memories

The Whisper And The Roar

Posted on by noahmielke

I think growing up is taking responsibility on, challenge by challenge, but I think what makes being grown up is realizing you pick that level of sacrifice over the norm. To push, to take head on the world at large. Your never fully grown its an action to keep acting in this manner. Just like love, kids, and jobs it’s a daily choice not a one-time gig. I heard a song that hit me deep and reminded me of a time long ago. With just a couple chords I was transported back to six year old me, and singing along with my mom. Its weird getting hit with a wave of emotions in the middle of a mundane task. It almost takes your breathe away a little. The joyful memories of excitement and taking for granted everything around you. Its special being the first born, your image of your parents is when they are new to this thing called child rearing. Its less how awesome they are at it and more what grit and resolve they had that speaks volumes to me as an adult. I remember my mom in her twenties, I can look back and see sacrifices, trials, and compassion she shared with me. It’s a testament to her drive, and focus. When your younger, you struggle more, you have less money, and its hard to be patient. So when a song like Promises in the dark by Pat Benatar come on the radio its like a time machine to 1989. Except now I’m older than she was and it just hits me what a badass she was in her 20s and still is. She instilled a lot of things in me with just her reactions and hard work. I expect to give my kids as much as she gave me in safety, security, and love that I can. To me her actions are a whisper, so much more powerful than a roar. What? You say a roar is louder. No! a roar is noise, and a whisper you lean in for. You make the biggest moves for your children in a whisper. Anyone can claim something, that’s a roar, but the whisper is the action. When I say I love you to my kids it isn’t the word that matters it’s the time, sacrifice that defines that word for them. I have a blended family three kids from my previous marriage, two from my partners. We struggle all the time with our boundaries with our ex’s on our kids lives. When they were younger the stresses were huge. As they grow their relationship with their other parents is more on them. But one of the biggest reasons I don’t stress so much is times taught me that the whisper matters to them, just like the whisper mattered to me as a kid. We’ve worked hard to try not to splash disagreements with their other parent on them. We cant stop our ex’s from trash talking about us to the kids, and the older I get the more I get why it doesn’t matter. Negativity has a way of being its own fulfilled description of someone’s role. Just like being a step parent doesn’t make you less of a parent, that description for your step kids is up to you. Life is messy, and thank you mom being an absolutely amazing parent, your investment, and sacrifice help me all the time. I’m grateful for all you did, and continue to do for my kids by teaching me to be a parent willing to learn. Also for all those drives listening to all your cassettes singing along. Thanks for answering all my questions about the slang in half of those songs. Seriously tweeter and the monkey man by the Traveling Willburys is a crazy song if you take the lyrics at face value as a kid.

Car-Tharsis

Posted on by noahmielke

Memories are the core of who we are, and as we develop they help mold us. Defining our world and perception. It got me thinking about my earliest memories with cars, the ones you never talk about just the private things you see that stick with you. Dusty winds, burning sun, and frozen winters in a desert called Pasco Washington. The smell of rain touching down on fresh dry dirt is ingrained in my psych, and a certain line of cars stretching down the back of my grandparents farm. I spent the better part of my earliest memories exploring the ruins of old fat fenders, and a square back VW. Freedom to expand my horizons was mine at the ripe age of five. I could spend all day weaving in and out between these derelict behemoths, and admiring every line, every detail. Fighting off rattlesnakes to get a closer look inside. Most of them were missing an engine and transmission. Even if they were locked you could slide under them and go up through the trans tunnel. Then I’d dust off the seat and put my hands on the steering wheel and just get lost driving in my mind for hours. It was my Never Never Land, and even now as a grown man with kids reaching voting age I cuddle that memory in the back of my head. It was where my land of make believe, and reality met my gateway into a world I still find in my heart. I’ll leave this memory here the rest are mine to keep to myself.

First Cars Part 3

Posted on by noahmielke

If my first car represented freedom and my second represented exploring and being silly, then my third car represented my transition to adulthood and that I had a choice. I no longer was just excited to drive and being cool wasn’t all that.

