Tosie’s Tour ’97

He’s baaaccckkkk! You hooted. You hollered. You laughed. You begged for more — more humor, more butchering of facts and figures, more cynical views of America through the windshield of the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang. In short, entertaining reading!

See what makes normal folks send e-mail like this snippet:

Date: 5/19/97 4:14 PM
From: Bruce E.
Wow! I gotta go change my shorts from peeing! Last year’s archives are unbelievably funny!

Remember how much fun the 1996 Hot Rod Magazine Power Tour was? Well, another year older, another year wiser (not to mention a year to think up MORE ways to have lots of fun).

Sit back and enjoy the unofficial version of 1997’s Hot Rod Magazine Power Tour — Tosie’s Tour, courtesy of our VP of Sales for the eastern United States, Forrest Tosie.

Day 1 — How Shall I Start?

It was a dark and stormy night? Nah, it’s been done before. Anyway, it’s a bright sunny day.

Call me Ishmael? Nope, I’m not driving a whale, I’m strapped in a red rocket.

In the beginning. . .  Hmmm, seems like that starts some big ol’ book, and I can’t begin to compete with all those Apostles.

How about HERE WE GO AGAIN!

YESSSSSSS. That’s it. Here we go again.

After completing an automotive retailer show in Nashville, a really neat way to meet and greet the store managers and management, where we educated them on why Mothers® Car Wash instead of dish washing detergent, I flew home late Friday night. Packed up the car and tried to explain to my wife WHY I have to miss the third Mothers Day in a row doing the Hot Rod Magazine Power Tour (it’s my job, honest. I really don’t want to have all this fun again. Heck, I’m barely over all the fun I had last year Honey. Really. Trust me.)

So, I finally shove off about 5:00 PM. My goal is to make it halfway to Denver tonight. Denver is where I’ll meet up with the other Mothers® folks in SLEPE, our ’63 Nova SS Convertible. Wait till the folks get a glimpse of the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang. They were impressed enough last year. Since then we’ve added killer 17 inch Antera Type 123 wheels in chrome, a complete Saleen/Racecraft suspension (hey, if it’s good enough for Tim Allen, it’s good enough for me) which also dropped the car almost 2 inches, and a sneaky set of 3.73 gears. The acceleration is downright scary now. Can’t wait to see how she handles the highway speeds. Gas mileage? — who cares!

It’s a great uneventful ride across Missouri — no construction, and I see zilcho in the way of law enforcement. My lucky day/evening. Blow through Kansas City about 8:30 PM, and miss the highway interchange — suddenly I’m headed south instead of west! Oops. Turn around and find where I’m supposed to go (which, on recollection, I decide lots of folks tell me where to go — they just don’t tell me how!). I-70 becomes a toll road, and I get to pay for the privilege of driving across Kansas. Lucky me!

Arrive in Salina, Kansas about 11:30 PM. Find a hotel and collapse for the evening. Tomorrow is, as they say, another day.

Day 2 — Look Out Denver, Here I Come!

Up at 5:30 AM in beautiful Salina, Kansas. Stumble out to the car and prepare to wash last night’s bugs off. Folks in Salina are so nice they leave the handle on the faucet — makes it much easier to wash — no need to dig out the pliers. Soon, bugs are gone, and the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang is way cool again. Shower and eat everyone’s favorite road breakfast food — McDonalds Hot Cakes and Sausage. By 8:00 AM I’m on my way.

See 3 Kansas troopers in the first 4 miles — a harbinger of things to come? I hope not. Speed limit is 70, and I trundle along at 72, bored to no end. Pass a 96/97? Cobra with the mod motor. Figures he can make easy work of me. He downshifts twice, and still the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang pulls him easily without even grabbing 4th gear. Those 3.73s are obviously the ticket. The Cobra gives up as I pass 130. At 145 it’s still pulling hard — wonder where it’ll stop? Guess the Vortech helps a little, huh?

Stop for lunch and gas in Colby, Kansas — less than 100 miles to Colorado! The wind is blowing at least 30 miles per hour, and makes cleaning the car again a moot point. Eat my trusty Whopper in 10 minutes and hit the road.

Colorado! Here I am! Stop in the welcome station and find some nice Ohio folks, Donna and David Olendorf, in a ’56 Chevy pick-up. They’re really in to rods, but they’ll tag along with a muscle car, especially since they use Mothers®! I give Donna a catalog to keep her occupied on the rest of the drive.

The ’56 runs good — we cruise at 80 on Colorado’s 75 MPH speed limit. No one passes us. Then, disaster strikes — in the mirror, I see a white blur approaching. It pulls up — a Lamborghini Diablo — I may be good, but I ain’t that good. I give up at 140, knowing I have more, but confident he has A LOT more! I wait for the ’56, and we continue our 2 vehicle caravan.

Denver, here we are! Arrive at the hotel — lots of locals already, and we’re 3 hours early! Check in, and scam a room for Donna and David, since their’s is 6 miles away. Now they’re part of the family. Clean the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang while waiting. No bugs in the daytime. YEAH.

Finally, Ken and Gary arrive in SLEPE. We line ’em up next to the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang, and clean both. I find out SLEPE died just before Grand Junction yesterday. What else is new — that car must know I’m around, so it breaks. Twice I’ve driven it, and twice it’s broken. Think I’ll stick to Fords.

Both cars nice and clean, so it decides to rain a little. We SHOWTIME® both cars, and it rains more. We give up. Hand out literature and samples to Tourers and locals. We stand and watch in horror as a gold chained buffoon backs a customized (or is it vandalized?) 63 Corvette in next to SLEPE, opening his door and banging into SLEPE’s flanks. He doesn’t even acknowledge his action until I thank him for his carelessness. He mumbles a pathetic “Sorry,” and slithers away.

After contemplating several acts of malicious violence against the lounge lizard, we decide the worst punishment possible is for him to be seen driving this abomination. We give up on the evening, and head for the food, which Mopar Performance has sponsored. Afterwards, we head to our rooms to prepare for tomorrow’s journey to Goodland, Kansas, and the Vo-Tech school where SLEPE retired during last year’s Power Tour.

