The Great Perkin’s Little Boat Race

Back in our early 20s college days,  like all 20-somethings, we used to bar hop then stop for something to eat.  The munchies usually set in around midnight.  There was always a debate on where to stop in and dine.  This particular evening we were in Bloomington near France Ave and 494.  Perkins was the logical choice.

There were usually 8 of us, or more on these weekend college drinking/partying excursions.  Sadly, my memory is a bit sketchy with the overall details.  That was 30 plus years ago.  And a bit too much beer that evening.  No doubt, both.  Anyway, back in those days, Perkins had a wishing well in the lobby.  It was filled with small plastic trinkets and toys for children to choose one.  Fun times growing up playing with the little toy at the table waiting for the adults to finish their meals.  A brilliant move by corporate to keep the children quiet and entertained.  

Our group on our way out to head home, and nurse our inevitable hangovers, stopped in the lobby to plan the next evenings party events.  A few of us hung out at the Hostess station.  The others headed to the wishing well.  Paul, And a couple others, each found a little plastic boat each in three different colors.

The three of them armed with tiny plastic boats got a bright idea and headed to the men’s room.  The great Perkin’s boat race was on!  They each dropped their six inch plastic boat into a toilet bowl.  Bets were made.  No idea who, but the toilet was flushed.  Round and round the three little plastic boats raced downward into the vortex.  As the three little plastic boats raced, the contestants and spectators in the handicap stall cheered on their chosen boat. 

Everyone began yelling, “Go, go, go…c’mon, go!   No, hurry get in there!”   Strangers opened the men’s room door, but left immediately upon hearing “sonovabiach, get down in there,”. Perkins staff ran in to quell the commotion, shushing us to keep quiet as the lobby was filled with our inebriated excitement in the toilet bowl boat race.  But seeing 8 guys in and surrounding a handicap stall, they decided to let things be as they were.  

I do not remember who won the great Perkins little plastic boat race.  But I do remember seeing the faces of fellow dining patrons, Perkin’s staff and the cute hostess.  Their faces said it all.  They were perplexed, horrified, bewildered and frightened.  

Wet Beehive and Sofa

We’re perfect angels, my sister and I

The trip to our Grandparent’s farm in Esko, Minnesota started as usual; my sister and I taking turns at annoying each other in the back seat of the Buick.  It was an enormous car that 1971 Buick LeSabre.  It sat 6 adults comfortably and only had AM radio, no AC…sweet.  We listened to the Twins game as WCCO was the only radio station it was tuned too.  Following the Twins was Mystery Theatre with EG Marshall.  We usually arrived before the end of the story.   There were no seatbelts or car seats in those days.  Just the spacious back seat with a pile of blankets that separated my sister and I.  Vying for more space always created a ruckus.  Ma and Pop took turns fielding these skirmishes.  Usually with, “I’ll stop the car and make you walk if you don’t settle down”.  

Looking out the window on all our trips I never witnessed lone children walking along the freeway system.  A hollow threat we knew.  But as non-teenagers, we knew just how far to push the adults.  And when to back off.  This ability is lost on the addled teenage mind.  Making matters worse, it was raining quite hard.

As I said, the goal was to take more space in the backseat to stretch out.  This trip I tried reverse psychology on my sister.  I grabbed the pile of blankets sliding them to myself and said to her, “see how much of the blankets I have?  Sure is nice and cozy here in this little space.”  Darned if she didn’t take the bait.  She was too smart for that psychology nonesense.  She actually rejoiced in her expanded domain by stretching out across her spacious seating arrangement.  Which of course was the start of yet another fight as I tried to reclaim my lost space.  Ma whipped around to tell us again for the umpteenth time to knock it off.  That’s when she noticed the trailer behind our car was empty.

Before I continue, let me add a bit of background to this trip.  One of our adult cousins was getting married the following day.  Ma went to the beauty parlor to have her bouffant hairdo set earlier.  I never understood how her bouffant doo would survive the night’s sleep.  But all the Aunties practiced this.  As usual for these family functions, the Aunties would gather early at Grandma’s house.  She had one of those pink floor standing hairdryers where they each would take a turn “drying” their beehive hairdoos.  Or, was that warm swirling air to remove the bees?  A child often wondered.

In the trailer, we had this hideous god-awful family hand-me-down brown and orange sofa that we were to deliver to another adult cousin up north.  He had just purchased a one room house and needed a place to sit.  Even if that meant inheriting a sofa that defied all logic in style and decor.  It was some silly Colonial pattern high back with Queen Ann backrest sides.   Supposedly, my older cousin was pleased to get a damp but rain driven clean ugly sofa.  Maybe my folks paid him to take it?   They loaded the hideous sofa into the trailer, no tie downs, no tarp nor covering.  The sofa just sat there in the trailer bouncing as we drove northward on Interstate 35 at 70 miles per hour.

