"Back, Back, Left.....a little more left, back, back, back,
STRAIGHT BACK, 3 MORE FEET......
HHHWHUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!!!"
Red lights glare, as Jose's 40'
Big Tex quickly comes to a halt. I briskly walk up the port side of the trailer,
White's Boots clogging, as Jose was easing his brand new dually into park.
"Nice truck man", I say ahead of me, admiring his midnight black F-550 that was still has paper plates; while taking notice of the United States Marine
Corps sticker that's flanked by a
Mexican flag - a trade mark of every single one of the many cars Jose has owned in my 18 years of knowing him.
Approaching the driver's side door, I see the familiar bald head, bright blue eyes and beaming smile of my mentor, and one of the gnarliest men I know; looking back at me as I walk up to his door.
"Private Pile! How the **** are you!?". This has been Jose's standard greeting of me for the past 15 years. I would like to say it was the standard greeting for the entire
18 years I've known him, but that would be assuming that he even spoke to me, let alone acknowledge my presence, for the first 36 months we worked together. I considered him damn near ancient when I met him at 22 years of age. But to be fair, when you're 22, anyone over the age of 40 might as well be from the
Paleolithic era.
"Jose, how's retirement treating you, Sir?"
"Looks like its treating me better than you! You just get off the line?" he asks looking me up and down, taking notice of my faded, ash-stained brush jacket and equally filthy BDO's.
"Yeah, been over in Arizona for 3 weeks. Our last operational period ended today... day 21 actually, so they had to give me today off. When I found out last night that one of the DC-10's was headed here for repairs, I hitched a ride. I think we're going to be headed back out at 18:30 or something. How's the farm? How's the family?"
"Family is good, my oldest ended up taking the Bar Exam in Nashville. - Turns out she was serious about moving to Tennessee."
"Oh damn, how you and Maria doing?"
"We're good. Mom's taking it kind of hard. I keep reminding her that our other two kids are still at home, but still... she doesn't want to let any of them go - she's just being a mother hen, that one".
"And the farm?"
"Ah the farm
s, yes. Yeah, they're all good."
"Farms?" I ask quizzically.
"Yes, three of them now, actually. I have my hobby farm in Sylmar as you know - just pigs, goats, a couple horses... and my garden. But I actually was able to purchase back the farm I grew up on in Mexico. And I just bought about 50 acres near Frazier Park, which is where I'm headed after this."
"Frazier Park? What the hell are you going to do with land in Frazier?"
"I dunno.... it backs up to the Tejon Ranch, so I'll probably use it as a base camp to hunt from - It came set-up for cattle - I can have a heard of probably- I dunno.....about 75 on the ranch if I want....then' they can graze in the forest during the spring and summer; per the open range agreement, of course. But I can't be there all the time, and I'm not sure if I want to build a bunk house and hire a crew to manage it for me. Really depends if Maria is willing to finally get out of real estate or not - I've been bugging her to retire for a year now, but, you know....women". Jose says while shrugging at the last part.
"Yes, yes I do".
"Hey Andy, where's the head in this hanger? I haven't been to this base in 40 years, I don't recognize anything!!"
"Its just past that C-130", motioning to my right. "Just across from the mess hall".
"Thanks Pile, I'll be back in a few".
As Jose walks off to the facilities, I gather some heavy-duty ratchets from Joser's tool box, lower the tailgate of the trailer and put the ramps in place. After I secure the second ramp, I high step it onto to the trailer and clip a turnbuckle onto a cleat, mid ship on the starboard side. Fastening the collar, I get up out of a crouch and walk over to the next cleat befo
--
"I thought you were at work?"
I almost jump out of my ****i*g boots at the sudden and unexpected inquisition; not to mention the nearly emotionless tone of her voice.
"...at least, that's what you told me earlier this week. That video you sent me last night of you guys - 'firing back' is it?"
"'Back-firing, and also 'firing out.' Two different terms that apply to two different operations. Although, they do sound the same, I reckon."
Even though I was telling her the truth - admittedly, I was also trying to confuse her. Not only did she scare the crap out of me, which was clear to every organism within a 5 mile radius that heard me scream. But more importantly, she already had the upper hand in this conversation that was merely 10 seconds old.
"Whatever. I don't really care what it's called to be honest. All you're doing is adding to the destruction from the looks of it."
