tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77283602950279219722024-03-05T16:26:45.252-08:00Drive StoriesDrive Stories is a blog dedicated to the experience of driving cars. Not just a car review, but stories about cars, and the life-tales of driving them.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7728360295027921972.post-58215428418977066642014-06-20T14:26:00.000-07:002017-01-12T20:16:07.826-08:00Paradise Lost: the 1972 Buick Estate Wagon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2nVAr1iP1rH9MXzuq5W1N6mrZp9a8lhUk1AonhPAy7POg_QRnGUdTjGsek8wuK-J4vlPmoGniOqJJP6WJmYHesB-jdPL2qNUR50QK976RFXs0lnb-tnfP6IWh9uZoW6g0_TEb2lJ_i5cb/s1600/1973-Buick-Electra-Estate-wagon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2nVAr1iP1rH9MXzuq5W1N6mrZp9a8lhUk1AonhPAy7POg_QRnGUdTjGsek8wuK-J4vlPmoGniOqJJP6WJmYHesB-jdPL2qNUR50QK976RFXs0lnb-tnfP6IWh9uZoW6g0_TEb2lJ_i5cb/s1600/1973-Buick-Electra-Estate-wagon.jpg" height="456" width="640"></a></div>
When I was a Sophomore in College, I ran out of money. After a couple of quarters bumming rides from the dorm roomies to work and hitching back and such, it became obvious and painfully clear that what I needed was a car, if I was going to make enough money to stay in the dorms and in school.<br>
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In college, this mode of transportation is often referred to by it's formal technical latin name as, <i>"All you need Bruce, is to just get yourself a <b>cheap piece of shit </b>to get you around town."</i><br>
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This is circa 1982. AD. Back then not only did we not have the internet, we did not even have the paper version of auto-trader. We used to go to the local newspaper, which is sort of like Google. Or the News section of Google, except printed on paper. And then you would get it delivered to your home every day. Well your driveway, anyway. So when you finished reading today's news, you had to go to sleep, and wait until tomorrow to read tomorrow's news. I know, it sounds insane.<br>
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In the back of each newspaper was a section called "the classifieds", where real honest to god actual people not looking for dates or escorting, would advertise what they wanted to sell. Just like eBay! In those days you would "Win the Bid" by calling faster than anyone else.<br>
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I saw an ad for a 1972 Buick estate Wagon for $400 and called. The price being perfect regardless of whatever the "Piece of Shit" I was going to buy next, I asked Todd to give me what I promised would quite likely be the last ride he would ever have to give me, to the address in the ad. Here's what I saw.<br>
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The 1972 Buick Estate wagon is one of the dying or possibly now completely dead breed of American automobile that hearkens the very last gasps of the free to dirt cheap price of gas, so affordable it was cheaper than water.<br>
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An interior so spaciously comfortable and large it had 13 full sized seats. No, like FULL SIZE. Believe me I filled each seat each weekend with everyone in the dorm I could fit, in order to pay them back for the rides they had given me. I think I paid back everyone I ever owed with just two rides. I believe a few dormies, still owe me a ride. <div><br></div><div>What I loved most and miss the most today is the single bench front seat. I think we have given up a lot of intimacy and personal touch by putting the armrest in, and I don't think we've gotten all that much utility out of it. although I am sure teenagers still tingle when they accidentally touch each other's hands as they go to connect their iPhones to the Aux line-in.<br>
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Another feature I loved was the clamshell drop hatch, and window roll up. You could either roll up the back window and drop whatever you wanted in the back, or if you needed to could drop the hatch completely into the floor and roll up the window, all at the touch of a faded chrome rocker switch, located next to the big pull out light switch, up front on the dash. Where light switches are supposed to be.<br>
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As I stated, I bought the car as is for $400 in 1982. I am not willing to talk about the gas mileage because for this car that is socio-culturally irrelevant. Suffice it to say I put approximately $1600 worth of gas in it over the next 2 years as I drove it back and forth to work, and paid back roomies, and before I graduated, sold it for exactly $400 to a fellow college student.<br>
