{"id":3873,"date":"2021-01-24T08:39:18","date_gmt":"2021-01-24T13:39:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dahlman.online\/?p=3873"},"modified":"2021-01-24T08:39:24","modified_gmt":"2021-01-24T13:39:24","slug":"riding-the-dog","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dahlman.online\/index.php\/2021\/01\/24\/riding-the-dog\/","title":{"rendered":"Riding the Dog"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p><em>This is just a story of my younger days.\u00a0\u00a0There\u2019s no deep political meaning, no \u201cmoral\u201d. It\u2019s just a story of a nineteen-year-old kid from the suburbs, learning about\u00a0\u00a0&#8211; Riding the Dog<\/em>.  <em>Enjoy!!!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\">Driving Old Cars<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p>My sister lives in the New York City area.&nbsp;&nbsp;She has no need for a car; public transportation is great and stores in the neighborhood are close.&nbsp;&nbsp;So when she wanted to come back to Ohio and didn\u2019t want to pay for a flight \u2013 she took the Greyhound from Newark, New Jersey.&nbsp;&nbsp;She called it \u201cRiding the Dog\u201d.&nbsp;&nbsp;She once led a passenger revolt in a blizzard at a truck stop near Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania.&nbsp;&nbsp;But that\u2019s her story to tell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I have lived in Ohio for most of my life.&nbsp;&nbsp;Unless you live directly in a downtown, having a car is a necessity.&nbsp;&nbsp;When I went to college at Denison University in Granville, I was two hours from home in Cincinnati.&nbsp;&nbsp;Dad could come and get me, but I was an independent young man, and didn\u2019t want to depend on my Father for mobility.&nbsp;&nbsp;So I always had a car at Denison, even in my Freshman year when we weren\u2019t allowed to park one on campus.&nbsp;&nbsp;I paid a small fee to keep it at the Certified Gas Station down by the IGA (grocery store).&nbsp;&nbsp;It was a fifteen-minute walk from my dorm, but accessible when I wanted to go camping, hiking, or get back home for a Friday night with friends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\">Plymouth Fury III<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p>Today\u2019s kids would call my first few cars \u201cbeaters\u201d.&nbsp;&nbsp;They weren\u2019t all that old, my first car a 1969 Plymouth Fury III (it was 1974).&nbsp;&nbsp;But my cousin put the first 100,000 miles on her in a year, and she was worn.&nbsp;&nbsp;I paid him $250, and had to replace the head gaskets before I could even start the engine.&nbsp;&nbsp;So I learned about mechanics from my neighbors, as we took the engine apart to remove the heads, had them machined, then put everything back together.&nbsp;&nbsp;Tom Morgan and Carlos Phillips taught me everything about engines, and even more about the process of getting things fixed.&nbsp;&nbsp;Tom, a Proctor and Gamble engineer, always had a way of using a \u201cgentle tap\u201d with a hammer to loosen some recalcitrant part.&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Carlos, on the other hand, learned his mechanics on his two vintage 1950\u2019s Porsches.&nbsp;&nbsp;He was amazed that you\u2019d even get a hammer near the engine, or that the engine would ever run without the \u201cstrict German tolerances\u201d he was used to.&nbsp;&nbsp;But we had a great time in Tom\u2019s garage, getting \u201cthe Furious\u201d together, and watching my Dad fall asleep against a tire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The \u201cFurious\u201d did fine for the last year of high school and the first year at Denison.&nbsp;&nbsp;But a buddy borrowed it over the summer after my freshman year, and the engine blew again.&nbsp;&nbsp;Ultimately the Fury was \u201crepurposed\u201d \u2013 we donated it to the Goodwill.&nbsp;&nbsp;I can\u2019t imagine that they fixed it up, but I like to think that some other sixteen-year-old got a \u201clow-cost beater\u201d to learn on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\">The Squareback<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p>My second car was a little older, a 1967 Volkswagen Squareback.&nbsp;&nbsp;It was the station wagon version of the Beetle, with a shoe boxy build instead of the more traditional bulbous shape.&nbsp;&nbsp;And while it was by then eight years old, it only had 75,000 miles on it.&nbsp;&nbsp;Carlos was ecstatic \u2013 old Volkswagen engines and old Porsche engines were almost the same \u2013 except for engine tolerances and top speeds, of course.&nbsp;&nbsp;So when the Squareback broke down, actually caught fire on I-71 just north of the Fort Ancient bridge on a frozen sixteen-degree day, Carlos was more than willing to help replace the crankshaft bearings.&nbsp;&nbsp;Tom joined in too, this time in my Dad\u2019s garage.&nbsp;&nbsp;The Squareback didn\u2019t take up as much room.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But I was still in school at Denison, so I had to do the repairs on the weekend.&nbsp;&nbsp;And one way to get back to Cincinnati, was \u201criding the dog\u201d.