"Back-firing is a really good tactic to fight fires with, not to mention that periodic fires are actually good for the enviorm
--"
"Were you even actually at work? For all I know you could have had one of your colleagues send you that video to use as an alibi to blow us off." She seemed to be looking right through my eyes and into my should as she said that - Reading me, like a poker player. Looking for my
'tell'.
"Esther." I cock my head to the right and slightly lower my chin. "Look at me."
She does.
For someone as detail oriented as her, I found it interesting that she seemingly just glazed over my appearance, and probably smell...
That is, unless, I always look and smell like a hobo. Which very well might be the case. Either way...
"Look at what I'm wearing. I just got off the line two hours ago,
literally. One of our DC-10's needed repairs. Edwards was the closest base that had the parts, so I hitched a ride. Gonna' load up some cars in the trailer and go to Willow for some quick test sessions. I gotta be back on the line by 0700 tomorrow morning."
"You do smell like hell. Worse than normal actually." Esther uncrosses her arms and rests her right hand on her messenger's bag that's slung over her shoulder.
"What was wrong with the plane?".
She actually seemed somewhat curious, or she was just testing the depth of my story. Either way, I didn't care. I had been on the line for 21 days straight and had reached the point of delirium about 5 days ago. Plus, we were wasting time and I had
A LOT to take care of, and only 18 hours and 23 minutes left to do it.
"Check engine light." I say flatly, with little emotion. Mostly because I was tired - but
mainly because I'd decided I was going to start messing with her.
"Airplanes have check engine lights?". Esther recrosses her arms.
"More or less...well, actually-" I tilt my head sightly to the right and upwards, as if further contemplating. "-it's
more more than less, if I'm being honest."
I look back at Esther, to see that she's not the least bit amused. I could have told her that it was a fueling issue that was causing the left engine to cut out when banking right, but I was tired. Besides, I had some questions of my own.
"The real question
E, is-"
"
E??"
"
yeah, like I said...E, what are you doing here? This is a military base. And not only are you a civilian, you're not American either. The only people whom house personal planes here are very high-end celebrities; and
military celebrities",
MY light bulb upstairs started to flicker, dimly.
"
Pssshh, Americans and their worship of the military and war heroes. I'll never understand it." Esther finishes the sentence with her patented eye roll.
"Yeah,
I can see why you feel that way. But don't worry, we'll have
your guy's back next time."
Esther didn't seem in the mood to prod anymore, and I wasn't in the mood to give a history lesson. Not to mention, I wasn't exactly convinced that she grew up and went to school in Singapore.
"
What kind of celebrities have hangers here?" Esther asks.
"Well, on the military side, probably the most acclaimed is Captain Pete Mitche
ll. As far as civilians go; there's a few businessmen, a couple Hollywood actor types. But they usually keep a low profile, I'm to
--"
--- "Hey Andrew!" a young-ish service man shouts as he trots up to me, clipboard in hand. "
"Yes?" looking away from Esther as Ryan approaches to my right.
"Just to confirm.." he taps his pencil on his clipboard, as if checking the accuracy of his notes; "You want the 458,
935,
Bentley, the
Nissan and both
488's on the plane. ----- Leaving the Sauber, 787 and the Nissan to be loaded when you get back? Sound bout' right?"
"Yessir."
"......Wait, what?? We don't even use half of those cars he just named in the GTS series. What the he*l are you up to Andrew?"
"Yeah, we should probably have a chat sooner than later about some thin--"
"Private...Ryan was it?" Esther abruptly interjects.
"Its, actually Master Sergeant Lombardo ma'a--"
"Whatever. Look, Sergeant Lombardo--"
"Yes." Ryan says quickly, clearly not caring for Esther's stolid tone, but staying professional nonetheless.
"Like I was saying, Sergeant
. Where exactly are you taking these cars?"
Ryan looks over to me, seeking conformation of my approval. I ponder it for a second, look across to Ryan, then to my left over to Esther. Then, with a ruffled brow - followed by a slight left head nod in Esther's direction, insinuating to go on. Ryan proceeds; thick New Jersey accent and all.
"First we're going to drop off cargo in Japan for a week. Then from there we're flying to South Africa; 'Ky-a-l-ami, is it Andrew?'" I nod, confirming.
"Yea, then from there we're off to Bahrain for 36 hours-"
"Its going to be 72 hours now," - I interject - "just got word from Mr. Casual that we're picking up 2 more cars while we're there."
