Finding Joy in Helping Others: WCSAGD: Donna Edition

[There's joy in helping your fellow man, and z is here for it.]

Donna wants a hybrid and I don't blame her.  She also asked for my advice so in that regard I do blame her, at least for this post.

There are two types of hybrids: standard hybrid ("HEV") and plug-in hybrid ("PHEV").  I touted the merits of PHEVs here before and I still think they are a best-of-both-worlds option for people who spend a fair amount of time puttering around town, but they require more effort to extract the maximum return on investment.  You need to charge them (hence the "plug-in" aspect of the name) and that means you either need to have a charger installed at home, or you work (or frequently visit) someplace that has charging stations available in the parking lot.  So keep that extra effort (and potential cost) in mind when considering between an HEV and a PHEV.

My first reaction to "What hybrid should I get?" is "Get a Mazda Miata because Miata Is Always The Answer" but that's a stupid car-guy joke and my serious reaction it to follow that up with "Have you looked at a Prius?"  For the first time in forever the Prius is a good looking car. 

It's available with AWD and the trunk holds 23 cubic feet of junk with the seats up, 50 cubic feet with the seats down.  That's better than a Mercedes GLA and just a stitch less than an Audi Q5 or a Mazda CX-5.  It gets 57 MPG, it hits 60 MPH in 7 seconds, and it's a Toyota so it will run problem-free for 200,000 miles.  Here's an AWD build with a roof rack for $31,444.  Here's one near me for $32,104.  There aren't many cars this practical at this price.

Toyota also makes a PHEV Prius but for some reason the cargo space isn't as impressive.  If you look at a regular Prius take a gander at the PHEV Prius and ask the salesperson about the cargo discrepancy.

If you want a car that doesn't appear so blatantly hybrid there are plenty of great options like the Toyota Camry (all Camrys are hybrid now) and Accord Hybrid, or the Toyota RAV4 HEV, Toyota RAV4 PHEV, and Honda CR-V Hybrid.  As with the Prius, these cars will run forever.

There are plenty of bad options too.  If you want to be a contrarian go get an Alfa Romeo Tonale PHEV.  It isn't available in 2026 but no one wants to drive an Alfa (except me) so you can find 69 new 2025 models on dealer lots.  All 69 will probably break within minutes after you get them home so I don't suggest you do any of this, but it's a thing you could do.

A more responsible PHEV choice would be a CPO Volvo S60 Recharge.  It has AWD, 455 hp, about 35 miles of electric range and about 70 MPG in hybrid mode.  Here's one with 32k miles for $32k.  If you want something bigger, check out a CPO Volvo S90 Recharge.  Here's one with 12k miles for $46k.  You can hear Squeaky nodding furiously as he reads this.

If you really want to set hearts ablaze, get a Volvo V60 Polestar.  By far the coolest thing in Volvo's lineup, it was discontinued for 2025.  You can find CPO options but they are rare and pricey.  But worth it!

Donna asked about the VW ID.Buzz.  I love that fact that it exists but I can't picture buying one and a lot of people agree with me, so many that VW only sold 4934 through three quarters in 2025 and put the car "on hiatus" for 2026.  The base price of the base model is $60k and even with deep dealer discounts they're over $50k.  That's a lot for an EV with less than 250 miles of range.  You can buy a Honda Odyssey for $10k less and drive it cross country without having to take hour-long breaks to fill it up every 200 miles.  But if you just want to drive locally, have lots of stuff to haul, and love the Buzz.ID's looks, head over to VW of Alexandria and fight like hell to get this green CPO gem down to $45k.  Be prepared to point to the brand new ones selling for $51k that I linked to above (or do some research for others closer to home) and remind them that they also have an orange CPO one on the lot, then tell them you're doing them a favor taking these unloved and unwanted monstrosities off their hands.  Then go over to Lindsay VW of Dulles and run the same game on their two CPO Buzz.IDs and use whatever price you get in Alexandria against them. Go back and forth until you get a number you like.  Have fun with it!

Family Truckster!

Some lunatic genius in Alberta, Canada took a 1989 Ford LTD Crown Victoria Wagon and turned it into a Family Truckster.

Predictably, it's up for auction at BringaTrailer and it closes today.  I have no idea what the right number is for this monstrosity beauty but I will not be surprised if FoGTB DB wins it.

via GIPHY

A few other choice auctions that are within reach and end today include a 1990 300ZX Twin Turbo for Mark, a 1974 Fiat Jolly for our man at the beach, a very cheap and very shady 2014 Jaguar F-Type right here in NJ for rob, a 2004 VW R32 for rob's kid, a Laguna Blue (!!) 2001 BMW M Roadster in Acton, MA that Squeaky needs to buy right now (even the dreaded spot welds in the trunk look good), an Assuan Brown 1982 Volkswagen Westfalia with striped (not Boogie Woogie, sigh) fabric seats for rootsy, a Yellow Mist 1965 Mercury Comet Caliente Convertible for Whit, a remarkably crisp 1973 TR6 for Mr. KQ, and a 1972 350SL for Marls.

