Monday, August 6, 2007
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
Yikes. That sums up my response to the announcement of the installation of Bob Nardelli as chairman and CEO of Chrysler this morning. As long as Bob Lutz holds on to GM, it's Planes, Trains, and Automobiles here in the D.
My dad worked for General Electric Locomotive Division some time ago. He never really talked about GE much, only to relate the occasional anecdote about the mystical manner in which GE was managed. The engineers weren't really in charge of much, to put it mildly. Justifying costs on a locomotive with safety instead of customer-inspired product upgrades means product planning isn't going the way it should. It's not happening at all. And when it comes to things that cost a lot of money, product is king. Bean-counting, Mr Nardelli's best skill, was making life hell for the guys who build the locomotives that keep the lumber moving from forests to homesites. It's a miracle the guy made it to Home Depot - cost cutting doesn't keep the locomotives rolling out of the factory, and it sure as hell doesn't make home centers the best places to shop. A quick survey at any Lowe's will tell you that. Our local HD is so bad that we call it Tent Depot in response to its lack of product and inventory. I'm sure it's efficient as all get out, though.
Bringing a cost accountant with expansionist tendencies into a business that already sets standards for efficiency and overcapacity looks like a recipe for a bad trip. Considering that Wolfgang Bernhard has been waiting inthe wings to return his successful formula for automotive branding and product planning (too successful for Hrs P&P of VAG, apparently), the choice of Nardelli is even more confounding. Bob Lutz has shown over and over that Car Guys are what it takes to turn around an automaker. Alan Mullaly harbors no misconceptions about the role of product in the product line. But Nardelli? Chrysler doesn't need his kind of Evolution.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Requiem for a brand
I'd be pretty remiss if I didn't comment on the end of things yellow and couch, too.
My role is more that of innocent bystander, but not a bystander and not innocent. Comments were made, tempers flared, and foci shifted. Motive is set to launch and it will be a bright new era in auto mags. The right things have happened for someone I respect and want success for.
Like Cherise, I won't be there. Not like I was on the couch, that's for sure.
I first sat on the couch about three years ago. I'd been partaking of its knowledge and collective automolove for a few years already when I was invited to sit down and come clean. Oh, the humanity, the joy, the fun. Most of the time when you write, you don't know 100% of your audience. You know their demographics, and you know the basic stats on the readers, but you don't know them personally. On the couch, it was different. We knew the people we wrote for - many of them personally, and we knew when we were going to get slayed for our words. I took a pasting from the design department at GM once. People I had to face at work and socially, no less. It was painful, but it was offset by the many times I got to scoop or be the loyal opposition.
I like the Car Lounge brand. No premise other than cars and car chat. No claims, no goals, no motives. I want to see it transition successfully. I'm afraid some of what made it special might get lost, though. That being the couch.
You see, the Car Lounge was automotive therapy - sometimes you were the doctor, sometimes you were on the couch.
My role is more that of innocent bystander, but not a bystander and not innocent. Comments were made, tempers flared, and foci shifted. Motive is set to launch and it will be a bright new era in auto mags. The right things have happened for someone I respect and want success for.
Like Cherise, I won't be there. Not like I was on the couch, that's for sure.
I first sat on the couch about three years ago. I'd been partaking of its knowledge and collective automolove for a few years already when I was invited to sit down and come clean. Oh, the humanity, the joy, the fun. Most of the time when you write, you don't know 100% of your audience. You know their demographics, and you know the basic stats on the readers, but you don't know them personally. On the couch, it was different. We knew the people we wrote for - many of them personally, and we knew when we were going to get slayed for our words. I took a pasting from the design department at GM once. People I had to face at work and socially, no less. It was painful, but it was offset by the many times I got to scoop or be the loyal opposition.
I like the Car Lounge brand. No premise other than cars and car chat. No claims, no goals, no motives. I want to see it transition successfully. I'm afraid some of what made it special might get lost, though. That being the couch.
You see, the Car Lounge was automotive therapy - sometimes you were the doctor, sometimes you were on the couch.
Chagall at the Mall - 29th Annual Meadowbrook Concours d'Elegance
Today marked the 29th Meadowbrook Concours d'Elegance, the midwest's annual tribute to cars that cost more than you could possibly imagine. It only costs $25 to look, unless you shop at the Somerset Collection, and then it's sort of free. Promotion of the Concours d'Elegance consisted of display of several cars from both this year's and last year's events at the local super-pricey shopping mall. The absolute star of the mall feature was a 1936 Stout Scarab, which I understand has been willed to the Smithsonian institution by its owner. Eight cars and a motorcycle made the trip to the shopping mecca in Troy. That wasn't enough for me, so I plunked down the cabbage and spent several hours on the golf course at Meadowbrook Hall with my family, admiring and twittering about everything from the effortless spunk of a tiny Topolino to the grand and imposing elegance of a massive Packard 180 Darrin.
The only damper on the show was the weather, and even Bob Lutz (chairman) couldn't manufacture sun. The rain held off to a now-and-then drizzle. It was just enough to keep the chamois going and the tarps on. I admire the many owners who let the raindrops fall on their beauties - it made the show that much more outstanding for everyone.
This year's show focused on Alfa Romeo. The constellation of little stars inside the juried area included the trio of Alfa B.A.T.s, brought to life by Bertone. The Berlina Aerodynamica Technica 5, 7, and 9 showed an exuberance of design that has long left the industry. Tall recurving tailfins graced each body, obscuring the view from the giant sloping rear glasses. My sons gravitated to the cars for their futuristic bent and simple lines. I wondered when Bertone would get a commission like that again. Nearly 25 little Italian stars graced the show field, each one waiting to stand up to the 8C Competizione sitting outside of the gate. With the bonnet of the 8C open, you had the feeling you were its food, and it was coming for you. The 8C's engine sounded nice. It didn't have any of the gritty rumbles or pops and burbles of the cars on the show field (Concours cars must be driven onto the field under their own power). It was a technical sound. Not bad, but not dangerous.
