Dispatch: Home for the Holidays

During our whirlwind tour of Spain I took pains to avoid the news, preferring instead to live in the moment and focus on Spain’s rich heritage. Although Violet occasionally read the news online or watched BBC, the see no evil, hear no evil approach enabled us to take advantage of adventure, planned excursions, tasty food and complex wine.

For instance, we were unaware that our president had broken a core campaign promise by capitulating on tax relief for the wealthy or that our new Speaker of the House and his Senate counterpart were prone to tearful crying jags in contemplation of their own circumstances, not those of the public that they served. My free Holiday advice to Barak, John and Mitch is simple: Man up gentlemen, it’s a long and tough road ahead and America needs real leadership, not schoolyard shenanigans! Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Of course we knew about and toasted the recovery of kidnap victim Jean Marie Berlinghoff over plates of sumptuous paella, but with our minds still dwelling on the Iberian Peninsula and Christmas and New Years looming, we were ill prepared for immediate immersion into missing child cases.

The first one reached us the day after we returned, on December 15. A thirteen year old girl with medical issues did not return home from middle school the day before. It had been two days, her family was frantic and the local Sheriff was unresponsive, saying that it seemed a runaway. This has always proved a good excuse for law enforcement indifference as the sheer numbers of runaway children invites indifference. During a couple of consultations with the girl’s grandmother we decided to do the following things: blanket the already created missing child flyer throughout the community, including areas that a local runaway might frequent; focus upon the neighborhood where her best girlfriend and co-conspirator was thought to live, stakeout the neighborhood to see if anybody was removing the flyers and then follow that person home; and finally, continue to press the case through Facebook and other social media sites.

 The next day was problematic. She was still missing, the Sheriff couldn’t be bothered and the family was concerned about a worsening medical condition and possible gang involvement. This time it was decided that media needed to be notified in hopes of embarrassing the Sheriff into action. By December 17, she had been located and returned home.

Also on Thursday the plight of a two year old boy was brought to my attention via Facebook. His non-custodial father had not returned him to his mother. The father was in jail and most of the activity surrounding efforts to recover the child were being conducted via social networking. I told the family that they should re-format the photo essay into a missing flyer, contact local law enforcement to establish that a report had been made, and contact NCMEC to get a flyer posted on their website. The child was recovered by early Friday morning.

KlaasKids did not play a big part in any of these cases. However, we did consult the families, make pertinent suggestions, help with strategies, offer moral support and make ourselves otherwise available. Being involved in three successful recoveries in a row is kind of like the kidnap equivalent of a hat trick. It isn’t even important how the children were recovered because all were recovered alive and returned home in time for the holidays. Maybe there is a Santa Claus after all.

Dispatch: Look Down Before You Look Up!

Boy, I really stepped in it today. After breakfast we wanted to visit the Miro Foundation and the National Gallery of Art on Montjuic. I refused to take a taxi, preferring the Metro, and finally talked Violet into taking the Cable Car from the harbor which was only a mile away.  Once we got to within 50 yards of the Cable Car station we discovered that it could only be reached by walking 2 kilometer around the harbor. Not a problem, because my online travel guide directed us to another Montjuic Cable Car station half the distance away, but by the time we reached it we had already climbed to the top of Montjuic. Oh well!

We walked 1 more kilometer to the Miro Foundation, dedicated to the work of the great artist Joan Miro to find that it is closed on Monday. Not a problem, because the National Gallery of Art was only 1 more kilometer away. If I had read my travel guide more thoroughly I would have already known that this venue, too, is closed on Monday.

That is when I stepped in it. If there is one thing that Americans excel at it is picking up after our pooches. The rest of the world, most notably those who live on or near Montjuic, has a lot of catching up to do because dog shit seemed to be everywhere, most notably stuck to the bottom of my shoe: Finally, a reason for Violet to smile on an otherwise unproductive Monday afternoon.

By the time we had hiked back to the Gothic Quarter we were ready for refreshment so we grabbed a table in the Cathedral Plaza, ordered coffee and shared some Tapas’. Lined up on the bar like beautifully arranged appetizers we took what we desired and spent an hour people watching in the cool Catalan sun. Finally, the waiter counted up our toothpicks, presented our modest bill and we returned to the hotel to reevaluate our final day in beautiful Spain.

Dispatch: Back on the Grid!

