The Allure of Very Spendy Cars

The Portland Art Museum started sending notices last winter about this summer's featured show of sixteen interesting automobiles made throughout the Western world from the 1930s to the '60s, an exhibition shown only at the High Museum of Art in Atlanta, where it originated, and in Portland.

The cars were not the only expensive item on the menu: enticement was increased with the promise of an evening with Jay Leno, first set at $35, then at $100, because, I was told when I called for an explanation, Jay had agreed to spend time in the gallery with a limited number of real aficionados for a special "hoods-up" viewing.  I bit, bought two tickets, and when Deb was needed in Huntsville, I found a friend also interested in cars.  Then I got an email from the Morgan Owners Club that the museum had invited local car clubs to show their best cars on the park blocks each Saturday; this day was reserved for the Brits so we drove up early, found parking around the corner, and wandered the street among some very nice British iron,

including a TC,

a Morgan three-wheeler, and Jags, Rolls, Sprites, four-wheel Morgans, and others.

The real attraction, however, was inside, and in we went where we found spectacular vehicles on pedestals in the main galleries, including the 1957 XK-SS Jaguar once owned by Steve McQueen.

I was taken with the '37 Bugatti 57S Atalante,

but each vehicle was fascinating: the 1930 green Bentley "Blue Train Special,"

 the '31 Duesenberg (hood ornament shown here),

the '39 Talbot-Lago.

The crowd inside was not as thick as outside--I was able to get clear shots--and we looked our fill, then left for other errands and Dim Sum at Fong Chong's.  We returned for the 6 p.m. hoods-up, and waited outside for the museum to reopen.

We had "Preferred Tickets," but when the gates opened we discovered there were "super-preferred" guests already inside, crowded around Mr Leno.

I had imagined that Leno might go from car to car and say a little about each for our edification; he wandered among the vehicles, all right, primarily posing with people for photos.

He looked tired and perhaps a little harried but was gracious and generous; I doubt he saw much of the cars. The hoods were up--but the "aficionados" were more involved in souvenir photos.

I took a number of engines shots: I found them as lovely and as interesting as the cars.

After studying all the cars again, I broke down and joined the tourists: I bought the catalogue. Ken Gross, the author, and Leno graciously signed it.

We trouped next door to the third floor Kridel Ballroom where our tickets got us seats beyond the first aisle about 30 rows from the stage, not close but closer than the $35 seats that started some 50 rows farther back.  After the obligatory back patting and thank yous, Ken Gross and Jay Leno walked on stage, sat in upholstered chairs at a tea table, and with Gross prompting, Leno talked cars for almost an hour and a half, funny story after funny story.

He admitted that he had some 123 cars in his collection [probably not counting motorcycles], but asked the women if they would rather have their husbands come home reeking of transmission fluid or cheap perfume.

He described the Pebble Beach concours as a show where millionaires compete with billionaires and have a chance of winning.  He told of driving his McLaren F1 [about $970,000 new in 1992, $4 million at the last auction] to a car show and getting out to go to the bathroom or something, returning to find two LA gang bangers eyeing the car.

They had ratty hair, gang tattoos on their necks, one had tear drops tattooed down from his eyes.  Leno said he thought, "Oh, oh, this could be trouble." Then one of them said, "This is Gordon Murray's design, isn't it?" and Leno thought, "They know something about the car, I've prejudged them."  They talked about the car, and then, to make up for his first judgment, Leno offered them a ride.

The driver sits in the middle in a McLaren, and after the two bruisers got in, one on each side, Leno began to think that maybe this was not such a good idea.  One of them suggested that they drive into the hills where, with less traffic, they could get a better ride.  At this point, Leno is beginning to sweat, because there would be fewer people too.

He drives above Malibu on a road with a long tunnel where he opens it up to really hear the exhaust roar.  They leave the tunnel doing about 125 and at the other side sits a police car.