Day 3 — Downhill From Here!

After taking parts of two days to get here, I now turn around to head back from where I came. My wife was right — I am nuts to be doing this!

Awake at 4:00 AM, with nothing to do. At 5:00 AM, I’m out washing the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang. The Weather Channel says it’s 38º, and it feels like it. Good thing I remembered those sweat pants. By 6:00 AM I’m done, and the dew has settled back on the car. Optimist I am, I figure it’s a good excuse to use SHOWTIME® Instant Detailer, which I do 5 times until the sun is up enough to burn the dew off and warm the paint.

It’s now 8:00 AM, and I eat a marvelous Denver type breakfast with other Tourers. By 9:00 AM I’m done, and bored out of my skull. I walk the lot, look at cars, and offer tips to others on keeping their cars clean (hint — never stop washing them!). After aggravating enough of the other Tourers, I pull out the new Evolution 4 car cover which those folks at Coverking were kind enough to send me. It fits, as I expected, like a glove, and others are instantly jealous as I not only have the cleanest, shiniest car, but it’s covered to protect from the Denver air. Seems as though I read somewhere this was one of the 10 worst cities for air quality in the U.S.. With their temperature inversions, smog, and attitudes, I can see why.

Jim Savas, Publisher of Hot Rod, and all around nice guy lets us know today is the day we’ll be giving away our neat Mothers® buckets to all the long haulers — those who are driving from L.A. to Mount Clemens. Jim will subtly suggest at the driver’s meeting they come visit us at the Baer Racing trailer after the meeting is over.

After the 11:30 AM driver’s meeting we are inundated with folks looking for buckets. Seems as though Jim erred in mentioning free, Mothers® and stuff in the same breath. Folks who joined up last night are now claiming they have been with the Tour since L.A. We instantly run out of buckets. In typical third grade fashion we take names, promising to send them when we finish the Tour. We also decide to carefully screen the entry log for L.A., along with the list we have just made, and cross reference with the crowd in Mount Clemens, to remove those who dare lie to their Mothers®. Hint to the masses — never lie to those of us who seek the truth. We WILL find you out.

Tour starts late as usual. We merge on to the highway with a Viper GTS-R, which promptly disappears in traffic. We barely make 75 by the bottom of the ramp, and he’s gone, never to be seen until the lunch stop. Others claim they will see him running, he claims, 185 on the open highway.

Ken wants to photo speedo wrapped around like SLEPE is on the official Power Tour web story, so I oblige with judicious use of my right foot. He snaps the photo at about 120 with the car running uphill, still pulling hard. As we crest the hill I look up to see a Colorado State Trooper standing on the side of the road next to his patrol car. I have instant visions of the Sammy Hagar music video, “I Can’t Drive 55,” as I am hauled off to prison for a term not exceeding 400 years. The trooper does not walk out in the highway to flag us over, but merely waves!!!!! This is, for once, my lucky day, and I make promises to never pull such another foolhardy stunt for at least 30 minutes. I of course, break this promise as I have most others I’ve made in my life.

Finally catch the Tour at the lunch stop — Limon, Colorado, McDonalds. We are, no doubt, the biggest thing to ever happen here. Folks are almost ready to leave as we arrive, so we gulp copious amounts of grease without wasting time with any meat substitutes they might have on the menu. Ken drinks 128 ounce mega-super sized drink. I suggest he visit boy’s room as there is no stopping until Goodland, Kansas.

We pull on the highway at the same time as Chip Foose in the BoydAir car, a ’57 looking ’59 Chevy with no top. We look for rain clouds, but see none. Also running with Chip is Posey, the builder, in his rod, which sports ultra-cool green headlights. He drives with his left turn signal on for about 70 miles, which is NOT cool. However, the turn signal is green as well, so we cancel the blinker out with the cool factor of the color. No harm, no foul. We smoke them both, several times, u ntil they bow down in homage to Mothers®.

As we enter Kansas the road becomes rough, and the speed limit drops from 75 to 70, which few obey anyway. Tourers close up ranks, and we are soon one moving mega-jam a la the 405 on any work morning. At last, the Goodland exit! And SLEPE is still running! They will be so amazed!

Traffic stops on the interstate as we all exit. At the bottom of the ramp stands either a local law enforcement person, or a school crossing guard, we can’t tell which. She blocks cross traffic so the Tourers can proceed into town uninhibited. Ken, cynical Californian he is, refuses to accept the premise of the town shutting down for us. As we run stop lights, stop signs, and the like, he starts to believe.

When we turn down Main Street, and Ken notices all the businesses are shut down, with the employees out front waving to us (as we run more stop signs and the solitary stop light) Ken accepts his fate — we are someone!!!! We are Tourers! He has seen the light.

We arrive at the Vo-Tech School to crowds of hundreds, maybe thousands (well, maybe not). The automotive instructor is saddened to see SLEPE arrive under her own power. He is devastated when he finds out she will be leaving under her own power, too. He calls the (2) local parts stores, and tells them to not only close up and come over, but to cancel the Concorde trips to Paris, as well. Sorry to disappoint them, but hey, life goes on.

After another great meal of hamburgers we spend time explaining proper use of products, and tips on keeping other Tour cars as neat as the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang. All are amazed.

Ken and Forrest mutually agree to head for the hotel to prepare for tomorrow’s big drive to Kansas City, where Forrest will pick up the real MOM — Barbara Holloway. Only problem is our hotel, the next nearest to the official Tour hotel, is 30 miles and one time zone away. On the other hand, though, we are 30 miles closer to K.C.

When we arrive Forrest sees a Wal-Mart, where he buys them out of car wash mitts, to add to the pile. Ken stays in the car, processing digital pictures from the great Minolta camera they loaned us. We return to the hotel, where we find other Tourers already in residence. We check in , and Forrest immediately begins to wash the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang again. Ken suggests treatment for obsessive-compulsive disorder, which is declined. Forrest suggests Ken walks to K.C., which Ken declines. We are even.