Barcelona is the Iberian Manhattan. Its energy pops and sizzles off the page. It doesn’t sleep or even seem to slow down. With 1,600,000+ inhabitants and countless more visitors and tourists Barcelona surges and sways as the tide of humanity dictates. Like most modern cities Barcelona is on the grid. Roads run parallel and perpendicular to each other, providing order and restoring logic. Seville and Granada, like Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter, are out touch with the modern world. They have no logic or direction. They are reactive cities that do not possess the forethought of urban planning. Instead, these cities, or what we saw of them, have narrow roads that twist and turn as they wind their way from point A to point B, or is it point Q?  

Today, we walked and absorbed the energy of Barcelona before we visited the Picasso Museum, which exists off the grid in the Gothic Quarter and focuses upon the master’s youth. Picasso’s revolutionary vision becomes understandable when you realize that he had nailed the styles of the Spanish masters by the time he was 15-years old. Then he went off the grid and focused upon interpretations that veered away from reality as they explored new visions of artistic understanding. It was only years later when Picasso’s genius was acknowledged and much copied that he was allowed back onto the grid.

When I visited Barcelona in 1972, the great Catalan Architect Antonio Gaudi’s La Sagrada Familia (Holy Family) Church had already been under construction for 90 years.  Combining a unique vision of organic architecture with devout spirituality, Gaudi’s design was beyond anything previously envisioned. The roof was finally completed in 2000, yet it took another 10 years before La Sagrada Familia found its way onto the grid. That is when Pope Benedict visited and consecrated La Sagrada Familia as a minor basilica. When I look at pictures of the consecration I can see the Pontiff’s calculation, as the Church waited for more than 100 years, many millions of man hours and private funds before laying claim to this majestic masterpiece. I’ll bet that when the “minor basilica” is completed it will fast track into the hierarchy as one of Church’s outstanding modern achievements. Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

Then again on Saturday Jean Berlinghoff was found alive wandering the streets of San Francisco with her abductor Uncle Charlie. Charles Berlinghoff fell off the grid about a decade ago and ran up a rap sheet of sex crimes against children. When he came back onto the grid and insinuated himself back into family life, the Berlinghoff’s were unaware of his criminal past, so they did not have their guard up before he disappeared with his 15-year old niece. Without making any effort to disguise himself the fugitive predator and his victim were totally on the grid and the young girl was rescued safely, thereby proving that sometimes life is fair after all.

Dispatch: Granada

As charming and beautiful as Seville is, all of its glory exists in its past. The on and off tour, which I do not recommend, only reconfirms the fact that Seville is irrelevant in terms of 21^st Century culture, finance, banking, trade or political influence. We saw two failed 20^th Century exhibitions, the most recent being in 1992, and they are increasingly neglected: overgrown with weeds, poorly maintained and otherwise undistinguished.  

The high points of Seville included our charming hotel; cobbled together from at least 10-separate 16^th to 19^th century houses, painfully narrow roads, Tapas Bars, the Cathedral and the Royal Alcazar (Palace) de Seville. Originally a 12^th Century Moorish fort, the Royal Palace maintains a very strong Islamic influence, with most of the Christian influences on the upper floors which still serve as the official local residence for the Spanish Royal Family. We were blown away by the intricacy of the detail, the beauty of the architecture and the sublime design of the gardens.

An early morning train delivered us into Granada. Finally, the sun was shining in a bright blue sky and we were able to put away our umbrellas, galoshes and ponchos. Once we escaped the hustle of Columbus Avenue, Granada’s main thoroughfare, with its graffiti strewn shops and heavy traffic we discovered a lively and charming community of ancient buildings, stylish shops, and restaurants.

We wandered around, found a great people watching spot and spent a couple of hours judging and critiquing the locals. We decided that they are cosmopolitan, sophisticated and stylish. All in all, Granada is pretty fantastic. The one criticism that Violet and I agreed upon is that Granada seems to have surrendered to graffiti. It is everywhere from the Cathedral that houses the tomb of Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand to the smallest retail outlet. It reminded me of New York City before Chief Bratton and Mayor Giuliani cracked down on small time crime in the early 90’s.

This morning we visited the Alhambra, a Moorish monument that lords over the rest of Granada from high on the red hill of Sabika. A palace, citidal, and fortress, the Alhambra is Spain’s most popular tourist attraction. Personally, I was more impressed by Seville’s Royal Palace, but anyone visiting this part of Southern Spain needs to visit this important World Heritage site.

