Got yer cookies?

Thankfully for me there are no images to verify what I am writing about.

The Long Beach Grand Prix has been playing out on the streets of Long Beach, California for 35 years now. Always a unique event as it is run on the downtown streets people drive to and from work, home, and play each and everyday.

Check out this video from back in the day when Formula One ran on the streets of Long Beach.

And one more video of Lou Galati's Corvette Bar-b-Que at this years GP. Wait for it...

It takes some three weeks to prepare the barriers, fencing, pedestrian crossovers, and all the other support controls necessary to put on this event.

After a ten minute orientation session at the temp agency they were just hired through, an army of people, whose sole purpose is to inform you that, "you're not allowed to go there" or "you cant go 'this' way", are unleashed upon us all in an effort to "help make the Grand Prix a success."

Communication usually solves all kinds of problems. (Save for the vacuum of a grand prix weekend) If you heard a giant sucking sound that weekend, if it wasn't the guvmint sucking your, your children, and your grandchildrens (sp) financial future out of your back pocket, it was the giant flaming ball of suck created over downtown Long Beach thanks to an unimaginable amount of stubbornness inculcated into the people who "work" Grand Prix weekend.

Regardless of the question, the answer is no. With that in mind it becomes a battle of wills.

Is it safe to say that when someone gets their bluff called (threatening to have you arrested) and loses, you really have seen their angry side then. Because now their ego was smashed. And for what? Because you wouldn't backup and walk through a different door ten feet away to wind up at the exact same place?

It's kind of like that whole sibling rivalry thing, "You will do as I say when I say it" kind of mentality you have to deal with at just about every turn...

Friday morning ALMS cars went out for a forty-five minute session. I headed to the outside of the hairpin for this session as it provides a cosmopolitan downtown feel to the pictures thanks to the high rise condos and office buildings that line the circuit.

Approaching the corner I notice a fairly warm (read heated) discussion about gaining track-side access. Here we find one Long Beach security guard refusing to allow two ALMS series regular photographers into the area to take pictures.

Reason...





wait for it...





They're being refused access because they have hard card credentials (I'm yelling now)!

What is a hard card you may ask? A hard card credential is a form of credential that is issued by the sanctioning body, in this case IMSA/ALMS, to individuals who cover a majority of ALMS events.

But that's not enough to demonstrate the absurdity of all this. You see, when you are a HC shooter in the ALMS you have a special issue black and orange photo vest. On top of that, the Long Beach GP officials require that we wear their special blue bib looking thing.

Both photographers had all the proper acutriments.

But since that isn't enough to demonstrate all this stupidity, bear in mind that the photographers who are trying to get trackside have no less than 12-20 thousand dollars worth of camera gear on their person.

Why-o-why you ask was the good security guard refusing access? Access was refused because the Grand Prix Association of Long Beach had printed out a sheet that was given to all security workers indicating that American LeMans Series and SCCA Sports Car Club of America hard cards are not allowed trackside.

Insert a WTF right here. What the F

Beautiful thing is that a photo hard card from the ALMS actually says "PHOTO" on it. It doesn't say "flaming ball of suck" on it. If it did maybe the LBGP security goon could say, "Hey jackass, your hard card says 'flaming ball of suck' on it. It doesn't say 'PHOTO'" and thus he may be correct in denying access.

Soon enough a heard, yes a heard (more than two thanks to the way most of us behave in public), ALMS hard card shooters show up and the security goons relent and promise to "fix" the situation later. Fifteen minutes of 45 consumed in the giant flaming ball of suck that is the LBGP.

Great fun.

The usual press conferences happen announcing various things and various people use various "new to me" words and phrases like "torsional rigidity." That's a fun one. Try it out!

During one of the press conferences the new team owner was quoted as saying the new chassis of his new race car has 18,000 lbs of torsional rigidity per one degree of flex.

Sounds cool huh?

This go around, a rather unusual press conference was held thanks to Helio Castroneves being found not guilty on six of seven tax evasion charges. Just in time to compete in the GP on Sunday.

Speaking of torsional rigidity, I have no effing clue what it really means and lack the desire to Google that sh!t, so I offer the understanding I have of it now.

Saturday morning I arrive early so as not to miss the opportunity to park in the parking garage (garage access closes at 7:15am since it is inside the racing circuit so I am parked by 6:40am), get to the mandatory photographers meeting (7am), and shoot the morning warm up session (7:30am).

All that goes down well enough without any hickups. No problems. Pictures from the session look good. Light was nice and low.

After editing and delivering images nature made the inevitable call.

The mens room on the bottom floor of the Long Beach Convertion Center is a fine facility indeed. Complete with four sinks on your left as you enter. This, followed by a beautifully tiled divider between the four urinals that follow and separating the next three stalls (one of which is for the mobility impaired) is another beautifully tiled divider.

Re-iterating, that's four sinks, a beautifully tiled divider, four urinals, another beautifully tiled divider and three stalls (one of which is for the mobility impaired).

Inside the comfort and convenience of the Long Beach convention center's mens room I take care of the call of nature in the middle stall of three (one of which is for the mobile impaired).

Pull up my pants, tuck in my shirt, and exit the middle stall of three (one of which is for the mobility impaired).

As I exit the middle stall of three (one of which... ) I pass the beautifully tiled divider, the four urinals, and choose the second (from the left) of the four sinks to wash my hands.

Taking careful note of the good feeling one has after such an occasion (I know you know what I am talking about here too... It's the "WOW! I wont have to do that again for a week!!!").

I hear the door to the mens room open and see someone adorned in Tequila Patron sponsored clothing enter the mens room via the mirror in front of me and my peripheral vision.

He walks past as I hear, "What the hell is this!?"

Water still running and hands all lathered up still enjoying my post (you know what) feeling I look over my right shoulder to see this person, adorned in Tequila Patron sponsored clothing, stopping short of the four urinals looking curiously at the also beautifully tiled floor.




To my horror I see a long stretch of toilet tissue.

A stretch of toilet tissue spanning from the middle stall of three, past the four urinals, the two beautifully tiled dividers right up to, and tightly tucked into the crack of my own ass.

Yes, there is no less that twenty-five feet of toilet tissue strung out across the floor from the stall to my ass.

The dapperly dressed PR agent I mentioned takes the "One giant leap for mankind" hop, skip, and jump across the TP to the urinals being careful to not touch the offending TP.


Torsional Rigidity.

Defined. Realized. Observed. Personified and a great many other "'ed's"

How so you may rightly ask?

Allow me to retort...

How many times have you used a public facility for similar reasons and cant get more than three squares of TP much less a wad sufficient in size to mop, swab, dab or otherwise the remnants, leftovers, loose ends, miscellany etc.. of aforementioned activity?

Are we making progress yet? Torsional Rigidity people.

So I Googled it for you anyway and here it is:

"The ratio of the torque applied about the centroidal axis of a bar at one end of the bar to the resulting torsional angle, when the other end
is held fixed"

How ironic that the TP in the mens room at the Long Beach Convention Center is equally strong. Unfucking-breakable. 18,000 lbs of torsional rigidity per one degree of flex.

M. Night Shyamalan make a move called Unbreakable? It was a metaphor about this roll of toilet paper. If only I had known.

Not wanting to make a complete ass of myself (too late) I begin to "roll" up the TP all the way back to the middle stall of three.

When I arrive at the middle stall of three I apply the clean and jerk move on the massive wad of TP I have accumulated during the journey from the sink only to realize this is not the way to sever the roll of TP.

You see, the clean jerk motion I just mentioned put a spin so violent on this thousand foot roll it initiated a massive acceleration that shook the walls of the stall itself.

The hell wheel-'o-TP is born a new. Hell hath no fury like a bigass roll of TP.

At least another ten yards of TP unfurl onto the floor. Add that up... That is an unholy load of TP.

So much for the Green Initiative. I killed all the momentum for that.

Knowing the kind of rumors that would immediately spread once word got out about this I decided it best to confess to my colleagues the events of that morning long before they had a chance to embellish.

Offers were made to re-enact with characters not in the original score and take pictures. Thankfully, that never happened.

I had a 6:35am flight out of LAX Sunday morning. Upgrade to First class. Sweet!

Seems the Texas Womens Volleyball team (does Texas have a mens V-ball team?) had a game in the LA area.

What is it about them V-ball girls? They're all smoking hot, tall, tanned, and have deep voices.

While they were boarding the hottest of the hot - the one with the deepest voice - asked one of the other athletes, "Got yer cookies?"

I like cookies.

All Welded up and ready for paint

Stopped by the body shop today to check out the progress on my Cayenne.

Looks like it will go to paint tomorrow. Finally!

Making a deposit...

How hard could it be to make a deposit at your credit union?

On the morning of Wednesday March 25, 2009 I had a dental appointment to address a possible cavity. Something the dentist had seen the last couple visits for routine cleaning. You know, it's the kind of thing the dentist says, "there's something there so we're going to take care of that now before it becomes a problem."

I hate the process of the whole dental appointment. So much so that my dentist, at my request, will prescribe some Valium tablets for me to take prior to visiting so I can resist the whole "Exorcist head twist" move while anticipating the needle followed by the dreaded drilling. The nasty awful drilling. Nastiness!

I know I am a Polly Prissy Pants about this stuff.

I have my reasons. One of them is being drilled upon when I wasn't numb. Hello excruciating pain!

The girl who answers the phones and manages his office called in the Valium for me the afternoon before. When I went pick it up Walgreens had no record of it being sent it. I left the drive-thru slightly perturbed knowing what would follow in the AM.

I call the dentist office realizing they were closed and left a message on their voice mail hoping that someone would call me back and follow up.

Negative.

I bravely show up for my appointment fully conscious, un-medicated. Unadulterated. (Sort of-ish)

I find out when I walk through thte door that the prescription was "'re-sent' this morning" and "why didn't I pick it up?"

BEACAUSE NO ONE CALLED TO TELL ME IT HAD BEEN CALLED IN AGAIN! THAT'S WHY!

The dentist ackowledges the fact there was a mild screw up with getting my "premeds" and began to reassure me that this would be painless today.

Don't you love that? You know the routine I trust... "You'll feel a little pinch now." Right!

It felt like the needle, when it entered my gum just above my left front tooth, pushed all the way through to the back of my left shoulder blade. Yeah, I got your little pinch right here mister!

(Did I mention I am a Polly Prissy Pants about this stuff?)

The drilling begins. You see, the anticipation of the pain coming again is what causes my anxiety. I begin sweating immediately, twisting the armrests off the chair and often times I will stop breathing. The good dentist reminds me to breathe.

The drilling pauses for a moment. I ask if I was going to feel anything would I be feeling it right now.

"Oh yes!!!" was the retort.

Relief.

For the most part this visit was uneventful and lasted about twenty minutes total.

I go to school for my classes.

Storms were coming this day. Typical for this time of year.

I get a text message from my mother informing me that a hail-producing thunderstorm is headed straight for us.

We're all going to die.

I still need to make this deposit.

It's 5:30pm and I have one hour and ten minutes to make the deposit and get back to campus for my late class.

I leave campus and head to my credit union.

Sitting in traffic I feel something on the back of my front left tooth. In fact I feel a lot of what I will call "splatter" on the back of that tooth. Not smooth like it once was prior to the dentist visit this beautiful am. Perhaps it was some of the filling material that didn't get cleaned up. I don't know.

I keep "feeling" it with my tongue until "SNAP" goes something and a piece of something else comes off that tooth.

Holy (insert massive amounts of profanity here) crap! "The filling just popped out", I think to myself. More like screamed to myself.

I call the dentist (They're closed of course. They close at 4:30pm). What can I do now? Nothing.

I continue to my credit union to make the deposit.

Heading west on Duval the skies are dark grey, the wind is blowing fairly strong, and it is beginning to rain a little.

I am about three hundred yards from US Hwy 183 and the small hail stones begin to pelt the car. Nothing too alarming but I decide it would be best to find some shelter as soon as possible.

One hundred yards from US Hwy 183 and POW! BOOM!!! POW POW!! (Those left a dent I think!) Baseball sized hail is pummeling the car. Now I'm worried. As I approach 183 I'm wondering why no one is moving through the intersection of Duval and 183 at the green light.

Yes, we have a green light but no one is moving.

No one is moving because underneath the overpass are a huge number of cars seeking shelter from the biblical in proportion size hailstones. True gridlock.

I see a small opening to my right to head north on the frontage road of 183. I squeak through and then notice that the turn around lane under 183 to go from south bound to north bound is mostly open.

I make an illegal u-turn coupled with a mad dash to get under the overpass like everyone else to wait this out.

Good timing too because for the next three to five minutes baseball size hail and larger are flying out of the sky.

People are honking their horns frantically. Don't know if it was because some wanted to drive past all those blocking the road or wanted to pack some more in. There was plenty more room for more cars but no one was moving. No one. I was parked on top of the brick pavers in-between the lanes of traffic so as to avoid that very problem.

I'm telling you that if any emergency vehicle(s) needed to get through that intersection it would not have been possible.

I was stunned at how society can, to some degree, break down so quickly. No one was cooperating. It seemed like it was every person for themselves. Just wait 'til the Zombies come. I realized that day my plan to meet at Walmart was totally effed because we never discussed which one we are supposed to meet at. Adjustments need will be made.

After about fifteen minutes the gridlock began to free up and cars were creeping along the turn around I was parked next to.

Ten or so car drive though with massive amounts of dents and a couple missing windows... Then... then... THEN!!!! A parade of cars pass through that had no windows at all (save for horribly smashed front windshields! None! All windows GONE! Not a single piece of non-laminated glass was in tact on these cars. I was in shock.

View a few "Hailstorm 2009" videos here.

I still need to make my deposit.

I pull out onto the north bound frontage of 183 and continue my treck to the credit union.

Traffic is at a crawl. I finally enter northbound 183 proper only to grind to a halt thanks to an abandoned car sitting in the right lane. This car was missing its windows like the others and the driver had apparently ditched the ride for a safer alternative.

I exit for my credit union.

Pulling into the drive-thru I see red "X's" on all the drive-thru lanes. "WHAT?!?!?!?" I'm thinking I missed them because of how long it took to get there and check my phone. It's 6:10pm! The drive-thru is open until 6:30pm.

Can I get a WTF?

I pull around to the lobby knowing they are closed but wanting to check the hours posted on the door to verify what I read online about their hours of operation.

Yup! Drive-thru closes at 6:30pm

Why in the world are they closed now?

Feeling a little dejected I am about to drive away when someone walks out of what appears to be an employee entrance.

This employee picks up a couple hailstones to take pictures of them. I drive near her and ask if she works at the credit union.

She does and I ask if the drive-thru is open until 6:30. She looks at me quizzically and then, dripping with all the professional condescension a bank teller could muster up, retorts with, "Sir, we had to close due to the hail storm"

Huh? What is the point of closing during a hailstorm? Anyone? Fill me in.

I head back to school having accomplished nothing more that popping out the new filling, living through another false start to the Zombie Apocalypse, realizing my plan to survive when the Zombies come is disjointed and incoherent, 3500 dollars worth of damage to the car thanks to the five, yes only five, baseball size hail dents.

I never made the deposit.

I was welcomed back to campus with lots of laughs at my decisions and the realization that very little hail fell on campus. Nothing to indicate the apocalypse has begun.

Progress

Detail Images of Rocker Panel Repair

Crash Damage Repair Images

So here are a few images of the rocker panel opened up for repair








Notice that both doors are removed.

Of all the ways to break a nail...

This has to be one of the strangest. Strange enough to actually tell anyone “I broke a nail.”

On the evening of March 12, 2009 I was headed home after dinner and coffee with the folks. It had been raining most of the night before and a good part of Thursday too. At the time though, the rain had subsided.

I was roughly one quarter of a mile and two right turns away from my driveway when all this went down.

As I approached the last stop sign before turning onto my street a car made a southbound turn towards me. The turn looked a little wide at first so I focused my attention to it immediately. It was the only vehicle in front of me. I checked my rear view mirror and saw one pair of headlights behind me.

Looking towards the oncoming traffic again, I realize the car that made the wide turn is now wholly across the double yellow lines headed straight for me. I approximate my speed around 25 mph. The disbelief and doubt kick in causing a thought process about two things. One, why are these people driving like this? Two, is this really about to happen?

