[DeTomaso] The Pantera Chronicles, Day Four

Fri May 23 18:39:40 EDT 2014

From: chrisvkimball at msn.com
To: jhersey at moneyconcepts.com; cbrady at moneyconcepts.com; bradstowe at localaccess.com; julie.goodwinds at comcast.net; jan at raganandbrown.com; davidvkimball at gmail.com; cvddk at yahoo.com
Subject: The Pantera Chronicles, Day Four
Date: Fri, 23 May 2014 15:36:39 -0700

Day
four, 5/20/14:  A Place in the Sun

Today we woke up to sun—and the car cover was dry!  There was no mud on my car, which made
cleaning her up that much easier; just a few squirts of Griot’s Speed Shine, a
quick micro-fiber wipe, and Pandora was gleaming.  When I say “gleaming,” I mean the parts of
the car that still have paint were gleaming. 
A significant portion of the front of my car is now peppered with rock
chips to the point it looks as if it was the victim of buckshot at close
range.  I think that happened on the
first day, when we drove for an extended period on I-5.  Oh well, I bought the car to drive…

Both Donny and I slept in a bit later than we should have, although we
figured we’d still make it in time for the complimentary breakfast which was
slated to be available until 9:30.  As I
surveyed the wondrous breakfast, I was thrilled to see one of those little
waffle machines.  I really love waffles,
and those little ones offered by hotels are large enough to be satisfying yet
small enough to allow the consumption of any number of other delicious
offerings, such as Cocoa Puffs.  This
explains why, despite my wife’s complaints, I purchased just such a waffle-making
machine (aren't they called “waffle-irons?” 
Ironic, since waffles aren’t the least bit smooth) for our home.  Another item crossed off my bucket list.

When I approached the aforementioned waffle-making machine, one of the
hotel staff was just leaving it—along with the waffle mix!  I looked at my watch which showed 9:25.  “Wait! 
I cried, “You mean there are no more waffles?”  

There was a slight language barrier, but from what I could deduce from
his broken English (my mom is from England and has been accused of suffering
from broken English, but only by people who have no clue what Broken English
means), he was packing in the breakfast food now, whether I liked it or
not.  In fact, when I indicated eating
free waffles is one of the high points of any trip I take (along with sampling
milkshakes from every corner of the earth), he replied he wouldn't leave the waffle-making machine open for “just one guest.”  I pointed out (very politely, I might add) it
was only 9:25.  He said my watch was
slow, and it was really 9:28.  HELLO?  THAT MEANS HE JUST PROVED MY POINT!  Breakfast was supposed to be available until
9:30—it even said so on the little card in the hotel room; the one next to the
other card that explains how if I sleep in rancid sheets it will save the
planet.

At this point, I was about to relate the famous story about the Sarasota
Ritz-Carlton in which one of the guest’s children had left a stuffed animal behind
in the restaurant.  The hotel staff remembered
the family, tracked down their room number, and sent pictures of the stuffed
animal in various locations around the hotel; lounging by the pool, in the restaurant,
etc., explaining the animal had been enjoying itself.  They delivered the pictures to the room the
next morning, shortly before returning the toy to the delighted child, making
the entire experience a customer service triumph which will be discussed for
years by everyone who hears the story—even some random Pantera owner who writes
way-too-lengthy journals with run-on sentences. 
As I said, I was about to relate that story comparing the Ritz-Carlton’s
customer service to what I was experiencing at the Comfort Inn, but then remembered
the Ritz-Carlton’s rates are about 10 times what I was paying at the Comfort
Inn.  I gave up and just had some Cocoa
Puffs.

We packed, gassed-up, and headed down 101.  The coastal views were fabulous, although one
of the odd things about highway 101 is its identity crisis.  At one point it’s a freeway, and then a sign
will inform the traveler it is no longer a freeway, then it becomes a freeway
once again a few miles later.  Often, the
number of lanes and speed limit don’t even change, leaving one to wonder what
makes a freeway a freeway.

As lunchtime approached we happened to see a large sign along the
freeway (or was it just a road?) advertising a restaurant called “The Goodtimes
Café.”  It pictured food, but what stood
out most to me was the huge milkshake. 
When I say “huge,” I mean it was truly billboard-sized—the shake was
probably 40 feet tall!  Oh, if it were
only real…

We took the exit to Paso Robles and drove through the nice, little
town, but no Goodtimes were to be found. 
I finally asked a local, who happened to be gawking at our car as we
drove past, and he gave us directions to a nice area with shops and restaurants.  It reminded me of Leavenworth without the lederhosen.  Sure enough, there it was; The Goodtimes Café,
in all its ‘50s-décor glory.

We had a great lunch—I had a BLT and a large, chocolate malt.  Donny had a tuna salad and a
peanut-butter-cup milkshake.  A fun
feature of the café was jukebox which played actual 45s.  For those of you who are younger than 30, a
45 is a round, plastic disc that has grooves in it and spins around on a
record-player and…well…never mind.  I was
pleased to see the price of the music was only 25 cents per six songs.  I realized after the 12th song and
the third rendition of “Blue Suede Shoes” some of the selections were mislabeled.  I hadn't requested “Blue Suede Shoes” even
once.

