StudeBob is having me post this because he can't:

I've not posted to the NG for a time now, and this may well be my last. I
wouldn't do this one save for a debt I owe.
   A week ago Thursday, I took a trip over by the coast. To the wine
country burg of Sonoma to be exact. I made this trip to take responsibility
for a stash of Stude parts that faced an uncertain future if someone didn't
intervene. You see, a fellow newsgrouper faces a future that IS certain and
sad. This particular fella's staring straight into the face of the reaper -
when, like the lot of us, he'd rather be thinking about driving his next
Studebaker revival.
 I told Stan that I was gonna recount my tale of going to retrieve his
Stude stuff and frankly that's the ONLY reason I've followed thru here. That
promise. Otherwise, I'd have adhered to my latest "mission" like where JP's
sworn off tobacco. But that's another topic that I'm not going to elaborate
upon. After all, this is about Stan. Stan Odmann, not me.
  I'd only met Stan once before, at the '03 meet in Sacto and then only
briefly. He availed himself as a newsgroup attendee and we chatted a bit. I
knew thru his posts that he had a Speedster. And thru his restoring and
owning of that vehicle, he was able to help others with insights as to parts
and services necessary to restore one. He helped James Green to restore the
Speedster I'd sold him a few years back and James has told me how invaluable
Stan's help was.
  Anyhow - I guess by virtue of my geographic proximity - and possibly
Stan's awareness of me being a softie as far as saving Studebaker parts,
Stan invited me to drive to his place and do just that. He allowed as how
the damned cancer bug had taken up residence in a part of his body and
couldn't be rooted from it's hold. Consequently his time is limited.
 I confess that I hem-hawed around at first until Stan finally told me we'd
have to cancel since he was gonna submit to a radical, last chance surgery
in an effort to turn things around. I felt BAD that I hadn't followed thru
by then but my delays had been partly due to circumstances at home and
partly due to my reluctance to take stuff even before Stan's departure.
  We weren't talking about anything of great value here. No rare Speedster
trim or R-series goodies or the like. Just a couple of short blocks and
numerous heads, other engine parts and a couple of automatic trannies.
Still, Stan was thinking ahead and didn't want his dear wife to have to deal
with identification and dispensation once he was not around. And he cares
enough about the marque to insure that nothing useable goes to waste. True
Stude guy, thru and thru!

   So.......  The last time I had really loaded the Transtar down, I'd
gotten a cyclical scraping sound from the right rear wheel. It sounds much
as tho the drum is just lightly rubbing the backing plate. I don't hear it
when there's little or no load on board. But knowing that I'd have the
weight of at least 3 Stude V8s aboard made me think about an alternate ride
since I didn't feel like tearing the Transtar apart at this time. While I've
got friends that would lend me a truck for a day or two, they all have
campers or racks or some such thing that would be a pain to deal with, so I
decided I'd rent a truck to do the 600-mile round trip.
  The cheapest deal for a full-sized pickup found me with a Ram1500 dual
cab with a 6ft bed. 4WD no less. But it would do - and so I showed up at the
rental place at 8AM to take command of the Dodge. Once the papers were in
order, the rep took me out to a white Ram and did a walk-around to confer
that there were no major scratches or dents.
 I signed on the dotted line - he handed me my copy and bade me a good
trip. I hopped in, twisted the key and got nothing more than the requisite
alarm bells. No roar of motor - not even the grinding of a starter -
nothing.
  "Oh! that's right!  Not a '57 Studebaker....... gotta depress the brake
pedal to get started!"
Well, that combination doesn't yeild any motorocity either! What the.......?
  OK, close the door, put on the seat belt - NOW step on the brake pedal
and THEN twist the key ...... nope. Hmmmmm.....
 Clock ticking - I wanna get on my way. But I also don't wanna look like
the dunce of the day by going in and asking the rep (who could be my
grandson, agewise!) how to start this contraption. Pride swallowed, I go
back into the office and say as quietly as I can (there's other customers
and agents in earshot) that I need "something" explained to me. <SEG>
 Once the door closes behind us, I preface by telling baby-face that I
drive a 1957 Studebaker most the time. He seems unphased by that and steps
up into the trucks seat. He reaches up, twists the key and the damned thing
fires right up!
