Trinity Skyline Trail (Dallas Does Good!) Photo Essay

My old nemesis had me in a death grip, squeezing my brain in a merciless headlock with no end in sight. I was buckling, praying for life to end, bemoaning my purposeless existence. I ran out the door gasping for air. Lying on my back, eyes barely open in crushing misery, I saw the fall moon. I reached out my hand, hoping to hang on. Fly me to the moon.

I wondered, perhaps, of a poetic shot of my lunar friend paired with the nighttime Calatrava bridge. I'd channel my inner bbd, going for one great shot, taking my time instead of my usual carpet bombing from all angles. (One day I hope to make the trek to Colorado and steal learn all of bbd's tricks.) But as I crossed what passes for Dallas' signature bridge I noticed a row of intriguing blue lights to my right as if they were marking an airport runway.



As I passed I could see it was some sort of walkway enticing me to investigate. Boredom went right out the car window. As I crossed over I saw even more development. I remembered my forgotten post on "The Dallas Bridge To Nowhere" with its promise of one day becoming a destination point. I was hopeful but skeptical. Dallas dreams first and asks questions later - and adjusts after the fact according to funding. But this was up to private developers so who knew what might happen.

Before...

...And after

Turns out, quite a bit! I was pleasantly surprised to see this row of restaurants at the base of the bridge exit onto Singleton. I decided I must investigate further.







Perhaps it was the warm night air breathing contentment into me but I truly loved the feel of the place. At some point I hope to come back and spend some time here relaxing, when I have the proper frame of mind. But the glittering rows of blue lights were calling out to me to explore. With the building of the Calatrava bridge, this made the old 1930's era bridge expendable. Luckily, they decided to reclaim it as a walkway as opposed to destroying it - an absolutely perfect solution!







The Calatrava bridge at night naturally drew the eye to it. What a delightful backdrop. As a busy photographer I didn't stop to fully enjoy the view but its looming presence followed me everywhere I went. Of course I captured what I could.







I thought they did a really great job of design and execution. "What a great place to hang out," I remember thinking. But what I found most gratifying was who I saw traversing and sitting and gazing upon the old bridge: muchos Latinos. I heard more Spanish than English as most of the visitors I saw were Hispanic which, in this case, meant local to the area. I mentioned before my affection for the La Bajada area directly adjacent to the bridge and I had to feel it was its residents I was seeing enjoying themselves and appreciating an evening stroll.



But the real question was how much farther had the new development gone down the street. And had any of the funky taquerias and whatnot been replaced. Inhabiting old warehouses was one thing, pushing out the local flavor another. I did find two more notable developments close by: a huge, monstrous place I dubbed "The beer barn" and a 50's style hot dog joint. At least the developers made good on no Appleby's or Chiles moving in which would have been horrific.





But the question remains: Has this become a destination spot? Would someone come here specifically and not just when close by? I don't think it's to that point yet. I think it would require an entire district to become a poor man's Deep Ellum. Can it ever reach that point without steamrolling the local character? I doubt it. But it can certainly become something of high value and who knows, with some highly innovative thinking could become an historic hot spot, the old stomping grounds of Bonnie and Clyde and the few remaining roots of Dallas she has not yet managed to bury or bulldoze.

Long Winter Nights Of A Mad Samurai (Part 4)

[Nobu, the outlaw samurai who refused seppuku, had burrowed deep into the rural Japanese mountains, losing himself both physically and psychologically. But his success in hiding to live led to failure in living. Crossroads were approaching, pulling him in different directions. Which path leads to life? His error for margin was zero at this point. Nobu's stumbling mind stuttered in confusion.

(Nobu's story to this point can be read here:

Why Die, Samurai?
Diary Of A Mad Samurai
Descent Of A Mad Samurai (Part 3) )]

-----------------------------------

Day: Lost

Free at last, but alone. Is any man truly free alone? This I had not realized! If Kimiko were here now I'd feel a thousand times better. Instead, I am pitiful and do pitiful things leading a pitiful life. In the perverseness of my existence, I've made her presence a fear to me, for I do not ever wish her to see me thus.