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>There was a \u201cmetro\u201d bus you could pick up in downtown Granville, across from Fuller\u2019s Market (now I\u2019m pretty sure that\u2019s \u201cthe Pub on Broadway\u201d \u2013 that\u2019s my fault too, but it\u2019s another story).&nbsp;&nbsp;It took you all the way down State Route 16 into downtown Columbus and the Greyhound Station, where you could catch the bus to Cincinnati.&nbsp;&nbsp;On the other end there was a stop in Springdale, not too far from Mom and Dad\u2019s house, so I could catch a ride and get back to work on the car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\">On the Dog<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p>It took a couple of weekends to get the Squareback on the road:&nbsp;&nbsp;one to tear things down and get the parts to the NAPA store to \u201cget grinded\u201d and reset, then another weekend to pick things up and put them all back together.&nbsp;&nbsp;So there were two weekends of finding a way home, and the first weekend, of \u201cRiding the Dog\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>So I caught the bus in Granville, and impatiently waited for the dozen stops to get downtown.&nbsp;&nbsp;We even stopped in a little town called Pataskala, not far west of Granville.&nbsp;&nbsp;I didn\u2019t think much that at the time \u2013 little did I know that I\u2019d spend most of my life there.&nbsp;&nbsp;But that too is another story.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>We finally arrived at the Bus Station in Columbus, on the seamier side of downtown.&nbsp;&nbsp;I rushed in, got my ticket, grabbed my backpack and boarded the Cincinnati bus.&nbsp;&nbsp;I wanted the window seat, even though I had the trip down I-71 already memorized by mile marker.&nbsp;&nbsp;A middle-aged guy took the seat next to me, and struck up a conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He asked me what I was doing, and I explained to him the fate of the Squareback.&nbsp;&nbsp;He laughed, then told me that he was a chiropractor.&nbsp;&nbsp;Now I was a smart kid, nineteen years old and a Denisonian, but at the time I\u2019m not sure I knew what a Doctor of Chiropractic actually did.&nbsp;&nbsp;So this guy began to explain chiropracty to me, telling me about positions and spinal movements.&nbsp;&nbsp;It all sounded interesting, if a little exotic.&nbsp;&nbsp;He waxed eloquently about the health benefits of alignment and extension, and we were halfway to Cincinnati before\u2026things got a little strange.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\">Adjustment?<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p>The good doctor explained the need for special tables in order perform adjustments.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But then he began to get into the mechanics of his tables, and the \u201cnew\u201d chair he had designed.&nbsp;&nbsp;This, he said, was good for chiropractic, but its real value was for sex.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I wasn\u2019t quite ready for that transition, and soon the Doctor was waxing eloquently about how good sex was in his new chair.&nbsp;&nbsp;He then got more descriptive, reaching over the carefully placed armrest to try to alter my Greyhound seat to more aptly describe his invention.&nbsp;&nbsp;I wasn\u2019t a frequent \u201crider of the dog\u201d, but I knew when it was time to defend my window seat.&nbsp;&nbsp;We had a bit of low-key parrying, as he tried to place himself in a more descriptive position. I kept replacing his hands back on his side of the armrest, and he was getting frustrated with my unwillingness to gain \u201ca full understanding\u201d of \u201cthe chair\u201d.&nbsp;&nbsp;My still honed high school wrestling skills were coming in \u201chandy\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I thought things might become more violent, but realized that we were turning off of I-75 by Princeton High School.&nbsp;&nbsp;The Springdale stop was right at the corner, and I had no concerns about jumping over my \u201cseat mate\u201d to get down the aisle to the open door.&nbsp;&nbsp;No goodbyes were necessary for the Doctor of Chiropractic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\">What Bus?<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p>I spent the weekend up to my elbows in grease and gasoline.&nbsp;&nbsp;But we got the engine apart, the small (4 cylinder) crankshaft to the NAPA store, and ordered all the assorted parts and pieces to pick up the next weekend for the rebuild.&nbsp;&nbsp;By Saturday night, I was with my buddies listening to music (and probably having a Stroh\u2019s beer or two).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Sunday morning I had breakfast, and then caught the early afternoon bus back to Columbus.&nbsp;&nbsp;No \u201cdoctoring\u201d was available on this trip, so I read an Isaac Asimov novel and jumped out unscathed at the Greyhound Station.&nbsp;&nbsp;I went out to the street, and waited for the local bus to take me back to Granville.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>After about half an hour or so, I wandered back into the Greyhound Station to the information desk.