In Search of Ferrari, Bugatti, and the Rocketeer, 28 Hours in Los Angeles

I flew into Orange County's John Wayne airport (for a day-job training) on Tuesday at 2 p.m.. I had Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday evening to find cars in L.A.. Was I successful? Hugely, seeing cars that some only dream of. But I also failed, to an embarrassing extent.

After landing in John Wayne the first thing I did was ask my co-workers if anyone wanted to join my Tuesday afternoon adventures. No, they all wanted to sit about the hotel, drink and talk about work; sounding like my personal version of hell I ditched them quickly.

Budget gave me a Mazda, sporty looking.

"Cool" I thought.

Then the Maserati with the Ferrari motor blatted past me as I left the rental car area. I rented the wrong car.

You're probably getting annoyed at my narrative, so here's a pic from the day to placate you

And it only got worse. I have an older M3 (2001). I don't drive cars often. My commuter is an SUV (I know, I'm a terrible person... with tons of room and more likelihood of surviving the accident). Our family car is a, well, I don't want to talk about that either, but it's not a car.

So here was the Mazda. My M3 being my only frame of reference in at least a year. I'd been reading the 2017 horsepower ratings, and was starting to think my M3 probably only compares to a normal car now.

First the good news. Mazda has tight steering. No play.

Everything else was terrible. The suspension wallowed and thumped worse than a minivan (and I might know). And it was as gutless as a Tim Burton dancing skeleton (I am near Hollywood as I write this). The gas pedal seemed to merely be a placebo. A sticky placebo. Seriously, how do you people make your rental car's gas pedal sticky? I probably don't want to know.

It didn't help that Google kept trying to kill me. Here's a sample.

"Turn Right on Sunset Blvd."

"Proceed 20 feet, turn Left on Whatever Road".

Sounds innocent enough, until you realize it was rush hour and the left hand Sunset Blvd. turn lane was four lanes over. Pedal buried two inches below the floorboard the car barely fit into those gaps. But it was the same way everyone else was driving. I will give props to Californians. If an opportunity to do 80 m.p.h. opens up they take it, unlike our state of Oregon, where a Prius doing 40 in the fast lane always negates that possibility ("Go Bernie/Hillary" sticker proudly displayed next to "Coexist").

Yeah, yeah, here's more placation, sorry for the narration

My first stop was the Peterson Automotive Museum. Recently updated (opening one year ago, yes I'm a paragon of up-to-date car news) to the tune of $125 million, I was excited to see it. The last time I went with my brother was so long ago my cell phone pictures were still as pixellated as the original Nintendo Mario game.

I missed my brother, but we get older and get jobs, married, etc. you know. Weird thing, I normally hate popish songs but I dig this lame pop song because it makes me think of things like this. Try and close your eyes, the video doesn't doesn't do the lyrics justice.

WAKE UP, YOU NEED TO MAKE MONEY!

But the Peterson museum was amazing. I'd heard such, but read it in corporatish blogs that allowed four pictures to maintain their look and feel. I won't do that to you. At the end of this blog I will put more pictures than you probably want. Enjoy.

I still want this

Personal favorites? If there was no concept of value. I'd take the 60's Alfa home for track days. I'd take the 50's Ferrari home for cruisin' with my wife from our Southern France wintering home (the same home where Carey Grant lived in To Catch a Thief). And what about beach trips with the kids? The five-seater need would be filled by the Italian bodied Chrysler concept car. There's a garage I could love.

Yes, I know it looks like two seats, but there's suitcases in the rear of the cab. Those could be replaced by rear seats!

I finally got to see an 'Ol 'Yeller in person. You know what my takeaway was looking at the spindly drilled A-arms? My Lotus will probably be ok. I've wondered. I'm not exactly a paragon of car engineering, being short on expertise and patience, and a bit of a loner. I'm more of a, "Aa, let's just knock it out quickly and hope it works, life's too short for perfection" type. My father, the picture of the perfect restorer, just shakes his head when he looks at my projects.

My Lotus 7 Project, with hand-made A-arms

If you don't know about 'Ol 'Yeller, here's the scoop. You know how they told you Carroll Shelby was some sort of amazing first, when the American's beat the Europeans using V-8 American power? Well, they lied to you. Just like Columbus. Carroll Shelby is a talking head, a gregarious person they could embrace because that's what media loves, but he was not a first.

Turns out, in the 50's, the So-Cal hot rod scene was dropping V-8s in cars and winning races against the Europeans. Hell, some of the cars were the Europeans with the fiddly Italian motor's yanked and a reliable, simple, lump of iron placed under the hood (not bonnet). 'ol 'yellar was/is one of those cars, and one of the more successful.

Selfie with the best Batmobile

Geez Louise, I'm writing a novel!

GET ON WITH IT!

Ok, Peterson was awesome. Loved it.

But it annoyed me at the end.

You walk out the door and there's a fancy high-end Italian restaurant in the lobby.

What's wrong with that?