A Dream Deferred

My fondness for Porsches is well documented, so much so that I won't bother linking to some of my Porsche-related G:TB posts.  It will not surprise you that I like to peruse Porsche's finder website to look at cars I will never be able to afford with the hope that I will someday stumble across a hidden gem in the center of my ideal Porsche Venn diagram (manual, roofless, air-cooled, green on the outside, tan-and-pepita on the inside, mechanically sound, affordable).  A boy's gotta dream.

Today I found an achingly perfect 911, a 1977 911S Targa in Oak Green over beige-and-pepita with a 5-speed manual transmission and in preposterously crispy condition at Rusnak Porsche in Pasadena, CA.  

Smack dab in the middle of my Venn diagram!!  Except it's a little too mechanically sound--it has only 437 miles so it's literally a museum quality car.  Which means the most critical aspect of the Venn diagram, price, is waaaaay out of wack.  Rusnak wants [double-checks notes] $896,488.  That's American dollars, not yen or baht.

Alas.  I'll keep on dreaming.

A Quarter Billion Dollars Can Change Your Mind

Remember Trump's lengthy diatribe during the 2024 campaign about how stupid electric vehicles are, the one that started out with cars, drifted into tanks, meandered into boats and sharks, and wound up hitting on a truck driver?  This one:

That was December 4, 2024, a little over three months ago.  On March 11, 2025, Trump bought a Tesla and did an infomercial for it in the White House driveway:

What prompted the change?  A newfound commitment to the environment?  A sudden rush of interest in new technology?  A change of heart regarding the Green New Deal?  Or maybe it was the $260 billion Elon Musk donated to his campaign?

I'm not saying Trump is for sale, but his taste in cars is lightyears behind Biden's.  Remember this?

Car Filler, alternatively titled "Steve McQueen and Jerry Seinfeld Walk Into a Porsche Dealership"

As I have written here before, Jerry Seinfeld is widely known as one of the world's most prominent Porsche collectors and owns one of the world's largest collections of Porsches.  The crown jewel of his collection is a 1970 Porsche 917K.  Only 25 of these were made--the car was created solely to race at LeMans, and the rules at the time allowed you to use a bigger engine only if you made 25 copies of the car, ostensibly making it a production vehicle as opposed to a prototype.  You can learn more about it in this (long) video.

Seinfeld's 917 is extra special because Steve McQueen owned it and used it in the movie LeMans.  You know Steve McQueen, the coolest goddamn motherfucker on the silver screen.

 

And it can be soon be yours, assuming you have an extra $20 million or so.

The Twelve Days of Gheorghemas: Day 5

On the first day of Gheorghemas

Big Gheorghe gave to me...

Five roadsters you can and should buy right now

FORE! An overdue update on LIV & the PGA Tour

Three Ways of Coping

Stories from two three strokes

And much needed hip mo-bili-ty

I'm the car guy here and I haven't written much about them this year, so for Gheorghemas I'm giving you five very cool, very unusual classic or near-classic roadsters that are available right now for less than $25,000.  For the uninitiated, roadsters are convertibles with two seats, ideally they are rear wheel drive so you can slide them around.  The most enjoyable are often underpowered but very light and nimble so you feel like you're going fast even when you aren't and you can't get yourself into too much trouble (with the law or with trees and houses).  I love roadsters and you should too.  Hopefully one will strike a chord and you'll buy one and let me drive it.  I know the only chord these will strike with Dave will be dissonant, and I eagerly await his screen against cars in a post about books, pickleball, sports injuries, and/or body hair.

1. 1992 Pitcrew Eunos Roadster 

There's a joke among car guys that Miata is an acronym for Miata Is Always The Answer, which should be your response to when people say "What car should I get?"  Mazda sells it as the Eunos Roadster in Japan which is a little too close to Eunuch Roadster for my taste, and probably why it's a Miata here.  There is a very special Eunos Roadster for sale at Japanese Classics in Richmond.  Some genius took a 1992 Eunos and made a few go-fast mods, grafted onto it what appears to be the front end of an AC Ace, then remodeled the interior with steampunk flair (including some Heuer stopwatches, looking at you Danimal) and slathered the whole thing in British Racing Green.  

Your local Mazda dealer should be able to service it, my 1993 Miata got over 30 MPG as a daily driver and was a total hoot to drive, you won't see another one, the removable hardtop is a sweet perk, and they're asking $22,495 but I'm confident you can do better than that if you try.  Good luck finding more smiles per mile, practicality and uniqueness at that price point.  It's divine.

2. 1985 Morgan 4/4 1600

Much less practical than the Eunos but similarly green is this 1985 Morgan 4/4 1600 available at Duncan Imports' Christianburg VA location.  I've written about Duncan Imports before, and I've written about Morgans many times.  I'm not going to pretend that this is a purchase you make with your head--it's all heart--but it has a Ford engine so you can convince yourself that at least part of the car should be easy to service.  Just look at this thing though!

It has a hood strap!  And a Dog On Board sign!  With enough scuffs and dings that you won't worry about getting rock chips when you drive it.  Smiles per mile off the charts and you will rule your local Cars and Coffee.  They're asking $24,777 but the interior should be reupholstered so use that fact to chisel them down.  Seems like Mr. KQ, rob and Marls should go thirdsies on this given their love of fragile British sports cars and relative proximity to it and each other.

3. 1970 Siata Spring

I've never heard of this manufacturer before, let alone this model, and that doesn't happen often so you're practically guaranteed to never see another Siata Spring at your local car meet.  Like the preceding two cars on my list it's a green two-seat convertible, a formula that always piques my interest, and they're only asking $8,500 for it.  The car is located in Hillside, NJ which explains why they photographed it in front of a dumpster.  Bring in by my house after you pick it up and we'll go for a spin.

Unfortunately it combines the most awkward aesthetic features of an MG TD and a VW Thing, it has a Fiat engine, the engine is mounted behind the rear axle, and it has no seat belts.  But it takes 25 seconds to hit 60 MPH so maybe you won't need seatbelts?

It's in remarkably good shape and I doubt anyone wants it so complain about the rusty underside, offer $5k and see what happens.  This might be a great shuttle to and from the beach for our man in the OBX. 

4. 1984 Fiat Spyder

Another Italian car?  Powered by a Fiat engine?  Yes and yes!  One of the cleanest Fiat Spyders I've ever seen is currently available at Classic Auto Mall in Morgantown, PA.  The color combo is divine--Azzurra Blue over tan leather and cherry wood--and the rock guards on the headlights are fantastic.  

This car is so nice that as I'm writing this zdaughter came over and said "Ooh, that's a cool car!  I like the color.  Let me see the inside.  Ooh the steering wheel is so cool!"  So that's proof this thing is legit because she knows her stuff.  The Enkei wheels are too 1998 for my taste but the car is only $16,500 so budget another $1500 for more suitable rims.  Leverage that grievance while you're trying to get them down to around $13,000.  Most Fiat Spyders were mechanical and electrical basket cases so they wound up abandoned and unloved, you typically see them rotting away in a garage half covered by a tarp or under a tree behind a service station.  They are not valuable so no one spends the money to restore them, which means this one was doted on and loved for 40 years.

5. 1969 Datsun 1600 Convertible

You may recall that I learned to drive in a 1986 Nissan Sentra.  The family stable also included zstepfather's beige 1984 Datsun-Nissan Sentra, a rare and not-at-all-coveted car with dual badging from the crossover year where Datsun rebranded itself.  A much much better Datsun is the 1600 convertible.  Just look at this magnificent beast--you know I'm a sucker for pastel yellow convertibles, and this one could fit inside Whit's WCSAGD Impala.

Look at that hood scoop!  And the chrome scallops around the headlights!  And the dog dish hubcaps!  It's in Jefferson, GA which is about 30 minutes outside of Athens, so couple the purchase with a trip to a football game or a concert.  They're asking $12,000, the ad says "Runs very well" and they're throwing in a new top.  And it's a '69.  The whole thing drips charm.  One of us needs to buy it, probably whoever else drips too.

6. BONUS ROADSTER - 1991 Lotus Elan Turbo

I know Day 5 calls for five things but this is Gheorghemas and it was my understanding that there would be no math.  So there are six roadsters today.

There are two versions of the Lotus Elan.  The first was made from 1962 to 1975, is rob's WCSAGD, and is considered one of the all-time greatest roadsters, serving as the inspiration for the aforementioned Miata.  The second was manufactured from 1989 to 1995 and is also an awesome roadster but was considered heretical by Lotus's tweedy cultists because the powertrain was sourced from Isuzu and, even worse, it's front wheel drive.  To those cultists I say "Lighten up Francis."  

The 1991 Elan for sale in Springfield, MO is a beaut.  Just under 16,000 miles, red over black, it's a study in perfect proportions.  It appears to be shrinkwrapped over the wheels--there's practically no overhang.  As a result almost all the weight is between the axles, exactly where it ought to be, resulting in what was lauded at the time as the best handling front wheel drive car ever.

