[DeTomaso] Chris Kimball 2013 POCA Fun Rally Journal--day one

[Christopher Kimball]

The 2013 POCA Fun Rally; Chandler,
Arizona


Sunday,
April 21, 2013


Last year as
I made my way to Chandler Arizona for the 2012 Fun Rally, I kept a daily
journal describing my various exploits. 
This year I have decided to do the same, thanks to a myriad of
requests.  OK, not really a myriad.  More like a gaggle.  Or a couple. 
At any rate, I don’t want to disappoint even one person, so here goes!


This year started
out quite differently than last, principally because for 2013 I am traveling
with another person who is also crazy enough to think he can drive a
40-year-old car 1500 miles without getting stranded.  Actually, Brian DeVine isn’t quite as crazy
as I am—his Pantera is only 38 years old. 
Clarke and Wilma Hamm are also again traveling to the rally in their 5th-wheel,
trailering their Pantera, but I haven’t seen them yet.  I think they went to a car show today and began
their journey several hours later than did Brian and I.


Brian showed
up at my house at about 12:30 for a delicious lunch prepared by my wife,
Vicki.  I was looking forward to
providing one of my gourmet milkshakes to compliment lunch, but was chagrined
to discover Brian has an allergy to dairy products.  He can’t drink milkshakes?  I was overcome with grief and sympathy for
Brian, who, apparently, must roam the earth in his own private hell due to this
malady.  Brian’s misfortune, however, did
mean I could make my milkshake that much larger (it was a mandarin orange,
creamcicle shake, by the way—one of my specialties) so I guess the old adage
about clouds and silver linings is true. 



Speaking of
clouds, the weather during this first leg of the trip, terminating in
Hermiston, Oregon, was absolutely terrible. 
It was beyond terrible.  It’s
difficult to find words to describe how awful it was, especially because I try
very hard not to use profanity.  In fact,
everyone in our family is very good at avoiding offensive language, so I’ll use
the non-offensive terminology my 18-year-old son, Donald, would use.  “The weather was actually fecal material.”  Who says you need obscenities to paint an
effective word-picture?


To begin
with, the road surfaces were rough.  The
tire wear on the asphalt was groovier than the ‘70s, and once the deluge of
rain began, I felt as if I was skiing; hoping not to face the same fate as that
guy on Wide World of Sports.  I was just
about to call Vicki and tell her to start searching for ark blueprints when the
rain stopped.  Before I could begin
looking for a rainbow, however, we found ourselves in a dust storm.  That would have been annoying enough, but on
top of that I had the misfortune of experiencing something completely new to me—tumbleweeds.  That’s right—actual, big balls of dead shrubbery
being blown across the highway.  These
things were as big as Fiat 500s!  Well,
maybe I’m exaggerating a bit.  They weren’t
as big as the new Fiat 500s, but definitely as big as the ones from the ‘60s.  


Before I
even knew what was happening I hit one of these devilish dust balls.  It appeared out of nowhere and rolled right
in front of me.  It connected with the
left front corner of my car, and I wasn’t sure what kind of damage it might
have done to the 10-hour buff-and-wax job I had completed on Saturday (as it
turned out, most of the tumbleweed ended up lodged in my front grill and I was
able to remove it with what appears to be no damage to Pandora).   


>From then on
it was as if I was in some sort of life-sized video game.  If you’re old enough, you may remember Galaxian.  It was just like that.  I was swerving and braking and dodging trying
to avoid connecting with the dozens of tumbleweeds making their way southward.  At one point, a truck just ahead of me in the
lane to my left struck a particularly large tumbleweed—it was about the size of
a full-grown azalea bush—and the entire tumbleweed exploded into a flurry of
dead twigs.  I was exceedingly glad it
was the truck that disintegrated the dead bush, and not Pandora!


While trying
to keep myself alive by avoiding tumbleweed carnage, I occasionally took the
time to glance into the rear-view mirror to be sure Brian hadn’t met an
unfortunate, tumbleweed-related demise. 
Fortunately, his reflexes are still good—I don’t think he hit a single
one.