Our favorite Alfa? A tossup between the B.A.T.s, a very clean 1964 2600, and a 1952 1900C. The 2600 was Giorgetto Guigaro's first production design, and I am very partial to his work. The 1900C competed in the 1952 Mille Miglia, making it one of several honest-to-God racecars showing. Who can't love an Italian racecar?
Although Alfa was the marque of note, I also found several cars that felt the hand of Howard 'Dutch' Darrin. Several Packards showed, along with his last body, the 1954 Kaiser Darrin. Beating the Corvette to market by a month, it holds the title of first fibreglas car. The 1937 Packard Darrin Convertible Victoria featured a hood ornament that did double duty as an antenna for the car's radio. Darrin's styling could easily be the source of the word swank.
While this is indeed Vanity Plate, it's time to detour to Hood Ornament. No show I attend provides more variety and detail in this class than Meadowbrook. The illuminated class takes us from the crystal eagle on a 1930 Cord L29 Phaeton to the naked glass lady on a 1934 Duesenberg Model J. t's hard to run out of stuff to look at. Last year we were treated to the naval turret guns on a pair of DuPonts, but none were found this year. A mistake, if I may say so. Hood Ornament fest continued apace with the non-illuminated variety. Hood ornaments serving dual purposes as decoration and gauges of various sorts dominated the 20s and 30s brackets.
I was humored by a 1932 Ford V8 Convertible Victoria that was built in Germany and still had its original toolset. The 1923 Kissel 6-45 Gold Bug Speedster had a lock on "best feature ever" for its outrigger seats that slid out of the chassis and allowed a rider outside of the box on each side. More like mother-in-law seats, if you ask me. I learned that "fix-it" cars are not just FIATs and Fords - the 1910 EMF Model 30 Touring was known (by marketers, no doubt) as "Every Man's Favorite", however owners apparently designated them "Every Morning Fix-it"s. The placards at the Concours are excellent in their presentation of details and history of the cars they describe, frequently supplying humorous and family notes that bring the cars to life even in their museum-like conditions. They make the show very accessible for children and encourage extensive tale-telling when one has personal experience with a marque or particular model.
A second designer of note that seemed to pervade this show was Charles Knight, the designer of the sleeve valve. Unlike last year's unabashed noisefest, this year was all quite on the front nine. The little Alfas putted around. The Rolls Royces wafted imperiously. A Ford GT40 (help me, I'm going to faint!) noodled by. A deTomaso Magnusta sputtered about under its own power. Adding to the miracle of that, a second Magnusta was found in the parking lot, also apparently having arrived under its own power. Did the world stop rotating or something? Only a subdued Yenko Camaro tripped any car alarms.
Post World War II groups featured their own oddities and concepts. Two of my favorites at this year's event were the Jeffords AMX R and the 1966 Jensen FFII. The AMX R concept, executed and hopped up by Jeffords, featured a "Ramble" seat in place of a trunk. Taking its name from history and its concept from the original goals of the AMX program, the car was the 1968 equivalent of one of today's tuner specials. We also saw the AMX/3, the last of the AMX line, and a concept that would never see production. The Jensen is a sentimental favorite, being the first production car with ABS, AWD, and traction control, all things we take for granted 40 years later. The Chrysler Turbine, on loan from the Walter P. Chrysler museum attracted the usual crowd. More interesting to me was the La Femme (I wonder why?), recently restored and also on loan. The most interesting thing about the La Femme is not its lipstick case, but the eight gauges that dot its dashboard. Now we have idiot lights. Apparently women of the 50s were somewhat more capable than we are assumed to be today.
The Henry Ford offered up a Bugatti Royale with a very checkered history. The car had been junked due to a cracked engine block, and was rescued for restoration. Prior to being junked, it had been "sent for repair" during the rise of the Nazis in Germany, as it could only be worked on by the factory in France. A second Bugatti on the field was walled off in an underground garage, the driveway backfilled, and roses planted on the fill. These anecdotes serve as reminders of how universal automotive enthusiasm really is.
As usual, Meadowbrook includes a fashion show, in which models parade clothing while seated in cars from the field. My eight year old was entertained by one model's ensemble featuring pieces from design house Graham Paige - he pointed out that there was a 1928 Boattail Speedster of the same marque on the field and inquired if they were related. I promised to check on that.
I'll add pics as I get them uploaded. In the mean time, make plans to come to Detroit next year for the 30th annual Concours d'Elegance. bring your family and make a day of some of the most beautiful and influential cars you'll ever see up close. And no celebrities, either, unless you count ol' Bob.
The only damper on the show was the weather, and even Bob Lutz (chairman) couldn't manufacture sun. The rain held off to a now-and-then drizzle. It was just enough to keep the chamois going and the tarps on. I admire the many owners who let the raindrops fall on their beauties - it made the show that much more outstanding for everyone.
This year's show focused on Alfa Romeo. The constellation of little stars inside the juried area included the trio of Alfa B.A.T.s, brought to life by Bertone. The Berlina Aerodynamica Technica 5, 7, and 9 showed an exuberance of design that has long left the industry. Tall recurving tailfins graced each body, obscuring the view from the giant sloping rear glasses. My sons gravitated to the cars for their futuristic bent and simple lines. I wondered when Bertone would get a commission like that again. Nearly 25 little Italian stars graced the show field, each one waiting to stand up to the 8C Competizione sitting outside of the gate. With the bonnet of the 8C open, you had the feeling you were its food, and it was coming for you. The 8C's engine sounded nice. It didn't have any of the gritty rumbles or pops and burbles of the cars on the show field (Concours cars must be driven onto the field under their own power). It was a technical sound. Not bad, but not dangerous.