We had Tapas for lunch and are looking forward to suckling pig for dinner. Right now Violet is napping in our room while I sit in the courtyard of our hotel, the Palacio de Santa Paula. It exudes old world charm as water from the fountain subtly integrates into the serenely quite afternoon.

I’m so glad that Violet and I are able to share this trip together, without the nuisance of a tour. We are having a wonderful time and I am reminded again why I wanted to marry and spend the rest of my life with her. Now if I could just get her to rub my aching feet!

Dispatch: The Reaper Emerges From the Shadows

Last night my friend Barry called to tell me that he is dying. After repeated recent stays in the hospital to treat the lungs that could no longer sustain him after 30 years of chain smoking, he elected to contact Hospice so that he could die at home. The news devastated Violet and I.

I remember the day that we first met, on October 4, 1993, three days after Polly was kidnapped. Barry was the 38 year old up and coming, well connected publisher of Petaluma’s bi-weekly newspaper the Argus Courier.  He came quietly into our lives, inquiring into our well being as everyone else focused on Polly. He ensured that his newspaper treated us fairly and that local resources were made available to us. He secured a free apartment so that we wouldn’t be burdened by expenses, and then moved us into the spare bedroom of his home. Barry made sure that our spiritual and medical needs were met. He provided sage counsel and never asked for anything in return. He was instrumental in the planning of Polly’s memorial service and eventually we traveled together on vacations and business.

The years were tough on Barry, but he never complained. His wife left him on a hospital bed, after an unsuccessful back operation that left him forever hobbled. About 5-years ago he took refuge in solitude, avoiding contact, making excuses to break dinner dates, or simply refusing to answer his phone or return emails. When we finally did have lunch a couple of years ago he was outfitted with an oxygen tank and breathing apparatus. Embarrassment had driven him into a solitary existence. Afterwards, we spoke occasionally, exchanged Christmas Cards, but ultimately drifted apart.

How do you measure the love and gratitude you feel for another human being? By the tears you shed or the guilt you feel when the grim reaper emerges from the shadows? By the memories you guard, the experiences that you share or the regret that surely invades your consciousness? I think that it is all of these things and more. I know that I shake my head in sadness as I am reminded again that life is not fair, that shit happens, and that you have to deal with it.

Barry Blansett

I have experience with death. In one year I lost my daughter, my younger brother and my beloved grandmother. For a number of years I wanted to die, but that is no longer the case. Death haunts my existence and creeps into my thoughts daily. I wonder about my own death; how I will face my end and whether I can leave this world with dignity and grace. I have great admiration for the way that Barry is facing his own destiny. He does not want his life to be extended through artificial means. He wants to be at home, to be surrounded by those he loves and those who love him.

Barry has a great heart and has been a great and loyal friend. He understands that he is too young to be making these kinds of plans, but he also understands that he has no choice in the matter. He is a man of uncommon courage, of exceptional dignity and poised grace. I only hope that Violet and I get home in time to share these thoughts with Barry before his time runs out.

Dispatch: Seville

Prior to leaving on vacation friends and family warned us that Spain was nearly bankrupt, that unemployment was closing in on 25-percent, that larceny was inevitable, and that the best way to foil roaming bands of thieves and pickpockets was to arm ourselves, trust no one, and duct tape cash directly onto our thighs.

 So last night when a scruffy, hollow cheeked man wearing a ragged brown parka walked toward Violet and I on an ever narrowing cobblestone alley and yelled, “No me nucleotidasa bro!” as he reached into his pocket, I sent 50,000 volts of electricity through his body with the Taser gun I had bought to protect Violet and I on our vacation. You can imagine my embarrassment when he withdrew his twitching hand with a picture of his baby daughter instead of the semi-automatic pistol that I had imagined he was reaching for. Upon arriving back at the hotel, the bellman told me that the phrase that had caused me to react so violently, translated into, “Don’t tase me bro!”

This only goes to reinforce my suspicion that I really needed this vacation. Of course that bizarre fantasy didn’t really happen and was simply fueled by too many appearances on cable news programs discussing the latest instance of murder, mayhem, death and destruction.

