Baltimore Grand Prix

Baltimore Grand Prix was fun this year, but I don't have too much to say about it. So, at the risk of turning this entire blog into a photojournal, have some pictures!

Indycars! They're almost like bloated f1 cars, only uglier!

They used a parking-garage for the pits.

License plate banter. I'm partial to OMG MOOV myself.

Postprocessing!

Buttons! Like a racecar!

I have a thing for big calipers.

My first McLaren spotting.

More caliper erotica.

Accidental self portrait while trying to shoot this redundant plate.

I love how you can see mechanical bits behind the mesh. It's like lace undergarments for engineers.

This was my favorite car of the day, it stealthed up to the corner almost silent before exiting hard with the sound of God gargling a handful of metal wasps.

And some more shameless self-promotion. What can I say? I needed an new backdrop for my work computer.

There were a few classics mixed in with the exotics.

May have had to chase this guy down, but I feel like it was worth it.

They put in the chicane so that cars would stop flying through the air when they hit the railroad tracks. Now they fly through the air when they hit the chicane.

I pretended to be rich and watched the support race from an air-conditioned hotel.

The flyover by choppers was an interesting touch.

First corner! You might note the caution flag is already out.

This was why.

Marc Dennis was the photographer at our corner, and he offered...

...to snap a few pictures with my camera. Thanks!

Why is this car pointed at me? Because it's a Porsche.

This Porsche has broken away from the herd and chosen to travel nose-first.

  

Rubbing is Racing.

Not pictured: The police officer getting ready to throw me off the bridge for sticking my camera through the one tiny slot between the banners.

And a final shot of the viper booking it down the straight.

And finally, I have two animated pictures I didn't include here because it's no longer 1998, but you can see them here and here.

Montreal 2013 - Funny

And now for a few shots that weren't photogenic enough to make the cut for the more artistic post, but were cool enough to post anyways. As always, you can click through to larger pictures. We'll start with a shot from just after one of the support races.  Lis: "I want to make sure we see the Porsche race, because they crash" - from the mouths of babes...

Between races various support vehicles come around... most of them booking it. Here we have a tow truck going for a pass at the hairpin.

SLS we hunted down in a parking lot on the way home. 

"There a red car that's like flat, is that cool?"

Some shameless self-promotion.

And we'll end with him. What can I say? Stupid little bikes make people happy.

Montreal 2013 - Pretty

Only moments remain before the Grand Prix. The cars have roared past wetting appetites and wait poised on the grid for the flag to drop. Drinks are flowing, earplugs passed out like candy, and the charge of a coming storm fills the air. A cheer ignites from the top of the stands, catching in excited empathy across thousands as two fighters come in low and fast, jet engines drowning out the nonsense screamed back to them.

PR3b: Puerto Rico by Ricans

...and I used that Mustang to drive off into the other side of PR, where the locals live, work, and play.  We didn't schedule anything, so most of our days were spent just chatting, so I'm going to summarize while launching off on massive tangents.

We had to drive back from San Juan to Ponce, which is an excellent jumping off point for most of my tangents.

1) Mustangs: The 200hp flavor of mustang (now replaced) looks sexy, but is slightly lacking in power. And, as I've always believed, automatic mustangs are an abomination that should only be sold to paraplegics.  Not only did I reach for non-existent pedals and levers, but I found myself dropping the hammer to squirt through a yellow light only to downshift seconds later.  However, given proper advance notice, the Mustang (pronounced "El Mūs-tæng") is a capable beast.  On a dry highway, it will pull strongly from 75 to 120, and the brakes will calmly bring it back once you notice there is a curve ahead. In the wet, clicking off traction control will let it powerslide enough to scare passengers and tick that checkbox off the bucket list.

Which brings us to the next point: A muscle car is not a sports car. There's more body-roll, a sensation of riding above the road more than on the road, and there's a reason they are always parked like jerks: It's huge. Front seats are huge (I had to reach well back to grab the seatbelt).  The hood is huge. It does have nice black-plastic lower trim, which is good for finding curbs while parking.


2) PRican roads: The pavement alternates between sweet and terrible. You can be cruising the highway at 90 and then suddenly find yourself confronted by a bridge that thinks it's a jump. That, my friends, is a mistake you only make once. The next time it's on purpose!  Joking, joking... I didn't spring for the additional insurance.

Lane discipline, turn signals, and signage are basically non-existent. I was rudely surprised by one-way-streets that suddenly weren't and lanes that shifted into the shoulder for construction, only to have the shoulder disappear without warning.  When renting my car I thought the automatically enabled fee for using highspeed-toll-lanes was a scam. An hour later I learned that it is a blessing, and that the scam is highspeed-toll-lanes which split from the "throw your coins at this bucket" lanes well before any signs indicate which are which.