Across the street is a Googie landmark of 50's coffee shops, recently desecrated by being the Standing Rock/Bernie Sanders headquarters.

The Peterson should buy Johnie's up and ditch the fancy Italian food. Googie is intrinsic to automotive culture. Without the mobilization of the masses in the 40's and 50's, the neon signs and crazy shapes wouldn't have been needed to attract the passing motorist. Googie architecture and hot rods go together like pancakes and maple syrup. I wield my immense classic car power to call on the Peterson to buy Johnie's.

Yeah, I have no power. Like those weirdo's at work who say they're "sending you good thoughts" because they hate God and prayer. But hey, at least they have Unicorn spirit animals.

Depressed at the state of Johnie's, and Bernie's leering face, I drove from the Peterson to a Googie classic. Norm's in Hollywood is one of the original Googie landmark restaurant's designed by the masters of Googie, Armet and Davis.

Is it weird that I ate (amazingly delicious) pancakes, eggs and ham smiling like a moron at nothing? I loved being there. Norms is a throwback to the 50s hot rod culture par-none.

And its very old Hollywood too. The guys next to me were talking about their new series' premier at the Charlie Chaplin, across from Paramount, in April. They also talked about how pissed so-and-so would be if they knew they voted for Trump. Surprising.

It was rush hour (meaning I couldn't go anywhere), and I was by myself with time to kill, so I sat and evesdropped. I know, I'm creepy. It was great. Smiling like a moron at purple walls, cloudy plexiglass pie cases, strange stone and plant architectural features, stainless steel refrigerators and vintage milkshake stirring machines, while I evesdropped on Hollywood insiders. Norms rocks.

This is my video, you should watch it

Leaving Norms I headed up the hill to the Griffith Observatory. Because I'm so interested in astronomy? Hell no, baren boring blobs bobbing in space. I know, I know, they're beautiful... I like looking at them for one... maybe two minutes. Stunning artwork of God. Then I'm ready to do something else. Just like when we looked at all those masterpieces in Italy. Highlight of the trip, the moped ride.

So why did I go to Griffith? The Rocketeer. You know (or maybe you don't), that cheesy 90's movie where the 1930s pilot straps a rocket on his back and fights gangsters in old L.A.? Well, the culmination, apex, climax, whatever, happens at Griffith Observatory, where the hero, Cliff, single-handedly takes on the Nazis.

The Rocketeer is possibly my favorite movie. Depending on my mood, often, without doubt it is. I want to be Cliff, racing fast planes in the semi-rural, perfect weather, Los Angeles suburbs in the 1930s. And I'd have had a fast car which I'd have raced at Muroc. But that's another blog.

Anyways, Griffith is a lot of star/dirt/floating clouds of dust stuff. But it did have a Tesla coil (WAY COOL - Tesla was the man). When I asked at the gift shop if they had any Rocketeer shwag she replied, "what's that?". I felt old. And un-cool. Story of my life, that second part, so I've embraced it; now I blog (fanfare, fanfare,... or pathetically no reader feedback in 20 blogs).

On my way back to the car, I noticed the road to the observatory had backed up and was now bumper to bumper, probably nearly all-the-way back to Hollywood. And then I heard something magnificent. A snarling beast trapped in a herd of sheep. One-by-one the car alarms of those parked along the road went off as the cars sensed the thundering threat of a raging bull. I stopped and watched the dark road wondering what in the hell was making so much noise, even though it sounded like it was barely idling and assuredly melting a clutch in traffic. Yep, Lamborghini. Might have had an exhaust. I don't know. It's been a while since I've drove one (forever, to be exact).

Ok, this is too long. Here's the short ending. My Tuesday adventures were over. I rejoined the work-day force and dutifully trained Wednesday. Then, upon our release, I headed for the nearest L.A. cruise-in I could find.

I'd turned in the rental Tuesday night, so heading to cruise-in necessitated and hour and half on L.A. buses. At first I feared for my life, but the mean streets of L.A., in my case, mostly amounted to old Asian ladies.

I arrived at the Huntington Beach Wednesday night Cruise-In. On an almost (occasional spitting) rainy January night one truck had shown up.

I had a greasy Cheeseburger (that was delicious) at a rundown burrito/cheeseburger place and took my first Uber ride back to the hotel. After seeing the most expensive cars in the world on Tuesday, I'd failed horribly on Wednesday. Except the food was delicious. Just like the terribly run-down 50s doughnut shop I'd found wandering around Anaheim on a training break earlier in the day. I will say this: if you are in L.A. and you see a restaurant/doughnut shop that looks horribly run down and 60+ years old, eat there. It will be delicious. I don't know why, but this is my experience. Forget Chipotle, forget Red Robin, go for the place with the 50 year old sign falling off its post out front in L.A.. You will not be disappointed.

Ok, its nearly midnight on Wednesday and I've got some work thing tomorrow before I fly home to see my beautiful girls and wife. I should probably sign off. Enjoy my pictures of the Peterson -