Our favorite Alfa? A tossup between the B.A.T.s, a very clean 1964 2600, and a 1952 1900C. The 2600 was Giorgetto Guigaro's first production design, and I am very partial to his work. The 1900C competed in the 1952 Mille Miglia, making it one of several honest-to-God racecars showing. Who can't love an Italian racecar?
Although Alfa was the marque of note, I also found several cars that felt the hand of Howard 'Dutch' Darrin. Several Packards showed, along with his last body, the 1954 Kaiser Darrin. Beating the Corvette to market by a month, it holds the title of first fibreglas car. The 1937 Packard Darrin Convertible Victoria featured a hood ornament that did double duty as an antenna for the car's radio. Darrin's styling could easily be the source of the word swank.
While this is indeed Vanity Plate, it's time to detour to Hood Ornament. No show I attend provides more variety and detail in this class than Meadowbrook. The illuminated class takes us from the crystal eagle on a 1930 Cord L29 Phaeton to the naked glass lady on a 1934 Duesenberg Model J. t's hard to run out of stuff to look at. Last year we were treated to the naval turret guns on a pair of DuPonts, but none were found this year. A mistake, if I may say so. Hood Ornament fest continued apace with the non-illuminated variety. Hood ornaments serving dual purposes as decoration and gauges of various sorts dominated the 20s and 30s brackets.
I was humored by a 1932 Ford V8 Convertible Victoria that was built in Germany and still had its original toolset. The 1923 Kissel 6-45 Gold Bug Speedster had a lock on "best feature ever" for its outrigger seats that slid out of the chassis and allowed a rider outside of the box on each side. More like mother-in-law seats, if you ask me. I learned that "fix-it" cars are not just FIATs and Fords - the 1910 EMF Model 30 Touring was known (by marketers, no doubt) as "Every Man's Favorite", however owners apparently designated them "Every Morning Fix-it"s. The placards at the Concours are excellent in their presentation of details and history of the cars they describe, frequently supplying humorous and family notes that bring the cars to life even in their museum-like conditions. They make the show very accessible for children and encourage extensive tale-telling when one has personal experience with a marque or particular model.
A second designer of note that seemed to pervade this show was Charles Knight, the designer of the sleeve valve. Unlike last year's unabashed noisefest, this year was all quite on the front nine. The little Alfas putted around. The Rolls Royces wafted imperiously. A Ford GT40 (help me, I'm going to faint!) noodled by. A deTomaso Magnusta sputtered about under its own power. Adding to the miracle of that, a second Magnusta was found in the parking lot, also apparently having arrived under its own power. Did the world stop rotating or something? Only a subdued Yenko Camaro tripped any car alarms.
Post World War II groups featured their own oddities and concepts. Two of my favorites at this year's event were the Jeffords AMX R and the 1966 Jensen FFII. The AMX R concept, executed and hopped up by Jeffords, featured a "Ramble" seat in place of a trunk. Taking its name from history and its concept from the original goals of the AMX program, the car was the 1968 equivalent of one of today's tuner specials. We also saw the AMX/3, the last of the AMX line, and a concept that would never see production. The Jensen is a sentimental favorite, being the first production car with ABS, AWD, and traction control, all things we take for granted 40 years later. The Chrysler Turbine, on loan from the Walter P. Chrysler museum attracted the usual crowd. More interesting to me was the La Femme (I wonder why?), recently restored and also on loan. The most interesting thing about the La Femme is not its lipstick case, but the eight gauges that dot its dashboard. Now we have idiot lights. Apparently women of the 50s were somewhat more capable than we are assumed to be today.
The Henry Ford offered up a Bugatti Royale with a very checkered history. The car had been junked due to a cracked engine block, and was rescued for restoration. Prior to being junked, it had been "sent for repair" during the rise of the Nazis in Germany, as it could only be worked on by the factory in France. A second Bugatti on the field was walled off in an underground garage, the driveway backfilled, and roses planted on the fill. These anecdotes serve as reminders of how universal automotive enthusiasm really is.
As usual, Meadowbrook includes a fashion show, in which models parade clothing while seated in cars from the field. My eight year old was entertained by one model's ensemble featuring pieces from design house Graham Paige - he pointed out that there was a 1928 Boattail Speedster of the same marque on the field and inquired if they were related. I promised to check on that.
I'll add pics as I get them uploaded. In the mean time, make plans to come to Detroit next year for the 30th annual Concours d'Elegance. bring your family and make a day of some of the most beautiful and influential cars you'll ever see up close. And no celebrities, either, unless you count ol' Bob.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Thank you, Chicago.
From The Chicago Tribune: City may quit fueling up with BP
The basics: BP is dumping waste into Lake Michigan. Chicago City Council members say, "Don't do that, or we won't do business with you anymore."
Choosing a fuel company sucks; it's a prime example of finding the lesser evil. But I won't be buying BP gas anytime soon, even if I do think their green and yellow flower logo is cute.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
The death of the Big Yellow Couch.
Motive Mag will be launching any minute now. Really, I swear. I have been privy to days' worth of last-minute chores, partook in their celebratory strawberry-frosted cake, and made a beer run for Jamie.
And I'm not even a staff member, nor will I ever be; I just sleep with one.
Motive is replacing The Car Lounge, Vortex Media Group's catch-all auto forum, when the switch is flipped at some point today. Motive will be much more than TCL's crazy forums, news blogs, and occasional feature stories. I've been a bystander on the process since January, and I promise, Motive will dazzle. It's sexy and sharp, and VMG has landed some phenomenal talent.
There's something sad, though, about that yellow couch fading away. It's symbolic of TCL's accessibility. Motive, for a million different reasons, is anything but.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Getting dirty.
In my quest to tell the stories of others' project cars for VWvortex, I've kind of lost sight of my own. The parts I need to acquire, problems that need to be fixed, skills I need to learn--well, they've all fallen by the wayside, as my car sits parked in a barn 100 miles north, I struggle to plan my rapidly-approaching married life, and I become accustomed to the comforts of a new car. (Yes, I've learned to appreciate air conditioning and in-dash factory CD players; however, I still loathe cruise control and daytime running lights.)
I'm working on two feature stories, both of which need to be wrapped up by Chicago Volkswagen Organization's Midwest Treffen on August 19. Incidentally, this is also the first time I'll be showing my car since spring of 2006. In some ways, it feels like a life I've left behind--the constant scheduling, parts acquisition and installation, logging hundreds of highway miles and fearing every bird bomb, rock chip, and gravel patch along the way. I wasn't satisfied with being middle of the pack, but somehow I am now.
Attending a VW show used to mean weeks of preparation. I'd drop every dime of my discretionary income on new parts and spend an entire day scrubbing the engine bay with a toothbrush and a gallon of Simple Green. If it weren't for the feature stories I'm writing, I probably wouldn't be going to Treffen at all. I can't even get motivated to order and install basic parts; I'm only mildly excited about showing off my newly-completed European digital cluster conversion, a task so complex that it's been managed by only a handful of people on the continent. (Thanks again to my electrical-genius, German-literate husband-to-be who appreciates the unique opportunity to give a girl car parts for Christmas--and then install them for her.)
I have a feeling, though, that the people I have made plans to meet will make it all worthwhile--the late nights hunched over my keyboard, the hours of backbreaking polishing and scrubbing, and even the $4-per-gallon 93 octane gas that the GTI demands.
Monday, July 23, 2007
I'm already working on an appropriate mix CD.
In just a couple of weeks, happiness arrives in the form of a Saturn Sky.
The Sky has been my "lust" car since its release; I love it so much that, were I in the market, I'd be tempted to choose a Sky over even the MINI Cooper S, which has been my "lust" car for the past six years or so. It's pure luck that it is scheduled to arrive at the office the same week as a bunch of much more exotic vehicles; while the full-time staff is busy arguing over Porsches, I'm thrilled with this particular GM.
I can't think of a better way to spend an evening in Chicago than taking a sexy, feminine roadster for nice twilight spin down deliciously twisty Sheridan Road to Lake Shore Drive.
More to come...
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Volkswagen .:R GTI
We all have posters of cars on our walls at one point in our lives or another. My cubicle at work has some assorted Volkswagen posters and an old NSX poster that I've been dragging around for I think four jobs now. Four desks, for sure. Whether it was the Countach and Vector W8 posters that dominated the 80s, the "justification for higher education" poster of the 90s, or some of the factory sheets from the 70s, we've all pinned them on our walls as proof that we can dream.
Well, sometimes dreams come true, or at least take on physical reality for long enough to breathe on their own.
One of my VW posters is for the .:R GTI, a handbuilt car made of parts no one in the US will ever see again in real life. With a sticker of "somewhere around $250K" and a hop-up partslist that runs into novela range, it's a 390 crank horsepower beast that qualifies for exotic status. And I got to drive it yesterday.
Sure, it was just around the paddock at Gingerman. Sure, I never got out of third gear. I probably wasn't even at 10% load. But that can't take away from the fact that this is a hi-po powerhouse racer wrapped up in a (relatively) unassuming skin, and even 20mph is fun in it. And I not only sat in it, I fired it. The car from the poster on my wall.
The GTI lost its status as king of the pocket rockets over ten years ago, when you could buy a MkIII with a 2.sl0 and an automatic (a what?!?). All is forgiven in this leather- and alcantara-wrapped machine. The center-lock harness that runs over the stiffly bolstered racing seats is just a warning of things to come. I had to hitch the seat forward quite a bit, the usual driver is not only taller than me, but larger, too. A purview of the instrumentation reveals some surprises - including a remarkably stock looking instrument cluster. Not much more is needed, but the door open graphics do bring out the giggles as they seem completely out of place in the car. The key goes in and I fire it, bringing on some nice pipe music. I had to listen trackside to its laps to hear the full-throated songs it played, but that did not dampen my mood one bit.
Since my regular track car is an understeering hippopotamus, I appreciate things that both stop on a dime and turn. At all. The brakes on the .:R GTI imply a much smaller and lighter car, with even the slow maneuvers I did reminding me I was bound at four points. I didn't really get to test the steering, but it was not onerously weighted and seemed like it would hold its own under severe duty.
I'd be remiss if I didn't write about the shifter. I have a thing about shifter knobs. This one was attached to a very compliant and tight linkage selecting six gears and reverse. Two inch throws with nearly gated precision made for a trans that you think exists only in your mind. But back to the knob; what a fine knob it is....
Aluminium is not my first choice in materials under normal circumstances. It gets hot. This one was anodized red and silver, and with an embossed logo, it appeared quite normal. Until I grabbed it going around a corner. As my hand rolled up and onto it, it moved. Not the whole knob, just the silver ring around the fore to aft centerline. I had to stop and examine it - the entire center section rolled free of the rest of the knob, allowing a sort of approach to it, a way to insure your hand was in position and ready to grab on when the time was right. I confess to playing with it for a bit - movable feasts are common, movable knobs are most definitely not! I found that the rolling center ring enabled me to roll the locus of the shifting force without forcing me to release the knob. Quite interesting and Bravo! to the builder for selecting this feature.
I wish I could have taken it out on the track. But part of me wonders if I'm enough driver for something like that. I'll be scheduling some more track days this summer, just in case. Until then I get to be one of those really annoying people who walk into your cube, point at your wall, and say "I drove that car. Yes, that very one. It was awesome."
