This link is currently down
thanks to the legal types at NBC,
who apparently think we're
trying to get away with something.
We're trying to figure out what?

Well, this is crap.

Seems I won't be at Amelia Island after all...
As the fates and bacteria would have it, I came down with a really obnoxious chest/head/nascent sore throat thing on Sunday. And that after feeling fine--hell, better than fine--through our early morning bike class, cardio-sculpt class and about 20 minutes of bonus Zumba class on Saturday. And if you haven't seen me dancing (sic) around like I've been bitten by swarms of stinging insects in Zumba, you've missed something truly worthy of an old-time carnival sideshow. Probably right next to the guy who bites the heads off live chickens ["The Geek"...go ahead, look it up].
But this thing descended like the curtain at the Ford Theater the night Lincoln was shot (quick, easy trivia: What play was he watching?) and left me coughing like Old Man Finzio in The Last Open Road and drooling unsightly & likewise unseemly fluid residue from at least two holes in my face.
Went to see our husband-and-wife friends/doctoring team on Monday (I got him started doing track days in his BMW and he's pretty much hooked) and swab tests of the above-mentioned gunk proved it was definitely NOT the viral flu that's been going around OR the dreaded Coronavirus. Which, by the way, should run for office, since it's become such a powerhouse on the political front. But that's another story, isn't it?
They gave me a three-day course of some REALLY potent antibiotics so I could get over it in time to make it down to Amelia Island for the Concours, and I even pushed my plane ride and rental car off an extra day to Thursday in hopes of being all recovered and ready to go.
The good news is I feel a little better. The bad is that I'm still pretty congested, still have a bit of a sore throat and am still going on occasional, disgusting coughing jags that you would certainly not want in the seat next to you on an airplane. Or anyplace else these days, come to that. Even if I dress for the occasion:

Plus the stuff I've been taking for it (and the thing itself) have knocked a lot of the stuffing out of me. I'll be fine in a few days, no question. But the only socially responsible decision (in other words, the one Carol insisted on) was to cancel the travel plans and stay home.
And I'm just sick about it.
So to all the friends I'd hoped to see (and new friends I'd hoped to make) at Amelia: Sorry about this. Hope to catch up with you next time. And do buy a copy of the audiobook.
You'll enjoy it.
I promise.

Mockup of this year's Buddy Palumbo Award, painted by artist Richard Smyth. The winning car will go where the green-over-white Nash Metropolitan currently sits. Unless, of course, the winning car IS a Nash Metropolitan, in which case our work is pretty much done here....
All the best,

I'll give everybody a little more time on this one:



Catch the latest poop & pictures, the Jay Leno interview, Last Open Road swag & highly inappropriate attire from Finzio's Store and the lurid & occasionally embarrassing "ride with Burt" in-car racing videos on the hopefully now fully operational website at: