A Letter to Tom: A Bantamπs Tour dπElegance

by Bill Spear

©Wm Spear 2003

(Some may not know that long time Austin Bantam expert and fan Tom Crotty was in critical condition in the hospital during the Pebble Beach events. What follows is a note to him to keep him posted on the action.)

Tom, sorry not to have been able to call but I didn't get the note, and we are in the middle of the "Great Bantam Event" ,that is, their appearance in the famous "Pebble Beach Concours dπElegance äwidely considered to be the most prestigious car show in the world. Because there have been critics in Europe that American restored cars are just museum pieces that never go anywhere, they have included a grueling (for most of our cars) 50 mile "Tour" of the Monterery Peninsula on the Thursday before the meet.

For months I had been promising Norm Booth that he would be my riding mechanic and spiritual advisor on the Tour in the little blue Roadster I had worked up with all your great help. On the day before the event, Norm had stopped by my rural location in Carmel Valley on his way up from LA and was going to be my nurse car into Pebble. There was only one item uncrossed out on my punch list. It read "Run in engine and develop confidence in". I had run it about twenty miles, including a steep grade, but needed to find out if anything was going to break, so I decided to be a wise guy and drive it to the show, figuring I might be the only entrant to do so. We were about 15 miles into it and going well when disaster struck.

Water and some oil was shooting out of the studs. Fortunately Norm had a cell phone, but I didnπt have any of the critical numbers. So, I called Alaska and told my wife Susan to call a tow truck and put my board of helpers on red alert for a long night in the barn. AAA arrived in good time and in an hour I was back in the barn, having sent Norm on into town to check in to his hotel.

Luckily I had bought a spare gasket from Lynn James which we had installed with in two hours of the break down. There was a big hole in the old one between the middle cylinders and I prayed that changing it would be all there was to it. Unfortunately the new gasket only slowed the problem down to weeping, well call it åcrying hardπ studs. My heart sank. If we couldnπt fix it we would at the very least miss the Tour which I really had my heart set on. For me it is better than the show itself. The Sunday rules at Pebble require that you make it on and off the field on your own, and I really did not want to make a fool of myself, or the cars, showing up like Ma and Pa Kettle with steam and smoke pouring out of every orifice. By my old South Bend lathe I have an old South Bend advertisement of some WWII sailors in the tool room of a stricken destroyer. The lead line is "Fix it or Sink!" I knew it would be a long night.

We took the head off 3 or four times trying to solve the problem. The gasket was getting thinner and thinner with every torquing. The studs still leaked and worse, I was getting bubbles in the radiator water which indicated oil the water and the compression systems were getting together somewhere. One by one all my helpers drifted off into the night and I was alone puzzling about it and being rather depressed. The moths were swarming around my shop lights when some of my distress calls began to be answered. Norm called and we considered the problem, going over the possibilities. Lynn James was on the road and called in about 10. He had got my message and was bringing another gasket and some new studs. Jim Johnston called about 11. He had driven all day from Ventura and wanted to come out and help. He was serious! It would be at least 40 minutes each way out to my place on a winding road full of drunk cowboys. I told him it was out of the question as much as I would have liked to have some company.

Jim did say something that struck me as I took a break to make a sandwich. He said to check the head very carefully for cracking or warping. Finally I remembered I had a spare head up stairs which I blasted and painted hastily and put on. (The tired old gasket is up to about 6 laps by now) At 3:30 AM it looked like success. No water bubbles in the radiator and no leaks. I took a brief nap awaiting a 6 AM pick up of the car for a 7:30 starting time.

5AM I went to torque the head while cold and spirits sank as I started it up only to watch more water weep from the studs. Well, I thought, it did stop the bubbles and I have a couple of days before the show, but I am really depressed by now and decide to throw in the towel as far as the Tour went. At least the car will make it on and off the show field under its own steam (really!) in this shape, but if I blow the engine on the tour it means I will miss the show as well. Norm advises to save the engine and make the show...and I more or less agree.

Naturally the towing guy forgot I existed and after many calls I finally got him here an hour late at seven. The truck driver had decided to make it up to me by going about 80, and I watch the poor little Roadster bouncing around on itπs suspension like a carnival ride and sink deeper into despair as I followed behind in my old Sunbeam. All I wanted to do at this point was get the car to the area and say hello to the other Austinπs and Bantams going on with the Tour. We rolled into the paddock area around 7:45 and it was a mob scene.

