Bob E, Joe, Dwight, and Kelvin's (and Edith's!) BIG weekend

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  “Go left.....go left!....GO FLIPPING LEFT YOU IDIOTS!”

Edith had become convinced that we had no idea where we were going and her normally sultry tone had gotten much more insistent the further we strayed from her recommended course.

   Edith (as we had dubbed her) was our GPS and fifth passenger on this epic road trip which would see us cover 2853 km over four short days.  The plan was to drive down to Carlisle, Pennsylvania on the Friday, spend two days (and no small amount of money) at the flea market, then head back home on Monday.   Friday went as planned but not without event.  It became apparent that the paper map still has a place when navigating over a long trip.  Edith generally got us along our desired route and her pleasant voice was comforting and a bit comely, but on occasion we had to insist that she shut the heck up.  Not wanting to hurt her feelings we were polite about it.  Promising her flowers and a shoe shopping trip helped considerably.   As our relationship with Edith grew closer over the next few days, we would eventually have to swear a pact not to ever discuss our brief affair...but that's another story.    

    While highway travel is usually boring, much of Friday's drive was anything but.  Many of the parkways where are quite attractive being lined with mature trees and well-manicured grassed areas.  Even the overpasses where faced with stone and have obviously been designed with looks in mind as opposed to simple utility and function.   The frequent toll booths became a game of find the correct change and we had great sport with the political, economic and religious views expressed on people's bumper stickers.  The heavily populated corridor near Boston and New York saw an increase in traffic and we all got a bit of a charge out of seeing the skyline of New York down river as we crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge over the Hudson River.

    Due to the popularity of the event, hotel pickings where slim and ours wasn't amazing.  Joe and I had to change rooms as the original one was like a race horse that had been ridden hard and put away wet....it smelled...and not in a good way  Even the 'better' room was no great prize.  On Saturday morning I had to beat the taps and shower valve to get any amount of water out of them.  They were encrusted in mineral deposits and clearly needed replacing.  We'd at least done better than Dwight who mentioned that they had been unable to coerce any water out of their tap at all.

    After courting heart attacks and award winning cholesterol numbers with a massive breakfast, we hit the goal of the trip and found  the flea market…which proved  to be somewhat disappointing.  It only took a couple of hours to tour all the parts vendors and a good percentage of them where commercial outfits selling cheap tools and general accessories; the sort of thing you could find anywhere, and for less money.  When asked, none of the sellers admitted to selling on eBay and had no idea what the going prices where.  They generally asked considerably more than they should have, and at the end of the day still had most of their stock.  

   The car show was much more worthwhile with a wide variety of foreign makes.  There were more Saabs there than I'd have thought even existed and a fleet of TVRs, Marcos, and other obscure makes.  French cars where well represented along with many Italian offerings.  The ambiance was occasionally marred by a rock band that had little talent but plenty of volume.  I did get to meet three E-Type owners with whom I exchanged email addresses, and  Kelvin made the only lucrative 'barn find' when he picked up a couple of sets of carburetors for his Mini for thirty bucks.    I had found a small bolt-clip-hanger thingy for my car that I'd been searching for for many years and as I traded a ten dollar bill for it,  Dwight, Kelvin and Joe leaned over in turn and said they each had a couple of them in their junk boxes back home.

     Joe was a different story.  He's been talking about getting another car project for some time now and had circled into a Lotus S3 like a bee to a flower and spent no small amount of time chatting with the owner.  I played Joe's conscience and tried my best to alternately talk him into, then out of buying it.  The owner made claim to a history he couldn't prove and seemed terribly eager to sell, even going so far as to mention that he'd consider offers below the asking price.   We discussed the possible sale the entire way back and it's likely to continue until he either does or does not buy the car.  Fabacians are encouraged to badger Joe incessantly about it.  The club could use a Lotus in the fold.

    As a testament to the notoriety of our members, I met a Volvo owner (1969 P1800) from Ontario who knows of our very own John Bowles and his involvement in British car racing in that province.

     Over diner that evening, we discussed changing plans for the rest of the trip.  Clearly, it would be a waste to spend another day at the flea market so we opted to wander leisurely north to Manchester, NH where Joe and I would make a pilgrimage to the premier Jaguar parts supplier, SNJ Barrett's.  This would also set us up for a few other stops of opportunity.  

    The next morning we headed out and spent no small amount of time consoling Edith who had become somewhat upset over our route change.  We'd been talking with a couple of truck drivers over beer Saturday afternoon and they had suggested an alternate route north that would (hopefully) avoid much of the traffic we'd encountered along the Boston/New York corridor.   With her feathers smoothed, we motored north at a relaxed pace. 

