Day One: A Little Wind and Water Never Hurt Anybody, Except It Messed Up Jonny's HairIn keeping with tradition, the die-hards only slept for an hour or so, and 6 a.m. came way too early for them. What a gloomy (and fuzzy; someone must have spiked my Juicy Juice!-JN) way to start off the Tour. What was once calm and California-esque the afternoon before had suddenly become dark and dismal, but a strong contingent of hearty souls still came in droves ready to stick it in Isabel's eye. We occupied nearly the entire Mr. Tire parking lot, and probably would have had more if signs saying "free donuts with a T-shirt purchase" were posted along the highway. After gathering the troops and giving our annual safety speech (which Yee must have ignored), we were off, ready to attack the roads and the immensity of nature's elements that lay ahead. Jonny rode with Derrick and Philbert in what was most assuredly the ugliest car on The Tour, while Nads and Throbleto were ensconced within the luxurious confines of a new Acura TSX (Thanks, Matt!-JN). Finally, O-Town drove the Penske truck with all the Tour schwag in the back and the dead weight that is Peske in the cab. The winds began to pick up serious strength about an hour out, but it didn't seem to affect any one of us-at least not Nads and Jonny; they both passed out for a late morning siesta.
Our midday stop brought us to Creative Customs in Fredericksburg, Virginia, where the number of Tour cars doubled. Because we arrived early, we had just over two hours to kill, so we took the opportunity to grab a bite to eat and prey on the unsuspecting birds that were with their boyfriends. This year, many of them didn't even bust out the pepper spray. On our lunch break, we grabbed one of New York's finest, Brian Deniz, and dragged him with us so he could pick up the tab. We would have let him get away with it too if Joe Ehres, el presidente and founder of eastcoastneons.org, and crew didn't step in and offer an Andrew Jackson for our glorious meal at Hardees. Then, without warning, the rain began to fall and people scurried to their cars. Time to move on and get to our overnight stop, which, coincidentally enough, was only 10 miles south of where Hurricane Isabel's lovely eye was.
While Derrick and Phil sword-fought over who got to drive the Oldsmobuick rental, nobody wanted to drive the TSX after Throbby tainted it-he doesn't wash his hands after urinating-thus permanently soiling the controls (Sorry, Matt-Staff). Nads and Jonny kept on sleeping in order to rest their shutter fingers, and Ovitz was left to lug both the Penske and the Peske through the storm.
The high winds and torrential downpour made us feel very uneasy, and there were moments when we could see no further than a few yards ahead or behind us. Occasionally we'd pass a Tour member, but often times they'd fly right by us, never to be seen again until the dawn's early light. At one point a tree fell across the road, completely blocking the I-85 southbound lanes. Many of the Tour members would have been stranded if Cousin Cletus had not come to the rescue with his trusty chain saw (you had to see it to believe it). With bladders like a 12-year-old girl, we hit every other rest stop while Derrick intermittently drifted in and out of consciousness while under a heavy sedation of Flexeril and Vicodin (poor guy got rear-ended a few weeks prior).
When we finally reached the Four Seasons in Greensboro, North Carolina, the winds were so strong that it took Jonny a few minutes to make it through the main lobby doors, but that could've just been his big head creating a sail effect. Nads woke up just in time to get his room, and we took the opportunity to rest briefly (cool, a nap!-JN), catching old episodes of Knight Rider and Three's Company (RIP John Ritter) until it was time to boogie down at the overnight party.