[DeTomaso] Chris Kimball 2013 POCA Fun Rally Journal day 4

[Christopher Kimball]

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

 

Wow.  Today is one of those days where so much
happened it’s difficult to remember anything which occured before 5 PM.  

 

Let me start by amending a
scientific theory I posited in an earlier journal entry.  It had to do with snoring, and the possibility
equal but opposite snoring frequencies would cancel each other out thereby
allowing two people to sleep peacefully in the same room without disturbing
each other with multi-decibel snoring outbursts.  It turns out this theory can only be true if
the two subjects fall asleep at exactly the same time.  Last night, that variable was tested, since
Brian fell asleep before I did (despite my best efforts to prevent this by
accidentally tripping over various objects in the dark while trying not to
disturb his slumber).  I knew Brian was
asleep, because of the rhythmic, um, murmur I heard.  I lay awake for a while until I utilized one
of those mind exercises one reads about in doctor’s office waiting-room
magazines.  I pictured myself on the Mayflower,
sailing gently across a peaceful sea, and the regular sound I heard became the
creaking of the ship’s timbers.  Restful
indeed!  I was asleep post-haste.

 

By the time I awoke, Brian
was already done showering and was dealing with the inevitable stress one feels
when one forgets a major portion of one’s wardrobe when on a long trip.  He had breakfast while I was shaking myself
out of my sleep-induced stupor (and getting my land-legs back). 

 

I decided since today was
Mike Drew and Lori Albino’s wedding day (more about that later) I should do
them the honor of shaving.  When on
vacation, I generally like to give my face a vacation, too.  I think my face likes a break from being
sliced to pieces by the medieval torture device modern man calls a razor.  Still, the least I could do for Mike and Lori
was look  somewhat presentable.  I even cut my fingernails super-short so I
could rid my fingers of the accumulated grease I had collected from bailing out
Brian yesterday by handing him that greasy jack.  In retrospect, the majority of attendees at
the wedding were Pantera owners, and greasy fingernails are the norm.  I even wore brown pants (Vicki calls them “Khaki”)
and a shirt with a collar.  OK, so I
still wore my white, Velcro tennis shoes, but no one looks down there anyway.

 

I had breakfast in the
hotel dining room, and once again enjoyed a nourishing bowl of Froot
Loops.  Ever noticed the spelling of
“Froot?”  I think it’s spelled that way
for the same reason a Jamoca shake is just a “shake…”  Because I remember my mom telling me growing
up about the importance of protein, I also had a bunch of bacon.

 

After packing, Brian and I
drove my car to a nearby auto parts store so he could buy some oil.  So far he’s used 6 quarts, mainly because he
has a rear main seal leak.  That’s what
he’s telling me, anyway.  I think a lot
of people who consume large amounts of expensive liquids may be simply in a
state of denial, and will make up all kinds of excuses to justify their
voracious appetite for fluids.  

 

When riding in Pandora,
Brian had the enviable opportunity to hear my car stereo in its full,
12”-dual-voice-coil-subwoofer-1500-watt glory. 
Although Brian and I share many similar opinions and attitudes, even
extending to the kinds of music we enjoy, the relative volume level at which we
enjoy these similarities is, unfortunately, slightly divergent.  The best way to understand our differences is
illustrated by one of his comments made during our musical trip to the auto
parts store.  He yelled, “You realize you
wouldn’t be able to hear an ambulance siren with that music so loud, don’t
you?”  If Brian’s aversion to excessive
speed didn’t convince you he is the responsible one, his feeling about the
volume at which I enjoy listening to music should leave no doubt.  

 

We got back to the hotel
to pick up Brian’s car, and then—the unthinkable happened.  When preparing to leave the hotel, I released
my car’s emergency brake, and before I knew what was happening my car rolled
forward a few inches.  I heard a loud “crack”
and realized my front air dam (or “chin spoiler” as they’re sometimes
called—come to think of it, that would be a good name for my razor) had come in
contact with the stupid cement curb. 
Now, the air dam I had (notice the past tense being used here; that is
what we in the literary business call “foreshadowing) was made of space-age
polymers, but sadly, space-age polymers are no match for stone-age cement.  I immediately backed up the car and jumped
out to assess the damage.  And damage
there was.  The air dam had been
partially broken away from the lower valance. 
I was pretty peeved.  Perturbed.  Irritated.  Annoyed. 
Teed-off.  In short, I WAS REALLY
TICKED!  Fortunately, it appeared the
unit was still sufficiently affixed to make the rest of the trip, at which time
I could re-silicone rubber it back to the valence. 

 

Sometimes, the best-laid
plans of mice, men and collector car owners go awry.  

