- Don't crash.
- Don't get caught speeding.
- When the center line disappears, slow down.
- Don't complain.
I was attempting to correlate rules of the road as a metaphor for life though this would be cliche.
Here I am eating a bran muffin instead.
The reason the Melee organizers call it a melee (aside from cheese sandwich already being taken) is because it's pretty much every person for themselves throughout this event. (hotel rooms were provided). Highlights of the trip for me were crossing the Golden Gate Bridge with all the cars in single-file. It was a beautiful site but that's probably because you can't go wrong on the Golden Gate Bridge unless you're suicidal, jumping off, and hit the dirt instead of the water. Then, ugh!
Another highlight was driving out to some obscure road and racing (without being caught - one of the road rules) and being the only Fiat (yes, shut-up! Not one word!) among two 356 Porsches with a BMW 2002 out in front. We were between the Porsches when both of them were forced to pull over due to "engine trouble." We caught up to the BMW and he had to pull over due to over-heating. And we won! We were first (and then it seemed as if we didn't see another car for 3 days!) Even the porsche guys were talking about it later that evening in the hotel parking lot - drunk as they were. They were surprised and congratulatory.
At the hotel there was booze served out of the "mini-bar" another cliche (you might notice this is a real mini-cooper). These scape-goats are so young they don't know a cliche when they drink and drive from it.
Mini (Cooper) Bar sleeping with blankee and assorted trash
Lack of organization afforded the opportunity to find our own meals, eating where and when we wanted. Because food is such a huge part of my life, finding my own food (and having Chris pay for it) is important to me. I brought bran muffins with me but lost them (*shrug*) so each day started with a an adventurous bran muffin (where art thou?) hunt. One night we accidentally had a romantic dinner at a place down on Noyo Harbor in Fort Bragg though it wouldn't have been romantic in a room full of melee'ers. The next day, Chris and I stopped along the coast where I walked a labyrinth some (new) aging, hippy-ish- type person had made in the sand out of stones and shells and sticks. (Ah, the labyrinth trinity!) I knew that walking the labyrinth would zap any errant cancer cells. Plus it was good exercise in that soft sand and it was all so groovy and Californian.
Chris was in pain after driving for 3 days. I'm just along for the ride. I *could* drive by why would I? We were both jet-ready to get back home. We did not attend the "awards ceremony" though I think I might have missed out on a couple of awards granted exclusively to me. First time ever on a 3 day car ride that I didn't complain (that much) would deserve one award and "least booze consumed" of all attendees though I met one young man who said he had "stayed up past midnight" and added that he was not a drinker(!) (a liar perhaps?) I decided right then that he must be a drug-addict. (I am turning into my grandfather.) If you don't drink, you must be drug addict. How else can you stay awake THAT LATE? Lord knows I'd need drugs to stay awake that late. I sure as hell need them to get to sleep. Grandpa Tom used to call this younger generation "scape-goats." After this trip I'm kinda liking the way that sounds.
We wrapped up our trip by buying for Icy Hot®for Chris's sore muscles. Trying to keep up with scape-goats is hard work. It requires too much of what I don't want to have -- an iron gut, a cast-iron liver, and fewer brains (and a souped up car!) I know Chris would like to keep trying to keep up -- ego's on the line. It's hard to admit that your body can't take the stress though I usually have no trouble admitting my mind can't take it. Maybe for now, the center line is getting blurry and it's time to slow down.