The Plymouth Satellite was a real reflection of my taste and awareness. This was the real deal. This is the car that stayed with me for a lot of transitions and ushered in my early adulthood. I will never forget the day I first saw it. I was driving to high school, still fighting early morning grogginess, bumping along in my moms Jetta (remember I had sold my Duster to a nice father, and son team) when out of nowhere this Sunfire gold metallic 1972 Plymouth Satellite coupe rolls on to a front lawn- with a for sale sign in window! I slammed on my brakes pulled over and got out. This was my car from the moment I saw it; I knew.

I chatted with the owner, an older man, and our conversation turned to surprise when I got in it. Green vinyl seats and a manual! A three on the tree, with a slant six. Holy moly I was in love! The car was in perfect condition. I raced away heading to school with only that car on my mind. I didn’t have the money, but in desperate fashion I knew with some prodding I could make this my graduation present. Such a horrible way to see things but honestly, I wanted that car bad! The man I was buying it from had bought it for his son. His son hated it and wanted a Porsche and to my luck that was the moment he was angrily rolling it onto his front lawn to sell.

My family was supportive, and I bought it for cool $1000 dollars. I would treat this car differently.  I washed it, I waxed it, and I changed the oil every couple thousand miles. I babied this car, and I was so proud to own it. It was sleek and sophisticated it looked like a fast car, it wasn’t but it could drive anywhere. It was a poor man’s optioned car. Three on the tree, rubber floor, no carpet, and a 36-gallon gas tank. It was so aero dynamic I could drive road trips at 30 plus miles per gallon. Because it looked so good, I made sure not to push it too hard.

This in my life was the car that got away. No matter how amazing a car is; there comes a day when the daily grind takes over. Being a three on the tree became part of its downfall. After owning it for a decent amount of time the linkage started to get stuck. It wasn’t classic enough to find parts, and even taking it to the local mechanics shop they couldn’t bend the linkage back into place right. So, I got used to having to climb under the car to adjust which gear I’d use most before taking off. This got old but I loved that car, so I got used to it.

The death blow came on an early morning. When I would wake up,I used to always check my car through the window. I looked outside and did a double take. It looked like the driver’s door was smashed in! I threw on my jeans and ran downstairs to get a closer peak. I wondered if I did something and not realized it the night before? I checked out the car. I was up close and it was bad…….. super bad. You could see the door frame from outside the car. When I walked back in all disheveled my stepdad caught me up on what had transpired during my slumber. My mom was late for work. Her back window wasn’t defrosted, but she started to back out of the driveway. She slowly bumped my car, thinking it was just the trash can she proceeded to push it out of the way with her car. Except- the trash can didn’t move to her horror.

My mom was so horrified she hit my car that she didn’t come home for a while after work. I couldn’t be mad. They were fair parents and offered to get it fixed but it was the death toll of my ownership. I made a deal with my boss at the time to buy his sweet 1977 billet grill Chevy truck for what ever was left after trading in my car at a dealership for the newer truck he wanted. I told him, if they tried to low ball him, I’d just pay cash. The trade was done, and they low balled, I raced to the dealership to buy my car back, but the dealership had a friend that saw it and bought it right away. Super naive of me to think that was a good idea. I got my truck and moved on but, I’ve always been sad about getting rid of it.

Years later I found that satellite again. I searched for it for years. I memorized the vin and knew my plate numbers by heart. I was on craigslist and started seeing parts that were from my satellite specifically. MY dented door and a green bench with a certain rip in it. I contacted the guy. I found out he had made a clone road runner out of it. Not the honest kind, he was selling it as a 1971 Roadrunner a real one, which made me a little angry. Also, it is pretty stupid cause the marker lights are flush with the body on a 71 and this was a 72 so not so flush. He wanted $38,000 for it. What a rip off!  

So that’s where my car ended up. It was a great car and if I had the repair skills I have today I would have kept it. Another part of the learning process.

