Ah! Luigi!
NOTE: This terribly long document is about driving and enjoying sports cars,
most of which are probably not of the marque you love so well... If you do not
wish to read about cars other than your favorite marque, please excuse this
intrusion and hit your delete key now.
So, with that out of the way...
(Selected photos from the weekend are posted on 3 pages beginning at
http://members.aol.com/Luigiverco/eventphotos.html)
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Driving the 60 or so miles back from the El Paso Airport Thursday evening
after picking up my delightful daughter, Dana, and her handsome husband,
Brian, the conversation centered mainly on sports cars... Owning, caring for,
and, most importantly, touring with the little devils. And, most particularly,
touring in them without wimpy appurtenances such as tops.
You see, Dana and Brian have just purchased their first sports car, a 1967
Sunbeam Alpine previously owned by Janet, my lovely bride of 34 years. Dana
and Brian flew in from Austin, Texas to have their first real drive in the
car, a trip from Las Cruces in the extreme southern part of New Mexico, about
300 miles north to the City Different, Santa Fe, where we would all
participate in the inaugural Jaguar Roadrunner 1000/Luigi Vercotti Rallye.
Oh, sure, Dana and Brian had both driven the Alpine before but for a total of
maybe 10 miles between them... This trip was to be a test of both themselves
and the car, a final opportunity to make sure there was no mismatch between
their desires and the Alpine's capabilities.
Our planning for this trip had been ongoing for a considerable time and I had
even established "Team Luigi," complete with T-shirts, for the event. Team
membership is open only to those Rallyists who want to join, are willing to
commit to having a helluva good time, and can come up with the $2 to pay for a
T-shirt transfer. A low threshold, you say? You would be amazed at how many
folks do not qualify on one or more of the criteria...
The Jaguar Roadrunner 1000/Luigi Vercotti Rallye, incidentally, is an event
which is intended to be affordable, open to all marques from all countries,
and mega-fun for all participants. There is a reception on Friday, a rallye on
Saturday, and a car show on Sunday.
The original plan when we began talking about this trip many months ago was
for Dana and Brian to borrow Janet's Alpine for the trip while Janet and I
would tour in my 1965 Sunbeam Tiger. Unfortunately, the Tiger is still, after
many months, hors de combat with a missing and nearly irreplaceable brake
caliper. And then Dana and Brian bought the Alpine. Since our 1966 Morgan is
preparing to undergo a respray, Janet and I decided to make the trip in her
1989 Alfa Romeo Spider... This sacrifice on our part means Dana and Brian
could still bond with their "new" Alpine while Janet and I have to settle for
cruising along in a Hell of air-conditioned comfort, whisper quiet dohc
engine, and zero oil leaks...
Where's the Hell in that, you ask? Without our usual trail of shiny black
spots, how would we ever find our way home?
So, the talk in the SooBaaRoo on the way back from the airport centered on
tops... The Alfa, of course, has a relatively weatherproof cloth top. The
Alpine has no cloth top at all, instead it sports a nice removable steel
hardtop. Janet and I, in nice weather, simply removed the Alpine's top, while
in nasty weather the hardtop kept the cabin dry and comfortable. A very
serviceable arrangement.
Dana, however, really, really wants to drive north with no top. What, after
all, is the sense of having a roadster and then slapping on a steel pot?
Hellllo! The sense is in protection from the elements! Ah, thirty looks at
fifty-four... Youth and adventure looks at age and comfort...
I point out that there is at least a fifty percent chance it will rain all
weekend. True, our weather had been dry for weeks and the forecast was for
more of the same but there is a little known axiom (the Clean & Dry/Wet &
Nasty Rule) of the Peter Principle which declares that 50% of all sports car
events on any given weekend will experience lousy weather 50% of the time.
This rule, I explained patiently, means that any time you are in a sports car
on the way to an organized event you have at least a 25% chance of getting
rained on, suffering sunstroke, or being blown off the road with the 18
wheelers and upside down campers.
"Yeah, but still..." she says, "Wind in the hair... sigh.... How hard is it to
take the top off?... sigh... Can't we look at the forecast in the morning?...
sigh..."
The discussion became moot when I rolled out of bed at 5 AM Friday morning to
find a distinct drizzle falling on the just and unjust alike.
Don't get me wrong, like most desert dwellers I really do like the occasional
rainstorm. But why must it fall on tour day? And, more to the point, why must
it fall in the predawn morning while I am walking my furry Dalmatian
bodyguard, Napoleon Bonabark, for a mile so he do what he does so well? I am
committed to walking him every morning that I can get out of bed and he is
committed to not going to the bathroom until he is down the road at least a
couple of hundred yards.
