TRials05 North Carolina

A TR6 down the Blue Ridge Parkway

It's Friday September 9th 2005 at 5:00pm and all sense of reason and logic is quickly sucking out the window of the aged Ford Escort wagon as I leave work in the 90 degree sunshine. The plan for the past year was to leave tonight and begin our world wind tour to the east coast and down the full length of the Blue Ridge Parkway. This plan has been deteriorating over the past few weeks thanks to reason and logic and shortened considerably to the point where TRials (The annual gathering of TRiumph TR6 and TR250) itself may have to be skipped this year completely. It's been a long few weeks and the all consuming stress and uncertainty of a job, punctuated by a national disaster and near loss of a friend is replaced by two simple words......"Screw It". We are out of here!

Backup two years to the Vintage TRiumph Register Annual Convention in Pennsylvania and Karen and I are presented the opportunity to visit Richmond Virginia, host to VTR2004 and home to a favorite Aunt and Uncle. As you get older it seems "family reunions" become hurried, unplanned events at which at least one family member is forced to attend. Such has been the case with visits from Karen's aunt Nancy and uncle Stan except this time it could be different. Unfortunately Karen's importance at work is once again elevated above that of life and the company can not possibly function without her. We miss VTR2004 and Richmond Virginia and even more our visit with family. Back to present day and Karen is much happier at her new job and has this whole next week already scheduled off for vacation.

When I arrive home Karen ecstatically agrees with the "Screw It" theory and we both begin reconfiguring the trip from four days beginning next Thursday to ten days beginning NOW! There is much preparation to be done including the long awaited and unfortunately postponed call to aunt Nancy and uncle Stan. "Hi, it's Karen, are you guys going to be busy on Monday?...."

Then there are the two cars we had planned for the past year to meet at the Biltmore Estate in Ashville, North Carolina on Wednesday. I catch Mark Moore at work and leave word for Ken Crowley with his lovely wife Kim. "The trip is back on. We are out of here! See you at the Biltmore."

Our cat's other adoptive parents and neighbors Joanne and Leo agree to watch him even with such short notice.(Actually, he is not really "our" cat but a stray cat that just happens to live in our house. Really. Of course from what I understand of cats that's how most would describe their own lives.) Neighbors Dee and John agree to assume watering responsibility for our plethora of outdoor plants during the projected 90 degree rainless week.

The frantic blur ends at 4:00pm on Saturday as we pull out of the garage and realize we have no idea how to get there but there is a mapquest printout in here somewhere and route 39 south gives us plenty of time to find it and it is STILL 90 degrees and sunny!

Luckily the two day old tyres (although much skinnier yet the same size?) relieve the vibration headaches of prior trips and the new PCV value setup is working a lot better after eliminating that vacuum leak. In other words the 1969 TR6 is running great which is important as we head out on our two thousand mile adventure.

Looking at the atlas on Sunday morning we figure we are only a few inches from Richmond and should arrive around 5:00pm. Karen's uncle agrees we should make it and informs us that they were able to get all the kids and the kids' kids together for tonight.

Our all highway blast to the east coast is interrupted briefly in Kentucky by a shortcut on route 9 which is highly suggested for any tour across route 64. But then Karen finds the most wonderful road on the planet or at least in West Virginia. The perfect warm up road for a trek down the Blue Ridge Parkway. West Virginia route 60. Man, what a road! What a man's road. Not pretty through some areas in fact down right scary at times especially with the national anthem of West Virginia and sound track to deliverance twanging away in your head. There are switchbacks here that scare ME. "Just stay down on the floor honey. It will all be over in a bit." It's weird to think that this is how people drive to work in the morning.

While this route may have cut inches off the map I think it added miles to road covered and all this exhilarating driving, while fun, has played havoc with our schedule. As we come down out of the mountains and once again into cell phone range Karen calls her uncle around 4:00pm. Uncle Stan estimates we are about two hours out (I'm really not sure he had any idea where we were) and tells us not to eat because they have dinner reservation at 7:00pm for everyone. Karen and I pick up the pace a bit. After all if her uncle can make it in two hours......

At this point I have no idea how fast people of Virginia are capable of driving. When we pull back down onto the interstate I am impressed how everyone in the state seems to know that we are in a hurry and picks up the pace just for us. Then we pass the "Richmond 180 miles" sign. TWO HOURS??? What's this guy drive a JET?

Determined and probably still somewhat delusional we decide to give it a shot. After all, he got the whole family together. I manage to fight my way into the far left lane out of the middle lane which by the way was already cruising at eighty-five miles per hour.