After washing the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang, Ken suggests we eat at Sirloin Stockade, the nicest eating establishment in town. It is just after 9:00 PM, and they are closed. We go to Burger King, for more (you guessed it) burgers.

All retire to rooms for preparation of the trip to K.C., and Barbara’s grand entrance.

More, of course, tomorrow.

Day 4 — And Amber Waves Of Grain

Which really should be green, because that’s how the Kansas countryside looks this year. Must have been a nice wet Spring.

Up once again about 5:00 AM, with nothing to do since I washed the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang last evening. I walk next door to my favorite eating establishment (you guessed it again, Burger King) for their world famous French Toast Sticks. More healthy food for the start of another day. If Richard Simmons were on this Tour he’d have a coronary from our food intake habits.

Head to the gas station to fuel up and buy post cards for Pamela and Robert. 3 and 5 year olds love mail, even if they can’t read the words.

Ken and Gary show up, ready for another day of fun and sun. Gary wisely decides to keep the top up on SLEPE, as his ears are burning. We explain that’s because we were talking about him. Gary does not understand.

We motor to the top of the highway entrance ramp, ready to catch Tour for great photos. They are already going by, 15 minutes ahead of schedule! We blast off, and the race is on. Again. More 80+ cruising by all, as they evidently can’t wait to leave Kansas behind. We stop for photo of World’s largest Prairie Dog, which purports to weigh 8,000 pounds. This is the same place with the live 6 legged cow. Some folks have all the luck. Why can’t this monument to nature’s happiness be where WE can visit it every day? A rhetorical question indeed.

We soon blow through Ellis, Kansas, which is, as all good Mopar fans know, the boyhood home of Walter P. Chrysler. As if by magic, all the Mopar powered machines pull over and stare at the town. As if it were their Mecca, they fall to the ground in homage. “We’re not worthy,” they chant in unison. After a short period of contemplation, we agree. They’re not. Wayne and Garth would have been so proud. Party on!

For some strange reason the Kansas Department of Transportation has placed pylons down the middle of the interstate. No trucks. No workers. Just pylons. In a sudden fit of adolescent mischief, we turn them into an impromptu slalom course, and slide from lane to lane. Thanks to the wonderful Saleen/Racecraft suspension the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang handles it with style, grace, and minimal body roll.

We veer back to our lane as a looming sign snaps us back to reality. It is for the next exit — Garden of Eden, Kansas. Ever since that sneaky ol’ serpent pulled one over on Adam and Eve, man has sought this place out. We now know why it was never found by those who seek it. God, in His infinite wisdom (and a terrific sense of humor, I guess) put it where no one would ever look — the middle of Kansas! What a kidder!

In honor of my high school history teacher, Mr. Coffman, I carefully research the “Post Rock Country” sign we see next. Come to find out since wood was so scarce, pioneers made their fence post out of cut limestone or sandstone, and strung the barbed wire to them. They still stand today. Can I have my “A” in history now, please, Mr. Coffman? Throughout the area we see wagon ruts left from the westward trek of our forefathers (well, maybe yours. Mine came over on a boat.). They exist after 150 years. I wonder if the ruts made by 429 cubic inches of Ford power still exist in Mr. Coffman’s front yard because of that “B“ from 22 years ago?

Celebrating those great ol’ Western B movies which we all loved, we pass by Boot Hill, in beautiful Dodge City, Kansas. Wonder if ol’ Walter P. Chrysler had anything to do with that one?

SLEPE and the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang thirst again, so we stop in Russell, Kansas, home of that great Republican curmudgeon, Bob Dole. After filling up, we ask for directions to Bob’s house. Seems as though SLEPE has 2 Jack in the Box clown heads on her antennas, and we want Bob to autograph them. We figure they’ll be worth a lot when Jack Kemp runs for the Presidency in 2000 with the slogan, “Jack’s Back.” Alas, the locals look at our trusty steeds and figure we are miscreant Democrats trying to cause problems, and refuse us directions. We even offer pictures of Kennedys with baby-sitters, but they still turn us away. These Kansans are certainly protective of their own.

We split up, Forrest heading to the K.C. airport for Barbara Holloway, the REAL mom, while Gary and Ken continue on the tour. I set the cruise on 73 MPH, and the world passes me by. Trucks pass. Cars pass. Tourers pass. Since I have A/C and CD, who cares? At least I am traveling in style, albeit slower than most.

Back through the toll road I go, and arrive at KCI airport, 20 minutes before Barbara’s arrival time. I park in front of the door, and proceed to SHOWTIME® the entire car to remove those pesky Kansas bugs which are splattered all over the front. In short order I am the coolest car in airport. Many travelers stop, bags in hand, and compliment me on the appearance (okay, it was really 3 people, but in Kansas, that’s a lot of people).

Barbara comes out the door, her roll around suitcase is small enough to fit in our confining quarters. It weighs just slightly less than the 1997 Federal budget, though. Barbara remarks on the suitcase’s sturdiness, and its long projected life thanks to its quality. I grunt my agreement as I stow the wheeled wonder.

We blast south, headed for the party thrown by Edelbrock in Johnson County, Kansas, the tony suburb of K.C., and arrive at 5:15 PM. Gary and Ken have parked SLEPE at an angle, saving us a spot. I clean more bugs from the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang with SHOWTIME®, and the fun starts.

Folks stop. Folks look. Folks ask questions, mostly about SLEPE. Some discerning individuals ask about Vortech superchargers, but I guess this is not my night. Even women come over, remarking how “cute“ SLEPE is. Gary mis-hears, and thinks he hears them say they think the driver of SLEPE is cute. This is soon rectified. Laughter really is good for the soul.

The sky darkens, the band stops, and it cools off. We pack up and head for our hotel, and rest for tomorrow, where once again I will wash the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang as we head for the gateway to the west, Saint Louis.

Day 5 — Homeward Bound

Up at 6:00 AM in beautiful Kansas City for another day of leisure and fun. Ah, this is the good life. It’s 55º outside, so I wash the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang and reorganize the inside to better fit Barbara’s roller suitcase. While physically it’s small, I’m sure the weight will play havoc with the Saleen/Racecraft suspension which has done me so well up to now. Missouri’s highways, as I well know, are less than ideal for such a set-up, and the bumps won’t be fun with the extra weight.