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I often wonder what the heyday of the car must have been like, with 15 cent a gallon gas and National Park family road trips filled with Wonder Bread Miracle Whip Bologna sandwiches and the newest sensation, liter bottles of Pepsi!<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chevrolet version of the Buick Estate Wagon.</td></tr>
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<br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7728360295027921972.post-39007303725968500592014-06-20T13:33:00.005-07:002014-06-20T13:33:48.824-07:001980 Fiat Brava: The Tony that never needed fixing up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDAsQyuNgBLcNn-omueAuR1iWYFUzyNrGEZxNBq_DdV8s8VhbbxxC3IF-x5fU_y5NybRVfVtNjUJlJHuA60Cs3Cq-JBNCbPK01Sq5Dpq_0xAIhNTrEQpxqQKSDOZSOjxX8LHhwK6adcPoM/s1600/1979_FIAT_Brava_Coupe_For_Sale_Side_resize.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDAsQyuNgBLcNn-omueAuR1iWYFUzyNrGEZxNBq_DdV8s8VhbbxxC3IF-x5fU_y5NybRVfVtNjUJlJHuA60Cs3Cq-JBNCbPK01Sq5Dpq_0xAIhNTrEQpxqQKSDOZSOjxX8LHhwK6adcPoM/s1600/1979_FIAT_Brava_Coupe_For_Sale_Side_resize.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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After I graduated college I moved out to San Jose California, leaving Logan Utah and Utah State University, that I still find completely strange to say I am proud of, as Alma maters go. As an Alma mater, Utah State University rolls of the tongue innocently enough, but is quite hard to swallow, given the non-name and no-cache that Utah State University carries professionally.<br />
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San Jose wasn't all that great at the time either, but it was starting to go by another name that would soon be infamous. Silicon Valley. To this day I tell people I mistakenly thought I was coming out to Silicone Valley, but few buy that anymore. Everyone knows that Silicone Valley is in LA.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8nhezltb6qLCEZUmKtAiycn6KKzb5nDS2xBfir9-f5gCv38s-00fNKaFFIJWirYz1O-cNyPP9j6-UH13Q8y4yCjhz1ZHOjyhMit5a2mNXduTruPTXFH-JQsxxCE-3IbNKeZ73WT6ejcfR/s1600/Fab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8nhezltb6qLCEZUmKtAiycn6KKzb5nDS2xBfir9-f5gCv38s-00fNKaFFIJWirYz1O-cNyPP9j6-UH13Q8y4yCjhz1ZHOjyhMit5a2mNXduTruPTXFH-JQsxxCE-3IbNKeZ73WT6ejcfR/s1600/Fab.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
But I landed in San Jose in mid-1984, and within 3 days found a job as a Semiconductor Wafer Fab Supervisor. To this day, I really have no idea what that means (I thought fab was shot for fabulous), or what we were making, but it was some sort of shiny round rainbow mirrored glass like disks the size of your hand, that apparently were chopped up into small tiny squares that do something to virtually every device or phone or computer or thing that needs a chip in order to breathe life.<br />
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But it sure paid well. As soon as I could afford one, I went to buy a car. In those days the strip to buy a used car was at the tail end of El Camino or the tailer end of Stevens Creek Boulevard, you know, when it becomes West San Carlos, which is not a boulevard in the traditional manicured green garden in the median, boulevard. More like 3 lanes on either side, separated by the yellow dashed turn lane.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDfx6QrSD89OOJ8WvZOwcsVSuX2ctMehMeuuXsM-2wZo0dqwobFh67Zn8NjagAYAkiKJn6KHXNOD9cX7uOpgY-iz7j14192PfWHbdKR5C14B-zm49xZKuApRWI6c5iFvEBR2ShtP1HmCa-/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-20+at+1.29.13+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDfx6QrSD89OOJ8WvZOwcsVSuX2ctMehMeuuXsM-2wZo0dqwobFh67Zn8NjagAYAkiKJn6KHXNOD9cX7uOpgY-iz7j14192PfWHbdKR5C14B-zm49xZKuApRWI6c5iFvEBR2ShtP1HmCa-/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-20+at+1.29.13+PM.png" height="260" width="640" /></a></div>
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So I started looking. within a few minutes out in front was what looked great to me. The 1989 Fiat Brava. Throwing all caution and all the better advice that had always accompanied buying a Fiat in the USA, present time excluded, to the wind, I went into the trailer/sales office and asked how much. $3400 later, out I drove with what I now recall fondly as one of the most fun cars I have ever owned.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU6w1p9Kn-Cb-v-bXMsl-pVFOKvx-1pnyaDOgOCYF-ODw18eI6-AJBVeHNlpbEvvzYufZX1NUa1ZmO4R9Ze6mhyphenhyphen40adkMW72bTKF5k2jbz3nVbeePeiH43wXqdBzhaHiAx18cSdvya96Am/s1600/Interior20312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU6w1p9Kn-Cb-v-bXMsl-pVFOKvx-1pnyaDOgOCYF-ODw18eI6-AJBVeHNlpbEvvzYufZX1NUa1ZmO4R9Ze6mhyphenhyphen40adkMW72bTKF5k2jbz3nVbeePeiH43wXqdBzhaHiAx18cSdvya96Am/s1600/Interior20312.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
