The Peabody caravan rolled off the parking lot and onto the interstate toward Rhode Island. I rode with Publisher Peter; we brought up the rear of the import automotive train. Occasionally, I'd take a blurry picture or try to tame participants with the bullhorn. Otherwise, we spent a good deal of the car ride using the bullhorn to mimic our very own "Mr. Microphone" commercials. The entire caravan of cars arrived at the Rhode Island State Capitol without incident. The cars arranged themselves in an orderly fashion, and the judging commenced, while stories of the journey were swapped. All the while, I was snapping pictures with Joe and commenting on how well everything had gone thus far. He just kept retelling a story about some girl who flashed him. At any rate, there was a prevailing positive vibe from the event, which filled the Capitol Building's parking lots. How-ever, the masses were growing hungry, and if action wasn't taken soon, all the good cheer would soon turn to hostility. Acting with lightning efficiency, Magazine-Czar Howard arranged for a catering truck to arrive at the event. As it turned out, the alleged catering vehicle was a repainted version of one of those little yellow school buses that the kids who wore the heavy down jackets and headgear were shuttled around in. Moe the Caterer served local favorites like bratwurst, hot dogs, Polish sausage, with chocolate Yoohoo, and other processed pork products your mother told you would stunt your growth. The crowd, myself included, devoured the entire carcinogenic menu; it was quite possibly the most desperate meal of the weekend.
Later in the afternoon, as prizes were awarded for vehicle categories and raffle tickets, I began to realize that this special event would soon be over. I was happy with the end result for two reasons. I had gotten to witness a well executed and unspoiled display of people's enthusiasm for cars and cruising, which I'm confident will merit more events to be focused on this region in the future. Perhaps even more surprising, I sampled a Kielbasa sandwich and a Yoohoo off the food truck and still haven't experienced a stroke or anything more severe than mild loss of motor skills.
Joe's side of the story
I awoke earlier than anyone else. The day before, I had made the rookie mistake of relying on the hotel wake-up call, which didn't happen. Needless to say I was late-in a big way. Not the right foot to start on for your very first Super Street mission. That's why I made sure I was on time for the kick off of the First Annual G-Tour to the Gravity Games in Providence, Rhode Island.
As I walked outside to get some fresh air, I was hit on the forehead with several droplets of rain. Yes, rain. Something I hardly witness in the Southern California. How ironic that it would start raining on the day of the G-Tour. How strangely reminiscent of last year's Super Street Tour. After all these thoughts ran through my head, I realized that I was getting seriously soaked. So I went back inside.
My leg would start at Tweeter Etc. And when I got there'-in the rain, surprisingly, I didn't melt-there were no signs of life. I was stuck with Max Power editor Mike "My camera is bigger than yours" Shartsis for the entire leg, and we were beginning to feel like failures. That is, until a white Type R showed up with three participants. Yes! We were in business.
Shortly after the Type R rolled in, the Boston Acoustics boys arrived, followed by the BFG trailer, carrying our Project Scorcher Civic Si. Then-despite the rain-cars began showing up and filling the parking lot. I ran around on my little pale white legs, braving the rain (my forehead was getting quite wet at this point) snapping photos. And before I knew it, it was time to take off.