The far left in Virginia adds a whole new meaning to exhilarating driving. We're out there with the best of the best. Jaguar, Corvette, Lexus (that super Toyota), Land Cruiser (now, if you want to drive this fast why did you buy an SUV??) and.......a minivan. Now this obviously aint your momma's minivan. We are running close to five grand with traffic and that is a minivan trying to open the trunk on the 6. I pull over, let it by then lock in behind him. I figure at this speed any cop will naturally assume equipment error clocking a minivan this fast and hopefully not even notice the little antique behind it.

It's a good ole' boy and four of his buddies probably late for a game. Me? I don't know if I'm more amazed that they build a minivan capable of this type of speed or that someone would actually drive one this fast. I'm at five grand and that son of bitch is pulling away!!! Karen mutters, "go get 'em".

So I hit it. I'm on the floor. I have all six webers sucking fuel, air, mountain dew, coffee and every once of energy this TR6 has been harboring in reserve for the past thirty years. Every speed prep modification I have lovingly and painstakingly labored over and sacrificed for and because of ("seems like everything I do to this car makes it louder, ride rougher, handle better and faster") is pulling flat out for all it's worth. And when I fly up on that son of a bitch I realize.... it's still a F'n MINIVAN!!!!! I'M DRIVING AT ONE HUNDRED AND TEN MILES PER HOUR BEHIND A GOD DAMN MINIVAN!!!!! AND THEN TO TOP IF OFF, WHAT ARE THESE MINVAN FANS DOING WHILE I'M WHITE KNUCKLING DOWN THE INTERSTATE AT ONE HUNDRED AND TEN MILES PER HOUR???? THEY ARE WATCHING A GOD DAMN MOVIE!!!! A MOVIE!!! I CAN'T GET MY CB IN MY CAR TO WORK HALF THE TIME AND THESE SON OF A BITCHES ARE WATCHING A MOIVE!!!!!!! SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT HERE! JUST NOT RIGHT!

This fact and the realization that the whole English sportscar industry has been reduced to chasing minivans quickly shocks me back to reality where I determine we are much better off using the minivan as a radar decoy than a high speed pursuit partner and I drop it back to ninety. I pictured the two of us standing in front of a judge dragged in on a Sunday night. The judge says "so you were driving at ninety miles an hour?" to which I reply "Yea, well he was doing a hundred and ten." The minivan is already out of sight.

At six thirty we call and have them go ahead to the restaurant after realizing we can't make the reservation even at sustained minivan speeds. At 8:00pm we arrive at their house after 974 miles. We still haven't eaten so we run a nearby Burger Doodle Whatever for some reheated animal flesh on white bread dough for dinner then return to the house and wait.

Before long Karen's aunt and uncle return and a thousand miles of travel quickly fades away as do Karen and I. It's been a long couple of days.

Monday morning starts early. After breakfast Karen's aunt and uncle offer up the much welcomed comfort of a ride in a large Buick sedan and a guided tour of downtown Richmond Virginia. We visit Virginia's war memorial providing an excellent view of the Richmond skyline. It also just happens to be located on the famous east coast "Route 1" on it's way from Maine to Florida. This coincidently completes our travels down both Route 1's on the east and west coasts.

Next we visit the beautifully restored Jefferson Hotel, stomping ground of a younger Elvis when visiting Richmond.

Now I don't know about you but on the road our coffee usually comes through the window of a fast food joint from a teenager that has yet to know the wonders of a good caffeine high. And even though I can't see from down there in the TR6 I know his shirt is un-tucked, his pants need to be pulled up and I'm lucky if we get a smile.
Contrast this to the elegant tea and coffee service we are about to receive in the bar of the Jefferson Hotel. My concerns about how long it is taking are immediately washed away as the impeccably dressed waiter returns with a full setup for the table. There is metal silverware, saucers then cups, cloth napkins and each tea drinker receives their own porcelain tea pot. Coffee is dispensed from a silver pot discretely kept off to the side so as not to imply "get your own refill". I think to myself "I should have worn socks." Now this is how to do coffee and while we sip, the ghost of Elvis flirts at the bar.

Monday night we manage to finally meet most all the family missed at dinner the night before. Cousin Chris provides a fascinating explanation of Virginia "shore sharking" along with a personal recount of his trophy winning 362 pound catch. From shore. With a fishing pole. By far the craziest form of fishing I've heard of since catfish noodling. A big ol' fishing pole with monster test line, a hook that's a foot long, a roll of lifesavers, a 55gallon garbage bag, the entire head of a tuna as bait and of course.....beer. But beyond how you get one of these things on a line, I want to know how you possibly keep it from ripping the pole right out of your hands. Chris explains "That's why you to tie it to your waste!" Now THAT is fishing!

Tuesday morning September 13, 2005 - We have everything we came with as well as some plant clipping from the family garden stuffed back into the ever shrinking TR6. Not long after leaving we break off from the mornings commute around Richmond and onto the highway back west. After only a few missed turns we see "Mecca." The "beginning" of the infamous Blue Ridge Parkway and the beginning of our 337 mile journey down the most beautiful driving road in America. Next stop Little Switzerland North Carolina.


Now September 11, 2005, just two days prior, marks the 70th anniversary of the day construction began on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Karen and I have been planning this adventure for a year. Fueling up before beginning our jaunt down this magnificent highway unfortunately was not part of that plan and shortly into the trip the '69 is sucking fumes and we begin the desperate search for a gas station on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Suffice it to say the only gas station "on" the Blue Ridge Parkway is located in North Carolina just north of Little Switzerland. And if you think the parkway is small, you need to get off on the side roads looking for ....anything! Just a building with electricity. One good thing is all roads off the Blue Ridge run down hill so I figure we can coast to....to where??? It seems the farther we get from the Blue Ridge the louder that banjo playing gets in my head until we come upon this brand new general store with two pumps out front.

In 1969, filling up a TR6 with "Sunoco 260" 102 octane leaded gasoline (Arrgh! Arrgh!) sets you back two dollars and seventy cents ($2.70). I'm sure someday, in the not to distance future, it will become commonplace but that doesn't dull the sticker shock the first time you pay forty dollars ($40.00) to fill up a TR6. And that's with Virginia mountain crap fuel not to mention another eight bucks for octane booster so the car will run on this junk and then being happy to pay it! Welcome to the new millennium.

Back up on the Blue Ridge Parkway and glad to be here. For those unfamiliar the Parkway is a depression era project which began in 1935 and placed a small scenic highway along the top (Ridge) of the Appalachian mountain range running down the east coast. It begins at the end of the "Skyline Drive" in Virginia and ends in the Great Smoky Mountains of North Carolina. In 1987 the Linn Cove Viaduct, a suspended highway hung off the mountains of North Carolina opened completing a 52 year project and creating 469miles of continuous perfect driving and breathtaking vistas.
Cruising down the Blue Ridge and the weather is perfect, the road is perfect, the company is perfect. Karen and I stop after awhile at one of the countless overlooks for a classic picnic lunch on the Blue Ridge Highway. It doesn't get any better than this. The only thing missing is a fine bottle of wine but we still have seven hours of twists, turns and switchbacks ahead of us.

After lunch it's time for top down running and once again we are all alone. It should be noted that during our entire journey down the Blue Ridge Parkway we encounter "traffic" only three times and never more that one vehicle at a time. Each time they turn off literally within a few hundred yards. Truly a Blue Ridge miracle.

After 337 miles of the worlds best driving we turn off the Blue Ridge into Little Switzerland resort and instantly give up all plans of continuing on to Ashville. It's been six years and we have forgotten how nice this place is. After a little finagling we secure our room a day early and unpack!




Wednesday morning brings all the wonder of the Blue Ridge Mountain range extending forever right from our deck. But we have an appointment at the largest privately owned estate in the county, "The Biltmore" and an hours drive to get there.

Getting down off the mountain from Little Switzerland is just as exciting as it was getting up there and then some. A spirited drive down these roads is better than coffee for getting the blood flowing in the morning. A short blast down the interstate along with all those poor saps headed for work (after all WE'RE ON VACATION!) and we pull into the Biltmore. Mark and Terry Anderson from Michigan join Mark, Ken, Karen and I at ticketing for a tour of the Biltmore Estate. We all opt for the additional "behind the scenes tour" (highly recommended) and then Terry, Karen and I double the pleasure with a tour of the magnificence gardens and greenhouse. Absolutely amazing and well worth the trip.


After some once in a lifetime photo opts, Ken takes the lead and winds the group back up the Blue Ridge Parkway to Little Switzerland.

As we pull into the resort, TRials 2005 is just beginning to come alive. I love this part. The reason Karen and I come early is to watch as the finest selection of the Worlds Best Sportscar roll in from all over the country. The familiar faces we have all come to associate with TRials begin to arrive including a crashing appearance by the TRials own "Obe Wan Kenobee", Joe Fazio and his lovely wife Linda. A total of nineteen rooms are expected tonight a full day before Trials.

