blooded Americans of Scottish decent don’t like kittens?
Months later, Sunday was a car day. Three of us gathered at Curt’s house including Paul and myself. All have TR3’s. Curt’s car was being a dog and we could not figure out why. The plan was to pull parts off my perfectly good running car and replace them on Curt’s until we solved the enigma. With Curt’s car and mine disabled we discovered we needed a tool that Curt did not own. So I took off in Curt’s modern car to get said tool from my house.
I knew Curt had been planning his revenge but I didn’t know how or when. And today I was oblivious. Having been unable to obtain his object of revenge locally, he had reverted to eBay. For some months now he had been impatiently waiting his opportunity.
As I am told later all heck broke loose as I left the driveway. With the aid of the other conspirator BFF, Paul. They had my car jacked up and the deed done in record time. Then came some weeks of Paul and Curt texting and emailing each other asking if I had discovered their skullduggery.
Some weeks later the Triumph Club of Los Angles announced they were having a club drive to the top of Mount Baldy. My wife and I thought this would be a fun event to participate in. Accordingly we met the group at the assigned parking lot and joined the parade of cars headed up the mountain. What a great turnout it was; about 25 Triumph sports cars. At the top of the mountain we paused for pictures and a rest.
Shortly the group set off down the mountain for a local restaurant for refreshments. As we wound down the twisty road we were challenged by fallen rocks on this mountain road. One gets to choose to drive to the other side of the road to avoid or center your car over the small pile and hopefully pass over them uneventfully. I chose to center the car.
And that’s when I heard the clank clank. “That don’t sound good,” I reported to the wife. And as we centered over the next set of rocks we got the same clanking. When it happened for the 3rd time it had me pulling over at a safe spot.
Two other Good Samaritan TR3’s pulled right over with me. As I struggled to get my oversize body out of my car, the lighter, more nimble chap in the TR3 right behind me had exited his car and was already dropping to the ground. It was the president of the Los Angeles Triumph club.
“There’s something hanging from under your car. I’ve been watching it for some miles now,” He declared. And with that he slid under my car. Moments later his head appeared from under the car with the most puzzled look I may have ever seen.
“There’s a cow bell hanging from your speedo cable!” My wife and I burst into laughter. We both knew the culprits and reason it was there. We could not stop belly laughing so hard.
The lady passenger in the 2nd TR3 that had pulled over was now standing close by. Arms crossed with a look on her face like she had sucked a lemon.
“Why would you have a cow bell under your car,” she asked cynically. I could not stop laughing long enough to tell her. She later lightened up and laughed at us as we drove toward the restaurant.
Of course we were late to the restaurant and then when asked why we were late the story had to be told. And Curt’s revenge was on show for the whole darn club to have a good laugh about. So now I find I need to top that. And I’m all out of ideas. I’ll take your suggestions care of this publication.