Pop’s Shop

After the third motorcycle showed up, it was clear that things were getting a little tight in the garage.

Enter: Pop’s Shop.

Why the name? My grandkids call me Pops.

There was no grand opening. No ribbon cutting. I didn’t even begin with the name. I simply needed more space—a place to store old cars, trucks and an apparently expanding collection of motorcycles. I needed somewhere to work on the Model A, Andy’s 30, and whatever other project followed me home.

Somewhere along the way, the garage became Pop’s Shop.

“Shop” might be a bit of a stretch. I’m not running a business here, folks. And I don’t want anyone expecting regular hours, particularly fast service…or any service at all. It’s just a large garage filled with vehicles, tools, spare parts and projects in various stages of completion.

Some projects go smoothly. Others begin with a simple repair and end with extra parts scattered across the floor while I watch a YouTube video made by someone who assumes I know way more about what I’m doing.

But this is the place where I get to figure things out.

The shop is where I worked on the Model A when it kept dying every time I took it out for my morning coffee run. It’s where motorcycles are parked, repaired, admired and occasionally prepared for sale. It’s where Hobbes came back to rest after the trip to Montana. It’s where the little Honda ST90 was given another chance to get back on the road.

It is also one of the few places where I can sit inside and smoke a pipe or cigar without bothering anyone.

I enjoy that, but Kendra enjoys it even more—especially the fact that the smoke, and occasionally the smoker, are located a safe distance from the house.

I think everyone could use some space of their own. Maybe not a giant garage filled with old vehicles, although I highly recommend it. Just somewhere to step away from the expectations of work and home. A place to think, tinker or sit quietly without needing to accomplish anything important.

Pop’s Shop gives me that.

If you know anything about me, you know it isn’t perfectly organized. The vehicles take up most of the room. There is always another tool I need and rarely enough clear workspace for the project in front of me.

Still, when the garage door is open, an old motorcycle is on the floor and a pipe is lit, it feels like exactly the place I’m supposed to be.

Maybe someday one of the grandkids will remember hanging around out here with Pops. Maybe they’ll remember the old cars and motorcycles…or simply the smell of gasoline, oil and pipe tobacco.

For now, Pop’s Shop is where I keep the machines, make a few repairs and find a little room to breathe.

Quietly making noise,
Fletch