Well, sometimes dreams come true, or at least take on physical reality for long enough to breathe on their own.
One of my VW posters is for the .:R GTI, a handbuilt car made of parts no one in the US will ever see again in real life. With a sticker of "somewhere around $250K" and a hop-up partslist that runs into novela range, it's a 390 crank horsepower beast that qualifies for exotic status. And I got to drive it yesterday.
Sure, it was just around the paddock at Gingerman. Sure, I never got out of third gear. I probably wasn't even at 10% load. But that can't take away from the fact that this is a hi-po powerhouse racer wrapped up in a (relatively) unassuming skin, and even 20mph is fun in it. And I not only sat in it, I fired it. The car from the poster on my wall.
The GTI lost its status as king of the pocket rockets over ten years ago, when you could buy a MkIII with a 2.sl0 and an automatic (a what?!?). All is forgiven in this leather- and alcantara-wrapped machine. The center-lock harness that runs over the stiffly bolstered racing seats is just a warning of things to come. I had to hitch the seat forward quite a bit, the usual driver is not only taller than me, but larger, too. A purview of the instrumentation reveals some surprises - including a remarkably stock looking instrument cluster. Not much more is needed, but the door open graphics do bring out the giggles as they seem completely out of place in the car. The key goes in and I fire it, bringing on some nice pipe music. I had to listen trackside to its laps to hear the full-throated songs it played, but that did not dampen my mood one bit.
Since my regular track car is an understeering hippopotamus, I appreciate things that both stop on a dime and turn. At all. The brakes on the .:R GTI imply a much smaller and lighter car, with even the slow maneuvers I did reminding me I was bound at four points. I didn't really get to test the steering, but it was not onerously weighted and seemed like it would hold its own under severe duty.
I'd be remiss if I didn't write about the shifter. I have a thing about shifter knobs. This one was attached to a very compliant and tight linkage selecting six gears and reverse. Two inch throws with nearly gated precision made for a trans that you think exists only in your mind. But back to the knob; what a fine knob it is....
Aluminium is not my first choice in materials under normal circumstances. It gets hot. This one was anodized red and silver, and with an embossed logo, it appeared quite normal. Until I grabbed it going around a corner. As my hand rolled up and onto it, it moved. Not the whole knob, just the silver ring around the fore to aft centerline. I had to stop and examine it - the entire center section rolled free of the rest of the knob, allowing a sort of approach to it, a way to insure your hand was in position and ready to grab on when the time was right. I confess to playing with it for a bit - movable feasts are common, movable knobs are most definitely not! I found that the rolling center ring enabled me to roll the locus of the shifting force without forcing me to release the knob. Quite interesting and Bravo! to the builder for selecting this feature.
I wish I could have taken it out on the track. But part of me wonders if I'm enough driver for something like that. I'll be scheduling some more track days this summer, just in case. Until then I get to be one of those really annoying people who walk into your cube, point at your wall, and say "I drove that car. Yes, that very one. It was awesome."
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Untied
I like to drive a car, preferably my car, when I go places. Unfortunately, driving to California from Michigan is not time sensitive.
I had a run-in with air travel yesterday. It took the esteemed travel professionals at United 7 hours to cancel a flight that had no earthly chance of ever being equipped. At the car rental, if there's no car, they tell you, and you go to other rental counters until you find one. The trick here is they tell you up front: "We have no car for you."
My friends (as such) at United did not have such good manners, and I spent 7 hours waiting find out that I should have just stayed home. Instead of arriving in Cali at 1800 local time, United could get me there at 2200 the next day. I could have almost driven there that fast. I spent another 3 hours waiting for a flight home to DTW.
Blech. Air travel sucks. Just drive, and at least you can know you will eventually get there.
I had a run-in with air travel yesterday. It took the esteemed travel professionals at United 7 hours to cancel a flight that had no earthly chance of ever being equipped. At the car rental, if there's no car, they tell you, and you go to other rental counters until you find one. The trick here is they tell you up front: "We have no car for you."
My friends (as such) at United did not have such good manners, and I spent 7 hours waiting find out that I should have just stayed home. Instead of arriving in Cali at 1800 local time, United could get me there at 2200 the next day. I could have almost driven there that fast. I spent another 3 hours waiting for a flight home to DTW.
Blech. Air travel sucks. Just drive, and at least you can know you will eventually get there.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Dragon tales
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.
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.
Friday, July 6, 2007
"Take my pulse and take my picture, I wanna be a household fixture."
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.
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.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
"Whatever happened to Suburban Rhythm?"
(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.
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.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Lists
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.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Big Black Lincoln
Whatever you do, don't rent it from Avis. And definitely not at the airport.
Granted this all happened a lot of moons ago. And yes, scheduling has improved since then. But take my word for it - don't rent your getaway car from an airport car rental.
One white Lincoln Towncar. That's what I wanted. Not a Continental, not a Grand Marquis, not a General Motors product. I wanted a White Lincoln Towncar preferably with a white leather interior. My husband-to-be dutifully reserved one of the hundred Lincolns in the lot and reminded the guy - "it's my wedding. My fiancee wants a white one." He called on thursday to make sure it was there for us. He called before he went down to pick it up on friday. "Oh yes, Mr H, we have a white one here for you, just like you asked." Famous last words.
I didn't see it until after the wedding had actually started. That was not a problem, because I didn't know that what I was looking at was MY getaway car. I figured my in-laws had rented the black Towncar, because after all, their son was surely going to go to hell for marrying me. How little did I know the magnitude of my prescience.
It wasn't until after the birdseed was lodged firmly in my brassiere and my too-small Martha Washingtons that I understood the magnitude of that big black Lincoln Towncar.
My getaway car was a hearse.
