Dale Murphy. The Breakfast Club. Hall and Oates. The Trans Am. Spiked hair. Blade Runner. Dave Parker. Run DMC. The Merkur XR4Ti. What do they all have in common? All born of the 80's, a decade that doesn't get near the respect it deserves.
My wife and I took a two-week vacation in Italy this year: our favorite country to visit. We love almost everything about Italy: the weather, the food, the wine, the scenery, the history, the culture, the language, the passion its people exhibit for living. It is a place where life is relished, cherished, and gorged upon with feverish delight.
As a teenager, I daydreamed about driving a small European sports car through a Gymkhana club course—an MGB, a Triumph Spitfire, a Morgan roadster. In college, I got a little closer to sports cars by dating guys who owned and drove small foreign-made convertibles. I dated Peter who drove a cute red MG Midget and Jeff who had a maroon Austin Healey Bugeye Sprite that he tuned for racing. We sped around the same winding roads in Minnesota that Prince navigated on his Harley in the movie "Purple Rain." The piéce de résistance was getting a chance to drive Lonnie's father's silver Corvette Stingray coupe as it slid around corners on ice in Minnesota winter (even with 4-wheel disc brakes).
My '87 Nissan Maxima, nicknamed "Battle Cat," had finally succumbed to her war wounds. I was in a bad accident in 2000, but Battle Cat's transmission lasted a year afterwards before it died on me. For a year after that, I spent hours on the bus every day, migrating between school, work, and home. I was in my junior year in college; there was no possible way I could afford a car payment because the majority of my income was applied to rent and utilities. My best bet was to scour the weekly recyclers for a "bucket" that I could buy for $2,000 or less. Then one day I came across an advertisement from Top Star Auto Sales that a Black 1992 Pontiac Grand Am coupe was on sale for $1,250.
Continue reading "Why I Loved My 1992 Pontiac Grand Am Coupe" »
Turn 8 at Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca, the premier road race track in the U.S., is fed by the Rahal Straight, which kinks up a lush green hillside to present a spectacular view across Monterey and Carmel to the ocean. As gorgeous as the scenery is, this is the worst spot on the track for distraction, because Turn 8 dumps into the infamous Corkscrew, a downhill left followed by an immediate, and fast, right that is virtually invisible from the turn-in point. Inexperienced drivers must align the nose of the car with an imposing oak tree on the distant side of Turn 9, and marked with a bright orange cone for the Skip Barber MX-5 Cup racing school, to successfully negotiate the Corkscrew.
In the automotive world, Porsche is practically synonymous with the term "sports car." The company's 911 model has been produced since 1963, when it was introduced as a 1964 model. Since that time, this icon has been continuously refined and improved to the point where today it is among the finest cars available for the serious sports car enthusiast.
Retro fashion. Retro cars. Retro movies. Retro TV shows being turned into movies. And now, the trend toward retro TV shows being turned back into TV shows (which might be redundant, like "chicken fried chicken"). The SciFi Channel brought "Battlestar Galactica" out of moth balls (also, if you haven't watched Tin Man, it's an interesting "Wicked-esque" reinterpretation on "The Wizard of Oz"); NBC brought us the "Bionic Woman"; and now, per our friends at Jalopnik, Michael Knight will be gracing our screens again as the "Knight Rider."
In September of 1994, I flew into Bob Hope Airport in Burbank, Calif., where I had reserved a "Ford Escort or similar" for a business trip. This was the first of three successive trips I'd planned for Southern California in as many weeks, each requiring a rental car for several days at a time. It was late on a Thursday night, the rental lots were packed full of cars, and I figured I might be able to get an upgrade, so I asked the desk agent if he had anything interesting to drive. After being offered, and turning down, a Ford Probe and a Ford Mustang, I was told by the agent: "I've got a Miata sitting out there. Are you interested in that?"
