“Dirty Little Secrets”
Out behind the big rig, it is said these words could be overheard:
Pssst buddy. Listen up. Just between us guys, and no one else. Got it? No one! Someone I know promised their wife they’d use sun block and stay covered up so they wouldn’t get sunburned like they have in years past.
You hear what I’m saying?
Anyway, this guy spent some time in the sun yesterday and again today, and he’s let’s just say, looking the part of a lobster at a party where he’s the guest of honor.
So, if you happen to talk to this guy’s wife, you don’t know nothin’, okay? Mum’s the word. Anyway, it’ll probably be gone by the time he flies home over the weekend, and no one will be none the wiser.
Capisce?
Writer’s note: The preceding is written for informational use only, and bears no resemblance to any person living or dead, who may or may not be involved in writing stories about driving an automobile on roads which may or may not be in the United States at the current time, any time in the past, or at any point in the future.
And now back to your story.
Our buddy Mark is a real one-of-a-kind guy. Mark does what he wants, always speaks his mind, and knows the best places to dine from coast to coast because he drives everywhere. Never sets foot on an airplane. Never.
Mark has a weakness — Bob Evans Restaurants. He knows the menu back and forth, and loves their breakfast and coffee. If Mark doesn’t eat there for two days, they call his cell to see if he’s okay, or if he needs directions to the nearest store.
Need directions? Are you kidding me? Mark has an atlas with every single store in every state marked on it. He’s been there, and read the book (the story of Bob Evans, that is.)
Mark ate there Saturday and was having withdrawals, so we stopped in the one nearest our hotel this morning (only 1.9 miles according to Garmin). Ken, the sophisticate he is, found some hand-painted art for his collection.
It’s a small collection.
With our thirst slaked, we headed off for the Detroit area’s Metro Beach. I was a bit concerned with the budget cutbacks in local government, but they must have found a way to maintain income from traffic violators — self service violations:
I guess it works on the honor system.
Both Jim and I are competitive people. He relies on skill and I rely on, well, stuff other than skill. His skill may make more brute power, but my skill has aerodynamics and about 15 pounds of boost. You can figure out for yourself whose skill comes out on top from these two pictures.
That one I took as I passed Jim.
This one Ken took from Mark’s Olds. That’s me way ahead.
The drive to Detroit can be boring, but at least you know you’re home when you see this:
Yep, welcome to the Motor City. Now try and get off the highway
while everyone watches.
Metro Beach is located on Lake St. Clair. With the cool breeze blowing in off the water, and the sun shining, a person could possibly get sunburned and never even know it, because it was so comfortable. Detroit must love Metro Beach as much as they love their cars, because they filled the place up. Look at all those cars — all shapes, sizes and colors.
Cars as far as the eye can see.
Detroit is full of history, too. Words like Gratiot,
Woodward,
and Nickey carry lots of history for the car guy or gal. Nickey’s still making things happen — this time with the new Camaro.
If you like your performance a little understated, there’s always an old E-Body to satisfy your desires.
Amazing — they could afford a 440 motor, but couldn’t spring the extra $12 for full wheel covers. Some people.
Ken, being the environmentally concerned one, has often considered alternative transportation power. He looked at one,
and he was able to test drive another.
I hope he makes his mind up soon.
Somewhere in everyone’s past is a story that needs telling. Take this guy, for instance:
I knocked, but no one was home.
It looked like a fine way to spend the late ’60s/early ’70s.
But you have to wonder why the antifreeze was there.
Maybe it was his secret stash.
Over at the MSD booth we found a killer 1962 Dodge 330 wagon. It came from the factory with this wedge,
and a four speed. How cool is that?
Out in the crowd we found a rainbow of colors
and more waiting to get in.
The Magnaflow guys decided my exhaust tips were looking a little dingy, so they were kind enough to polish ’em up with our new PowerCone.
Much better, thanks. Not to be outdone, John spiffed-up the big rig.
We know who has the shiniest rig around, don’t we?
For my artsy shots of the day, I found this chopped rod. Looks good from down low, back and front.
I, on the other hand, didn’t look so good trying to get back up off the ground due to my old age.. Thanks to the Boy Scouts for helping me. That was their good deed for the day.
The last time this rust o’ rod appeared in our story was May 12, 1996 when its owner, Will Handzel, then of Hot Rod Magazine, was driving it from LA to Detroit on the second ever Power Tour. Will still owns it, but works for GM now.
I think those bug splats on the radiator are from 1996. There must be some law about cleaning a rust o’ rod.
These Camaros were nice and clean, though.
While up on the trailer soaking up rays, I spied Ken and Mark making a food run.
Even though Ken is an uncle, he looked like an ant from way up there. I asked for a large cup of ice tea as they were leaving. Ken’s reply was either, “Not on your life,” or “Go ask your wife.” I’m still not sure which it was, but I never got my tea.
My old buddy David Kidd stopped by and asked for a ride in the ZR1. He was in awe of the electronics that made it such a supercar but didn’t understand them all. Rather than learn all the proper names, I prefer to use simple phrases that tell me what the functions are. Take this button on the left, for example:
It may look like traction control to you, but to me it will always be known as the stupid button, because I know if I push it, I will do something stupid. That larger round button is the active suspension dampening. I prefer to call it rock hard or rock soft ride. You get the idea.
At the hotel, and under a dark sky, I walked the lot for cars I had missed. The light was just right for this ominous shot to end the day — a Judge.
I was reminded by someone near and dear to me tonight that Ashton Kutcher has over 1,000,000 people following him on Twitter. I have 17. Just think — if I can make 50, that’ll mean he’s only 20,000 times more popular than me. That’s a big improvement over the 58,824 times it is now.
Math, it’s wonderful.
Tomorrow is Dayton, Ohio — home of Wright-Patterson Air Force base and where Wilbur and Orville started making bicycles and other contraptions. Take a fly back my way tomorrow and see what fun we have.
Your humble and obedient servant,
Forrest Tosie
Mothers® Polishes•Waxes•Cleaners
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