[DeTomaso] Pandora's Perils part IV: The eagle has landed, although the eagle is pretty sweaty...

Christopher Kimball chrisvkimball at msn.com
Thu Apr 26 03:11:34 EDT 2012


I slept in a little this morning (Wednesday, April 24) since my Google Map indicated a drive of only about 5.5 hours from Las Vegas to Chandler.  Based on recent history, I figured I could make it in about 4 hours--HA!--did I have another thing coming!
The complimentary breakfast provided by the Comfort Inn was excellent, and exactly like every other breakfast at all the other Comfort Inns so far--except for the Comfort Inn located in Twin Falls.  That Comfort Inn is no longer a Comfort Inn--it is now an "AmericInn."  Those wacky advertising folks.  It's almost like they're mad men (mad at the general public, it appears).  Who can forget a name like "AmericInn."  See, it's like saying "American," except the last part is "Inn," as in a place a traveler stays.  Wow--that's marketing brainpower at work.  What was particularly amusing was that even though it's been a year since the transition, there is still no sign indicating that the buildings have anything to do with "AmericInn," or anything else, for that matter.  There is a large structure outside the hotel that one would guess used to identify the complex as a "Comfort Inn," but now is just a blank monolith.  I have a suspicion that the corporation spent so much money on research and development (let alone focus groups) coming up with the name "AmericInn" that they had nothing left over to pay for for details such as signage.  In fact, I had to drive around the building a couple of times before 1) I could even tell it was the hotel (without signage, it seems hotels bear a striking resemblance to military or penal institutions--both of those have complimentary breakfasts, you know), and 2) I could find the correct door leading to the registration desk.  Confusing things further, the sign on the freeway alerting drivers that there was lodging at that exit, had both the Comfort Inn logo, as well as the "AmericInn" logo.  The freeway sign was smaller than the sign in the hotel parking lot, so apparently there were enough funds to cover that expense.
Oh, the breakfast at the "AmericInn" was identical to the ones at the Comfort Inns.
I didn't even look for Clarke and Wilma; I knew they were halfway to Chandler by the time I finished my Froot Loops.  And bacon.  And eggs.  And Yoplait.  And orange juice.  And apple juice with Metamucil mixed in--and another vitamin powder stuff my wife encourages me to add to my morning juice.  I have no idea what the wife-recommended powder does, but ever since I took out that multi-million life-insurance policy naming her as beneficiary, I've noticed the color of the powder is different than it used to be.  And...now...I'm....getting......sleepy....................................
I added a quart of oil (not bad, considering I'd traveled 1250 miles and started the journey a half-quart low), filled the gas tank, and got underway about 10:30 AM.  Again, the weather was relatively cool, with overcast skies and a slight breeze.  As the day progressed, the air became more and more humid, which isn't a problem if one has a working air conditioner...  
I promised myself I would behave better today, in terms of speed limits, and at first that was, indeed the case.  It's a good thing, too, because just outside of Las Vegas I encountered something amazing:  More than 10 police officers in cars and on motorcycles were clustered along one section of road, and they were summarily pulling over almost everyone.  The speed limit was 55, but seemed as if it should have been higher.  It's almost as if they planned it that way.  I immediately glanced at my speedometer, and saw I was traveling at 63--I'll never forget the image of that number displayed on the screen of my GPS.  You know how when something traumatic happens you experience that phenomenon called "Flashbulb Memory?"  That's when your brain automatically flashes your memory back to the most embarrassing picture your parents ever took of you when you were little.  No, not really.  What happens is that when you learn of a shocking event, you remember your exact location and all sorts of details about what you were doing at the very instant you received the news.  People always use "the day Kennedy was shot" as the example.  I know I'll never forget that day.  I was sitting in my room, playing with 1/24 scale, di-cast model of a split-window Corvette.  I was wearing my pajamas decorated with racing-car patterns.  Not really, I just made that up. Today, however, I certainly was exceeding the speed limit by eight miles-per-hour in plain view of all those police officers with their fancy little radar guns.  Just as I was about to reach for my wallet (literally and figuratively), yet another Pandora Miracle occurred--they may have aimed their radar guns at me, but they missed!  Either that, or they took one look at me and thought, "we don't want to mess with that hombre."  Understand, I hadn't shaved since I left University Place.