These would destroy drivers here in DC, but PRican drivers have learned to actually pay attention. Which is nice when every turn involves sticking a massive hood well into the intersection so you can see around buildings.

3)Directions (basically, me ranting): Giving wrong directions is worlds better than giving directions wrong.  Please warn me before the exit ramp you want me to take, "that tree" is not an appropriate landmark while in a forest, and for the love of God when I ask "left or right" at a high speed fork the answer is not - and never will be - "ummmm....."



We arrived at Delly's (a friend of my 'Rican cousin, and our host for the weekend) to find her working. She was back in her tattoo room, singing along to dubstep while emblazoning her friend's arm with the symbol for the Jedi Order. This makes her, officially, one of the coolest people I know.  In the year since I'd last seen her she'd found a new super-chill boyfriend, picked up two jobs, and moved from devouring books on the subject to putting together a professional grade studio and doing professional-grade tattoos. I even spent several hours myself upon the tattooing table.... because it was a comfortable place to sit. Aminta got inked though, while our friend Keke introduced me to the magic of using a zoom lens indoors:

We had a hurricane... which was 12 hours of heavy rain. We did go to the grocery store to prepare though - which offered us plenty of empty parkinglots (see "El Mustang," above).  There was no bread left on the shelves. Luckily, this was not a problem as we were buying steak, potatoes, and beer. It was a good hurricane.

I spoke before about the "other" Puerto Rico.  Trying to track down a birth certificate threw this disparity into sharp relief. We had to visit three buildings on different sides of the town, each of which had directions to where the necessary offices - which didn't answer phone calls - had moved. We eventually found it behind another building in a government complex, in a bland, non-air-conditioned room complete with a fenced-in-patio. And by fenced in, I don't mean the way a yard is fenced in, I mean the way a prison is fenced in.

I lived in a house with no AC, no hot water, and no glass in any of the windows. Which is entirely normal, enjoyable, and completely different from the tourist's Puerto Rico.

To switch topics entirely, Pets. Delly has two cute dogs who loved me (I almost titled this post "PR3: I slept with b*tches!" but figured that'd be tasteless) and a parrot. I fed the parrot a few times.... It would be all cute and coo (instead of screaming "MA! MAMI! MAAAAA!") and even asked for "lo mismo" - absolutely blowing my mind.  The parrot, in it's turn, would feed the pigeons, tossing some of his seeds on the ground so that guests would fly into the garage and keep him company. Again, blowing my mind. On a somewhat related note, we did a photoshoot (that's what girls do). I say somewhat related because, well, see below for my favorite shot.


All in all... It was fun, but I don't think my Spanish improved any. I can understand Americans y los viejos, but still have to ask "Como?" when talking to anyone under the age of 50, usually multiple times. For most conversations I would tune out until someone mentioned "gringo." To be fair, Ponce is known for fast, slurred speech... which was probably a contributing factor when I unintentionally picked up the accent... after a few drinks.

PR3a: Puerto Rico by Hilton

My most recent trip to Puerto Rico highlighted the two different sides of the Island. I began the trip traveling with relatives of mine from the States who were visiting the island seen by tourists.  We started in the San Juan Hilton. It's magnificent, with restaurants, bars, and a private beach (with water warmer than most of the pools I've been in). Speaking of pools, it has plenty of them too. It was beautiful. We stayed in a suite that had this for a view:

From the lobby, you walked past the parrot that would swear at you, past the ballroom, and through the private garden, and over the koi pond across the bridge guarded by peacocks. It's ridiculous and wonderful.  We spent the day enjoying the facilities while some family from the island visited us.

We then crossed the island to Ponce to visit other family members, again staying in a Hilton. Still ridiculous with a private beach, fountains, and even a speedboat hung over one of the bars. Business contacts got us bumped up to the "executive tower," and our view was somewhat less decadent than previously:

I know, right? How disappointing. And only egrets instead of peacocks? Psh. Still, being an executive had it's perks. A private lounge that had breakfast every morning and happy hour every evening. They only had rum, but I still mixed myself a drink on the general principle that is free alcohol. For free.

We caught up with people, learning just how tall my cousin has got and how much she looks like her father. We went for an afternoon stroll, where a roaming pooch followed us and chased part of the tennis court I tossed off to the edge of the pavement.  The girls thought this was adorable. I thought it was less so, calling it "fetch with stray dogs and asphalt."

