There are a lot of guys who can build show-quality bikes. There are also a lot of riders who can really hammer out the miles. Then there are the dudes who can work on their own shit as well as everyone else's when the need arises. Not many guys can do all three, but Caleb Owens can.
These are some of my Dads old tools. I knew right away who's they were. Oddly, once I opened the box I remembered the hammer and screwdriver. Maybe it's my mind playing tricks, cause my Dad had a lot of tools, but the hammer is so vivid in my mind. Him swinging on the old cars or something. Of course, it made me emotional. I think this is why I love old things in part, they have a story, a past, history. The wood handle on that hammer is soaked in my Dads sweat, grease and dirt. These things are just tools that have little to no monatary value, but knowing my father used these to fix things has a deep meaning to me. Now I can say, "This was my Dad's".
It's an odd thing how we put such emotional value on inanimate things, and of course some do more than others, so much so it is unhealthy. But I think that this ability is something that makes us uniquely human. Some families pass on wealth, some pass on cars, well, I've got a few tools, but to me they are worth more than any other material thing I own.
Now I am not one to believe in spirits or after life or any of that other mumbo jumbo, and neither did my Dad, but what happen next made me smile and laugh. After a few moments with my wife and daughter they left the shop. Before she left I asked her to take a few pics to send my brother. I turned off the radio and grabbed the screw driver and twisted the last few screws on my kidney cover. The shop was as quiet as a church. I have a number of gas tanks hanging above me. Just at that moment the wind blew in the shop and two tanks softly banged up against each other ringing like deep wind chimes. I looked up and laughed.