Two years ago, my husband Thomas decided to splurge and buy his first new, luxury, sporty car. Previously, he'd owned SUVs and one 1985 Mercedes-Benz 300 Series D-Class, which he kept in mint condition. He scoured the car buff reviews online, looked up information on independent and manufacturers' Web sites and glanced at press releases with results from J.D. Power and Associates Initial Quality and APEAL Studies to find his special car.
In high school, I had a group of friends who were absolutely, positively obsessed with speed. If something could be modified or "improved," they were interested. They spent countless nights and weekends motorizing skateboards, building custom ATVs with way too much power, stuffing V-8s into engine bays designed for V-6s, and—my favorite—equipping a go-kart with a riding-lawnmower motor. Sans helmet or body protection, they drove it at 60-plus mph on public streets. I thought they were crazy.
This morning, as I sipped my daily cup of McDonald's Premium Roast coffee and checked my e-mail, a message from Chrysler's head public relations honcho Jason Vines informed me that the company was dropping three Chrysler-brand models and one Dodge. Within the automotive community, this move was widely expected. In fact, JDPower.com is running a poll right now asking which of nine current models should be excised from the lineup. The news in the press release was not surprising: the Mercedes-based Chrysler Crossfire is dead, the Chrysler PT Cruiser Convertible is gone, and the slow-selling Chrysler Pacifica "sport-tourer" will vanish. However, the company's decision to kill the Dodge Magnum caused me a pang of regret.
I live by the motto "it's the little things in life that make living so grand," so perhaps you'll understand how three little moments in my life proved so exciting to me.
In the early 1960s, the United States witnessed the growth of a new automotive genre: the Muscle Car. The formula was simple: take an ordinary sedan, remove the engine, and replace it with the largest engine that could be stuffed into the engine bay. This recipe produced some of the most revered automotive names of all time: Charger, Challenger, Chevelle, Camaro,Trans Am, Cobra 428, as well as Road Runner, Barracuda, and Duster—a 340-cubic-inch version of which was owned by a friend of mine who enjoyed impressing the motoring public with his car's ability to generate massive clouds of smoke at every green light.
When I awoke at 6:00 a.m. on the morning of October 17, 1982, I was ecstatic. Not only was it my sixteenth birthday, but it was also the day I would relinquish my driver's permit for a full-fledged, no-supervision-required driver's license. Months of driving with my parents at my side (and their comments about my lack of driving skill/experience) were about to end.
Every time I see my friend Peter, he asks me what kind of car he should buy for himself. When he says this, I know what he means; he's making a distinction between cars that he currently owns—which are used by other family members—and a car that would be reserved for his exclusive use. Peter eagerly anticipates a time when his children are grown and he can reward himself with an expensive sports car or a luxurious convertible.
Continue reading "Which Used Car Should I Buy: Porsche, Mercedes, BMW, or Audi? " »
My buddy Chuck recently introduced me to a fun Web site—hotornot.com. For those of you under the age of 23, you're probably familiar with it, and probably over it. For those who've never heard of it, here's a breakdown: people post pictures of themselves on the site, and you rate them on a scale of 1-10. That's it in a nut shell. I've certainly oversimplified it; there's a social networking component a la Facebook and other sites, but for the purpose of this blog, you get the gist. It's a lot of fun; you literally can spend hours rating pictures of different people.
Continue reading "Hot or Not? Which New 2008 Models Will Score?" »
In every human endeavor, there are people who strive to push limits and explore boundaries. A professional mountain climber wakes with a chill in his bones after dreaming of reaching the summit of Everest. An avid runner envisions himself as the first to cross the finish line of the annual Boston Marathon. A driving enthusiast incurs the expense of a trip to Germany solely to experience the infamous Nurburgring Nordchleife. A small team of automotive engineers wants to build a rolling tribute to modern technology, so they build a supercar—the ultimate expression of automotive passion, innovation and creativity—to demonstrate what's possible.