"Right." Lombardo takes out his #2 pencil and makes the correction.
"Ok, right... so 72 hours in Bahrain.
Then....say, Andrew? Are we still going to Spain? You weren't too sure about that one when we made the itenierary."
"Negative. We cancelled that track day."
"Ok, no Spain." Ryan makes a correction with his pencil again and continues.
"Then we're going to the UK for a week."
"At least a week." I say, seemingly staring off into space, across the three-hundred-yard-long hangar. My god am I tired.
"Right, so a week-ish in the
--"
"Where are you guys going in the UK?" Esther was looking at Ryan as she said this, but the question was directed at me.
"I'm going to Brands, Donington, Oulton Park, and Silverstone. Sergeant Lombardo is going to Italy to visit his family."
Ryan was looking down, smiling to himself and beaming at the idea of seeing his grandmother and grandfather -
both in their 90's mind you - as well as his cousins. None of which he's seen since March of 2018. Or was it 2017 he said? Meh, doesn't matter. I'm exhausted, running out of time, and I'm just about done with Esther's prodding.
"Yea, and then from there, myself and a few others will be transporting about a dozen cars up to Germany to a warehouse about 25 clicks east of the Ring'. Ryan is going to pick us up in Munich after he's visited his family and we've delivered the cars. Then we'll be headed back here, to Edwards."
"So that'll be a total of 2 weeks that you'll be in the UK and Germany, Andrew? I...I don't think I'm approved for 2 weeks of leave, Sir." Ryan inquires.
"I took care of it, Captain Conway already approved it. He owed me a favor."
"Thanks Yard"
"Don't mention it." I say with a slight shrug.
"What the hell are you doing with cars we don't even use, on tracks that we don't even run on, Andrew??". Esther was visibly perturbed with all of this, and was now seemingly laser-focused on getting to the bottom of it.
"Well, that's not entirely accurate
E"
"Stop calling me that"
"Whatever." It was my turn to be curt now. "Like I was saying, that's not entirely accurate,
ESTHER. COTW has access to the 458, the 787, the RCP-92, and the C9." counting each of the four cars out on my fingers as I rattled them off.
"Yeah, we don't have access to a lot of the tracks you mentioned"
"Well, there's that", not disagreeing with her.
"What the hell are you doing with all of these cars at all of these tracks ANDREW??" Esther said, emphasizing my name in a similar mocking fashion that I had enlisted 45 seconds prior.
"Like I said, we should probably have ourselves a palaver about that. Sooner than later mind you."
I could tell this answer didn't do much of anything in the way of delivering the answer in which she was inquiring, but honestly, I could care less. I haven't slept in 36 hours, or had a decent night's rest in 3 weeks
"Say, where exactly are you headed Esther?"
Esther still laser focused on getting to the bottom of my riddle, withdrew ever so slightly - as if it was now her turn to start a defensive operation by means of misdirection. But before Esther had but 2 seconds to begin painting a white lie of her own, Lombardo chimed in studiously, and right on queue--
"She's headed to Montana, Sir."
You could tell Esther wanted to shoot Ryan a dirty look, but she now maintained a
softer lock on the eyes, seemingly coming up with a method to explain away her own covert operation.
"Uhmmm...yeah, Montana. For a work retreat."
"Montana?
Work retreat??" A smirk begins to manifest across my face.
"Esther in Montana? Amongst mountains, cattle, and cowboys?" I was now laughing. "Do you even know where Montana is? Besides, I'm sure they'll be expecting their first snow soon."
"Of course I know where Montana is, Andrew."
"Yea?"
"Yeah...approximately 2 hours and 20 minutes from here, weather permitting of course."
"Of course."
I turn to my left as I hear the echo of a door closing in the distance - the sound perfectly magnified by the vastness of this military hangar. In the distance I can see Jose casually, yet purposely walking in our direction with a lumbering gait that is very out of place
on a military man, on a military base; but more akin to someone who's earned every penny of his life, by swinging the preverbal hammer - both literally and figuratively. Medium-sized fortune be damned.
Whatever
It is, It's the walk of a man who has done a lot, seen even more, and now finds himself on the
precipice of old age.
For old age is god's gift to pause...and reflect; about what's been done, and what's been left
undone.
Turning my head back to Esther, "Look, I gotta run. I should be back in Singapore in a month or so, we can catch up then."
