Subj: Lime Rock (the novel)
Date: 6/8/00


Well, gang:
As all of you know most/parts of the whole story, you may wish to save this to file to bring back fond memories.

Dit ta dit dit dit, date line; 261300 MAY 00 ( that's the military date/time group). I have just finished installing my Comptech harness bar. Earlier this day, I had warned my son that if I was home when he returned from school, don't be asking/doing things that make me upset, for things did not go right and I would not be a happy camper. My installation looks professional, other than the need to create a panel that will easily fit behind the upper bar and conceal the electronics without having to disturb the bar. Due to poor instructions from Dali, some Dali bar installers have been left guessing where to put the hole in the side panels to secure the harness bar. Although creative, some installers elected to put untrained mice behind the panels to seek out the hidden bolt and chew a hole through the panel. The problem with untrained mice is that when you move them from one side panel to the other, they loose their sense of direction, and quite often will chew a hole in the wrong place. With Comptech, I had no such problem.
I have E-mailed Peter and warned him of my impending arrival (if he is home when I arrive; he had his chance) and that I was bringing Cow Pie (aka: meat pie, purchased in Maine) and cranberry sauce for dinner. The drive to P&S (Peter and Sylvia) was uneventful other than extra heavy traffic on I 278 near I 80. It reminded me of a prison break with the cops trying to round them up and send them back. I pulled in to P&S' driveway, unloaded the NSX, and we proceeded to eat dinner. Peter tells me that Miled had called and requested assistance in installing some panels and shift knob. The decision to help will be based at what time we finish dinner and how exhausted I feel after E & Eing (Escape and Evasion) through NJ. The meal was good, the company was excellent and the bottle of wine gave Peter and I the courage and confidence to tell Miled, "Sure Miled, come on over, we'll help you!" Miled, not knowing our blood alcohol level (or on it himself), heads out into the dark thinking that he is driving over to the Mills, but really he has headed into............the Twilight Zone (na na na na).
The first indication that he has entered the "Zone" is that Sylvia is giving him directions to their house over his cell phone as he drives; and he actually arrives. The
second indication; he stops his NSX in the water aftermath caused from Peter and I washing my car (is this the Miled we know or is it the Miled from Bazarro world?). After a round of sincere hearty handshakes, Peter suggests we drive to his business and work in the garage. Sylvia comes along, partly out of curiosity, but mostly so she won't get bored from being "home alone". (Ahhhh, if she only knew what awaited her).
Third indication: Miled, who is particular (not fussy) about his NSX, has requested Peter and myself (without a hint of reservation) to install $600 worth of trim, a shift knob, and a new button for the parking brake lever. Peter, Sylvia, and I are wondering what has possessed Miled to trust us to work on his baby. The answer he gives is that he likes NSX people to work on his car (plus my excellence is starting to reach the far corners of the world). I believe he has chosen us because there is less pressure having someone else screw up your car than there is screwing it up yourself. If someone else screws it up, they may feel guilty and replace it. If you screw it up, you endlessly badger yourself at your own expense. While I'm pondering this mystery, Peter has already started to take the storage box out. Not wanting to seem like a wuss, I join in with the confidence that just the right amount of wine can bring. Peter takes some screws out; I take some screws out. The way that we are taking turns could be set to the music of "Dueling Banjoes" from Deliverance. Before long we are ripping the console apart like a kid taking the wrapping paper off a present. This has Sylvia extremely concerned! For she realizes that Peter and I are two unlicensed quacks practicing NSX surgery. What bothers Sylvia more is that Miled still shows no reservation about are abilities!
The $600 worth of trim turns out to be one; I say again; one small panel. I check, and yes; it is plastic and not some secret alloy from Area 51. Miled hands us the shifting knob that is to replace the OEM. I look at it trying to remember what it reminds me of, then it comes to me. It is about the size of the bulb part of a 7" baster. Miled, to my surprise, has been skillfully directing the whole disassymbly/assembly process. He has seen it performed before. I think again, "Why is he having us do this when he knows how to do it himself?" (oh yes, comment at beginning of letter) By this time Miled is leaning across my lap trying to show Peter something. I snicker and ask, "Would you like to sit in my lap?" followed by, "How bout going out and getting me a Mt. Dew." Miled gets the hint and directs from outside the car.
The installation of the new knob is not going as desired. I can't get the plastic tie to hold the leather boot tight on the knob (because of the knob's design). It wants to slide off. I stare at it for a while, then ask Peter for suggestions. For Sylvia, this is the stick that broke the camel's back. She's thinking that if I'm asking Peter for suggestions..........well, does the phrase "Women and children first!" remind you of a scenario?