It's time to eat and we head out again for a quick bite and an extra long ride lost in the mountains of North Carolina looking for beer.

Thursday marks the official beginning for TRials 2005. Few others are up at 5:30am but that view is there and soon the sun begins to crest the east rim of the Blue Mountains. What a wonderful location this is for a TRials.

Registration is open and Karen and I setup the collection box for TR-shirts and donations for fellow 6-packer Steve Wilson of Pass Christian, Mississippi. Steve's TRials2005 adventure, his '72 TR6, TR250 restoration project, ever present little TRailer, his whole house and literally everything he owns was swept out to sea two weeks prior by hurricane Katrina.

Kevin needs the TRials banner hung and plenty of us are here to help but before we drape all twenty feet of it over the entire side of the restaurant we decide to wait and check with the manager. As it turns out this guy is as happy to have us here as we are to be here and immediately rounds up the maintenance crew for a professional installation.
         
The TRials hospitality suite is beginning to hospitalize as TRials 2005 kicks into high gear. 6-packers start flowing in obviously drawn by the wonderful selection of pop and water or perhaps it's the brown bottles of TRials' signature brew, "Newcastle Ale?" The beer that fueled the beginning of 6-Pack itself in a small pub so many years ago.

The officers of 6-Pack hold a confidential meeting on the veranda to discuss current and future events effecting the club. As the meeting progresses more and more attendees arrive for TRials2005.

Having the Group 44/Paul Newman TR6 here is worth the trip in itself. Having Lanky there to share real life TRiumph stories .....priceless. We all stand in awe as the Paul Newman stories and life with Group 44 come rolling so matter of fact from Lankys' lips.

Tonight's festivities include an all TRials version of the Newlywed game hosted by Karen and I. Four unlucky couples secretly chosen to participate are subjected to a series of TR6 and TRials related questions. The object, of course, is to see how well you can predict how your partner will answer each question. All the couples survive and provide great entertainment for the rest of us. Everyone is as surprised at the number of people that have done more than drive in a TR6.

Saturday morning and everyone awakes to a car wash and wax as the show prep begins. At mid morning I hear the unmistakable blast of a full race prepared TR6 on the other side of the resort. I calculate the distance from the parking lot to the display area for the guest of honor, the Group 44 TR6 and determine by the time I run there it will be too late. After only a few moments I drop everything and take off around the building in a grave attempt to catch the mother of all TR6's in action. I arrive too late to see it running but witness the legend parked overlooking the beautiful blues. Scattered around it on the lawn is the beginning of a great show as cars start to filter onto the field.

It's time to finish up and get out there so I head back to the car.
On the way to the show field I drive past Mark Moore as he works feverishly to replace a flexible brake line on his 74 before our 700 mile ride home. Mark's mission began early with a scoot to the nearby NAPA store, thanks to Nancy and Brent Kelsey, for brake line and the frantic search for someone with a flare tool.
Pulling up to the field entrance I step on the brake pedal of the '69 as it proceeds right to the floor. I have no brakes at all but I'm literally feet from the parking spot I can occupy for the next five hours while I search parts. A year of planning, weeks of agonizing, eight days and thirteen hundred miles of traveling and three hours of cleaning there is no way I'm stopping here and besides I can't stop, I don't have any brakes.

No one that's owned a TRiumph for any length of time questions why the emergency brake is so conveniently located. I've probably driven more miles with only the e-brake then most TRailer queens drive in a year. I can certainly maneuver through a few prized show quality life possessions and back down hill into.....oops. Emergency brakes don't work in reverse. As I cruise past Kevin Andrews directing me into place, I explain my dilemma and ask if he could just keep me from rolling off the mountain backwards while everyone is watching. Fully expecting to hear a cry for everyone to quickly look at the resort Kevin instead solicits the help of several bystanders and the car is carefully lowered into place without problem.

It's now that I realize we are on top of a mountain in North Carolina seven hundred miles from home with NO brakes. Then Karen walks up and asks "How's it going?"