 

Once on the freeway, an
unfortunate series of events occurred. 
They began when I innocently changed lanes.  Some thoughtless person had left some sort of
object in the middle of the road (perhaps a faulty air dam that had fallen off
his or her car).  The foreign object came
in contact with my wounded air dam, effectively finishing it off.  Those of you who know Pantera owners know we
often joke about parts falling off of old cars. 
Well, today that’s exactly what happened to my car.  Brian has shown interest in getting an air
dam for his car—and today I delivered; just not in the way he might have
imagined!

 

The air dam was ripped
from the front of my car, after which I ran over it.  It then proceeded directly toward Brian’s
car, which was following behind me. 
Rather than graciously accepting my gift, he unceremoniously ran over it,
too.  He swears he tried to swerve to
avoid it, but I think he just didn’t want to have a slightly-used air dam
hanging around his garage waiting to be re-gifted.

 

Now, all that’s left on
Pandora’s lower valance is a line of black, silicone rubber and the screws that
are no longer needed to secure the no-longer-present air dam.  Come to think of it, Pandora’s chin now looks
kind of like mine when on vacation—just a little stubble and not much else.

 

I was just beginning to
collect my nerves when, without warning, my Gripgo let go of my phone.  That happened twice today.  I would complain, except as I mentioned
earlier, I’m using the Gripgo to hold two devices at once, which is clearly
beyond its intended purpose and probably has already voided any warranty
expressed or implied.

 

We stopped in Kingston,
Arizona to fill up and add some Octane Boost (it seems to help prevent Pandora
from dieseling).  I looked at my front
grill and was repulsed by dozens of dead grasshopper carcasses wedged and
smashed everywhere.  This will definitely
be a test for Griot’s “Insect Barrier.” 
These things were huge—the size of owls. 
In fact, it reminded me of a scene from one of the most dramatic
cinematic masterpieces of all time: 
Birdemic!  You’d have to see this
movie to believe it.  It has terrifying
depictions of innocent victims being decimated by special-effects-created birds
that look more like bats which were nailed to a wall for filming, than any sort
of avis.  It’s actually a movie with a
message about the dangers of global-warming and the animals we humans are
driving to extinction, such as seals.  

 

Once I had dislodged some
of the larger grasshopper corpses from my car’s grill so at least some air
could make it to the radiator, we soldiered on.

  

Something that’s
concerning me is a slight shimmy which has become apparent in Pandora’s
steering.  At times, the steering wheel
seems to be shifting back and forth slightly, but rapidly.  On smooth roads it can go away completely, so
I don’t think the front wheels are out of balance, but even on smooth surfaces,
if I turn the wheel left or right, it seems to elicit said shimmying.  I had the alignment checked recently, and all
looked good at that point, so I’m not sure what’s causing the problem.  Maybe when I ran over the air dam I damaged
something to do with the steering rack. 
I am going to attempt to have this problem checked before I leave for
home.  Last year, one of the Fun Rally
attendees had the terrifying misfortune of having one of his wheels come off at
speed.  Fortunately, he was unharmed, but
his car was damaged, and if I remember correctly, he never found the errant
wheel.  I would really like to avoid
having one of my front wheels come off while in motion.  I only like my wheels to come off when there
is someone with a lug wrench who is responsible for the removal.  Someone said it might be my tie-rod
ends.  I’m not exactly sure what a
tie-rod is, but I know it’s not a baseball player.  That was A-Rod.  All I know is if something metal is being
moved back-and-forth at 20 times per-second, I think of two words:  metal fatigue.  Years ago, I think there was an airplane that
lost a wing due to this phenomenon.  Good
thing I always wear my seatbelt.  

 

We decided to continue
from Kingston directly to the Wild Horse Pass Hotel and Casino rather than
stopping for lunch.  It turned out we
needed the extra time because we hit rush-hour traffic in both Surprise,
Arizona and Phoenix.  It was
bumper-to-bumper traffic on the freeway, with at least 190 stops per minute.  I watched my heat gauge go higher and higher,
but thanks to all the work I’ve done over the years (and space-age polymers, no
doubt), only the first two fans turned on. 
The third stayed dormant, even though I was using A/C.  Today was the first day I needed the A/C, as
a matter-of-fact.  

 

I was really worried about
Brian—and when I say “worried about Brian” what I really mean is I was worried about
his car.  All that stopping and starting
in the 350-degree heat was surely disintegrating what was left of its gasping
hydraulic system.