"back in Singapore?"
"Yea"
"Ok?" Esther visibly looked confused by my last comment.
"Have a safe flight. And beware of the Cowboys. You might despise them, but we tend to be charming." I say the last line with a sly smile.
"Thanks. I'll be fine. Have a safe flight as well."
"Ma'am". I tip my imaginary hat with a smirk, and about-face, walking back towards Jose's truck.
Pacing back to the truck, Ryan hands me his clipboard with the page turned to the inventory list
(minus the 787, Sauber and Nissan). I quickly scribble my signature, hand it back and give a head toss in Jose's direction, as he's sitting on Big Tex and looks like he has something to say, which I already know what it is.
"Hey
Pile, you have 3 cars that need to get to Willow, and I only have room for 2 on my trailer. What's the plan?"
I look at Ryan. "Hey, I know you guys have plenty of JP4 on the base, ya'll by chance have any avgas you can spare?"
"Sure, how much?"
I look over to the Nissan, consider that it probably hadn't been driven in 5 years, and winterized as a precautionary measure. "About 25 gallons should do me fine.'
"Absolutely, I'll radio to control to have a mobile fuel cart brought over."
I look back at Joser, who's hands are resting on his knees, studiously waiting for direction; "We'll drive it."
"Seriously? A race car on Rosamond Boulevard?"
"Yup. Say Joser?"
"Yea?"
"Can I drive your new truck and you drive the Nissan?" I press my hand against the bed of his truck, leaning up against it.
"First off, Pile. Get your iDck-beaters off my truck."
I smile. "Well?" motioning over to the R92CP when my head.
"No one besides me drives my truck, Pile"
I laugh, bending at the waist as I do so. "Not even Sergeant Lombardo?" gesturing over to Ryan with my thumb.
"Especially him. The Air Force is filled with a bunch of ****ies that are too scared to leave their air conditioned bases and cockpits!"
We all get a good laugh from this, before heading in our respective directions - Joser to his truck, Ryan to his office; and myself, to an awaiting rocket ship.
"Hey Ryan!?"
"Yea?" as he looks back at me.
"Any clue where Esther is going?"
"Some private airfield I think."
"A private airfield that can land and take off a 747?"
"That's what I hear, yeah."
"Who is this guy?"
"Never met him myself, personally. He actually doesn't even come around here much. I just know we get a steady influx of entrepreneur types flying to and from his ranch, and across seas sometimes."
"Anyone ever see him?"
"Yea, a pilot who used to be stationed here, Dave I believe his name was - 'yeah, Dave....he's stationed at Mugu now' - anyways, he used to talk to him sometimes. Dave's a car guy too, ya' know. Had a Mustang that he'd go track at Willow Springs on his days off. I guess this Montana guy... 'Kahaserian' or something like that, he's a car guy too. Matter fact', he has a few in his hangar behind his plane right now".
"Oh yeah, what kind?"
"I dunno, Asian cars I wot."
"'Kahaserian', you say? What is he, Persian?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure. Dave used to say this guy was always wearing expensive suits, mostly silk." Ryan says with a slight shrug of the shoulders.
"Bit of a stereotype."
"Yeah."
"But you're probably right."
"Yeah."
Inside of one of Mr. 'Kahaserian' hangars at Edwards. I'm told he has a few
"HEY PILE! LETS GO! I DON'T HAVE ALL DAMN DAY!"
"Roger. Sorry Joser."
"Later' Ryan."
"See you in a few Andrew."
The Nissan R92CP
--------------------------
The original plan was to take Yeager Street out of EAFB, hang a left on Rosamond, continue on for 22 miles to 75th, then right at 75th and into the front gates of Willow - A quick low profile jaunt through the desert, necessitated by the fact that I was driving a race car down public roads, and we were without an escort. However, a brief scan through Map Quest, informed us that there was an accident involving a Semi on Rosamond at the dry lake; some sort of
white gold people were talking about in the comments section. Instead, we were forced to take the long way around, by means of the 58 to Mojave, then onto the 14 southbound, exiting at Rosamond and heading west. Essentially turning a 30 minute ride into an hour long trip - and probably longer as I figured we'd bypass the 14 and cut through the windmills, being that the 14 is a favorite amongst
CHiPs. To be honest though, I couldn't have cared less. It was a beautiful and bright morning, I was back in the driver's seat of a race car after 3 weeks of swinging a tool, and the R92CP was running like
absolute dog s**t. At first, I was convinced that lone culprit wasn't Father Time, nor automotive stagnation, but yours truly.