In truth the Spanish people couldn’t be friendlier or more helpful. Taxi’s have driven directly to preferred destinations, hotel bellmen had indulged my tortured Spanish and responded to my inquiries in English, waiters and waitresses have thanked us in advance for our patronage and we have been greeted by smiles and friendliness at every turn.

The train to Seville was clean, timely and comfortable. As dawn broke at about 8:15 a.m., we preferred to watch green rolling hills with fingers of fog clinging to them, broken up by long dark tunnels blasted through granite mountains, rather than the lame Jennifer Aniston rom-com (Love Happens) showing on the video screen. My ears popped intermittently as we descended.

Seville is most famous for being a primary destination in a recent Tom Cruise movie. Fortunately, it’s picturesque, narrow streets, charming facades, and ancient architecture provides plenty of equally valid reasons to visit and enjoy. Portions of the ancient Cathedral, which houses the tomb of Christopher Columbus and boast the world’s largest altar, date back to the 12^th Century.

The sky exploded with thunder, and Violet fell when her boot heel caught between cobblestones at the Cathedral, but soldiered on drinking in atmosphere as the torrential storm cleansed our spirits. Right now we sit in the Piano Bar thinking Bogart and Bergman as the pianist entertains and the room fills. We are drinking red wine, sampling artisan cheeses and vaguely planning tomorrow’s itinerary.

Oh, and I’m also taking my dear friend Judy’s advice to heart. Starting now, we will partake of the siesta, eat late and assimilate into the laid back Spanish lifestyle.

Dispatch: Prisoner of History

Picasso - Guernica

We managed to acclimate pretty well. After a long and well deserved sleep inside our tiny, jewel box of a hotel room, Violet and I had breakfast in the hotel restaurant before trekking into the rain. Prosciutto and other cured meats to die for, fruit as sweet and vivid as either of us has ever had, coffee with hot milk, fresh orange juice and a vast assortment of Spanish pastries, it was easy to overlook the scrambled eggs and sausage. We lingered and marveled for more than an hour, reluctant to go forth into the rain.

At the turn of the 20^th Century Madrid, which sits 616-meters above sea level encompassed about 10-square miles. As a result of unfettered growth this sprawling metropolis of 3.3 million people had grown to cover more than 400-square miles by the beginning of the 21^st Century. Located in the geographic center of the Iberian Peninsula, Spain’s capitol city is the headquarters of its own ancient, defensive wall, historical Madrid has had to adapt in order to survive. With massive traffic jams and crowded, narrow streets Madrid is headquarters for government and financial institutions as well as the Spanish Royal Family.



Plaza Mayor



I know all of this because this morning, Violet and I jumped on the on-and-off double deck bus tour that has become so popular throughout the world’s tourist destinations. Braving cold, scattered showers throughout the day, we received a thumbnail tour and experienced some of Madrid’s awesome destinations. The Plaza Mayor

We stopped off at the Plaza Mayor in the center of historical Madrid. Popular with locals and tourists alike the Plaza has hosted bullfights, coronations, festivals and executions. This week the Plaza is focused upon coin collectors, Christmas ornament vendors, caricaturists and its ability to shoehorn more humanity into a 90 X 120 meter rectangle than anyplace we have previously visited.



Miro - House With Palm Tree



The Reina Sofia Museum contains a permanent collection of Spanish modern art and traces its history from the breakthrough realism of Francisco Goya through the Dada, Cubism and Surrealistic movements championed by 20^th Century masters Picasso, Dali, Miro, and Gris. The converted 18^th Century hospital has soaring galleries, and houses priceless sculptures, photographs and paintings culminating with Picasso’s stunning masterpiece Guernica. As impressive in its way as was the Prado, we lucked out and visited on free ticket day.

Dali - The Great Masturbator

We understand that Madrid never sleeps, that the best that the city has to offer isn’t even available until after midnight, but by 7:00 p.m. we are as exhausted as we are exhilarated. We ducked into another Tapas’ restaurant, shared a bottle of local Red and ambled back to our gorgeous little hotel amid the Christmas lights, teeming humanity and brisk air. By 8:30 p.m. we were both dead to the world.

Why then, am I wide awake, staring at my computer screen and typing a blog at 3:30 a.m.? I have no idea, but touch me for I am golden.