I reversed my salvation into my enemy. Part of me cannot hate myself enough for that. I do verily believe if she were here with me this mountain of troubles would wash away and if I died I would die while living. But this...this is just living death. I can see no way before me without her. The nighttime cold aches deeper.

Now I see her face,

the old woman, abandoned,

the moon her only companion.

A wild inspiration flashed before Nobu.

What if I have it wrong? She does not hate me in burning vengeance. Perhaps to see me she would say, "Ah, look what has happened to you without me!"


Day of Doom:

Not many travelers came through this time of year. Those that did were hard driven to be making their way through the heavy snow and ice. No sightseers or idle journeyers. The noodle shop owner had warned Nobu of the strange creatures that entered on winter evenings; secretive men, grave men. Nobu could not explain he did not fear such men being one himself.

But the two that entered that night remained yet in Nobu's head as he later lay upon his straw mattress. His little voice was telling him something.

The pair entered the room quarreling - the lot of miserable souls. But these two had an edge. If one knew not the language and heard only their sound, a sinister tone one would hear. The argument was trivial in name if not in nature. Nobu felt something ugly welling up inside as he listened, greatly bothered as a crisis point headed for him direct as an angry arrow. Then Nobu exploded in consternation.

But he was not alone in his eruption. The short traveler had stabbed the other, his eyes blazing in satisfied hatred, in this singular moment feeling alive. He hesitated to pull the knife out even after death lest the moment end too soon. Nobu, too stunned to move, stood paralyzed and spellbound behind the counter. Only he and the killer were present in the smoky embered enclave.

Still in sync, the killer returned to animated life in the same instance as Nobu, fleeing out the door, melting into the darkness. Pursuit was pointless. But Nobu was the one who felt guilty.

It was his plan to live as an assassin after the winter melt. Those two men tonight, they were just itching for an excuse to kill. Like Nobu, they were part of the living dead. For them, life was death and death was life. That was the real reason Nobu wanted to assassinate: just to feel alive, same as the dreaded killer tonight. It's the only reason to become an assassin.

"Oh, dear Buddha, is this what I've become?"

Day of winter dark...

Oh, this is horrible! Horrible news! The worst possible! How black the sun? How stolen the night? How did this come to be? Treachory! Treachory of the highest order! In this I witness the ultimate betrayal. How can I give pardon? If only this had remained unknown to me, to have died in ignorance...

Love...there's only love...

This long cruel winter darkness, it leaves me too much...to myself.


Day of winter grey...

"Oh, what I could be if I could be..."

No way forward, no way backward. Perhaps I'll just fade away.

"Hey, samurai!"

The words rang out like a command striking his face, yet Nobu's instinctive reaction to bolt upright remained mostly concealed. Still, the words shot through him like an arrow. He had no choice but to respond to the man spearing into him from the corner table.

"You accuse every noodle maker of being samurai?"

"No, just you!"

"And why is that?"

"Because you try to hide it."

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! How to deflect? "Yes, I was shogun once but now they come to me for noodles."

"That is a waste! I can use a man like you!"

Too desperate to ignore any chance, Nobu turned to observe the man. His manner was focused and direct. This Nobu found refreshing and knew others would follow a man such as he. But this was an obvious brigand, using his charm as another weapon in his arsenal. Any priest in the land would envy his recruiting skills. The brigand moved to the counter to speak in conspiracy.

"I am Itikawa. I've been studying you. You can't tell me you see a future in this dump - or any like it. My men roam free, doing what we want, taking what we want. Stay here and you will suffocate!"

Sharp truths in those words, Nobu knew. Strong was the pull: no longer a loner and a liar, a safe haven. But ultimately, where would it lead?

"I cannot go with you, regardless of how you might reassure me. At the end I would find betrayal."

"Bakana! Never! Loyalty is our lifeblood. How else can our kind trust? You know this. I see it in your hunted eyes! Is it government officials you fear? Ha! We pay off half of them as one of our own. There is no authority higher than we who take."

Nobu was well aware of bands of outlaws who'd never come fully under control. Corrupt district inspectors found it easier to be bribed than to fight, peasants be damned. And these bandits felt no awe for the shogunate.

