Trip meter failure. He was on his way to buy gas after a mountain run when ran out of fumes. The passing bicyclist said, "Nice Beezer." I used to get that mixed up with "Beemer."
An old gas can for an old bike, he says.
nattering on with naught to say
Avus posted about his cars, and HH pointed this out to me, so I'm posting about mine. HH says he never saw a Morris Minor convertible, but I remember the gorgeous one I saw while on a family visit with my parents and brothers in Oakland, California in the 60s. It was on the downtown streets hauling men in suits around the Kaiser Building--with top down. I saw it briefly, but pegged it as high among my favorites. Here are photos of one of my Dad's Morris Minors that my brainy brother Bill drove to university. My brothers and I used to all three ride in the back seat with Mom and Dad in the front, and it was a tight fit for sure. Now the brainy brother has a Morris Woody or two, but they're in some storage barn waiting for the mythical Someday.
My second car was a beauty, as seen in the photo at right. Like the first only spiffier. The first one Dad bought for me. It was three colors, a Volkswagon-burnt orange red with a white top and a blue right hand door, which opened on it's own schedule, usually when making a left hand turn, but not when the passenger wanted to exit. Another exciting feature was the rain it collected on the floorboards which sloshed back and forth with the use of brakes and gas pedals, and always made me laugh, especially when maneuvering out of a parking place. Everything on this second car worked, except the defrost, so when it was icy out, the window had to be down with the scraper in hand working like a window wiper. It just wasn't made for ice.