Dispatch: Madrid

The trip to the airport was uneventful. The security line was surprisingly sparse and there were no intimate encounters with TSA agents: not even a handshake. A US Airways agent approached me in the Pete’s Coffee line and asked if Polly’s killer was still on death row. “Why do we waste our money on shit like that?” he asked when informed that the killer had spent more time on death row than Polly spent on earth. I had no ready answer.

Prior to taking off we learned that Spanish Air Controllers had launched a wildcat strike, stranding tens of thousands of travelers. I guess that their $430,000 annual salary weren’t enough to get them through these austere times. We hadn’t intended to spend our hard earned vacation in Philadelphia, our connection destination, but there was no turning back at this point. However, we boarded on time, were seated, had a pleasant flight and arrived in the City of Brotherly Love 30-minutes early. Violet and I shared a snack, boarded our flight to Madrid, settled into our first cabin seats, secured by trading precious frequent flyer miles, and indulged in cocktails, steak, red wine and melatonin prior to falling into a fitful sleep as our Airbus 320 jetted over the Atlantic Ocean.



Goya - Naked Maja



The Madrid airport seemed deserted. We quickly secured our luggage from the carousel, passed through the immigration check and jumped into a taxi for the short trip to our strategically located, beautiful little hotel. By 10:00 a.m. we had walked to the world famous Prado art museum, purchased tickets and were surrounded by the achievements of giants.



Goya - Saturn Eating His Young



Unless one has visited the great art museums: the Louvre, the Metropolitan, the Uffizi, it is impossible to describe peerless artistic achievement. One is surrounded on all sides by the masterpieces that adorn coffee table books, hotel lobbies, and college art history courses. The Prado focuses upon 15^th to 19^th Century Spanish artists like Velazquez, perhaps the greatest and most accomplished of all the early Spanish painters, to Goya, the 19^th Century genius who was equally adept at depicting the sublime and the horrific. But, there is more, much more. With more than 3,000 paintings on display, it is impossible to see everything in just one visit, so we were strategic.

After 4 exhausting hours, we had seen enough. Perhaps the most striking masterpiece of all is the Garden of Earthly Delights, a vivid and surrealistic triptych by Hieronymus Bosch, a 15^th Century Dutch master. An allegory in 3-panels, the Garden of Earthly Delights traces original sin through man’s ultimate descent into hell. If one is to believe that part of Bosch’s genius is his ability to capture and portray 15 and 16^th Century norms and sensibilities, then one is left wondering how civilization had the energy, for desire is never in question, to evolve into the future.

We were exhausted. Our internal clocks were flipped upside down, our feet were aching and our bodies were stuck in low gear. We vowed to eat Tapas’, drink red wine and fall exhausted into our bed only after sundown. With a slow pace and happy hearts Violet and I ambled back to our hotel, past majestic architecture and the kinds of plaza’s only found in Europe, until we found a neighborhood restaurant that was doing a brisk business and beckoned us with aroma and anticipation. We ate our Tapas, drank a glass of Spanish red wine, and collapsed in ecstasy not long after the sun set in the East.

What a perfect beginning. For the time being we are through slaying windmills. For the next 10-days, as we visit Seville, Granada and finally Barcelona, we will focus on food, drink, culture and foreign adventure.

Dispatch: Seven Miles High

This great land passed in a blur of competition as beautiful, finely tuned automobiles filled with amazing competitors turned heads, brought squeals of laughter from little children and drew crowds wherever we happened to pass or park. The caravan of Lamborghinis, Corvettes, Camaros, and other exotic cars domestic and foreign, futuristic and ancient became the sole focus of our lives as we gamed our way to the finish line in little Galena, IL.

The past eight days have been so intensely focused upon the moment that the real world seemingly ceased to exist. That president Obama’s Chief of Staff resigned meant nothing when compared to completing the next bonus round before the competition. My hometown Giants seem headed to the National League Championship playoffs, but that is insignificant when one is seeking “the future birthplace of Captain James P. Kirk”. I felt extreme exhilaration as my beautiful green Camaro regularly topped 100 mph and my partners and I became dependent upon each other to make our marks, out strategize the competition, and be as close as possible to the top of the leader board when we put our keys in our pockets and walked away from overworked automobiles at the end of each day.

In retrospect, it is amazing that there weren’t more mishaps. Some of the teams got tickets, but nobody was caught driving in excess of 95 mph. There was only one flat tire, one altercation that nearly came to blows, and no accidents. When the Back to the Future DeLoreon broke down with no spare parts available, the Green Hornet and Doc Harmony got a trailer and pulled them with their Excursion for two days until we got to Cedar Rapids where parts had been shipped. The competition remained at a high level as we put 2,800 miles on the odometer. Cheating and poor sportsmanship were at a minimum.

