Project Why Wait: Cabin Fever

Much like social distancing, curbside pickup, and pull your mask up ‘2020 was supposed to be my year’ is a string of words that’s lost all meaning.

Unfortunately, we’ll be hearing the first three expressions for some time coming, but with 2020 now officially the past it’s pretty clear it wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s year.

I’m not sure who threw what black cat into which mirror, while two stepping on every crack in the sidewalk, but I’ll be damned if we didn’t all get tripped up in immense levels of tomfoolery last year.

Thankfully as of today that year is finally behind us, not that what the calendar says is likely to make much of a difference…but I digress.

Actually, scratch that I don’t entirely digress. Forgive me (or don’t, my site my rules) if this update is more an update on my 2020 than it is what, and how, I’ve been working on my 1951 GMC pickup.

Near the tail end of 2019 I made an extremely exciting life decision to move away from my previous vocation and step into the General Manager position of Canada’s largest Indoor Bike Park, Joyride 150.

The opportunity to work at Joyride wasn’t something I could pass up, it allowed life long passions to become both my day job and side hustle. A reality I am very thankful and fortunate to still enjoy.

Taking such a risk was an uncharacteristically bold move on my part.

Fortune of course favors the bold and I made both mental and physical lists of all the things I’d have to learn in my new role. That list essentially quadrupled when COVID-19 hit. Suddenly nothing made sense, to anyone.

Kids were out of school, facilities were shut down, and worst of all family and friends were mandated to exist at a distance.

Even the best Dyson couldn’t handle the amount of shit that suddenly rained from the heavens. I learned an incredible amount in 2020, and while I welcome my new found perspective it came at a relentless pace.

My garage has always been an escape of sorts and in the past 365 days it was practically invaluable.

Anything that happened in the real world could be temporarily escaped within a modest structure of uninsulated concrete.

Inside those four walls there were no government talking heads to watch, non-sensical public health regulations to decipher, doubts to consider or spiky annoying virus to worry about.

The garage was as normal as it had ever been.

So I found myself in there a lot, perhaps too much at times crossing items off my famous windshield list.

More of my interior was coated, my inner and outer cab corners were repaired, door hinges rebuilt, and patina matched.

Almost nightly challenged myself to accomplish as much as I could with the skills and tools I had available. An approach I used toward whatever challenges would await the next morning in the real world.

However, one thing I couldn’t really bring myself to do was document much of the progress. By the time I hit the garage I just needed to go. Flick on the lights, turn up the music and let everything else fade out.

Luckily, you didn’t miss much that hasn’t already been covered before. Weld, grind, sand (sand again) and paint.

The cab now is just about (hint: even more wet sanding to reveal patina) ready to be sent to a body shop where the firewall will be finished the roof white flaked.

This truck has been many things in the five years I’ve had it; a goal to aspire to, an upside-down money storage device, point of frustration, and most recently an extremely welcome distraction.

If I’m to be honest, I’m still going to need as many garage nights in 2021 as I did in 2020 but I think I’m in a space now where I can at least do a better job of documentation.

The world has changed, and for better or worse we’ll all need to change with it. Happy New year, all the best to you and yours and here’s to coming out the other side of 2021.