Nobu stirred the noodles in the great steaming pot, talking as if passing the time of day. "And yet, betrayal is certain." He looked up with a resigned smile. "You have no love in your life."

Itikawa reflexively opened his mouth to speak, then reconsidered. He'd never been foiled in a verbal fencing match before. How had he misread this man? A streak of honesty? Honest men are useless!

"Yes, you are right. I cannot use a man like you: a noodle maker dead to the world. I leave you to your unattended funeral!"

The brigand flipped a disgusted coin on the counter before quickly departing. But his final words wounded Nobu seriously, leaving pangs of shunted desire.

Nobu's mind raced as the shivering night air closed in on his helpless bed. 'Stay here and you will suffocate!' Damn him for saying that! 'I leave you to your unattended funeral!' Bastard! His arrows aimed true. I'm in deep, terrible trouble. Would the outlaw life be better? Men in trouble must stick together, I suppose. Oh, this is agony! No road leads home and the freezing night never ends...

Banks And Robbers: A Fairy Tale

Once there was a Banker who did well. "Wow, can you believe it? My bank is worth a billion dollars!" This was all the money in the land. For years he had been an honest and faithful steward of the people's money - this despite the fact he had not an honest heart. But reason kept him in check, knowing that a man with a reckless reputation would never be entrusted with the savings of a lifetime.

Much praise had been heaped upon the Banker, feted and honored by a grateful population - a population that equally congratulated itself on picking such a fine man for the job. Then, in the twinkling of an eye: revelation. Now that he had all the money, who could touch him? His heart, filled with a lifetime of seething revenge, vowed to show himself once and for all, never to hide in the shadows again. The Banker swore on his life: "You can't cheat an honest man."

Finally free to unleash his greed, he took the entire billion down to the casino and bet it all on one spin of the wheel - and won! This - thought everyone - was the greatest event ever to have happened in the land. Parties raged night and day on the newly formed wealth. "Only in our land can happen great things like this!" The laws of Nature had been defeated and outwitted at last: Mankind was to have its greed and eat too.

There was, however, a tiny minority of Malcontents who spoke out. These doomsdayers proclaimed that the very same gambling which "saved" them would also destroy them, insisting it must cease completely and immediately. Men in high places publicly scoffed at these words, providing reassurance (and cover) for a sheepish public. Even those who posed themselves as enemies of greed derided the Malcontents. "Who do they expect to win over with such arguments? These unrealistic radicals let the perfect be the enemy of the good."

Radicals like this won't ever get elected!

Ergo, the gambling now deemed "realistic" continued unabated for all intents and purposes.

But the math of the odds began to win out. First the billion won was lost ("Don't change course! We'll get the billion back if we have faith!" demanded the Optimists) and then another billion lost wiping out all the money in the land. Then a third billion lost putting them in hopeless debt and slavery. Money, though an illusion, had been the determiner between life and death in the land. Though no food was lost, many died from hunger. Though no houses were gone, many died from exposure. Though the same amount of work needed to be done, many died from its denial.

But they were a stubborn people, an insistent people, living in vain hope of recapturing the time of the initial profits. This (amazingly enough) allowed the Optimist party to remain in control even as devastation and ill will spread across the land. Voices once bribed cried out in anger at bribes lost - still willing to look the other way on misery if profits returned. The Banker still lived untouched, deemed too important to ever have harm come to him in the tenets of their most holy monetary religion. Who could stand before the beast?

"You are a monster, the lowest of the low! There's no living with you! The harshest punishments possible should be reserved for you and your ilk. You are a plague upon society and your wickedness jeopardizes the very foundations of civilization. Be ye trusted no more and never come in our midst again!"

The Banker laughed reading this as he made his way to his morning limousine ride. The words had been spoken by a jury to a bank robber who was trying to save his family who'd been thrown out into the street. The jury and the Banker both knew these words should have been directed towards the true villain who was the Banker - but were not! The jury felt they must show their moral outrage at somebody (not themselves) as the land disintegrated around them.