I was afraid that I would be sitting in a car for 8 to 10 hours every day digesting fatty food, without an opportunity to exercise. However, as my aching body will attest, I did more running and climbing these past days than I have engaged in many, many years. The food was cheap and unappetizing so I was able to control my diet without consciously trying. If I don’t see another hamburger, pulled pork sandwich, tub of potato salad, pot of beans or brick of scrambled eggs for 6 months I will be a happy man.

If one is going to be truly competitive in the Fireball Run one needs physical training, viable preliminary research, a friend with a cell phone at a computer or constant internet connectivity, a GPS tracking device, a good car, and some good fortune. Although Team Polly neither won nor placed near the top my good fortune came in the form of a beautiful Camaro that was loaned to me by General Motors and the two men who rode with me and were my partners at different times during the competition.

I have never before spent this much time away from Violet during the 26 years that we have been together. I can hardly wait to see her at the airport later this evening.

Dispatch: Galena, IL

Who am I, how did I get here and what am I doing? My sense of normalcy feels stripped away. It’s as if crossing American at between 80 – 120 mph has blurred more than my peripheral vision. I arrived at the Fireball Run without expectation, but leave with a honed sense of competition, companionship, and camaraderie. I’ve learned lessons in trust, teamwork and tolerance. In doing so I believe that I have reconnected with a primal instinct.

The only real competition today was the drag races. Well, if you call watching Ron and Diane’s red Diablo disappear down the track as if I were sitting still competition. Ah well, I still hit 91.4 mph which I think is awesome for a quarter mile. On my second run I got my revenge on Kenny Greene’s Smart Car.  

With family business completed John joined me for the last day of the Fireball Run in picturesque Galena, IL. It was good to see him again. Together we drove downtown where the city pulled out all of the stops. Hundreds, if not thousands, gathered for one last look at the fabulous lineup of exotic, erotic foreign and domestic automobiles. It didn’t hurt that we were competing in the same space for the local Oktoberfest celebration, or that the two eventually blended.

Our final party was yet another hors d'oeuvre buffet. That surprised me because I thought that JJ would pull out all of the stops and ensure that our final impression was satisfying and memorable. Finally, awards real and imagined were distributed. It was great fun and I believe that whether you came in first or last, in the final analysis we were all winners.

Dispatch: Cedar Rapids, IA

As soon as I opened my eyes this morning it hit me like an out of control 18-wheeler. Polly was kidnapped exactly 17 years ago. That I live with this knowledge daily does not make the arrival of this anniversary any easier. For the first decade after her death I began a regimen of Xanax, a drug used to treat anxiety disorders, panic disorders, and anxiety caused by depression, on October 1 and maintained my drug therapy through her birthday on January 3. I don’t do that anymore though, because I have hardened myself to grim reality. However, this is the first year that I have been without Violet.

This morning Natalie asked for a moment of silence for Polly and the other missing children that are represented in the 2010 Fireball Run. I was touched by her sensitivity and the immediate response from so many of my new friends. Many hugged me; others spoke softly of their regret. All in all, it was a touching moment that I will long remember and a good way to begin another day of the high speed lunacy that my life has recently become. I don’t know if life is a board game, but this week at least the USA is our game board.

The Fireball Run one is all about living in the moment. The real world, with all of its issues and problems, exists in a 120 mph blur that receives no consideration. The only purpose is to solve the next challenge, achieve the next bonus and arrive at the finish line with more points than the competition. It is a microcosm that promotes teamwork. The driver depends upon his/her teammate to solve puzzles and navigate to the next challenge, and the navigator depends upon his/her partner to get there ahead of the clock. Fortunately, both of my teammates were great guys who were up to the task.

The Cedar Rapid reception, which was held in the art museum, happened after we checked into the Crown Plaza. The good news is that it gave us a chance to clean up. The bad news is that the extra time forced me to reflect. When Natalie asked me to speak at the well attended party I could only speak from my heart. ““As many of you know, this is a very difficult day for me. It was 17 years ago that my daughter Polly was kidnapped and murdered she would be Natalie’s age now. I used to resort to prescription drugs as this anniversary approached. For a decade Xanax was my best friend until after Polly’s birthday on January 3.”