It just barely scrapes under our $25k limit at $24,900, but good luck finding another British roadster with modern electronics and a reliable engine in crisp condition at this price point, let alone one that won't fishtail in sloppy weather.  Less than 5,000 were made (and only 800 had the turbo engine like this one) and less than 600 were shipped to the US so you probably won't see another one at the Dairy Queen.  Parts may be scarce but I suspect the boys in Norwich will take care of you, and you should be able to get the Isuzu bits online.  

Now go get a roadster!

The Cars of My Life (A Day 12 List)

The Cars of My Life
by Clarence, Igor, and Me 

Name the most popular topics addressed through 20 years at Gheorghe: The Blog. I think you’d hit:

• sports 
• music 
• parties, bars, beer, and other alcohol 
• inspirational people of diminutive stature 
• underdog stories 
• alfonso ribeiro shirtless 
• and a wee, wee bit of political content (sometimes just what politicos do with their wee-wees) 

…but especially lately, you’d also have to include cars. Mostly Zman’s indelible influence on G:TB, and much for the better. While the WCSAGD series remains the apex of this subject, there are plenty of other automotive instances that have graced the virtual pages here. 

We also enjoy recounting utterly ridiculous tales of yesteryear involving gheorghies and FOGTB. Of which there are more than a few. 

Well, get ready to put your hands together. I’m here to add another List of 12 to my Day 12 tally. May I please present for your perusing pleasure: 

The 12 Cars of My Life and the 3 Morons Who Drove Them 

(with minstrel-style lyrical accompaniment courtesy of Les Coole) 

Do you remember the first car you ever rode in? The first car you remember your family having? 

My first ten years in this regard are mostly blurry, for reasons that differ from the blurred days and nights of ages 18-22. We always had Volvos; my great-uncle Pat owned and operated White’s Imports in Mobile, AL since 1959 (that was their last name, not Jim Crow signage, you creeps) and they brought Swedish and British (MG’s) class to the Gulf Coast. So, the rest of the family bought Volvos at good rates. 

We also had a station wagon, something in the GM family, with the faux-wood paneling and reverse seat in the rear. Road trips… yes. I think it may have been green. Maybe even “metallic pea,” like the Wagon Queen Family Truckster? Anyway, let’s fan through the ether and get to the cars I really remember. The ones with lasting impressions. Oh… and the preposterous things that my friends have done to in and to these cars, when (in)appropriate. 

1. 1980 Jeep Renegade soft top, navy blue 

My soon-to-be-stepdad Ed bought this in 1980. My stepbro/fratbro Ian, my sister Kate, and I would squeeze in the miniscule back seat while my mom and Ed sat up front arguing about why this vehicle was or was not the worst purchase Ed could have made with a 5-person family in mind. But it was awesome. We cruised around town and down to the beach with the top off. That’s right. Ed’s Jeep was boss, albeit impractical at times. 

Ridiculous memory (1984): Nothing too shocking, as I was never old enough to drive it. We took it up to Summit, NJ to see my aunt and uncle one weekend, and I remember playing Mad Libs. Ed was (presumably still is) a hoot, and his mad-libbed names were oft comprised of locales we passed along the way, Hence, monikers like “Jacques Tenafly” stick in family memory for 40 years. 

2. 1986 Audi 5000, navy blue 

Dad always had nice cars… after he split from Mom and married into a new tax bracket. (Sorry, Dad, but chances are you will never even know about this blog). He had multiple Audis in the 80’s, and this one was the nicest. A sleek ride with a cool stereo (not quadraphonic Blaupunkt, but Dolby cassette). Not the type of auto you give to a 16-year miscreant to get from A to B. 

 * * * QUICK ASIDE * * * 

[Ed. Note: my folks made the call not to hook me up with my own wheels when I was in high school. Didn’t get me a beater that I could help pay for and care for and learn on and mess up and make my own. I get it. I was as irresponsible as any kid my age. However, given that they then wanted me to depart the residence, have a social life, and leave them alone, short of leaving me hanging with a bus pass, they had to let me borrow their cars. I can’t say for sure, but they may have ultimately regretted that course of action. You be the judge: read on. And if you think Whitney messed up these cars, let me assure you that friends Clarence and Igor did way, way worse things!] 

Ridiculous memory (1987): The Audi era drew closer to a close after Clarence, Igor, and I took the car out for a hot August night in Norfolk. After ingesting some of Dr. Leary’s medicine, a few inhalations of cheeba, and a pitcher or two over tacos at Speedy’s near ODU, Igor felt he was okay and drove a few friends and us in the Audi into a seedy part of town. And that's where unbelievably (people say I'm fabricating this but I swear this is how I remember it) some randouche threw a dirt clog into the side of Dad’s car and ran away. There are a dozen peripherally preposterous stories from this evening, but sticking to the car saga… twas bad. 

