The Big Fix
Yesterday was a near perfect weather day here in Ithaca and I used it to good purpose to make a bunch of decisions and to fix a bunch of things. Some days nothing seems to work right and you just stumble through hoping for the best and needing the assurance that you are not just a complete screw-up that can make nothing happen right. Yesterday was different. Everything I touched and thought to address got fixed. Once in a while success comes in small doses, but every now and then the fire hose comes out and the heavens are aligned to grant you dominance over all things in disrepair.
I started the morning with a garage door that couldn’t be opened from the outside, a friend’s motorcycle that had oil coating the rear wheel every time it was cranked up to ride, my motorcycle not properly registered with a NYS DMV that had no appointments available until after I was gone from Ithaca, a pool that needed a new vinyl liner with none to be had until 2022, posts and railing that were showing enough deterioration that they needed repair, trees and shrubs that needed pruning, an open speeding ticket from my trip up Rt. 17 on Wednesday and a family home here in Ithaca in somewhat of future limbo as to availability and ownership. None of these things were the end of the world, but they all needed to be addressed sooner or later. I think I solved them all today. Amazing!
Let’s take them one at a time so that I can record a roadmap for my future self for the next time I find myself in a state of extreme disrepair. Cousin Pete really took care of the first item by traveling to Cortland to buy a new garage keypad remote that could be tuned to wirelessly open the garage with a code. The unit that was there had worked for 25 years and had developed a case of battery dropsy a while back, but last week gave up the ghost and stopped working altogether. Looked at holistically, anything electronic that lasts 25 years should be put into the Smithsonian, but since I needed to get into the garage, I mostly needed a new version. The one that is now attached to the garage is bright white and somewhat more compact than the old black plastic one. It feels and works very well, so I can stamp FIXED on that item.
My friend Chris booked for 11am at the local Honda dealer since there is no Triumph dealer in town. He thought maybe they could see from whence the oil leak was coming and then suggest how he could ride it back home to Duchess County without killing himself and until it could be properly fixed. Meanwhile, I went on ahead to go to the local DMV office with the intention of pressing my face up against the glass door until someone took pity on me. When I got there the big sign on the door that proclaimed “Appointments Only” was daunting, but I knocked ever so lightly on the door and stood there simpering. The woman who opened the door only a crack to shoo me away looked empathetic and I gave her my tale of COVID lost reregistration mail and simply said, “can you please help me, I’m not from around here anymore…”. Her reply was pleasant and friendly in an upstate way. She directed me to an outdoor table with forms and told me to fill out the renewal registration form and a credit card authorization and to deposit it into the box…and oh, here’s a pen to help you. I was pleased to get any response. After filling out the form, a man open the door and peeked out. I asked if he had a paper clip to allow me to put my forms and my insurance card together before placing them into the slotted box. He said, “don’t be silly, I’ll take them since I empty the box anyway….ha…ha”. I handed them over to him and he looked to be sure my phone number was on the form and then said with a cheery disposition that he would call me later in the day to tell me what was next. My thought was that something good has finally happened at the DMV. Maybe COVID and the specter of all-online transactions has breathed new life into them. And by the way, he did call and I pick up my new registration this morning.
On to the Honda dealer. Before Chris and John arrived on their bikes, I introduced myself to the owner/manager and explained that they would be right there and that I had a 2009 Suzuki VStrom 650 with 1,500 miles that needed a new home. Would he like to buy it? “Oh, no, we don’t do that, we only take bikes on consignment and sell them for a 10% commission”, he said. He looked it up and declared it to be worth maybe $3,900. I responded that I needed to be rid of it, whereupon the fish was on the line. How much was I willing to sell it for? $2,000 for a fast sale. SOLD! Bring it down, sign it over, walk away with the money. How perfect is that for an absentee owner that viewed the bike as another insurance bill and new battery every time I come to Ithaca?
That’s when Chris rode up on his oily mess of a Triumph. It went right on the lift rack despite the other ten bikes hanging around waiting for repair. The mechanic immediately found the leak and declared that all he could do was replace the oil filter and the various pressure washers and see if that fixed things. It would require a full oil change but should go quickly. Chris had an extra oil filter, so in a mater of minutes the job was done and the bike started. Voila! No leak. Other than the momentary decision about what oil to put in (I know I never know), easy peasy. The mechanic then took the time to spray Gunk all over the back end of the bike and tire and carefully wiped the whole bike clean. Imagine that, technical expertise, courtesy, service above and beyond on a timely basis, a wink and a smile and we were off to meet the womenfolk for lunch. That sort of repair experience only happens in towns like Ithaca, I imagine.
When we got home, Pete had installed the new garage opener and layed in front of me pool liner brochures to select my new vinyl liner for installation this Fall (What?!) for exactly the cost that Google had told me to expect (Double What?!). Oh, and we have an appointment today with the landscaper about the pruning and on Monday with the guy who built and installed the fence and would prepare a bid for fixing the fence posts that needed replacement, again after 25 years of noble service. We were just slamming through the Homeward Bound household project list like a hot knife through butter…and then being placed on a fresh cob of local corn with salt.
I had emailed the speeding ticket attorney suggested to me by Chris, so I got the call from him and he agreed to take care of everything for me for $550 and I would only have to sign and notarize the final settlement, which would come in July or August. Hands cleared of a problem that I could just barely decipher from the intentionally confusingly-worded summons handed me by the state trooper.
And then, the crowning glory of the day was that I met with the Dean of the business school (an old long-time pal) and proposed my legacy plan for allowing my children the option to carry on the Homeward Bound arrangement after I had crossed the ultimate homeward bound threshold. Done deal, write it up and email it to him and he will usher it through the University bureaucracy because, “Rich, you’re a member of the family, we would do whatever you want with your lovely home that I have enjoyed being at these many times over the years.” The answer I had hoped for with the kind of respect for my life of service and generosity to the school that one hopes for but rarely gets.
I slept like a baby last night, dreaming of other things to which I might apply my Big Fix good luck.