Once we got out of the hell that is the Baltimore-area morning commute all the Tour-goers got to stretch their legs while we got to sleep, so to speak. Jaysin Evil smashed a tire going 70mph and destroyed the front bumper on a week-old paint job on his STi, and like Derrick Yee taking free bread from a restaurant home to make sandwiches for lunch, had to walk back up the highway to get a piece of it. We stopped off for lunch at Hooters in Chester, Virginia where the waitresses were hot but the food was not, especially since it took over an hour to get our orders and still sucked! Outside we took notice of the East Coast Panty Dropper's xB, which had a custom graphics scheme that we couldn't take our hands and eyes off of. One guy let Jonny relive his tagging days by letting the fat Chinese guy hit up his really hard (read: ghetto) SR20'ed S13. Otis was dumb enough (as if that was a shock to any of us) to speed through Virginia as if the cops out there wouldn't notice him and his twin brother, Neran Dhas, the only two Middle Easterners flying down the highway in a bright, yellow Penske truck filled with "weather tracking" equipment. Once again, Nads got "lost" with Kenny in the Mustang before reaching the overnight stop at the Sheraton Four Seasons, but we're not entirely sure if we believe them or not.
The Sheraton stop has played home to all sorts of memorable and unmentionable experiences, meaning you had to be there to understand. This year was no different. Christian Rado brought his big hair and met us on time with his rig transporting the precious cargo of a 1,400hp tube chassis Scion tC and other Scion display vehicles for the NOPI show. After arriving fashionably late to our own gig, we gave away more prizes, let more kids beat Emmerson at Need for Speed: Most Wanted for a free tank of gas, and even had an NOS High Performance Energy Drink chug-a-lug contest, where, if you can believe it, the winner received the television we used to connect to the Xbox for his valiant efforts. Our late night diehards continued to the hotel lounge where Kenny couldn't even pay off the house club manager to let in a few perverted guys and their group of 30 kids, just because some of them were wearing tennis shoes. Well, guess who loves letting in people with tennis shoes? Gentlemen's clubs and points beyond (well, if you count the "no shirt, no shoes, no service" policy at the Waffle House)! At the end of the night (or the crack of dawn, depending on your point of view), we retired to our rooms and once again, homeless Matt was willing to risk it all by staying with Jonny and Nads. Such a brave soul.
Say What?
Tour people are our favorite bunch. You go the distance, you pillage when it's time to give out free goods (you know who you are), and you throw out dollar bills to those really friendly girls just as often as we do (sometimes giving even more!). We wanted to get a feel for all the different people who were showing up to this year's gig, so if you were wondering why a Chinese guy with a big head or a tall Persian dude with bountiful manjugs were shoving a tape recorder right into your girlfriend's mouth while staring endlessly at her boobs, then this is the reason why.