So, after that close call I was very mindful of the posted speed limits, and drove accordingly.  Until about 30 minutes later.  Once again, the road beckoned, and I succumbed.  I tell you, that Pandora, she's a demanding mistress.  She forced me to travel at some very exciting speeds before I once again began to remind myself that I really didn't need another moving violation on my record (my older sister works at Propel Insurance, and was just talking with me the other day about how in June all the "problems" would be off our collective household driving record, and she might be able to provide us insurance at a good price.  Boy, would a 125 mph ticket have blown that plan!)
I stopped to refuel (the car with gas, and me with two of the remaining four slices of home-made banana bread) in the self-proclaimed "historic" town of Wickenham, or  Wickedham, or Weinerham or Wickerchair or something.  Whatever its name, it's in Arizona.  I found a couple of vacant picnic tables and commandeered one on which to spread out my comestibles and paperwork (I've been tracking my fuel economy--Pandora is returning an Obama-pleasing 20 miles-per-gallon.  Sure, it's no Chevy Volt, but...that's a huge relief).  In addition to the banana bread, I also enjoyed water, milk, a Yoplait I borrowed from the Comfort Inn, and a bunch more English candy.  One thing I must admit about Arizona; it's very convenient when needing to use small, frozen pats of butter.  In Washington, trying to spread hard butter means the bread just disintegrates.  In Arizona, simply place the four pats of rock-solid, frozen butter on the surface of the bread, wait five seconds, and the butter will literally spread itself.  Amazing!
Back on the road, my hard-working GPS indicated less than 60 miles to Phoenix, so I figured I'd be in Chandler a little earlier than I had originally planned.  I discovered a new feature of my GPS; a little red flag appeared in the upper, left-hand corner of the screen, with a number next to it.  I soon realized what that meant.  it meant that there was some sort of traffic delay, and the number was the amount of minutes I should expect to be delayed.  Really, the problem could be boiled down to two words:  rush hour (and I don't mean the 1998 move starring Jackie Chan).  Something else that surprised me:  I thought Bridgeport Way in University Place had the most stop lights per square inch of any road in the Nation (it all started when University Place incorporated, and all these newly-elected council men and women decided to upgrade everything in town and started adding roundabouts, stop lights, plants all over the place, and worst of all, lowering all the speed limits.  But that's another story...)  Surprisingly, I was in for quite an unpleasant surprise.  The big surprise was that there are more stop lights on a street called "Grand Avenue" than even on Bridgeport Way.  Grand Avenue is located in, where else--the town of Surprise, Arizona.  Surprised?  I was.  Not surprisingly, I had to drive right through it to get to Chandler.
What this meant, was that it took 90 minutes to finally get to the hotel.  It was stop and go and stop and go and stop and go, all the while being stuck behind semis, giant vans, or someone who is a professional landscaper and although probably being a very good landscaper is a terrible trailer-loader since there were lots of large, heavy things precariously stacked randomly on the trailer which could scratch a Pantera's paint quite badly if any of them happened to fly off the back of the trailer when accelerating toward the next stop light which was, of course, only 10 feet further ahead.
It was 95 degrees with 345% humidity, and I had no air conditioning.  It was miserable.  There was a silver lining, however.  Pandora did not overheat.  In fact, although for the first time on the entire trip the second of her three fans kicked on, the third, which is set to trigger at 195 degrees, stayed dormant.  Indeed, the block temperature never exceeded 190, and the ultra-non-reliable original-equipment, Italian gauge never read above 210.  I, on the other hand, don't have the benefit of any fans, let alone a Dakota Digital fan relay system, so I knew by the time I get to Phoenix, she'll be running,--away from me due to my smell!  (For those of you who aren't music aficiandos, that last joke is a play on the song written by Jimmy Webb, "By the Time I Get to Phoenix." Originally recorded by Johnny Rivers in 1965, it was made famous by American country music singer Glen Campbell, appearing as the opening track on the latter's 1967 album of the same name.  Campbell's version reached #2 on the U.S. Country charts in 1968 and won two Grammy Awards—for Best Vocal Performance, Male; and Best Contemporary Male Solo Vocal Performance.  Broadcast Music, Inc. (BMI) named it the third most performed song from 1940 to 1990.  Frank Sinatra called it "the greatest torch song ever written."