Back on the road, one of the first things Donny did was dial up Blue
Suede Shoes on the stereo.

We arrived at the Quality Inn in Santa Barbara at 4:30 PM.  The hotel was nice enough, although the rooms
were small.  The hotel was located in
what seemed to be a residential area.  The
driveway was incredibly steep, followed by a drop-off rivaling the Grand
Canyon.  At the bottom was the parking
lot and rooms.  I was convinced making
the trip to the parking lot would completely eliminate my parking brake and
front air dam, but by judiciously angling our approach and descent, I avoided
any ground-clearance mishaps.  Whew!

The hotel manager was a small, Asian gentleman who seemed quite
hyper-active and distracted.  After
finishing a phone call which seemed very important, he checked us in.  I think the phone call was a complaint of
some sort from a guest, since immediately after checking us in he ran out of
the office and engaged in an animated discussion about something with the
people staying a couple of rooms down from ours.  Donny and I were very happy with our
accommodations, and best of all, the complimentary breakfast was available until
10:00 AM—a much more reasonable time frame for breakfast, and one that would
eliminate any possibility of waffle-withholding.  

Speaking of food (and why wouldn't I?), once we checked in and relaxed
a little, Donny and I firmed up our dinner plans.  

Often in life, one seeks to make a powerful moral statement while at
the same time enjoying juicy chicken and a milkshake.  For those people, there is no better restaurant
than Chick-Filet.  Probably due to the
liberal bent of the Seattle area, we don’t have any Chick-Filet near our
home.  Too bad, because the kids’ nugget
meal I had, including chocolate milk and supplemented by a peach milkshake and
soft-ice-cream-cone, was one of the best meals I've had in decades.  There are signs Tacoma may eventually get a
Chick-Filet; a Hobby Lobby recently opened in neighboring Lakewood. 

After dinner, I realized I had missed watching 24 the previous
night.  Donny came to the rescue, however,
by managing somehow to hook up my computer to the hotel room’s TV and accessing
the show by using my cell-phone as an internet hub.  For those of you who are not as tech-savvy as
I am, using a cell-phone as a hub means your axle bearings will last longer.

Despite being completely hyped-up after watching Jack Bauer continue to
try to save the world, both Donny and I had a great sleep. 		 	   		   		 	   		  
-------------- next part --------------
     __________________________________________________________________

   From: chrisvkimball at msn.com
   To: jhersey at moneyconcepts.com; cbrady at moneyconcepts.com;
   bradstowe at localaccess.com; julie.goodwinds at comcast.net;
   jan at raganandbrown.com; davidvkimball at gmail.com; cvddk at yahoo.com
   Subject: The Pantera Chronicles, Day Four
   Date: Fri, 23 May 2014 15:36:39 -0700

   Day four, 5/20/14:  A Place in the Sun

   Today we woke up to sunand the car cover was dry!  There was no mud on
   my car, which made cleaning her up that much easier; just a few squirts
   of Griots Speed Shine, a quick micro-fiber wipe, and Pandora was
   gleaming.  When I say gleaming, I mean the parts of the car that still
   have paint were gleaming.  A significant portion of the front of my car
   is now peppered with rock chips to the point it looks as if it was the
   victim of buckshot at close range.  I think that happened on the first
   day, when we drove for an extended period on I-5.  Oh well, I bought
   the car to drive

   Both Donny and I slept in a bit later than we should have, although we
   figured wed still make it in time for the complimentary breakfast which
   was slated to be available until 9:30.  As I surveyed the wondrous
   breakfast, I was thrilled to see one of those little waffle machines.
   I really love waffles, and those little ones offered by hotels are
   large enough to be satisfying yet small enough to allow the consumption
   of any number of other delicious offerings, such as Cocoa Puffs.  This
   explains why, despite my wifes complaints, I purchased just such a
   waffle-making machine (aren't they called waffle-irons?  Ironic, since
   waffles arent the least bit smooth) for our home.  Another item crossed
   off my bucket list.

   When I approached the aforementioned waffle-making machine, one of the
   hotel staff was just leaving italong with the waffle mix!  I looked at
   my watch which showed 9:25.  Wait!  I cried, You mean there are no more
   waffles?

   There was a slight language barrier, but from what I could deduce from
   his broken English (my mom is from England and has been accused of
   suffering from broken English, but only by people who have no clue what
   Broken English means), he was packing in the breakfast food now,
   whether I liked it or not.  In fact, when I indicated eating free
   waffles is one of the high points of any trip I take (along with
   sampling milkshakes from every corner of the earth), he replied
   he wouldn't leave the waffle-making machine open for just one guest.  I
   pointed out (very politely, I might add) it was only 9:25.  He said my
   watch was slow, and it was really 9:28.  HELLO?  THAT MEANS HE JUST
   PROVED MY POINT!  Breakfast was supposed to be available until 9:30it
   even said so on the little card in the hotel room; the one next to the
   other card that explains how if I sleep in rancid sheets it will save
   the planet.