Granted this all happened a lot of moons ago. And yes, scheduling has improved since then. But take my word for it - don't rent your getaway car from an airport car rental.
One white Lincoln Towncar. That's what I wanted. Not a Continental, not a Grand Marquis, not a General Motors product. I wanted a White Lincoln Towncar preferably with a white leather interior. My husband-to-be dutifully reserved one of the hundred Lincolns in the lot and reminded the guy - "it's my wedding. My fiancee wants a white one." He called on thursday to make sure it was there for us. He called before he went down to pick it up on friday. "Oh yes, Mr H, we have a white one here for you, just like you asked." Famous last words.
I didn't see it until after the wedding had actually started. That was not a problem, because I didn't know that what I was looking at was MY getaway car. I figured my in-laws had rented the black Towncar, because after all, their son was surely going to go to hell for marrying me. How little did I know the magnitude of my prescience.
It wasn't until after the birdseed was lodged firmly in my brassiere and my too-small Martha Washingtons that I understood the magnitude of that big black Lincoln Towncar.
My getaway car was a hearse.
Friday, June 29, 2007
White wedding
My wedding is three months from today.
We haven't booked a photographer; hell, we haven't found someone to officiate the ceremony. Invitations are still squarely in the concept stage. We have no clothing. Our wedding party has no clothing. My parents are negotiating with caterers.
By all rights, I should be panicking, but I'm convinced that will all somehow work itself out. My concern? The getaway car.
Any suggestions? I think it would make for a pretty unique R8 review.
We haven't booked a photographer; hell, we haven't found someone to officiate the ceremony. Invitations are still squarely in the concept stage. We have no clothing. Our wedding party has no clothing. My parents are negotiating with caterers.
By all rights, I should be panicking, but I'm convinced that will all somehow work itself out. My concern? The getaway car.
Any suggestions? I think it would make for a pretty unique R8 review.
I recall...
At about 6:30 this morning, I was behind the wheel of my Rabbit, fantasizing about the coffee I planned to buy as soon as I arrived at work, at least until I was jarred out of my stupor by a vanity plate affixed to the back of a ridiculously lavish chrome-trimmed black Lincoln Navigator: SKI VT 74.
And with that, I was back. Recalling the place where going out to dinner means a fish sandwich topped with local cheddar at Vermont Pub and Brewery (accompanied, of course, by a plate of sweet potato fries and a pint of maple ale). Where my beloved Magic Hat #9 is on tap everywhere. About half the cars on the road are Subaru Legacy wagons. Most of the population is blissfully unaware that Suzuki even manufactures passenger vehicles. The term "winter beater" can be dropped into casual conversation without a lengthy explanation. My 1991 GTI was one of the nicest cars in my apartment parking lot. People can change their own spare tires. The two interstate highways are toll-free, and are rarely more than two lanes wide. Motorists stop and offer help to drivers of disabled vehicles. A ban on billboards is strictly enforced (and trust me, you don't miss them).
I was still daydreaming several miles later, stuck in work zone traffic; my body (aching clutch foot and all) were in Illinois, but mentally, I was still in Vermont, where my thoughts had turned to pancake breakfasts doused with local maple syrup and steaming mugs of cinnamon-flavored Green Mountain Coffee. As if to bring me back to reality, a shiny Jeep Wrangler suddenly veered off the paved section of road, dropping about six inches into the construction mess, sending up clouds of dirt. It passed a few cars that were stopped, waiting to turn, and then climbed back up and continued on its way.
At least there's someone else among the snooty suburban Chicagoans who's not afraid to get an SUV dirty.
And with that, I was back. Recalling the place where going out to dinner means a fish sandwich topped with local cheddar at Vermont Pub and Brewery (accompanied, of course, by a plate of sweet potato fries and a pint of maple ale). Where my beloved Magic Hat #9 is on tap everywhere. About half the cars on the road are Subaru Legacy wagons. Most of the population is blissfully unaware that Suzuki even manufactures passenger vehicles. The term "winter beater" can be dropped into casual conversation without a lengthy explanation. My 1991 GTI was one of the nicest cars in my apartment parking lot. People can change their own spare tires. The two interstate highways are toll-free, and are rarely more than two lanes wide. Motorists stop and offer help to drivers of disabled vehicles. A ban on billboards is strictly enforced (and trust me, you don't miss them).
I was still daydreaming several miles later, stuck in work zone traffic; my body (aching clutch foot and all) were in Illinois, but mentally, I was still in Vermont, where my thoughts had turned to pancake breakfasts doused with local maple syrup and steaming mugs of cinnamon-flavored Green Mountain Coffee. As if to bring me back to reality, a shiny Jeep Wrangler suddenly veered off the paved section of road, dropping about six inches into the construction mess, sending up clouds of dirt. It passed a few cars that were stopped, waiting to turn, and then climbed back up and continued on its way.
At least there's someone else among the snooty suburban Chicagoans who's not afraid to get an SUV dirty.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Luxurious like Egyptian cotton
I haven't driven the R8, it must be said, but I'm not in the minority on that. Not many people have driven one, and those who haven't lament it (here's lookin' at you, Jalopnik). I know people who know people, though. I've experienced a ride.
We were amongst a crowd attending a show at Audi of America headquarters when the R8 graced us with its presence. It was a sunny Saturday. Heads turned. Jaws dropped. Mens' pants got a little tighter. I had seen one before, just one, when it was unveiled at NAIAS, but this was an entirely different experience. It was moving, audible, out of the sterile show environment, exciting enough to get over my flash of disappointment at its sheer silverness. Rumor has it they've been built in other colors. Online photos have confirmed this (some of which even originated from sources I trust). I was hoping to see a non-silver R8 with my own eyes. Silver is the new beige. Silver is the Audi standby, yes, but it does this car no favors. Rather than accentuate the contours, it sheaths them. Audi seems to think everything should be drenched in silver. Why don't we slather Scarlett Johansson's breasts and ass with a gallon of Audi silver?