My recourse was nil; my comeuppance was steep…
Father awoke from not-deep-enough sleep…
I hadn’t garaged his once-lovely coach…
In it he found two cans and a roach…
Oh, Clarence… Oh, Igor… Oh, me...

3. 1985 Mercedes 300TD wagon, metallic light blue 

When I was in high school, Ed got rid of the Jeep Renegade and bought something much more family-friendly. A used Mercedes wagon, she rode pretty well and had very few issues. I was mostly denied driving access to this baby except to the store and what-not. Mostly. 

Ridiculous memory (1987): There was a party taking place on an undeveloped plot of land by the Elizabeth River called Fort Norfolk. Bonfire and such, definitely going to get busted quickly. As such, Clarence, Igor and I scooted over there early, go-getters that we were. Clarence hopped in the driver’s seat once the po-po showed, and we sped out of there across the bumpy dirt at an unrealistic clip. (16-year-olds with beer who don’t chuck the beer when the cops come but instead wisely hang onto it have to move fast.) The Benz bottomed out in a sizable dip with a menacing volume that evoked one blurt: oh, shit. But she was fine, or fine enough! Unscathed! 

Clarence thinks he’s funny as can be
Igor drinks til he can’t see
I just shrink into my seat
Yeah, it’s Clarence, Igor and me 

4. 1984 Volvo GL, maroon 

This was my baby. I mean, it wasn’t my baby (thanks, Mom and Dad), but this was the car I drove the most in my youth. Volvos were absolute tanks, so I think my folks felt relatively safe with me in it. I mean just look at that fuckin’ thing. Steel bars in the doors, I was told. I logged a lot of moronic miles around town in that mother. The Red Baron, we called her. (I feel like that’s a common car sobriquet.) Well, we certainly put the Red Baron to the tank test through the years. 

Ridiculous memory (1987): A dandy. One night after a few too many Goebels, Busches, or Beasts, Igor took the wheel. We were in one of the nicer neighborhoods in town. My buddy Ned was with us, long before he matured and became a guy who wrote songs about Mardi Gras and Jimmy Buffett. After veering errantly into some hedges and taking a chunk of them out with no impediment to the Red Baron’s progress, Ned suggested that we “do that again!” Oh, boy. 

Ahem, I’ll skip a bit, brother. After arriving home, I noticed a headlight was smashed. Ed then noticed that something akin to an oak tree was stuck up under the car. The next day I rode around town with Mom surveying the damage Igor had done. She’s a goodly and honest woman, but even she had to cut losses; after passing several instances of hedge-havoc, abruptly she said, “Let’s go home” before the poor residents could identify the marauding assailant. 

Clarence gets so I can’t manage
Igor’s mostly into damage
I just wish that I could banish
Clarence, Igor and me 

4a: Interlude: Not our car this time! 1979 Volkswagen Dasher wagon, silver 

My buddy Eise, who’s a lot like Igor, was one of my best friends in the 1980’s. You can hear his supporting vocals on a Les Coole track when he sings, “I remember a time.” Eise made terrrrible decisions. Suppose he still might. He’s a farmer in WV. He used to get access to this banged-up baby from time to time. We called it the Crasher, but one night it took on a new meaning. 

Ridiculous memory (1987): On occasion, someone in our midst would gin up some grit and do something colossally hair-brained. For once, it wasn’t Clarence, Igor, or me! In this case, one Friday night senior year, courtesy of a fake Va license, our friends Gretch and Tig rented a hotel room at the oceanfront on 19th Street or so in Va Beach. A real peach of a place just north of by-the-hour. And then invited all of our friends to congregate there. Clarence brought some light rum, and someone else brought the heavy metal. It wasn’t even very late when the door knocked loudly. Clarence opened the door to officers who didn’t wait to be politely invited in. Fortunately for Clarence, and it remains a mystery as to how or why, he opened the door with the hand that contained a Bacardi bottle. So when 5-0 rushed right by him, he assessed the situation and slipped out the door with some booze while the trouble stayed. 

Clarence, Igor, and I met up with Eise at the Dasher. Since we’d told our parents we were spending the night at each other’s house, we had zero plan. Or cellphones to regroup with the scattered cockroaches we called friends. Out of luck, and with a football game to play the next day, we drove to school. Yep. Drank the rum and slept in the Dasher, cranking heat to battle the late October cold, then waking up in a sweat and turning the car off. Over and over. Sometime pre-dawn the nightwatchman knocked on the window and said we had to vacate the premises. So we drove just across the street from school and resumed our slumber. We lost that football game, by the way. And it wasn’t close. 

5. Saab 900 turbo convertible, black 

Ah, the midlife crisis. Dad wasn’t driving jalopies prior, but somewhere around age 42 he went for a test drive in this hot little number and bit. The Saab could really jet, dangerously quick but snug as a bug in a rug when it cornered. Terrible blind spots with the top up. Lordy, that was dicey. 