Car’s clean. I’m not. I shower and eat the first healthy breakfast of the trip (corn flakes, 2 bananas, and a glass of orange juice). The rest of the hotel starts to stir, and I see an amazing sight — Gray Baskerville, designated old man of Hot Rod Magazine. Only problem is, for the first time in Gray’s life he’s not wearing his world famous flip flops. He has boots on! Gray explains he needs them for a photo shoot this morning. I remind him he looks like Farmer Gray now. He tells me to #%&*@@! and smiles. Those media celebrities can be so tough.

Barbara up. Ken up. No Gary. Finally, Gary shows up. Driver’s meeting starts. Savas reminds everyone this IS NOT A DRAG RACE, and to stay in the right lane, lest they incur the wrath of the Missouri Highway Patrol. He begs us not to leave until the Hot Rod van pulls out.

Finally, we’re on our way. The directions take us an extra 30 miles around town, just in time to sit in construction which reduces I-70 to one lane. We are not happy. Construction finally ends 20 miles later, and the drag race is one. Knowing the Missouri Highway Patrol, we stay at 73, which allows us to continue across the state unmolested. We arrive at the first gas stop/lunch area just as the main group prepares to leave. Ingesting McDonalds at breakneck speed, we are on our way. I wonder how long Ken will squirm in the seat of SLEPE after 2 super sized sodas.

In the middle of Missouri, we pull up alongside SLEPE. Ken turns to face us, then mouths the words, “SHOOT ME,” with agony on his face. Barbara and I laugh so hard we are glad WE didn’t drink the mega-sized sodas.

Across Missouri we roll, suspension bottoming on most bumps, but having a great time. Barbara and I solve most of the world’s problems, and economies, too. What a life. At the next gas stop we catch a few more Tourers. We’re getting closer!

Forgoing the last stop, as fuel is adequate, we roll early in to Saint Louis. Traffic is already heavy on the interstate, and once again the directions take us around town, through extra traffic which threatens to overheat the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang. We finally arrive at Forest Park, site of tonight’s blast, and meander through the park, which was the scene of the 1904 World’s Fair. We arrive at the lot to see it over half filled with local cars — so much for Tour parking.

We park, then move again as Gary finds a “better“ spot to show off the cars. Go through the now routine ritual — clean car, prepare goodies to hand out. My parents arrive, in tow of Barbara. She was walking around, and they spied the Mothers® shirt and asked where we were parked. More folks show up — my younger brother (another Mustang owner, though his is not near as cool), customers (Ken and Leetha Schaper from Ed Roehr, Marty Burch from Reliable, Ronnie Kopakken from Arrow Speed), reps (Tony Shaw) and friends.

Our friends with the Tiger Sunbeam come over with Jim Lohsee of Edelbrock in tow. Their frame rails are cracking near the bumper from the rough Missouri roads, and they need them welded. I call around, and find a welder who will stay late to help out a Tour dude. It’s nice to be famous. Lohsee expresses his sincere gratitude (“You know, you’re not near the %&*#hole others say you are.” “Funny Jim, I was just gonna say the same about you.”). Don’t you just love the friendships that build driving cross country?

A television crew shows up, asking about our cars, and Ken manages to describe them in great detail without once ever saying the word Mothers®. Obviously, he needs to watch NASCAR race drivers interviews more.

Lohsee comes back frantic. Vic, Nancy, and Camee Edelbrock need a ride to the airport, and the host club can’t be found (ha — they only have 4 members in the entire club. My Mustang club offered to host it with our 300+ members, but we were shunned because of the blue oval, for a bow-tie). Pay back time.

After groveling, begging and pleading, I line Jim up with our club president, Mark Ingoldsby, who takes them to the airport in exchange for donations to our club raffle pile of goodies — throttle bodies, jackets, and whatever else Mark can extort on the drive to the airport.

My wife shows up with Pamela and Robert. They climb all over me and the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang. Pamela leaves for her Brownie/Daisy meeting, and Robert stays with me to goof off and look at cars. Eventually, they return.

As it gets dark, the wind whips up and the crowd thins out. Me thinks it’s time to go. I give Gary and Ken directions to the hotel (which I only pray they follow), and I take Barbara to an airport hotel for her flight home. Pamela rides with me for quality time.

We drop Barbara off, only to discover her hotel reservation is for the Kansas City airport, not Saint Louis. We ask for a non-smoking room with room service. We are laughed at. She settles for a smoking double room, but it’s better than a park bench.

I head home, to sleep in my own bed for one night, and wash up all my towels, which have really been getting a workout. Can’t have a dirty car, you know.

Tomorrow I’ll catch up on junk till noon, then meet Ken and Gary for the shortest day of the Tour, and the Rock n’ Roll Hardees of Springfield, Illinois.

Day 6 — Ol’ Abe Had It Made

He only had 100 miles to get to Saint Louis. We go the opposite way, but it’s still a nice short drive.

As usual, I’m running late because I washed and dried my towels, took Pamela to school, washed and dried the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang, caught up on voice mail and faxes, and THEN picked up Pamela from school. I leave the house at 11:30, when the driver’s meeting is supposed to start.

Arriving in Collinsville, Illinois at 11:55, I see a local police type person block off the highway exit which I’m on so the Tourers can leave. I show my sticker, explain and plead, and he lets me around. 10 seconds later I see the Tour coming at me in the opposite lanes, with SLEPE 5 cars from the lead. Practicing my midwest habits, I first stop in the middle of the street, then drive over the concrete median (good thing it’s only 2 inches high) and pull a U-ie. The policeman is screaming and hollering at me, and talking in to his walkie talkie to the next cop at the bottom of the entrance ramp. I judiciously apply lots of the loud pedal and fly up the ramp before he can wave me over for discussions of driving etiquette and a possible citation for meritorious service.

