Thank God it’s spring again.  After spending about five months working in a garage with no heat or insulation, anything above 40 degrees is a welcome change.  This is when everyone’s hard work pays off as they finally get a chance to roll their freshly revamped rides out for the show season to get them all cleaned up and ready to show.  For me, Lay’d Out at the Park in Morristown will be my first stop of the year.  Having been waiting since 2007 for the show to return, rooms have been reserved since last October in preparation.  Despite the snow, the four hour drive in a suburban with holes in the floor and firewall, no heat (who needs heat when you have 22s), and being underdressed and cold as hell all weekend, it was one of the best shows that I’ve ever been too.

Then it happens.  For the past 6 months or so, you’ve been busting your ass on your ride, spending many long nights and weekends avoiding your family, friends, and significant others, all in the hopes of making that deadline or getting it to that one show.  That’s when you walk outside, reach in the mailbox, and pull out that little invitation.  It may be to a birthday party, wedding, anniversary, or whatever because it doesn’t matter what it says.  You know damn well when it is.  You can feel it in your gut that it’s on that very Saturday, not the day before or even Sunday, which still sucks but it’s still not as bad as Saturday, of the show.  You start thinking to yourself, “Hmm, maybe if I just don’t open it and throw it away, I can totally say ‘Oh, I never got invited to that’ or ‘It must’ve gotten lost in the mail.’” 

But ignoring all better judgment, you open it anyways.  So and so invites you to blah, blah, blah…friends and food blah, blah, blah…all you care about is the date.  You flip it over and there it is, hidden amongst promises of free beer and good times.  Of course it’s on that day.  It has to be otherwise things would actually work out the way you want them to.  The one weekend that’s kept you going even in the 20 degree weather and suddenly it’s taken away from you.  Dropping the letter, you stomp off to the fridge and grab a beer to sulk.

Unfortunately, you’re stuck and you know it.  All of the usual excuses and possibilities of somehow getting out of it run through your mind as you make that long walk to the garage. Maybe you can be sick, “cough-cough,” or your car magically breaks down.  Anything and everything runs through your mind as you sit in that driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel that took you a month to save up for.  You look at the new sheet metal dash that took weeks of sculpting and grinding, not to mention the hours of sanding it took to get perfectly smooth until your hands are raw and throbbing.  Your new wheels shine in the light, giving that little sparkle that only a fresh billet wheel can.  You run your hands across the fresh paint before leaning ever so gently on the bedsides to stare at the powdercoated chassis that took months of planning and fabrication.

As you hang your head in defeat, you know that you have to go.  It’s important to that person for you to be there and it would be entirely too selfish of you to miss because of a show, even if it is the show that you have been looking forward to for years.  Even if it is against the code amongst car people that you never plan any event on the day or weekend of show, no matter what the circumstances.  But then again, not everyone you know is into cars for some unknown reason.  Sometimes you just have to suck it up and do what’s right, no matter how painful it may be.

But they better have free beer, dammit!

All of this is all well and good unless you’re me.  I’ve got to be at the shows no matter what so I can actually write about them.  I mean, c’mon - someone has to tell you what you missed. 

Until next time, keep your heads held high and your rides low,

Justin