The idea came to me honestly enough. And like most of my ideas, it wouldn't pass scrutiny as a good idea, much less a great idea. But as my father once said to me, "Don't let fear or common sense stand in your way." So I started with an E-mail to Phil Singher. Did he know of any upcoming Volvo meets in my area? Phil answered with a noncommittal and evasive answer worthy of someone who doesn't want to be indicted as a co-conspirator. (Is it my imagination, or is Phil more wary of my ideas since he published my article, "Mistress in Red?") If Phil can't help me, then perhaps the Internet lets see, Volvo Club of America is hosting an event in Davis, California, in April. They expect a large turn out great! Far enough from home that no one will recognize me, but close enough to make the plan work.

This plan, like all great plans, was simple. I would take my 1966 Marcos 1800 GT (an English car which came stock from the factory with a Volvo B18 engine and transmission) and enter it in a Volvo meet as a "modified Volvo." However, when you are planning to "crash a party" or assault the establishment (and what is more "establishment" than a group of Volvos?), it is important to plan carefully. The first potential pitfall was registration at the meet. After all, I reflected, it hadn't gone well at the last British Car Meet.

"What is that?" sniffed the lady at the registration card table in a whining voice.

"It's a Marcos." I proudly replied. "An English car." I added lamely.

"Well, I've never heard of a "Mucus." What class is it in?"

"Definitely Upper Class!" I replied. I don't remember a lot of the details after that, but others have said it got sorta ugly.

So how do I get through registration? If they have mail-in registration, I could send mine in as an 1800 GT and let then "assume" that it is a Volvo. If I have to register at the meet, I only have, as I see it, three options. Subterfuge: I could park the car a couple of blocks away, walk to the registration table and try to register. If they asked where my car was I could point vaguely in the direction of someone else's parked Volvo. The second option would be to bluff my way past the registration. Something along the line of, "Oh, I'm already registered; didn't Phil Singher tell you I was coming?" might work. The last option, which could be combined with the second option, would be to bully my way in. Hmmmm, this third option doesn't sound good what if the lady is bigger than I am, or it's not a lady but some big ol' Swedish dude from the old country? Perhaps a better third option would be a disguise. I could go down to the local appliance dealer, get some empty refrigerator boxes, paint some Volvo emblems on them and use duct tape to attach them to the car. That might work!

Finally, the big day arrived. I set off for Davis, California, and the VCOA car show confident that I had a plan that would work. My wife thought so much of the plan that she took her own car.

After a typical drive through the California countryside, we arrived in Davis. Now, where is that car show? Hmmmm no address, only the description "Central Park Pavilion." As I motored through the sleepy town looking for the park, I tried to keep a low profile which was not easy with all the mothers screaming, "Hide the children, there's a Marcos in Town!" As I rounded the corner, there it was the registration table and a "Volvo mob" pointing and staring. Well, so much for the low-profile entry. A frontal assault seemed like the only choice.

As I motored up to the crowd, a man stepped out from the "mob." Oh no! This was going to get ugly faster than I expected. I looked around frantically. Was there any way I could back up and escape? The man was talking to me, but I couldn't make out his words as I tried to reformulate a workable, or least survivable, plan. "My name is Lee, and why don't you park your Marcos in front of the registration table in a Place of Honor?" I quickly scanned through my mental memory bank nope; no one had ever used the word "honor" in connection with me or any of my sordid activities. Was this guy Lee running a scam on me? He seemed sincere enough. All right, I can play this game; I'll call his bluff. I drove the Marcos through the gathering crowd and parked right in front of the registration table. If they are going to run me out of town, that should do it.

I turned off the engine and sat there in deafening silence waiting for my public humiliation to begin. The Marcos exhaust was going "tink, tink, tink" like a clock in a condemned man's cell. The Volvo crowd, on the other hand, seemed to be waiting for me to emerge from the car. Out of plans and out of ideas, I stepped from the car. Gee, the crowd seems friendly. A person gave me the registration paperwork as another handed me a packet of stuff for the meet. "Turn this ballot in at noon and we will give you a free T-shirt." A couple of other people started asking about the car. Hey, this was going to be OK!

Courtesy of Lee Cordner and North Bay VCOA