lacarrera94-2
Mayhem in Mexico, pt. 2
(or Magic Arrow does the La Carrera Classic Road Race)
Wednesday, 3/23/94
The Day of Departure: The first thing that went wrong was that
the alarm clock went off immediately after I had fallen asleep.
Well, at least that's the way it seemed as my right arm flailed
through the darkness to hit the "off" button, but in actuality I
had been asleep for several hours and it really was time to get up
and go to Mexico now.
So the first thing that *really* went wrong was that Redcar
(being parked on the trailer aside Godzilla), had during the night
told the Suburban how much fun it'd been to have me poke around
under her bonnet troubleshooting her dead battery. As a result,
Godzilla presented me with a dead battery on the morning we were to
leave. Of course I had nosed the Sub into the parking place and
backed the Sprite/trailer in alongside to facilitate a quick hook-
up in the morning (disconnection necessary to ensure parking
harmony amongst housemates - can you imagine how long the Suburban
+ trailer combo is ????), so their respective batteries were at
extreme opposite ends. And of course the jumper cables were Just
This Much Too Short To Reach (hold your fingers apart like you are
pinching a grape) between the Sprite & Sub. Hmmmmm. Out comes the
second of jumper cables (you know, the ones you should throw
away?), and lo & behold, carefully pairing them up I could jump the
Sub off the Sprite. Kinda like Sprout helping the Jolly Green
Giant, I mused.
Now, running only a little late, I grabbed my coffee, kissed
my sweetie goodbye, & headed off for Big Racing Adventure. Brendan
was retrieved w/o incident, but problem #2 cropped up as we
attempted to videotape Intel's headquarters as we drove by, ad
libbing that the reason you don't see much activity there at this
time was that the plant was shut down since we're on vacation. The
Dead Battery Syndrome struck again, this time striking one of the
camcorders (unfortunately the one we were using at the time).
And as they say, third time's the charm, and unfortunately so
was problem #3. Paul was retrieved w/o incident, and we hit 101
South at about 8:00am, with Paul behind us. Now keeping the
Suburban & trailer in one lane is job enough, but add sleep
deprivation & rush hour traffic and I have a good excuse to not
have immediately noticed the semi pulling alongside frantically
honking and pointing behind us. It all came together when I looked
in the rearview mirror and saw ........... Nothing. (well, my car
was there, but Paul wasn't). Slowing slightly, I turned on the
walkie talkie, and heard Paul repeating in a tone I will not soon
forget "LOST THE HOOD, LOST THE HOOD !!!!". Whoops. Brendan and I
looped around & headed North on 101 to assist. Paul had by now
limped the car to an off ramp where we spied him. With visions of
a "10 car pile-up as a result of a flying Shelby Charger hood" or
at least a cracked windscreen, I was pleasantly surprised to find
Paul laughing hysterically, and the Charger looking not much worse
for the wear. The hood however, looked like a big blue piece of
tinfoil.
According to Paul one of the recently-installed hood pins had
come loose, allowing air to get up under the hood, and popping the
other side up. The hood flipped back, tearing the driver's side
hinge off, and then proceeded to lay back on the windscreen, held
on by the passenger side hinge (now resembling a piece of blue
Rotelle). No cracked windscreen, no roadside carnage. We tossed
the hood in the back & continued south, convinced that it would be
smooth sailing from here on out since we had used up all of our
problem credits. It was, and we arrived in Poway (just outside of
San Diego), at about 5:00pm.
Poway was our destination the first day for two reasons; One,
it is far enough south that the remainder of the trip could be
completed in a few scant hours, and Two, that ex-netter Dave
Ambrose had graciously offered up his house and garage in support
of our trip. So it was with much appreciation that we found Dave
and Mary's well stocked with tools, a clean, well-lighted place to
repair Shelby hoods, and most importantly directions to the all-
night auto parts store. Unfortunately we did not find Dave.
Apparently Mr. Ambrose Sr. had been ill and that night was to
undergo surgery, and so Dave had just flown to Reno to be with him.
In the end all turned out well, with Mary being the commensurate
hostess, setting us up with places to sleep and tools to render
hoods installable, and Dave's father coming through fine. Many
thanks go to them both.
Once the collective momentum of our journey to Poway had
subsided and Mary determined that the strangers that her husband
had said could stay in their house were actually not deviant
malcontents with a passion for larceny, we realized that a journey
for food, beer and car parts was in order. And that's where some of
the finer points of our evening in Poway came about.
First stop was a Sports bar that advertised "All you can eat
Fish & Chips" on Wednesdays. Bingo. But no sooner than the first
sip of beer had washed the dust from our palettes we begin to smell
something burning that shouldn't be burning. The next thing we know
our waitress tactfully informs us that the fryer has caught fire
and they will be unable to serve fish & chips tonight. Thankfully
they did have things on the menu that did not involve cooking in
heated vats of animal fat, and soon we were able to eat.
Next stop was to pick up beer (or "Race Car Assembly Fluid" as
Brendan calls it), for our late night hood beating session. The
three of us were seated up front in the Suburban as I wheeled into
a liquor store, pulling right up to the front window adjacent to
the counter. I guess I was driving a bit enthusiastically as the
expressions of the cashier and sole patron told us that they had
just relegated themselves to the fact that this truck was coming
thru the front window. We didn't, but we found the whole thing very
amusing, and stumbled into the store convulsing with laughter. To
which the cashier (a hard-looking middle aged woman), began telling
us about the time she really did crash thru the front window of a
building. At this point I began to distance myself from her as I
was in no mood to hear her life's story, and she zeroed in on Paul
who just happened to be the closest. As I dug through the beer rack
and looked around for John Waters holding a movie camera, I could
still hear her blah-blahing about "..... and then I fell out of the
car right there next to the cookie aisle, blah-blah ..." Honest.
The last event of the evening was less surreal, but more
spectacular. It involved a slightly inebriated Paul, a battered
Shelby hood, and a Makita grinder with a carbide cut-off blade.
Repeated attempts at re-fitting the hood failed because the
superstructure was badly bent & came in contact with the valve
cover, and since the hood was already trash, it really didn't
matter what we did to make it fit. So out came the saw, and in a
spectacular shower of sparks, Paul made quick work of the offending
structure. At some point Paul mused about "Boyz wid no hood" and we
all thought it was hysterical. A little bit of stomping, a little
bit of drilling and some judicious placement of vendor stickers,
and the Shelby looked presentable, save the two Frankenstein-esque
bolts emerging from the hood at just about where the hood pins used
to be .....
Next time: Pt. 3, or Welcome to Ensenada !
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