I really loved this car. (So did Seinfeld.) And I was actually able to land a few dates at this age; there was nothing quite as cool to 17-year-old Whitney as pulling up in that sucker. Black Beauty, she was labeled. There’s no way this car should be lent to reckless teens. Ah, but it was. 

Ridiculous memory (1988): I now live in a Norfolk neighborhood called Ghent, as I did in high school. There’s a neighboring neighborhood to the west called West Ghent. We Norfolkers are super clever. West Ghent abuts the train yard of Norfolk Southern, a Fortune 500 railway company that used to be HQed here. (And in Rootsy’s town before that.) Along the railyard is a street of straightaway that leads into the yard, about 400-500 feet of unadulterated, unintersected road. Since reaching driving age we have called it the Speedway. We used to gauge the giddyup of various vehicles back then, mostly late in the evening after a few of what our football coach from Massapequa called “yellow Pepsi’s.” The Speedway required a little bit of manual and pedal dexterity, what with the waggle left at the end to avoid the tree in a parking lot to the swim club. Floor it, really gun it, keep it straight, steady, steady, okay brake, waggle left, get it back to about 10 mph, look to see if anyone was around watching us. Let’s do that again. 

As soon as the keys to the Saab were in my hand, there were three priorities. I wanted to put the top down. Clarence wanted to take it over 100. And Igor wanted to test out the Speedway. Eise and Ned were both part of the stupidity, and I can’t remember what lofty number we notched on that stretch of pavement (I know, criminal not to have it etched in memory), but I can tell you that Clarence got his wish on the ride home to Virginia Beach more than once.

Clarence chugs while riding ‘gun
Igor revs it to a hundred and one
What started out as so much fun
Yeah, it’s Clarence, Igor and me 

6. 1986 Jeep CJ-7, white 

My stepmom was a BMW loyalist throughout the 1980’s, and she had a series of models I thought were pretty bad-assed; she ended that streak by buying a Lexus before I’d heard of the company. She and I never quite achieved simpatico, predominantly because I hung around with the likes of Clarence and Igor, but she was cool in a number of ways, and car taste was one. As a fun extra car along the way, she bought a Jeep. Take it down to the Martha Wood Cottage, run summer errands with the top off (aww yeah), and let it sit in the driveway idle for most of its life. After I turned 16, there were two things my stepmom encouraged me to do, and they both involved learning manual transmission. One was to learn to drive my dad’s Honda motorcycle (which collected even more dust), and the other was to take her Jeep out for a spin now and again. Pretty cool. 

Ridiculous memory (1988): Beyond the ridiculous memory of learning to drive stick in this Jeep (think spasmic shaking and sputtering out ad nauseum), there was the time that Ned and a few others joined us for a Jeep ride around VB. We didn’t get out of Dad’s neighborhood before we got pulled over. We’d disrobed the vehicle of her top and doors (that’s right) and decided that folding the windshield down was an even better idea. It wasn’t. Luckily Clarence and Igor weren’t around or we’d have had some contraband on board and it would’ve been worse. I got off with a warning, just an order to wear protective eyewear when driving it. I threw on some cliched aviator Ray-Bans and put her into first gear. (And then put the windshield up. Windshield down is super dangerous.) 

7. 1990 Honda Accord DX, dark red 

By the time the sun had set on my sophomore year of college, my dad was pretty sick of arranging rides to and fro for me. It’s just Williamsburg, 45 minutes to an hour northwest, but it became annoying. Trains, buses, rides, etc. I think that’s what it was… maybe Dad was tired of my friends and me destroying his beautiful vehicles. Maybe he’d inked a big commercial real estate deal. Whatever the logic, he bought me a car, and I’ll be damned (either way but especially) if he didn’t go large for me. A brand new Honda Accord. $12k. I mean, it was DX, meaning cloth seats and power nothing, but he threw in some floor mats and AC for me. I was ecstatic. I paid for the AM/FM cassette player option. Then my mixtapes and I hit the road, baby. 

I had this Accord for 6 great years, and short of bad alignment blowing out not one but two tires on a rugby road trip to Mary Wash (BTW, the Accord is limited to one spare tire), she held up wonderfully. A great car, and the first one I could call mine own. You always remember your first. 

Ridiculous memories (1990-96): Too many to count. I thought I’d left Clarence and Igor in Norfolk when I went off to matriculate, but they did pop in for road trip visits here and there. An hour after inking the paperwork to get the car at Williamsburg Honda (actually in Norge), I scooped my gf and we hit the Ramones show at the Boathouse in Norfolk. (I was supposed to meet Dave and rob there, but like Tojo, they they never made it.) I made lots of unwise choices in the Accord, but she was great on long trips like Spring Break Daytona, summer job Cape Cod (x2), Fall Break NYC, OBFT’s, and many a rugby away match. Good days. 

