By George J. Kimble
The sky is a pastel blue green
The drivers are all in their machines
Then comes the call
Let’s get going ya’ll
We’re headed for places unseen
Everyone’s face is covered with smiles
Onto the street the Caravan files
Glad it didn’t rain
Traffic is a pain
We go slow for the first couple of miles
Finally the last city traffic is passed
A single file is formed by the Corvettes at last
We’re all out of town
The tops are all down
Now is the time to go fast
The scenery is so bucolic
In green pastures animals frolic
The farms are all splendid
The fences are all mended
True essence of life symbolic
Notice all the trees are in bloom
Along the winding road the Corvettes zoom
Up over ridges
Across little bridges
The country air smells better than perfume
Mother Nature has done her thing
Blessed us with warm breezes of Spring
Oh, so story book
Wash the horse in the brook
On the road your Corvette is the King
The destination is a Hot Rod show
Those Hot Rods are awesome you know
The winds in our hair
We haven’t a care
We’re just glad we are able to go
Our journey ends, and it’s irrelevant where
What matters is, your friends were all there
All bursting with pride
It was a beautiful ride
This Corvette experience we shared
Clueless
By George J. Kimble
It’s eight AM and the Corvette is all shined
He’s been talking about this trip for a long time
The luggage is packed and stuffed inside
The weather doesn’t matter; he’s taking a Corvette ride
He hustles, hoping that he hasn’t forgotten anything
He can’t wait to hear those Gator Backs sing
He runs to the garage and hops into the machine
He is in a hurry to do his favorite thing
In the Corvette, he adjust the mirrors and the seat
It’s forty miles to breakfast and he likes to eat
He pulls out of the drive and heads out east
The first stop is Lebanon where everyone will meet
He wishes the darn rain would just stop
He likes to drive the Corvette without the top
He hums soft and low as he tunes in the Corvette’s radio
At the restaurant he spies a herd of Corvettes ready to go
Breakfast is good. It hits the spot
The eggs are just right and the coffee is hot
The
usual suspects are all gathered there
One of the women is worried about the rain and her hair
He was so busy wolfing it down, He didn’t ask about the route
Then some one hollered, “We’re ready, It’s time to pull out”
He eats one last biscuit and leaves a tip
He is really excited about making this trip
He is ecstatic, he feels mighty fine
Surveying Corvettes all in a line
He doesn’t want to get lost so he pulls in behind
On the highway the Corvettes are blowing everyone’s mind
He likes to drive his Corvette faster than most
The caravan is rolling at the speed the state does post
So he kicks it down and the power starts flowing
Then he remembers he doesn’t know where he is going
He takes the first off ramp and at the end he waits
Smiling and giggling he thinks boy this is great
Back up the on ramp he makes a quick dash
Just as the caravan starts to come past
He passes them all and laughs like a fool
Speeding and ramping he thinks this is cool
Near Cookeville the caravan stops for necessities and gas
A younger member wants to ride with him and ask
His Mom is concerned, but relents alas
Tell him, ”Drive slowly”, they both nod and laugh
Back onto the road the two of them jet
Now this is the way to enjoy a Corvette
After awhile they stop at a rest station
Waiting for the caravan they are very impatient
The caravan comes and they exclaim, “It’s about time!”
The very next exit the Corvettes pull off in a line
The leader it seems was a little confused
When he passed the exit he thought there was two
Now the leaderless posse of shiny Corvettes
Starts off following the fool who hasn’t a clue yet
Now, “you know who”, is leading this group
They just didn’t know he escaped from F-Troop
He doesn’t know where they are going or how they‘ll arrive
He
is just out enjoying a good morning drive
He muses to his partner, “Boy this is great”
“I don’t know where to turn, so I’ll just go straight”
He pulls over again and again
But the caravan follows him like chicks and a hen
Assuming they are on the right track
Tucked in behind the Corvette that is black
He wanders aimlessly like a lost pup
Hoping and praying the leaders will catch up
Luckily the true leaders find the lost pack
And finally put the caravan back on the right track
Now they arrive in Walland without any harm
To find a rustic farmhouse with plenty of charm
The sky clears up and everyone is relaxed
Dinner is served and ribs and beans are attacked
Then all good friends, the best kind of folks
Set on the porch and tell their best jokes
Now, in the future, if you should decide
To go with this bunch on a Corvette ride
Don’t worry if it is rainy or the brightest of Sun
Just remember in a Corvette it’s the driving that is fun
Ed. note: You
had to be there.