 Of course, he's looking at me like I'm fresh off the boat at that point.
Reminds me that it has to be in "Park" to start. Unh-huh.
  I remark that I know that and recount all the combinations I tried to no
avail just moments before. Baby-face turns the thing off and restarts it to
make his point. Of course, there's nothing for me to say that would make me
look any better. The truck's had it's fun with me!
  I head for the house where I pick up some sodas and snackies for the
road. That and a couple of bungees, ropes and tire carcasses for hauling
stuff. Then after filling the tank with two dollar and thirty-one cent gas,
I'm off for Sonoma.
  The truck is pleasant enough although I don't like the over-sensitive
steering. Maybe I'm just used to the slop and multi-turn ratio of my trusty
Transtar, but when I sneeze once and damn near go off the road as a result!
Nah - that's ridiculous.
  There's a good oldies station here in the central valley. Nat Cole, Frank
Sinatra, Rosemary Clooney, Satchmo mixed with the Beatles, Peter-Paul &
Mary 'n such. 40s thru early 70s. It's a great mix. And very few
commercials. Got
that goin' and some fresh coffee and nice day for a drive. If I wasn't
nagged by the nature of my "mission", I could really have enjoyed it.
  Just as I pass thru the town of Lemoore, a pair of F-18s roar overhead in
formation. Lemoore NAS is the home of the Top Gun school and home of several
F-18 squadrons. The thrill of the zooming F-18s really gets my attention. I
think the Dodge wants to join them. At least it tries without any urging
from me! Damned steering!
  Also along this stretch of Hwy 198, I catch a glimpse of a '52 Starlight
coupe and a 2R truck of some sort. Once past Lemoore, it's just miles of
cotton fields in the middle of harvesting.
 The stretch of I-5 that I turn north onto is mindlessly boring. Not much
of
anything but golden hills of dry grass with wind machines perched on top of
them. Most of the traffic is big rigs and modern cars and SUVs. I did
overtake one oldie along the way. A real clean-looking '47 Chevy Fleetline
was keeping pace with the big rigs in the slow lane. This one had one of
those cooler things hanging out the passenger's side window. The car was
brown and tan and had the big visor over the windshield. Also caught a
glimpse of a '62 Buick going the other way.
  The rest of the way to Sonoma was fairly easy going. Even tho you flirt
with the eastern part of the Frisco area, given the time of day it was by
then (nearly noon), it wasn't as bad as I'd anticipated. I hadn't even
grabbed a map of the area - only printed out directions from a Mapquest
search on the internet. This worked out well, save for the fact that the
roadways weren't marked well enough to be easily identified via the info
Mapquest gave. I did pass one turn because of a lack of a road sign at an
intersection. But that corrected, I got real close to Stan's place with
ease. I say: "real close" because the last turn spelled out by the
directions was to the right and it turned out it should have been to the
left! But looking at the house numbers quickly had me backtracking until I
found Stan's peaceful country plot.
  Stan and I chatted a bit over diet sodas and I got to talk briefly with
his charming wife. Then we headed out to the shop to see Stan's Studes and
get a feel for what the parts haul was gonna entail.
 Stan's Speedster is stunningly gorgeous in it's 3-tone dress. It wants for
nothing - both inside and out! I wish I had taken photos but I was too busy
talking to trot back to the truck for my camera.
  Parked in front of the Speedster is Stan's follow-up project that he's
trying valiantly to finish before his clock runs out. It's a beautiful, red
2R10 truck. This is a 3/4ton gem with a 245cu.in. 6 in front of a 3spdOD
tranny. He asked if I might have a few special fasteners (screws & bolts)
that he needed to affix a few pieces and I allowed as how I probably could
drum them up back home. Jerry Kaiser and me were able to come up with Stan's
very modest needs.
  Since Stan pretty well expended his energy just showing me what to take,
I know it's gonna be a struggle for him to put the finishing touches on that
beautiful truck. His determination deserves recognition and certainly
commands my respect.
  On a personal note - I wasn't quite sure how I was gonna interact with
Stan, given his predicament. But he made it easy. So much so that I got up
the nerve at one point to ask him what he was looking at, time-wise. He
replied that the doc had said: "Six months would be a Gift." I'm not sure
I'd be a brave as Stan appeared to be. I'm sure he has moments of despair
but he didn't let me see any. And he's got a great support system in his
better half if anything I saw was an indication. I'm sure there's others I
just didn't happen to meet.
