Woody & My IBF

I have been traveling on about $165 a day for 33 days. Today I am staying in a hotel for $440 before taxes and anything else they can tack on. My room has no wireless. I can, however, connect via Ethernet using a thoughtfully provided retractable cable. I didn't know laptops still have Ethernet ports. Mine certainly doesn't. The front desk said that the management is working on this and that I can sit in one of the many comfortable lounge chairs in the lobby and even order a drink "to make you comfortable." I don't know about you, but drinking and blogging, or more dangerously drinking and texting, do not a good mix make. So here I am, in a comfy leather chair listening to live elevator music and about 50 people eating dinner and getting trashed.

Why would I be staying in a $440 room? Because this weekend is the Amelia Island Concours d'Elegance. It is held at the Ritz Carleton but as in many events there are more entrants than there are rooms. Forget about getting one if you are not showing. Strictly one per car, if you're lucky. The overflow dribbles all over the island. Last year I rented a condo with two bedrooms so that my son and I didn't have to bunk together. Well, share a bathroom. Two beds we can deal with. One bath, a bit of a problem. Have you ever had to share a bath with a teenager? Then you know what I'm talking about. I have to get up two hours in advance to spend my half hour in and out and then my kid can take his hour and a half. I sincerely believe that the key to a great marriage is his and hers bathrooms. This year, I decided to take a hotel room in the same place, The Plantation. It is a disaster. All the rooms are reached from the outside, making life in the rain a bit of an issue especially in heels (which every woman in Florida wears). Our room had a lovely view of the beach and was really pleasant with the balcony door open. One problem: There is a mechanical scaffold going up and down outside our room. It was quite a surprise when, sitting in my panties and not much else (perhaps some jewelry), I see three construction workers standing dead at eye level with me. When they were going above or below me, the noise was obscene. I called downstairs. Please hold. Let me see. Please hold. Please hold. Well, the best we can do is to move you to another room. What did they think I wanted, to halt construction completely? I like to get my room organized when I first check in. That includes hanging my clothes in the closet and staging my toothbrush and other invaluable products in the bathroom. I had to repack. The hell if I was going to go to the trouble of putting all my hanging clothes back in my suitcase. I grabbed the garments, fancy wooden hanger and all, and dragged them into the hall, er, stairwell. The promised bellman with new keys was nowhere to be found. I dropped it all on the floor and called back down and asked just tell me which fucking room I am going to. 301. 301 is on the opposite side of the hotel from 431, our previous room. That would be okay, except you have to thread your way through the lounge in order to get there. Clothing and cursing are flying. Made it in and unpacked again. Immediately fell into stupor. Knock on the door. Two bottles of water and a handwritten note from The Management to thank me for being a frequent stayer. I'm sleeping. Leave me the fuck alone if you're not bringing something good.

Concours d'Elegance are a bit of an odd bird. The Pebble Beach Concours was started by some lady who was bored and had her friends bring their cars over for everyone's delight. I think they raised some money for charity too. While Villa D'Este and Pebble Beach have the undisputed highest level of vintage car shows, the Amelia Island Concours is still one of the elite ones. A concours is rather like a beauty pageant. Many owners never drive their vehicles. They are referred to as trailer cars. The only hitch is that you have to be able to start the car when it is being judged. When you prepare a vehicle for show, the smallest details are taken into account. I have seen uniformed teams take the grass out of the tires with tweezers (true). When there is a row of screws, each head is positioned with the slot in the same direction. Many cars have been restored to the tune of several million dollars. This is after the cost of the car itself. You have to be invited to get your car shown. Some people take this very seriously, breaking down in tears when they are accepted. There are classes, like European Post-war Open (as in convertible), European Post-war Closed (as in hard top), Ferrari, Horseless Carriage and so on. There are also featured marques each year. This year, Amelia is featuring Allard and Kurtis. Also anything having to do with Bobby Rahal. Each class has a third, second and best of class award. Then there are the big awards like Best of Show and some other stuff like Most Photogenic, etc. It is just like Toddlers & Tiaras if you ask me.

If you actually drive your car, you can  participate in the Tour D'Elegance. This is so that the owners can park their cars in some attractive town and let the locals admire their vehicles. Just like a cruise. Driving in the tour is a bit like playing roulette as if you get a piece of gravel to your body you can forget about getting a Big Prize at the show. In order to make driving a little more palatable, you get an extra ribbon on your car in case there is a tie at the show. The guy with the ribbon wins. Because judging is done halfway through the show, the ribbon makes visitors think your car has already won something. The oohing and aahing is good for your ego. There was a Concours in Maryland where one of the stops was at a remarkable historic private home. You reach it via a mile long gravel driveway. Uh, huh. A million dollar mile for the poor guy who catches a stray rock.

Now, Woody is not a concours car. Never will be. I drive Woody. This is very unfortunate as I am identifiable. The game is parking at the Ritz. You can't do it. No way, no how. Each room gets one tag and I can't get in for meals or to pick up my 90 year-old father. So I get very good at gaming the system. Not with Woody, though, because I can't pretend I already had my tag and lost it or something. So I now have a black Impala rental car. Last year I dealt with one of those Swiss border patrol guys who couldn't figure out how I kept on doing it. He was not very happy.

I did see some interesting things between the airport and here though. Citrus World has Wind Chimes and Attractive Shell Crafts. Bob's Barricades puts up white diamond shaped signs with their name on them on the road even when there are no barricades. The Sheriff's office is a series of mobile homes. The Tax Collector's is a gorgeous huge new building. There are port-a-potties next to a for sale sign. House or port-a-potty? In this economy, particularly in Florida, the port-a-potty is probably worth more. There are so many great little restaurants and tourist information centers that I am dying to stop. But I am now on a schedule. It sucks.

So, tomorrow the hoopla starts. Let the parking games begin! Game on Mr. Van Damme.

Found:

• The second set of duplicate keys for Woody in washing machine
• Original set of keys for Woody in suitcase (I wouldn't have made the great key hunt in New Orleans without them, though)