That night we had a late dinner down by the bar, where they were using bags of salt as impromptu sand bags in anticipation of the incoming tropical storm.   After the mosquito spayers drove by us kids decided it was time for a swim in the pool, away from the - and I quote - "SlutWater" of the hot tub.

Concerned by the incoming weather, my gringo relatives flew home, and I went to pick up my rental car... which wasn't ready yet. But then the rental agent said the magic words every man wants to hear. Even sweeter than "My hot Swedish supermodel twin and I think you're cute" is the phrase "...but we could offer you a free upgrade to a Mustang."

Montreal Round 3: Everything goes wrong, then make the hairpin.

The night before we left, the friend I was planning on taking realized that while she might be able to get into Canada, she wouldn't be able to get back to the states.  A few last minute emails found my one friend with a passport and no weekend plans.  Lis, my sometimes-girlfriend was talked into going, but only after I promised that there was no chance my car would break down and strand her away from work Monday morning (For those of you paying attention: Foreshadowing).

So I picked her up from work, driving her by her house so she could get some clothes... and adding a couple of hours of rush-hour traffic to an already long drive. But positively, said traffic gave me a chance to learn that my horn wasn't working, so while Lis packed a bag I cannibalized my already-dead alarm system to McGuiver my horn into working.  Then, on the way through Maryland the alternator belt started squealing worse than my little brother. Luckily, that's a thing my car does, so I knew how to fix it! We stopped for dinner - during which I bought a pair of pliers, tightened the bolt, and called it a day.  A few hours later it happened again, only differently.  The AC gave up, quickly followed by the power steering. I got off the turnpike, popped the hood, and found that the bolt I had tightened decided it didn't want to live in my car, and would rather retire to PA.  I called AAA, but apparently the turnpike people won't let tow-trucks in, not even on the ramps outside the toll booths. Hearing this, I decided to take my chances and try to move it.  It started! WOOO! I thought about just getting off the ramp and calling back, but we were rolling so we figured we might as well try for a car shop. It's 10 o'clock, everything's closed. We set off for Lowes: Closed. Home depot: Closed.... but there were people out. I threw myself on their mercy and they took pity on me - I bought a bolt/nut, a mini adjustable wrench, and some gloves so I could avoid touching the exhaust headers (I grabbed them once, years ago, and my plasticized skin made me rue said decision for months).

After I got everything bolted in place I went to hook the belt... and found its tattered remains instead. The home depot guys helped me check the tractor belts and directed me to the nearest car parts shop, but it was not to be. We got the gps to send us to the nearest hotel and, lights dimming, pulled in.  We got a room for the night (WITH A TRIPLE A DISCOUNT MOM AREN'T YOU PROUD!).

In the morning a local repair shop rethreaded the alternator, replaced the belt, and we were back on our way.  Breaking our drive into two hunks really wasn't that bad, and thankfully Lis was super-patient with me. By the time we got to Montreal we'd missed qualifying, but there's worse things. Such as not having hotel reservations: the hotel couldn't find ours. We drove around the block a few times, decided it must be the right hotel, and used their lobby computer to pull up our reservation number.  They still couldn't find our room, but they found our payment, which got us a room on the ground floor (woo cane!). We ditched our stuff, changed into nicer clothes,  and set off to find an ATM before dinner.  The closest bank was not there, the next closest was inside a closed campus center, the third inside a closed mall.  We finally got directions to an ATM, but it refused my cards. Worn out, we decided to grab a bite somewhere close and crash for the night. We selected a nearby pub on the GPS, and then marveled that it was taking us so far to dive to a pub that was so close.

It turns out, the tide that is my luck had changed. We were directed across the river to old-town Montreal. We found close parking that was, when we checked the meter, free on weekends. We walked down the closed cobble-stone street and a table opened up streetside. We ate (I tried escargot and vastly preferred my steak), we split a bottle of wine, and we watched the myriad of people walking past. It was awesome.  After dinner (luckily they took credit cards) we wandered the gift shops, f1 store, bars, asked waiters for news on qualifying, found ATMs that worked... it was awesome.

The next day our luck held! It's only fair, we had a lot to make up for. We drove the quarter mile to the metro out of deference to my bum leg, parked, and trained over a stop to the island where we grabbed our tickets. Not too long after we set up our chairs in the shade just past the hairpin and turn 11 and began the day's task: The ever-important job of cheating the chairs in front of you up slightly every time they leave so that you have an awesome view come race-time. We got to our seats just in time to watch (on the screen) a mini flip (the driver walked away shaking his head dejectedly) during a warm-up race - ironically after I'd convinced Lis to buy a mini on the trip up... she says that as a girl, she didn't recognize it as a mini until weeks later.  We cheered for our drivers (and Kobayashi was less confused and actually smiled when we saw our flag this year).  After the Ferraris (which sound soooo good) and Porsches went around, it was finally time for the F1 race.... right after twin flyovers. Flyovers are awesome. I can't hear a flyover and not smile.  Then the race cars went past. I can't hear a f1 engine without smiling either. It was a good day.

