“Once Upon a Time, In the City of Fallen Angeles”

“Every journey begins with the first step.” As some wise old sage said, and I believe it. First step 3:30 AM, when two (and a half, his sister reminds me) year old Robert comes to visit my bed. First steps are the hardest, especially when you’re carrying 32 pounds of sleepy and his favorite blue blankie. Oh well, didn’t want to sleep anyway. Restless until 5:00 AM, awake for good at 6:00 AM.

No breakfast for me today, as I’m anticipating the scrumptious meal which awaits those of us fortunate enough for First Class passage on TW 65, which leaves ol’ St. Loo at 9:00 AM. Change brief cases for the third time. Much junk. Little space. Can’t wait to see X-Ray security dimwits at airport when they X-ray my bags. Self imposed rules are 1 small duffel bag for 10 days, not to wear clothes twice, and brief case for camera/Powerbook. I know the fate of the free world rests upon my shoulders, so I’m well prepared — two Swiss Army pocket knives and mini Mag-Lite!

Leave at 7:45 AM — Pamela sad to see me go — Robert doesn’t care, “I’m TIRED!!” Well, duh, quit getting up at 3:30 AM! Promise to call daily and mail postcards from all stops. Pamela has map to plot westward, then eastward travels. Must remember to buy stock in Rand-McNally based on probable profit margins of maps.

Arrive at airport — gate 44 on C Concourse! Only three further away. Good thing duffel only weighs 75 pounds. Security asks why I’m carrying needle nose pliers, wire cutters, and wash mitt. Tell them I clean up what I break. Blank look not unlike usual expression. Hoof it to gate 44.

First one on plane. Relax in seat as TWA flight attendants pamper me with service befitting my station in life. Oh yeah, First Class seat helps, too. Sit on tarmac 30 minutes — prelude of things to come? I hope not. Airborne finally, and repasting in fruit plate, then French toast (wheat, no less) strawberry yogurt and ham steak. This is the life. Those in steerage (the lower class, I tend to think) receive bagels excavated from Civil War battle site. Ah, the good life.

Read all magazines I’ve brought. Read Wall Street Journal. Pester flight attendant (“Hi — my name’s Susan, how shall I address you?” “I’d suggest a magic marker, please, and make sure the return address is legible.”). Susan laughs — a requisite for First Class service, I believe. Arrive Orange County Airport — Pat picks me up and in the Southern California way, we “do lunch.” Mugged by pigeons on patio of Italian restaurant overlooking Pacific Ocean.

New, improved 2.73 gears sure to be a hit across U.S.. Crower motor develops no low end. Muncie close ratio four speed has tall first gear. Makes for pain in the Yugo stop and go driving. 4:45 PM — arrive at Petersen. Find designated parking spot amongst other cool Mothers® cars. Must back SLEPE 63 into small spot with benefit of many persons guiding me. After four tries I leave it where it is.

Huge crowd develops around SLEPE 63 — all agree car is top drawer. Find out others from Mothers® describe SLEPE 63 as “chick magnet.” This is bad — I’m afraid of hitting chicken with car, getting feathers stuck in trim. After carefully watching crowd, I see no chicks. I’m confused. Gary “World’s Greatest Car Builder” Turnau explains chicks. I feel like Midwest hick over chicks. See many chicks who want car. Some suggest working out trade arrangements. I can only think of shoes I own which are older than chicks. Such is L.A.

Dennis gives me instruction on care of SLEPE 63 — any scratches and he suggests I fall off top of Arch in Saint Louis. Spots knot on tire — sidewall separating? Keep an eye on it, he says. Tough to see small knot on tire while driving. Will figure out something. Note 1/32” between tire and fender lip. Make conscious effort to give away product in trunk to lighten load. At evening end there is 1/16”. This is progress. If can double clearance daily, will have sixty four inches of tire clearance by time we hit Norwalk, OH. Can see this will be BIG story.

9:00 PM Party over. Start SLEPE 63 and pull in garage for evening. No headlights. Everyone has ideas — switch, relay, ground, wiring, man from Mars. Ends up being only part on entire car not replaced or rebuilt — floor mounted dimmer button. Immediately I think I have soiled car with my Ford feet. Guilt weighs heavy as Ken drives Frank, co-driver, and I to Radisson in ’70 454 Convertible. Maybe next year Ken and wife will decide not to have baby due when Power Tour is ready to go! Tomorrow is big day — first real steps in exciting journey of SLEPE 63’s cross country Tour.

Story and photos by,

Forrest Tosie
Mothers® Polishes•Waxes•Cleaners