135 Long haul trucks are lined up full of Bugattiπs and Packardπs. Hundreds of smaller rigs are in between. Handlers and drivers are putting last minute touches on cars. Several thousand people are on the foggy polo field all anticipating the start of the event. The 130 Touring cars are all lined up (except me), and I finally find the Austin Bantam section at the end where they have us. There is my spot, number 121 all marked out and, the way I saw it, as empty as an open grave. Norm was there with the others and I sadly told him we would have to scratch, although for some reason I had registered and got my clipboard of materials and wristband. Although I know he was disappointed, he understood and advised to save whatever was left of the engine for the show. I wandered back to supervise the unloading of my car.

All off a sudden out of the crowd appear Club Members Jim and Katie Johnston of Ventura, CA. Jim, having heard of my problems from Norm had gotten up at some ungodly hour and talked his way into a closed Auto parts store to buy some magic (to me) gasket type washers. Here he came striding over with this plastic box of assorted washers. He asked I raise the hood and start the engine which it did right quick, equipped as it is with Tom Crotty starter, Tom Crotty generator, Tom Crotty distributor and Tom Crotty carb. Jim who knows every engine ever built I think evaluated the situation, pointed out a few stupidities, and put on a washer here and there and thoughtfully listened to the engine for awhile. After about what seemed like an hour he said, well, if it was me I'd go!π In fact he said, "Iπd drive this car to Los Angeles". I was floored. I thought about it for about 3 seconds weighing the odds and jumped in the car. I threw the keys to the Sunbeam at Jim and said find a place to park it. Iπm outπta here! He said he would and that he would follow along behind in case of difficulties. What a guy.

There were less than 2 minutes to starting. The crowd had closed in around the line up and I am going as fast as I dare to get to spot number 121. The announcer was doing his count down. 10, 9äIn this league you either make the grid or you miss the show. Even at the Concours, if you are judged first but canπt get started to make it up on the podium, number two gets first if he can. Itπs a hard world out here, and excuses are a dime a dozen.

Finally the flagmen saw me barreling down the infield and began to shoo the spectatorπs aside. They were right quick about it too because they knew I wasnπt kidding. Having worked on this thing for about 48 hours straight I wasnπt about to miss the Tour at this point. As I wheeled around the corner I considered using the old Brodrick Crawford hand brake turn, but figured that would be doing it a bit large, so I just hit the gas to make a nice cloud of dust instead. Into the line up I went, ushered into my space by another flagman just as the grid closed. Norm is standing there with all the other AB types seeing everyone off and I yell across the road, "Come on Norm we're going to make a go of it!" Norm had been accepting the bitter truth of not going too, and was not quite prepared..plus, he had a suitcase full of camera equipment which we somehow found room for. Off we went.

Things went well on the flat ocean stretches of the tour, and then about 5 miles out I remembered that not only had I left behind all the materials including the critical "passport" needing to be stamped at check points but I hadn't gassed up. I had robbed the lawn mower and everything else but still had only come up with about 3 and a half gallons of stale gas. We could use the showcar hanger for the passport stamps but there were no gas stations until the last 5 miles. My big mistake was telling this to Norm who spent the whole trip wondering when we were going to run out . "Take it easy, Bill" he kept admonishing if I gassed it for a downshift.

Anyway, things went really well and I finally had time to take in the sights. This is a big event on the Peninsula and the whole course is lined with people who have staked out a spot and brought beer coolers and umbrellas. Everyone cheers you on and it is frankly emotionally moving I have to say. Some of the more popular spots have hundreds of people. People really loved the little cars and the reception was uniformly great. I could hear people saying Oooh arenπt they CUTE?! Or, "Oh I HAVE to HAVE one of those!" In the back of my mind though is the gas tank.

Things started to deteriorate in the high chaparral and hot hilly section near the Laguna Seca Raceway...the car was losing power. Were we running out of gas? It would idle fine, but would not rev. On the whole tour this is the only place where there were no spectators or other help and we were being passed by all manner of cars we had passed previously. I hate that. Ignition problems? Had we not tightened down the distributor? No idea. We finally make it to the racetrack where the Historic Races are being held. They take a break for the Tour to take a lap. We just manage to pull into the shade of the "tire" bridge on one of the straight-aways to investigate. Other stragglers are passing us. We have no clues. Everything looks good. The track authorities say we must get off the track in two minutes or we will be towed (which would have disqualified us) because a race was to begin. There was a big red tow truck pulling up right behind me. Norm was behind the bolster tires marking the territory I guess, so I tell the marshals, no, weπll make it on our own. We barely got out before a swarm of vintage racers roared by. More up hill and still no luck. Plus we were more or less lost along with some other Tourers.