Posing politicians vowed to "restore the greatness lost in our great land!" Feeling their way of life threatened, those still on top of the hill locked arms in conviction. "All we are saying, is give greed a chance!" Protesters threw rocks at the tops of the hills but the rocks merely rolled back down on top of them. Hero-of-the-day voices proudly proclaimed "solutions" of how the land could yet still keep their greed and eat too. "If only someone would listen to me!" Curiously enough, the Malcontents were more hated and reviled than ever. As each day passed they were proven more and more true.

A suffering little boy asked his father: "Why is it everything is so bad now when it used to be so good?" "Our greedy ways caught up to us, son." The father had been blackballed as a whistleblower, proving the land was not as moral as it claimed. "But can't we just stop?" wondered the boy. "Yes, but that would leave everyone only with each other." The boy brightened up. "But that shouldn't be a problem if we're as good of people as we say we are!"

Bucket List Trip Final Day: Pebble Beach Concours d'Elegance

So this is it, the greatest car show on the planet; no holds barred, no compromises, only the crème de la crème. Yes, there are awards at the Pebble Beach Concours but don't be fooled, every car here is a world class winner. One does not enter a car into the concours, one is invited. Organizers strive for the ultimate in whatever categories are to be highlighted in a given year. And this was the year of Maserati!

After winding my way through a byzantine course in the Monterey peninsula (the "most circuitous path possible," grumbled one fellow in the parking lot), I started my hike to the fabled golf course with heavy anticipation. Word was to get there as early as possible. I heeded that word not only due to the crowd but because I knew my time was limited before the morning clouds burned off and my sunburn would be scorched by the sun. As the course unfolded before me, I began to understand what a dazzling backdrop this would be to display fine artwork in automobile form.







A short video of some of the sights and sounds:



The Ferrari 250 Testa Rossa race cars which dominated racing from 1957-60 were a featured class. As with anything involving the prancing horse, interest was high even early in the morn. Pebble was able to assemble an amazing number of these cars, of this too I was able to make a short video.

As always, unique specialty cars were in abundance. (Click on any photo for a complete description from the Pebble car guide)

1952 Jaguar XK120 Open Two Seater

In 1949, a Jaguar XK120 achieved the title of the "World's Fastest Production Car" at 132.596 mph on a closed autoroute in Jabbeke, Belgium. When this record was broken by a Pegaso Z-102 in 1953, jaguar chairman William Lyons called Norman Dewis, Jaguar's chief test engineer, and asked what he was going to do about it [funny!]. Dewis and the Jaguar team headed back to Jabbeke in October with a car that had undergone a number of subtle modifications to its powertrain and aerodynamics, including a full under shield, a metal tonneau cover and streamlined headlamps. The most noticeable feature was a Perspex "bubble" canopy that was bolted down once Dewis was in the car. After inflating the nearly slick tires to 50 psi to reduce drag, Dewis smashed the Pegaso record with a top speed of 172.412 mph, verified by the Royal Automobile Club of Belgium, which brought the laurels back to Jaguar. The XK120 was once again the fastest car in the world.

1968 Ford GT40 Mark III Coupe

A total of 84 production versions of the racing GT40 were completed at Ford's Advanced Vehicle facility in Slough, England. J.W. Automotive Engineering took over the Slough facility and started manufacturing strictly road-going versions of the GT40 in 1966. The company was headed by John Weyer, the ex-GT40 team manager and Ford's GT40 distributor in England. His goal was to create a more roadworthy GT40 that Ford's racing versions. The GT40 Mark III was a GT40 for the street, just as the jaguar XKSS was a D-Type for the street. it has a detuned Cobra 289 V8 engine and a more civilized interior with slightly better ground clearance. Only seven were built, perhaps due to the price of $18,500 - more than a Ferrari or Maserati. This GT40 (chassis 1103) was first sold to Sir Max Aitken of London, then lent to the National Motor Museum at Beaulieu in England. Its current owner bought the car in 2011.