None-the-less, earplugs went in.  Some of our neighbors who had turned down earplugs before the formation lap reconsidered and I passed out a dozen of 'em.  The race was brilliant. Kobayashi put in a solid drive, but we were distracted by the front of the field, where 6 different drivers fought to be the first to win two races this season.  Around us, South Americans, Europeans, and Canadians spoke at least 4 different languages while being a huge family. Within this family of Formula 1 they shared food and drink with one another, offering cheap beer, fine cheese, even salami and crackers regardless of who you were cheering for. Out on the track Lewis Hamilton (the good guy) gave up the lead to pit an extra time for new tires. With 17 laps left, Lewis needed clean laps and his opponents' grip to deteriorate.  As I listened to the radio commentators announcing his successively fastest laps he began closing the gap with brutal efficiency. He pulled out the win, sailing past the lead cars - moves he kindly began right in front of us. I'm sure my screaming helped.

After the race we walked down to the track, squeezed some of the tire-rubber which is almost gum-like in texture, and got blocked in by a closed gate that turned a short-cut into a long cut. A mile and a very welcome free Dr Pepper later we ended up in line for the metro, which was slow, hot, and possibly just as bad as it was last year in the rain. At least McLaren had won though, if I had to stand next to all those Ferrari fans after a loss...

The trip home was pretty uneventful. We finally made it home around 1am, my car didn't break down, and Lis even made it to work on time. All in all, a successful weekend.

France Day 6: Versailles

My dad's not used to driving a turbo, nor a manual, so getting onto the highway is a squid-like process, gathering speed for a few seconds, and then slowing and coasting for a couple before repeating the process... This is the same way he tours.

The answer to yesterday's question is zero, because you forgot them all on your nightstand while packing. Today we went to Versailles as early as we could (while still partaking of the free breakfast - the poor-rich phenomenon at work) which involved driving through Paris traffic at it's best. It was much like high-speed beltway traffic around any major city in the north-east, except with the bonus of motorcycles passing you through slots less than a foot wider than themselves. So pretty fun, actually, made me miss driving / wish I had a bike. I saw one girl ride up to her office on the back of a motorcycle and kiss her boyfriend goodbye ... except the helmets were in the way, so it was sort of a football-helmet smash / kiss combo deal. Very cute.

Versailles was surprisingly easy to get into, smaller than expected, and more opulent than imagined. The line was long, but fast moving, and we were in to see the next line - for audioguides - in minutes. Protip: if you take earbuds to a museum you won't have to hold the audioguide up to your ear the whole time. If you take a splitter you and your partner can hear the same facts at the same times (convenient) and will have to walk like Siamese twins (inconvenient).

The two main things I leaned at Versailles were 1) How good marble looks, especially for fireplaces, and 2) It's so good to be king that it's worth it even if every meal turns into a watching-you-eat event for courtiers. I learned lots of other things about history and art and how easy it is to see over a sea of Japanese tourists, but I don't want to bore you. The hall of mirrors is worth pointing out as gem within the jewelry that is the palace. A row of windows echoed by a row of mirrors, passing cut-glass lamps and chandeliers as they go. Money can definately buy happiness, at least for an hour or two of wow-look-at-this.

After the main tour we (more quickly) did the apartments of the royal princesses, complete with cute libraries and hidden doors. This makes a great time to explain what I meant about my dad touring. He will jog across the courtyard to double check that there's no side-line that's any shorter, but then fall behind the rest of us even though we are walking slowly and listening to every audio entry.... but then he will speed-walk through the girly apartments before coming to a dead-stop to consult the maps and plan for 10 minutes.


The gardens were next, and they played music so that they could charge an additional entry fee. On the flip side, that meant they had one or two of the fountains dancing. We set off into the gardens amidst sprinkles of rain that mercifully disappeared before halting to examine the map. Again. We decided we'd head off to a cafe in the back corner for lunch, and I slipped around a bush to take a meandering route that would intersect them... except they doubled back and didn't walk the route they set off on. Needless to say, there was no intersecting. My brief look at the map gave me an inkling of where they were headed though, so I set off towards it, passing through some sweet faux-ruins. Seriously, my future wife should never let me own a house or we are going to have all sorts of stupid/awesome things going on. Anyways, my glance at the map was brief enough I confused the main lawn with the main canal that extends beyond it (and used to be part of the gardens), so I set off well beyond my goal, turning my shortcut into a two-mile long-cut. Getting back was a walk in the park.