When Mr. Casual and myself purchased 10 of these in early March, we sent two of them out to museums on loan, a car out to one of Mr. Casual's private garages in Stavelot, 6 were to be shipped around the world to various locations for private rental, and I kept one in California. Besides the six R92's that were going to remain in consistent active rotation, I was in charge of winterizing the other four, which I did meticuously at my garage in San Diego, spending no less than 20 hours on each - bringing each car back up to factory specs, before draining the fluids, applying generous amounts of lube in areas prone to corrosion and calcification, then finally backing off the torque on components that were subject to extremely tight tolerances. Judging by the way this car was seemingly puking, and sputtering like a poorly jetted KX500 at every rotation of the crank, I surmised that I might have forgot to fog the motor, drain the fuel lines, replace the spark plugs; or any combination thereof.
....On fourth thought, I might have forgotten to re-torque the valves after having backed them off for hibernation. Actually,
that was most likely the culprit, as the symptoms of a lean-running engine still persisted long after the freshly pumped
avgas would have flashed and flushed any sediment out the tailpipe. As my brain slowly started to come on the boost from 1 Redbull already down the hatch, with #2 currently chasing, I replayed my winterzation process for each car, and realized that none of the aforementioned had occured. This is just.... how race cars from 30 years ago ran when they were going anything
but full-tilt. Sure, race cars of the 90's were long passed the era of
true natural aspiration by way of carburators, nor was fuel injection by any means new technology. But rather, 3 dimensional ECU mapping
was very much in its infancy in the late eighties through the mid 90's. And 3D mapping was very much a 'black magic' that only a few of the top factory teams had begun to explore.
As the 14 freeway approached, I texted Jose to hold at McDonalds in Mojave and I'll lead the rest of the way in. Two minutes later, just passed Farlin Street - 2 cups of coffee, all of the first Redbull, as well as half of the second, required immediate attention.
NGL, it took quite a bit of coaxing to get the turtle out of his shell. IT WAS COLD!!!
There's something magical about the desert. Even in the less scenic parts, such as the town of Mojave, there's distinct beauty to behold for those whom tend to look further than skin deep. Making a left from Backus onto Tehachapi Willow Springs Road, I couldn't help but to keep sneaking glances at the snow-capped Tehachapi mountains to my right. Yes, I know I said I was just at a fire, which is true. But I never did say where. The same storm from Alaska that brought an early first snow to the Southern Sierra's, wreaked absolute havoc for us in Cibecue. Most deserts in the world exist because of mountain ranges, and I was just happy to enjoy the smell and crispness of a freshly watered creosote, on the western edge of the great Mohaine desert.
////////////
If you were a kid born in the 80's and liked cars, most likely your room was adorned with posters of exotic cars (
with even more exotic women sprawled across the hood) like Lamborghini Countache's, Ferrari Testarossa's and Acura NSX's being standard fap-fare. But
EVERY GEAR HEAD IN EXISTENCE remembers the first car that made them pause
on that random magazine page and stare. For me that car was the Nissan R92CP, stanced' next to a 92' Nissan pickup in an advertisement in Dirt Bike Magazine. The ad was something like "We at Nissan build champions", or something like that. Back then, I was into anything and everything that had to do with sports. Football, baseball, motorsports, it didn't matter. While my brother and sister were watching cartoons, I could usually be found by myself in the room Eric and myself shared, flipping through pages of Sports Illustrated, Dirt Bike Magazine, and Motocross Action, while having ESPN or the speed channel playing in the background. To be honest, the first time I saw the R92, I just thought it was a cool looking race car that was sponsored by Pepsi. I mean, the colors were more or less the same. Not to mention, I had recently partook in the "Pepsi Challenge" with my brother the week prior, when we both had scrounged up enough change between us to walk down to the corner store and see what all the fuss was about. But something about the look of that car grabbed me, and would hold my attention for literal minutes on end.