   At this point, I was about to relate the famous story about the
   Sarasota Ritz-Carlton in which one of the guests children had left a
   stuffed animal behind in the restaurant.  The hotel staff remembered
   the family, tracked down their room number, and sent pictures of the
   stuffed animal in various locations around the hotel; lounging by the
   pool, in the restaurant, etc., explaining the animal had been enjoying
   itself.  They delivered the pictures to the room the next morning,
   shortly before returning the toy to the delighted child, making the
   entire experience a customer service triumph which will be discussed
   for years by everyone who hears the storyeven some random Pantera owner
   who writes way-too-lengthy journals with run-on sentences.  As I said,
   I was about to relate that story comparing the Ritz-Carltons customer
   service to what I was experiencing at the Comfort Inn, but then
   remembered the Ritz-Carltons rates are about 10 times what I was paying
   at the Comfort Inn.  I gave up and just had some Cocoa Puffs.

   We packed, gassed-up, and headed down 101.  The coastal views were
   fabulous, although one of the odd things about highway 101 is its
   identity crisis.  At one point its a freeway, and then a sign will
   inform the traveler it is no longer a freeway, then it becomes a
   freeway once again a few miles later.  Often, the number of lanes and
   speed limit dont even change, leaving one to wonder what makes a
   freeway a freeway.

   As lunchtime approached we happened to see a large sign along the
   freeway (or was it just a road?) advertising a restaurant called The
   Goodtimes Cafe.  It pictured food, but what stood out most to me was
   the huge milkshake.  When I say huge, I mean it was truly
   billboard-sizedthe shake was probably 40 feet tall!  Oh, if it were
   only real

   We took the exit to Paso Robles and drove through the nice, little
   town, but no Goodtimes were to be found.  I finally asked a local, who
   happened to be gawking at our car as we drove past, and he gave us
   directions to a nice area with shops and restaurants.  It reminded me
   of Leavenworth without the lederhosen.  Sure enough, there it was; The
   Goodtimes Cafe, in all its 50s-decor glory.

   We had a great lunchI had a BLT and a large, chocolate malt.  Donny had
   a tuna salad and a peanut-butter-cup milkshake.  A fun feature of the
   cafe was jukebox which played actual 45s.  For those of you who are
   younger than 30, a 45 is a round, plastic disc that has grooves in it
   and spins around on a record-player andwellnever mind.  I was pleased
   to see the price of the music was only 25 cents per six songs.  I
   realized after the 12^th song and the third rendition of Blue Suede
   Shoes some of the selections were mislabeled.  I hadn't requested Blue
   Suede Shoes even once.

   Back on the road, one of the first things Donny did was dial up Blue
   Suede Shoes on the stereo.

   We arrived at the Quality Inn in Santa Barbara at 4:30 PM.  The hotel
   was nice enough, although the rooms were small.  The hotel was located
   in what seemed to be a residential area.  The driveway was incredibly
   steep, followed by a drop-off rivaling the Grand Canyon.  At the bottom
   was the parking lot and rooms.  I was convinced making the trip to the
   parking lot would completely eliminate my parking brake and front air
   dam, but by judiciously angling our approach and descent, I avoided any
   ground-clearance mishaps.  Whew!

   The hotel manager was a small, Asian gentleman who seemed quite
   hyper-active and distracted.  After finishing a phone call which seemed
   very important, he checked us in.  I think the phone call was a
   complaint of some sort from a guest, since immediately after checking
   us in he ran out of the office and engaged in an animated discussion
   about something with the people staying a couple of rooms down from
   ours.  Donny and I were very happy with our accommodations, and best of
   all, the complimentary breakfast was available until 10:00 AMa much
   more reasonable time frame for breakfast, and one that would eliminate
   any possibility of waffle-withholding.

   Speaking of food (and why wouldn't I?), once we checked in and relaxed
   a little, Donny and I firmed up our dinner plans.

   Often in life, one seeks to make a powerful moral statement while at
   the same time enjoying juicy chicken and a milkshake.  For those
   people, there is no better restaurant than Chick-Filet.  Probably due
   to the liberal bent of the Seattle area, we dont have any Chick-Filet
   near our home.  Too bad, because the kids nugget meal I had, including
   chocolate milk and supplemented by a peach milkshake and
   soft-ice-cream-cone, was one of the best meals I've had in decades.
   There are signs Tacoma may eventually get a Chick-Filet; a Hobby Lobby
   recently opened in neighboring Lakewood.

   After dinner, I realized I had missed watching 24 the previous night.
   Donny came to the rescue, however, by managing somehow to hook up my
   computer to the hotel rooms TV and accessing the show by using my
   cell-phone as an internet hub.  For those of you who are not as
   tech-savvy as I am, using a cell-phone as a hub means your axle
   bearings will last longer.

   Despite being completely hyped-up after watching Jack Bauer continue to
   try to save the world, both Donny and I had a great sleep.