8. 1996 Honda Accord EX, hunter green 

I had made just enough dough in my super-mediocre government employ to afford an upgrade to my Accord… with another Accord. Why wouldn’t I? Great cars, they were. I swapped red for green, since the holidays were nearing, and I splurged for the EX edition, meaning power everything! Leather seats! A 12-disc changer in the trunk! Yeeha! I kept the manual transmission, though, because it’s just better driving, and wieners couldn’t borrow my car. 

I kept this car until 2000, when the wife and I bought a row house in DC with no parking and I metroed or cabbed to work. (The old, archaic, inane concentric Zone Method of taxi rates in DC at the time meant I could get to work for $4.) So I sold my car to curious old fraternity pal Ed Lee, who ran a shop that had “two Koreans selling Japanese cars to Mexicans,” a tagline that doesn’t hold up as well now. And with that, I was carless. 

Ridiculous memory (1997): Who’s ready for more Igor?? Well… in 1997, I was engaged to be married, and what better way to get prepped for the aisle-walk than to hit Mardi Gras a few months prior? With your fiancée’s college-aged sister, and some of her friends? Yep. Prudent. I cruised down from DC to Lynchburg on a Friday afternoon, scooping up a couple of co-eds for the drive to New Orleans. I repeat: the drive to New Orleans. Yep. Prudent. My soon-to-be sister-in-law (we can just call her “Hyphen”) and her pal got into the green Accord with me about 5pm, armed with some vodka and Sprite. I’d packed a beer cooler. NOLA-bound. What could go wrong? 

11+ hours later: I am beat from driving all the way and ask for some relief. In the form of a new driver. The two of them head up front, and I sack out in the back seat. Out in 30 seconds.
23 minutes later: I bolt awake to the sound of two young women screaming. Wide open Mississippi Highway, three lanes of wide open stretch going each way with a broad gully between. Off in the far distance, the sight of a car headed our way. Like barreling down right at us. You’re going the wrong way, we said, but to no avail. Behind that driver was a fleet of cops with flashers a-flashing. Yipes. Hyphen pulled onto the shoulder (and then some) as we watched the perp flee right by us, followed by the posse of police. Scary shit, but exciting. 

I didn’t fall back asleep for the remaining couple of home-stretch hours. We landed at old fratmate Corky Joe’s house in the Garden District, and I started emptying the car. Speaking of empties… Joe started counting, and lord, we had done some damage. The overnight car ride ‘twixt Lunchbag, VA and the Crescent City: 14 hours, 19 beers between the three of us. That’s when the girls indicated they had only been drinking vodka. Jesus, Igor. Yep. Prudent. 

Clarence cracks wise and he don’t care
Igor stands with a fist in the air
I shake my head and lose more hair
Yeah, it’s Clarence, Igor and me 

9. 2002 Toyota Highlander, silver 

After a couple of years of me officially sans car and her with a little blue Civic, it was time to get back in the game. We had a little tike now, after all, and we found that two cars are better than one; two cars, girl, get the job done. So we cruised over to an Alexandria dealership and bought a new ’02 Highlander. What a great car. 22 years later, we just sold the Silver Bullet (my girls named her) for a few grand. 230,000 miles on her. Scant few signs of slippage. I’d buy one of these again, though I just chipped in for a pair of RAV-4’s for my girls. 

Ridiculous memory: I can’t think of a one. Doesn’t mean they don’t exist, but nothing Clarency/Igory jumps out at me like in other cars. This one was just the family truckster, with lots of good times carting the kids around -- and then bequeathing it to them to cart their butts to South Carolina semester after semester. Great stuff. 

10. Nissan Altima 2003, silver 

The Highlander quickly evolved into her car rather than mine, and the Civic wasn’t exactly… uh… well, “Fat Guy in a Little Car” played every time I drove it. So in 2005 I swapped it out with old fratguy El Reynoldo. Picked up the ’03 Altima, my all-time least favorite of these cars. Had it for about 6 years, and ran it into the ground. Somewhat literally. 

Ridiculous memory (2011): So here’s what happened. I had taken to calling this car the Silver Lining (“at least it still runs”) when that became jinxy. In 2009, it landed in the shop at a dealership (big mistake) because of chronically losing oil, and they informed me that it was a blown head gasket and that the damage was so bad the engine needed replacing. $5k worth of work on a car not much more valuable. They pointed me to their showroom. 

