We got rained on, but only a little, and the traffic wasn’t bad.
I loaded up the (still for sale) Spyder for the 270-mile run to Virginia Beach Friday morning, setting out under cloudy skies about 7 am with my first waypoint a gas station just off West Nursery Road south of Baltimore. Bill was meeting me there at 8 with his MG racer in tow, and we were scheduled to rendezvous with Dale at Horne’s restaurant in Port Royal at 10:45. I had a nice map laid out on Google, which I sent to my phone: mostly off the highways, Route 301 to 17 to Newport News, then over the bridge-tunnel on 64 and into VA Beach.
The Spyder’s been exercised regularly since I finished the build, with weekly cars & coffee runs, and appearances at a few local shows, plus a 100-mile jaunt to Redding for the hillclimb competition, but I’d never taken it on such a long trip, let alone under threatening rain.
But I’d wanted to get to this show particularly. It’s a PCA event, and a really fine one as these things go.
The rain started about 20 minutes after I got on the wrong highway on the way to the first meetup. I pulled off RT 97 (wrong! 97 is later!), lit up the phone, backtracked around 295 and 95 in the jumble of highway interchanges just over the Anne Arundel County border, and turned right on West Nursery just as the mist turned into steady rain.
It was fine under the gas station canopy though, and I met a tow truck driver there who had to tell me about his rad RX7, now under reconstruction in a New Jersey shop. As I topped off the Spyder’s tank the gas station’s attendant and a Harley guy both ran over to ask what it was and snap pictures. Such is life with a 550 replica.
Bill was only a few minutes late. By then the rain had stopped.
We set off with my phone as navigator and immediately I knew I’d screwed up. Instead of directing us back to 695 and 97 toward RT 301, it kept us on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, toward I-95 and the DC beltway. We were fully engulfed in Friday rush hour, complete with a bumper-to-bumper crawl and an ambo and tow truck, lights and sirens lit, barreling past. God-dammit, Google! Why do you not save the route I programmed?
We made it to Horne’s on schedule and found Dale waiting, ate a nice hearty breakfast and got back on the road, this time with Bill in the lead. The RT 17 section is far and away the nicest part of this journey, and even the bit of light rain we got didn’t bother us. It was nothing like the downpour I experienced a couple months ago. Temperatures hovered in the mid 70s.
Traffic was easy into the resort town, not like some previous trips where were ran later and ended up in a jam. We pulled into the hotel before 3 pm. Virginia Beach in October is lovely: not too hot, not too cold, not too crowded but still busy enough with people and events.
Read more: Air & Auto Classic 11The view from my balcony was only slightly ominous.
Before putting the car away I lifted the clam to check the driver’s side valve cover. It had leaked a bit the previous week so I had put a new gasket on, dabbing a bit of red Permtex between it and the valve cover to make sure. To my surprise, the oil leak had persisted, leaving a pretty deep puddle on the aluminum underpan below the valve cover.
I checked the oil—half a quart low—flipped the cover off again, and saw the gasket was still intact and in place. We soaked up the mess with a rag and I snapped the cover back on, hoping it would miraculously stop leaking on the ride to the airfield. I poured about 3/4 of a quart into the engine, crossed my fingers, and drove the car into the garage across the street from the hotel, battening it down with the tonneau cover next to Bill’s TD.
After dark, the scene on the beach got loud—for Jesus.
There were a variety of musical acts, with rock, rappers, and more traditional devotional sounds. Quite a show! And shut down cold at 10 pm exactly. I appreciated that!
After breakfast at Pocahontas Pancakes (the waffles are excellent), the ride in the next morning was easy under warm skies. We pulled in about 10:30.
Dale was not allowed to park next to us for some reason; they slotted him in a spot about 100 feet away. I think there were maybe 80 to 100 cars on the field, quite a few less than the number registered. Rain was scheduled for early afternoon and we could see it coming. The pilots did not fly this year as they did in the past.
But it was a good crowd, good food truck, music, a hell of an amazing museum. Bill, Dale and I took turns wandering around, gawking at the cool machinery.
There’s a sticker in the goody bag saying something like “Look But Don’t Touch.” You see those a lot at car shows. I don’t like them. I like putting strangers in my seat to try the thing on for size. This young man fit perfectly & his parents got a cool pic out of it.
I also met a guy who says he’s looking to buy one of these. BUY THIS ONE! I said, and we exchanged phone numbers. Mike, if you’re reading this, get in touch, and we’ll make a deal.
At one o’clock or so the rain came. It wasn’t bad, but it was a little more than we could deal with sitting under the wing of Santa’s Little Helper. We repaired to the hangar with almost everyone.
They announced the awards and, to my surprise:
We waited out the rain to leave, and had no further trouble on the half hour drive back to the hotels.
Dinner at a hip bar, drinks on the terrace next to a fire pit, breakfast the next morning at a joint called Katie’s.
Hanging out with my boys. Bill saddled up his rig on the roof of the garage—plenty of room to work this time of year.
We set out for home about 9:30 Sunday—after stopping briefly to give a fellow guest a jump start. It was a little cooler now, with sun forecast all day. We followed Bill out on 264 to 64 in light traffic. He had a scare just once when someone stopped their SUV right in front of him in the middle lane. Bill swerved rather sharply to the right to get around her; I had a little more time.
Pulled in my garage a little before 3:30 pm. I found only a little oil under the valve cover this time. Overall mileage seems to have been a little over 30 mpg (which seems questionably high to me). I have to admit, at nearly 600 miles total, the weekend involved a slightly uncomfortable amount of seat time in the Spyder. There’s a reason they weren’t known as grand touring cars.
But all-in-all, a very enjoyable outing.
Along Came A Spyder 