Anyway, somehow, this sofa lying in the ditch between the north and south bound lanes of 35 was my sister’s and my fault.  They told us we were to watch the trailer.  Oh, yeah, I vaguely remembered that.  Yeah, right, watch a trailer for two hours.  We had more important things to do, fight for more than our fair share of backseat space.

Backtracking south of Hinkley, they found that blasted sofa around Pine City.  It layed in a wet soggy heap in the center median between the north and southbound lanes.  Pop bought a clothesline at Tobies to finally and correctly secure the load.  We felt kind of bad that both Ma and Pop were soaking wet; Ma looking like a drowned racoon with her deflated bouffant hairdo.  So weird that they always yell at my sister and I to wear our raincoats and rubber boots when it was raining.  Yet there they were, messing with a soaking wet sofa in a trailer in a driving rainstorm without a raincoat on.  

Ma glared at us and told us we were to be quiet and watch that trailer and sofa for the rest of the trip.  We knew the car adults had had enough and an unspoken truce broke out between us.  The glare of the red taillights on the wet back window reflecting on the trailer was enough to make us sleepy.  My sister lasted 12 seconds before she fell asleep.  I was asleep shortly after.

As we pulled around the teardrop driveway in front of my Grandparents house, my sister’s back door opened.  I watched in utter surprise as she bailed out of the car before it even came to a stop.  I could see the lawn and gravel pass by through her still open door as she ran for the house.  Not to be outdone, I too bailed from the car to seek refuge inside the house.  

My sister was already hugging Grandma crying a stream of tears. Nice touch.   Grandpa asked me how the trip went.  I stopped in mid sentence when our folks walked in.  Both of them were still wet, Ma’s big bouffant hung down in clumps of wet matted hair.  I lit for the living room, my sister hid behind Grandma.  Ma and Pop retold the story of our trip while my sister sat on Grandma’s lap in her kitchen rocking chair.

I heard Grandpa chuckle as he brought down a bottle of bourbon for my Pop.  To this day, I wondered how his car trips went with one boy and six girls.  Those musta’ been some epic fights!  The Poor man.

The others arrived and the Aunties tended to Ma’s bouffant hairdo in the bathroom using the pink standup hair dryer.  If only they had worn raincoats…

We learn from our parents.  To this day if the load I am securing requires two ropes, four additional ropes are used.  I am proud to say that I have never lost a load on the roadway.  Though, it may take 45 minutes to untie said load.  

Grandpa’s Folding Knife

I finally replaced my old folding knife I lost decades ago.  I do carry a small lightweight pocket knife daily.  But its no replacement for what I had lost.  

 

Long, long ago while cleaning out my Grandmother’s garage, I found the old worn out folding knife.  It was missing both side skins showing only the rivets.  The non stainless steel blade was rusty and black; it was four inches long.  The knife, or what was left of it was a large heavy beast of a knife, despite no side skins.  It was in terrible shape and nobody wanted it.  

I kept it, and got to working on it removing the rust, dust and grime.  However, the blade kept its greyish black appearance but took a wonderfully sharp edge. It was a carbon steel blade rather than stainless.  Scrap oak was used for the side skins.  I simply oiled the oak side skins with Hoppes gun oil  to protect the wood a little and give them some color.  Though it was not a locking blade, it took some effort to close the blade. 

 

I had this knife for years, and used it often, not only as a knife, but a screwdriver and a prybar.  I even used the butt end of the knife to pound a tent stake in place during a rain and wind storm in the BWCA.  And sadly, that is where I lost this knife.  

I had it in my jean jacket pocket behind the front canoe seat as Paul and I fished for walleyes.  We were along a rock island over about twenty feet of water.  The sun was setting bringing on an evening chill.  Reaching behind me for the jacket, I heard a “ploop” and watched my Grandfather’s pocket knife sink out of view into the inky depths.  I guess if there was a good place to lose this knife, Lake Three in the BWCA was a better place to lose it. He spent considerable time there long before it was designated as the BWCA.

 

I lost that knife in the mid 1980’s and after years of procrastinating, I finally ordered a replacement; the 110 Hunter Buck Knife.  The dimensions are a bit smaller than what I lost, it has brass ends rather than nickel.   I wonder how brass will hold up the way I will be using it.  It has a locking blade, which is a safe feature.  The price was right, so it will be a good replacement.