By Gene Bellegarde

I went to this meet with a totally different point of view. Baseball was just wrapping up its "incredible season', and the Padres, my Padres, were involved. Marriage and children have altered my reality such that I have not produced another finished project since the 'White Stallion' (can hardly call that finished, but it did win a 3rd place in class at Buena Park!) I sold to Ed Huston for Betty's birthday. My latest little attraction has been a return to my youth with H.O. slot car racing. There are Volvos available for this, but they don't come cheaply.

So, here I am getting two daughters and a wife up out of bed on a morning that they really wanted to sleep in. I was losing whatever popularity that might have carried over from the night before, a night I spent packing whatever neat little Volvo trinkets I could locate. My intent this time had been to judge cars at the meet. Every other time, I always had something else going on. I know that Bill Webb always starts his judging at noon, if not earlier. Bill runs concours judging at all West Coast Meets, or at least all that I have been to. This made our arrival in Palm Desert before noon a requirement. To pull this off, I figured we had to drive on up to Palm Desert without the baggage of a caravan, so we did NOT stop at the COCO'S in Escondido. They were to leave at 9 am sharp, but did anyone believe that?? (1 heard they left at 9:30, and did not roll in before noon!) At Temecula (when I moved here 20 years ago it was renamed Rancho California, what ever happened to that?) I took a sharp right and the low road, back door, into Palm Desert. It was a beautiful drive.

The supple leather seats in my wife's 740 vanilla wagon gripped my hind section as I hugged the sharp turns and gentle rollers as I pulled thru wine country in Southern California. I pointed out the Pacific Crest Trail to my falnily as we passed, reliving the memories of back packing the entire San Diego Count). from Campo to Anza to the north. The morning air was crisp and the skies were clear, and I was, believe it or not, really looking forward to being a car judge for the first time. We stopped at the top of the pass, overlooking the desert floor, to recycle some coffee and to enjoy the views, as my daughters had had enough of the inside of a 740 vanilla wagon, and the phrase of the morning was, "are we there yet?", 

as we dropped onto the desert floor. I was unfamiliar with this town, as it has been over 15 years since I was last here. I somehow went right at the intersection with Palm Springs Road, and followed my nose right to the front door of the Resort. What a nice place. My hat is off to Cindy Andrews, Bill and Cathy Webb for the selection of this establishment. About the only problem I had with Embassy the whole weekend was a 4 p.m. check-in time, although they had a room ready when I checked in at 11:30.

Quickly, back out to the V SA registration booth to offer judging services. OOPS, they already had the team selected, and a situation that normally has Bill begging for help this time had him turning it away.

Now what? A quick scan of the parking lot produced some familiar faces with Bob and Del Skoog camped out by Del's pretty red coupe. A quick 'hello', and I was informed that my family was hungry .Every thing at the resort was handily accessible, and finding the restaurant allowed me to check out the TV situation for the Big Game. We're talking Saturday night World Series and my team, my Padres, were involved! Haven't been this excited since New Years eve '87. Great, 4 TVs in the bar, looks promising. I left my wife and kids at the cafe and went back to the big show. Bill was announcing that the bar-b-que was about to begin, and I, too, was feeling hungry .I opted for the Spicy Chicken Jack, always on the calorie and cholesterol alert, you see. I bellied (literally) up to the table and plopped down next to Greg Blake and Julia. Greg is one of my favorite personalities since we met at the San Diego meet in '94. Greg missed the' get yur car judged by Bill ' signup by about 20 Jainutes that year, and I'll never forget the conversation we had. The next time I met Greg was at 80 miles per hour, 9 p.m., in Orange County headed for Buena Park. I was cruisin , when suddenly a set of headlights changed lanes and parked on my rear bumper. *&?@#$! Porsche I mumbled to myself as I kicked out the O/D and punched it, figuring to leave the waterless wonder in the weeds. 

A mile or so later, back down at 80, a mustard colored 1800E pulls along side (wow, not a Porsche!) and I roll down my window to ask if he is going to the meet. Affirmative. Do you know how to get there? Yup! Ok, I'll follow you, and I slowed enough to let him pass, realizing that we now had the makings of a race. Greg had subsequently won the 'Road Warrior' award in Arizona last year, and now I know why. We made our destination at Buena Park after a couple of U-turns, to meet Dave Hunt for the first time, out in the parking lot at 9 p.m. Friday night.

Back in Palm Desert 1998, great stomachs think alike. Scott and Dawn Harrison showed up to eat, Goran was there, Jeff Perry, Alan Miller, Bob and Del, Jim Barnes, and it was beginning to look like a San Diego reunion.

What a proud group we were, with our Padres going to the big game, and all our Volvos lined up in a row.

Suddenly it hit me. I have nothing to do. No car to clean, parts to sell or buy, cars to judge. 'When in Rome, do as the Romans' came to mind, and what do tourists staying in Resorts in Palm Springs do? They congregate at the pool. At Embassy , the pool is kept at 85 degrees year round, so I gather my children, whom are in varying stages of learning to swim, and head out. We must have spent 3 hours in the pool that afternoon, and eventually were joined by Jim Barnes, and his one-year-old son, future 1800 owner, Colin. The water was warm and clean, and surprisingly absent of the chlorine odor usually found in such places. A great afternoon enjoyed by all.

As the afternoon matured, that magic time was approaching. No, not happy hour, but the beginning of the World Series game.

I gathered up Jim Barnes and we headed up to the bar. We were the only ones there, since the Resort was having its FREE happy hour down at the Free Breakfast Room. Everything is FREE in that hall. So we had the whole bar almost to ourselves. Over in the corner was the mind trust of V SA national, Bob Stein. Bob Berglund. and, I believe, Karl Grimm having a few cocktails. In case you don't know, Bob Stein lives in the Bronx in NYC, so the first half of the game was GRE4T! So great, in fact, that when time came to attend the banquet dinner. we couldn't pull ourselves away from the bar .even though we were p A YING for our Rum & Cokes. No need here to elaborate on the outcome of the game, but let me say that by the time Jim and I collected ourselves and found the banquet hall,

dinner was over and the guest speaker was a gentlernan that works for Valva Classic Parts, that group that is going to take care of us and our replacement part needs.

Well, Jim and I were hungry, tired, perhaps a little drunk, angry with the Yankees, and were sitting there listening to somebody we didn't know explain why the parts we couldn't get were now twice as expensive. At least he wasn't wearing a Yankees cap! We then found out that the food was behind door # I to the left, so we went back there and helped ourselves. Good meal, plenty of Roast Beef remaining, and even some dessert. After Greg Blake won the nice jacket and the banquet was over, we met Mark and Diane Jankowski back at the bar to drown some sorrows. If we ONLY knew.

I had no trouble sleeping that night. The next morning at 7 am I took Jolie, my 5-year-old out to the pool area and jumped into the Jacuzzi to melt away the blues.

After some free breakfast the Volvo group gathered in the 'lot for the Winner's Circle photo shoot. Noteworthy cars for me were the nice, metallic gray '71 142 E, driven by the original owner, purchased from Bates and Cunnigham Volvo in Brunswick, Maine, same place as my first 122 wagon was purchased. Small World! Saving the best for last was the Best of Show car, a 1964 and very tastefully modified tan 544. This car had been purchased new by the owners father, totaled by the owners son, and restored by, you guessed it, the owner!

After a few goodbyes, Jim's family and mine had a rather uneventful caravan thru Winchester and back to San Diego. Oh yeah, Jolie counted I million, 55 thousand and 3 windmills up on 1-10 north of Palm Springs.