I finally rolled into Chandler without incident, and POCA and PNW Vice President, Mike Thomas, was there to greet me.  Having flown in, he was fresh as a new K&N air filter, while I was more akin to a well-used, Harbor Freight shop rag.  Still, seeing the four or five Panteras displayed on the Patio area adjacent to the POCA hospitality suite inspired me to whip out the Griot's micro-fiber cloths and Speed Shine and get to work making Pandora as beautiful as possible. 
Something of which I'm very proud is the fact I am doing my part in keeping the ecological balance of the planet in check.  Did you ever see the 1971 film, "The Hellstrom Chronicles?"   It predicts a world where insects end up taking over the entire planet.  Well, as long as Pandora and I have anything to say about it, I can assure you that flying insects will never take over the world.  That's because a significant percentage of them are to be found covering my Pantera's windshield.  In fact, as I was driving this afternoon, something hit my arm, which was hanging out the window in a vain attempt to coerce some air to enter the cockpit, flow behind my back and evaporate the several cups of sweat that had accumulated there.  The object proceeded to bounce into my lap (in a very specific place in my lap, which I don't think I need to describe), and it was then I identified the object as a bee.  I would have panicked, swerved all over the road and probably become a statistic, except that my acute powers of observation allowed me to deduce that the beast was deceased.  I flicked it to the floor, and at the first stop light ejected it from the car.  Another close call with a bee (ask me sometime about my motorcycle, a 70 mph bumblebee and a very swollen ear).
Currently, my overriding concern is to get my air conditioning fixed as soon as possible.  To that end, I approached "Coz."  His real name is Jim Cozzolino and he is one of the event organizers.  Why he goes by the nickname, "Coz" is a mystery.  It must be just becoz.  Anyway, he has a friend who has a shop in Phoenix who is very familiar with Panteras and can take a look at my faulty A/C.  Jim actually called the guy at 6:30 PM using the guy's private phone line to get the appointment arranged for me.  
Now, I know what you're thinking, "Chris, you idiot!  Don't you remember what happened the last time you turned your car over to someone's 'mechanic friend'?  It disappeared for three months!"  Yes, yes, that's true, but this time I'm not letting Pandora out of my sight!  The only bummer is that the appointment had to be set for 9:00.  That's AM, not PM, which is a huge sacrifice for me while on vacation.  That's a sacrifice I'm willing to make, though.  You know what they say, "Keep the women in your life happy, and your life will be happy."  By women (plural), I'm referring,
of course, to Vicki first, my mom second, and THEN Pandora!  Now that I'm proofreading this masterpiece, I'm realizing that my sisters may be slightly offended by that last sentence!
I'm now all settled in my room--which is quite nice--although it lacks the fridge and microwave oven as found in Comfort Inns, and, of course, their sign-less cousins, the "AmericInns."  Since all is well, I will sign off for today.
Tomorrow I'll be visiting the track to watch those brave souls who risk life and limb and really expensive Italian body parts (the cars', not their own) by racing around in circles in their Panteras.  Then it will be on to the Rawhide Western Town and Steakhouse for dinner.  I think I'll go up to the band and request a Van Halen song, just to see how they react...
Oh, one last thing; I know that all the volunteers who put on this event work very hard. but I think Judy McCartney deserves special Kudos.  I watched her working the registration desk this evening, and that is a ton of work.  Good job, Judy!  
Sincerely,
Chris

 
 		 	   		  


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