First Cars Part 2

Posted on by noahmielke

Jumping, speeding, and general fun; the Duster became my second car for all this craziness. It wasn’t exceptionally fast, but it could handle a good beating to make up for its inability to handle cornering. With a bullet proof slant six like my first car and the added benefit of being a sleeker two door, I really felt cool in it. It’s the first car I painted, installed a cd player and sub in, installed new carpet, touched up interior, and put on air shocks that would raise the back end (Monroe shocks). It had to be terrible to watch me pass by; racked with skinny tires, music blaring, and cut off mufflers with the drone sound from the oversized six cylinder.

It was so much fun, and I learned a ton from it. It’s like an awakening…… an awkward awakening. Plus, it ignited a Plymouth Mopar passion I would keep from then on. One exceptional memory of the Duster was jumping it over the tracks leaving an intersection. There was this set of tracks and even at slow speeds you could feel the car lift. I couldn’t resist the urge to see my more redneck side come out. During that summer, driving on my own, I flew through that intersection on a green light (I wasn’t totally devoid of reason!) I peddled the duster up to a solid sixty. Holy crap I flew, and it must have been a spectacle to the drivers waiting to go on the opposite side because mid-flight I could see the roofs of opposing traffic. When I landed my frame bounced off the ground and sparks started to fly from behind me. I limped the car to an industrial parking lot and found my entire exhaust system dragging under my car. Luckily, I had already cut into the exhaust, downpipe from the header to hear if it sounded better. I went behind the car, grabbed the muffler and twisted it around and around until the metal gave out. I opened my trunk, put down my California rear seats, and loaded up my exhaust system. After that I just ran a header and nothing else.

Man, that poor car; I was a horrible car dad at the time. Just excited to slide beat on it and feel cool. I did eventually sell it to a father and son who planned to build it to a hot rod project.  So, in a way I saved it from rotting next to a barn, sitting so long you’d have to cut the grass around it to get it out. That’s how I got it!

It’s probably garaged somewhere right now.

What do you do when you run out of hair product camping. Become one with the woods.

Good Scars

Posted on by noahmielke

Scars can be good reminders of a some of the best memories. People have so many adventures and it’s pretty cool to have little reminders from them. I said I would explain the picture in my last blog, and I won’t let you down. See, Franklin and I have been itching to get out there and start filming car drives for a while. About a month ago we excitedly met at our first early morning Saturday drive. We wanted to get those sweet sunrise shots; except we didn’t really plan. In fact, we hung out in the parking lot for a bit, taking some shots and trying to plan out the scenery. Not such a great idea when the sunrises before you get everything together. We finally started driving out of the parking lot and that’s when a good scar happened. I pulled up to the stop sign and my friend franklin came to a stop behind me in his beautiful pearl white WRX. As he grabbed his camera (that he had forgot to set up) a last-minute thought captured him. We should grab footage on the way out -plus he had the only camera between us at the time. His foot slipped off the clutch, and my new 2020 Hyundai Veloster N protected his car from going out in traffic. Clearly, my Veloster saved Franklin from a very dangerous situation. I am so glad I can help. 😊

He did bump my car and it was like one of those slow-motion moments. First thought “Oh shit! That was a bump” but quickly I had a second thought and this time it was about my friend. I knew Franklin was going to feel like terrible. We had just started our sweet adventure, the first one! Right away I could see his face; all the ego and excitement out the window. He didn’t care about his car… he just stared – looking so sorry and sad. I couldn’t be mad. I could have easily made the same mistake. Talking on the phone through our car’s infotainment connection (SAFETY FIRST 😉), we drove it to our spot and checked out the damage closer. It wasn’t that bad just a little crack. Plus, he got a tiny bit of blue smudge on his white bumper. We talked about insurance and all that stuff but instead I opted for a roadrunner horn and racing seat brackets for way less than the cost to repair my bumper. I wanted to preserve this memory, so I drift stitched the back bumper and gave my new car a little more street cred. I love that memory! It’s a funny situation to be in and now I’ve got a cool scar to show off.