It took several hours for the commotion to wane enough for us to sneak away. Upon receiving my summons from Audi's PR rep, I tossed my bag on the ground (no room for journalists' accoutrements, or anything else, for that matter) and we took off.
Inside, the car is anything but silver; in fact, I couldn't catch a glimpse of the exterior panels at all. The hood isn't visible from the passenger seat. It's deceptively small and toned. Everything within reach is expensive--there are no plebian plastics in the cabin at all. This point is oft-repeated in the press, but it didn't stick with me until I was enveloped in the car's fabrics, soft and sultry, like everything good I've ever read about harems. The seats are plush yet taut, the roof is unnervingly close, the frame is cagelike. Ducking through the door is an acrobatic feat. It would be womblike, if wombs were made of black alcantara. It would be comforting, the place for the best damn catnap I'd ever taken, if the ride wasn't thoroughly stimulating.
I held the brim of my baseball cap as the wind gusted through the tiny windows; the impact on my face was instant, like Superman: Ride of Steel at Six Flags. Onlookers stared. Other drivers yielded. Cameras snapped. My core muscles got a workout bracing my body in the seat while I touched up my lip gloss (a task for which the tiny side mirror was absolutely useless). For the first time in my life, I wished I wore really expensive sunglasses.
The Audi rep attempted to carry on a conversation, and I was quite surprised at how quiet the car runs, aside from the occasional requisite stomp on the gas. I hope he didn't think I was being snobbish, but I know I look ridiculous talking through a grin, and the R8 brought out the worst of my giddiness and my self-consciousness. It's a dangerous combination.
Fair warning: Without a charm school education, it's damn near impossible to make a graceful entrance to or exit from the R8. And there will be an audience, witnessing every stumble and cheesy grin against a backdrop of satiny silver. And did I mention there would be cameras?
I may get an encore encounter with the R8 sometime in the next couple weeks; I am eager to gauge its charisma over a longer period of time. I hope it's not silver, but I've got my credit card ready for those designer shades.
We were amongst a crowd attending a show at Audi of America headquarters when the R8 graced us with its presence. It was a sunny Saturday. Heads turned. Jaws dropped. Mens' pants got a little tighter. I had seen one before, just one, when it was unveiled at NAIAS, but this was an entirely different experience. It was moving, audible, out of the sterile show environment, exciting enough to get over my flash of disappointment at its sheer silverness. Rumor has it they've been built in other colors. Online photos have confirmed this (some of which even originated from sources I trust). I was hoping to see a non-silver R8 with my own eyes. Silver is the new beige. Silver is the Audi standby, yes, but it does this car no favors. Rather than accentuate the contours, it sheaths them. Audi seems to think everything should be drenched in silver. Why don't we slather Scarlett Johansson's breasts and ass with a gallon of Audi silver?
It took several hours for the commotion to wane enough for us to sneak away. Upon receiving my summons from Audi's PR rep, I tossed my bag on the ground (no room for journalists' accoutrements, or anything else, for that matter) and we took off.
Inside, the car is anything but silver; in fact, I couldn't catch a glimpse of the exterior panels at all. The hood isn't visible from the passenger seat. It's deceptively small and toned. Everything within reach is expensive--there are no plebian plastics in the cabin at all. This point is oft-repeated in the press, but it didn't stick with me until I was enveloped in the car's fabrics, soft and sultry, like everything good I've ever read about harems. The seats are plush yet taut, the roof is unnervingly close, the frame is cagelike. Ducking through the door is an acrobatic feat. It would be womblike, if wombs were made of black alcantara. It would be comforting, the place for the best damn catnap I'd ever taken, if the ride wasn't thoroughly stimulating.
I held the brim of my baseball cap as the wind gusted through the tiny windows; the impact on my face was instant, like Superman: Ride of Steel at Six Flags. Onlookers stared. Other drivers yielded. Cameras snapped. My core muscles got a workout bracing my body in the seat while I touched up my lip gloss (a task for which the tiny side mirror was absolutely useless). For the first time in my life, I wished I wore really expensive sunglasses.
The Audi rep attempted to carry on a conversation, and I was quite surprised at how quiet the car runs, aside from the occasional requisite stomp on the gas. I hope he didn't think I was being snobbish, but I know I look ridiculous talking through a grin, and the R8 brought out the worst of my giddiness and my self-consciousness. It's a dangerous combination.
Fair warning: Without a charm school education, it's damn near impossible to make a graceful entrance to or exit from the R8. And there will be an audience, witnessing every stumble and cheesy grin against a backdrop of satiny silver. And did I mention there would be cameras?
I may get an encore encounter with the R8 sometime in the next couple weeks; I am eager to gauge its charisma over a longer period of time. I hope it's not silver, but I've got my credit card ready for those designer shades.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Spare tyres
Today we learned something truly amazing. We learned how a Chinese tyre failed.
We didn't just learn that it failed, or that it delaminated (the usual method of failure for tyres), but that it was missing a critical layer of rubber that absorbed friction between two layers of steel belts and enabled full bonding of the belts into the tyre carcass. We learned the minimum required thickness of the rubber strip, something that would normally be regarded as a trade secret in the industry. We learned about why the strip is there, and why it matters.
