Wilson: When Babies Collide
Where's Teddy? is soon to turn one year old and the clan is gathering to celebrate. On Memorial Day weekend, a few day's after the lad's actual birthday, Where's Teddy? and The Squeak are going to meet for the first time in their young lives. Can the fabric of space-time handle that much cuteness in such close proximity? Let us hope so, because it's happening either way. My mother is going to be so overwhelmed by joy and giddiness that she may well not retain any memory of the encounter, and it'll take days for the enormous smile to even begin fading from her face. There's nothing better than grandbabies! Or, from my perspective, nephews and nieces. Woot!

Perilous Peril
For quite some time, Lumi's exhaust system had been failing. Specifically, the mufflers on her dual exhausts had become holey and were no longer muffling much if any sound. My presence was announced by sound before I was ever seen and everyone who rode with me noted the noise even inside Lumi's cabin. On a cold night this past winter, I was pulled over by a Grand Blanc City police cruiser as I was motoring northbound on Saginaw Street toward Hill Road; the officer said he'd pulled me over because I had exhaust coming out of the side of Lumi, and indeed one of the largest holes in the driver's side muffler vented exhaust gases directly into the rear wheel well. (The bitter cold of the night made such escaping gases far more visible than they would otherwise have been.) Noting my clean driving record, he left me off with a warning, advising me to effect repairs sooner rather than later. Just over two weeks ago, as I motored along I-69 toward a History Club function in Lansing, a State Police trooper exited the freeway behind me at Bancroft, where my passenger, The Outlaw, and I intended to use the park-and-ride lot to park Lumi and ride the remaining distance to Lansing in a full-size van with our fellows from the Club. I eyed the trooper warily at the stop sign at the bottom of the freeway exit and sure enough he flashed his lights just after I turned into the park-and-ride lot; the trooper said he'd pulled me over because of Lumi's noisy exhausts. Noting my clean driving record, he let me off with a warning and a promise to effect repairs post haste.

After two such close escapes, I was finally prompted to pay the piper, making my way to the shop recommended by my dad, Dave's Muffler (owned by a Mike) in Durand, first thing in the morning on the Thursday that I drove down to *shudder* Ohio to visit Where's Teddy? at Xanadu. A pair of off road enthusiasts had arrived at Dave's well before the shop opened; so, despite arriving at the very moment the shop opened I had to wait my turn, spending over a hour reading Thunderball in the charmingly grimy waiting room while also repeating as a mantra the words from "If-" by Kipling, "If you can wait and not be tired by waiting." Once work began on Lumi, she was roadworthy again in twenty minutes. To my delight, the mechanic/clerk was capable of far livelier banter than most of his greasemonkey (which I do not intend derisively) brethren, and when we had concluded our transaction he pulled Lumi up to the shop's front door. Exiting, he told me that she was running, though as I couldn't hear a blessed thing I was dubious. But, by Jove, he's was right! Whereas before Lumi had roared loudly even at idle, now she was so silent as to be disconcerting. Piloting no longer Lumi but Lumi the Stealth Car, I went on my merry way in relative silence.

The most curious thing about both traffic stops was the bizarre courtesy displayed by both lawmen. I'm not attempting to exaggerate here, nor am I in the least complaining, but both seemed almost deferential as they explained why I'd been pulled over and what action I should pursue after the episode. It had been years since I'd last been pulled over and though the officers involved had, with one exception, always been courteous, they were also far more domineering in their behavior. Perhaps because the previous encounters were all stops for speeding (and once for going straight from a right turn-only lane) whereas these were stops for mechanical trouble? Perhaps because I'm now 30, no longer a young man, and was older, I suspect, than the Grand Blanc City constable, though probably not the State Police trooper? Perhaps because of the authority demanded and respect commanded by my astonishing beard?