 

To make matters worse, I
made the mistake of using my Windows phone’s directions in addition to “old
faithful” (that would be my original GPS unit, which is only about 2 years old,
which in electronic years makes it Methuselah). 
Probably because it was produced in antiquity, my original GPS couldn’t
find the exact address for the hotel, so I thought it would be interesting to
have my phone pinpoint the exact location. 
The phone did find the exact location all right, and then tried to get me
there via Texas.  I again had the
displeasure of listening to my trustworthy GPS telling me to do this or that,
while hearing the upstart phone GPS repeatedly telling me “You’ve gone a
different way.”  This annoying comment
was eerily reminiscent of the sort of thing my high-school teachers would tell
me back in the ‘70s.   

 

Rather than throw my phone
out the window, I chose to ignore it and follow the original unit’s
advice.  I remembered it got me to the
hotel OK last year, so why should I doubt its wisdom now?  The thought crossed my mind it might have
gotten jealous and was leading me on a wild goose chase, what with my getting
the fancy, new phone and all.  I quickly
dismissed such a silly thought—after all, inanimate objects don’t have
feelings!  By the way, please don’t tell
Pandora I wrote that…

 

Those of you who know me
know that I take my faith seriously. 
Some of you may be agnostic or even atheist.  Let me now give you irrefutable evidence
there is a God and He loves us very much: 
Brian drove through stop-and-go traffic for close to an hour in
temperatures which are only equaled in Hell itself (so I’m told) yet he made it
to the hotel without breaking down!

 

In fact, we got to the
hotel with enough time before the wedding so that Brian had the opportunity to take
a shower.  One of the advantages to
having a fully-charged A/C unit, as I do, is it precludes the need for frequent
showers.  Some would say I should take
them anyway, but that’s a subject for a different journal. 

 

Everyone at the Fun Rally
was looking forward to the wedding.  When
we first arrived, I saw the two of them looking just beautiful.  They brought joy to all who saw them, and
they were both clean, and looked as if they had very low mileage.  Oh, you thought I was talking about Mike and
Lori?  No, no; I was describing their
Panteras—both on display at the front of the hotel, decked out in wedding
livery (Mike’s is yellow, Lori’s is red). 
Even the wedding cake was adorned with a Pantera and the DeTomaso
logo.  Oh yes, Mike and Lori looked great,
too.

 

The wedding was really
nice.  Yes, I’m actually being serious.  Several people spoke, including John Taphorn,
and the things said about both Lori and Mike painted a beautiful picture of the
quality people they are.  I’ve only had
the pleasure of talking with Lori once or twice, but not too long ago, Mike
actually came all the way out to the Pacific Northwest for an entire day to
lead a steering-rack rebuild session for our Panteras Northwest chapter.  If only he weren’t on his honeymoon—I bet he
could fix my shaking-wheel problem.  I
wonder if Mike’s a little nervous about his wedding night, and is shaking as
much my steering wheel does.  Lori might
be nervous, too, but not because of the wedding.  She’s terrified because Mike wants her to
sing Karaoke with me.  That’s enough to
scare anyone.

 

After the wedding there
was a reception, including food.  I
enjoyed the pasta bar and a glass of cranberry juice.  If I were ever elected King, the first
executive order I would pass would be to require every bar in the Nation offer
milkshakes.  Ice cream is delicious; why
not make it available in as many places as possible?  The reception didn’t have ice cream, but it
did have delicious cake.  

 

Mike and Lori had the
special bride-and-groom dance (did I already say they both looked fabulous?)
and then a very strange thing happened. 
The DJ made a number of men take to the dance floor wearing strange outfits,
instructed them to pretend they were some sort of character (Elvis, Madonna, a
fairy godmother, a rapper, etc.) then played music to which they were required
to dance.  If I had been drinking
something other than milkshakes I probably would have enjoyed it even
more…  

 

Afterword I asked John
Taphorn why he would volunteer to wear what I think was a fedora, a silver vest
full of bling, and a gaudy medallion while perform a rap dance.  He said he didn’t actually volunteer; there
was some coercion involved.  Remember how
I mentioned Mike and Lori were universally loved?  It would take that kind of love for anyone to
agree to do what those 8, brave men did tonight.

 

During the time we've been
at the hotel, Brian has been asking anyone who will listen about what to do
concerning his clutch problem.  The
latest theory is that the problem may be caused by his leaky main seal dripping
on his clutch (as we men get older, these kinds of problems do tend to worsen).  If this is, indeed, all it is, it could mean
no more work will be required on Brian’s car, and I won’t have to cut my
fingernails again.     

 

Brian just woke himself up
with his own snoring, so I guess that’s my signal to stop typing.  Tomorrow is a scenic drive, and lunch on a
steamboat.  A steamboat--that’s kind of
like the Mayflower.