After several miles I catch SLEPE, and we run together at BELOW THE SPEED LIMIT (what did Savas say in the driver’s meeting I missed to cause this?) with the rest of the group. Gary rolls down his window and advises he needs to stop for gas. Figuring he needs it now, I take the next exit.

Guess I misfigured, and I never see Gary and Ken in SLEPE again. I merge back with the Tour just in time for construction to take I-70 down to one lane. Seems like we just saw this same thing yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. You get the idea. 15 miles from Springfield the construction ends, and I take off in search of SLEPE, so we can park together at the Rock n’ Roll Hardees. A big fat zero. Traffic is backed up off the ramp onto the highway at the appointed exit, and we slowly inch our way into Lincoln-land towards the Tour stop.

I park where I’m not supposed to, invoking the name of Lord Savas, keeper of all things great, and go in search of SLEPE. Still no luck, but I find 2 parking places right in front of the main stage. I, of course, claim they were for us originally, and convince other Tour dudes to lay down in them while I run back to the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang. Driving the wrong way, against incoming cars, I arrive at the appointed spots. Right after getting out, Ken runs up out of breath. Police type officials won’t let SLEPE in to where I am. I suggest he invoke Lord Savas’ name, which must work because Gary soon shows up in SLEPE, and life is good once more. Come to find out Gary chose to wait until SLEPE was on fumes before trying to exit at a ramp which was closed for construction. Guess that’s one way to find a gas station not loaded with Tour cars.

We eat a scrumptious meal at the Rock n’ Roll Hardees (thanks Auto Custom Carpets, owners of the orange GTO Judge with nitrous). I pig out big time with 2 roast beef sandwiches, fries, shake, diet soda (of course), and an apple turnover (darn, they discontinued the cherry ones). Ken eats fried chicken meal, 2 apple turnovers, and has a gallon of diet soda.

Sunbeam Tiger Tour guys come up and pay homage for the great job I did of lining up a welder for their frame rails. Folks stayed late, and didn’t even want to accept payment. Gave our Tour dudes free beer, too. They think I am a swell guy for knowing everyone. Jim Lohsee comes up and kisses my shoes for lining up transportation for Vic, Nancy and Camee to the airport in Saint Louis. As Jim is wiping his tongue off, Rick Anderson, head honcho of Anderson Ford Motorsports shows up. Rick is the responsible party for the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang’s performance, having installed all the go fast goodies. Lohsee’s jaw drops as he realizes he is standing next to THE premier 5.0 guy in the country, and a shop who is not using Edelbrock’s stuff on top of it. I introduce them, and let Jim do his pitch on Rick. Rick interrupts long enough to let me know he has brought a 1996 Saleen Cobra, one of only 10 made in 1996, to the stop. He suggests I would look good in it (it’s red, of course), and it would run like stink with a Vortech on it. I promise to come over and look at it. Sounds like a great company car, hint, hint, if anyone is listening.

The crowd mills around, and SLEPE gets lots of attention. I’m amazed folks know every magazine she has ever appeared in. The most common statements are (guys) “I had one JUST LIKE THAT,” and (gals) “It’s so cute!” The chick magnet strikes again. I determine, however, Gary is one of the few males with reverse polarity for those chicks.

To pull folks over to the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang, I take off my real license plates (MOTHRS) and put on my custom made fakers which Missouri refused to issue due to racial insensitivity (YO MAMA). And the crowd goes wild. Folks laugh and photograph them.

Gene from Centerforce comes over and surmises the real reason Dennis bugged out in Grand Junction was so he wouldn’t be embarrassed in Denver when the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang blew SLEPE in to the weeds. Gee, I never thought about it. But, since Gene is older, and therefore wiser, he must be right. How ’bout it, Dennis?

At about 7:00 PM, the police block off the street, and the burnout contest starts. Ken gets great photos with the Minolta digital camera, and promises to post them up on the web story tonight.

When the sun goes down, it gets REAL cold. We pack it up and head to the hotel for rest and story writing. Ken does the National Geographic/Jack Webb version (just the facts, ma’am) while I do the National Enquirer version (who cares about facts, my stuff’s funny!). Ken and Gary are taking a side trip tomorrow morning with some of the big time builders (Brizio, Chip Foose, Boyd’s designer, and others) to Troy’s place, which is just up the road. He’s working on a thirty something Plymouth built on a Viper frame/drivetrain. Sounds wild. We make plans to meet in Lansing at the next stop.

Ken makes a few calls to local pharmacies, trying to work out a bulk discount on all the Quaaludes they have, so he can make it the next couple of days. I offer my portable CD player with lots of Barney and Sesame Street CD’s, figuring he’ll go for it. Ken admits it sounds worse than his situation (think about it).

Ken recalls someone yesterday asked for a jar of Mag & Aluminum Polish. He can’t remember who, but they had a Chevrolet (412 cars). It was a Camaro (293 cars). And it was red (226 cars possible in the parking lot). I’ll just hold on to the Mag Polish until they show up again I think.

Tomorrow we take over Lansing, Illinois, a little ’burb in the shadows of downtown Chicago, where the Mayor (who can’t be too bad of a guy, he owns a 60’s Corvette) has blocked off all the downtown streets for a blowout party to end all.

Until tomorrow.

Day 7 — The Story Of My Life

Asleep in beautiful Springfield, Illinois, and 2 days out from Mount Clemens. I awake at 6:00 AM, when Ken and Gary arise for their trip to see Troy’s shop, masterbuilder extrordinaire. They plan on leaving at 7:00 AM, with several members of the Hot Rod staff, Chip Foose, and the Brizio. Since the car is nice and clean, and I am exhausted, having stayed awake until 12:00 AM, I for once fall back asleep until 8:00 AM.

The first time in several years I’ve actually stayed in bed that late.

I finally reawaken, and get ready to hit the road. Gary and Ken have checked out, so I just pack up and head for the Holiday Inn, where the Tour headquarters is. I buy postcards to send to Pamela and Robert, then dispense copious amounts of advice (and some free stuff, too) to those interested parties.

