[DeTomaso] Chris Kimball 2013 POCA Fun Rally Journal, Day Two

fastgrandma fastgrandma at aol.com
Tue Apr 23 02:57:38 EDT 2013


Chris, how does an 8 hour drive turn into 12 with just potty breaks???  
Just what are you doing in there? Even us gals don't take that long!!   
LOL   That basically leaves you to speed up one of two things.

Judy




-----Original Message-----
From: Christopher Kimball <chrisvkimball at msn.com>
To: Pantera list serve <detomaso at poca.com>
Sent: Mon, Apr 22, 2013 10:56 pm
Subject: [DeTomaso] Chris Kimball 2013 POCA Fun Rally Journal, Day Two

Monday,
April 22, 2013


After a
restful sleep at the Hermiston Comfort Inn and Suites (restful, 
undoubtedly,
because there was a door separating the two snoremeisters), Brian awoke 
about
7:00 and I woke up at about 7:45.  The
amazing thing about that is I woke up without the aid of an alarm.  
Those of you who know me know if I get up before
9 AM it’s a true sacrifice.  I guess it
must have been the anticipation of the free breakfast—blueberry waffles 
were
included, you know.


Brian was concerned
because he realized his plan of packing his shirts last to help prevent
wrinkles had backfired.  The good news is,
his shirts won’t have any wrinkles.  The
bad news is, that’s because they are still hanging in the closet back 
at his
house.  A thought flashed across my
mind.  I remembered the story of Jesus
telling his disciples that if someone asked for your coat to give your 
cloak as
well.  I realized I had packed enough
shirts for me to wear a clean one each day, and I could probably wear 
each
shirt twice, and let Brian use the extras.
What better way to demonstrate Christian love and charity.


Inspired by
such spiritual thoughts, I told Brian he should just buy a bunch of new 
shirts
for the trip.  He liked that idea.  It reminds me of the Bible story 
about
getting new wineskins when you forget the old ones in your closet.


It turned
out Brian did pack some “emergency shirts” to be used if he needed to 
crawl around
under any Panteras, so for now he’ll just wear those.  Once we get to 
the Fun Rally, there will be
all sorts of cool shirts for him to buy.


Buoyed by
this thought, we went to breakfast.


In addition
to waffles, they also had sausage, cereal, yogurt, assorted pastries, 
and scrambled
eggs.  Well, it was more like scrambled
egg.  Brian and I didn’t get to the
dining room until 8:40 or so, and all I can assume is that every other 
hotel
guest had gotten up at 6 AM and immediately headed to the dining room to
descend like locusts on the food.  The
good news was, there was still plenty of blueberry waffle mix, and 
several
gallons of syrup.


One odd
detail to note about our time at breakfast:
The television would only receive one channel—CNN.  The reason I knew 
only one channel was
available is I tried to change it, but the only other thing on was 
another channel
with no dialogue reporting on a continuous snowstorm.  Now, I enjoy 
news as much as the next guy,
but those of you who know me know that CNN isn’t my favorite news 
channel.  I went to the front desk and asked if they
might be able to adjust the set so I could see people reporting news so 
I could
decide.  I was told the Choice Hotel
conglomerate had a one-channel policy.  I
was almost compelled to point out the similarity between that and 
China’s
one-child policy, and how China’s arrangement hasn’t worked out so 
well, but I
thought discretion might be the better part of valor, so I just smiled 
and
thanked the nice lady behind the desk.


I then
called the Choice Hotel amalgam to ask if they really did have a 
world-wide,
CNN monopoly for their dining rooms.  The
customer-relations specialist with whom I spoke said each local hotel 
can be individually
franchised, or be part of a larger, multi-unit group.  Each hotel or 
group of hotels can apparently allow/censor
whatever news channels they deem appropriate/dangerous.  I thought it 
was pretty ironic that there was
only one channel in a hotel with the word “choice” in its name, but 
then I
remembered; I was in Oregon…