Although I might be a tad biased, given my age and the generation I grew up in, I think that 80's leading into the early 90's were the absolute epitome of motorsports. And not just Circuit Racing cars, but all of motorsport really - and its many, many forms it takes on. The Kawasaki
KX 500 was setting motocross tracks, Baja, and Desert racing across the western united states on fire. Dakar was in its heyday and still not using GPS, The Camel Trophy was just as brutal as Dakar, F1 and Senna, the DTM series, Group
B madness, and the brutality of the aforementioned Group C cars. What makes this era so special in my opinion, was that technology and innovation were growing by leaps and bounds every year, yet all of these vehicles were still very much
analogue in nature. Sure, paddle shifters and its associated gadgetry were starting to make an apperance in F1 as the 90's approached. But the rest of the automotive racing world didn't catch on until 1993, when Group C was dismantled in favor of Le Mans Prototypes. Many people will say that the technological arms race between McLaren and Williams in the 80's and 90's, along with the dissolving of Group C - is what finally kicked motorsports, and by extension, automobiles into the post-modern era. And to be fair, they're probably right. But ask any misty-eyed racer
who's on either side of a half-century in age what race car they would love to take for a hot-stint around Spa - and it won't be Hamilton's McLaren from 2007. It'll be Senna's MP4/4. It'll be a screaming 787B. A Ferrari F-40LM. A McLaren F1-GTR. A Porsche 956. A Sauber C9. A
89' BMW M3. It'll be a driver's car, free of any electronic wizardy.
Just two turntables and a microphone.
The amount of detail that goes into these scapes is amazing. All the mountains in the background are extremely accurate in size and shape. Fun Fact!!! I grew up just on the other side of them!!
Many of the older race tracks that are still in use, have been forced to undergo major changes throughout the years in order to facilitate the ever changing landscape of the FIA, as well as the needs of latest generation of race cars. The fact that
Willow Springs Raceway has remained relevant, despite never having
really hosted any major races or series since its opening in 1953, is nothing short of astounding. Just as astonishing, is that the layout hasn't changed in just as long, yet still remains very
raceable in everything from a 65' Shelby Cobra to a
Toyota TS050, with neither car feeling out of place. Big Willow is a race track that is rife in deception. If you reset your trip meter as you cross the start/finish line, you'll find that only 2.5 miles have eclipsed by the time you circulate back around. Willow Springs is a track that feels much bigger, no doubt aided by the expansive landscape that surrounds the 600 acre property. In just 4023 meters, this track manages to squeeze in two 180+mph straights, decreasing radius turns, double apex corners, sweepers with speeds that can be in excess of 160 miles per hour, and a treacherous plateau section that will give you an incredible view of the desert floor as you understeer off the tarmac on your way up, or way back down.
Despite only writing sparingly about Willow Springs in previous reviews, its actually a track that I've turned 1000's of laps at over the years. Be it as a development test driver for Ferrari, McLaren, Hyundai, Toyota or Subaru - to prestigious race series such as the FIA Nations and Constructors Cups. One-off smaller series like the
PC2 Sprint Series; or just straight up hooning my own personal collection of
Beaters and Sleepers. Willow is a track that I will forever hold sacred. Not to mention my parents live no more than an hour's drive due East up in the mountains. And my mom makes the best chicken pot pie that you'll ever taste!
Style points
not-withheld, the only work a modern LMP1 car can do better than a Group C monster, is when the speeds get below 60mph, and the course starts to curve consecutively in opposite directions. Its then that you realize that if there's one aspect that modern race cars have grown by leaps and bounds over the past 30 years, its aerodynamics and chassis geometry. For every 150 yards worth of chicanes on a race track, an R92CP will need an extra 1/4 mile on a straight to disproportionately make up the ground it lost to its
modern counterpart. I mean, the only reason they broke up the straights at Le Mans, was because Group C cars were getting too fast
.*
After spending the better part of the afternoon switching off between the Sauber, 787 and R92 to obtain the necessary baseline testing and data acquisitions ..... not to mention spending a good 45 minutes trying to teach Joser how to use a smart phone to take stills. Followed by another 120 minutes getting him acquainted with a drone for some of the more
active shots, Jose and myself high-tailed it back to Edwards to load the cars bound for Japan, and I needed to hitch a ride on a hobbled
DC-10 back to Arizona. I hope
RBF will clear us for landing in Big Bear Lake, cause' I have a hunch we ain't gonna
make it very far.
The rest of this review will be finished up at a date TBD
). Very pleasent drive. The 13th fastest Gr.4 car of all 28/29 Gr.4 cars, so more on the faster side? Pretty good I think.
