(Selected photos from the weekend are posted on 3 pages beginning at
http://members.aol.com/Luigiverco/eventphotos.html)
PART 2
Light rain falls intermittently from lead colored skies for the next hour or
so as we motor on toward Socorro where most of us pull off the freeway for
lunch while the Guiletta and Lancia continue north toward Albuquerque. To get
the best pull-through parking we elect to lunch at an Arby's which,
surprisingly, is pretty edible but whatinell is that yellow goop they pour all
over stuff?
Fueled up again, cars and drivers alike, we motor on north for another 70
miles where Larry, still in the lead, now operating as Pacemaker more than
Pathfinder, pulls off the freeway and heads for a gas station... This does not
look good... Either somebody has problems with a testy tummy (that yellow
goop?) or a car is unwilling to do its part.
It turns out that strange sounds have started issuing from beneath the
hotrod's hood ("bonnet," for the blokes among us). We quickly find that the
chrome bracket supporting the chrome 100 amp alternator has given up the ghost
and broken about 4" from the end. The hotrod uses a ton o' electricity due to
the electric fan which is a real power hog and is absolutely vital when towing
the XK-140, so going on to Santa Fe sans alternator is not an option.
Larry, who is a first class wrench, quickly readjusts the bracket and starts
the car up when it immediately becomes painfully obvious that the beautiful
new chrome plated Summit alternator has surrendered its bearings. So, off come
the belts (water pump, compressor, alternator) and back go the belts
(compressor, water pump) and we head down the street to find a Checker Auto
Parts.
At Checker the best we can do is a new bracket identical to the old and a 63
amp alternator, too small to really do the job but big enough to get the car
through the weekend comfortably and back home. So, off come the belts (pump
and compressor).
The new alternator is physically smaller, so the new bracket does not provide
enough adjustment to allow the belt to tighten. So, the old busted bracket is
sacrificed and a carefully calculated length is used to fabricate an extension
to mount the alternator and on go the belts (compressor, pump, alternator).
Then comes the tricky part...
The dead alternator is a slick one-wire job and the new alternator is a
generic two-wire so it does not match the hotrod's wiring harness... No
problema! Larry just roots around in the trunk ("boot" to our Brit friends)
and comes up with additional wire of the correct gauge, the proper connectors,
and, of course, crimpers and strippers. Seemingly in moments he has the rig
re-wired and buttoned up...
Me, with my "emergency tool kit," a half-inch combination wrench, a $2 pair of
pliers, a Phillips head screwdriver, and a Leatherman (gift from Dana and
Brian), a small roll of baling wire, and two sizes of vice grips.... I am
really impressed!
Fortunately the weather has been pretty cooperative throughout this impromptu
lesson in the efficacy of preparedness and has changed over to a light,
intermittent sprinkle.
It is after 5 PM when we head back for the freeway and Albuquerque's afterwork
traffic is pretty hideous by our standards though it would still be a walk in
the park for many of you who live in major cities. Dana, now with Janet in the
right seat, has a hell of a time crossing two lanes of traffic to exit the
Checker parking lot and by the time she finally does get out the rest of our
caravan is long gone and we don't catch up to them until the outskirts of
Santa Fe.
We all manage to get checked in at Ft. Marcy by about 6:30 PM and move on into
the reception room where hundreds of car nuts are swirling around, nattering
and availing themselves of a noggin of wine, beer, or soft drinks from the
open bar whilst chowing down on tacos and nachos and fresh fruit from the
munchies tables. We snag half a table near a TV running Luigi Vercotti tapes
culled from the Monty Python series and settle in for a well deserved rest.
There is a cluster of rallyists around the TV listening intently (hands cupped
behind ears) to the hilarious but nearly mindless banter issuing from the set.
We are somewhat nonplussed to note that a number of people have their
clipboards out and are busily taking notes... I have a helluva time trying to
figure out just what they are writing down... The size of Norman the 800 meter
hedgehog? The number of paratroops Luigi offers not to set on fire for a few
"bob" a week? The day of the week that the Piranhas choose to nail their
victims heads to the floors?
Hmmmm... I shrug and decide to stick to my strategy which is to watch the
tapes--probably for the hundredth time over the last 30 years--and enjoy the
material, let the chips fall where they may.
By 9:30 PM when I head outside to look over some of the dynamite rides in the
parking lot it is raining heavily so Dana, Brian, Janet, and I head for our
rooms in the Alma Compound.
