On the one hand, I must admit I'm kinda wiped out thanks to all the traveling, hassling, schmoozing, book signing, story writing, speechifying, color announcing, occasional stints behind the wheel (that's still the best part!) etc. I've had on my schedule this year. But Thanksgiving is a great time to pause and reflect on what a lucky so-and-so [insert favorite Anglo-Saxon, Yiddish or Ebonic invective you wish] I am to be on this Mr. Toad's Ride in the first place. And especially since Carol & I flew west (Southwest, in fact, where baggage flies free) to spend a truly relaxing & rejuvenating holiday with our kids in LaLa Land. It was a small, lovely Thanksgiving dinner (someday, if you're nice, I'll divulge my top secret "orange, ginger, half-jalapeno" turkey, mixed root vegetable, cranberry dressing and giblet gravy recipes) but I'm afraid their small kitchen looked like a crime scene from Eddie Allen Poe's Murders in the Rue Morgue by the time I was done. But we all pitched in and cleaned up Italian style (i.e: men sit in front of the TV with the belt & top button of their pants open for comfort and consider the problems of the day while the womenfolk clean the congealed turkey grease, mashed root vegetable splatters and giblet residue off the walls, stove, floor and counter tops). Ahhhhh.

Naturally I had some Car-Guy Stuff mixed in to make it at least look like a half-business trip, and that included a book signing at Autobooks/Aerobooks in Burbank (an absolute must when you're in the LA area, but do bring your charge card). Two highlights of the day:

a) re-connected with my best friend from latter-day high school/early days college Dick Hummel, whom I hadn't seen or talked to for something like 35 years and hadn't chummed around with for more like 40. But it turns out he lives not too faraway and we got re-connected on the net thanks to the pep-rally types furiously promoting our 50th high-school reunion next year. Not really sure I want to go. I mean, here's a generation that's worked, wormed, wobbled and worried its way from Pontiac GTOs and acid trips to antacid tablets and Toyota Priuses. And who the hell wants to hang around with a bunch of old people, anyway? Especially when they all seem to think you're one of them.

And then there's all the "missing" faces, too....

But I digress. It was great to see him again, he looks disgustingly lean and fit (he always did) and relatively un-ravaged by travels, trials & time. We quickly managed to pick things up pretty much where we left them, which was nice. You can read about our epic, 1966 college-spring-break adventure to Fort Lauderdale, Key West and Sebring (in his BRG TR4!) in "Surviving the Snake Pit" in my Potside Companion short-story anthology. Like I said, great to see him again.

b) The really big attraction at Autobooks/Aerobooks that particularSaturday was a flash-mob club meet/car show put on by the justifiably semi-famous "Trompers of Eagle Rock" hot rod club ("Trompers" as in "tromp on the gas pedal!"). The club was founded way back in 1945, and the turnout included a lot of classic-style, old-school hot rods & customs plus some newer-style "rat rods" (I personally prefer glossy paint, flame jobs and pinstripes to primer & rust, but maybe I'm just showing my age...I mean, I'm not really enamored by tattoos or tongue studs, either). Personal favorite was this fabulous, historic-yet-hot-rod re-creation of a Helms Bakery bread-delivery truck ("daily to your door"), which were ubiquitous around the LA area back in the thirties, forties & early fifties. VERY cool and even more fun! A good time as always at Autobooks/Aerobooks. 

My last Saturday in LA was a really pretty special. As many of you know, I've been doing a series on "country club" tracks for VINTAGE MOTORSPORT magazine (if you don't have a subscription, you're really missing  out...click on the link above to connect to their website) and that has gotten me to some really interesting new tracks, some awfully keen events and introduced me to lots of really neat people. And lots of really rich people, too. Not that the two are necessarily mutually exclusive....

In any case, I'd glommed an invite to the Grand Opening of the posh new Thermal track outside of Palm Springs, and I asked my famous, LA-based racer friend (and now famous LA-based author friend) John Morton if he wanted to tag along. For those of you who live under rocks or don't give much of a shit about road racing, John was an up-by-his-bootstraps/didn't-come-from-a-big-bag-of-gold pro-racer wannabe who did grunt work for Shelby American during the storied Cobra/GT-350/GT-40 years while attempting to launch his own racing career with stubborn desire, undeniable talent and the proverbial frayed-shoestring budget. He eventually got fired at Shelby, caught on with Pete Brock, got a break to drive and parlayed that into back-to-back SCCA National Championships in a BRE Datsun 240Z (1970-71) along with U2.5 Trans-Am pro championships in the team's Datsun 501 (1971-72) followed by a long and intermittently successful pro career. 

But the point is that John's a truly nice guy with a quiet, unassuming attitude, and I really got to know him a bit while mooching rides in some of the Collier Collection cars (under the thoroughly transparent pretext of "writing a magazine story about them") as he's one of the collection's regular drivers. Lucky bastard. Although I must admit I had a better time of it the last time I drove the collection's iconic Scarab/Chevrolet (shown below at a test session at Roebling Road Raceway near Savannah a few years ago)

than John did at Monterey two years back when he wound up under the car (through, I might add, no fault of his own). And fortunately with no major damage to himself.

Two Februarys ago we both served as electrode guinea pigs for a highly scientific crew from the REVs Institute at Stanford University, who fitted us up with all sorts of wires and sensors (and did the same to the cars) in an effort gather data on the relationship between the driver's concentration, mental and emotional states and what the car is doing on the racetrack. Or that's what they told us, anyway. I personally believe they were trying to discern how loud a noise your asshole makes when it slams shut as you lose control and if it indeed makes your hair stand on end when that happens. 

Then we spent the day schmoozing with an amazing selection of old and not-so-old racing chums who'd also turned up for the occasion (Tom Gloy, Boris Said, Butch Leitzinger, Craig Stanton, etc.) and bombing around the completed first section of the Thermal track in some excellent M-series cars provided by BMW. Can you believe it, they fed us, too! Watch for my full report on Thermal in an upcoming issue of Vintage Motorsport.Quite a good time, if I do say so myself! And did I mention the bosomy, LA-issue models doing the hospitality service?

It turned out to be a wonderful occasion, what with a big turnout (it helped that they were raffling off a Ferrari to benefit the center!) and Bob Millstien's handsome and historic Hansgen Jaguar Special on display (winner of Watkins Glen "open road" race in 1953). Bob let me drive it once at Lime Rock (to do a story, of course) and it just so happened that he had come to pick it up following its stint on the floor at the IMRRC and that his birthday was the very next day. So the Center presented us with a cake and a calorie-riddled time was had by all. 

I'm happy to say the book signing also went well and I was re-connected with my artist friend Bob Gillespie, who is a wonderful painter and did the magnificent "Cunninghams at Stone Bridge" painting used on the dust jacket of the St. Martin's Press (3rd) edition ofThe Last Open Road. That's me & him below. Also me and somebody even more important in my life: