By now, you have seen this month's editorial photo below. We moved our offices--again. Although, this time it was a mini-move in that we went from the third floor to the second floor. Let's see, that makes my seventh move in 9 1/2 years. This may not be a record, but it sure makes one good at packing and unpacking. It also leads to some interesting finds in boxes you haven't seen in nine months. Of course, what I once had at my fingertips has now vanished. Oh well.
For starters, the regularly occurring moves aren't the result of failure to pay rent or phone bills, or any number of legitimate excuses you often hear in a college town. This time, it was done for all the right reasons. But what does this have to do with the perfect rod run (PRR)?
Indulge me for a moment as I lay the groundwork that will eventually get us there. During the move, I came across lots of memorabilia collected from various events I had attended over the years. For the record, there are (at last count) 60-plus storage boxes in my garage with "stuff" collected during the past 35-plus years of magazine biz. My grandkids are going to have one hell of a good time on eBay raffling off my life. My wife has already given up and will not speak to me about the boxes upon boxes, as she has yet to figure out their worth. I should also point out that I had at least 300 new T-shirts still in wrappers from events that date back to '67! I have got to get a life.
Well, that got me to thinking what I liked about a particular event. There is always something special about every run--some more so than others, but each has something. With this in mind, I have come up with the perfect rod run.
Remember, we are talking about my perfect rod run. For those of you with more than a passing interest in knowing me, you understand that I am a sports fanatic--especially football and cycling. For the purpose of my perfect rod run, a football game will be the centerpiece. (There should also be some time set aside in the early morning to get in a few road miles to burn off the Cheetos from the night before and prep for the churros to come.) We are talking about either a college or pro game where there is sure to be a tailgate party with hot dogs-a-plenty and hamburgers grilling. In an emergency, we could stop by the local McDonald's (my home away from home). Oh yes, and there must be lots and lots of Diet Dr. Pepper. All this is going to require the perfect ambient temperature--which is generally 75 degree here in SoCal--an ever so light breeze in one's face, clear skies, and just all-around perfect skies.
My PRR is also going to have lots of parking for all kinds of hot rods. The place to be seen should be with the highboy roadsters. While that is true, you may possess a hot rod with a roof and fenders that is, well, an almost hot rod. I don't mean to cast a disparaging remark on my fellow rodders with their assortment of sheltered rides, but put a roof and fenders on a hot rod and that has to be some form of cheatin'. We highboy roadster types refer to these almost hot rods as rental cars, nearly rods, and that sort of mindless comment. This may be directly related to hours, upon days, into weeks of driving an open car and subjecting one's cranium to the elements--possibly too much sun, rain, wind, and little flying creatures smacking one's forehead.
Now, please don't feel badly or slighted if you have a fully covered street rod, for not everyone can proudly drive in the rain, experience bone-chilling cold, have one's tennis shoes get so hot that the rubber melts, or iron your own underwear from the inside out! Yes, as a member of the hot rod fraternity, I am proud to say I drive my open roadster from winter through summer, dry into wet, finger-numbing cold to skin-boiling heat, and still haven't got the good sense to come in out of the rain. But, then why should I? I am on my way to another great rod run, the perfect rod run--where the day starts at 48 degrees, a light drizzle, with overcast skies promising more of the same! Yes, my PRR is any run I get to, no matter how many bolts rattle loose from the collector tubes; there is always a hardware store nearby. Because any day having fun with a street rod is better than the best day doing anything else--anywhere.