For many years, Memorial Day meant power boats races on Wampatuck Pond. Also known as Town Hall Pond, because the Town Hall sits on a jut of land protruding into the north end, Wampatuck is a man-made pond - created in the 1700's when Nathanial Thomas dammed up a brook to power a grist mill. This created a long, shallow mill pond which is bordered by the Town Forest along the East bank, Fern Hill Cemetery and homes along the West Bank, cranberry bogs/reservoirs to the south, and Liberty St/Rt.14&58 across the dam along the north edge. Although this is about two miles from Phillips St, we could hear the whine of the boat motors rev'ing around the pond. Racers from up & down the east coast and spectators from miles around came to this annual spectacle. If we were lucky, Dad &/or Nenna would decide to let us stop in and watch for a bit. The Town Hall lot was the most common place to watch from, as there was parking nearby and easy access to waters edge, and the approaching boats would make their first turn of each lap virtually right in front of this spot. The sight of huge "rooster tails" of water spraying from the rear of these racers, and the likely hood of a boat either swamping or flipping was very exciting. Inevitably there would be stories about some pilot being hauled away in the ambulance, or how an out-of-control boat nearly ran into the crowd on shore (always happening on a day that you WEREN'T there, told by totally reliable 2nd grader). The cemetery was an OK spot to watch but you were high on a hill, facing a long straight section of the course, and the action was probably 200 yards away. One year (I was 16 or 17) I rode my bicycle up to watch the excitement. From the cemetery view point I realized that straight across on the far shore was a huge clock/timer and a judges table. They may have gotten to that point but boat, but I knew that by going through the Town Forest I could easily get up close and see what the operation was all about. I watched from a safe distance for a bit and figured out that they used a 30 second countdown to start each heat. The boats would circle around the far end, and then approach the starting line -trying to build up as much speed as possible without crossing the start "line" before the timer struck zero. There were two judges, one with a pretty teenaged daughter helping, who ran the clock, signaled the racers, kept the records, and walkie talkied back to the PA Announcer (stationed by the Town Hall). They kindly let me ask questions, which they cheerfully answered - filling me in on all the rules and strategies involved. The girl was friendly and talkative, lived in New Jersey, and loved travelling around to these races. I hung around until the races were done, and then looked forward to next Memorial Day - fully planning to attend and maybe even volunteering to help out.
Sadly, that was the last year the races were allowed to be held in Hanson - the town determining that the insurance liability was too great (too many flipping boats and spectators who couldn't get out of the way), and because not everybody in town enjoyed The Holiday Weekend being filled with the incessent buzz (or if they lived close enough - roar) of racing motors. The end of another local tradition, and another lost opportunity (I certainly would have gotten her name the next year).
Monday, March 9, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Back Yard Mechanics
Spring 1973:
Ed Colley gave me a 1964 Chevy Biscayne staton wagon for free - called it a graduation gift. It wouldn't pass inspection because the body was too rotted out, but the engine was pretty solid. Laurie owned a 1965 Impalla who's body was fine, but the motor was on it's way out. Jay was a friend and a sophmore in high school who's father had set him up with his own garage on the family compound known as Woodman Terrace (Jay's family, and various uncles & grandparents all owned adjacent houses on this dirt dead end road). Jay volunteered that swapping the motors would be a piece of cake and he could do it in our back yard. Not having all his shop tools at hand, we had to improvise a bit. The swings came off the swing set, replaced with a "chain-fall" pully. My car was rolled under it, hoses & wires & cables all dis-assembled, and the motor lifted up and out. We pushed my motorless car out from under and placed the engine on a wooden palet, which in turn was dragged out of the way. Then Lauries car went through the same process. Then the good motor dragged back, lifted, and Lauries car rolled back. Rather miraculously, after all of this manual shoving and hoisting and dragging and repeating - the Biscayne motor and the Impalla car drove away under it's own power (and continued to drive for 4 or 5 years further).
I was left without a car now. Somewhere I ended up with an old VW Bug that of course - needed work. Sadly, Jay had backpacked with Laurie & I during the summer - and it was not pretty. He had hitchhiked home from Pennsyvania after one week on the AT (Appalachian Trail) and we were not on good terms any more (another story for another time). But cousin Dave Gurney was a fairly handy amature mechanic and because I pumped gas at Lloyds Garage, we had a place where we could work on it some - after hours. Of course I couldn't get it there legally as it was unregistered, so I had to drive it through the woods trail behind Nenna's, past Casoli's house, across Phillips St, across what used to be the Hall's Farm (since plowed bare into a large dirt pit) across the railroad tracks (where there was no actual crossing) to get into the lot behind the garage. NO PROBLEM - except when I tried to approach the tracks. There was a low muddy trench where run-off water gathered, then a sharp incline to get up over the tracks. The VW didn't make it through the mud and got stuck - 5 ft off of the tracks. Dave had to drive his car around to the other side, tie a rope from his bumper, over the tracks, and onto the VW - and pull like crazy. Well, the bug made it over, we put in new brake lines and drove it back. It made it over the tracks OK, but there was the darned mud again. At least that time we didn't have to worry about trains coming while we towed it out.
Ed Colley gave me a 1964 Chevy Biscayne staton wagon for free - called it a graduation gift. It wouldn't pass inspection because the body was too rotted out, but the engine was pretty solid. Laurie owned a 1965 Impalla who's body was fine, but the motor was on it's way out. Jay was a friend and a sophmore in high school who's father had set him up with his own garage on the family compound known as Woodman Terrace (Jay's family, and various uncles & grandparents all owned adjacent houses on this dirt dead end road). Jay volunteered that swapping the motors would be a piece of cake and he could do it in our back yard. Not having all his shop tools at hand, we had to improvise a bit. The swings came off the swing set, replaced with a "chain-fall" pully. My car was rolled under it, hoses & wires & cables all dis-assembled, and the motor lifted up and out. We pushed my motorless car out from under and placed the engine on a wooden palet, which in turn was dragged out of the way. Then Lauries car went through the same process. Then the good motor dragged back, lifted, and Lauries car rolled back. Rather miraculously, after all of this manual shoving and hoisting and dragging and repeating - the Biscayne motor and the Impalla car drove away under it's own power (and continued to drive for 4 or 5 years further).
I was left without a car now. Somewhere I ended up with an old VW Bug that of course - needed work. Sadly, Jay had backpacked with Laurie & I during the summer - and it was not pretty. He had hitchhiked home from Pennsyvania after one week on the AT (Appalachian Trail) and we were not on good terms any more (another story for another time). But cousin Dave Gurney was a fairly handy amature mechanic and because I pumped gas at Lloyds Garage, we had a place where we could work on it some - after hours. Of course I couldn't get it there legally as it was unregistered, so I had to drive it through the woods trail behind Nenna's, past Casoli's house, across Phillips St, across what used to be the Hall's Farm (since plowed bare into a large dirt pit) across the railroad tracks (where there was no actual crossing) to get into the lot behind the garage. NO PROBLEM - except when I tried to approach the tracks. There was a low muddy trench where run-off water gathered, then a sharp incline to get up over the tracks. The VW didn't make it through the mud and got stuck - 5 ft off of the tracks. Dave had to drive his car around to the other side, tie a rope from his bumper, over the tracks, and onto the VW - and pull like crazy. Well, the bug made it over, we put in new brake lines and drove it back. It made it over the tracks OK, but there was the darned mud again. At least that time we didn't have to worry about trains coming while we towed it out.
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