Sunday morning I got a message from John DeArmond, wanting to know if I wanted to go with him to Gary Johns' engine shop in Jacksonville, Florida. I'd just come back from Florida, but what the heck. John and I had been meaning to get together for some time, but he's 600 miles away, and he wanted to leave Atlanta Tuesday.

No problem. I hopped in my trusty Mazda pickup and drove to Atlanta. The plan was to spend the night at John's, recover Monday, drive down Tuesday night, spend Wednesday at Gary's, spend the night in a motel, and drive back to John's Thursday.

I found John's house OK, went around to the sliding glass door and knocked. His reaction was almost comical. Later he told me, "You look just like this other guy I know and can't stand, and I couldn't figure out why he'd be beating on my door late at night." John, on the other hand, looks like a nerd, generic, short hair, button-up shirt, one (1) each. Except he's 6'7" tall and weighs as much as two ordinary nerds. He certainly doesn't look anything like what I expected. Of course, most of the net people I've met haven't looked anything like what I expected. Sometimes I look into the mirror and I don't look like what I expected.

The Datsun From Hell was undergoing engine surgery, so we cruised around Marietta and Kennesaw in his BMW. If you're ever near John's, try Williamson Bros. Barbeque. It's the first time I ever came across all-you-can-eat barbeque, and it ain't bad. I'd planned on bringing the MAC-11 so we could go machine-gunning, but I forgot, and we never did go shooting.

We're supposed to take John's '68 Fury III down to Jacksonville, which is about 8 hours away. After a rather involved starter swap - John didn't own any inch wrenches, and the Plymouth didn't know about metrics - we packed up and got on the highway about 2 AM. I made it about twenty miles before I got carsick, so I took the wheel and John climbed into the back seat. I didn't have to worry about falling asleep since John snores like a chainsaw.

My normal schedule is to sleep until noon, then stay up all night. So is John's. But I'd had that "job" thing for six months, and still hadn't made it back to my usual schedule. By the time we got to Jacksonville I was in a clinically zomboid state, while John is tanked up on sleep. The guys at Gary Johns' probably thought I was on some serious downers.

Gary Johns' place does plain old rebuilds - they did a '49 Cadillac while we there there - and drag motors. It looks pretty much like any other engine rebuilder's, until you notice the racks full of motors - a Chrysler Hemi, two or three DRCE Olds, a 409 Chevy, and generic motors of all types. They also have their own dyno, an old Superflow they apparently bought new, long ago. John was down there to recalibrate it. Doing two dozen dyno pulls on a hot drag motor was a lot of fun.

We got a motel, then drove back to Atlanta, stopping at a rather nice Air Force museum on the way. Even got to walk up and kick the tires on an SR-71.

John got the radar gun out as we neared Atlanta, and we prepared to play Trolling For Taillights. We sat in the right lane just below the speed limit and waited for targets. Nothing. Nada. Most law-abiding buncha weenies I ever saw. Then a cop - sheriff, actually - came zooming by about 75 in the left lane. "Go ahead, John." "Naw." "Come on." John zapped him with the gun. Brake lights came on, the cop slowed, veered over to the right lane, and took the next offramp. Killer! I mean, how many times have you wanted to nail a cop? Later on we managed to use the Tractor Beam Effect on a limousine, not once, not twice, not three times, but four, yes FOUR times, once after the guy had taken a ramp off the freeway. Most people get suspicious after two, so triples are hard. Heh, heh, heh. John said he'd have to add a new category to TFT 1.01, for limos.

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