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I did it. I did it in a 2002 Golf TDI. I did it with an automatic, which did not enhance the pleasure I experienced. However, neither did it blunt it as much as I thought it would.
I ran the Dragon, otherwise known as US 129 in spite of the few remaining road signs indicating such. I also ran the Hellbender, a section of US 28 that had my kids screaming and my spouse panicking, jabbing mercilessly at the imaginary brake pedal in the passenger footwell. Those twisties added two hours to the transit from Knoxville to Asheville.
Worth the detour? Oh, yes. I would like to do that again. Many times over. In a Miata. With no passengers.
My vacation found me enjoying driving like I haven't in years. Specifically, nearly six years, that being the time I have been away from the twisty, hilly venues of the greater Northeast. I remembered why I loved my 30 minute commute in Philly - the old cart path that had been paved for use by automobiles some time in the 1920s. The ford in the road, the blind turns, the elevation changes that frequently involve full suspension travel. The millstone of our autotragic Diesel was not sufficient to weigh me down on these transits I hold hallowed. A Buick Roadmaster might not have been enough to kill it for me, particularly after four years in Detroit. My sons squealed with delight as we took turn after turn, yelling "rollercoaster!" after every hill summit crested and "tummy funny!" as we came down the backsides, losing our seats and gravity in the process.
The white knuckles my poor spouse endured while I devoured the old roads had me pealing with laughter, reminding him that he was the one who introduced those roads to me so many years ago. Did he expect me not to enjoy the gift he gave me at every chance? I can forgive him the imaginary brake pedal while we descended the Hellbender - he's not a performance driver, and I'd likely be quite white-knuckled if he were driving it, although not for the same reasons. But on the roads he calls home, he should expect some colonial enthusiasm from me.
Those roads the only good reason I have for putting up with "vacation" at his parents' every year.
There's nothing quite like the rush of seeing my own work published, and it's an experience to which I haven't yet gotten accustomed.
Not quite as exciting, but almost, is browsing through a print magazine and spotting a car with which I am intimate. It happens pretty regularly--honestly, it happens more often than I get published, which is kind of pathetic. Even more pathetic, I know all these cars by sight, or I know the owners, yet it's very rarely my car that's pictured. My GTI was in Performance VW's Reader's Rides, and my dearly departed Audi 4000 was in an advertisement in Eurotuner under its previous ownership. So much for my exciting life.
A couple weekends ago, I was at Barnes & Noble with the honey, on the monthly mission to check out the Euro/VW tuner mag competition. My interest was piqued when I found coverage of Atlanta's DurtyFest, since the show is managed by acquaintances and I am familiar with their cars from both VWvortex and my brief period of Atlanta residency.
In the front and center of the lead photo sat Volkswagen's Thunder Bunny. At first, I was amused that so much attention would be granted to a show car commissioned and owned by a manufacturer, rather than giving the magazine's own consumers' cars precious photo space in a time when the magazine can no longer afford to print the monthly cover car poster insert that used to be included with each issue. It seemed like a weird editorial decision, but that's not my domain--I'm happiest taking my red pen to this particular magazine's copy for fun, not as a means of drawing a paycheck. But I digress--back to the Thunder Bunny.
I've ridden in that car. I've driven that car. And I'm quite fond of it, not only because my own white Rabbit is currently slated to get one of the first Thunder Bunny ground effects kits available (which inspired a series of photographs of the two cars together, one of which currently sits framed in my cubicle).
I like the Thunder Bunny because it's exciting. It's sporty, eye-catching, and most of all, attainable. I'm becoming accustomed to the perks of my fiance's job--we might get tossed the the keys to the R GTI or a new 3 Series for a weekend, or get chauffered around in an R8 for few precious stolen minutes--and even though we have the privilege of zipping around on a free tank of gas and showing off, the car, in the end, must go back. It's never ours and never will be.
But the Thunder Bunny's different. Although the production kit won't include the one-of-a-kind pearl white body graphics or custom interior bits, it's still within my grasp. It fuels my thirst to once again daily-drive a modified car. And standing in a bookstore in Chicago, admiring a picture of the Thunder Bunny amongst a crowd of enthusiast-owned cars in Atlanta, felt like I was seeing an old friend.
(A big thumbs-up to whoever gets the title reference.)
In anticipation of our rent increasing when our lease is up in January, we have been discussing relocation.
We'd like to stay where we are--the town is cute and generally pleasant, and our apartment building is clean, quiet, and reasonably well-managed. But things bother us, like the privilege of paying $120 per month to park in a town-owned parking garage that is overrun with crazed commuters racing to the train station, and paying stupid fines to the revenue department simply because the State of Wisconsin couldn't be bothered to send our registration in a timely manner. Things could be much worse, but they could also be better. If our rent goes up considerably more, well, that's the equivalent of a mortgage payment.
The search is currently focused on the towns near the VMG office. We did, however, spend the July 4 holiday cruising the Chicago River and Lake Michigan waterfront, which raised the question: Why don't we live here?
The answer is simple: We'd have virtually no choice but to abandon car ownership. And as much as I'd love to be a short walk or train ride from everything, well, I don't know how I'd cope without a vehicle to call my own.
Simple, said Wes: Parking spots are available in condo parking garages, to the tune of $30,000. If I've simply got to have one, it can be rolled into the mortgage and could be sold fairly easily if ever necessary.
Which has got me thinking all kinds of crazy thoughts. Do I spend that kind of money--enough to get me out from under my Rabbit and pay off my student loans--for the luxury of keeping a 16-year-old VW Golf (fairly) safe and (fairly) sound in downtown Chicago, especially knowing damn well that I'd never, ever drive the car except to attend shows a couple of times a year? By comparison, the estimated 12 grand or so I've spent on maintenance and modifications over the past four years seems almost sane.
The car-free life appeals to me, at least while I'm admiring those glorious lakefront condos from the bow of Matt's boat. I could walk a lot, which I enjoy, and splurge on a decent bike. In practice, though, I'm not convinced it's plausible.
More on this topic in the future, I'm sure.
When you go on a road trip, you should bring a few certain things with you. Like credit cards, a cell phone, some maps (or a GPS if you are of that persuasion), and probably most importanly, your driver's license. My purse is at home, snuggled up somewhere, relaxing. I have my maps. I packed everything else. I was running around trying to remember the little stuff that my spouse would whine about if I forgot it. Somehow, I managed to forget the important stuff. Urgh. Oh well, at least I won't get lost. And he does have a credit card and a phone. And a driver's license. Hope for me that I don't get pulled over on the Tail of the Dragon. I came all this way to drive it, and I'm going to, license in hand or not.