Karen's first experience with the "quirks" of Triumphdum is in 1998 on our way to TRials in New Jersey in the very same 1969 TR6 she helped put the engine into just a few weeks before (the beginning of many "firsts" for Karen.) Anyone familiar with Chicago (prior to "IPASS" ) is also familiar with the "parking lots" that form at every toll booth during rush hour. Naturally, as we pull up to the dead stopped traffic I turn off the car and sit in the sweltering heat of a ninety plus day. This isn't what shocks her. It is when I get out and start pushing the car (you know instead of starting it and stopping it) that she becomes very confused and I suppose somewhat frightened. Standard Operating Procedure for all TRiumphs of speed and performance, right? Karen, on the other hand, starts screaming "What are you doing? ", "Is it broken?" , "Should we go back?".

This experience and perhaps too many like it has calmed Karen's responses to only a few "What are we going to do?"

Fortunately the TRiumph gods have graced us with the presence of Chip Collingwood (UK Motorsports 804-564-1839) who comes bearing presents in the form a brand new brake master cylinder for Karen and I, a brake line flaring tool and expertise for Mark Moore and I believe more miracles for other attendees as well. Thank you , thank you, and thank you.

As Ken Crowley always says, "TRials is all about the people". I wonder if this isn't emphasized by the fact that it's a single mark organization. Think about it. It may be a convergence of the finest TR6's and TR250's in the country but face it, they are all the same car. "Which" car you choose to represent you is taken out of the equation so the focus is on the people more than the car. Whatever the reason TRials really attracts some great people. Like Chip and the couple Karen and I met at TRials 2005 that had just driven down from Richmond, VA. We immediately connected with them relaying our Richmond adventure of this year as well as our missed trip from last. They were very excited and explained they had hoped to make the trip in their newly restored TR6 but it wasn't ready in time. Then they told the story of how the restoration shop owner offered to trailer their TR6 to and from TRials (he was coming anyways, but still!) so that they could have it for the show and not risk a six hundred mile trip in a new restoration. If that doesn't convince you this guy is a god you're made of stone.

So back to Chip. You know the guy that travels with a brand new brake master cylinder for a TR6 and complete flaring tools? I naturally ask him "Do you always travel with brand new parts?" He then explains how he brought a TR6 to the show for a customer that he just completed. You got it. I am in the presence of god.

The brake master cylinder goes on flawlessly with help from god (Chip) and the '69 once again is ready for the trip home. All those squirrels that started scurrying around the second the brake pedal hit the floor as I drove on to the show field begin to leave my stomach.

Mark is happy too with a new brake line to the front wheel of his '74. Ken "never has a breakdown" Crowley is parked and ready to roll as is Terry and Mark Anderson who will journey with us part way. Let's party!

Saturday night and it's preliminary cocktails on the veranda over looking the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. Man this is great place for TRials.

The Awards banquet goes smoothly with much deserved trophy reminders being distributed for each class. A special award is presented to Chip for helping so many in need. All the pomp and circumstance ends and everyone retires to the hospitality suite one last time.

Sunday morning comes much too early as we ready our now five car caravan (Mike Brinker has joined in for the ride) for a days journey home. I suppose if you have to end a TRials there isn't much better way to do it then a blast down the Blue Ridge Parkway. What a way to wakeup.

Before we get completely out of the Blue Ridge Mountains though the alternator on our TR6 and brakes on Ken's TR250 both decide to go south. Since it's daylight Karen and I are all set running nothing but the essential electronics CB, stereo and of course overdrive. Ken on the other hand still has some stopping power but his situation quickly awards him front row in the caravan on the way home.

We say goodbye to Terry and Mark and Mike and the only cars in the group without problems in Cincinnati as they continue on to Michigan.

Everything goes pretty well until we hit the bottom of route 39 in central Illinois and ....dusk. Still a few hours from home Karen and I, running without lights to conserve battery power, nestle into the "rocking chair position" with Mark's TR6 in the back and Ken's TR250 up front. You really get an appreciation for headlights when you drive at speed without them. It's a bit white knuckling for us and I'm sure odd for other drivers as a TR6 suddenly illuminates between two others you pass but it gets us all the way home.

A special thanks goes out to "road marines" Mark Moore and Ken Crowley for never leaving a TR6 behind.

I suppose this is why we call it "TRials".

We would especially like to thank the TRials2005 attendees for their gracious contributions to the "Steve Wilson" T-shirt collection and drive at this years event. Thanks to TRials2005, Steve now has more than just the shirt on his back (some probably even fit), at least a bit of mad money to help restore everything washed out to sea during Katrina and the knowledge that his friends at TRials and 6-Pack care. Good job.

PS: Word has it Steve already has a replacement for his '72 TR6 and is working on somewhere to park it. See you in Ohio.