Notes from the Flyover Zone...

[stilltrying]

This is where things are so wrong. No one at any of the "high" schools I went to were old enough to legally drive so no school had an area for pupils to park. The teacher's cars were all crap and the only time I saw anything that caught my eye was parents occasionally dropped off one of their kids and out of that only one was totally different, a short wheelbase beach buggy, this would have been 1971.

They put the school leaving age up to 18 about 20 or so years ago so now my kids could have driven to school BUT the head teacher at my daughter's school banned anyone from driving their own cars to school and had someone on the gate refusing entry to the teacher's car parking area. Leaving a kit car in the street around thgeir school was asking for trouble.

[roscobbc]

When I went to senior school (mid/late 60's) the majority of the teachers couldn't even afford a car.......pupils with car....no way - pupils with motorbikes or scooters....no way. Pedal bikes.....yes

[malamute john]

OK...will maybe tell one more quick story [sorta] ON Mr FEM77....

Whilst thinking about the time period in the brake story above and trying to remember exactly what years Frank worked on that Corvette, a particular incident came to mind. I KNOW Frank was here in [at least] 81 because 81 was the last year at Ponca City. (well, they tried to bring it back a year or two in the early 90s, but it just wasnt the same and didnt last - 81 was the last REAL GP there)
81 was a good year at Ponca - tho EVERY year was good at that race. I know y'all probably dont care and really, you'd had to have been there anyway even if you did, but the Ponca City Grand Prix weekend was just magic. It was a happening with a Capital H. Few other race weekends were like Ponca City weekend, and people came from all over the country to participate.




Anyway, 1981 was notable not so much for the racing - I dont think we even podiumed that year - but for the evening's activities at the hotel, out at the track and cruising 14th and Grand.

We always - save 1979 for reasons not necessarily germane to this tale - stayed at a nice little local, mom and pop hotel called the Quo Vadis. The Quo Vadis was always sort of 'race central' for the weekend; many drivers and crews stayed there ; nearly everyone made their reservations for the next year upon checkout. Plus, the Quo Vadis is where the Cold Duck Corner Crew lodged. [except 1979 come to find out...] And wherever the Ducks stayed, a total and complete lack of sleep for every and any one else in the place was pretty much guaranteed. Water melon seed spitting contests from the second floor into the pool lasted way into the morning, the party having moved to the walkway[s] around the perimeter of the motel courtyard fairly early in the evening. One had to make their way THRU the party to get to the room, and usually one was accosted and convinced to stay out and join in, the noise outside rendering futile any attempts at rest should you manage to actually get in to the room. JPS III and I were physically drug out of our room one year by 3 Ducks whilst loudly protesting that we had been awake for nearly 30 hours at that point - fortunately there was no violence as 2 of them were female. And yes, it is just urban legend that it was me and my bicycle in the pool the year before...

ahem.

Anyway... FEMurphy and I drove up to Ponca City early Saturday morning, arriving mere minutes after leaving Murphy Mansions there in East Tulsa, the Nuclear Truklet making short work of the normally 2 hour or so trek.
After arriving at the track, signing in, getting our pit passes etc, we went to find Larry. We readied the car, sent him out for practice, did the brakes after he came in, again, etc etc. Lunch was undoubtedly home made PoBoy sandwiches retrieved from the mighty DDR cooler washed down with cold DP for Mr M and Coke for me. Doritos and Koo Koos surely rounded out the midday fare.

Tho I dont remember exact details, Im sure we did the brakes again just to be sure, sent 'hero driver' out for the race and afterwards sorta flanged up for the day. I dont remember a top 3 either day, so no rewards from trophy girls. Hot and tired - the race was always the first weekend of July - we headed back to the Motel to rest and cool off.

The 'night' desk clerk was an attractive, mid 20s-ish young woman with dark shoulder length hair. She greeted us upon arrival, did the necessary paperwork and handed us our keys. I turned, went to Truklet, grabbed my bag and headed to the room.

After a considerable amount of time, I began to wonder about my friends tardiness. When he finally came dragging in , I enquired 'Where you been man; get lost?'

'Been talking to *****' [I cant remember the name]
'*****?'
'Yeah, the girl at the front desk' he replied with a smile and one raised eyebrow.

After a brief spell in front of the a/c , we decided to hit the pool.

As we descended the stairs from our temporary second story abode, we were greeted by a vision... there, just walking to the pool area from the opposite end of the wing where we were stationed were two of the most absolutely stunningly gorgeous examples of female pulchritude I had ever seen. They looked like twins ; approximately 5 foot 6, perfectly proportioned, perfectly formed and perfectly tanned, they sported dark, permed brunette hair to the middle of their back[s] with occasional natural highlights that flashed like burnished gold as they moved through the sunlight . Bright blue eyes and perfect smiles shone forth once I finally noticed they had faces. One MIGHT have been able to amass a half a roll of dental floss from both of their 'swimsuits' if they were each dismantled into thread...

After putting our eyes back in their respective sockets, catching our breath, forcing our jaws into action to close our mouths and wiping the drool off our chins, Mr M and I looked at each other, smiled, squared our shoulders and strode ever so 'confidently' towards the pool and struck up a conversation with the 2 lasses.