You see, earlier in the day I experienced no less than three separate incidences of bizarre driving that had the feel of people road raging and that somehow this oncoming bit-o-fun was haphazardly directed towards me. Don’t ask why but after three memorable oddities that day this one had the feel of the others. Sort of like “Are you really wanting to play chicken on a residential street tonight?” kind of feel to it.

I digress.

As the distance between us closes rapidly I am hard on the brakes pulling over to the right thinking, “If you take the curb now, at this speed, you are going to bend the wheels and possibly break the suspension.”

Closer now, without any signs of returning to their lane, and with full "damn the torpedoes" ramming speed, I decide it would be better to jump the curb in furtherance of my actions to avoid the coming collision. I scan the sidewalk to my right to make sure their are no pedestrians at which point the god awful sounds, we’ve all heard them, of metal bending and ripping apart, plastic being torn to shreds, glass breaking, the “bang” or “pow” associated with colliding bodies and of course the little voices one might hear in your head that immediately begin second guessing yourself as to why you didn’t already jump the curb at 25 mph.

“Fuck bending the wheels, Do it! Jump the curb! Dude, you just got hit in your Cayenne” I seem to recall hearing in my head. Too late.

All this in about three seconds.

Stunned of course, I gather my senses and look in the left hand mirror. I see the car that hit me, a Ford Taurus (year unknown) and the “other” car that was behind me as this all started. The “other” car had pulled over to the right as well.

The Ford Taurus that hit me began to drive away. 

Now, it get’s interesting.

Thinking I need to at least get the plate number I chose “Plan A”. Do a u-turn and follow until I could read the plate.

I call 911 as I commit to the u-turn when I see the “other” car is also making a u-turn ahead of me. I think, “Wow, a good Samaritan is going to help get the plate number too. 'Excellent!'” I say. I need some help since, as I start to follow the Ford Taurus I realize the rear left is flat and I wont be able to follow for long.

The Ford Taurus makes a right turn not more then thirty yards from the scene then attempts to make a left turn into a nearby apartment complex.

The Taurus stops not being able to complete the left turn followed by the reverse lights coming on. The “other” car with the Good Samaritan is now behind the offending Taurus.

It’s at the moment that I think I may, as in might, maybe, could possibly need to draw my weapon since, I can now see there are two occupants in the Taurus and I no longer believe they are going to cooperate with reasonable people. (I’m reasonable people, right?)

I hear the 911 operator answer the phone as my Cayenne comes to a complete stop. My firearm is in a safe ready status when I hear, “Get out of the car!”

I ask myself why would the Good Samaritan in the “other” car take the initiative when this is not their problem?

The 911 operator is encouraging me to I identify myself and my location as I was applying the parking brake thinking I am going to have to stop these people and wait for the cops to arrive (Before you decide I was headed in the wrong direction understand that I was already in the snake fields in this neighborhood. Who knows what laid in wait if I had approached politely with nothing to back up my requests for identification).

I hear the demand to, “Get out of the car!” once more. This time I see the words “Austin Police Department” on the back of a person standing near the offending Taurus. This person has a pistol drawn and trained on the passenger. Then I see the second person with no identifying marks, badges or patches also with a pistol drawn but trained on the driver of the Ford Taurus.

The “other” car mentioned was occupied by two APD detectives working undercover and were on a non-priority call at the moment I was hit. These officers were no less than three car spaces behind me at the moment of impact. They later stated they would have been hit themselves had I actually decided, “Fuck the wheels” and jumped the curb. It was just that close. (They didn’t say “fuck”. That was me)

I park the Cayenne to the side to get it out of the street. I stand at the curb while the officers begin processing the two suspects. The driver is lying on the ground in cuffs snoring. Yes. The driver was unconscious. Again.

I asked three questions. Is he conscious? (No) Has he been drinking? (Can't you smell it?) Does he have insurance. (We found an insurance card!)

No, they are not "from here" A little further south if you get my drift. Just here to earn a living now is all. At least that is what I am told. You know.

