Well, Pick N’ Pull was a bust. I stumbled on a second scrap yard in Waukegan on the way home, but they didn’t have the mirrors I was looking for either. They were hiding a few neat treasures though: a couple 1950’s pickup trucks and early 1940’s Volvo with dull black paint, big round fenders and small oval windows.

I won’t spend more time trying to find used versions of these mirrors - bit of a needle in a haystack, and whatever I do find would likely look rusty and be missing hardware anyhow. (Sour grapes? Perhaps.) I’ll instead work on Plan B.

As for the other end of our camping rig - the Globe Trotter - things are in great shape. The floor is solid, it appears to be totally waterproof, and complete… original down to the crumbling refrigerator manual and 1962 title. I’ll have to scan that sometime for you to see, it’s way cool.

But I’ve decided we should update a couple of the systems on board. Those 38-year old components could cause trouble when we hit the road. Besides, there are new technologies out there that make these systems far more lightweight, small and reliable than their four decade old ancestors. For now, all new parts are normally hidden anyways, so you won’t see any difference: new Atwood water heater, a 45 Amp Progressive Dynamics power converter, and new fuse panel. These will make sure we have power and hot water on the road.

Melissa came up with the great idea that we should host “Airstream Saturdays” this month: picking up the trailer from storage on Friday nights and keeping it in front of the condo for the weekend. Hopefully a few friends will come out to help install these elements, while Melissa concentrates on updating the crusty original fabrics and dull finishes in the main cabin.

By bringing it to the house, I’ll have the internet in case I need to download a how-to guide or email a fellow Airstreamer for help. And we’ll have bathrooms and a refrigerator right upstairs to keep up the troops’ morale.

This storm dumped rain and hail on Evanston this past Saturday. We walked to the beach to see it harmlessly pour into Lake Michigan, but what we didn’t know was that it had just injured ten people at Evanston’s Fountain Square Art Fair. Tents were overturned and several artists’ entire collections of work were destroyed.

Never been a particularly big fan of IKEA. But as with many things in life, it’s the little things that win you over. And as Nell and I pulled into a packed parking lot last week, we were greeted with a few of these signs - prominently located in front near the handicap parking spots.

Even the font is nice.

Pick N’ Pull… the Moo N’ Oink of auto salvage.

Who’d have thought I’d be excited about wandering around a junk yard? But those are the depths that Old Man Brad has sunk to, faithful readers. Tomorrow I’ll make a quick visit up in Wadsworth, Illinois to visit the local Pick N’ Pull junk yard.

Because at Pick N’ Pull, everything’s half off on WILD Wednesdays!

It’s located in about one of the only spots you could put a place like this in the pastoral, wealthy north shore of Illinois: behind a gas station on Route 41. Up the road from the paintball place, and across the highway from a strip club.

I shudder to think what they do on Wild Wednesdays.

“Why would he possibly need to go slumming in a junk yard?” you cringe. “I hope his tetnus shots are up to date.”

Here’s why. Towing that Airstream back home from South Carolina was not only incredibly fun, but also illuminated a couple glaring shortcomings in the new setup. Chiefly, my “blind spot” was more like a hundred feet of road on either side of me where I had no clue what was going on. The Jeep never had a passenger side mirror in the first place, and my clamp-on ones were as cool-looking as they were useless.

So, I’m on the hunt for inexpensive, sturdy truck mirrors.

That yellow pickup truck sports the exact ones I’m after: adjustable, vintage-lookin’, and three points of contact with the door so the reflection doesn’t shimmy as we roll down the highway. The guy who answered the phone at Pick N’ Pull said they have an acre of old trucks - so hopefully I’ll hit the jackpot.

I have to remember to bring a wrench and screwdriver set. Because you pick it… you pull it.

Talk about WILD!

(Somewhere Laura and Sasha are already snickering in acknowledgement.)

Old Man Brad. As you may know from previous posts, this is my alter ego of sorts. He’s the one who pulls up to the house with an old canoe strapped to the roof. The one who gets excited over three incomplete letterpresses… on the opposite coast… that he enthusiastically intends to restore and sell. And the guy who has a pit in his stomach as he drives past stately old homes on Sheridan Road - surrounded by orange plastic construction fencing that precedes the wrecking ball.

