Event Coverage: BaT at the 2026 CLASS Car Show in Clear Lake, Iowa You Should Know

I hate flying. Hate it. Such a hassle. Fighting traffic to the airport and finding parking. Then waiting in line to check in. Then waiting in another line where they make you empty your pockets and take off your jacket and shoes and belt and put everything into a tub for screening before you’re pointed into the Whizbang 9000 Deluxe Hijacker Detector to dutifully assume the position. Then there’s that one last line to wait in along with the rest of the herd when you finally board the plane. Moo. I’d probably enjoy the experience more if I flew first class but the cheapskate in me chokes at the expense, remembering the Oldsmobile Man’s observation that the nose of the plane gets wherever you’re going just as fast as the tail does so the ‘complimentary’ cocktails and snacks and marginally wider and deeper seats really weren’t worth the extra scratch. But exactly two weeks ago, as I inched through the expansive first class section of my plane then wedged my behind into my more-than-snug aisle seat back in coach I began questioning Pop’s sage advice. I shook off the thought, though. Didn’t matter. My ticket was bought and paid for and I already had enough on my mind as I buckled in and switched my phone to Airplane Mode. I was heading to Arizona again. Down to the house in Sunset Acres one more time. But this time would be different than all the rest. Very different.

Recently I did something that all my life I swore I’d never do. Had been offered many chances to do it before but always gamely resisted, white-knuckling through any and all temptations like a champ. However, over the past few years I’ve found myself growing weaker of body and spirit and mind while the deadly-sweet melody of one particular siren’s song only grew louder and more seductive and last week I finally gave up and gave in. I know there are those who’ll think less of me because of it, people who’ll look askance at me when I walk into the room and whisper and hiss and snicker about me when I walk back out but, oh well. It is what it is. Or was what it was, I suppose. There’s no taking it back now and before rumors started to fly I figured I’d better get ahead of any scandal and admit it outright, admit that I’d gone over to the Dark Side and for the first time ever had my car professionally detailed rather than washing it by hand myself. I hope you were all sitting down.