By George J. Kimble
Shining Fiber glass glistening in the morning Sun
Corvette drivers anticipating another day of fun
In the lot a Carnival sleeps
Onto the highway a caravan creeps
Construction slows the normal traffic
Earth movers are creating havoc
Winding very slowly along
Listening to the radio’s oldies songs
Take this off ramp the CB squawks
Then there is silence and no one talks
As we pull into a field neatly cut and wide
We are hoping for a different kind of ride
We circle the Vettes into a shady nook
And leap out quick to take a look
We are greeted like a sortie coming back
From some brave mission or dangerous attack
As we enter this unusual scene
I smell the aroma of fresh baked beans
There is Bar-B-Q, corn bread and cold slaw too
A mighty fine meal to feed our crew
There are many aircraft circling and touching down
Some are colored brighter than the suit of a clown
Thundering in like eagles of prey
Wing tips tilt and gently sway
In the distance an eerie sound
A glint of light reveals a helicopter is coming down
Across this field the aircraft are strewn
And rest upon Terra this day in June
The Corvette pilots feast and delight
They drink up the sounds and the sights
They stare at huge Russian sky freighters
And ultra-lights and single-seaters
Aircraft of every use and intention
Fighters, BI-wings, and crop dusting inventions
They lift, they swoop, and they soar on high
And now the Corvette pilots are invited to come and fly
Defying the force of gravity is not a normal thing
And we fear that mother earth’s pull is mightier than the wing
Coaxed on by our comrades exaltations
One by one the Corvette drivers overcome their trepidations
Now great rumbling from propeller blade
Speeding headlong across the glade
The wind buffets our small craft
Angles our wings and rudder’s draft
A bump, a thump and sensations of fear
A tree line we easily clear
Excitement and wonder flood our mind
We are flying. The ground is left behind
Aloft, we spy other ships, sailing in the sea of clouds
And there is a vastness that knows no crowds
A curved horizon is majestically viewed
And planted fields are verdantly hued
In a Euphoric trance of wonder unbounded
We mock those creatures below so solidly grounded
We ogle a yellow tailed hawk floating past
From his domain we must depart alas
Now, we hurl earthward, with bodies feeling weightless
Approaching touchdown and exhaling totally breathless
As straight as an arrow with feathered crest
We touch softly earth’s sweet breast
Now firmly tethered to the ground
The other Corvette fledglings gather round
We smile and beam with so much excitement
We praise our hosts for providing this enjoyment
While driving home in our Corvettes we ponder
The daring men of Kitty Hawk way back yonder
We now understand their wonderful dreams
Of gossamer wings and flying machines
Often, men dream of flying free as birds
And
often they express their mind in words
As we pray before we sleep tonight
We, Thank you, kind host, for the freedom of flight
By
George J. Kimble
It was a bright warm October day
The Corvette Caravan was well on it's way
Headed east to the Great Smokey Mountain Range
When the Mako Shark started acting strange
We were rolling in a great long line
When the Mako started falling way behind
I took an off ramp and came right back up
I ran down the Mako as it was passed by a truck
The group was now far out of sight
The driver's face was a picture of fright
I hand gestured, What is the matter
I observed the tires and none were getting flatter
The driver pointed to her car's left rear
Then she pointed to her left ear
I dropped my glass and gave a listen
The song from her side pipes said the 350 wasn't missing
I saw no smoke or fluids trail
As I dropped in behind the Mako's tail
We progressed slowly, but were approaching our goal
I prayed, "Please don't let the Mako's demon take his toll"
We finally arrived at the mountain farm
It was beautiful with rustic charm
In the driveway the others were anticipating
For over an hour they had been waiting
Some of these members were here to go racing
The mechanical types were back and forth pacing
All of a sudden it was like a Nascar pit crew
A flurry of action, each member, knowing just what to do
The problem was a half-shaft on the left rear
When it was removed I heard a great cheer
A discolored u-joint revealed the true culprit
She dialed up some auto stores and one said, "We have it"
A voice said, "Now don't get to excited"
"The half-shaft and u-joint still have to be united"
"A press is needed to install the u-joint on the half-shaft"
The caller said, "But, they have one", and we all laughed
Everything was fixed before it became dark
Then the Corvette Club sat down to a Bar-B-Q meal
From this event I learned a great deal
A Corvette caravan isn't like herds that roam the great plain
That abandon the weak, and those that are lame
Yes, Corvette Club members race and compete
But, We never leave a member broken down on the street
By George J. Kimble
Opportunity, never knocks like some believe
It whispers near the door and quickly leaves
It is a fleeting and swift coincidental convergency
When time, circumstance, and desire unite in urgency
Those who are prepared, daring, and aware
Leap upon this wispy silhouette with flair
They disregard their limiting fear
They apprehend its essence and draw it near
A slight blip upon an electronic screen
A murmur in cyber space, what did it mean?
No time to worry, No time to think
Seize the moment quick as a blink
So it came to pass in that glow of wonder
Corvettes were summoned to the Valley of Thunder
They were called to assist the Titans of racing lore
Who prepared for battle on Thunder Valley’s floor
Legendary heroes would challenged these courses
In chariots of steel harnessed to multitudes of horses
They would soon guide their machines like an arrow
Down the paths of the straight and narrow
When pomp and heraldry were bestowed,
The Corvettes were called to bear the load
Transporting the gladiators before the masses,
The top contenders for each of the Dragster’s classes
The spectators’ screams echo in The Valley
As the feverish crews begin to rally
Sir Cory McClanathan and Sir John Force
Have now taken their post upon the course
Demon Mustang, grotesque in proportion
Defiantly approaches the lights of caution
Abreast of him is the long fuelie rail
Exuding confidence, to never fail
The Earth quakes beneath howling dragons’ claws
Flame and smoke elicits raucous applause
The lamps flash amber, then burst to green
Unleashing the spectacle of man and machine
In less than five ticks on the clock’s face
We witness the conclusion of the race
300 MPH in a quarter of the mile
Provokes our faces to a colossal smile
There was a disturbance in the Force at the end
Sir Cory will live to fight again
The Force was defeated and won’t return
Sir Cory had too much power to burn
Yet to our disbelief and surprise
While the night’s sleep was still in our eyes
We were escorted around the back
And allowed to do hot laps on the high banked track
We were cared for in this mystical place
By a host with a special grace
Our needs were attended to with familial affection
We all, were very pleased, without exception
This experience was so fulfilling
The Corvette drivers again are willing
To take the opportunity of such grand wonder
And return to the Valley of Thunder
Thank you,
We salute you.
May the Gods Of Thunder Bless you every day
Sir Red Whitmore, of Bristol Motor Speedway