It could easily take a full day to absorb the craftsmanship and fine details of each and every car. Mass manufacturing has replaced custom coachbuilding leaving us with cars without the personality of days gone by. That makes their preservation all the more important. Even in its earliest days Rolls-Royce stood out among the rest in ways that can still be appreciated even today. The quality of work jumps out at you and "primitive" is a word that never crosses your mind. Here are some examples of this cross between fine engineering and fine art.

1908 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost Barker Roi des Belges

This Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost (60922), one of the oldest in the world, is known as the "Silver Dawn". The car was first owned by Charles Angas of South Australia, and he and his family traveled extensively around Great Britain in the car between 1910 and 1912 before taking it to Australia. It wears a polished Roi des belges tourer body built by Barker, similar to the famous Rolls-Royce 40/50 that became known as the Silver Ghost (AX201). The Silver Dawn has just completed the 1,800 mile 2013 Centenary Alpine Trial in commemoration of the first Alpine Trial that proved the Silver Ghost's reliability. The Silver Dawn was built in 1908 and still features many original parts, including its chassis, engine, gearbox and front and rear axles. The engine even retains its original cast-iron pistons. The car was restored by Rolls-Royce Motor car's authorized dealer P&A Wood.

1915 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost Alpine Eagle Portholme Torpedo

In 1906, Rolls-Royce built four chassis to be shown at the Olympia Motor Show in London, including two examples of a new car initially designated the 40/50 HP. The model that gave the model its now much more well-known name was AX201 (with chassis 6BD), which was the twelfth 40/50 HP built. It was painted in aluminum paint with silver-plated fittings and was nicknamed the "Silver Ghost" to emphasize its ghost-like quietness. This Silver Ghost was privately entered in the prestigious 1912 Austrian Alpine Trial by its first owner, James Radley. Rolls-Royce prepared a factory team of four cars for the 1913 event, and the team gained six awards, including the Archduke Leopold Cup. Replicas of the victorious cars were put into production and sold officially as Continental models, but they were called Alpine Eagles by chief test driver Ernest Hives, and this is the name that they have kept ever since.

1931 Rolls-Royce Phantom II Barker Sedanca de Ville

Here's a quick video trip down the regal row of Rolls-Royce.



These cars alone are reason enough to come. But Maserati was the featured marque and for them I did come. Some truly superb models were on hand, plucked right out of books and deposited onto the lush lawns of Pebble Beach. Here I found both rare racing cars and rare GT street models. Let us sample a few below:

1928 Maserati Tipo 26B Monoposto

The Maserati Tipo 26B (chassis 33/2515) is considered to be one of the, and possibly the, oldest running Maseratis in the world. It first appeared as a works factory car in 1928 at the Targa Florio, driven by the Marquis Diego de Sterlich. For 1930 it returned as a factory team car fitted with a 2.5 liter engine. At the Grand prix of Rome, Luigi Archangeli scored his first major victory and at Monza finished second. in 1931 Rene Dreyfus drove the car although struggled with reliability in the first two races in Tunis and Tripoli.

Dreyfus claimed pole position for the Monaco grand Prix, setting fastest lap in qualifying. For the 1932 season Dreyfus was again at the wheel, coming in first in the Reale Premio di Roma and second at the Grand Prix de Marseille and Nimes. The car was used sparingly for the 1933 season and its final races were at Monaco and Montlhery. When war broke out in Europe, 2515 was hidden in an Algerian cave before reappearing in 1954 in Morocco. It was eventually stored in an aircraft hanger in France until discovered by an American collector. Television personality Alain de Cadanet owned it in the 1980s before its current owner acquired it in 2000.

1960 Maserati 5000 GT Touring

The first Maserati 5000 GT, Tipo 103, was commissioned by the Shah of Iran in 1959. Maserati's chief engineer Giulio Alfieri designed it around the 3500 GT, with a strengthened chassis and suspension to cope with the massive power of the larger 5-liter engine developed from the 450S racing cars. It had a stylish Superleggera body by Touring and when completed, the Maserati 5000 GT was something very special indeed. With a top speed of over 175 mph and classic Italian styling, it quickly became the supercar of the day. Touring built this identical car on chassis 103.004 for South African businessman and owner of the Kyalami Circuit, Basil Read. There were 5000 GTs built for men such as Giovanni Agnelli, Briggs Cunningham, Stewart Granger, and Ferdinando Innocenti. After the first two were built by Touring, the following 32 were custom built by seven different Italian carrozzeria: Allemano, Frua, Monterosa, Pininfarina, Ghia, Michelotti and Bertone.