I meet up with the sweep trailers at McDonalds, and do the generous thing and buy them breakfast. They truly are the unsung heroes of this thing. They also are the ones who picked up SLEPE outside of Grand Junction, so I figure we owe ’em. The driver of the Ford Motorsport rig tells me the highlight of the trip for him was picking up one of GM Manufacturing’s Camaros when it broke down. He claims to have pictures, which I promise to add to the web site. Melvin, who is pulling the Baer Racing trailer (and keeper of our inventory in the trailer) lets us know the Tour is leaving from the Holiday Inn, so I go and blast off. My Ohio friends in the ’56 Chevy pick up, David and Donna, let me in line. Life is good. We zoom out of Lincoln-land, and head for upstate Chicago-land. Too many lands around here, I think.

I set the cruise control on 68 MPH, and find the Tour dudes are actually running the speed limit, except for miscreants like RRRUSH, those crazy cheeseheads from Wisconsin who e-mailed me several times asking for tips on what to bring. At the speed they’re traveling, I hope they have a radar detector and lots of cash. We arrive at the gas stop, and immediately tie up the entire town. It appears as though they have sent their only reporter and cameraman from their only television station to check the Tour out. They stick microphones and cameras in several faces, looking for that Emmy quality interview. Many are not impressed. (“So, what’s it like to drive in your car across country with lots of other people?,” and, “What kind of car is your Camaro?.” Other great gems include, “Is finding gas in Kansas a problem?” answer: “No, we ate at McDonalds.”) Finally, time to blow this joint. Good thing, too. It appeared as though the clerks at the Stop n Rob had used up all the Polaroid film in the store inventory taking pictures of cars.

Coming down the ramp onto the highway, I follow the 1997 Corvette GM has brought. The driver must have left his emergency brake on as I blow by at the bottom of the ramp, and then set the cruise back at 68.

Finally, we arrive at I-80, a mere 4 miles from our destination of Lansing, Illinois. Only problem is, I-80 is not moving. There is construction, just like last year. And the year before. Wait, it IS the same construction as the past two years. Guess it’s their tax dollars (not) hard at work. An hour later we exit the highway and drive into Lansing. We pass a Pep Boys, which will have great relevance soon. Turning on to the street, I see barricades. They turn away the car before me, then see I am a long hauler and usher me through. As I pass, the policeman suggests I “make a little noise.” I do my best to uphold the request of the law enforcement community, much to the delight of some locals.

I find 2 primo parking spaces right next to the Splitfire tent, who is sponsoring the party tonight. I then find Gary and Ken in SLEPE, and suggest they move. Gary is convinced his parking space is better, but eventually sees things my way (“Well then give me my company credit card back.”) and moves SLEPE over. Savas soon arrives in the Lobeck Splitfire car and takes up residence next to us.

Jim starts to SHOWTIME® the Splitfire rod, and I grab my bottle and towel and finish the job up, since I know I can do it better than he can. He mentions waxing the rod, and I run for my detail kit to do the job as only a real Mothers® can. Jim just smiles. So do I.

Gary leaves for dinner and returns 15 minutes later, satisfied. Ken and I go and stand in line for an hour for a hamburger, bag of chips, and a “pop.” It clouds. It sprinkles. The wind blows so hard it closes the hood on the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang. I am not happy about this occurrence, and blame the Gods of bow-tiedom for their anger at my blowing the ’97 ’Vette off at the last gas stop.

Ken and I walk around, cool Minolta digital camera in hand looking for shots. Ken sees a water tower with a smiley face on it. That sounds more like Kansas, not Chicago. We have heard rumors of an MG Midget with tigerskin interior driven by a woman, and tags which read “PLEASURE.” Ken figures this would be an interesting photo shoot, or possible hood dance. Just our luck, she must have already left. We do spot a mid ’80’s El Camino which is sanded bare metal, kind of looking like a Delorean with bad hair. Ken chooses not to photo it. We also pass a 1960’s Honda 600, tubbed with a monster motor sitting in the front on 10 inch wheels, and 26 inch slicks on back. It is all we can do not to lose the hamburgers we stood in line an hour for.

We return to our cars, pack up and leave as we dread the 5:00 AM driver’s meeting tomorrow for the trip to Mount Clemens. It will be a short night.

Oh yeah, about the Pep Boys store we passed — 3 very excited store employees show up in a mini van. They climb out and proceed to put on giant costumes of Manny, Moe, and Jack. Then, they wave to folks, scare children and small animals, and disco dance to the tunes played by the DJ from Manhattan Beach, California, who is accompanying the Tour. Most folks are not impressed with Manny, Moe, and Jack, and suggest new names for them. After 2 hours they pile back in to the mini van and leave. And the world is a better place. No doubt they are now stocking shelves back at the local store. We are convinced they learned their lesson about doing what the boss asked, when he asked.

We check in to the Red Roof Inn, seeing Martin Mull’s smiling face in the lobby. Then we attempt to connect the computers and find we can not. We plead with the front desk for their fax line. They turn us down. After an hour of trying, Ken walks over to another hotel, finds some sympathetic Tour dudes, and uses their phone. It works fine. We must now get up for a 4:30 AM phone session to upload today’s story and files. I once again wash the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang.

And the band plays on.

Day 8 — Is It Really 4:30 AM?

I’m up, to prepare for the drive to Mount Clemens. Little do I realize Ken has been up most of the night fighting with phone lines, trying to get the web stuff uploaded. I uncover the car and pack all the junk up. It seems my bag grows as I go east. I may start losing clothes on purpose, or my bag won’t close by the time this thing is over.

Ken knocks on my door, and drops off all his bags but the computer. He’s scammed a room at another hotel to use to upload yesterday’s stuff, since this Red Roof Inn is not computer friendly (or even helpful!). He ambles off into the darkness. I hope we’ll see him again, as he has the meal tickets for the Tour.

I check out of our rooms (clerks never look happy to be working this time of morning) and head over to the Holiday Inn, where the driver’s meeting is. The small access road is totally blocked with cars trying to get in, trying to get out, and just plain ol’ trying. I finally turn around as the driver’s meeting ends, and a wave of (grumpy) humanity heads towards their cars. It looks kind of like a LeMans start where everyone runs to their cars, fire ’em up, and blast off. Only, there’s no where to blast off to as the road is jammed three cars wide on a two lane road. We finally work it out.