  At one point, I asked Stan what he'd done for his "working years" and he
invited me to look at a rack of uniforms that collected dust in a corner of
his large shop. It took me two looks to realize he'd served with the San
Francisco Police Dept.. 29 years I think he told me. Was a chopper pilot for
a number of years and I asked him how he'd gotten into that line of work. I
confess I was ready to hear him tell me that he'd been a whirlybird pilot in

the military - maybe Viet Nam or such. But instead, he allowed as how when
the Dept. decided to buy some copters, they looked within the department for
pilot prospects. Since Stan was known to own a plane (an antique biplane
he'd restored), he was a good candidate.
  I think he told me also that he was chief of motorcycle maintenance too
at one point.
Of course, given my interest in old airplanes, I had to ask Stan just what
sort of old plane he'd had. He'd mentioned that it wa a biplane and I
speculated that he'd owned a Stearman, given they're numerous and popular to
this day. But to my surprize, he allowed as how he'd owned a Meyers OTW.
This was a plane I knew well! I'd even toured the Meyers factory in the late
60s as they were still in business then and building what were acknowledged
as the Rolls Royce of personal private planes.
 The OTW had been a primary trainer that Meyers built for use by the Army
Air Force in WWII. I'd always liked it's squarish countours and had even
built a flying model some years ago. I thought it was neat that Stan and I
could talk in detail about the plane and the obscure company that had built
it.
  Anyway, Stan was visibly tired as I was loading the bits and chunks of
Stude stuff. He asked to excuse himself to go rest while I finished loading
and securing the stuff. After the Dodge was loaded up, I went in to say
goodbye.
  Stan's a cool guy. He's one of "us". Us Studebaker types, that is. I
truly wish I could "wish him well". I can't. I can only hope his time is
peaceful and as painless as possible. I hope the rest of the NG gang feels
the same way.
  I thought long about even telling this tale even tho I'd told Stan I
would. I just didn't know how much of his dilemma I'd share with you. But
then I got to thinking that for you to hear of his troubles "after the fact"
wouldn't give him the chance to know our feelings.

 The drive back to Visalia was rather uneventful. Two blocks from Stan's
place I'd seen a 53 Champion hardtop nosed up against a tree. On the way
out, I stopped to have a look. I was greeted by a young lass toting a baby
and accompained by a yapping cocker spaniel. She allowed as how she knew
nothing about the car other than it was owned by her borother-in-law and he
rarely drove it. One side had been hit by something and that gash revealed
that it had been bondo-slathered some time before.
 Once back on the freeway, it was irksomely obvious that the Ram1500 did
not like carrying the equivalent of 3 or 4 Stude V8s on it's back. Minor
dips in the roadway were rewarded with jarring rebounds! That was only
irritating. But having that same thing happen while on the slightest curve -
THAT was scary! Some moments like that found me right tense! Talk about
tightening up!
  Regular gas was $2.50+ anywhere close to SF. Thankfully, the Dodge wasn't
too thirsty. I will give it that I thought it got decent gas mileage against
what I'd anticipated. But between the sensitive steering, the squealing,
shuddering brakes, the surging tranny at idle, the bounding bounce with a
load and a dumb armrest/storage thing between the seats - I'd sure be
looking at something else if I were in the market for a truck. (Which I
ain't - the Transtar serves me well enough and that's what I'd RATHER have
driven had I not worried about the noise from the rear)
  I finally got home about 10PM. I pulled into the back yard and shut off
the Dodge. I'd gone a long way without a stop. It felt good to get out and
just stretch for a minute. Looking up at the star-filled sky always works on
me to reflect on the nature of "things" as a whole.
 Here I was - back amongst my "stuff" - back in my "comfort zone" and back
with what "family" my spouse and pets make up. To me, it's soothing and
comforting. I know I'm destined to pass on one day. I don't know the how or
the when of it yet and I'm not sure I want to. I thought about Stan and
tried to conclude what his thought might be. I came to no conclusion.
   Stan - I thank you, of course, for entrusting the Stude parts to me.
I'll think of you every time I see a tri-tone Speedster or a red Stude
truck. I wish you an easy journey,  my friend.