After
breakfast, Brian and I went out to assess any damage done to our cars 
from the
previous day’s traumas.  The only damage
Brian noticed on his car was a thick layer of caked dirt covering every 
square
inch of every painted surface.  It rained
during the night, and then either 1) the dust storm through which we 
drove
yesterday was still extant and had followed us, or 2) someone had 
dredged a
river and dumped the silt on Brian’s car.
I was feeling quite smug as I removed from my car the cover I so
insightfully brought on the trip, until I saw, in the bright light of 
day just
how much paint damage the stupid tumbleweed had caused.  The front of 
my car now has the automotive equivalent
of acne.  The devil weed that smacked
into the front of my car left in its wake dozens of small, white dots.  
Those of you who know cars know that can only
mean one thing—THROUGH TO THE PRIMER!
Even Griot’s Garage products can’t fix that.  Now, when people look at 
Pandora at car
shows, I’ll probably re-live the embarrassment I experienced as a 
20-year-old
touring with a band.  After a
performance, a young kid came up to me and instead of telling me how 
much he
enjoyed the music, or how much he liked my drum set, or what a great 
drummer he
thought I was, he simple asked, “What are all those red dots on your 
face?”  Dermabrasion hadn’t been invented yet.


We checked
out of the hotel and headed to the gas station next door to fill up.  
Those of you who know me know I always loved
the cartoon show The Jetsons.  Even so, I
was somewhat reticent to filling Pandora’s gas tank with “Astro Space” 
gasoline.  For you youngsters; Astro was the name of the
Jetson’s dog.  Oh, you probably don’t
even know who the Jetsons are, do you?
Well, just Google it!


Brian
noticed that his clutch was behaving strangely.
He suspects it might be a faulty plunger or something.  It is losing 
hydraulic pressure, which isn’t
a good thing.  We put out an SOS to all
the folks heading to the Fun Rally to see if any of them might be able 
to bring
a spare hydraulic clutch master cylinder.
I think things will work out OK, because Pantera owners always come
through in the clutch.

The drive
today was much nicer than yesterday’s.  I
only saw one tumbleweed, and it was across the road before I came within
striking distance.  Due to Brian’s
responsibleness, there have been no speeding tickets thus far.  Those 
of you who know me know I probably won’t
be able to maintain this snail’s pace indefinitely—I fear on some long, 
straight
stretch we encounter over the next week I may give in to my inner Speed
Racer.  It’s the adrenaline rush I
crave.  Today, in fact, going 80 I found
myself getting drowsy.  The only thing
that kept me from slipping into slumber was a combination of loud 
music, Corn Nuts
and Junior Mints.


For lunch, I
decided to take a random exit leading to a random town.  The sign said 
“Huntington 1 mile.”  I thought Huntington sounded like a nice name
for a town, and that’s where we should go for lunch.


A mile or so
 from the exit, we arrived in the town of Huntington, Oregon.  When I 
say town, I’m being generous.  There was one gas station (“it costs too 
much
to have the gas delivered to the station, so the guys go get it 
themselves and
bring it back into town”), one bar, and one café.  That’s about it.  We 
asked a local the population of Huntington
and were told, “it depends on which day of the week you’re asking.”


Fortunately,
the café was quite quaint, having been built in 1890.  I had been 
remodeled since then, and
modernized all the way up to the 1970s.
The food was delicious, and very inexpensive.  My lunch consisted of a 
huge BLT (with bacon
2” thick), a salad (see Vicki—I really do eat nutritious food once and 
awhile!)
and a lemonade—all for just ten bucks, and that included the tip!  
Brian’s cost a bit more, but that’s because
he ordered the fresh marionberry pie for dessert.  Did I mention Brian 
doesn’t eat ice
cream?  The bonus of the day was that the
pie was alamode.  Thinking quickly, I
recommended—for Brian’s health and well-being, you understand—that the 
ice
cream be brought “on the side.”  Being
the kind, generous man that he is, rather than let it go to waste, Brian
offered his ice cream to me.  It reminds
me of the Bible story of the five loaves and two ice cream cones.


After
stuffing ourselves silly, we headed back to I-84 East, deciding to 
forgo the
questionable gas offered by Huntington, but not before answering all the
typical questions about our cars.  The
manager of the café and the server were both so taken with them, that 
they left
the café and walked a half-a-block down the street to get a closer 
look—leaving
Brian and me as the only souls left in the entire building.  During the 
ensuing discussion, the women
commented that the cars looked “real spendy.”
I downplayed the bottomless pit of expenses one must incur when owning a
Pantera, and told them Panteras aren’t really that expensive.  Within 
seconds, the younger of the two had
Googled “Pantera” and seen the prices of some for sale.  Her next 
statement was, “Not that expensive?  Your car costs more than my house 
is worth!”  What this means isn’t that Panteras are
expensive; it means the economy of Huntington may just be smaller than 
the town
itself.