In total frustration I stomp on the pedal a couple of times and all of a sudden the engine goes "pop" like a rifle, and all of a sudden it was back to it's pavement ripping 20 hp! Stuck valve? Or maybe Norm had gone to Sunday school enough times to garner us a little help from above. Either way the hardest part of the trip lay just ahead, a 1200-foot climb over the dreaded hills into the Carmel Valley.

No problem, we drove right up, passing many million dollar cars lying in smoking ruin along the flanks of the Los Laurelles Grade, hoods up and begging for mercy from the 90° weather. And coming down? No problem either with the floating shoe brakes and all the good Tom Crotty front suspension parts I had installed, it was a cake walk, and we waved at the adoring fans who cheered us along mightily. (As we were towards the end of the Tour perhaps their beer coolers were getting empty and the cheers more spirited?)

There was still the gas problem. But, we made it to the only station on the route and filled it up with the best stuff they had. After that it was literally, all down hill. Norm truly enjoyed himself for the first time all day I think. We drove into Carmel where Jim and Katie were waiting for us as promised. Jim checked the radiator and reported that we lost not a drop.

We had a great Participants lunch and parked our cars for about 3 hours on both sides of Ocean Avenue for public inspection, which is a great part of the event. The crowds are wonderful and very respectful of the cars. We made lots of friends with passers by fascinated by these beautiful little cars they knew nothing about. Austinπs' and Bantam's are on a lot of wish lists after this week. It was then on to the finish with the streets lined five deep for blocks with cheering fans. I have to say I got a little choked up. Even though Iπve only been in the hobby for five years or so, here I was with the best cars in the world. It was something I will never forget, and I have to say completion of this Tour has to number as one of the best achievements of my life.

But how much of the achievement was really mine? Not much. All the help given me over the past 5 years without any thought of compensation from so many PBAC members made it happen. Members such as Bob Brandon, Norm Booth, Jim Johnston, Lynn James, Doug Lyle and especially TOM CROTTY made it possible. Many thanks Tom. I hope you are as comfortable as you can be and that you know how much we all appreciate the huge contributions you have made to our cars and our Club. I couldnπt have made it without you.

Well, Iπm off tomorrow to see if I can fix this thing up and see if anyone thinks the car LOOKS good. Well, who cares?

I guess if I went back and teased it all apart I could explain exactly how all this came to be, but just now it seems almost impossible that I am standing here with a fancy ID tag around my neck that says Pebble Beach Concour's d'Elegance ENTRANT. Like any red blooded American boy I have always loved cars of course, but five years ago or so I owned one or two cars and had never even seen a Bantam in the flesh and the most I had ever done in the way of automobile maintenance in the previous 30 years was maybe to fill a gas tank. In Alaska if you pick up a wrench in winter it is likely to be so cold as to stick to your fingers, so why bother?

It is not a particularly great day at Pebble today. Some years the reliable maritime fog of summer will burn off in the late morning and the cars are all transformed from slick, liquid eggs into sparkling jewels with blazing highlights. I was hoping for at least a little sun because I had spent a hell of a lot of time in the past six months making little tiny circular patterns with pieces of an old flannel shirt and every form of auto goop known to man it seemed in an attempt to polish out all the orange peel and minor imperfections in the midnight blue paint I had (stupidly) chosen. I had finally gotten it so that outside the sun's reflection came back at you sharp as a laser without a hint of those microscopic, spidery scratches that can only be seen by the human eye after weeks of training. Lynn James had trained me. The reflection of a 48" neon tube across the deck did not show the slightest wiggle. And this from a guy who doesn't even like to wash a car. Chet Hemphling, Harold Crist and Roy Evans must be up there laughing their butts off about this whole exercise. On a real Bantam they didn't even bother to PUT paint the underside of the frame if they were in a hurry, or more likely, were out of paint.

