The Motormutt is the brainchild (Legal.-The use of this term in no way pre-supposes the actual physical presence of the aforementioned biological organ.-Ed.) of Dan, or me, which is a good enough introduction for now. A long-time gearhead and wishful-thinker, I just wanted
an excuse to surround myself with cool cars, cool car stuff, and cool car people. So forthcoming is a quick and incomplete pictorial response to the flood of fan-mail demanding biographical info (uh, three, actually, if you can count my other personalities).
My Pop, in the forties. He was a gearhead's gearhead. He told me that he fixed a B-model four banger by using bacon for rod bearings. I was a little sceptical until he showed me how they usta cure their pork . He passed on a few years ago and I sure do miss him.
.My dear, sweet, Mama. Isn't she just the prettiest 'lil 'ole thang? Oh, yeah...she's seventy-nine now
My folks, taken some years before they began spawning brats. I can tell because of how happy they look. Pop spent his whole marrried life trying to keep Ma from critically injuring herself and was able to hold the damage down to a few broken legs and dislocated shoulders. Not that she's crazy or anything...maybe just a little impulsive.
and just took a flyin' leap out of a perfectly good airplane to show us mutts what cojones really are...I couldn't be prouder.
My darlin'... . She's just the greatest girl I know. She's put up with me way longer than women who aren't retarded would have. Actually she's the center of our little family and the reason we have such good kids (and the reason that I'm not either dead or in prison).
My big brother Jerry circa 1969 on the psp at Danang. This guy is, and has been, my hero as long as I can remember. He has always been there for me and has always forgiven me for the stupid things I do. There's nothing else I can say except he has put on a coupla pounds since this photo was taken.
My sis, Linda. Ain't she pretty? I don't want to be saying anything about the goofy glasses or the hair-do because I still remember the look in her eyes as she was trying to hack me up with an axe when I was twelve. She's a good girl, a tough girl, too, and I love her dearly.
Little sister Dianne. Catches flies and releases them in the outdoors. Sweet beyond belief and one of your way better-lookin' fifty-something-year-olds. Makes killer fudge. She's another tuffy...
Floyd Jeffrey...when he was this age Jerry and I would tell him that he was nothing but a "corn in the turd of life" . He's a dear fellow even though at fifty-one he looks alot like Tommy Chong.
Jay Leondard was one of those "surprises" that come along after you think you have your budget all figured out. But after a kidney transplant and two-million miles of truckin' he's still going strong.
My darlin' daughter Sarah...She's a gearhead like me with a liking for vintage Corvettes. She is in her fifth year at University of Montana and has us wondering when she might get enough schoolin', get a job and buy her dad one of these. Sarah is a music major and can site-read music like I read large-print Sunday funnies. She is a member of the "Islanders", a steel drum band that really rocks, I'm telling you...
My big 'ole boy John and me at Cheney, Washington. We went to watch the Seahawks practice but typically were a week early 'cause neither one of us can read. Truth is, both of my kids are borderline genius' which they get from their mother, who's really smart in all things not related to men.
John is a Junior at Montana State majoring in "Computer Geekness". Don't tell him I said that 'cause I'm tired of him whuppin' on me. He's a great kid, one of the most polite and respectful young men I have ever known. Must be a renegade gene that slipped through, somehow.
Mom, Pop and my wife enjoying the spaz-attack brought on by the realization that some day I would be fat.
My Rodeodee Cowboy days with my Hummingbird and my '52 F1. I don't have the truck or the guitar anymore but I still have the hat.
One of the log trucks I drove during the period of my life when I was a manly guy. Made a dumper out of it, too...high zoot, eh?
Shucks, if I coulda drove this thing I would probably still be doing it, but...
I reckon this pretty much marked the end to my truckin' career...

My pop was a truck driver and a heavy equipment mechanic and ever since I can remember I wanted to hang out with him and work on big 'ole greasy stuff. I'd go to the shop with him once in awhile and sweep the floor and gopher tools whilst he tweaked on an old Mack or whatever. I'd hold the trouble light for him and still remember him saying something like "Son, I'm trying to fix that fuel line about a yard over from where you're at right now. No, a yard the other way". He had alot of patience, for sure.