“But I don’t do that anymore. My life has improved immensely. I have been fortunate to be surrounded by a great support system and an even greater wife. Together we have learned to love life again, because that is what Polly would want. We have worked to make America safer for children in her name. However, this is the first time I have been by myself on this horrible day. I thought that I would feel lonely and pitiful. Instead, because I am surrounded by the love of new friends I feel empowered and protected. Your words have been heartfelt; your hugs have been comforting. Since I cannot be home tonight, I am glad that I am with all of you. Thank you for your time.”

Dispatch: Chesterfield, MO

Another hurry up and wait morning at Ed Bozarth Chevrolet. JJ is producing and directing a Fireball Run documentary for next year, so every morning, regardless of where we are, we parrot a familiar theme. The Legendary Ron Seggi, otherwise known as the Johnny Carson of radio, holding his surgically attached stick mike in his right hand, dapper in his red blazer and shiny shoes, thanks the local mayor and chamber of commerce for hosting the event. We take a group picture after which Ron repeats familiar formalities and concludes with, “FIREBALLER’S GO TO Y0UR CARS.”

Our Cliff Notes tour of America began with a 30 second visit to the Harry Truman Presidential Library, followed by a similar visit to take a picture of 200 year old hair at the hair museum. Nasty business that! In Marshall, MO we had a lunch in a charming little town square built to honor Jim the Wonder Dog. Jim was famous for predicting things, kind of like the World Cup squid and the tic-tac-toe playing chicken.

For some of us the competition has become secondary, and this afternoon a group of us decided forego time for culture. Our final challenge of the day was to locate and tour the studio of a world famous American sculptor. We were greeted by Don Wiegand, whose work is on display all over the world and who lives and works in a magical studio near St. Louis.  He lovingly restored and converted a 19^th century slaughterhouse into a home/studio that he makes available to the public. I am going to try to make time to return to Mr. Wiegand’s home with my KlaasKids team when we converge upon St. Louis in two weeks time.

My friend Don Levin met me at our finish line at St. Louis Motor Sports this afternoon. He only stayed around for about half an hour, but it was good to see a familiar face. During my brief speech I talked about domestic sex trafficking and could tell that my audience was flabbergasted by the statistics that I provided. I hope that they are getting something out of this and that I am not bringing them all down after a day of fierce competition.

Afterwards I went to a nice Italian restaurant with Valentino and some other Lamborghini enthusiasts. One man in our party explained why he buys and drives insanely expensive and fiercely competitive cars. “Having a fine car on the road is like having a beautiful woman in your bed. You don’t look at a beautiful woman and pat her down with towels. Instead, you put her through her paces, take her deep and satisfy your lust. Similarly, on the highway you should put a great car through its paces. Drive it fast, gear it often, and savor you good fortune.” Oh, and the food was good too.

Dispatch: Topeka, KS

Another day of thrills and spills as the Fireball Run races across the USA. We spent an hour at a manufacturing plant and thirty seconds at the Eisenhower Presidential Museum. Nice statue!  At Heartland Park speedway in Topeka I rode in a special edition Lamborghini on the track and at dinner I talked about the changes that have occurred since Polly’s tragedy.

I broke in my new partner today. In January 2005, Rob McConnell’s two year old daughter Bianca Vaminik was kidnapped by her non-custodial mother Eva Vamanik and taken to Indonesia. He hasn’t spoken to Bianca since. In those few times that Eva contacts Rob she goads him about not sending presents to his daughter, but she refuses to provide an address. The FBI told Rob that if he can convince the mom to return to the United States they will serve her with an International Parental Kidnapping warrant. The high end penalty for international abduction is less than that for illegally copying a DVD. To that end Rob has resorted to using social networking to locate Bianca and her non-custodial mom somewhere amongst a population of 245,452,739 people.

This morning we staged at the Dodge City Speedway and raced school busses around the oval track. The bus I drove wasn’t nearly as fast as Valentino Balboni’s screaming orange Lambo. Valentino is a Lamborghini legend who has been with his company for more than 40-years. He personally test drives every Lambo that leaves the factory in the small Italian township of Sant’Agata Bolognese.  Valentino was calm, cool and collected as he screeched around corners and unloaded on the straight-aways at Topeka’s Heartland Park at speeds exceeding 175 mph. I may have put his consul in a white knuckle grip, but I have to admit that it was the most thrilling ten minutes of my life.

