Life - Moving, Stage 2a - PODS Pickup

So the PODS was picked up today but not without some drama. Last night I had the 1954 (and other years) Hungarian National Champion (1954 - 50 km) and a one time Florida State Road Race Champion help the future missus and myself cart out boxes and bins to the van and the PODS. The van is full of boxes - up to the windows - and the PODS was barricaded closed with the mattress and locked shut.

No bikes in the PODS but plenty of bike stuff - rollers, workstands (I have three now - a Park folding one from my friend Gene, the Blackburn tripod one, and a not-so-great white Blackburn one).

And virtually everything from the bedroom, middle room, living room, and kitchen.

Andre, the Hungarian guy, is pretty funny. Usually every other word is a swear. "Can you believe de bleeping Coppi was down 32 minutes by stage 6?! Den the bleep wins de bleeping race by bleeping 45 minutes or so." I warn the future missus so she wouldn't be surprised. And then he never swears.

We were rummaging through the basement for various things to fill gaps in the PODS. He's the one that brought out my rollers, workstands, fan, and some other bike stuff.

While we're down there he looks at one of my bikes. I have my carbon Giant, my aluminum Giant, a couple frames hanging, my mountain bike, all my "good" wheels, a ton of stuff. What does he home in on?

My $90 Riggio brown track bike (complete with yellow tape - and I chose that on my own, 15 years before I saw the picture I linked).

Of course.

No interest in the modern stuff. Super Record is new stuff. It's the old stuff that he likes - he cut his teeth on that gear.

Anyway, we managed to pack up the PODS without getting too engrossed in listening to Andre tell stories of his racing.

This morning, when I started charging the phone at work I saw I got some messages. Two were from the PODS guy. The first said he was on the way. The second said that my blue/fun car, a Nissan 350Z, was in the way. I've identified the car for, well, you'll see why.

A picture of the car from two years ago. Like my bikes, the car got a set of cool wheels (functional and cool - lightweight, cold forged Nismos) as well as brakes, intake, some other stuff.

He said in his message that he wouldn't be able to move the PODS unless the car was moved. I'd be glad to move it but it's over an hour away from the office.

This is the kind of stuff that stresses me out.

I let the future missus know. I told my colleagues I might have to leave. I tried to call him but no answer.

That kind of stuff stresses me out more.

I called the future missus, shared the bad news. We prepared to cancel the help we recruited for tomorrow. I prepared to drive home to move the car. And I called him about 45 minutes later, desperate.

This is how the call went.

"Hi. I'm calling about the PODS at..."
"You know, you need new rear brakes on that Z."
"What?"
"Cross drilled and slotted Brembos."
"Huh?"
"And you gotta paint those calipers gold. The grey looks terrible."
"Um, okay."
"And then we can race but I'd still kick your ass."
"Uh, well, at least I could stop well."
"I'd stop better than you also. I got Brembos all around."
"What kind of car you have?"
"I got two Z's. Twin turbo. '90 and '91."
"Those are fast cars."
"400 foot pounds at the wheels."
"Um, so anyway, I was calling about the.."
"Oh you're all set."
"Huh?"
"I got it out. It was tight. But your PODS is out. You're all set."
"Oh. That's great."
"Yeah."
"Thanks."
"No problem. Take care of those brakes."
"Yeah."

I'm glad he had a Z and that I had a Z. If I had a Mustang or Corvette or something he probably wouldn't have gotten the PODS out. Heck if I had driven the Z... well it wouldn't have been in the way. But if my Honda was in the way, I'm sure the guy would have said "Oh, can't do it, won't work, gotta go." And me and the future missus would have been up the proverbial creek without so much as a paddle.

Tomorrow we drive the heavily laden van, the future missus's mom's full size pickup (still to be loaded), and meet the PODS up in Simsbury. Then we get to move all that stuff into our new, rented townhouse.

After that, well, after the closing, I'll be working from there, no commute, no nothing. I hope to have more time to do stuff like train or work out or something. No more yard and no more garage so no yardwork or tinkering.

Today, then, is my last day in the office. They got together and we had a little lunch thing with brownies and cookies as desert. The cookies had on them "Good Luck". I felt like I was going to court or something. Me and, well, let's see, I could name a lot of cyclists.

Soon I'll be shutting down my computer, packing up the monitors, the computer, and the various accessories, and shuttling them back home. I'll use them next week from the future missus's office until we have internet, then I'll be working from home.

Sunday I was supposed to help promote this race. But I simply can't, just can't. I missed essentially a couple days of packing due to illness, the garage and basement are still painfully full. I have to clear all that stuff out in time for the walk through on Thursday at noon.

Noon!

I thought the walk throughs happened the morning of, not the noon before.

Anyway, by Thursday noon the house has to be broom clean.

And Friday, early in the afternoon, I'll hand over my beloved house to two very eager and excited new homeowners.

I think it'll be a bit tough, leaving the house. It's been home since 1992 and I went through a lot while I lived there. Lots of sweat equity. Lots of real equity. A great place, solidly built, not a single new crack in the plaster since I got there. Solid, like I said.

Really, though, it's time to move on. A bigger house, more room, more yard, more garage. Hopefully some little SprinterDellaCasas running around, that kind of thing.

For now all we have to do is move out.

Later, we'll move into whatever new place we find.