In 2007, my buddy James goes out drinking with his best ground crew buddy in the world at Fernandina. He calls me (this is the year I could not attend) and he's, well, berschnickered. Apparently he lost his wallet that night, went to the wrong hotel and lodged a written complaint that he couldn't find his 3rd floor hotel room in their 2 story hotel, and he lost his shoes.

Apparently, in the morning he walks over to the beach to get ready for the start, steps into the street, and steps on his driver's license, and his credit card that were in the middle of the road.

True story.