One of our challenges today was to take a picture at the Atomic Cannon. At 83-tons with an 84-foot barrel and a range of 20-miles, the Atomic Cannon was developed in the 1950’s to fire an Atomic artillery shell. Who comes up with this stuff, and did somebody really think that was a good idea?

Our evening reception was at Ed Bozarth Chevrolet in Topeka, Kansas. I talked about the changes that have occurred since Polly’s tragedy. I figure that I need to provide new, good information every evening as part, albeit a small part, of the reason the Fireballer’s signed up to learn about this issue of my life. After we checked into our hotel we hung around the Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka RV sipping bourbon and winding down from an intense day of competition.

Dispatch: Dodge City, KS

Death Race 2010 is upon us. Moments after leaving Lubbock this morning, John received the dreaded news that his mother-in-law had died at 2:00am. He knew that it was imminent and had spent hours the day before consoling Meredith as she helplessly watched her beloved mother weaken and then finally succumb to the ovarian cancer that she had battled courageously for the past eight months.

I put our assignments back into the envelope and drove John to the Amarillo International Airport, where his secretary Caroline had booked a flight so that John could return to his family. Instead of rejoining the game, I drove to our hotel in Kansas City, thinking about my own father’s fragile health. When I called to tell him that I loved him my mom explained that he had checked into the Intensive Care Unit at Monterey Community Hospital earlier that morning. My dad has been spending too much time in the ICU lately.

A State Trooper pulled in behind me right after crossing the border into Oklahoma. I checked my speed, made sure that I was not exceeding the limit and maintained a steady pace as the trooper followed closely. By the time he turned off 30-minutes later I was ready to pull over to the side of the road, raise my hands and throw myself at his mercy.

Tired of eating too many burgers and beans I went to a Mexican Restaurant run by Mexican’s after I arrived in Dodge City. Mistake! That was some of the nastiest shit that I have eaten in some time. Speaking of shit, when I mentioned that Dodge City smelled like shit I was told, “No, it smells like livestock.” I think that livestock is a sanitized definition of shit.

We ate dinner at Dodge City’s Boot Hill where they served quesadillas and fried rocky mountain oysters. I declined several offers.

I told the Fireballer’s why John had left the competition and many if not most of them expressed their condolence and prayers. Things will not be the same without him, but if any trip is truly predictable, it’s not really an adventure after all is it? I hope that John will be able to rejoin the rally when we arrive in Galena, IL on Saturday.

Dispatch: Lubbock, TX

The State Troopers who escorted us out of Gallup, NM stayed with us for a couple of hours. When they finally waved our caravan on we were traveling somewhere beyond 100 mph. I have no expectation that I will receive such a friendly gesture the next time a State Trooper catches me traveling somewhere on the far side of 100 mph. I drove the Camaro today and John and I won this phase of the Fireball Run. We were greeted by city officials and other well wishers at the Overton Hotel, our check in point. One of our missions was to purchase non perishable food items for a local food bank. I believe that more than 3,500 items were ultimately tallied up.

If I were to do another road rally, I would definitely put in some serious training. The competition gets frenzied and exhausting the closer we get to the finish line each day, with competitors foot racing to various check points and upon completion of bonus adventures. This friendly but fierce competition is where the real fun is. Certain vehicles seem to always be on the leader board and it is becoming apparent who the eventual winners are going to be. Hopefully, John and I will make the cut.

This part of America tends to be flat and the roads seem to extend beyond the horizon. The Lamborghinis take advantage of this opportunity to open up their throttles. They are awe inspiring as they leave our lesser vehicles in their dust. Makes you wonder why the first five cars to the finish line today were three Camaro’s, one Vette and a rented Dodge Charger.

It was not a good night. JJ and I got into it yet again and seem to be as compatible as oil and water. I doubt that KlaasKids will participate in the next Fireball Run. Hopefully, things will tone down as we move deeper into the competition. I know that he is trying very hard, but believe that his organization is understaffed, leaving too many details unattended.

Seriously, why are the American cars running circles against million dollar Lamborghinis? Has the quality of the American automobile evolved so quickly? I know that our stock Camaro is a beautiful machine that has an unsurpassed head turning capability.