&nbsp;&nbsp;There I was informed that the bus to Granville (and onto Newark) didn\u2019t run on Sunday, oops!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>It was 1975, and hitchhiking was still \u201ca thing\u201d.&nbsp;&nbsp;My buddy down the hall hitchhiked all the time from his home in Maine to Denison and back, so I figured that getting from downtown Columbus to Granville wouldn\u2019t be a big deal.&nbsp;&nbsp;But you can\u2019t hitchhike on the Interstate, and it didn\u2019t seem like you could in downtown Columbus.&nbsp;&nbsp;So I started walking east on Broad Street, figuring it couldn\u2019t be too far until I could get to a more \u201chighway\u201d like area.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\">Hitchin&#8217;<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p>Looking back on that journey, I walked from downtown, through Bexley and Whitehall, and out past the airport towards a little hospital (then), Mt. Carmel East. That\u2019s about nine miles, but hiking and backpacking was my thing in those days.\u00a0I was even wearing hiking boots and a backpack.  Unfortunately it was getting dark, and cold, and there was still a long way to, about eighteen more miles to Granville.\u00a0\u00a0I finally got up my nerve and stuck out my thumb. A nice lady picked me up and took me as far as the County line.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>State Route 16 was a two-lane highway back then, not the five-lane road it is today.&nbsp;&nbsp;And back then there was only one stop light from Mt. Carmel East all the way to Granville. Today, there\u2019s one every couple of blocks.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So hitchhiking was easier back then, and a pickup truck pulled over almost right away.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Now I was a novice hitchhiker, so I didn\u2019t think too much when the guy with the fluorescent orange work gloves jumped out of the driver\u2019s seat.&nbsp;&nbsp;The passenger door was broken he said, but he was headed east if I wanted a ride.&nbsp;&nbsp;So I clambered up into the driver\u2019s side of the truck,&nbsp;&nbsp;slid over to the passenger seat, and we headed east towards Granville.&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The window didn\u2019t work either, so I  did start to get a little nervous after my chiropractic adventure.&nbsp;&nbsp;But he was a local guy, just talking about local stuff, and we got to Granville quick enough.&nbsp;&nbsp;He wanted to drive me up to my dorm, but I had him drop me off by Fuller\u2019s Market.&nbsp;&nbsp;Seemed like a safer bet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\">No More Dogs<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p>The next weekend I caught a ride with another Denison student headed home for the weekend.&nbsp;&nbsp;It was a busy Saturday and Sunday, trying to reassemble the Squareback with all the new parts and pieces.&nbsp;&nbsp;And I managed to get in a little bit of trouble at home:&nbsp;&nbsp;Mom came into the kitchen and found pistons in the oven and wrist pins in the freezer.&nbsp;&nbsp;Their tolerances were close:&nbsp;&nbsp;it was hard to get them together.  So you made the wrist pins smaller from cold, and the pistons bigger with heat.&nbsp;&nbsp;Somehow Mom didn\u2019t seem to get the point, and the oven did have the odor of just a hint of motor oil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But we managed to get the pins in the pistons, the crankshaft in the engine, and the engine back in the vehicle.&nbsp;&nbsp;By Sunday it was time to test it out,&nbsp;&nbsp;and, I drove the Squareback back to school.&nbsp;&nbsp;By now I could park in the Dorm lot.&nbsp;&nbsp;I hitchhiked a few more times in my student days, including one crazy ride at 120 miles an hour through the mountains of Tennessee.&nbsp;&nbsp;I thought that was going to be the end, but learned to never underestimate the skills of the son of a moonshiner.&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But that trip to Cincinnati was the last time I was \u201criding the dog\u201d.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>This is just a story of my younger days.\u00a0\u00a0There\u2019s no deep political meaning, no \u201cmoral\u201d. It\u2019s just a story of a nineteen-year-old kid from the suburbs, learning about\u00a0\u00a0&#8211; Riding the Dog. Enjoy!!! Driving Old Cars My sister lives in the New York City area.&nbsp;&nbsp;She has no need for a car; public transportation is great and &hellip; <a href=\"https:\/\/dahlman.online\/index.php\/2021\/01\/24\/riding-the-dog\/\" class=\"more-link\">Continue reading<span class=\"screen-reader-text\"> &#8220;Riding the Dog&#8221;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3873","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.4 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Riding the Dog : Our America - Essays on Politics and American Life<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"This isn&#039;t political - there&#039;s no moral to the story. 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