It started right up purred like a 6 cylinder, and shifted with a nice solid rubber knuckled 5 speed, that moved as one whenever you gunned the always on the prowl engine.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzjReBZMFo6TPGKE6JQ060G83PCIDbaerkjzD5ZhEo88wFZB18APoPxMEq-Jfnze8TY02fNRrw3WsmoIBU9dN2aH-rroVf_6mrZg19ljaH5aR76B2Fhf6A2SCRA8dRcfUJp6hL8JspzF43/s1600/to06062011002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzjReBZMFo6TPGKE6JQ060G83PCIDbaerkjzD5ZhEo88wFZB18APoPxMEq-Jfnze8TY02fNRrw3WsmoIBU9dN2aH-rroVf_6mrZg19ljaH5aR76B2Fhf6A2SCRA8dRcfUJp6hL8JspzF43/s1600/to06062011002.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
I wasn't completely deaf to the howls of derisive laughter I was about to endure when I told my friends what I had just bought, so after about a week, I looked up a Fiat repair shop in the Yellow Pages. Not the online Yellow Pages, and not after doing a Google search for "Yellow Pages", but an honest to god, 4 inch thick printed book dangling from the short desk of the nearest "Payphone". Which is what we used to use as a mobile device. Until Miami Vice showed us that along with drug dealers, everyone could own a portable phone if they were willing to plunk down $3,000 and were willing to carry the small briefcase that contained the battery along with the clip for the handset everywhere you go.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFlmlBWgtKaX-gi0vG2j1hjpohXwyVQnVL3Ir4-xLoVSJZhJPTfLMzP3RSgtqb7Wh-_UAgrARntun4QRyZuhOw_VxGxjx0vtFhWVhTIkZ-DRABGcolNxiWM6G6HqMBzVljNmA_Mkfby8U/s1600/ad_fiat_brava_green_4d_1979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFlmlBWgtKaX-gi0vG2j1hjpohXwyVQnVL3Ir4-xLoVSJZhJPTfLMzP3RSgtqb7Wh-_UAgrARntun4QRyZuhOw_VxGxjx0vtFhWVhTIkZ-DRABGcolNxiWM6G6HqMBzVljNmA_Mkfby8U/s1600/ad_fiat_brava_green_4d_1979.jpg" height="320" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Original Fiat Brava ad</td></tr>
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I took the Brava in and Tony (no seriously, his name was Tony!) did a head to toe full inspection, which means he opened up the hood and looked up and down a bit grunted a couple of times as he reached back with one hand holding up the hood, to pull on some hoses and assorted cables. Then dropped the hood with a finger, and said, <i>"Nope, you're good."</i><br />
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Later I found out that this model had an unbreakable teflon timing belt, that was so reliable, it not only never broke, but never needed to be adjusted either.<br />
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Best car I ever owned. I sold it 3 years later to buy my first Saab 900 Turbo.<br />
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<i>But that is another Drive Story...</i><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7728360295027921972.post-44012136557770043272014-06-06T14:09:00.000-07:002018-10-03T15:32:06.791-07:00(Opel) Rekord Keeping<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My dad was a stud. I know, most kids think their dads are studs. But mine really was! At 53, I have met a lot of admirable men, but none have struck me as impressively as my father. He was simply one of a kind.</div>
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As I look back on my childhood and try to put him back into my mind's eye, and relate this to a drive story, the one thing that now pops up is my dad's love of cars, and an especial penchant and affinity for the Coupe. Or as he used to call it, the "Coupé!"</div>
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In college he had what would now be classic.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQI01FMWmC5C3smioyav3CUYS-UTvGAtrQGtneWyi93SL2bnZ1ZmwMaom_LTGTLs3nUZCFiUv1W7p31MiyNngCIIhAFV5AIDHyzXJDzC4-NlS5CZduCZOKuPuRaLsmHPdPnYabXcKbSiL/s1600/Mercedes-190-1963-rls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQI01FMWmC5C3smioyav3CUYS-UTvGAtrQGtneWyi93SL2bnZ1ZmwMaom_LTGTLs3nUZCFiUv1W7p31MiyNngCIIhAFV5AIDHyzXJDzC4-NlS5CZduCZOKuPuRaLsmHPdPnYabXcKbSiL/s1600/Mercedes-190-1963-rls.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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After college with marriage and a child, he did the responsible thing and bought the then Honda Accord of it's time the Mercedes 190.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94EFyay-AmSmggdlp_NFr3D7YKmSg71wXfLnySu_ZyrbLuRF96waLFzdFHzoSnIWKqkLfGMnv9h0lIjymUSdHKnEUrvM_xxYOrKHe6rbbVLONVkfTRkOgTuc40829NhyphenhyphenmZcR6prthxj9s/s1600/VW_Karmann_Ghia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94EFyay-AmSmggdlp_NFr3D7YKmSg71wXfLnySu_ZyrbLuRF96waLFzdFHzoSnIWKqkLfGMnv9h0lIjymUSdHKnEUrvM_xxYOrKHe6rbbVLONVkfTRkOgTuc40829NhyphenhyphenmZcR6prthxj9s/s1600/VW_Karmann_Ghia.jpg" width="200" /></a>But at the drop of a hat it seems and for no good sound reason except to be a stud, he bought the Miata of it's time the Volkswagen Karmann Ghia.<br />