Our next trip we went out early, this was the first time using our Dragon Touch camera. I didn’t turn up the exposure, so all our footage was dark. The wind noise was atrocious because we didn’t have furry covers for the microphones. The point is; none of us are perfect, but friends are in it to win it together. So, I hold dear all these great memories. After all, they are with the very best people.

Still got some great shots that day!

Carving A Path

Posted on by noahmielke

Sometimes life takes you in a different direction than you expected. I could have told you at four years old what I dreamed of being. Car designer extraordinaire. Mocking up clay models and bringing beauty to steel and plastic. I drew all day EVERY day until I got my first set of real car keys. By then the teenage desires and life’s miss steps blindsided my focus. I never stopped loving cars. I was always working on them so I could really drive them. I have never been satisfied with normal cars as my transportation. Some where my choices forced me to give up on my true desires. Life is a road we all learn from. I don’t regret my path, but its interesting to see where you’ve landed.

My family is incredible. I have learned to be a lot less selfish, and my better half is the most supportive human I have ever met. (She’s also a decent editor 😉) She knows me.  It’s why I am here writing this despite being tired and getting ready for the rest of my work week. My passion for car design has never stopped, it continues. I might not be a famous designer, but my children have all picked up my weird habits. I draw cars. It’s my passion and one of my favorite ways to spend my time. The best gift I could get as a kid was a drawing pad with pencils. When my children get bored these are the first things I hand them. They are so much more talented than I ever was.

We painted a mural in the garage that has our car Horton on it. My daughter Lola (11) drew the penguins hanging around the car. They are a cool touch, she’s an amazing cartoonist. My son Aidan (15) also blows me away with his artwork, and same with my youngest daughter Scarlet (10). They all have an impressive grasp on art, and they aren’t just limited to mechanical things like I was. Its funny to me to see these things not as echoes of the past but like a song building momentum. The final big guitar strum is them with their extraordinary gifts. My dream wasn’t really all that great, what I have now is so much better. It’s where I am meant to be; with the people I love. -Noah

Yep that was a common site as a kid. Can’t believe I wore that hat.

18FT Measuring Stick

Posted on by noahmielke

The biggest thing that bothers me about not owning a house at my age is the inability to track the height of our kids on the wall. I don’t blame the economy or society, I blame me. It’s funny how much this bothers me. It’s like having peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth; the feeling lingers, and it takes work to quell it. Such a simple thing, but with the high costs and jobs that never paid enough no matter how hard I worked, home ownership has been out of reach. The concept of not having that little recording of their presence in my life bothers me. Maybe it’s because out of all my hard work, I’m the proudest of them.

I’ve watched these little people grow; and they’ve taught me more about human worth, empathy, and sacrifice than I could have ever known without them. While my better half is the rope that keeps me tethered, my kids are the reason I can’t stomach violence against strangers. I see them in everyone, and I want them to have more than I ever had.

The other day I was scrolling Facebook and reminiscing through each picture. I was surprised to see a measuring stick I’d never thought of. Picture after picture there was our old car Horton, a two-ton baby blue Plymouth. A purchase a poor car guy had to make. It didn’t make financial sense but turned out to be the best purchase I have ever made. The kids were raised in it, and for all its quirks they see it as a family member. Eight miles per gallon and two hundred thousand miles of memories. The car is not nearly as big to them as it used to be. From watching the fireworks on fourth of July across the hood after their mom and I divorced in 2011 to racing to the hospital when my mother in law was succumbing to cancer in 2017. A drive that nearly killed him .

It has captured every emotion in that interior and has released those memories through its old shiny paint. So many memories, so much more than a car it is my measuring stick. I can see my children’s faces in the seat’s rips and dented body work. I will never repaint it. Every worn corner is cherished. So, I guess I didn’t miss out it’s just that our families measuring stick is 18 feet long and seven feet wide.

Can you guess who stayed up all night gaming? Can’t blame him, gaming is fun.