But, this is Pebble. In theory the cars are supposed to look as they did as they came out of the factory. The flaw in this little homily is that hardly any of the cars out here today actually came out of a factory. They are pretty much specials and hand builts. Pebble is not really about factory cars for the most part, at least any modern ones. I had already spent a huge amount of time on a search and destroy mission in the car for phillips head screws, plasti-ties and rubber insulated wire. In searching for an ethic to guide my restoration and preparation I tried this 'out of the factory' line on PBAC member and the "The Voice of Pebble Beach" Paul Woudenberg. He looked thoughtful and eventually said, well yes, 'factory fresh' but, as if say, the factory were sending the car to the Worlds Fair.

The show cars are staged in the polo field not far from the Lodge and all week it has been a scene of bustling activity, arrivals and departures and hale greetings of friends and acquaintances. A new comer concludes quickly that a whole lot of this is about business, although it is not always clear what kind. The car transport business is certainly doing well. There are by actual count over 130 huge, long haul semi's parked so closely together one can barely walk between them. There is a constant back drop noise of generators and air conditioners which keep the trailers dehumidified and at a constant, ideal temperature. Hydraulic ramps enable each one of these monsters to carry five or six cars, 3 up and 3 down, and I speculate we might get about 10 Austin's and Bantam's in one---something I consider for 2005 in Butler. I take a drivers card.

Some of the cars are here for the show, others for the many big time auctions which surround the main event: Christies, Blackhawk; Bohnam's..the lot. Other cars have come for the Monterey Historic Races at Laguna Seca or the Quail or the Italiano. This long week-end is a car enthusiasts dream and even the visitors drive their best cars, much of it of museum quality. You often find yourself at a stop light in a pack of Ferarri's or Lamborghini's; or vintage Jaguars, or this year Bugatti's. Wonderful cars all, but essentially dogmeat on this week-end. If you truly love cars you should not die before you take this in.

Because I am sort of a semi-local I have my car staged at a friends house not far from the famed "iron gate" that leads to the Green. At the polo field however things have been in a state of rabid activity since about 3 AM and by 5 some of the cars are beginning to move out. By the time I get moving it is 7 something and I find myself in what has to be the world's most glamourous traffic jam. Here I am, bumper to bumper in a half mile long line of the world's most fabulous cars.

As we inch along I find myself eventually abreast of one of the wings of the Lodge, and who should stumble out of his room to take it all in but Jay Leno himself, the Crowned Prince of Pebble Beach, along with Ralph Lauren I guess I should say. He hasn't even brushed his hair yet and is rubbing it around in a sort of semi puzzlement at the little Bantam. He got the make right but thought it would be a '36. I said '39 and went on to admonish in a sort of mock authoritative voice "..And no cracks! You comedians ruined this company in the first place!" It's not a line he can work with since he probably doesn't know the history of all the jokers falling in and out of our cars. Naturally it is at this point that the line starts to move right along so we conclude with the usual stuff about beautiful car and so on.The interview is over.

Funny thing is I absolutely knew this was going to happen. However my ESP vision had ended with Jay being totally smitten with the little Roadster, deciding that his collection just would not be complete without it and offering me $100,000 for it on the spot. I already had my answer ready---that I couldn't really part with it right now---tsk tsk..against the rules anyway eh what? but maybe an interesting trade later in the year? I really do have to tune up my ESP monitor, it seems to be wandering in rather broad sweeps these days.

I will spare you the five paragraphs about what we wore except to say it is a consideration. You have to dress in layers as you can go from 55 to 95 and back in the 12 hours you are there. And you have to go to dinner afterwards; and what if Jay DID come over for a chat? I didn't want to look like one of the blue blazer-ed, Panama hatted judges and I didn't want to look like a time traveller either. I decided to try to dress around the period in the same way that a modern Beetle or a Mini sort of suggests the ancestor. I was doing okay until I got to the hats. I narrowed it down to a tweed, eight piece Irish Newsboy and a Borsalino 'Open Road' in silver-belly. I went with the latter. Good choice. I was trying maybe to emulate a 1939 "College Man" who might have had a Bantam and it seemed to work. I didn't see him but someone said Ralph Lauren had much the same thing on right down to the saddle shoes. Susan was a vision of beauty as always but wore a big black hat so huge we we really had a time of it both wearing hats in the Bantam at the same time.

