[DeTomaso] Chris Kimball 2013 POCA Fun Rally Journal day 7

Christopher Kimball chrisvkimball at msn.com
Sun Apr 28 04:34:45 EDT 2013


April 27, 2013

 

Before I launch into
today’s exploits, I need to mention a detail I left out of my journal a few
days ago.  I described the poor fellow
who lost a wheel while returning home from a POCA Fun Rally (not so much fun
for him on the return trip!) but didn’t know his name.  It turns out his name is Rob Pink, and he did
find his runaway rear wheel in a field, four lanes and hundreds of yards away
from where his car came to rest.  He and
I talked at poolside last night, and I was glad he had survived the ordeal and
was brave enough to drive to the Rally again this year, all the way from Texas.

 

Now, on to today.

 

In a strange,
bizzaro-world-alternate-universe phenomenon, I woke up before Brian did.  It was seven o’clock and my alarm hadn’t even
gone off yet.  Now, that’s not to say I
was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.  By no
means!  I stumbled into the shower in a
comatose state and eventually emerged just conscious enough to make my way to
the President’s breakfast, held at the torturous hour of 8:00.  Did I mention how early they had the
President’s breakfast?  Oh yes, I guess I
did.

 

In a perfect example of
the “opposites attract” phenomenon, my wife is a morning person.  Today, at about 7:14 she texted me to point
out a flaw in something I wrote in yesterday’s journal.  She explained to me that I couldn’t drive around
the block at our house because we live at the end of a cul-de-sac.  I, of course, knew that, but was attempting
humor.  I simplified things for the sake
of the joke because there may be people who don’t know what cul-de-sac
means.  You know; immigrants from
third-world countries, or Switzerland. 
They may think a cul-de-sac is one of the ancient rituals from the old
country, whereby the town gathers and selects certain bags from large
quantities.

 

I showered and dressed,
realizing perhaps I should have hung up my t-shirts after arriving at the hotel,
as the one I’m wearing today looks as if it were balled up, wrapped in duct
tape and then used as a hockey puck before I put it on.  Couple that with the fact I haven’t shaved
since Wednesday, and you can imagine I look like a bit of a bum.  At least Pandora still looks pretty good.  Maybe I should try showing in Griot’s
Garage’s Speed Shine.

 

At the president’s
breakfast, which was held really early, all the President’s men (and women)
discussed issues pertaining to the care and feeding of a large club.  I sat next to John Buckman and Dave
Hall.  Dave is the owner of an
unbelievable Pantera called “Limezotica.” 
It is, oddly enough, lime-colored, but it’s not the kind of lime you’d
see in Safeway.  It’s more, um, exotic--a
shimmering metallic lime, as a matter-of-fact. 
Totally customized and gleaming, anyone with a pulse would love to have
it in his or her garage.  I know that the
Bible tells us not to covet.  I’m
petitioning God for a one-time exception to that rule, so I can think the
thoughts I want to think about Limezotica without fear of retribution.

 

Speaking of the Bible, John
and I got into an interesting theological discussion.  It began when we were chuckling about how the
minister at Mike and Lori Drew’s wedding went through the legal process to
become legally able to marry them—a mail order affair—and how at the same time,
he signed up his dog.  The dog was
apparently ordained, too.  This led to
the subject of pets going to Heaven.  Julie
and Caroline from my office are of the opinion pets do go to Heaven.  Thomas Aquinas and I are doubtful.  What I do think is a possibility is that dogs
which constantly pee on carpets and bark annoyingly all the time such as a
long-hair miniature dachshund I know, may be in danger of going somewhere
decidedly less pleasant than Heaven.

 

If any pet is allowed into
Heaven, John and I agreed, it would have to be the dog which had been ordained.

 

The food at the
president’s breakfast was the typical fare; orange juice, scrambled eggs
covered with little onion-type things, some sort of nondescript potato
concoction, and a biscuit.  The biscuit
was especially good when supplemented with a pat of butter and two containers
of strawberry jam.  I went out on a limb
and asked for hot tea.  The tea did
arrive (I actually drank two cups) and with enough cream and sugar added was
just what I needed to perk up and offer valuable suggestions to the group.  The main one was to make the Presidents’
breakfast meetings start later, say, 10:00. 
That suggestion may not be on the top of the “pressing issues” list.