Ft. Marcy is a great place to have this sort of event. There are hundreds of
rooms spread across dozens of acres clinging to hillsides and peeking out from
behind trees and shrubs. Each suite seems to be different from every other
suite and all are furnished with original southwestern art and stocked with
books and games. Everything is close enough but not too close... no getting
stacked in like sardines around this compound!
First car is scheduled out on the Luigi Vercotti Rallye at 9 AM so we sleep in
till 7 which leaves enough time to wash both the Alfa and the Sunbeam and
still partake of the Continental breakfast. Ft. Marcy has provided hoses,
buckets, and towels so the wash-up is pretty painless, particularly for me
since I shamelessly call on Dana and Brian. The temperature at 7 AM is 47
degrees F...
The Luigi Vercotti Rallye has been organized as a question and answer event
with NO time and distance element. It is, in fact, a competitive tour with the
competition to be judged by the answers to questions about our route and ties
to be broken by half-a-dozen questions about the life and times of Luigi
Vercotti, the English mobster of Italian ancestry that some misguided souls
insist is just a mythical character.
There are just a few scattered clouds dotting the morning sky and Dana,
predictably, says, "Do we have time to go take off the top?"
"Yup," I say, "we have time to take off the top so long as you also have time
to freeze to death once the rallye reaches the 8,000 foot level..."
"...sigh...."
Event organizer and host John Smallwood sides with me on this one, saying that
in the name of creature comfort the top is probably the way to go,
particularly since the prediction is for a 60% chance of rain.
"...sigh...."
Before the rallye starts I spend some time huffing and puffing around the
hillside (in Santa Fe they don't put much air in the air, let alone oxygen)
looking at cars and taking photos. There is a beautiful Aston Martin, a
wonderful Lotus Elite, a massive Rolls, a mismatch of Morgans, gaggles of
Healeys, swarms of MG's, prides of Jaguars, a test of Triumphs... I would be
hard pressed to decide which was better, the visual impact of all these
wonders in motion or the music of their engines under way...
Dana and Brian are about the third car out and I hang back half-a-dozen more
cars to let them get well away before striking forth myself. The first 10 or
so miles follow a twisting course over the Santa Fe streets, running through
some remarkably pretty areas in the canyons. The written route instructions
are very good but the average speed is about 20 mph until we can put all this
behind us.
In what I thought was an unoccupied area I made a brief attempt to kick the
Spider up to put some distance between us and the Healey following behind. I
quickly learned the folly of my ways when a huge Blazer materialized from a
hidden driveway and chuggied right into my half of the very narrow street. He
slammed on his brakes and horn as I swerved around, making a clean, though
near, miss.
Once the Village of Tesuque is behind us I find a nice stretch of road which
is well lighted and straight with a good backdrop and pull over to take some
photos of other rallyists as they approach and pass me. Over the next half
hour I take about 100 exposures using three cameras... Surprisingly, some of
the photos are of Dana and Brian in the Alpine who have inexplicably fallen
behind us... A wrong turn? Naaah! Just a gasoline stop.
Camera frenzy ended and virtually the whole rallye now ahead of us, we proceed
at a sedate pace until about the 17th mile where we pick up a stretch of
four-lane and can run it on up to 75 mph which is what we are running when a
TR4, complete with roll bar and race numbers, zips by. At about the 36th mile
a rest stop is available at a Dairy Queen. We pull in, not to avail ourselves
of the facilities (perhaps the first time in recorded history) but to look at
and photograph a 1970 Morgan Plus 8 that just happens to be the same brilliant
yellow as our 1966 Plus 4.
I hang around a few minutes until the driver comes out of the Dairy Queen and
I compliment him on his car. "Thanks, " he says, "but it's not mine. I just
borrowed it from a friend to run the Rallye..."
"Well," I say, "let me shake your hand! You must be one helluva a guy to
inspire that kind of confidence in your friends! But for God's sake, don't let
the young lady driving the Black Alpine hear about this... She has thought for
the last 20 years that Morgan's are constructed around a special computer chip
so that they can be driven ONLY by their owner!"
The four lane roadway continues under bright blue skies for another 40 miles
where we enter the outskirts of Taos. As we head for the center of Taos we
begin to see sports cars headed back towards us... Surprise, surprise, one of
the cars is a black Alpine whose occupants wave enthusiastically, grins
stretching from ear to ear to ear to ear!
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