Once I figured everything out I headed to where the cafe actually was, pausing to watch a fountain dance in a pond. They did spinny things, shooty things, and sweet mid-air collisions that looked like sorcery. As I watched, my family showed up, having finished their meal. We watched the fountains and headed off for the rest of the park.

Mom and I pealed off to visit the Trianons, smaller palaces built for the mistress of the king so she could get away from the hustle and bustle of Versailles. The larger of the two we visited was filled with a clothing exhibition, meaning I was the only guys and that we could skim the signs. It did have a cool room to show off all the malachite given to Napolean by Tsar Alexander, and a beautiful open-air marble hallway connecting the two halves. This left us enough time to check out the smaller palace, called the Petite Trianon. This was small enough we toured the entire building, which let us see kitchens and bathrooms, things hidden in the larger buildings. King Louis the 15th ordered a dining room in which the table lifted, fully set, from the kitchen, but he died before it was completed. We could still see the outline on the floor where it would have worked, though.

Our time expired, we headed back to meet the boys on the "train" - which had no rails and a diesel engine, but close enough, right? They had walked around some and gotten ice-cream. We took a family picture on the way out (our second of the day) and headed back to Paris.

Dad really wanted to drive the Arc de Triumph, so we let him. It was scary at times, since incoming traffic has the right of way. But he didn't stall it anywhere scary and didn't hit any of the scooters flying in off the side streets and swerving through, so no worries. We'd finished Versailles faster than expected though, so we had time to do one more thing in Paris. Sacré-Cœur it was!

Sacré-Cœur is one of the newer churches in Paris, built around the turn of the last century (1900ish) as an optimistic gesture during a recession. The church is pretty, but standard, inside, but it's built on a hill so you can see all of Paris from the front steps. OR you can go up inside and see more (than all!) from the dome! So Ethan, dad, and I did just that. I think it was probably the most fun out of all the church climbs. The spiral staircases are tighter and take some unexpected turns, plus you get spit out onto the roof where you can look at the side-spires and how one would get up them (hop a fence and climb through a few inches of birdpoo. I didn't, because my ex thinks I'll get myself arrested in France and I;m trying to prove her wrong). Then we went up a yet-tighter spiral (300 steps in all) and emerged into a ring around the dome. It was beautiful. The view from the arc was clearer and closer, but here you looked past columns and over domes from a height above all but the tip of Eiffel's tower.




As I'm sure you can tell, I really liked it. I should probably find a job cleaning cathedral gutters or something. We headed down and met with the others who'd been wandering the art markets. There was some cool art, silhouettes free-handed by men with tiny scissors, 3d art on faux 3d backgrounds to fool your eyes, and portraits of every type. We bought naught save a few postcards, got in our car, and headed towards our hotel.

And then away from, and towards again, and then away from but not moving, and then towards but in a bus-only lane. And then no-way because we stalled, and then through the ghetto. It was rush-hour in Paris, and it was a wreck (or was the wreck ahead of us?). Our only saving grace was a GPS and the fact that most people were trying to escape the city, not cross it. Really though, it was a better commercial for scooters than anything else ever could be, seeing them skirt past traffic like rats fleeing a flood. Our unintentional tour included about 50 churches, the Egyptian obelisk where they beheaded everyone, and the Parthenon*, which is now a church. *Not that Parthenon, the other Parthenon.

Eventually we got to the hotel (boring), rested, and went out to get dinner. Italian food served by a pixie-ish waiter at a table far away from the smokers out front. Good food and plenty of it. After dinner we went for a walk to see the American Church (closed, but we "saw" it) and the Trocadero - which is not just a bar in Philly but also a fountainy place where the longboarders hang out. One boarder jumped 3 1/2 feet off his board over a fence and then landed back on his board which had rolled beneath it. We waited 15 minutes but didn't get a repeat, so we walked home crossing under the Eiffel tower, buying another whirly-glowy-bird (for Ethan), and getting a free glowing tower! Well, free to us. All the tower-hawkers came sprinting across and one dropped a tower and his bag of stuff, police at full (but slower - they're never gonna catch a 20y/o african) tilt behind him. After he dropped his stuff he disappeared into the woods, leaving the police a bag of stuff and us a tower! Go team!

Ethan played with his shooty thing and we watched the lights and waved off hawkers. There is a special 1am lightshow, so I must set off into the night. Au Revoir.

Photos of Trianon and Sacre Cour by me, all the rest by Ethan with no direction.