    I have to make mention of the superb job done by our driver and food critic, Kelvin.  Politely refusing our offers to help with the driving, he steadfastly guided our vehicle without incident for four days, and despite being screamed at on occasion by four different voices simultaneously when we were convinced (wrongly) that we would all die horrible and grisly deaths if we didn't turn left “RIGHT THE HELL NOW!”,  remained unfazed and never put a wheel out of place.  

    Sunday evening saw us in a much nicer hotel on the outskirts of Manchester where we were directed by the desk clerk to a 'real British Pub'.  The 'pub' turned out to be decorated in that somewhat tacky fashion that that we North Americans think British pubs look like but actually aren't.  Despite that, the food and beer turned out to be excellent.  Even Kelvin was impressed and gave the place his approval.

    Afterwards we languished in the hotel's lounge where we reluctantly let Joe teach us poker.  Dwight and I had admitted to having no interest in card games whatsoever but quickly came to eat our words as we discovered ourselves greatly enjoying the game.  We had all tabled our respective stashes of American coins we'd been saving for paying the frequent tolls and soon gained a modicum of skill at reading both the cards and our opponents faces and presumed intentions.  We became absorbed in the game, had a hilarious time, and the evening passed pleasantly, ending only when Kelvin wound up with all our money piled in front of him.   We losers got some small revenge by agreeing  that Kelvin would henceforth pay all tolls.

    Monday morning was magnificent and found Joe and I prostrating ourselves before the hallowed doors of SNJ Barrett LLC.  With religious reverence we entered and made offerings to the displayed Jaguar parts and accessories.  Our credit cards where accepted and bags of holy and blessed Jaguar parts descended from the warehouse to our open arms.  Even Dwight and Kelvin where given token gifts of Jaguar mugs as an incentive to embrace the Jaguar calling.  It was great fun to finally meet the proprietor, Tony Lee, whom Joe and I had exchanged numerous emails and phone calls with over the years and we departed satisfied with (finally!) having purchased some Jag stuff.  

    Guided now by (mostly) the map and Joe's recollections of previous visits to the Maine coast, we sauntered along the scenic back roads towards what Joe promised was the absolute bestest fish and chips in the world.    His memory proved to be flawless as we parked along the main street of a quaint seaside town and walked a few metres to what can only be called a shack beside the road.   Lunch was eaten outside on a small veranda behind the shanty overlooking the water, and the combination of a magnificent view, sea air, superb company and the best fish I've ever eaten was heady stuff and put the trip into perspective for me.  What I'd feared would be an interminable and boring eternity on the road had turned out to be a pleasant and enlightening experience.   My traveling companions where jovial, smart and funny and both the kilometres and miles passed quickly thanks to sparkling (and frequently hilarious) conversation.  The emotional 'funk' that had enveloped me for so much of the winter had been lifted and I found my spirit restored.  I've even been motivated to get off my darned frigging butt and get working on the Jag.  

    A personal epiphany out of the way, we continued north along the coast.  Not long after, we made the only wrong turn of the trip, corrected it after half a kilometre (and a quick stop for directions), and arrived at the Transportation Museum in Owl’s Head, Maine.  We were the only ones there and spent considerable time contemplating the displays.  It features a wide variety of cars and aircraft, and showcases two shops where the vehicles are restored and cared for.  The aircraft technician was in house and we thoroughly enjoyed chatting with him.  The restoration hanger is not roped off or guided and visitors can wander freely amonst the aircraft, which are in various stages of restoration.  In one corner was a pre-first world war biplane being built mostly from scratch.  It displayed superb workmanship and attention to detail.  The vintage construction methods elicited much discussion from all of us.

      Now facing the last leg of the journey, we motored on north towards the border which was passed uneventfully (and inexpensively...whoopee!), and with Fredericton looming over the hills, tallied the trip numbers.    It had been 2853 kilometres and had cost the three of us $103 in gas (“No Kelvin, you're NOT paying for gas!”).  Hotels had averaged $45 a night each and food costs had been very reasonable.   Dividing the price of the parts into the total resulted in a ridiculous cost.  It would have been cheaper to have them hand delivered in a gold plated Rolls limo.  However, factoring the fun, companionship and a bit of adventure into the equation changed the results completely and made the purchases excellent value and well worth the trip.  While I'm not sure that I'd bother going to another Carlisle event, I wouldn't hesitate on taking part in another road trip like this.

....and really guys....honestly.....sometimes I'm just not aware that I've passed wind.

    Bob E.