The Old Man’s existence relies on winning an internal struggle against “Regular Brad,” (a misnomer in and of itself.) Because I’m both, I won’t hazard a guess at which one is winning. I’m sure Melissa would be all too happy to share her opinion.

So… back to the windows?

Shortly after moving into their condo in early 2002, Old Man Brad examined the fourteen rattling, decrepit windows and remarked, “Ya know, I could easily remove these things one at a time and restore ‘em.” To which Melis growled, “Touch them and die.” Or something similar.

Over the next couple months the Old Man version of Brad persisted - eventually wearing his wife down with promises of saved money, the pride of restoring things yourself, and visions of antique showpieces - complete with iron sash weights and rubbed bronze hardware latches.

Old Man Brad had won the battle. But as he plowed ahead he soon found he was ill-prepared for longer war, and it became painfully obvious that his lack of free time, experience, tools and space would drag this project to a sad, abrupt halt. But not before he’d removed eight window sashes from the family room - essentially gutting the most visible, used room in the house… and squirreled them away in his makeshift shop in the basement. Partially stripped - totally useless.

Fast forward to today - six years later. The window sashes still sit in that basement, in various states of undress. Chips of old lead paint have fallen all around them, creating a ring of toxic, white dust. Old Man Brad prefers not to discuss this particular project. He bit off far more than he could possibly chew, and it has caused many stressful discussions on both hot days and cold nights. Melissa has every right to remind Brad of this renovation disaster, and over the years it’s taken the forms of begging, encouragement, to threats of bodily harm and finally the bitter teasing of a tired woman who’s simply given up.

Brad, on the other hand, has gone through his own version of the stages of grief… ending with the acceptance that there’ll probably never again be operable windows in the family room. To this very day the temperature in the house is regulated by swapping back and forth between the only line of defense from the cruelties of nature: inefficient 1960’s storm windows, or warped, nylon screens that let bugs in at the corners.

Even the much heralded success of the window seat earlier this year served only to underscore (quite literally given its location,) the failure of Old Brad’s window project, which glowers down at the little built in masterpiece.

Epilogue

Incredibly, there is a happy ending to this story. Over the past several months our condo building, (under the board leadership of none other than Regular Brad) has approved high quality replacement windows for any tenants who wish to upgrade, and several have already begun doing so.

Our new windows, complete with tilt-in sashes and built-in screens, will be installed this coming week.

A couple photos from our friends Andrew and Allyson’s wedding last weekend in St. Louis.

St. Louis was fun, and Andrew and Allyson’s wedding was beautiful - even if the weather did alternate between “When’s Noah showing up with that ark?” and “So… THIS is what Hell feels like!”

Nell rides in the car like a champ, sleeping 95% of the time and spending the remainder with her head out the window, trying in vain to act like a normal dog.

Here’s the kid after we arrived home yesterday… grateful to be on solid ground once again. We’ll be putting in our air conditioners this week as summer in Chicago is upon us. I predict this one will love lying on the floor, exactly like this, as cold air cascades onto her from above.

I did these illustrations for the summer issue of Airstream Life - to accompany an article that, well, let’s just say was a fun in its unabashed political incorrectness. As is always the case in this series, it was a tongue-in-cheek bit which at one point mentions how a babboon’s rear end, which changes color as their moods shift, would be useful to the modern hen-pecked husband.

He finishes by mulling over the idea of selling women’s pants - coated with the chemicals found on those old mood rings - so husbands might have ample warning of a pending outburst.

I took that as my cue to create an advertisement for these “mood pants”, complete with rhymes such as, “They turn blue, red and yeller… to make you one smart feller!” and, “What’s on her mind? Just check her behind!”

Since I was already at my graphics tablet, I started sketching out some of the other ridiculous items this white trash guy might have up his sleeve, including a bobblehead doll… of himself.

Off to St. Louis for my college pal Andrew’s wedding this weekend. Melissa and Nell are coming along of course, and as I type this Melis is out gathering supplies for some PB&J sandwiches, as well as a cassette adapter to play the iPod in the Prius (long story: I had it hard-wired but it caused problems with the on board computer.) It’ll be a cozy, short family road trip and I know we’ll have a great time.

The event itself should be especially lovely - taking place in the shadow of the Arch, on an historic riverboat moored on the Mississippi.

I’ll have photos and a recap after the weekend!