I get this idea. "Hey Pete, how bout we bore a hole through the knob and put a tie on the end to keep the boot from slipping off? Got a drill?" Miled, still showing confidence is more than Sylvia can stand. Trying not to show panic, she excuses herself saying she needs to look stuff up on the computer. Unbeknown to us, she has gone home to call a licensed mechanic to salvage the debacle that appears to be taking place.
The procedure works as planned and we begin to assemble the dash. Peter is putting on the finishing touches when I notice a hole in the console. Now mind you, I had a long drive, my belly is full, the wine has made me relaxed, and I didn't have my Ginkgo Biloba. For the life of me I can't remember what was left out. Peter is doing such a fine job I hated to use the phrase, "I did a great job, but we screwed up", so I ask Peter, "What goes here", pointing at the gapping hole. Peter smiles and says something like, "Finally, a real cup holder!" Still confused, I look at him again and he replies, "The coin holder". Ahhhhh so! We take it apart again, take turns putting the screws in, and reassemble the console.
Miled pulls out the new button for the parking brake release. The button looks like it screws on to the rod, so with the precision of a surgeon, I take the slip joint pliers, put a rag (my snot one, clean; of course) on the button and proceed to remove it, viewing if damage will take place. Miled states that I do not have to be careful about damage. I tell him that I'm checking, so that I will know if this method can be used to install the new one. The pliers mar the surface so a new plan must be devised. I request a rubber band, wrap it around the button, then tighten it using the pliers. Presto! I ask Miled how far he wants to tighten the button on the rod. He wants it like the old one, but my concern is having the end of the rod split the button if over tightened. I tighten the button as far as I dare and ask Miled if he likes it. "A little more", is the reply. "How about now?" I ask. "A little more", comes the reply. "You know, if it goes toink, it's to late". "A little more should do it" was the reply. So I turn it in a little more, then quit.
Miled sits in his car and starts to move the shifter as if he is driving down the road. He likes it other than it sets lower than desired. Again I chuckle, for I can visualize Miled trying to "bang a shift", missing the knob altogether, jamming his fingers into the cassette opening and needing to be extricated. This brings laughs from us all, and we start to pick up the tools and prepare to leave. Miled, not thinking, turns on the radio. The blanket, still on the back of the NSX, bends the antenna as it raises. I holler to Miled, but the damage is done. I straighten the mast so that it will retract, and we finish picking up. Then comes the forth indication that he is in the Twilight Zone.
I put my NSX key into his door and can lock/unlock it. He tells me to try the ignition. The NSX starts. Miled is trying to act like it doesn't bother him, but I can see that it does. He can't wait to try my car with his key. It is approaching midnight so we all retire for the night.

Day 2:
I am up early making finishing touches to my NSX. Peter tells me of Sylvia's afore mentioned strife. After teasing her for a while, we decide to have breakfast at a deli. We park our cars away from others only to have them pummeled with debris from workers using commercial size blowers cleaning the sidewalk. (there is no escape from ignorant people). After breakfast we depart for the parking lot at Peter's business to await Miled's arrival. Miled is past his arrival time and Peter is concerned about arriving late to meet Larry B and Aaron. His call to Miled suggests that it would be better if I depart to meet Larry B. while he waits for Miled. Peter gives me directions to the next meeting place and says the words I fear most! Now don't get me wrong, I don't scare easy. I've been shot at, had in-flight emergencies, in fact, I deal with life and death emergencies almost on a daily basis. But nothing, makes me shudder more than these words! "Sylvia will show you how to get to I 684". (Sylvia, bless her soul, is direction deficient) I immediately turn away from Peter and start rambling on about how we are about to die, that I'm a dead man walking, we'll never be seen again, and the likes. Peter, trying to describe to Sylvia how to get to the well marked entrance about a mile down the road, is unsure about getting on at that entrance because she usually gets on at another place. While this discussion is going on, I'm still pacing about the car feeling like the men who rode in to the valley of death, wondering what I did to Peter to evoke such doom upon me?
Sylvia and I depart for the meeting place. I try to console Sylvia's uncertainty of our traveling direction and before long we arrive safe and sound. Again many hearty sincere handshakes. We depart for Lime Rock; Peter in the lead, then Aaron, Miled, Larry B. and myself. We get separated from Peter and Aaron, so the remaining three of us play leapfrog taking the lead in hopes the next in line knows how to get to the park. It doesn't take long to realize that none of us know where to go. We stop, pull out a map, and plan out strategy. Departing once more, we meet up with Peter and Aaron parked along side the road, waiting for us. Peter apologizes for leaving us stranded with Sylvia as our guide to Lime Rock. (I can picture Peter driving without a care in the world, then suddenly realizing our situation, and locking up the brakes from panic as to what he had done.)
