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Fanfare, v. 1, issue 5, December 1940
Page 15
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FANFARE 15 VIA JALOPPY b y John W Bell Being an account of the more humorous adventures of three strangers who trekked to the Chicon in that mighty mechanism, THE SKYLARK OF WOO-WOO. The Great God, MassStateCop beckoned. . . . The Skylark of Woo-Woo ground to a stop, then anxiously backed to the AWFUL presence, case awjr, was showered with advice the drift of which was that MassStateCop was right no matter how much of a heretic he felt like being. The heresy was mild however. It seems that rounding a curve, we had violated space navigation rules to the extent of putting the left wheels over the white line. MassStateCop got his rightful share of yessirs as was due so great a dignity, and after asking the fateful Mass question about the Skylark, "How did you get it insured?", let us go on our way. The inevitable reaction to so savage an interruption to free flight soon came out in a swing session. . . Being slightly unmusical, and pretty much a long-hair in the bargain, the next couple of hours were a punishment for which I cannot conceive the crime. However, after da-de-da, and de-de-da-da, and dedea deaadda and dee-dee-dah and de-de-de-de-de-, had gone back and forth between awjr and es for a couple of hours, it gave me a great pleasure to remark that they had swung themselves right off the road, and that we were then entering Scheneo[[?]]tady, some 20 miles off the route. Finally, getting snarled in the maze of lanes that Schenectadians like to call stree, we bespoke a native for advice on how to get out of the town. It being about 11:30 P.M., I am under the impression that the night air is too strong a thing for Schenectady natives to be out in. This denigen was too bewildered about something to give us a reasonable idea of where to go to leave the fair town. Thinking that perhaps we'd picked on the one man in the city who couldn't direct us, we tried again. And the native Schenectady wit came into play. . . . Did we want to go to Cherry Valley? . . .never heard of route 20. . . going west are you? . . . I have had better answers from a drunken negro in Norfolk, Virginia. There, at least, they'll say "Ah doan know, suh." and let you go, but the Schectady night owl would make of himself a veritable geographer, whose knowledge of upstate N.Y. and its villages should be paraded for the non-benefit of the humble inquirer from out-of-state. A wild dash into the night, brought us to Cobleskill at 1:30 A.M., where we hunted for gas and route 20. Route 20 achieved, it was a joking period for 50 miles. Then came the hills at Skaneateles and the truly high speed assault of them. Our Skylark faultered and then the clutch slipped. . . half-way up. . .oh oh . . . oh oh . . . Four A.M. and we gas up at Auburn. .. then tire trouble and an epic of entering darkened filling station yards in a frantic search for an air hose . . . Breakfast at 6:00 in an all night hash house, gawked at by more rural types than would be thought possible to be loose so early in the morning...All the details of the latest auto crash, and if you was to ask me, I'd say 'twas a bloody thing . . . (*)--Seaton, of course!
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FANFARE 15 VIA JALOPPY b y John W Bell Being an account of the more humorous adventures of three strangers who trekked to the Chicon in that mighty mechanism, THE SKYLARK OF WOO-WOO. The Great God, MassStateCop beckoned. . . . The Skylark of Woo-Woo ground to a stop, then anxiously backed to the AWFUL presence, case awjr, was showered with advice the drift of which was that MassStateCop was right no matter how much of a heretic he felt like being. The heresy was mild however. It seems that rounding a curve, we had violated space navigation rules to the extent of putting the left wheels over the white line. MassStateCop got his rightful share of yessirs as was due so great a dignity, and after asking the fateful Mass question about the Skylark, "How did you get it insured?", let us go on our way. The inevitable reaction to so savage an interruption to free flight soon came out in a swing session. . . Being slightly unmusical, and pretty much a long-hair in the bargain, the next couple of hours were a punishment for which I cannot conceive the crime. However, after da-de-da, and de-de-da-da, and dedea deaadda and dee-dee-dah and de-de-de-de-de-, had gone back and forth between awjr and es for a couple of hours, it gave me a great pleasure to remark that they had swung themselves right off the road, and that we were then entering Scheneo[[?]]tady, some 20 miles off the route. Finally, getting snarled in the maze of lanes that Schenectadians like to call stree, we bespoke a native for advice on how to get out of the town. It being about 11:30 P.M., I am under the impression that the night air is too strong a thing for Schenectady natives to be out in. This denigen was too bewildered about something to give us a reasonable idea of where to go to leave the fair town. Thinking that perhaps we'd picked on the one man in the city who couldn't direct us, we tried again. And the native Schenectady wit came into play. . . . Did we want to go to Cherry Valley? . . .never heard of route 20. . . going west are you? . . . I have had better answers from a drunken negro in Norfolk, Virginia. There, at least, they'll say "Ah doan know, suh." and let you go, but the Schectady night owl would make of himself a veritable geographer, whose knowledge of upstate N.Y. and its villages should be paraded for the non-benefit of the humble inquirer from out-of-state. A wild dash into the night, brought us to Cobleskill at 1:30 A.M., where we hunted for gas and route 20. Route 20 achieved, it was a joking period for 50 miles. Then came the hills at Skaneateles and the truly high speed assault of them. Our Skylark faultered and then the clutch slipped. . . half-way up. . .oh oh . . . oh oh . . . Four A.M. and we gas up at Auburn. .. then tire trouble and an epic of entering darkened filling station yards in a frantic search for an air hose . . . Breakfast at 6:00 in an all night hash house, gawked at by more rural types than would be thought possible to be loose so early in the morning...All the details of the latest auto crash, and if you was to ask me, I'd say 'twas a bloody thing . . . (*)--Seaton, of course!
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