1957 Maserati 450S Spyder

Maserati wanted a car that could match that of their nearby neighbors, Ferrari. Maserati's Tipo 54 450S was conceived in 1954 by the company's chief engineer, Alberto Bellentani. The tubular chassis was the work of Valerio Colotti. Chassis 4503 was completed in December 1956 and became one of the factory team cars for Maserati in 1957. At its first race at Sebring on March 23, 1957, it breezed to victory with Juan Manuel Fangio and jean Behra driving over the 12 hours. Behra then crashed this car in practice; the next appearance for the rebuilt car was at the Swedish grand prix 1000 km in August, 1957, driven by Stirling Moss and Harry Schell. In the last event of the season, the Caracas race in November 1957, this car was again driven by Moss. While in the lead, he collided with an AC Bristol, demolishing both cars. The car was brought back to Modena, rebuilt, and sold to a South American in 1958.

1956 Maserati A6G/54 Frua Coupe

Between 1954 and 1956 Maserati built 60 A6G/54 bare chassis. The 2-liter engine was a Colombo-designed twin-overhead-cam unit with a lightweight alloy block, using dual ignition and triple Weber carburetors. It had a wet sump lubrication system and depending on the equipment used, the motor developed between 120 and 150 bhp. Of this total 19 cars were bodied by Zagato, several by Allemano, and ten convertibles and seven coupes were bodied by Frua. This car is the only surviving A6G/54 Series II Frua coupe. Most Frua convertibles were Series III cars and this car looks similar to the convertible but with a hardtop.

1938 Maserati Tipo 8TCF Monoposto (Boyle Special)

This 8TCF (chassis 3032), also known as the Boyle Special, is famous for its many visits to the Indianapolis 500 but was originally a Maserati team car. In 1939 and 1940 it raced at Indianapolis, where it won both times driven by Wilber Shaw; the following years it was forced to retire. The car visited Indianapolis again in 1946 and 1947, finishing third and fourth. It raced again in 1949 but failed to finish. The 8-cylinder Testa Fissa or fixed-head engine was designed by Ernesto Maserati. Built for the new Grand Prix 3-liter supercharged Formula, it had the speed to take on the mighty Mercedes, Auto Unions and Alfa Romeos but sadly not the reliability. The 3-liter supercharged engine featured independent fuel feed to the two groups of four cylinders and twin Roots superchargers. The 8TCF debuted at the 1938 Tripoli Grand Prix and performed well. Three cars were completed for the 1938 racing season.

I imagined that Frua A6G coupe parked in front of a Mediterranean mansion in the evening, car and house complementing one another in exquisite harmony. And the dreamlike 5000 GT posing as the ultimate exotic of its time, branding the memories of anyone lucky enough to catch a glimpse. These ethereal beings are time machines to before the supercars of the seventies launched a new genre that has become mainstreamed. Like 1960's Bond, they lived in a world apart, trekking through this world on another plane.

Below is a video of a few of the Maseratis on display.



Famished at this point, I headed for the VIP tent where breakfast awaited. Afterwards I hiked back to my car to deposit my jacket and goodies I'd received. The sky was clearing at this point but I decided to give it a shot so I started back. My legs were really aching at this point. Along the way this woman adopted me, telling me about her connections to the event. She was smart, stylish and independent, the kind with whom I am sympatico. But being damaged (in more ways than one) I did not open up to her as I should have. By the time I got back the sun was out in full glory.



By this time the crowd was really starting to fill in. I vied with the sun for a bit but lost miserably. Time for me to flee way too early. Picture taking time had certainly passed with the increased density but I would have enjoyed just mingling for a change and appreciating the cars. So except for one last coda, I bid adieu.

Click here to see the entire set of pictures along with associated car background.

