11:42 CDT

I got up at 7:30 this morning knowing that Technical Inspection was going to open earlier than planned at 8 a.m.  Being there at 7:40 afforded me the opportunity to be about the fifth in line and get done with things before they got hot.  Warchild had a bullhorn, a wry smile, and was entertaining the crowd with his “tough love” methodology.

Austin was out with his decibel meter measuring after-market exhaust systems and stress-puppy Greg was pleasantly surpirsed to find 95 decibels when 105 is the limit.

After easing through Tech. Inspection with volunteer, Bob Broeking (‘03 Butt and fellow ‘05 Tech Inspector), I was given an orange dot on my paperwork.  That meant I got to go in, get my packet, and sit/stand in various other lines for 3 hours.  I felt very much like a character in Dr’s Seuss’ Sneetch Star-On Machine.

Finally, sitting around in a smallish room with nice chairs I was asked into the “Board Room” where Evil Lord Kneebone sat like Donald Trump….except with a much more sensible haircut.  I got a form initial from Ed Otto…insurance expert and ‘95 IBR Honda Helix scooter finisher.  Then I got an initial from lawn gnome lookalike, Dave McQweeney.

Breezing through these two stations of the inner sanctum I got an excessively uneasy feeling as I planted myself in my third, and apparently final seat, between Mike and Bob Higdon.   I’m not usually one rattled by reputations, but the fact that Mike was entering my name and data into some special program freaked me out a little.  I couldn’t tell from my angle, but it wasn’t some Excel spreadsheet he had doctored up, but something custom for this rally.

I started to light-headed.  By objective measure I was about to officially make it “in” the IBR, but sitting between these two guys I started to feel nauseous.  It’s like Bob and Mike’s chi, shakras, and vortices are strangelty dissonant.  It doesn’t affect them, but I suddenly felt like a lab rat for the military’s experimental puke ray.

…..then the spell was broken by Mike turning to me, beaming a smile, offering a hand and saying, “You’re in!”

I shook his hand and realized three words with only seven letters made me one huge step closer to starting the IBR.

I feel like Dorothy just landing in Oz.