Several weeks ago, monthly new car and light-truck sales totals for August were released and General Motors surprised with an increase of 6% over the previous year. Not surprisingly, GM's talking heads sunned themselves in this unexpected light, chalking up the sales bump to a slew of breakthrough new products and to the fact that consumers were finally getting the message that GM was back. Whoa there...let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Continue reading "Why GM's Hot Sales Numbers May Actually Be Chilly" »
When I first saw one on the road with all that plastic cladding on the side, I laughed. Who are they targeting with this vehicle—my seven-year-old son? Why would they name a truck after a natural disaster? While I wasn't in the market for a truck at that time, these were my first impressions of the Chevrolet Avalanche.
One summer day in the early 1970s, my brother and I meandered through the pits at Donnybrook Speedway in Brainerd, Minn. before one of the races on the Trans-American (Trans Am) Championship Circuit. While taking in the rows of cars and crews, I spotted a young guy with dark hair and a beard sitting in a director's chair, flanked by two mechanics—one balding guy who resembled driver A.J. Foyt and the other showing off his tanned torso to racetrack groupies.
Last month, I attended the annual Hot Import Nights auto show in Los Angeles. The event is a road show that annually tours major cities in the United States. The show presents a forum to local car tuners who have modified their Asian or European import and some domestic vehicles. Aftermarket automotive parts companies display their products at the show. Also, there is entertainment geared to attract young adult attendees and tuners. The cars are impressive, and the music, which features many hip-hop and rap performers, is loud.
Among the German offerings, my favorite is the BMW M3. My first experience with one was three years ago when my friend, who owns a dark blue 2003 M3 with 343 hp, took me with him to the market for a late-night grocery run one Sunday evening. On the way to the store, I peppered him with questions designed to persuade him to demonstrate the high-speed capability of his car. "Is it really that fast? What happens when you turn off the stability control?" All I got was short, curt answers, including "yes" to my first question and "nothing really" to my second.
Years ago, my father took my brother and I on epic cross-country road trips. Back then, we craved the regional differences that existed just beyond the interstate exit ramps. Mid-Atlantic states had the Piggly Wiggly, Southern California had the Alpha Beta, and Florida had the Publix—a name my brother and I used to endless humorous advantage. The crossroads of the desert southwest was Clines Corners, Coors beer was sold only west of the Mississippi, and Pennsylvania had seemingly cornered the market on Teaberry ice cream. Every exit held the potential for adventure, for cultural enrichment, for exploring new products and services, for meeting people completely unlike us. Cross-country travel—even on the interstates—was exciting, and I indulged in my love of the road for 20 years after receiving my driver's license.
Rental car agents hate guys like me. Most people just initial here, sign there, grab the keys, and drive off in whatever nondescript hunk of sheet metal has been assigned to them. Not me. When I arrive at the rental lot, I'm already scanning slots from the shuttle, looking for my best alternative. At the desk, I ask about my options, I check availability in the next class down or up from the "midsize" car I reserved, and sometimes I even demand a specific car that's sitting on the lot whether it's been cleaned and gassed or not. In short, I am a total pain in the butt.
We called it "The Tank." The radio was AM only. The seats were black pleather (that is, plastic leather), which meant during the peak summer heat, there should have been a little yellow warning sign stating: "Passengers are likely to scorch their legs and stick to the seat." It was a navy-colored 1974 Chevy Impala station wagon (actually, it was originally rust, but we had it repainted when there was more actual rust than the color rust). It was one of two wagons our family owned back when everybody owned station wagons. Heck, even the Brady Bunch had a station wagon.
Continue reading "Soccer Dads of the World Unite—The Wagon is Back" »
I awoke at 5:00 a.m. that morning to test the top speed of a sparkling red Porsche Carrera GT that I rented from AutoEurope, a rental car agency in Germany. For the reasonable fee of $1,500 USD per day, I could cruise around Germany, strafe the autobahns, and test the car's handling through the mountain passes in and around this beautiful region.
Continue reading "Supercar Dilemma: The $500,000 Question" »
Dear General Motors:
This weekend, I happened to catch a few minutes of one of my favorite cult classic movies, Billy Madison. I watched the scene where Billy, played by Adam Sandler, returns to high school. He shows up in his three-quarter sleeve raglan t-shirt (that's the shirt where the sleeves are a different color than the body; if you grew up in the '80s, you probably had one with Iron Maiden or Def Leppard on it). Sandler appears in a Trans Am that looks like it's been stored in a garage since 1979 and pulled out just for this occasion.