Bucket List Trip Coda: Gooding Auction

Like a vampire, as the sun came out, I had to go in. Hiking back to my rental car I passed the Gooding auction tent hoping to do some recon. I knew Gooding was a low volume, high quality auction house and very well might have some interesting cars - even by Pebble Beach standards. But I about spit up the last of my saliva when the girl told me a ticket was 40 bucks. "Bucket list! Bucket list!" I told myself, gritting my teeth as I handed over my credit card for what seemed the thousandth time that weekend.



But what do I see when I wander around the tent but a 1956 Maserati 250F! My cup runneth over. It was raced once by the factory team and won, driven by Stirling Moss. Estimated sale price? 4-6 million. What a beautiful piece of machinery. Then this guy comes over to look as well and I remark on what a find this is. "Yup, doesn't get any better than this," he mumbled. Then he proceeds to take the hood off! Fine by me, great for picture taking. Eventually an employee came over to chastise him but he said he was interested in buying it. Employee backed off.







They had some other outstanding examples placed around, maybe 40 in all, but I had to leave. Sunburned, sore and sleepy I made my way out of Pebble and up the coastline, had me a tasty meal at Outback then found a beach access parking lot where I promptly reclined the seat in a cloudy haze. It had been a nonstop whirlwind from the moment I landed at San Jose and I desperately needed to catch my breath.



On my way out of the concours I had passed through Carmel and was struck by its charm. It looked like a cool place to explore but my rubber legs would have none of it at the time. But after sitting by the beach for over an hour, I got my second wind and calculated I'd have enough time for that Carmel exploration before the auction started. But as I park my car, what do I find right across the street? Another rare Maserati! Clearly, the car gods were smiling down upon me.







Old style shops with high style prices made for a unique combination of glitz and charm. Late model Ferraris and Lamborghinis dotted the main street and I knew my credit card wouldn't be seeing the light of day. Supposedly, local resident Clint Eastwood has a restaurant around there but I didn't try to research that. I was just enjoying the otherworldly feel of being so faraway transported from my everyday life and the energy that is Monterey car week that crackled in the air.

Making my way back to Pebble, I was going against the grain as long lines of cars were exiting after the concours had ended. But what really panicked me was they had already taken up the signs indicating which way to the show! I tried to remember landmarks from the first time then turned on the GPS for an approximation but you can drive around in circles forever in that area. I ended up taking a really scenic trip right along the beach back around to my original parking lot but one could say the car gods helped me most with what turned out to be a lucky guess on my part.



One cool thing, though, was all the car transporters for the show were parked behind the Gooding tent. So sure enough while waiting to park I see a Maserati 300S and a steam car among others motoring right past me to be trucked out of there. Had I known this I would have staked out the spot for some action video. Like I said, best to do a dry run first on a big trip!



I was a few minutes late but no worries because I knew you don't start an auction with your best car, you build up to it with lesser ones first. Luckily, they didn't save the 250F for last, either! I'd seen the auctioneer in action several times in the past on TV but I got the full flavor of him in person and he really worked the room well, as expected. He knew when to joke, when to pick up the pace and when to drop the hammer. I started not to feel so bad about my 40 dollars.



I was shocked by some of the prices. Half a mil for a Jaguar E-Type?? And remember, a ten percent premium is charged by the auction house of the final sale price so a car selling for a million really costs 1.1 mil. Ouch! Finally the 250F comes up on the stage - along with surprise guest Sir Stirling Moss! See the video below to see what it sells for.

Holding it over my head on max zoom, it gets a little shaky

Click here to see the entire photo set

*****

It was fairly dark as I made my way back to the parking lot. That was it, fini. No more events to look forward to, the dream was over. It literally hit me in the stomach. I wanted to stay California dreaming forever. I tried not to get down, to be thankful for what I'd received (a lot!) and not be the negative cunt I usually am. I held up fairly well, I thought. I knew I'd be feeling the aftershocks for a long time to come.

So if you see me and my eyes are far away, most likely I'm back in California walking in the mystic morning fog, driving down twisty mountains, inhaling the ocean breeze and wondering, "What if..."