On the Green all the little cars are in place at last. The American cars (two Austin's seven Bantam's) in one line, and the Brit A7's and variants (two Dixi's, two Swallows and four A7's) in another. It's a show within a show. Every car looks absolutely terrific and the little cars are clearly up to the occasion . No they do not have seats of crocodile or ostrich hide like some of the Bugatti's, and no they do not have acres of chrome applique or rows of graduated curved louvers set upon compound curves. But neither are they just "sensible shoes". They have a very clear sense of style which comes across with no uncertainty, and the style is not pretentious or reaching. Neither is it overly puritan. These are not preachers or teachers cars, these are cars for people of modest means who none the less had a sense of style. Sahknoffsky knew what he was doing, and so did William Lyons.

One criteria expressed about selecting cars for the event is to ask if such a car might be seen pulling up to the doors of the old Del Monte Lodge in the 30's. A Crosley would not have for instance, nor even a plain old Model A, so they would be out. But certainly we can all see a cute little Bantam as a possibility. A gift from a doting father to a 16 year old debutante perhaps? A yacht tender? We know Roy Evans drove his to the polo fields. Why not?

The judging begins promptly at nine. Norm Booth, Mike Harrell and Phil Haynes are dutifully got up in their blue blazers and ties and begin their rounds. They are thorough, deliberate and consistent. Everyone has to show his lights and wipers in operation...or not. Mike is down on all fours looking under Janine's Coupe for cripe's sake. Any other time this would have been a brilliant opportunity for a swift kick but, given the circumstances I let it pass.

For a variety of reasons I have had taken my car out of the judging months ago and am an exhibitor only, so, okay maybe I can relax a little bit here but still the car is prepared for judging and I am just as nervous as the next guy. All of a sudden I blanch. Do I have my windshield wipers on upside down or does Larry? Good grief, this is Pebble Beach! My brain turns to soup. I can't remember. Round side up or down on a Roadster? I begin to wonder how I might quick like a bunny reverse them with no one noticing. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and hands begin to shake. Who knows what sanctions could befall one guilty of a transgression like this!? The Windshield Wiper Police could come out at any moment and drag me and my filthy little car right off the field for an indefinite incarceration in Seaside or worse yet, the high security facility at Milpitas. Funny thing though, although the judges may or may not have picked it up, not a single person of the thousands who saw the cars seemed to notice. Neither did they notice the microscopic scratch on the door sill that looked to me like some one had run a can opener down the side of the door. Roy, Harold and Chet are having another giant chuckle I'm sure.

The crowd begins to trickle in and this will be the acid test. Thumbs up or down? It takes them a while to get over to us. No question we are a bit out of the way. One made the inevitable reference to Outer Siberia, but another kindly saw us as the milk at the end of the grocery store aisle, forcing people through all those godawful big ugly cars just to get a glimpse of the fabled Austin's and Bantam's. Well, I could care less if they put us behind the Porta-Potties I'm so happy to have us here at all. It's a bit like the dog playing the piano isn't it? It's a wonder it's happening at all so the quality of acoustics in the concert hall is not of primary importance.

I cannot say as some suggested that we actually "stole the show", although we came close if we didn't during the Tour. It's really hard for any type of car to steal this show in any case. Some people like the brass era antiques, some like the swoopy French boulevardiers, others the 50's Italians or big American iron and they just naturally gravitate to those cars and nothing will ever emerge as a favorite class. However we had a whole lot of very enthusiastic action and one never had time to stop talking about the cars. Judging by the number of people who just had to have their pictures taken in front of our little cars I knew we were a hit. Thumbs up.

What was really gratifying was how much interest there was among serious hobbyists and other experts who really had never seen the cars before or knew of their existence. They couldn't get enough of the Austin Bantam story and I came home with a pocket full of cards of people who were really serious about finding a car and restoring or maintaining it. That's why we were there as far as I was concerned. Anyone not knowing about Austins and Bantams now cannot be considered an expert. We are on the map.

In between interviews and answering questions I look around and see I am surrounded by good friends. I didn't even know these people 5 years ago. There's Lynn James. We have been in daily communication about these cars for 3 or 4 years and the same with Norm Booth. Both of these guys have helped me time and time again trying to understand how to assemble my basket case. Lynn's car is just what you would expect from a guy who makes atomic bomb triggers and eye surgery lasers over at Lawrence Livermore. It is flawless. The attitude and standards embodied in his car are exactly the same ones that got us to the moon. I wonder sometimes if we will ever go again. How many of those Apollo or skunkworks guys started out fixing up Jalopies? How many 20 year olds are in our Club?