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After that a made in Iran Rambler or as it was marqed the Arya. Metallic dark teal blue. A surprisingly resilient piece of shit. I can still smell the vinyl seats. I'm assuming my unexplainably negative feelings toward this car comes from my dad, who I am going to assume likely hated it.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKanwlbLlRRxTqX-JIZ3SesOkkQXozH65R-diW3NywiIF53CcLqAxMReb3IiPow40rzPCbgK7555evCwq2wdrdo_qkDjEAjdsvklqKDL0-pTy9P9qfWEk22VCg9oIt4aBpqdVltHcGfDy/s1600/9900019,13029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZKanwlbLlRRxTqX-JIZ3SesOkkQXozH65R-diW3NywiIF53CcLqAxMReb3IiPow40rzPCbgK7555evCwq2wdrdo_qkDjEAjdsvklqKDL0-pTy9P9qfWEk22VCg9oIt4aBpqdVltHcGfDy/s1600/9900019,13029.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Caption for Iran-made Rambler<br />
The newspaper ad reads,<br />
"Stronger than me (tiger),<br />
Prettier than me (pretty woman),<br />
Faster than me! (deer)"</td></tr>
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I'm not sure of the process that led to the now infamous Opel Rekord Coupé, because I was simply too young, but knowing my dad, I am assuming he slowly formed the idea over a while, and then reached the decision point, and then snapped and pulled it off! The concern and surprise is that although my mom is equally formative in my mind and life, somehow she did not seem to mind it. Or that he pulled it off without telling her.<br />
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What I only faintly remember was during one of our many trips to Germany to visit our mother's side of the family, on one such visit, my mom telling me and my brother Kambiz, that we were <i>"...going to be stopping off at a car factory to order your father's new car..."</i><br />
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I remember sitting in a car showroom on a rainy day in the summer, somewhere near Stuttgart, because "somewhere near Stuttgart" was always the starting point for our summer trips to Germany. Mom went in with our Uncle Christian and came out a few minutes later <i>"All set, let's go"</i>.<br />
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The transaction that took place while me and Kambiz sat n the lobby, still amazes me to this day.<br />
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My father had taken an assignment from the Iranian Oil company to move to Algeria for a two year technical staff on loan assignment, you see back then, Iran was a relative expert in Oil exploration and the Algerians coming off their revolution against the French needed assistance developing their now liberated oil fields. Who knew that later in the 70's this good-will relationship would return the favor in helping the US and Iran negotiate the freedom of the hostages.<br />
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My mom had arranged, in a matter of minutes, for a brand new Opel Rekord Coupé to be first sent to a custom shop to have the then trademark of cool, black textured top added, and then she was to drive it to Hamburg, and arrange for it to be shipped to Algeria. My mom did this. Dad was off preparing for us to move to Algeria.<br />
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While we lived in Algeria we took the Opel to the Sahara desert. Mom crashed the Opel one day running off a rain slicked road. To repair it we had to send the car to Spain, the nearest Opel repair shop. While the car was being repaired we bought a temporary Peugeot 504, which I'm guessing did not go over well.<br />
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We literally travelled the world with that car, driving it back to Iran from via Spain after it had been repaired. Via Gibraltar. Via France. Via England. Via Belgium. Via Germany. Via Italy. Via Bulgaria. Via Turkey. Turkey took about as long as the rest of the trip. My dad driving, my mom, me and Kambiz on the mother of all road-trips. In an Opel Rekord Coupé.<br />