How they got rooms at that motel I'll never know as that weekend was historically booked a year in advance ; they were in town for a wedding, not the races. We discovered that they were from the major metropolis of Newcastle Oklahoma and claimed to not be related, merely best friends. I flinched and vocalised my unbelief, but they swore such to be the case. After a bit more semi-clumsy smalltalk - Ive never been a rival to Cary Grant in the smooth department and although FE Murphy was, he was busily still trying to breathe normally - one of them looked back towards the row of rooms and started to wave, giggle and turn her back. Seems her father was in the room filming us all for posterity... What possessed us to do what we did next, I will never know, nor won't even dare to postulate, but we held up our hands in a 'stop' gesture, ran across the courtyard, up the stairs, into our rooms and reappeared with our 'Corvette World Racing Team' t-shirts to mug for the camera...
What I wouldnt give for that film...so it could be destroyed.

Anyway, they had to leave to go to a dinner and the wedding, but agreed to look us up when they got back. Whilst standing there marveling at what were certainly two of God's finest hours and congratulating ourselves for maintaining some semblance of cool and at least garnering a promise of a return engagement, someone said 'Hey. Guys...Yeah, you two'. We turned to see a mid 30-ish fellow floating in one of those pool chair thingies.
'Us?' we queried.
'Yeah. Couldnt help but overhear yall trying to make a little headway with those girls.'
'Yessir...'
'Well, cant blame ya there...wonder if you'd like a little inside info to maybe help?'
'CERTAINLY!'
Seems like this ol boy was from Tuttle, which is right by Newcastle, [ but of course yall knew that ] and he knew some folks from Newcastle. So he proceeded to give us some 'local colour' to increase our cred with these two beauties. He then shared some local gossip with us about some dude that had the baddest supercharged picklefork boat on the lake. This thing was supposedly the fastest thing on the lake from the marina to the gas station, the beach to the gas station, the dock to the gas station, etc etc etc. He was showing off at some point the weekend before and apparently laid into the throttle accidentally whilst pointing at some dock and managed to quite skilfully park said picklefork upon said dock. He gave us some names and places to drop, and wished us luck.

We decided to forego the cookout out at the lake, because when youre in Ponca City, you simply had to go to the Blue Moon Cafe. Great steaks, big league barbecue and one order of curly fries heapingly covered a platter on its own. Fantastic.
After stuffing ourselves, we hit the cruise street[s] for awhile. Drove up and down 14th and Grand a bit, then headed back to the Quo Vadis, armed with new knowledge and sure of our impending 'success' with the enchantresses from central Oklahoma....

We arrived at about the same time as the lovely ladies, and as they exited the Suburban in their short skirts and high heels, Frank pointed towards the pool and they nodded. At least I think thats what happened - I was busy trying not to swoon...

Anyway, as this is going on too long and I havent even gotten to the main point[s] of the story, lets leave it at we met them around the pool in a few minutes after they had changed into something more casual, and, after crafting some BS 'intro' to our 'just remembered' knowledge and mightily impressing the girls, it was deemed prudent to get to know them 'as persons' a bit better....so in the course of conversation, we discovered that rather than the 20 to 21 years on this earth we had assumed they had amassed, they had just recently celebrated their fifteenth birthday(s)... The quicker witted of us - FEM77 - suddenly remembered that we were supposed to be out at the track for the fireworks display, whilst I just sat there gobsmacked.

The Ponca City GP was always the weekend closest to July 4. The English readers of this forum might remember that we have a tradition over here each July Fourth...and it often includes fireworks. Every year, the organisers had a cookout at the track for workers and racers, and well after dark, a huge fireworks display was presented.

I shall omit the part about me splitting my Levis right thru the crotch earlier that afternoon and duct taping them together, which led to meeting the girls with the Formula Ford from Colorado here...but after arriving out at the lake and gaining entrance, we wandered around a bit, had some refreshment and talked to a few folks we knew. When the fireworks were set to start, most everyone moseyed down to the edge of the water and the early worms got the docks to sit upon. We werent so quick on the light, but stood just off one of the floating projections, directly behind aforementioned damsels [plus a few others]. My compatriot winked and began talking a few decibels above normal, wondering aloud if all the noise from the pyrotechnics would awaken the 'creature' that had been reported occasionally late at night in the lake...I replied that, much like Godzilla, the vibrations and lights would most likely cause the critter to appear, and probably not be too happy about its arousal. Whilst most spectators 'oooohed' and 'aaaaahed' at the sight of each burst of multicoloured light, we meandered down the row towards a clump of trees discussing the probability of an appearance from 'The Creature of Ponca Lake'.

Young Master FE Murphy77 spent a goodly portion of his formative years in Key West Florida, so he was / is quite at home in the water. Upon reaching a bit of cover past the main part of the assemblage, he stealthily slipped down into the water and silently swam submerged towards the docks after directing me to return from whence we had come.