It is assumed, thanks to the alleged level of intoxication on alcohol, possibly marijuana, and “other” narcotics, the driver lost consciousness prior to ramming into my car.

Several more officers show up as back-up arrives. I am asked for my driver’s license and, if I understand the Texas CHL laws correctly, I am supposed to present my CHL to the officer at the same time I present my drivers license.

I do so.

This seemed to excite the officer who asked for my DL. I told him I was presently unarmed and that the weapons, yes plural, are in the car. Why limit yourself to something that goes “pop pop pop” when you can have something that goes “BOOOM PUDDY, BOOOM PUDDY, BOOOM BOOOM BOOOM?” May God Bless Texas and the 2nd Amendment! Yippy kai yay! (That was for you Gumby!!) Besides, who knows when the Zombies are coming? (TSP does)

This officer orders me to stay away from my vehicle. I oblige the officer considering the circumstances.

It’s somewhere in the mid-forties Fahrenheit so it’s cold (for me) with a long sleeve shirt. Then it starts to rain. The kind of cold rain with biblically sized raindrops. Giant rain drops. The kind of rain drops that get you soaked inside of five or six of them hitting you. Bucket sized raindrops. Not happy raindrops. Angry raindrops.

I ask the officer who ordered me to stay away from my car if I could sit in a squad car while this gets sorted out or get my jacket or sit in my own car. He hems and haws (I’m sure I heard a hem not so sure about a haw) ultimately ignoring my request.

I ask again if I can retrieve my jacket from my car so when I expire from hypothermia at least I’ll be warm. One of the detectives finally responds to my request but wants to “secure” my weapons (yes, plural) before he allows me to get my jacket. It is at this moment that the narco-squad detective, one of the Good Samaritans from the “other” car, begins to rifle though my car looking for what he could arrest me for. I don’t do that stuff so he finds nothing (Whether or not he had probable cause to search my vehicle I am sure you all will offer your thoughts). Nevertheless it pissed me off he was searching my car. He wasn't invited to do so.

When the officer finally hands me my jacket he asks if I have any weapons in it because it is a heavy jacket. I’m a big guy and it takes a lot of dead cows to make a leather jacket out of ‘em for me. Of course it’s going to be heavy. Some detective!

By this time water is pouring off the top of my head and I am soaked. Completely soaked. Soaked as if I had stood out in the pouring cold rain for fifteen minutes asking three different police officers if I could sit somewhere else such as their cars, hand cuffed if need be; just not in the pouring cold rain.

My folks roll up on scene (always have a plan B, right? And yes I called my mommy!) so I jump in their car for the ensuing steam bath. Had to have been 90 degrees in their car. Couple that with the near freezing precipitation I am soaked with and no one can see in or out of the car within seconds.

Eventually the officers ask what my plans are for my car. I tell them it is my intention to have my car towed to the body shop I have used in the past via AAA towing. I was strongly encouraged by the officer to allow an APD rotation tow truck to take the vehicle for me since they are required to be on scene within forty-five minutes of the request further stating stating that AAA can take up to three hours.

I asked the officer three times if the rotation tow truck driver would take my car to the body shop directly. “Yes” was the answer three times.

Tow truck driver arrives and loads my car on the flat bed ignoring my request to use the proper “screw-in” tow hook provided by Porsche so that tow hooks would not be used improperly possibly causing further damage to other components.

I suspect this cat had an IQ that, if exercised, would warp the time space continuum enough to cause my folks, the remaining officer on scene, and the whole of mankind to be sucked into a black hole just this side of the other one.

Or maybe it would start the coming Zombie Apocalypse. No big deal, right? Maybe. The nearest Wal-Mart was two miles away on foot and you know how fast the Zombies can move.

I didn’t press any further.

I did ask to ensure he was taking the Cayenne to the body shop I requested. “Only if you pay me!” was the retort. Fearing the inevitable, he was paid.

Aftermath.












Estimate is expected to rise but initial estimate was $7,300.00 and change. Could rise another twenty percent when they “open” it up. Really don’t like the sound of opening up my Cayenne. Heard it once already.

Estimated delivery date is April 3, 2009

Oh yeah… and I broke my thumbnail in all this somehow.



Updates to follow…