Rallye!

Rally: Show 'Em What We've Won
Originally uploaded by jeffypoo.

Alright then. Story time.

So my good friend Katie impulse-traded her old Dodge Dakota pickup for a 2001 Porsche Boxster a few weeks ago. Quite the trade-up, I'd say. After all, when you purchase a Porsche (say that five times fast), you aren't just buying a car. You're entering an elite social circle to which few can claim membership-- the Porsche Owners' Club of America. This morning, with me in tow, she decided to reap the benefits of this newfound status, as we participated the Sacramento Valley PCA's Spring Flowers Road Rally.

To those unfamiliar with the concept of a road rally (such as myself until 10 o'clock this morning), let me briefly explain. The goal of a road rally is to follow a list of instructions to the letter, such that you arrive at a checkpoint at exactly the right time. There's no map (unless you bring one yourself), and the desired time isn't printed on the instructions. All you know is which streets you have to turn on, and what speed you should be averaging along the way. In more advanced rallies, there are additional tricks, traps, rules, stipulations, and surprises set up by the rally organizers. Spring Flowers was geared more toward beginners and first-timers, such as Katie and myself.

The cast of characters ranged from the recently retired to the less recently retired. Aside from a professor at Scripps and his wife, Katie and I were the youngest by about 30, maybe 35 years. Actually, this was a hoot. It seems like we stumbled upon the Secret Lives of Parents and Grandparents-- where those in their late 50s through 70s gather in a group, know their children won't be around to hear, and start acting like teenagers. The leader and organizer of this event was an affable Englishman (I presume, although his tan, muted accent, demeanor and hat made me think he spends a good deal of time in the Caribbean) named Goose. See photo above, he's got the shirt with "Goose" on it. Hell of a talker. His 50-minute long "Rally School," and his 20-minute award/mockery ceremony reminded me of John Cleese in its detached upperclass content, only significantly more mellowed out by the California and Caribbean sun. The best moment: when he addressed the winners of the Beginner division as "Mr. and Mrs. Pieceofshit," as they neglected to write their names down on their entry sheet. The whole group crackled and yelled "nice sheet, you piece of shit!" We were at RoundTable Pizza, a family establishment.

Kids these days. No manners.

The other guy I'll mention was the bully of the group, in the Expert (Equipped) class. He was there for one reason, and one reason only: to win. Armed with onboard telemetry and a wheel revolution counter that car magazines use in road tests, he guided his BMW 540i with precision, accuracy, and detached superiority. But people have their hobbies, I guess. I'm sure I'd do the same once the novelty wore off.

Anyway, onto race coverage. Goose had assured us that first-timers are always late, and sure enough, in the first leg, a jaunt through the orchards and farms of northwest Solano County, we were late. Way late. Our first-leg strategy, technically known as "eyeballing it," yielded a sterling result of two minutes and 59 seconds late (51:34 versus 48:35). The Bimmer came in two seconds late. But the free food was terrific.

The second leg was a scramble up and down a hill filled with flowers and vines, through the Yolo County hamlet of Winters, and back down to the checkpoint. We adopted a strategy of "eyeball it, but go faster," and it paid off. Still, we were 53 seconds late. At this point, I remembered that I was technically an engineer with two degrees from MIT and maybe by 1pm it would be late enough in the day to maybe do some math to figure your average speed, jackass.

And so the third leg was to be our triumphant rush to glory. However, in true Mike Bolton fashion, I screwed up a decimal point somewhere. As a result, I, the trusty navigator, had Katie rushing along at about five miles an hour faster than she should have been. We noticed this as we sped to a point just behind Atomic Time Bimmer, who was guaranteed to be exactly on time. For the next five minutes, I frantically redid my math (tougher than you would think in an open convertible with pen and paper), and computed that we should pull to the side for about 15 seconds just before the final turn. We did, and we came in... 19 seconds late.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to use my diploma as a place mat.

So that was the rally, in a nutshell. Woefully inadequate pictures here. Bay to Breakers tomorrow morning. Until then, increase the peace. Jeffypoo out.