Within one sweep of the second hand on my wristwatch, the evening air was pierced with screams and the rapid pounding of feet on the planks of the docks running for shore. The two breathless girls kept trying to stammer out something about 'something just bit their feet dangling there in the water...'

Mr M returned within a couple of minutes looking entirely wide-eyed and innocent. He was soaking wet, but at near midnight in north central Oklahoma, no one could see that if not standing right next to him... We went back to the Quo Vadis.
Again, the Ducks were noisy most of the night.
Again, Frank tarried at the front desk.

Fairly early - for me - the next morning, we checked out and made reservations for the next year. We saw the Queens of Newcastle readying for their departure and undoubtedly left them with such memorable and suave adieus that they are still sighing deeply upon remembrance to this day...
Out to the track, do the brakes after practice, basic car maintenance, watch some races and tried to stay hydrated in the 102° heat. The 'big car race' - Corvettes, Mustangs, ASR McLarens and such - was always the last contest of the day, so after it was over, we began to pack up and I decided to celebrate the end of the weekend by unwittingly giving myself the most intense headache I had ever experienced to that point in life. There was a running joke at the time amongst a particular sub-group of car nuts involving Perrier water and radiators. Due to the joke, I had a cooler full of Perrier, and decided to enter into mock jubilation by spraying and pouring the stuff like champagne from the podium at a Formula 1 race. Ice cold mineral water over a hot head covered with heat absorbing dark hair after being in the Oklahoma sun all day is not a good idea. Trust me on this one.

Once we finally got everything flanged up and deposited our worn out and sunburned selves into the cockpit of the Nuclear Truklet, M77 opined that he needed to return to the Quo Vadis before pointing our personnel projectile in an easterly direction.
'You forget sumpin?'
'Yeah...something like that.'
I smirked, rolled my eyes and headed towards the motel, too tired and in too much pain to argue.

After 10 or 15 minutes of sitting there listening (quietly) to KLOR on the dash mounted wireless, the passenger portal was opened and my buddy plopped himself in the black and orange co pilots seat.
'Get what you went after?'
'No.'
'We need to go back in and look some more?'
'Nah....... I asked ***** to marry me. She declined after much deliberation. Oh well.'

I stuck some Beach Boys in the tape player and we motored home.

But thats not the end of the story.

Fast forward some 13 months to August of the next year. We had been to a car show up outside of Wichita Kansas. It was getting late as we were heading south on 35, and I needed the use of some 'facilities'. It was decided to swing off on the 177 exit and go into Ponca- the lobby of the Quo Vadis had the necessary conveniences and we knew our way around .
We swung into the front lot and parked under the lighted portico. Frank bailed out and was the first through the door. There at the front desk was *****. When she looked up, she saw FEMurphy77 standing there grinning. Gasping, she immediately and loudly exclaimed 'OH MY!!! ITS YOU!'
'Hey Babe... Im ba-a-a-ack...'

And you all thought I was an 'instigator'...

[Nigel Incubator-Jones]

I just checked into this thread to post this song. I've listened to it plenty of times but never, before today, clocked that it featured on a 1964 album called Hot Rod High, which was also the eponymous first track. So American adolescents were throwing the phrase 'Hot Rod High' around at the same time as their British counterparts were wrapped up in gaberdine overcoats to shield themselves from the eighth consecutive day of drizzle as they waited for the school bus - seven minutes late so far - with only the thought of lukewarm banana custard for lunch to brighten their spirits. Still, at least there was a car culture extant in Britain back then (sprints, hill-climbs, trials, &c.) which is more than we've got today. Hot Rod High seems like the product of another world.





Anyway, that's all irrelevant now because I've just very much enjoyed reading the screenplay for American Graffiti III. A story crafted with expertise, laced with wit and poetry and passed down in the time-honoured folk tradition in which all the great hero myths and legends originated. The description of the maidens shames the best efforts of the old Romantics, though it is inadvertently amusing if one marks the stark difference between the good breeding of the girls of Newcastle, OK, and the less fair products of Newcastle, UK. Not for the first time in this thread, a deep scratch, impossible to ever accurately recreate, has been carved into the wall of time for the interested passer-by of the future to marvel at the deeds of the past.

[femurphy77]

Ok I have just a little concern with the above purely fictional ramblings of my main man Mr Malamute John; I just wanted to confirm that the only way for someone to actually read the posts is that they have to be a forum member and that their membership pends approval by a board of regents or some such is that correct? I'm also assuming that a referral by a current member can go a long way towards assuring their acceptance on this board? Given that let me ask, is it also possible to block a membership that might come up, say a certain . . . . wife of the target of Mr John's obviously foggy memory?
















Damn! We did have a good time back in the day!

[stilltrying]

Now this is getting more interesting

[malamute john]

Oh, it was ofttimes ' interesting' running around with FEMurphy77 Mr Stilltrying... Several stories to be told about adventutres conjured up whilst eating one of Mr M's famous 8 pound pizzas and listening to Jimmy Buffet...

[femurphy77]

Happy 4th of July y'all!

[malamute john]

[malamute john]

Astronauts and their Corvettes
In honour of the 50th anniversary of the {alleged} moon landing today...