 

Following the Presidents’
breakfast meeting, we all drove to the racetrack’s parking lot for a group
picture.  The racetrack is conveniently
located across the street from the hotel, and the picture should turn out
well.  One thing that concerns me a bit
is it seems as if there aren’t as many Panteras here as I originally
thought.  I don’t have a definite number,
but someone was bandying about the number 55. 
If that’s the case, we need to “rally” the troops (get it?) to get some
of these lackluster Pantera owners to get their cars the heck out of the garage
and to these Fun Rallys.  The Rallys
really are Fun, by the way.  That’s why
we call them “Fun Rallys.”  

 

“Money is tight” they may
cry.  “I can’t afford to take time off
from work,” they may whine.  “My wife
won’t let me go to anything fun,” they may claim.  

 

Balderdash!  So what if you get fired from your job and
end up broke and lonely?  The memories
from the fun rally will be worth it.  

 

I’m kidding, of
course.  But seriously, if you plan
ahead, you should be able to make it happen, even if you have to fly in to the
meeting and leave your car at home (a last resort, of course).  The thing about the attendees at the Fun
Rally is they are great people.  Nice
people.  FUN people.  Better friends you won’t find anywhere,
especially at a Ferrari convention.  Even
if you have to delay your retirement a few years, make it a point to be
involved in these Fun Rallys.  You won’t
regret it.  

 

After the photo shoot, I
stopped at the gas station to fill up again, then went back to the hotel where
I was met by a woman I hadn’t seen in 30 years. 
She was a family friend who used to live where I grew up, and now lives
in Phoenix.  It was fun to see her.

 

Brian also met a woman,
but the circumstances were a bit different. 
According to Brian, he was innocently standing in line at the very same
gas station I had just visited, albeit a few minutes after I had left, and was
approached by a very attractive young woman, probably in her late 20’s.  She slid up to Brian and asked, “Is that your
car?  If so, I want to have your children.”  

 

Being the responsible one,
Brian replied, “The grey one?  Oh, uh,
no.”  Pointing to an old guy in a
wheelchair across the room, he said, “the grey car belongs to him.”  

 

She didn’t believe him, so
he was forced to take her outside to his car for a quick photograph.  Then, before the young woman could even take
the time to tell Brian her name was Sky, he took the octane boost he had just
purchased and beat a hasty retreat.  It’s
amazing the effect these cars have on people. 
It’s a good thing Brian is the responsible one.

 

At 3:30 people began
congregating in the hotel parking lot preparing to drive to Scottsdale to
participate in a big car show.  I noticed
it was a bit warm—some of the parking lot light poles had melted into pools of
molten steel.

 

When we arrived at the
mall, where the mall owners are nice enough to cordon off quite a few areas of
the parking lot specifically for the car show, I noticed it was only a few
hundred degrees hotter than it was at the hotel.  I managed to score a parking spot in almost
the exact same place as last year.  This
was fortunate because it was directly in front of the McDonald’s restaurant
giving me three distinct advantages over any other potential parking
place.  1) I was very close to
milkshakes.  2) I was very close to air
conditioning and 3) I was very close to a restroom.

 

For the first 10 minutes,
I sat by my car and answered questions of the passers-by.  No, it’s not a kit car.  No, it’s not fiberglass.  No, it’s not a DeLorean (slap).

 

Following that, I noticed
my clothes were sopping wet with sweat, so I retreated to the safety of the
McDonald’s, which had the good sense to not only air-condition their building, but
also mount huge fans every few feet along the ceiling.  If I happened to jump up at the wrong place,
I might have been decapitated, but that would have been a small price to pay
for the relief afforded by those blessed fans! 
I had one of McDonald’s Very Berry Cherry Freezies, or whatever they’re
called.  And then another.  And then a lemonade.  And then a Mocha Frappe.  And to go with all the drinks, I eventually
had a Chicken Snack Wrap, but it was really ancillary to the fluids my body
craved.

 

Finally, after all the
light poles had melted, the sun went down and the air outside cooled to a balmy
160 degrees, so I ventured out again and took a look at all the fantastic cars
at the show.  A huge number of them were,
of course, Panteras, but there were also some other cool rides, including a
Lotus Esprit, a Jaguar with a Ford V8 (one of my favorite combinations) a mint
AMX with a 360, and many, many more.

 

About 8:30 it was time to
head back to the hotel for the awards and raffle giveaways.  

 

One of Denny Finn’s
customers was at the fun rally with his son, and the son rode with me from the
car show back to the hotel.  It was his
first ride in a Pantera, and with my car having the stock seat belt
arrangement, it took him about 20 minutes to get buckled in.  I tried to help a little, but doing that is
always a bit awkward, and since I didn’t know him very well, I thought I’d better
keep my hands on my side of the emergency brake.

 

We made it to the hotel
without incident, and I think he was pretty relieved about that.  

 

During the awards
ceremony, deserving recipients received plaques.  The Limezotica Pantera won multiple awards,
as it should have, but I was disappointed my car didn’t win in the “Most
ravaged by tumbleweeds” category.

 

Brian, Denny and I managed
to find front-row seats for the award/raffle extravaganza.  Both Denny and Brian won awesome raffle
prizes—Denny a pair of vented, cross-drilled, front brake rotors and Brian a
cool aluminum sway bar bracket with the script “DeTomaso” emblazoned across the
front, AND a rear-window rubber gasket.  

 

I won a duffle bag.  

 

The duffle bag did contain
a shirt, but it was too small for my milkshake-sculpted body, so I gave it to
Denny.  Also in my $50 duffle bag (what I
paid for the tickets, not what the bag is actually worth) were two cleaning
cloths for glasses.  These will come in
handy to wipe all the tears off my lenses. 
The tears are from me crying because I didn’t win the coil-over Koni
shocks I really wanted.  D’oh!

 

While most people who
spent $50 on a duffle bag might resort to alcohol to soothe their pain, I chose
a different elixir.  I performed
Karaoke.  Yes, the stalwart Karaoke DJ
was ready for action, even at 11:30 at night. 


 

Taking advantage of the
initially small crowd, I tried singing “My Maria” by Brooks and Dunn which I
had never sung before.  It went so well,
I then sang another song, one my sons dislike intensely, “The Boys are Back,”
by Thin Lizzy. 

 

Another gentleman sang a
song by David Allen Coe; a Country singer I had never heard of before.  The gentleman was almost offended I didn’t
know who David Allen Coe was, and even after he sang a song that was pretty
much the most Country-Western sounding song ever, I still didn’t know who David
Allen Coe was.  So I did the only thing I
could—I sang “Brown-eyed Girl” by Van Morrison. 
By then, the crowd had grown, and I knew the best time to quit is when
one is on top, so I decided to go to bed. 
Actually, I don’t think I was really on top of anything; I just was
really tired after having to get up so early for the Presidents’ meeting.

 

I went back to the room,
but then Denny and Brian showed up, and for the next hour or so we discussed
the day’s events, and how after one has sweated profusely, one’s body needs electrolytes.  I suggested putting my fingers in a light
socket might help restore my electrolytes, but Brian didn’t find that particularly
funny.  He was also shocked and
infuriated when instead of listening when he was explaining how caffeine is
terrible to drink when one is dehydrated; I proceeded to whip out a vanilla Frappuccino
and down it in two gulps.  His comment to
Denny at that point was, “Do you see what I have to live with?”  I think Brian is beginning to appreciate
Vicki’s long-suffering nature.  She and I
have been married for over 25 years, and she hasn’t left yet.

 

It is now 1:30 AM on
Sunday, and I feel I have reached my life’s goal—I have kept Brian from
sleeping until the time he normal wakes up, or at least pretty close!  His body clock will be messed up for weeks.

 

Tomorrow we leave for home—the
time here has seemed far too short.

 

 

 

 

  		 	   		  


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