4 - Flood, Food and Fire

After the lunch cruise, we returned to the Imperial Palace and made a discovery. During the rare Las Vegas rainstorms (one of which we had enjoyed that afternoon), the bottom floor of the garage doubles as a flood channel (r). And for you East Coasters unfamiliar with desert flash floods, this is not a little moisture in the gutter - we're talking a foot of fast-moving H₂O here.		So we gave up on the convenient back entrance to the garage. In the Saturday night traffic on the Strip, it took fifteen minutes to go around the block to the front entrance. Where we made another discovery. There was water in the front driveway too. Somehow we made it up to the Boxster reserve on the top floor of the garage, and went to get ready for dinner.
	Dinner was at Yolie's, a Brazilian steakhouse featuring fabulous all-you-can-eat food, not to mention a dip in the parking lot that had everyone wishing they'd won the boomerang in the raffle. Inside, BoxsterLanders filled most of the main dining room (r).
Yolie's is heaven, if you're a carnivore. And if you're not, this is the place that could change your mind. Waiters walk around bearing spits (above) with seven varieties of roasted meat - roast beef, pork, turkey, chicken, lamb, spicy sausage, and another kind of beef that we never saw, but by then we didn't care - we were leaning back with the same kind of grin you get in a Boxster, only a bit greasier.		The after-dinner ceremonies began with Paul Cordell reading the original Boxster Board post written by Matt the Car Nut at the age of 14. Paul then presented Matt with a Porsche jacket (l). Look at the photo and decide for yourself if he likes it. There were a few other gifts too, including his very own Boxster Owner's Manual, which he promised to memorize on the plane back to Toronto.
	Then the award ceremonies started. Stephen Toulouse got the Dirtiest Boxster Award (l) featured a certificate and a clean car cloth. The Cleanest Boxster Award (r) sported a dirty car cloth and went to Bruce Young (PETGUY).
Keith Vyenielos - whom you recall as the proprietor of The Boxsters Have Laundered - got the award for the shortest trip (r). Chris from Germany got the longest trip award, beating out René Weenink from the Netherlands by about 100 miles. The awards were presented by (above, from right) Dane Boren, Mark Lysinger and Betty Choate - and I think that's Scotty in the other two photos.		Then it was the turn of Chuck Hammersmith, who in his on-line persona of Porsche Pete created the Internet message board that brought this group together.
	Those who meet Chuck in person are often disapppointed to find he bears only a familial resemblance to the sneering, mustachioed, gun-toting cowboy whose image adorns his Web pages. That may change, following this presentation (r) of a sherrif's badge, toy pearl-handled revolvers and a cowboy hat autographed by doens of BoxsterBoarders. Not much hope for the sneer, though, especially after Chuck saw that hat.
Came Sunday morning, and the drive to the Valley of Fire. We congregated for the last time on the exclusive fourth, or Boxster, level of the Imperial Palace garage (above). There was much loading of trunks both front and rear, much wandering around and chatting. John Cochran fired up his custom stereo system and a small battle of the bands ensued.		Greg Reddick, editor of the Boxster FAQ (l, on left) got together with contributing editor Larry Whatley. Then the caravan moved out. Nancy had other commitments, so I was left with the keys to the Boxster and an empty seat. After I threatened Chuck with the specter of me taking photographs and steering at the same time (no problem, it's a Tip), he was kind enough to agree to drive (below).
	Turning left off the Strip (l), the question was, "How many Boxsters can you fit through a left green arrow?" Answer: More than you might expect. Chuck, I didn't know it could get to redline that quickly in second.
We hopped on I-15 and headed north toward the Valley of Fire. Trygve, I apologize for filching Chuck from you for the ride, but at least here's a picture of your spiffy Arena Red (r) with the personalized plate exhibiting the virtue of not being named George.		At the Valley of Fire exit, we regrouped in the parking lot of the Moapa tribal store (below), where in addition to the ubiquitous gambling machines we could buy souvenirs, candy, and enough fireworks to destroy Belgrade - everything under the sun, in fact, except gasoline. Several Boxsters peeled off and headed for the nearest service station, 15 miles away.
	We moved out across the desert, soon arriving at the entrance station to Valley of Fire State Park. Standing next to the ranger was Mark Lysinger. I guess Mark was new on the job, which accounted for the lineup of cars (l). Entering the park, we soon found out why this place is special.



	If we had to have just one sunny day this weekend, this was the one to have. We arrived at the end of the road, lined up the Boxsters one last time (l), and got out to enjoy the desert sun. John Cochran opened up the doors and trunk, raised the spoiler, and fired up his stereo system (r). Dang, John, you Texans sure know how to enjoy nature. (Sure sounded good tho'.)
	Some of us climbed the hill (l) to get a good look at the Boxsters and the scenery (r). Then we all got together for the group photo (below)

Then, one by one, engines started up and Boxsters headed out. A group peeled off to visit Boulder Dam. Others left alone. The skein of routes that had wound together for a long, wonderful weekend was unravelling. There were planes to catch, and long roads home awaiting. Going back along the scenic drive, the two way radios still chattered. People were stopping for pictures, and organizing the drive to Boulder. When we got to the stop sign at the main road, the five Boxsters in front of me all turned right, in the direction of Interstate 15. I turned left, toward the scenic Lake Mead drive. Soon the Talkabouts fell silent. For the first time in five days, I wasn't following a Boxster. There were no cars anywhere in sight. Just miles and miles of desert. I pulled off the road. The sun beat down. The hot wind was the only sound.

	Then a Guards Red Boxster came over the hill. I jumped in, started the engine, and followed him south for fifteen miles, until he passed a pickup truck and was gone in the distance.


*3 - Weddings and Rainbows*	*Table of Contents*