There's Terry Williams.Everybody knows Terry of course. I met him at our Carmel show but have been in contact about BRC's for a couple of years. Apparently he is planning some sort of invasion somewhere as he has about six now. He has gone to incredible lengths to get his Dixi prepared in record time, including borrowing a couple of correct wheels from Germany. Having assumed it would be his Roy Evans station wagon that would have been invited the Dixi project had to be put on the front burner and he is to be congratulated for even making the trip. Pebble selection is full of surprises isn't it? There's Jannine Shulze. Until now I have never actually met her, but have been party to the back and forth on email to Norm about her obsession to know every detail of Austin authenticity. The car reflects it too: it looks like it just rolled out of the old standard plant. For some reason I figured a woman this determined could only be a 70 something fanatic. In fact she turns out to be a handsome woman in the prime of life just as interested and knowledgeable about car restoration as any of us. I guess I am saddled with my prejudices for life.

I finally met John Kernan who Norm has spoken so well of. He turns out to be a great guy too and a guy with a garage full of cars that the average person would place well above any Bantam you could name. He has for instance more or less the index supercharged Cord up for auction at Christie's tonight. He generaously has described it as sort of a grown up Bantam Roadster. Nonetheless I got the distinct impression that John just might be having more fun showing his little woodie around than all the rest of his cars put together. Over yonder is Larry Garber and his beautiful little Roadster that attracted Glen Mounger's attention to begin with and which finally lead us to Pebble Beach. It pays to get about and show your cars folks.

Doyle Nix thought I was so important he had come up to Alaska especially to see me, and there were the Lyfords and Schellars both regular and important attendees at the PBAC functions. Earl is beating me up about not having included a Chummy in the little family tree poster I drew up. I suppose I will hear from the estimable Woundenberg on this point too. There are so many others I am meeting for the first time and who I hope to see again, preferably at one or more of our own meets. They all have a story about how they came to be here today, one more fascinating than the next, and all attesting and implying the underlying years of work it takes to develop a car capable of making this show.

At 4:30 the show ends and I am astounded at how fast the cars disappear. The big white tents are coming down already and there is a lonesomeness all of a sudden to this place which was so vital and important just a few hours ago. On cue, some confetti blows by on the wind as the sun begins to set and the Buick boys are dragging the Buick concept cars of for the trip back to Detroit. Party's over. Well, not quite. There is a participants dinner over at the Beach Club and Susan and I go over and sit down. The whole event is really made special by the way the entrants are treated. I really felt like I was appreciated and honored the whole time and Sandra Caskey's crew there deserves the very highest honor. It's all first rate.

We have two spare seats and see a couple looking around and invite them to sit down. He's got a blue blazer on. Says his name is Tom Gale. Okay, so he was from someplace in Michigan...how was I supposed to know he was THE Tom Gale? The Tom Gale who was VP of Design at Chrysler and who has developed at least 50 concept cars and show vehicles? Anyway, he's a quiet sort of guy which means to me that I am supposed to fill the air with conversation. Somewhere I was taught that there was to be no dead air space, and hey, this guy is interested in building cars and so am I, so, I rattle on about my English wheel and planishing hammers and how to do a really great wire frame and tape mock up and so on. Still, in the back of my mind I'm going Gale, Gale...didn't he write a book or something? I know I've read something he's written...The next day I look in the program and find his complete bio. He's one of the Honorary Judges right up there Phil Hill, J. Mays and Sergio Pininfarina. Norm and his sister and Jim and Katie Johnston finally show up and the Gales take this opportunity to make their escape. Oh well, I'd rather talk about weird engines with Jim anyway.

I don't know about the rest but Monday was a kind of slow day for me. I guess I was suffering from a sort of Pebble post partum. All the months of intense preparation and planning are history now. Game over. And where do you go after Pebble? I mean, for my first car show this one is going to be hard to top. And, anyway, if it's up to Tom Gale I don't imagine I'm going to get invited back here, right? Or is the game really over? Hey, maybe I CAN find a way after all to get down here for the October PBAC meet. I'm gon'na work on that. It'll be great to see the old gang again and savor this day and grow our stories a mile long. See you there.