Paul Ruby with his self-described chick magnet — a 1994 Oldsmobile Cutlass station wagon, a cream puff car he purchased last year at the Carlisle Car Show. He owns a number of chick magnets by his reckoning, including a big, black Harley-Davidson, a red Ducati 1198, a ’70s vintage red Ferrari, and a ’60s vintage Vespa. He describes them in various ways, from pure mojo, chick magnet, or other “pure” terms I would rather not put in writing. All are part of a unique Rubiesque lexicon. Under intense questioning he’ll eventually admit that none, save the vintage Vespa, have ever attracted a female. He may go further in saying that the women he’s encountered, in fact, seem completely disinterested in any of these machines.
Maybe the special power resides in the white socks and black slippers.
This past Saturday, something happened to possibly alter my perception of the idea of a chick magnet. The Oldsmobile Cutlass wagon may just have those fabled powers.
Dan Leri and I stood outside Saint’s Cafe, discussing Dan’s recent mishap with his BMW RT1150. I’ll be posting that story sometime soon. As we talked, Paul trotted up with a cup of his favorite Duncan Donuts coffee in hand, smiling and thankful to be walking on the good earth. He is generally that happy.
Before Dan could continue with his story, which included how the throttle froze on the way to work, Paul suddenly interjects: “You can’t talk to me. I have a 1994 Oldsmobile Cutlass station wagon. It’s a creampuff, pure mojo, a major chick magnet!” Bam. Or so he could have added. Bam is a common way Paul punctuates his deliveries.
Just as the words pass his lips, the crash of metal meeting metal stops the conversation. Paul’s head rotates toward the sound as if mounted on some fine, German, geared system. Eyes wide, his body is already in motion towards the parking lot across the street. It takes a moment for Dan and I to comprehend the situation. A gray minivan has just plowed into Paul’s creampuff. Like many guys, well, maybe most guys, we grin, chuckle and return to the frozen throttle conversation.
Only a few minutes pass until I notice Paul, standing behind the minivan, his arms wrapped around a woman. Another few minutes pass. Dan and I part ways. I head across the street towards my Vespa and see Paul still talking with the woman. The side of the wagon is clearly wrecked, and I’ll later learn that the minivan was in far worse shape. I stifle a strong, very strong, urge to chirp “chick magnet” as I walk by.
A few hours later, Paul is on the phone asking me if I think God is trying to tell him something. He’s wondering if he’s making light of women, by thinking his possessions have some magical power over them. Does this mean he believes– they’re one-dimensional creatures drawn merely to the sparkling of worldly goods. I listen quietly as he expresses deep, spiritual concern for his actions and speech–as he questions the foundations on which his beliefs are based. His angst flows through the phone in a heavy wave of emotion. I listen until he’s drained of speech, awaiting my response.
In our front yard, a Carolina wren sings loudly for a mate. Junior stretches on the floor as my foot rubs his soft belly. Finally, I respond.
“No, none of that. It’s a chick magnet.”
What are friends for if not to rubber-stamp each others’ shit.
Steve, you confirm you’re a good friend by your actions…supporting your friend’s delusions is part and parcel of male friendship rituals.
The 2d photo of the RT brought back fond memories of my own RT, Maria…sigh.
Dom
Sorry to hear his creampuff was indeed so magnetic that it drew a minivan right into itself.
White socks and black slippers, you say? ::swoon::
Paul actually sounds a pretty awesome.
Dear Steve:
Sometimes a story raise more questions than it answers…
Why did the van whack your buddie’s car?
You wrote, “… he had his arms wraped around a woman.” Presumably, she was the driver. Was he choking the living shit out of her?
Finally, your response to this crash almost quslifies you to be an officer of the Mac-Pac.
I wonder if the frozen cable on your frirnd’s “R” bike was the result of caked-on coal dust?
Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads
The Blog That Treats All Bikes Equally, Whether They Are “R” Bikes or “K” Bikes
Steve. I’m glad you understand me. I found that women aren’t often attracted to us because of our cars or motorcycles. They are more attracted to a nice big kitchen and babies. That’s about it. Food and babies. The Olds station wagon has seating for 2 adults, 4 baby seats plus gear. I did get to hug the lady that hit me, that was nice. She was very upset. Giving comfort is satisfying. Bam!
jr: I laughed so hard sn___ came out of my nose. “was he choking the living poop out of her?”
This was a very good read the way you presented it Steve. Sorry to Paul for the cream puff getting whacked. I like his response though.
I had a BMW 318is car that was in nice shape until a lady hit me head on at a relatively low speed. She was upset too so I hugged her. There’s something about hugging at the scene of an accident that takes some of the sting away. Bam!
In my job taking 9-1-1 calls I sometimes take calls from people so traumatized by seeing the accident they can’t give me any useful information at all, not even where they are. ” I hope to hell that isn’t the only person that sees me go down when my next fall comes” is my usual thought as they hang up and I take the next call hoping for something useful to be gleaned about the wreck. Hugging them is not high on my list.
Charlie6: (Dom) Yeah, Paul and I are friends. It’s good to have people who like you despite your quirks and delusions.
Dan’s BMW is pretty nice. Maybe you need to add a fourth to your garage??
Fuzzy: A thousand dollar repair will make the creampuff whole again. Next time he better be careful where he parks so it doesn’t attract more minivans.
Paul is a Renaissance man. Multi-talented with a wide range of interests. Motorcycles are just one of them.
Dear Mr. Riepe: I’m glad I left you wanting more. How else to insure a return visit.
I guess I would need to purchase a BMW to qualify for MAC-PAC membership. The image would be ruined if a Vespa was involved.
Yeah, the coal dust is bad here. We’re hoping the fires and reject fracking fluids from the gas drilling will clear that all up.
Paul: Don’t forget puppies and kittens.
And crying. Try crying more. That might help. And keep writing poetry.
No one here knows you are a published poet. That will help expand your myth.
Mike: Yeah, Paul was nice. She had some bad stuff going on in her life and Paul was just letting her know it was all going to be ok. Just a car afterall…
Conchscooter: I’m with you. I hope if I ever need help the nearest person is calm and collected. I remember when I was a kid when I hurt myself I always wanted my dad. My mom freaked out. My dad was calm. If there was blood spurting out of my body he would usually say, “You’ll be ok boy.”
That’s all I wanted to hear…
I miss that guy.
Dear Steve:
First of all, I got a laugh out of the poet, which just goes to show how versatile is my sense of bizarre humor.
Secondly, the Vespa more than qualifies you for membership. Come down for breakfast one month this summer, if you can work yourself up to the horror.
Lastly, my dad was a battalion chief on the Jersey City Fire Department. One morning, my sister cut her hand open slicing a bagel. My mother shrieked and almost passed out. My dad stopped the bleeding in about 5 seconds, threw my sister in the car, and had her in the emegency room in under ten minutes. She required 11 stitches. The ER doctor said, “Let me givr her a local.” My dad responded, “She won’t need it.” She didn’t.
Fondest regards,
Jack ®eep
Twisted Roads
Mr. Riepe: I definitely have a trip to the MAC-PAC breakfast in Pottsville percolating in my brain. I’ll let you know.
Your dad sounds a lot like my dad. I try and be like him as often as I can…
If I had a nickel for every time Paul said “You can’t talk to me” or “Bam!”…… I long for financial freedom.
You must be the best friend Paul will ever have. You say what is right to him rather than what he would love to hear. We women get thrilled by motorcycles. Especially the ‘voom voom’ sound and an elegant motorbike. But doesnt mean we will fall in love with the person. If a lady is attracted to you because of the bike you got….. run away! run away Paul!