Spring doesn't come easily in Central Alberta. April showers meant to bring flowers that bloom in May are often snow squalls that delay the swap to summer tires. This was the case on the night before my planned departure for California. Our family dinner discussion centered around summer vacation plans and schedules all the while I was looking sideways out our back porch as the snow accumulated.
I'd already had the car out on several break in runs. Just some local short trips on the rather boring straight Alberta roads. The snow had disappeared some time ago with temperatures beginning to hover closer to a consistent above zero. In those temperatures I could feel comfortable with running my summer tires. I had just mounted them on a set of new old stock period correct Fondmetal wheels. A chance marketplace find in rare 911 fitment from an estate sale. This was to be my first trip with the car after some extensive engine out service due to the discovery of camshaft damage the previous fall. It was ready and I was pleased with the outcome. Engine sorted, new rubber on vintage wheels and some singer style bucket seats. The car was a complete specimen. A snap back to reality as I'm watching in dread wondering if my departure is going to be delayed due to weather. Firehawks are not winter tires, let alone ice tires and while I am confident in my driving ability, I know that Highway 2 South can be as chaotic as a dystopian post-apocalyptic car chase movie.
The garage door rolls up at the ass crack of dawn. A 5 AM departure reveals crusty snow-covered roads and black ice. Adversity is Adventure, and so we launch. Each turn and every city block is a lesson on road condition that builds experience for the brave. By the time I reach the cloverleaf entry ramp, I know exactly what to expect from the tires and the car. Not so for others on the road, as the flow comes to an immediate stop shortly after entering the highway. A semi tractor trailer has lost control and taken out a guard rail just across the bridge, blocking both lanes. Surrounded by commercial trucks, we mercifully start moving after 20 minutes. Once past the blockage my 30km/hr pace is well below the 110km/hr speed limit. Any more than that and the tail end swings out. The truck in front and behind seem to know the mission as I am protected from the flow of morons in the left lane who think 4x4 pickup trucks are immune to black ice. They are wrong. I recognize some of their inverted vehicles in the ditch every so often as we make our slow progress weaving through piles of welding equipment strewn across the highway. What should take an hour, takes 3. My protectors with me the whole way. I fantasize they recognize the rarity of my car but in reality, it's the treacherous road conditions.
After the arduous journey, I make it to the Calgary Airport Hotel where my personal photographer is waiting. Andrew Ritchie had originally intended to drive his 996 to Air Water, but the discovery of cylinder scoring and an increasingly shrinking time frame had prevented him from getting his car ready in time. And so, we decided to share this experience together. A questionable decision on his part for sure given the crescendo that had cemented our friendship the year before was a 23 second fart, unashamedly expelled by me on the last night of the Utah rally. "That was me" I say. "As if there was any doubt!" Andrew manages to blurt out through fits of laughter. This guy agreed to spend the next 5 days in a confined space with me after that? The sacrifice does not go unnoticed.
Andrew doesn't fit in the seats. He's concerned that the bolsters are going to get damaged and bundles up his hoodie to sit on. I feel bad that they are made for toddlers and my friend was somehow going to have to endure them for 2000 miles. This is my introduction to the respect and mechanical sympathy that I've come to know about Andrew. A brotherhood formed over the course of several rallies. Spending time getting to know each other has been one of the great joys of my car community experience. As years bare on, it can become increasingly more difficult to create deep and meaningful friendships. Age, duty, responsibility and fine tuning of interests are all things that rob us of the carefree limitless time we once had to spend every day with a kindred spirit. We move away. We pursue life and career goals and build families in new cities. Most friendships get reduced from daily plans and adventures to increasingly sporadic phone calls and ultimately to the infrequent and superficial level of text messages. The memory of true connection severed like the string between two cans. Inadequate at representing the deep role people play in forming who we become.
I once received a birthday card from a friend and coworker that said words to the effect of "friends come and go, thanks for being there to fill one of the spaces". It both hurt and somehow cut to the honesty of relationships as we grow into fully formed adults. Not many of the people who come into our lives are there for the entirety of it. I grew in both self-awareness and maturity that day when I realised that my investment into the important people in life is a shared responsibility requiring more than the convenience of proximity.
It wasn't until Salt Lake City, some 870 miles into our trip that Andrew realised the foot well on my side of the car wasn't blowing 90-degree heat. "How come your side is cold?" he asked. "What do you mean?" I said while reaching down into his foot well, my hand instantly sensing the burning hot air pouring out from under the dash. Cycling the heat lever did nothing. I had installed new ducts on the mixer valves and apparently hadn't checked the proper functioning of the lever. It would require getting under the car and making an adjustment. Something we couldn't do on the battlefield of Salt Lake's bypass route. "Dude, you should have said something".