One of Lansing’s finest is there to guide us behind the Hot Rod Magazine van to the highway. Only problem is, the Hot Rod van is buried in the parking lot at the Holiday Inn. After walkie-talkie conversations, the police car pulls out, and we dutifully follow. Around the ramp to I-80 east we fly. The Saleen/Racecraft suspension reminds me why I don’t ever want to live in the Chicago area — the potholes, asphalt patches and cracks in the pavement jar my fillings. We finally hit Indiana, and the roads smooth out. Gee, if fuel taxes are so high in Illinois, where does the money go?

On to Michigan and our first fuel stop at Paw Paw. Ken spies a Big Boy’s restaurant next door, and heads over to buy tacky gifts for others. Gary in SLEPE and I head down to McDonalds after fueling, where we hope to beat the masses of Tourers. We make it! Service is unbearably slow, and when we get our food the line is out the door for the 3 folks working today. Guess we forgot to tell ’em we were coming so they could prepare with more help. Other Tourers offer to buy our food for usurious profit, but we decline.

Back to the highway, we await the Hot Rod Magazine van and blast off east towards Mount Clemens and destiny.

An hour up the road, disaster strikes! We see a sign for Climax — 1 mile! Many no doubt worry they won’t be ready in the mere 50 seconds it takes to reach Climax at these speeds. I slow down, as I want Climax to take longer to get here. Others must not think like me (maybe they’re the newlyweds who are on the Tour), and speed up.

We blast through Climax, and I’m disappointed since no one asks if it was good for me. They never call.

Through our next gas stop there are rumors we will line up here based on originating city for the cruise in to Mount Clemens. Since we are still over 70 miles out, Gary thinks this is wrong. For once, Gary is right. We head east (remember them?) full of fuel and anticipation for Detroit, motor capitol of the world, and Mount Clemens, destination of the 1997 Hot Rod Magazine Power Tour.

Remind me not to complain about the highways in Chicago any more. Detroit is worse. Lots worse. My poor Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang recoils from slam after slam, the Saleen/Racecraft suspension taking a severe beating through the potholes, frost heaves, and patchwork done on I-94. Four Tour cars succumb to the damage I am later told, all suspension related. Hint to Detroit — FIX YOUR ROADS!!!!!

After driving around the city for what seems another 200 miles, we happen upon the River Road exit for Mount Clemens. This must be the place, since traffic is backed up on to the highway. We idle off, directed by one of Mount Clemens’ finest, and down River Road for our grand entrance. Throngs of humanity line the shoulders of River Road, scoping out the cool cars which have traversed 2300 miles to get here.

We pull in to the staging area for the long haulers, a parking lot with 2 security guards. They check originating point stickers, and line us up for an escort from a 1950’s vintage police car which looks like it is too good for Barney Fife, let alone these folks. Finally, it is time to go.

The crowd waves. The crowd points. The crowd photographs us. The crowd laughs at my “YO MAMA” license plates.

When we get to the area where the tour ends, Barney Fife disappears. No one tells us where to go. We know where we want to tell them to go. Finally, we see a sign, and circle several blocks to get in the long haul parking.

The long haulers congratulate each other for having made it.

With little else to do, we detail SLEPE and the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang. We hand out literature and samples, and reminisce over the great time we’ve had.

Ken goes to take more digital photos, and I receive a gift from David and Donna, my ’56 Chevy pick up friends from Ohio: a set of stickers for the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang which say, “Fingerprints p*ss me off.” Life IS good.

We look for non-Tour type food, and find a Domino’s Pizza around the corner. As much as I’d prefer Pizza Hut right about now, anything other than a hamburger has real appeal. We eat.

My sister-in-law and 4 nephews show up. Seems as though my brother is out of town again (know how he feels). The boys, all certified car nuts, want their pictures taken in both SLEPE and the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang. We, of course, oblige. They leave. We goof off, as we have since day one.

The Kiwi’s (New Zealanders, for those of you not educated) come over looking for a bucket o’ Mothers® products. I empty out the trunk, and toss in another bucket and a wash mitt as well. In exchange, they give me a key chain from Deja Vu, a “sophisticated men’s club“ which was across the street from the Rock n’ Roll Hardees in Springfield, Illinois. They claim to have found the key chain in a washing machine. Yeah. Right.

At least, that’s the story I’m sticking to as to how I came to possess said key chain.

At dark we go try to crash the party Petersen is throwing at a local establishment. The bouncer, who never smiles, does not let us in. We find one of Ken’s many Petersen friends, and they get us the necessary wrist bands to allow admittance. This time, we pick another entrance where the bouncer is much cuter, and actually smiles, too.

Ken sees Ro McGonegal, Editor of Hot Rod Magazine, with Linda Vaughn, the most recognized automotive type person in the world. Ken thinks it would be swell to have his and Gary’s picture taken with Linda by Ro. Just as Ro is about to snap the picture, someone yells for Linda to show a “little more cleavage.” She obliges, and the shutter opens and closes with Ken’s eyes leering down Linda’s top. We have many, many, laughs. No one laughs harder than Linda. For some reason, Ken does not think this is very funny.

We trade lies with others around, then leave for the cars, and our destination for this evening — the hotel in Sterling Heights. We drive forever, swearing we saw a “Welcome to Canada” sign several times, before arriving. After checking in, we reward ourselves for a trip well done with a steak which is, coincidentally, well done. We then collapse in our rooms, and make plans to deliver SLEPE to the trucking company for shipment to California, at 7:00 AM.

Day 9 — End Of The Road

Up at 5:00 AM for the LAST time! I hear the strains of Bob Seeger and the Silver Bullet Band. “Up with the sun/gone with the wind/she always said I was crazy. . . ” Yeah. Like there was any doubt.

