Pauper's Run Blog

Day 1: Half dozen of us meet at the Bluffs for first leg to Ontario. Not sure if another f-chatter will be joining us on this segment, we load up on coffee and pastries while awaiting call back. Ahhh, there's a 360 Spider. Must be coming...no, getting on the 73. OK, here's the Modena we're waiting for...nope, another drive by. That distant, unmistakable sound must surely be...alas strike three. Only in SoCal. 3 f-cars that are NOT part of our group, driving by in less than 15 minutes time. Gotta love it. Word has arrived that nobody else is coming. Apparently group is set. We roll.

Hop on 73 to 55 North....BRIAN! NORTH! BRI!!! Oh well, first casualty at 5 minutes in. A new record for sure. Apparently new alternator is sending out all the wrong signals. Better to stop now than risk it. He'll catch up tonight with the V-Dub.

Relatively light traffic until the 15, but still not too bad. Get to Ontario Mills to find another half dozen Paupers patiently imbibing Lattes. Quick pit stops for all and we are off again.

Apparently nobody has a job in this area. Scratch that. The only career choice for the locals is apparently as a moving road block. And yet we manage to find some gaps. Ha, they can't stop a Pauper.

Climb over Cajon in an f-car (in this case Trieu's locomotive-powered 512 TR) makes me realize God loves me. Not a lot of openings in traffic for a dozen or so exotics, especially when word has spread from Ontario to the desert that today is not an off-day for those in the rolling chicane business.

Radar detection devices and radio communication show that our Highway Patrol brethren share our interest in keeping us moving at the posted speed limit. Safety first, scouts. Praise Allah, God, indeed, loves me afterall.

First planned stop at Barstow Outlet Mall and Truck Stop for "4-cent-a-gallon-cheaper-than-those-fancy-name-brands," Flying J fuel. Average reported fuel mileage somewhere north of 18 mpg. Including our lone Noble's astonishingly mediocre not-quite-a-dozen per. Turbo V-6, low weight, good aerodynamics, and tall gearing apparently vastly overrated.

Back on the road and almost halfway home, we soon hit our first trouble spot. Check that. Aaron hits his first trouble spot. Somewhere near the back of the pack, the "baby blue" 360 (apparently the literal translation of Grigio Alloy) grazes the pavement over a series of Winter Olympics-inspired whoop-de-doos graciously added to our route by local Caltrans workers in honor of our mark's birthplace hosting last months sporting festivities. God definitely hates me, or at least Aaron.

Although clearly outlined in the Pauper rulebook, procedures for dealing with the weak and wounded are blatantly disregarded by our non-f-car duo of outlaw-black hangers-on. They pull over to help Aaron reattach his front undertray that is now slapping out a tempo to the beat of the music on the radio. Come se dici "twist tie" in Italiano? Nice photo opp for the rest of the group however.

And we are moving once again. Only lost 10 minutes. God might be all right after all. OK, at least let me finish, you spiteful, power-hungry deity you. Let's try this again. Does anybody have any string? Go fish. This being the Pauper's run and all, we are glad to see that our shoestring budget is paying off, as a shoestring is what we'll use this time. On the road again, like a band of gypsies heading down the highway.

And again our local law enforcement comes out to salute us along our parade route. Wanting to keep both hands on the wheel we politely, and dutifully return the salute with one finger. Anyway, who hasn't wanted to see how well-behaved a modern supercar has become, trundling along at speeds even well below the posted 70 mph. We all know that 55 will save us fuel too. Just ask Richard Nixon.

Just for the fun of it, let's make a quick stop by that huge thermometer in Baker. You know you've always wanted to. And as suspected, even the thoroughbreds in our scuderia have managed to keep well under the red zone. Aaron decides to add some insurance to his shoestring fix by using some redneck cement. Biggest expense so far at $5 a roll, we are within danger of breaking our budget for day 1 already, and they didn't even have it in baby blue. God is a fickle mistress.

Apparently we have had another sighting of the 4077th's prognosticator, as again the airwaves are alive with the girlish screams of "Radar! Radar! Radar!" That guy must get all kinds of tail. The reduced pace we decide on (at least Trieu and I) allows us the time to appreciate God's glory in one of His favorite hobbies--landscape architecture. We begin a game of "guess how many miles ahead the group is when we come around the next bend." We are both way off.

Finally reach the Nevada border around 2 and it's a cakewalk all the way to Vegas. And then we hit a little traffic on the 15 so we decide to get off and glide down the Strip the next couple of blocks to our hotel, discovering to our mutual joy that one of our favorite performers has been booked for our group's wlecome party. God might not be so bad after all.

Ummm, are all these people here to welcome us or are they going to see Donnie too? An hour later we arrive at the hotel and manage to find the designated parking area with a few fellow Paupers graciously awaiting our arrival and jokingly welcoming us with, "Wow, we forgot all about you guys." Those kidders.

Frances and Aaron follow Jeffrey to the nearby Ferrari dealer at The Wynn to check out some small trouble spots. Aaron is told that the fix he implemented was the one that the dealer would have used as well, but the duct tape is non-spec so they swap it out for the Grigio Alloy roll they thankfully have in stock for less than $500 a centimeter. What a bargain. They throw in a couple of self-tapping screws for good measure. Frances isn't so lucky as "aerated" oil is included in the diagnosis. Nothing a little time and money can't fix.

Back at the hotel, reminders of previous room upgrades for my tens of dollars of nickel slot play on prior stays yields no complimentary room upgrade but at least we are offered a players' discount of $400 a night on top of our respectably discounted, pre-negotiated one. We pass. That's food and drink for everybody on the trip for the next three days and we would feel like elitists when the rest of the crew is in the most meager accommodations.

Get stuff into room and hit the sandwich shoppe downstairs for a quick bite before our 6 PM group buffet dinner meeting. Back to the room for a quick nap before dinner. And 6 PM is on us before we know it. Clearly Jeffrey has decided to bust the budget with our welcome reception dinner as our mandatory tip-included per head fee comes to $31. We eat like kings and queens before breaking for the casino.

A private blackjack table appointment is set for 9 o'clock so we have some time to kill. Roullette, video poker, craps, bacarrat... are just a few of names I can read as I pass these games of chance and head outside for a couple of pics. Amazingly, they have relocated the Eiffel Tower to just outside the Orleans. Apparently it has shrunk slightly during the shipment. Probably the salt water.

Upon returning to the casino I discover the gang has made a new friend. His name is Bing and he is a real card. Dealer. Card dealer. Much hillarity ensues as Bing decides to prolong our festivities with a series of dealt 12s and 5s for our group. He really knows how to ensure we don't lose interest by dealing himself 20 or 21 almost EVERY TIME! How does he do it? Aaron establishes himself as the chaos theory player of the year by doubling down on dealt 19s. Amazingly, this seems to pay off. At least one in three hundred times. Has to be some kind of record. God works in mysterious ways.

Brian arrives and is told that there are no longer any rooms available in the hotel but that rooms at the nearby Paris can be had at the same rate for his inconvenience. The same Wiccan that so amiably handled my request for an upgrade earlier, recognizes the error of her ways when she sees that my players card status has now risen to gold from the previous black. Realizing an opportunity to make amends, she relents this time and gives Bri a fair deal on an upgrade. What a sweetheart. This God guy might deserve a second chance. I'll keep you posted. But first we must rest.
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login
Image Unavailable, Please Login

 

We were at the back of the pack on the return and I told Trieu those skid marks looked fresh! Had no idea they were human.

 

We were at the back of the pack on the return and I told Trieu those skid marks looked fresh! Had no idea they were human.