"I just thought it was an old car". Which of course it is but still... We both had a good laugh. One of many along the road. How we react to situations has a lot to do with those we choose to be in the orbit of our lives. The ability to shrug off adversity and move forward is an important personality trait. When your Subaru rolls off an embankment on the Arkansas rally for example. Sit down, contemplate, surmise a plan and move forward. Improvisation, Action, Adaptation. Very Admirable.
As Life progresses, so do our relationships. We hone the number of people in our lives down to some manageable level of individuals who share common interests. I've always been a road tripper. It's my preferred car community. Standing around at shows has never brought me the satisfaction that the sense of movement gives. Perhaps that's a trait of ADHD. To be honest, the show aspect of Air Water Lufgekult wasn't a focus of my passion. The cars could be seen on Instagram or YouTube thanks to the endless parade of social media users. I'm glad it exists, but my feeling of FOMO for these events always comes from seeing people together enjoying a common interest. Sure, I love the cars but combine the people with the cars and you had something magic. Put those same cars and friends in awe inspiring scenery on fantastic roads... well now you have lightning in a bottle.
This time that lightning was going to strike at Roy's Café. An on again off again roadside attraction/motel in the middle of nowhere California desert route 66. That was our calling. That was worth 1500 miles.
Road trip discussions span the length and breadth of the roadway. From deeply personal to childishly shallow and possibly immature. Family, history, pop culture, Canadian humor and of course cars. You can fake a conversation for an hour or two but when you're in a car with someone for days, it's hard not to let your true personality come out. We had both taken a chance. Before this drive, neither of us knew each other that well. Some short conversations at some rallies, a phone call or two. Thank God we got along.
With the heater valve fixed, we drove on with purpose but not in a hurry. I had noticed at every road stop, Andrew was buying a drink called "Liquid Death". I had no idea what that was but surmised it must be some kind of energy drink. The FDA recommends not more than one hyper caffeinated drink daily, but Andrew seemed to be consuming them at a rate of 4 or more. Being a guy, I minded my own business. It was obvious our deepening friendship would likely be cut short by a massive coronary out in the desert somewhere. Probably in Joshua Tree National Park which turned out to be a spectacular backdrop for photos. Having never been, I was eager to get some video of the 911 wizzing past the stunted trees. It was the off season, so the crowds were bearable. I think we agreed the world would be perfect if it weren't for all these non-car people.
Just as I silently encouraged Andrew's inevitable demise from coffee drinks, he too supported my poor decisions surrounding road trip food. I had discovered Chilli Cheese Fritos. Something we couldn't get in Canada. And while I loved them, they certainly didn't love me back. Not ideal in a confined space... two guys surviving on Fritos, jerky, Payday bars and energy drinks. Is there any other way a brotherhood is formed? Without swords, horses, kilts and blue face paint, I think not.
For the second year in a row registration night on the road to air water was to be held at Roy's Café. I knew I had to attend. Not because the surreal retro neon sign bore my name but because of how happy it made everyone who saw it. Like a call back to some simpler time when culture revolved around the great American road trip. One hundred or so people all collected in the desert at this one forgotten place that still held the magic. We all wanted a piece of it, and this is how we got it. This community of like-minded souls somehow floating through time and space at the same time... eating BBQ pork under obsolete illumination. Those lights? They cast a colourful line across the top of the 911 fender that is unmatched in its beauty and art.
We set off in a cloud of dust and German engineering the following morning. It was good. Some part of every kid born in the 80's and 90's can't help but stop and stare at the shape of the 911. It's the roof line, or it's the frog eyes, or it's the sound of that weird rear mounted airplane engine. Whatever it is, it brings joy to those who's memories are triggered by just about every low budget action movie from the 80's when you could throw a stone in Hollywood and someone was making a film with a 911 in it. Usually, it got smashed but none of us were so careless. We revelled in the road as we chased a line of not so rare, highly desirable overpriced and out of date sports cars. We're a part of something special. We like minded individuals who long to be nowhere else but behind the wheel of our machines making memories with friends in the desert.
The rumors of Andrew's Likely demise were greatly overexaggerated by the way, turns out "Liquid Death" is fancy water.
Oh, and later? We went to a really good show put on by really good people.