At about twelve or so, in 1964, brother Jerry and his pals came up with a '47 Ford, if I remember right, that consisted of running gear, frame, cowl and windshield, bench seat, and gas tank. I remember sitting on the cowl with a foot on each rusty old 59A head and pouring gas in the carb as we pushed it down the hill in the alley behind the house. Fruitlessly, I might add.

High school is where I began gathering up real car history. A '46 Ford pickup with a hole in the block and a 24-stud three-quarter-race Edmunds-headed three duece something or other that I can't remember replacement that never actually got put all the way in, a '54 Chevy 4-door with leaded-in back doors, nice blue paint, interesting blue metalflake and white striped roll-and-pleat, and a 283 with a hole in the block, a '51 61-inch Harley pan head with no holes in the block that I rode to school for awhile, and my buddy's 283-powered '36 Dodge coupe with a hole in the block that we stuck a 365 horse 'Vette 327 in which I took care of whilst he was in the Marines...I swapped it for a stupid BSA that didn't even run before they let him out. I should be shot...

Next was a real cherry '55 hardtop Bel Air with new paint, buckets, 283 2-barrel, 4-speed I bought for the unimaginable price of 700 bucks which I traded for a '66 Triumph Bonneville that I put a 10-over frontend on that I swapped for a '38 Ford Fordor that was very low mile, drove like new and came with a '46 Harley knucklehead in a box. I sold the Ford and traded the knuckle motor for a complete polished-case '38 80-inch flathead Harley motor. I stuck that flatty in the '46 straight-bar frame after raking a half inch and spending countless hours filling and smoothing the frame and stretching the springer front-end and taking the wheels apart and polishing each spoke one by one. Then I sold it for three-hundred-and-fifty bucks and went to Oregon. Look up 'dumb' in the dictionary and I don't have to tell you who's picture will pop right out at you.

A '56 Buick was next. I bought it for the trip to Oregon but it had a burnt valve so me and my partner Chris yanked the head and lapped in a junkyard replacement that ran faultlessly to Oregon and back and then out to Seattle for a few months. One of the best cars I ever owned.

Then there was a '51 International pickup with wore out rod bearings I got from my Uncle Martin that I fixed on the lawn in front of the house. Pop said he would help me but he had to go to Sykes first and get some 'vittles'. So he shows back up with milk, coffee, bread and a pound of Sykes best farm-cured bacon. I says, "Pop, can't I just go down to Valley Motor and get a set of real rod bearings"? He grins and says "Don't worry, son, this is for breakfast. I wouldn't waste good bacon on a cornbinder anyway".

Then there was a cherry four-speed-bucket-seat-rally-wheel'd '66 El Camino that didn't react too well to stump jumping, a '64 Scout that did, a nice '64 Impala, a '66 Suburban two-door with a 327 and a powerglide that went to Fairbanks, AK and back with only a blown radiator hose for trouble. I lived in that car when I got back for a year then sold it to Frank the Poster Boy for the Mentally Unstable who drove it to California and set it on fire.

Then I got me a '52 Ford F1 with a tired 8BA that I overhauled along with the front-end, yanked the square-cut tranny out and replaced it with a Borg-Warner four speed which really made a nice truck out of it, then sold it and bought a '70 Dodge fleetside with a 383 which I sold and bought a '66 Impala with a 300 horse 327 and put in a whole complete roll-and-tuck blue velour interior (hey, it was the '70's) which I sold and bought a cherry '70 Chevy pickup which I sold and bought a '79 Ford short-wheel-base which I sold and bought a '71 Blazer which I traded for a '76 Lincoln Town Car that was like new 'til the kids got gum on the seat but my wife hated that car so she traded it for a real clean low-mile (gulp) Plymouth K-car whilst I was out hauling logs. Then it just keeps getting worse, (i.e. Minivan). Gawd...

Now we are running pretty much mainstream rolling stock, Ford Explorer, Dodge Durango, Ford Ranger, yada, yada, yada...

I have one saving grace...a '29 Model A closed cab pickup junkpile out in the shop. No cab or box, just a frame, headlight buckets, all four rusty-thin-holed original fenders, a couple of frozen Houdailles, a 4-inch stretched I-beam, a cobbled-up open driveline buggy spring rear-end, 3 nice '57 Buick aluminum drums and a '53 8BA with Offy heads and a Weiand two-pot that my pard Chris (yup, the same Chris of '56 nailhead fame) and I are struggling with. It ain't easy, with two kids in college draining the coffers and a terminal lack of ambition, but someday...