What's InterOp?
It's the most influential technology show on the West Coast. All of my professional competitors are there. I work for the largest dealer of ShoreTel brand telephone equipment on the West Coast, so my idea, naturally, was to wait until the last few hours to set up one's booth and to drive slowly CODE 2 & 1/2 (no siren) onto the tradeshow floor and parallel park my Criterion, where the following day I would pull out my gurney (on loan from The Rob Shepard Foundation) and place all of our demo equipment on it.
Here's the link to my entrance (you can see the beacon flashing in reflection in some of the equipment I pass):
http://www.youtube.com/my_videos_edit?ns=1&video_id=XGrG4xb_KWI
Here's some video of our departure when I directed one of my salespeople (who is a certified car guy) to weave his way back out:
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ao0ckgDgDpg[/ame]
This was the mid-point of a 1,200 mile drive which began (at high speed) in San Francisco, progressed to Reno to drive Code 3 in procession with some vintage police cars to an Emergency (Root Beer Float Craving) at A&W Restaurant prior to driving the Silver State Policeman's parade in Virgina City, NV the following day. Next stop was Tonopah, NV and then, as mentioned, to Sin City, where I was propositioned by a smoking hot tall blonde 21 year old who wanted to take me back up to my hotel room. "Let's get down to business," she said. "Alright, how much?" "Four bills." [Jesus Christ, that's like a rear axle and a wheel bearing or 20% of a SuperChief or two tires!] I balked. "Three," she said. She was really, really attractive. Cover girl attractive and very tall. "Three hundred," I thought, "is probably what I owe Shepard for the driver's side view mirror, the passenger spot light, all the red bulbs I have, and the PA-100--geez, I'm probably back up that four hundred number now . . ." She became visibly annoyed with me. "You know what you're problem is," I said. "You're too cheap." "I told you I was giving you a special," she replied. "No, you need to take a man for three hundred thousand, or three million, or whatever he's got. Just sleep with one and you get everything." It's true. Back to cars: in Las Vegas I put it up on the rack at Just Brakes and took off all four wheels to see what was leaking--something must be--they inspected the whole kit & caboodle and said, "Looks like a brand new car!" Buttoned back up, I sent my girlfriend to Pawn Stars in it to pretend to sell it to see if I could become internationally famous in absentia but it didn't fly. So I dropped by that American Restoration show pretending to want my roadkill pedal car restored [see pic] (but really wanting to become internationally famous in the process) but they didn't bite either. I did get a picture with the young kid with the two-tone paint job on his head [note: dog butt]. He came running out, as expected, when I made that Battle-Ship Size U-turn in his front lot, all angry 500 cubic inches growling in desire of the open road. So we went at it once more--75 miles per hour through the most beautiful and awe-inspiring nothingness of Nevada which warrants a long car trip no matter where you live. "TURN ON LIGHTS NEXT 90 MILES!" 90 miles? Only in Nevada do you see such signs. You drive and drive and drive and drive. They have 10,000 shades of brown to stare at as the scrub rises in the distance to peaks so tall you wondered how they were ever surmounted. I found out the following day when I headed straight up the Tioga Pass, elevation: pert near 10,000 feet. I am a big talker and a long typer but I was mute as my heart sounded out our climb like some sea-less sonar. I dropped that rebuilt tranny (3 & 1/2 whores) into low and prayed to The God of Fools and Stupid Stunts and Ridiculous Ideas Which Always Blow Up In My Face--the only deity assigned to me in this life, and Lo & Behold, the old girl held her own, one hundred feet at a time, not a hesitation, not a miss, not a backfire, up, up, up, up, up we went as I thought of every component I had rebuilt and why none should fail me, and none did and we crested the peak and I shifted back up into Drive and we went for a quiet cruise through Yosemite National Park, winding slowly, slowly, slowly down hill with good meat on my disk brakes in front and big, new pads in the rear with new wheel bearings at all four corners, new tires, new brake lines, new masters cylinder and new fluid--there was no reason at all I should not be able to stop this great beast on command and finding none at my every request, she stopped, slowed, coasted as required back down to sea-level. I arrived home one quart low, with all systems operational, wanting only to get on the road again.
