It was a bit of a bust.
After a nice drive under a cloudy sky, we parked in the field, right where the fella in the orange vest waving the stick told us to. Then he told us that there is a strict "No pets" policy. At this point my mellow Dad let loose a passionate "Sonofabitch!" which is as harsh as he gets. Didn't occur to me until much later that yes, my dog is the son of a bitch. I stared at the guy in disbelief. I opened my mouth and said, "Dude, he's a 10 month old Pug. Come on." That's about as mouthy as I get. (Until pushed....) Then buddy goes into his whole "well a guy got bit last year and insurance said no pets cuz blah blah blah blah blah." I told him I'd been coming here for years and there are always dogs here. "Those are the vendor's dogs, we let them bring their dogs because if they're here for three days there's no one to take care of the dog at home." To which my father replied that there was no-one to take care of this dog at home either. I told the guy that Pugs aren't even on the dog bite list. He muttered something about there's not a dog in the world that never bit anybody and I said, Yeah, this one!
In retrospect, when he first said No Pets, I should have nodded and said, oh, yeah, okay. And gone in with him anyways. I gave Dad my cash, told him to pay for 2 adults, kids are free, I took my leash in my hand, stuck my chin up and walked my proud headed dog in through the gate. For crying in a bucket. Like, 99% of the time I get told that he's not even a Real Dog, and then this.
I know. They need rules like that, all because there are stupid people with nasty dogs, who think the rest of us should make excuses for them. Whatevs. My dog had a great time meeting all the other fifty dogs at the flea market.
Okay. So I'm feeling much better now.
Here is the "drive your nice car in for free and show it off" section.
This car passed us on the highway. I knew we'd catch up with it once we got there! What a cool machine. This, to me, is what a hot rod is all about. This is an excellent retro 40s hot rod. I love the black suede primer, the red wheels, and the Thrush muffler sticker! Other than the seats and mirrors, there's something about it that's not authentic...It's not a Ford.The early hot rodders used Fords, usually Model A and 32 Coupes, because they were constructed with steel around the windows, and easier to cut and weld. The old Chevs weren't as simple though. There was wood around the windows and supporting the roof. Rather than try to chop and lower that roofline, they played with Fords instead. This hot rod is a 31 Chevy. We actually had one like this, but Dad sold it because he just didn't have time to finish it. Too many projects!
Check out the bullet grille and the pinstripe!
Come an getcher parts...
Some rusty old pedal cars and some junk:
More cool old pedal cars:
I didn't get as many as I wanted anyways, because soon it started raining so hard that I didn't want to take any more photos. We still staggered on through the rain. We got our obligatory cheeseburgers with the fried onions. But Dad and I kept saying to each other...there are fewer car parts each year. And lot of stuff that barely qualifies as automotive. There was a staggering amount of dirt bikes and go carts, which made my son happy...but no 57 Pontiac parts, and that's what we were looking for.
Some guys have it all figured out. They have T shirts printed up with "LOOKING FOR 67 MUSTANG PARTS" or on the little wagon that they pull around with them, "LOOKING FOR 62 FORD PICKUP PARTS". Good luck this year. If you wanted a set of dinged up fenders for a 95 Dodge Neon, though, you'd have the privilege of paying $175 for them.
THINGS PEOPLE SHOULD NOT DO/WEAR TO THE AUTOMOTIVE FLEA MARKET:
-Cute little sandals. Actually I don't even know why those girls were there. Even if it hadn't been raining, that footwear was only the most obviously wrong part of the outfit. What's with the little ruffled miniskirts? Is it possible that the lure of spending money is so strong for a giggling mall chick that she'll go anywhere to do it? Even my 12 year old daughter was stupidded out by this, and she's on the cusp of a severe shopping lust age.
-Big fat guys should wear shirts. Thank the heavenly clouds for the rain.
-I don't have anything against tattoos. I don't have any but I've thought about it. I don't have anything against stretch marks either. I got some of my own in places that average summer clothing covers. But. Oh dear. Lady. Woman. Broad. Put that away. Just put it away.
-I also saw a woman with a mustache. Like, unshaven. And she wasn't a man who made a decision to not be trapped anymore or whatevs, she was a woman. She was petite and female. And had a mustache. Honestly I was scared. I'm going to be way too honest here: I pluck whiskers out of my chin. How long before this happens to me? When do five whiskers turn into a frickin beard????
-Some people shouldn't have kids and that's all I'm going to say.
-I appreciate a well toned young man but I don't find that style of dressing with the plaid undies sticking out over the falling down pants very appealing. Am I supposed to look at that and think, ooh, how sexy, his pants are almost off already! Less work! No. I'm thinking, dude, your pants are falling down and when your white homies or whatever you call yourselves come after you for denting their tricked up Hondas, you are going to get tangled up in your fat guy pants which are hanging off your buttocks and when you trip and land on your face I'll be laughing at your gym-created backside. Ha! ha!
I do also have to mention that some of these Flea Marketeers are professionals. They're not part timers. They're profesh. They've rigged up bicycles and tricycles with cargo bays on the back, and tarp roofs, and sign holders for the LOOKING FOR signs, and a few inches of mud ain't gonna stop them from finding their treasures. Fascinating.
My disgruntled Dad didn't find any treasures. I didn't even find a nice reproduction John Deere sign for the studio. (Yes, I do think a recording studio needs tractor stuff. It's way too uppity right now. Gotta farm it up a little.) As for all the bitching about the high occurence of non-car-part related junk, what did I buy? An outdoor sign with a pic of a pug proclaiming, "I live here." I thought it was more appropriate than the ironic, "Beware of Dog" sign.
Speaking of dog, we wrapped the soaking wet critter in a towel and he promptly fell asleep in my daughter's lap in the back seat of the truck.