Continue reading "Open Letter to GM: Bring Back the Trans Am" »
I know that statistics show flying is safer than driving, but like Dustin Hoffman's character Raymond Babbitt in the movie Rain Man, I hate flying. It scares me to death.I'd much rather drive. I also figured that a cross-country road trip would be a good way to find out if my certified used BMW was truly an Ultimate Driving Machine.
According to my calculations, I saved a total of 4.3 hours—262 minutes to be exact—last year thanks to the automatic convenience features on my car, a 2006 BMW 3 Series, a 330i to be exact. To what noble purpose have I applied those 4.3 hours? I couldn't tell you, but I do know that these features have improved my quality of life, and in some cases, they have enhanced my personal safety as well.
In college, I spent a lot of time thinking about Mustangs. On too many occasions, when I should have been studying or paying attention in class, I was reading about Mustangs. On the last day of class, I bought myself a new 1988 Mustang GT as a graduation present. With 225 horsepower, 300 lb.-ft. of torque, and a 0-60 acceleration time of 6.4 seconds, my Mustang was faster than most cars of the time. I treated it like my most prized possession.
My oldest son and his fiance recently rented a white Ford Mustang convertible instead of leasing a limo and hiring a chauffeur to ferry them to their California wedding site and reception. The choice of the Mustang seemed fitting since the couple, dressed in linen beach clothes, exchanged vows in the sand at the ocean's edge in Malibu.
Electronic Stability Control (ESC) can help motorists retain control of their vehicle and even avoid vehicle rollovers—especially trucks and sport utility vehicles. The software-based safety system interacts with a vehicle's engine and drivetrain components to recognize and correct dangerous situations without driver intervention. ESC compares the direction in which the vehicle is headed with the direction the driver intends to go—as indicated by the position of the steering wheel. With speedy calculations, ESC can determine if the vehicle is headed off course and then takes corrective action, often before the driver even realizes there is a potential problem.
Germans take driving seriously. They don't eat fast food, apply eye makeup, or read the newspaper while driving—behaviors I have witnessed on numerous Los Angeles freeways. In fact, German automakers were criticized in the 1990s by the U.S. automotive enthusiast press for not providing adequate cup holders in their models. German manufacturers countered that cars are for driving, not for cruising down the freeway drinking hot coffee and eating jelly donuts.
Mercedes-Benz recently released its redesigned C-Class, the automaker's volume model, in Europe. Soon it will reach U.S. dealerships, which is a good thing, because luxury car buyers here will appreciate the "shrunken" S-Class design aesthetic and expected improvements in quality. The resemblance to Mercedes' penultimate model, which offers 500 horsepower for around $100,000, is no accident. The new C offers much of that goodness for less money.
Audi, a long-time purveyor of German luxury sedans, seems to be changing its tune. Audi's recent performance renaissance began in 1998 with the introduction of the TT sports car, which featured innovative design and the availability of Audi's proprietary Quattro all-wheel-drive (AWD) technology.
In Germany, you can find two things that appeal to all automotive enthusiasts: the autobahn and the Nürburgring. In the latter's case, for a small fee, anyone can drive on this former Formula 1 racetrack. And that's all you really need to know to explain why German auto manufacturers excel at producing ultra-high-performance automotive machinery.
In high school, while most students were busy memorizing mathematical formulas and periodic tables, I spent most of my free time in the school library studying the latest editions of Car and Driver, Road & Track, and Motor Trend Magazine. Since then, I have remained an avid car enthusiast.
Continue reading "Corvette—Raw Power and it's Street Legal" »
My first experience with fast cars was in 1988. My sister told me that her friend's father had recently purchased a fast new sports car. I offered a few guesses, but nothing sounded familiar. Was it a Porsche? No. How about a Corvette? "Yes, that's it. It's some kind of special Corvette," she said.