It's the most influential technology show on the West Coast. All of my professional competitors are there. I work for the largest dealer of ShoreTel brand telephone equipment on the West Coast, so my idea, naturally, was to wait until the last few hours to set up one's booth and to drive slowly CODE 2 & 1/2 (no siren) onto the tradeshow floor and parallel park my Criterion, where the following day I would pull out my gurney (on loan from The Rob Shepard Foundation) and place all of our demo equipment on it.
Here's the link to my entrance (you can see the beacon flashing in reflection in some of the equipment I pass):
http://www.youtube.com/my_videos_edit?ns=1&video_id=XGrG4xb_KWI
Here's some video of our departure when I directed one of my salespeople (who is a certified car guy) to weave his way back out:
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ao0ckgDgDpg[/ame]
This was the mid-point of a 1,200 mile drive which began (at high speed) in San Francisco, progressed to Reno to drive Code 3 in procession with some vintage police cars to an Emergency (Root Beer Float Craving) at A&W Restaurant prior to driving the Silver State Policeman's parade in Virgina City, NV the following day. Next stop was Tonopah, NV and then, as mentioned, to Sin City, where I was propositioned by a smoking hot tall blonde 21 year old who wanted to take me back up to my hotel room. "Let's get down to business," she said. "Alright, how much?" "Four bills." [Jesus Christ, that's like a rear axle and a wheel bearing or 20% of a SuperChief or two tires!] I balked. "Three," she said. She was really, really attractive. Cover girl attractive and very tall. "Three hundred," I thought, "is probably what I owe Shepard for the driver's side view mirror, the passenger spot light, all the red bulbs I have, and the PA-100--geez, I'm probably back up that four hundred number now . . ." She became visibly annoyed with me. "You know what you're problem is," I said. "You're too cheap." "I told you I was giving you a special," she replied. "No, you need to take a man for three hundred thousand, or three million, or whatever he's got. Just sleep with one and you get everything." It's true. Back to cars: in Las Vegas I put it up on the rack at Just Brakes and took off all four wheels to see what was leaking--something must be--they inspected the whole kit & caboodle and said, "Looks like a brand new car!" Buttoned back up, I sent my girlfriend to Pawn Stars in it to pretend to sell it to see if I could become internationally famous in absentia but it didn't fly. So I dropped by that American Restoration show pretending to want my roadkill pedal car restored [see pic] (but really wanting to become internationally famous in the process) but they didn't bite either. I did get a picture with the young kid with the two-tone paint job on his head [note: dog butt]. He came running out, as expected, when I made that Battle-Ship Size U-turn in his front lot, all angry 500 cubic inches growling in desire of the open road. So we went at it once more--75 miles per hour through the most beautiful and awe-inspiring nothingness of Nevada which warrants a long car trip no matter where you live. "TURN ON LIGHTS NEXT 90 MILES!" 90 miles? Only in Nevada do you see such signs. You drive and drive and drive and drive. They have 10,000 shades of brown to stare at as the scrub rises in the distance to peaks so tall you wondered how they were ever surmounted. I found out the following day when I headed straight up the Tioga Pass, elevation: pert near 10,000 feet. I am a big talker and a long typer but I was mute as my heart sounded out our climb like some sea-less sonar. I dropped that rebuilt tranny (3 & 1/2 whores) into low and prayed to The God of Fools and Stupid Stunts and Ridiculous Ideas Which Always Blow Up In My Face--the only deity assigned to me in this life, and Lo & Behold, the old girl held her own, one hundred feet at a time, not a hesitation, not a miss, not a backfire, up, up, up, up, up we went as I thought of every component I had rebuilt and why none should fail me, and none did and we crested the peak and I shifted back up into Drive and we went for a quiet cruise through Yosemite National Park, winding slowly, slowly, slowly down hill with good meat on my disk brakes in front and big, new pads in the rear with new wheel bearings at all four corners, new tires, new brake lines, new masters cylinder and new fluid--there was no reason at all I should not be able to stop this great beast on command and finding none at my every request, she stopped, slowed, coasted as required back down to sea-level. I arrived home one quart low, with all systems operational, wanting only to get on the road again.