We pack, throw the bags in the cars, and head out to Reliable Transport, those world famous folks who are to truck SLEPE back to California. At 7:00 AM we arrive (are we in Canada, boy it’s a long way) and Gary starts the paperwork/inspection. I, on the other hand, choose to enter their facility and see what other kinds of neat cars are there for shipping. Hmmm, 2 Ferrari’s and a Bentley right inside the door. There’s a Viper. And a Studebaker V8.

This place is all right.

I return to the parking lot just in time to hear Gary ask, “Who is going to load the car? I don’t want some stupid truck driver tearing this car up.” The truck drivers standing there (one of whom is to drive Gary to the airport) graciously ignore his comments. If they can haul all that cool metal inside, they can haul SLEPE, I figure.

They inspect SLEPE with a fine tooth comb. Since their business relies on keeping good stuff looking good, I have no doubt they’ll take good care of SLEPE. Gary, though, is another story.

Gary removes his tool box from SLEPE, and plans to take it on the airplane. I explain they won’t let him carry it on. He’d check it, but he’s certain the American baggage handlers would steal his tools. The group (all eight of us) finally convince Gary to leave the tools in SLEPE, and go to the airport. For once, we get our way.

Ken rides with me to the airport, where he exits and heads for the ticket counter to secure a seat as far from Gary on the plane as possible. Or maybe another plane, he doesn’t care. After all this quality time together, Ken just wants to be alone.

I head to the interstate. The clock reads 6:32 AM Saint Louis time, 7:32 AM Detroit time.

It’s time to go home.

I meander west on I-94, backtracking the way we’ve just come. As I pass Climax, it doesn’t occur to me to slow down this time. I must be tired. Of course, the speedometer is up there. I wonder, if folks drive 94 on I-94, how fast DO they drive on I-294?

There can’t be many deer or raccoon left in Michigan, based on the number of flattened ones on the side of the road.

Stopping for gas only, I soon make the Indiana state line, where fatigue overcomes me. I stop at the welcome station, and nap for 15 minutes before resuming the trek back to Saint Louis.

Just through Chicago (still construction, and I’m certain there are more potholes today than 2 days ago), I pass a green van for a funeral home with Michigan plates. The van speeds up, and holds a quickly scrawled sign to the window: I USE Mothers!. I give him the thumbs up sign back and continue on my way. No matter where you go, someone always knows who their Mothers® is.

Finally, I’m on I-55 headed south. This’ll take me to Saint Louis, and the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang to her garage for a well deserved rest. I start seeing Illinois troopers. Lots of troopers. More than I have seen the entire trip, I do believe. Do they secretly know I’m almost done with my odyssey, and are daring me to speed one last time? Or, maybe I’m just paranoid.

In the middle of Illinois, it starts to rain. The sun is shining. Just my luck.

Near Effingham, Illinois (motto: We’re not near anything, and we don’t care.) the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang turns 20,000 miles. Yikes, it’s about worn out. Hope the boss person comes through with that Saleen Cobra I saw in Springfield the other day.

A quick mental calculation reveals over 30% of the car’s total miles have been done on the three Hot Rod Magazine Power Tours (anal record keeper I am).

To ward off fatigue, I take to drinking copious amounts of diet soda. The rough pavement reminds my kidneys of their function. For some reason, my average speed falls due to all the stops.

Finally, I see the Arch — one which isn’t associated with McDonalds. I have arrived!

I pull up, and check the mileage — 3191 miles in 9 days. No tickets, a few scares, and lots of rock chips. Such is life.

It only takes 6 trips to unload the car, and then I start sorting all this stuff. At this rate I’ll finish about the Fourth of July. It was fun. It was a gas (actually, a lot of gas). I can’t wait for next year.

My Epilogue. . . 

. . . is different than Ken’s — it consists of people to thank, and miscellaneous thoughts which didn’t really fit anywhere.

The thanks:

Hunter Engineering, for the superb job their training folks did to give me an exceptional wheel balance at 145 plus MPH. It’s no wonder they make the world’s best wheel balancing equipment.

Coverking, for the ultra-nice Evolution 4 custom fit car cover which kept the Way Cool Mothers® Vortech Mustang clean and dry at night.

Saleen Performance Parts, for the great job Joe Gosinski did in helping me put together a suspension package to give me good ride quality and handling which is out of this world. Obviously, though, it was never meant to carry loads of stuff over pothole infested roads like in Detroit and Chicago. Still, it did great, and nothing broke!

Everyone at Mothers®, who covered for me, allowing the opportunity to once again goof off in the name of work.

My family, who missed me (at least I think they did). I know I missed giving Pamela and Robert their baths, and reading them stories at night.

The not so nice part:

Ford, can’t you guys put a seat in the Mustang with some upper shoulder support? Why can’t the top of the seat curve forward to reduce some of the muscle strain so noticeable on long trips? My Volvo does.

The truck drivers who drive in the left lane, because they’ve already torn up the right lane, and don’t want to ride on the rough part. Guess what? Get out of the way!

Dump truck drivers who don’t have those diaper type things on the back of the truck. All that crap falls off and dings up my car, and the others around me too. This ought to be a law!

Nice folks we met:

Tracy and Austin, those cheeseheads in the Z28 from Wisconsin. Hope you enjoyed the trip enough to do it again next year.

David and Donna from Ohio in the ’56 Chevy pick up. It may be old, but it sure ain’t slow!

All the Petersen folks — they treated us like kings — Katherine, Jim Savas, and the ultimate party animal, Gray Baskerville.

Linda Vaughn, the tireless icon who has done more for the automotive aftermarket than anyone I can think of. Next year, Linda, drive the Hot Rod Lincoln!

And everyone else who, unfortunately, has faded into a blur in these tired eyes. This includes all those nice people who came up and told us how much they enjoyed reading our stuff each night on the web.

My plea for next year: Somewhere in Kansas, with not much to do but drive and think, I decided on next year’s ride — a 1965 Falcon convertible, done up in the same color as SLEPE. So, if anyone knows of a nice 1965 Falcon convertible (body condition is important, drivetrain is not) in the southwest or on the west coast) e-mail me. It’ll get a good home, and be famous next year to boot.

See you next year!

Story and photos by,

Forrest Tosie
Mothers® Polishes•Waxes•Cleaners