You'd think that rain would give him some sense of urgency, but nooooo.
Instead, rain slows him down. He has to search and search and search for the
perfect spot while I stand and stand and stand, rain pouring off the brim of
my Harry S. Truman style Stetson. We are both uncomfortable, me because I hate
being wet, and Napoleon just hates a watery loo...
By a quarter to six we are back at the house where Janet has a stack of warm
towels waiting. I am somewhat nonplussed to learn that the towels are for
Napoleon.
With the dog dried out, he and I hop in the SooBaaRoo and head through the
sheeting rain for the Doggie Dude Ranch where Napoleon will spend the next
several nights in despondent comfort. Sort of like Dana under the Alpine
hardtop.
The Doggie Dude Ranch and Cat Farm is quite an establishment. They board dogs
and cats and also take them on a daycare basis wherein the "clients" are
allowed to play and frisk together under the watchful eye of an attendant
armed with a squirt gun. They have facilities for disabled dogs, blind,
burned, whatever. You can even call your dog on the phone, I swear it is true.
All the dogs get a bath after three nights in the kennel and they actually
keep track of how much (or, in Napoleon's case, how little) the client eats
and will entice a dog to eat if he has lost appetite through despondence. It
is a good facility run by caring people.
So, how come I motor home under a cloud of guilt black as the morning sky,
heavy as a feminist's heart at a Larry Flint testimonial?
Ah, well...
Back at the house we actually have a little extra time to kill. We plan to
meet up with half-a-dozen members of Team Luigi and some other Southern New
Mexicans and Texans at the Raley's Supermarket next to the Interstate at 9 AM
to convoy north. Since I had planned to spend an hour washing the cars before
hitting the road and since washing them would now be absurd, what with a
steady, slow drizzle descending upon us, we can actually sit around and eat
toast and drink coffee for a bit.
At 8 AM the phone rings. It is Dan Eiland, a Team Luigi member who drives a
Tiger and lives in El Paso. Dan explains that the rain has been falling so
heavily in El Paso that he has been unable to tie down the Tiger on its
trailer for the trip. Literally coming down in buckets... Dan says he will be
a few minutes late at the assembly point.
We head for town where we pull into a gas station and find the Saltzmans, also
from El Paso, gassing up their SUV which is pulling their Jaguar E Type on a
trailer.
The rain has become just intermittent sprinkles by the time we, all gassed up,
shift over to the Raley's parking lot where we find Alfa Romeo Owner's Club
(AROC) National President Ed Mackey and his wife with their lovely red (of
course) Alfa Romeo Guiletta Veloce and their stately (but sprightly) Lancia
two door. Both cars are fine examples of their respective marques.
Team Luigi member Larry McMillan and his lovely bride, Connie Maxwell, are
making the tour north with a truly remarkable setup. They are taking both
their 1953 Studebaker hotrod powered by a bored 327 (probably around 340
inches total) and their 1956 Jaguar XK-140. Both cars are beautiful,
show-worthy but street driven examples and the really cool thing is Larry has
installed a hitch on the Stude and fabricated a towbar so he can pull the
XK-140 behind the hotrod whilst he and Connie float along in air conditioned
comfort, sipping coffee and chatting about the deplorable state of Rock and
Roll today or whatever. (Hey, whatinell is that hiphop stuff all about anyway?)
The caravaneers exchange cell phone numbers and at 9:35 I reluctantly give up
on Dan Eiland and sound Boots and Saddles. We pull out of the parking lot and,
of course, promptly encounter Dan in his pickup pulling the Tiger on his
trailer and preparing to turn into the parking lot. He waves us on, he will
catch up once we are on the freeway.
On the freeway headed north I slow down and let the rest of the convoy catch
up. All goes well for about 20 miles until we reach the Border Patrol
Checkpoint (nearly 5000 illegal alien removals, $17 million in drugs
confiscated) which is plenty busy so waves us through.
A few miles up the road we pull into a rest area ("NO FACILITIES"... Gee,
where do you think they might like me to start one?) where Dana and I shut
down to wait for the caravan to eventually catch up, which it does. We pull
into the tail end of the line so Larry can take over as Pathfinder because we
want to leave the freeway south of Truth or Consequences to avoid some nasty
road construction and LOOSE GRAVEL signs on the freeway and Larry knows the
best route. Unfortunately, the detour around the construction is almost as bad
as the construction itself as the rain has washed considerable amounts of
dirt, sand, and gravel onto the road.
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