Its lights come on and the siren screams.  Leno thinks, "Oh no, here I am with two gang bangers; who would believe me when I say I don't know them?  The cop's going to run a check on them and they'll turn out to be drug dealers, we'll all be arrested and the McLaren will be towed to the impound lot."  He stops the McLaren about half a mile down the road, the squad car pulls in behind, the cop walks up, knocks on the window, and says, "What do you think you're doing?"  The two gang bangers pull out police badges and say, "It's all right, we're undercover."  Leno sags in relief.  He asks, "Why didn't you let me know?" and the cops say, "We don't usually tell people."

An enjoyable afternoon and evening.

Matthew in Oregon, 2011

Matthew arrived and almost immediately wanted the race track set up as it had been the last time he visited.

 He also wanted to work with tools in the greenhouse.

First we built a bird house

which we mounted on the barn.

Then he wanted to build a pirate ship

which we managed with scraps from around the ranch

and a few brass items from Robnett's.

Matthew was old enough this year to ride the three-wheeler by himself.  He took his first rounds in the yard

but was soon pushing for running into the pasture where he almost got lost in the tall grass.

Grandma Deb made cupcakes which Matthew frosted.

Some of the frosting actually made it onto the cakes.

Eventually the weather warmed enough to swim.

As an aside, Bogie never gets in the water.  In fact, he hates getting his feet wet.

This, a dog who has lived his entire life in Oregon.

At an estate sale, we found an Indonesian style boat kite,

 

so of course we had to drive to the coast to fly it.

We were invited to Daniel's Bar Mitzvah so we all dressed up for the festivities.  Matthew looked grown up in his new duds.

We bought fireworks, Oregon legal, of course, not like Alabama's, and started burning them early.

We set some off in the backyard.

On the evening of the Fourth, we drove to the riverfront and with the crowd watched the JC's fireworks,

went home and fired some more.

On Matthew's birthday, he ordered enough sushi at Aomatsu to last three days.

The Rudels gave Matthew a radio controlled ATV

 and after dark, we shot off the canon and lit more fireworks.  There's a special treat to have a birthday near the Fourth.

We went to the Philomath Frolic rodeo but did not manage to take the one photo that Matthew wanted to prove to his dad that clowns do not have a red circle on their butts to attract bulls.

We did, however, manage a couple of interesting shots.

Debbie Rudel brought her equipment and gave Matthew a backyard clip.

After, he looked like a new man.

With Shelley and two of her granddaughters we drove to McMinnville to Evergreen Wings and Waves Waterpark.

A 747 with four waterslides, a wave pool, smaller pools, waterfalls, and other attractions kept us entertained all day,

with the slides grabbing most of the attention:

a hike up flights of stairs, a wild ride down winding tubes,

a swirl round the drain,

then splash down.

On July 13, we got up at 2 a.m., drove to PDX and Matthew flew out at 5:30, anxious to return home.  On our drive back to the ranch, we decided to see if we could get into the famous Voodoo Donuts to get breakfast.  In the past, every time we've driven by, the line to the door stretched around the block and sometimes farther.  At 6 on a Wednesday morning, however, there was only one customer and there was parking right in front.  Alas, although their signature donut looks like fun, it looks better than it eats--IMHO--as the kids text.

Matthew would have loved it.

Music at the beach

Friday, March 4, about noon, Deb learned that friends planned to see BB King at Chinook Winds that evening and that if we could find tickets, we could go together and eat at the buffet before the show.  Deb went to the web site, which said the show was sold out--easy to believe--but she phoned and the lady at the casino said there were seats left at one table.  Deb grabbed them, called me, and we were on our way.  The buffet, $30 for two, all you could eat, was good, lots of seafood on a Friday, and afterward we found our seats in the theater at a narrow table for eight, perpendicular to the stage, some 40 feet away.

At 8 exactly, the band came out, played a set, and then stage hands brought a chair stage center, and between two handlers making sure he didn't stumble, out walked the master himself, BB King.

The chair was for him.  He made a point several times, when he was ribbing ladies in the front rows, that he was 85 years old.

He talked as much as he played or sang, a patter easy to listen to, but when he played or sang, age was not a factor.

At 9:30, he stopped playing and offered to sign souvenirs.  We left our seats and moved closer--Deb reached the front and snagged three plastic BB King lapel pins, one of which she gave to our friends.

BB signed a few things handed to him, then was helped to his feet, put on a long coat and a hat, and was helped off the stage.