Fetching the Racecar, Part 2

Not that we worried. Again, the truck wasn't even a concern, and we'd used everything short of plastic wrap to tie the car body down. But now the precious cargo was ours to break. Call it marginal objectified concern. In Gila Bend, the truck took about 33 gallons ($75 bucks—ouch), and we took Taco Bell. The front half of my theory on Eli's service-negative presence popped again after I'd ordered a burrito and received some sort of taco. Still working on the cause of that effect.


As the sun was setting, we piled back into the rig and started to work on rectifying the hidden fault in our delayed launch and recovery program. Instead of landing in San Diego before 7:00 p.m. as intended, our updated arrival looked close to 9:00. This was a problem not as much because of trailer return, which had been ostensibly forsaken before we'd even left SD, but revolved around the assistance we required to unload the racecar.

Power-Lifting
There's a Tuesday night cruise on Clairmont Mesa at the Fuzion café that kicks off around 7:00 p.m., and we were planning to motor up with the goods on the trailer to show off a little. From there, a crew of pals had planned to assist in the offload. We figured six guys could lift the car, I'd drive the trailer right out from under it, and somewhere between dropping and putting it down we'd be in business. Our delays would almost assuredly cost us what willingness to help was available.


We hit San Diego a sliver before 10:00 p.m. Average mileage: 12.2 mpg. Two stops to check the trailer and a cautious descent from the desert had killed the clock completely and we were on our own. A little planning and basic loading theory led us back to my house, where we grabbed an extra floor jack and two stands to augment the equipment already in Eli's garage. A skip and a jump to Hillcrest, and I was slowly backing the trailer into the two-car. With parking and spare real estate so hard to come by in Hillcrest, it's a wonder that Eli has a doublewide garage to himself. Driving in reverse with a trailer takes some practice—I've had that, with plenty of embarrassing screw ups to prove it—and the trailer was positioned in short order. Now for the power-lift gymnastics.


The big plank of wood we'd used to enable lifting the car body with the forklift was still under it, and the gateway to our strategy hinged on this old door. Eli supported the rear-facing front end under that board with a rolling jack and some spare lumber (things in the bed of Doug's truck to the rescue, Take Two), and I shoved. It was all leg; I didn't want to torch my back again. Centimeter by agonizing centimeter (it IS a foreign car) we moved the car, relocating the jack every few minutes to avoid the ladder frame of the trailer. Tedious is not too strong a word.