n a way, this is the hardest report I’ve ever had to write about my travels to Watkins Glen for the annual Grand Prix Festival, which as you may know happens annually the weekend after Labor Day. The thing that makes it hard this time, though, is actually a pretty wonderful thing—I had throngs of people with me from both our own AONE and the New York Alfa Romeo Clubs—so it would be pretty hard to get away with any "literary license" in writing of my exploits while there. Of course, it helps that every word I have ever written about my travels has always been the absolute, unvarnished truth!

So, proving that truth is stranger than fiction, here goes—first, a few highlights:

• Alfa Caravan joined by large bovine creature wandering in middle of road

• Cal Crouch manages to keep his 308GT under 100 mph while leading the caravan

• The next day, a line of eighty-five (yeah, that’s 85) Alfas winds very swiftly (think "Italian tune-up") over Central NY back roads for 15 miles, never having to stop as County Mounties block intersections and wave us through

• Drivers and navigators dine sumptuously on brunch at the Glen Club, the premier restaurant at Watkins Glen International Speedway (for many, this was their third breakfast that morning)

• Following the above, and despite the extra weight gain, all jump back in their Alfas for three parade laps around the WGIS circuit (honestly, I’ve never seen a parade go so fast! I mean, when was the last time a car was black-flagged in a parade?)

• Next, it is the same all-Alfa field attacking the original road course around and through the town of Watkins Glen, where the crowd cheered for me as I sailed through town (until I realized they were cheering for the car behind me, which appeared to be driven by a golden retriever!)

• To choruses of "New York, New York", on Saturday evening a contingent of AONE-ers and NYAROC-ers set sail on Seneca Lake, generally eating, drinking, being merry and trading stories

So as you can see there is no lack of material for this report. But, as usual, it’s really difficult to know where to stop…

The drive out (the caravan, I should say) was a bit slower this time as we all tried to meet up and stay together. Nonetheless, it was enjoyable—a bit of a thrill, even—seeing fellow club members suddenly show up in the middle of nowhere to join us in our quest for the Glen. The meeting points were not handled perfectly by yours truly, working with an outdated sign-up sheet (and not even realizing it until hours later). Next year, it will be better. Suffice it to say that by the time we left the Lee service area, it was me and my favorite navigator, Diane, followed by John Paradiso in his ’91 Spider and Tom Freiberger in his ’72 Montreal. Somehwere about ten miles behind us were John and Ki Basel, victims of my old sign-up list, and about twenty miles to our north on a parallel route were Guilherme Bonatto, Fred Bonatto, John and Peggy Percival and Steve and Diana Thomas. We actually all converged on I-88 and Route 20, where our section pulled over for lunch at the Duanesburg Diner. Unfortunately, here is where my cell phone decided to act weird and Steve Thomas’s call to me went right into my voicemail, so I didn’t hear it until an hour and a half later. While at the diner, however, in walked John and Ki, who joined us for lunch. Steve, Guilherme, and the others apparently went right by while we were finishing our coffee, not realizing we were in there. Next time, I’ll park the Spider out front!

Afterward, our group proceeded west on Route 20 (unbeknownst to us, probably twenty miles behind Steve Thomas, et als) for about an hour to Sangerfield, where we gassed up and got in touch with Rob Favali, who was solo in his Spider about ten miles down Route 12. We linked up with him in Hubbardsville, around the corner from Cal Crouch’s place—where we met up with the esteemed Crouch to lead us through wild and wooly back roads (if you think of them in terms of the fauna frequently seen on them) over to Route 13, which brought us to Ithaca. Actually, trying to keep up with Cal in his new-old Ferrari 308GT while dodging stray farm animals was kind of like "Ma and Pa Kettle Meet the Last Open Road", and would probably give Burt Levy an idea for yet another story. We also saw downtown Hamilton (nice college town) and some great scenery. Just north of Ithaca, we split up as some of the group was going further on 13 to reach their motels, while the rest of us (Rob Favali and the Basels) headed over the hills to Watkins Glen. Descending down Route 79 to its intersection with 414, Seneca Lake comes into view along with the Glen—at last! Along with the view, the first cool, sunny and dry air you’ve breathed all summer. It’s a long trip, but it’s worth it.

Driving into the Glen on Thursday afternoon before vintage race weekend is like walking through a big-city downtown shopping district on Christmas Eve. All sorts of sports cars and revelers are suddenly appearing, as if from nowhere, walking through the usually peaceful town and filling its streets with happy faces, rorty motors, and colorful sights. Not to mention filling its restaurants, bars, inns, motels, stores and parking places! Posters announcing different events are everywhere, and street-corner vendors just starting to show up. I guess it’s no surprise that you can "feel the love" from the townsfolk during this event, given the contribution to the local economy. But then, that’s the way it’s always been at the Glen.