After some
picture-taking (I took pictures of the old building; they took pictures 
of our
cars) we said goodbye to Huntington.  A
couple of hours later we stopped in Boise to fill up, and almost got 
blown away
by the 400 mph wind.


During the
trip I have been trying something new.
Some time ago, my sons David and Donald convinced me to get a
new-fangled Windows phone.  Yes, it does
windows.  It also allows me to talk to it—and
it answers!  This is very handy when
arguing with someone smarter than me.  I
can simply ask my phone for the answer to virtually any question, and 
within
seconds, I’ll have access to the internet and literally thousands of 
incorrect
and conflicting results.


The phone
has the capacity to store as much music as my iPod, and has GPS 
capability,
too.  Although I have a great GPS I’ve
come to trust over the years, the thought of combining my music, GPS 
and phone
in one convenient and loud package (the new phone runs through my car’s 
stereo
system) was very appealing.  Before
leaving for the trip, I tried calling Vicki from the car using the 
phone in a
hands-free mode, and she could hear me talking, and I could hear her 
loud and
clear through the 1500-watt stereo.  When
she started singing, I actually had to turn it down a bit.


This was
looking promising!  There was still one
problem, however.  I wasn’t sure where to
put the phone while driving.  Anyone who
knows Panteras knows there aren’t too many convenient, flat surfaces on 
which
to put things.  This is where the miracle
of “as seen on TV” comes in.  Not long
ago, I saw an advertisement for a device called “Gripgo.”  The ad 
claimed the unit would suction-cup
itself to a car windshield, and suspend any cell phone as if by magic.  
The guy on TV proved how effective Gripgo
really is by sticking an expensive cell phone to it and then holding 
the entire
affair out a moving car’s window and shaking it violently.  One wonders 
how many takes, and how many cell
phones, it took before they filmed one that worked.


I enlisted
the help of David and Donny to research Gripgo, and we went to the font 
of all knowledge;
internet reviews.  We watched on YouTube as
a mild-mannered gentlemen demonstrated the stickum power of Gripgo.  
Gripgo was so sticky, in fact, that partway through
the video, the gentleman became a bit less mild-mannered when he was 
unable to
free his cell phone from the Gripgo’s miracle sticky surface—sending 
him into a
momentary burst of profanity.


I was moved
by his description of Gripgo, and ordered one.
It arrived the day before I left for the Fun Rally.  It came in a box 
with Chineses writing all
over it, and had obviously been stepped on by every man, woman and 
child living
in China.  Amazingly, the product inside
the decimated box was undamaged.


The Gripgo
works great, as did the new phone/GPS/music arrangement, until after 
three
hours the phone battery gave out.  Apparently,
when asking the phone to perform three different functions, the battery 
wears
out three times as fast.  Who knew?  Plus, I left my phone’s car 
charger at
home.  Good thing I also brought my regular
GPS.


Another
thing I accomplished before leaving for the trip was to replace the 
dash-board-light
dimmer knob in the Pantera with a volume-control knob.  Why would I do 
such a thing?  The reason is simple:  Once I started using LEDs in my 
dashboard,
the dimmer knob became useless.  When I’m
listening to my iPod, radio, phone, or other devices, often the volume 
of different
songs stored from different sources varies wildly.  Having the control 
within easy reach makes
adjusting the relative volume quite easy.
It’s funny how such a small thing can make such a big difference in
listening pleasure!

Brian and I
arrived in Twin Falls Idaho an hour ahead of schedule.  That was 
because there was a time change
about which I had forgotten.  The bad
news is the time change means I lose an hour of sleep tonight.  D’oh!


As we
arrived at the hotel we saw Clarke and Wilma Hamm arriving, too.  It 
was a nice coincidence, and pretty much
guaranteed we would all share a delicious meal at the Golden Corral.  
Yes, it’s the same Golden Corral about which
I waxed eloquently last year.  It’s
exactly the same as it was then--$12 gets you all you can eat.  The 
four of us shared a table and consumed
enough food to feed the entire population of a small city.  I’m back in 
the room now, typing this
journal, and I’m not using a table.  The computer
is simply resting on my protruding stomach.
Not really, but I feel that full!

Tomorrow is
a long haul; about 8 hours of driving time.
When you add in the time needed for bathroom stops, that mushrooms into
at least 12 hours of travel…


So until
tomorrow—drive safely! 		 	   		
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