I should
take a moment to tell you that since I knew we would be traveling south, I shut
off Pandora’s heater valves.  I figured
south = hot weather so I wouldn’t need the heater.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with the
way Italians design things (I believe “masochist” is the correct translation
for “Italian design”), let me explain why one would even want to disconnect the
heater in a Pantera.  In a stock Pantera,
when moving the dash-mounted heater controls from “hot” to “cold,” what one is
actually accomplishing is changing the heat in the cabin from “unbearably hot”
to “not-quite as unbearably hot.”     


In a
fabulous example of technological brilliance, the designers of the Pantera
created a system in which the fluid which is cooling the engine efficiently transfers
the entire engine’s heat away from the sensitive inner-workings of the engine,
and places it directly in the cabin.  When
employing the air conditioning system without somehow disconnecting the
hot-water hoses which run directly through the console and up into the dash,
rather than getting a blast of cool air from the vents, you instead hear little
voices arguing.   They’re the voices of
the heating system and the air conditioning system fighting about which one
will win.  Neither ever does.  Therefore, savvy Pantera owners insert
shut-off valves in the engine compartment so that the hot fluid stays out of
the cabin.  This is great during summer
months when it is important for the air conditioning system to work.  It does, however, render the heater useless
until the valves are again opened. 


During the
rainstorms the cab remained comfortable, but as we drove over the pass I began
to get a bit chilly.  I glanced out the
window and realized why—on the side of the road was a white, crystalline
substance with which those of you who live in Phoenix may not be familiar (I
just read an email from someone already in Chandler who gleefully reported that
at the hotel it is 91 degrees in the shade). 
Fortunately, the road remained free of snow, and we soon were back to
the comforting sound of another monsoon.


During these
frustrating times, it was nice to have Brian along for the trip.  After all, misery loves company!  Vicki was quite relieved when she learned
Brian would be accompanying me to the rally this year.  She went as far as calling him “responsible.”  Ha!  I
personally think it’s a stretch to call anyone who owns a Pantera “responsible,”
let alone someone who has two—one for Brian and one for his
wife (and Brian’s has a huge, delta-wing mounted on the trunk, to boot!  Get it?—boot?)  Nevertheless, I am finding it is taking a lot
longer to go from point A to point B this year. 
It has something to do with obeying speed limits.


The
advantage of driving so slowly—I mean, responsibly—is that I have the chance to
observe the reactions of the drivers in the cars that pass us.  At one point, a diminutive, white econobox
containing two young, attractive, blonde women passed by on my left.  The passenger was holding a paper napkin up
to the car’s passenger window on which she had written something.  For some reason, I didn't see what was on the
napkin, but Brian later told me it read, “Nice Car.”  Based on the age of the young ladies, I think
Brian may have misread the napkin.  The
actual inscription was probably more akin to, “Hi, Gramps!”   


Brian and I
arrived at the hotel in Hermiston, Oregon, at 7:30 PM and immediately began
cleaning the grime off our cars.  Just as
we were finishing, it began to rain. 
Again.  We decided what was needed
was a stout dose of health food, so we walked across the hotel parking lot to
the only game in town; A&W Rootbeer. 
Brian had some sort of hamburger, and I enjoyed one of the best examples
of balanced nutrition ever conceived; an order of chicken strips with
fries.  To obtain my minimum daily
requirement of fruit, I also enjoyed an Orange Freeze.  I’m sure it was packed with vitamin C.  In case you’re worried this trip might throw
off my nutritional balance, you can relax. 
During the drive from University Place to Hermiston I rounded out my
food groups with Corn Nuts and a vanilla Frappuccino. 


Even though
I’m getting to be an old guy, having a Pantera still scores some points with the chicks.  The woman at the check-in desk at the Comfort
Inn asked Brain and me if “those cool cars out there” were ours.  We told her they were, and she immediately
upgraded our room to a family suite.  
The
good news is, thanks to the upgrade, I’ll be in an entirely separate room.  This means for tonight at
least, Brian won’t hear me imitating a 408 at 6000 rpms.  I occasionally snore, I’m told.