The only hold up in our drive is a road block by police looking at inspection stickers and seat belt usage. As I approached the police, I immediately tell them that Sylvia was the one they were looking for; but they let us through anyway. Sylvia makes good conversation and before we know it we are at Lime Rock Park.
As we approach, there is a man taking the entrance tickets. Sylvia hands me hers and after the attendant rips off the stubs, he hands them back to me, and I hand both our tickets to her as I drive on. Peter has done an excellent job in coordinating this event. (side note: Peter has received many favorable comments for his efforts. Being the type of man he is, he seems almost shy to take the credit he deserves, and is very modest. Truly great people do not have to boast, their actions speak tons. So for myself, and the all others who have already thanked you. PETER, YOU DONE GOOD!!!) There is a NSX corral where one by one we drive in and park........except Miled. First, in true Miled fashion, he doesn't park next to our NSXs, but starts a new row of his own. Second, (and I love this part) he starts driving back and forth in an attempt to plank the grass down so that it doesn't touch his car!
If he had dared put it in his car, I'm sure he would have brought weed killer with him. (Ah Miled, you've got to love the man). The Gang takes off to explore, except Miled who helps me display my "NSX only" parking sign. After a bit, Miled and I go different directions as I shop for NSX stuff at the various venders. Peter has also arranged for us to be participants in "Speedvison's" hospitality tent. Problem number one. You need a ticket to enter, and guess who has my ticket; yup....Sylvia. I sweet talk the gate guard into letting me enter, find Peter, and ask where Sylvia is hiding. He hasn't seen her either, but at least I'm in.
New and old friends partake in a nice buffet lunch and then it is time for the third nicety of Peter's efforts. We get to do parade laps, in front of the crowd, (probably on TV) in our NSXs. Caught up in all the excitement, Peter (the Hun) has offered Aaron (the turf meister) to drive his NSX while he takes pictures. Before Aaron heads out, he asks Peter if there is anything he should know or do. "Keep the car on the black", was Peter's reply. [Philosophy moment: I have noticed that Black car Aaron and Black car Larry B. cannot always keep their cars on the black pavement. This has sent me in search of the Great Guru that lives within the highest point of my brain. Now realize that this Guru has come up with such infamous theories as: The violent shaking of trees causes wind. (try to disprove it) I theorize that NSXs and asphalt react similar to magnets. In that like colors (black car & black asphalt) repel each other. Conversely: White car and black asphalt stick. The only problem is that the adhesion is so powerful, it also sucks everything in front of me (deer, squirrels, birds, rocks, and the like)] Sylvia goes with me, Larry B. takes his daughter, and Miled, somehow talks this guy's wife/girl friend(?) into riding with him during the parade laps. I put on my 4pt. harness and Sylvia puts hers behind her back and attaches the OEM belt. We line up on the track and one official asks if we wanted any Ferraris in our group? NOOOOO, comes the reply. Syl is starting to get uncomfortable from the belts jabbing in her back. As I try to put the harness around her, the caravan starts, I abort, and we're off!
Syl and I are having a great time. At times we slow up a bit, so that we can speed up to the other cars. She's being a real trooper about the speeds (80-90mph) and is lost in the glory of the moment. Comments are made about being the center of attention, the crowd watching, and the various people taking pictures of us as we play race around the track. After 4 laps, we pull in, and again; Sylvia makes mention of a particular man who seems to be interested in getting pictures of our group........You guessed it, she was looking at Peter and didn't recognize him. We depart the track with laughs and smiles.
We return to the NSX corral, park, and answer questions about our cars. I, like many of us, enjoy talking to people about our cars. I enjoy watching their faces light up when I ask if the would like to sit in my NSX. It's like I made a friend for life (they are so appreciative). The gang goes back to the hospitality area and watches the races. The only burr that comes is that if you leave, they won't let you back in. Larry B. teaches Stef the fine art of climbing undetected over fences. Peter finds an alternate way in, and poor Aaron/Annie got blocked all together. The sun, food, and excitement have wore us out, and we decide to depart for home station. We form up for "our gang" exit. The weather is warm and I have the windows down. The melody of the VTEC and the breeze has put Sylvia to sleep. All of a sudden I hear snores. I look over at Syl to see drool dripping from her mouth!........ Got cha Syl!!! This of course never happens. Sylvia is just as lovely asleep as she is awake. I think she is one of those women who need very little make-up and always looks beautiful. (is that good for a brownie?) One by one our friends peel off from the caravan to head to the places that they will be from.
Yes, there is more to this story. But like the story, I'm getting tired, and it's time to call it the end. They only thing I will say is: The brownie gets the girl in the end.
So from John Boy Walton, goodnight P&S, goodnight Miled, goodnight Larry, and goodnight to Aaron and Annie