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Come to think of it, my mom is the real stud in the story.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7728360295027921972.post-79109597177837829652014-05-25T11:44:00.001-07:002014-05-26T02:42:54.685-07:00Driving an American Supercar coast to coast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was a teenager back in 1975, my Father's friend had a Lamborghini Miura. My parents had a Volvo Sport, with a whopping 90 hp. <br />
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I was offered a ride in the Lamborghini and it was terrifying. The car accelerated to 60 mph in 6.7 seconds with 398 hp under her hood.<br />
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Fast forward to 2007. I flew into Tampa Florida from London and bought a Corvette Z06. The emblem on the side read 505hp. It did 0 to 60 in 3.7 seconds. Goodbye Lamborghini memories. Wow have things changed.<br />
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Even the so called ferocious 1969 - 1971 Dodge Super Bees, Pontiac GTOs, Camaro SS and Mustangs could barely muster 0 to 60 in 6 seconds...and here I am in my Z06 hitting 60 mph in first gear !!!<br />
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Let me put an observation into perspective which most don't realize. In a Z06 when you slam it into 2nd gear, a split second later the speedo is already reading 72 mph. On occasion if there was an oil spill on the road I found the tail moving into a slide, which was no problem in correcting. To hit this point home, imagine if you're in a Honda or Toyota doing 72. You'd be in top gear. Imagine doing a power slide at 72. However, in a Z06 you've only shifted into 2nd...just starting off ! It's amazing.<br />
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So I decided to drive to California. Up thru Florida and out West. In 6th gear at 75 mph the tach shows 1200, basically the engine is taking a nap. The suspension is like being in a top of the line Mercedes. She took any bumps, rivets in the road without the jolts and complete chassis shakedown that you get in a Ferrari or Porsche or other same class cars 3 times the price.<br />
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Every gas station I arrived at and people asked me what car I was driving...because although a Corvette, the Z06 is a different animal...wider, lower and very very menacing looking.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Texas: Between San Antonio and El Paso you drive for hours without seeing another car. I thought...Oh God I hope nothing goes wrong...this is a super car after all...and I know that Ferraris, Lambos, Porsches could never go for more than 500 miles before something cracked or belts needed tightening or some kind of $7000 issue. But nope...temp gauge never went outside normal range, even through Arizona.<br />
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Stayed in Dallas for 3 months cuz I loved it so much. I also had stayed in Beau Rivage resort in Biloxi MS for 2 days. I was in no hurry. Met some incredible people.<br />
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Driving through Hoover Dam after 4 nights of fun in Vegas at the Wynn and Belagio, and in California on the most amazing hwy down thru a mountain pass with perfect straight ways followed by lots of winding ways. Ah ha! A new 911 Turbo. <br />
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For years and years I had read tests in various magazines and the American cars were always losing out to what Europe had to offer. Time to get to the truth. I pulled up next to it. Guy was cool looking yuppy type ...not the typical blond trophe wife who had earned the car in whatever way and had no clue how to drive it. We were doing 70. I cracked my window open slightly so I could hear when he would down shift. I was in 6th gear. Sure enough he went for it and I instantly shifted from 6th to 3rd. Caveat here is that you need to know your car's ranges. 99% of people would probably have shifted to 5th or at best 4th. I was in 3rd for maybe only 2 seconds before going to 4th but it makes a huge difference. We were neck in neck for 3 seconds and I then started to pull away. When I slammed into 4th he was 3 car lengths behind. At 140 I slowed down...he came up alongside and gave me the thumbs up albeit with a perplexed look on his face.<br />
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I patted Zizzy's dashboard much like a jockey pats his race horse's neck upon a grand win.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09653514328236133803noreply@blogger.com0