Moe's Wild RideAs I boarded the plane, I barely had an idea what I would encounter on this G-Tour experience. It didn't really matter to me; I figured it was all part of some learning experience preordained by destiny.
If you're not familiar with the G-Tour, that's understandable. This was our first one, and judging by the response, it won't be our last. This year, the G-Tour had two starting points. One began at Boston Acoustics in Peabody, Massachusetts, the other at Tweeter Etc. in Milford, Connecticut. Both legs would end at the Gravity Games in Providence, Rhode Island. And if you're not familiar with the Gravity Games, then get with the program, it's a new celebration of alternative sports and music, think Olympics, but yearly and with a whole lot more skateboards, dirt bikes, and punk music. This year it was held from July 15 to July 23.
Well, the plane trip to Boston went off without incident. As usual, the only attractive female in my section of the plane was seated next to some ripe-smelling German tourist who spoke no English and precious little German it seemed. I was seated between two elderly natives of New Bedford, Connecticut, who had mastered the art of big hair and could never get bored talking about the Home Shopping Network. I spent the majority of the time pretending to be asleep, to avoid the awkward conversation that involved bunions and why Beano doesn't work.
Upon touching down, our group of merry travelers united with those coming on a later flight. Our numbers required two rental cars. Publisher Peter opted for a Volvo sedan, while Magazine-Czar Howard elected to roll in an oh-so-pimp-like Crown Victoria sedan with full leather interior, a definite babe magnet.
We found ourselves in the Boston area a day and half before the event was scheduled to kick off on Saturday to attend to the required preparations. After arriving at the Boston Acoustics facility in Peabody, Massachusetts, a staff assembly line was formed to stuff goody bags, which would be given to Tour participants. I was riding on the Peabody-to-Providence leg. As such, Friday night was spent in the Burlington Marriott. Imagine our surprise when we arrived at the hotel to find that it was packed with legions from a national albinos convention. The place was wall-to-wall albinos. This lent an almost surreal atmosphere, with very pale people doing normal things like ordering drinks at the hotel bar and exchanging sunblock.
The G-Tour Saturday began entirely too early for me, as we needed to be out of the hotel in Burlington at some inhumanly early time like 5:00 a.m. or something. The events of the early morning are still very fuzzy. I shampooed with mouthwash, and I think I tried to comb my hair with a toothbrush. I didn't have the capacity for coherent speech until at least 8 o'clock in the morning. I was basically as useful as a doorstop until then. Luckily, Peter and Mike Robleto were there to pick up the slack as we arrived at Boston Acoustics to find that there were already participants waiting to register at like 7 a.m. In fact, a whole car club was waiting.
Slowly, entrants began to trickle in and jam the busy registration desk and experiment with creative parking situations. I kept myself occupied by lollygagging around the parking lot snapping out-of-focus pictures and stalking the food truck. A few doughnuts into the morning, I was beginning to feel like myself. Nine o'clock came and we had about 100 cars ready to go despite threats of impending rain. Our police escort arrived half an hour later and the drivers' meeting was held; meanwhile, I was on the roof trying to shoot a decent photo of the congregated drivers' meeting. After tearing the corner of my shirt on the ladder up and almost losing a kidney, I arrived at the edge of the roof to hear Robleto thanking the drivers for their attention and telling them to return to their cars. Swell, I'd managed to fumble yet another photo opportunity.