Go back to the most recent Firestone fiasco, and if you're old enough, the Firestone 500 fiasco. Did we ever learn why the tyres failed? Did we hear about green adhesion and cure profiles? Did we hear about adhesion promotors and cohesive failures? No. We heard that tyres delaminated and failed. That was it. The mechanisms of failure were proprietary trade secrets and remained that way, impervious to all but those truly skilled in the art of keeping the carcass and tread attached to the belts. While some hints were made in reference to poor green aging conditions and possible rubber compounding errors, the entire industry stuck to the mantra of underinflation and user error, whether on the part of Ford or the end user. In this case of Chinese tyres, there is no question - the Chinese manufacturer is at fault, and in flagrante delicto, as it were. What is the purpose of releasing this information? Why can't I get it from Firestone?
I did some time in the tyre industry, and I'm really curious about the politics of releasing this data to the general public.
We didn't just learn that it failed, or that it delaminated (the usual method of failure for tyres), but that it was missing a critical layer of rubber that absorbed friction between two layers of steel belts and enabled full bonding of the belts into the tyre carcass. We learned the minimum required thickness of the rubber strip, something that would normally be regarded as a trade secret in the industry. We learned about why the strip is there, and why it matters.
Go back to the most recent Firestone fiasco, and if you're old enough, the Firestone 500 fiasco. Did we ever learn why the tyres failed? Did we hear about green adhesion and cure profiles? Did we hear about adhesion promotors and cohesive failures? No. We heard that tyres delaminated and failed. That was it. The mechanisms of failure were proprietary trade secrets and remained that way, impervious to all but those truly skilled in the art of keeping the carcass and tread attached to the belts. While some hints were made in reference to poor green aging conditions and possible rubber compounding errors, the entire industry stuck to the mantra of underinflation and user error, whether on the part of Ford or the end user. In this case of Chinese tyres, there is no question - the Chinese manufacturer is at fault, and in flagrante delicto, as it were. What is the purpose of releasing this information? Why can't I get it from Firestone?
I did some time in the tyre industry, and I'm really curious about the politics of releasing this data to the general public.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Those who cannot remember the past....
I'm old enough to remember 1st gen catalytic converters setting lawns on fire. That means I'm also old enough to remember my parents driving ridiculously detuned cars, all under the guise of improved fuel economy.
Yesterday's Senate bill to increase CAFE is interesting to me. It will force for the first time the corporate average to actually count for the entire fleet. Right now, there are separate numbers for light trucks (PT Cruisers!) and cars. Pushing the cars up to 35 I can understand. We've had our days of World Horsepower War II, and it's been a good ride. But forcing trucks to fall under the 35 marker seems a bit much. A good Diesel pick-em-up truck will get 16-20 MPG highway unloaded. A good gasser will get around 15. These are work trucks that have to haul and pull and otherwise expend energy. Since mileage and power are often a compromise, what's going to happen to productivity?
Forgive me for sounding like I'm defending the automakers. It's just not in their interest to make slow, underpowered cars. We're not an underpowered country. Toyota's V8 is proof of that - you can't compete in the truck world without one. The cliff-drop in power that happened the first time CAFE came around is a part of what killed off the American carmakers' share of the US market. Why should I buy an underpowered Chevette when I can buy an underpowered Honda? The lack of power put everyone on the same playing field, and it was the war of crap cars for ten long years. I don't really want to live through that again. The first time was miserable - AMC Concord miserable. Mitsubishi Colt Vista miserable. No, I don't want that again.
The kind of engine research that will be required to pull stumps at 35mpg takes time. I'd hate to see the Arsenal of Democracy defeated by Congress. I'm rooting for our guys. If they pull it off this time, it had better be with more power.
Yesterday's Senate bill to increase CAFE is interesting to me. It will force for the first time the corporate average to actually count for the entire fleet. Right now, there are separate numbers for light trucks (PT Cruisers!) and cars. Pushing the cars up to 35 I can understand. We've had our days of World Horsepower War II, and it's been a good ride. But forcing trucks to fall under the 35 marker seems a bit much. A good Diesel pick-em-up truck will get 16-20 MPG highway unloaded. A good gasser will get around 15. These are work trucks that have to haul and pull and otherwise expend energy. Since mileage and power are often a compromise, what's going to happen to productivity?
Forgive me for sounding like I'm defending the automakers. It's just not in their interest to make slow, underpowered cars. We're not an underpowered country. Toyota's V8 is proof of that - you can't compete in the truck world without one. The cliff-drop in power that happened the first time CAFE came around is a part of what killed off the American carmakers' share of the US market. Why should I buy an underpowered Chevette when I can buy an underpowered Honda? The lack of power put everyone on the same playing field, and it was the war of crap cars for ten long years. I don't really want to live through that again. The first time was miserable - AMC Concord miserable. Mitsubishi Colt Vista miserable. No, I don't want that again.
The kind of engine research that will be required to pull stumps at 35mpg takes time. I'd hate to see the Arsenal of Democracy defeated by Congress. I'm rooting for our guys. If they pull it off this time, it had better be with more power.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Rough Roads
When I think of rough roads, I don't have to leave home. I just take a quick drive to one of the many unpaved roads right near my home in MI.
I really dread driving to visit some of my friends. They live on dirt roads, in one of the wealthiest counties in the US. In Georgia, an unpaved road was a stigma, a sign that you weren't socially cool enough for asphalt, that you were "dirt poor", that you were not ready for the big time. Here in Michigan, it means you get a tax break for living on an unimproved road. Um, there isn't a big enough tax break for me to live on a dirt road, honey. I have a nice car, and it's dark blue. No way in hell I'm putting up with a dirt road that washes out and pocks up every time it rains and is a dust storm when it's dry.
My gripes about the road conditions in MI were echoed recently by none other than a senior product planner at GM, whom I ran into on a camping trip. How bad are the roads in MI? How about "we do all of our rough road suspension development within 10 miles of Warren" bad. I prodded a bit, and turned up that GM suspension designers return from China, India, and even Costa Rica, and still find that Macomb county is sufficient to simulate driving on the worst roads the third world has to offer.
Lovely.
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