So I'm on the last midnight run to Harrisburg, the state capitol of Pennsylvania, where I'll soon be heading to the outskirts of town to cover the biggest import show of the Northeast in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Everyone on board seems to have fallen peacefully asleep while I'm sweating over the directions to Carlisle that I pulled off the Net. One source of directions says, "Head west leaving airport," while the other states, "Head east leaving the airport," which basically leaves me in deep *#@! if I can't find suitable directions soon. I bug the guy next to me for a confirmation on the accuracy of my directions and it turns out that he's from Carlisle. Some kind of luck, eh?
"You can follow me home if you'd like," he says. Let me think for a brief moment. I'm in the middle of nowhere with nothing more than my camera, backpack, and a few bucks. Should I go? Uh, me thinks not. I decline his kind offer, and he instead turns a favor of goodwill by writing down directions for a route where I won't have to pay any tolls. My thoughts of becoming another case for Unsolved Mysteries are laid to rest. That is, until I hit the highway.
I Don't Know How To Get There, SirThat's what the guy at the local convenience mart says to me when I ask for the way to Exit 11. It seems that there are quite a few exits for Highway 11, and I happened to pick the wrong one. Besides not being too helpful or knowledgeable of where to go, he also has the look like he's spotted an alien right inside his store. His boss, who has been on the ground stocking pork rinds since I walked in, finally rises with his arse-crack exposed and explains the proper directions to me. "Go back onto the highway and head south to Exit 17. Now git! You hear me, boy! Git!" he says. The stories that Rich told me about shotgun-loading store clerks that he encountered during the NOPI Nationals has me running out to my car without hesitation and back onto the road. The store manager was right because my hotel is right off Exit 17. I spend the rest of the night watching rap music videos and reruns of Essence of Emeril until I doze off. That's gotta be some kinda luck.
This Is Where Things Get InterestingI had no idea what to expect upon my arrival at the Carlisle Import and Kit/Replicar show. I followed a group of locals with some pretty nice rides out to the fairgrounds. Plenty of green all around and low-price gas stations line the streets, leaving me with thoughts of retirement and all those annoying e-mails urging you to not buy gas from certain companies. It took me quite a while to make my way to the Auto Addictions vendor arena because of the sheer size of the fairgrounds. Compared to the usual one/two-hall import shows that I've been to in the past, this must've been at least three to four times bigger!
Once I found the Auto Addictions pavilion and hooked up with a few familiar faces, it was pretty much scoping out the place for feature cars and girls. One section of the fairgrounds is a swap meet where you can find just about any part for older imports and kit cars. I tried looking for a few Type R goodies but all I found was an old guy standing in the tent holding a cigarette that was just about ready to ash into his beer. Since the first day of the event was an all-around setup day, I took many tries around the fairgrounds and chow-down on some generous portions of goulash in a bread bowl. That night I found myself not only watching Emeril and rap videos, but Wild Things just happened to be on cable. Mmm...