I decided to get a second opinion. That guy (at a shop in West Ghent near the Speedway!) trod lightly when he said this, but he indicated that it had taken his guy 25 minutes to remove spark plugs to look at the situation, and the chances that this action had also taken place 2 days prior… not bloody likely. Crooks! Anyway, he recommended that I just fill it up with oil frequently and ride it until it dies. (Not environmentally sound, I know.) According to the scumbags at the dealership, it would be days or weeks before it keeled over. It turned out to be 22 months. My female lead at the time was driving it for a spell, never put oil in, and it died as she was driving on the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel. Eh. 

11. 2007 Acura TL, navy blue 

Probably my favorite car. Got it at auction from a friend in the biz after Silver Lining died in 2011. Sporty little number with a cool stereo and killer leather inside. I’d definitely be convinced to get another like it. Alas, poor Bluebelle. 

The first crappy thing that happened: apparently on the key fob if you pushed a bunch of buttons, all of the windows and the sunroof would open. Security measure of some kind. Well, I used to keep my keys in a basket of stuff, and people would throw keys, phones, other crap into it. Somehow, late one night, two damnable things happened. All of the windows and the sunroof opened. And it poured rain for hours and hours. My cupholder was full the next morning. Aargh. Damp-Rid and all that jazz, but she was never the same inside. Brittle leather being torn apart. Boo. 

The second crappy thing that happened was that the transmission died. I got her up and running again to a pretty penny, but she was really never the same. I eventually sold her to a good dude making a fresh start for $300. Boo. Hoo. Poor Bluebelle. 

Ridiculous memory (2017): Oh, Igor, you monster. Igor was driving Bluebelle through the streets of my neighborhood one night, head and shoulders out the sunroof. Basically standing erect while pumping the gas too much to the tune of The Clash, “Straight to Hell.” Very late, very bourboned. Oh, self-destructive idiot Igor. He hit a few curbs, natch, but other than that, dodged one. This activity happened more than once, I found out later. 

Clarence ticks friends and family off
Igor turns his head and starts to cough
I line up another quaff
Yeah, it’s Clarence, Igor and me 

12. 2011 Lexus RX350, gold 

After the sad, rapid demise of Bluebelle, I was hanging onto her for dear life when fate intervened. My grandmother passed in July 2017, and some months later, my mom and (awesome) stepdad Ted (who passed last week, dammit, F cancer) approached me. Grammie had left me some money, but in lieu of that, they were willing to give me one of their cars (they were moving to Sarasota and downsizing) and keep the cash. I’ll never know if Mom hoodwinked me; I kind of prefer to think she did. Anyway, thus ushered in the era of Goldie, who has been running for seven years. Goldie’s been banged up along the way, and she’s due for some collision work next week, but she’s hanging in there with about 140k miles under her (timing) belt. 

Ridiculous memory (2022): Despite being known for Igor and his woman frequently driving through the darkened streets of Norfolk with windows submerged and “More Human Than Human” blaring at unreasonable decibels, nothing too crazy. 

Dumb, though… Wintergreen, summer time, Winery tour. En route from the mountain to the vineyards, Clarence is backing out of the condo driveway whilst in a highly heated debate over something pointless, and I miss the good-sized tree in my rear view. Whoops. Bumper dinged, really messed up and dented the rear right panel. I had just taken her in months earlier for some front right work after Clarence tagged a Mercedes in the office parking lot (homeboy is aging into my grand-dad super quick-like), so pride/embarrassment and wallet woes meant I would hold off fixing her for a spell. A spell, meaning like 2 years. Poor denty Goldie. 

But then… out of nowhere… my fiancée, 28 hours from “I do” two weeks ago, gets rear-ended in the bad way in Ghent. Same exact spot. Other dude’s fault. Glory be! (Of course, it’s far more critical that the missus was okay in the crash, but she is, and this is a sweet little add-on.) Goldie’s front got dinged as well, so she’s in bad shape right now. She goes in for the operation(s) on Tuesday. Wish her well and that they don’t give her the “totaled” prognosis! 

*  *  *  *  *  *

Well, there you have it. 12 cars good, bad, and ugly. Made better, worse, and uglier by Clarence, Igor, and me. Upon reflection, it's a bit of a miracle that I made it out of my youth (and youthful regressions) alive and not in jail. Seems like there's a song in all of this.  Oh, wait...

So, gheorghies, share your own car stories of yesteryear... if you dare.

Oh, Clarence, Igor and me
Why oh why must it always be
And you may say how come
I spend my nights with tweedledee and tweedledum
And yet I wonder why
Does it feel like me, myself, and I

WCSAGD Regional Edition - OBX Dave Gets His

OBX Dave never got his own WCSAGD, largely because I don't know enough about him to pick something right on the nose.  I have ideas given his life at the beach, but I don't want to screw up something so important.

I can, however, find him a regional, attainable car.  Thank god for Al Gore and the internet.

Much like Joe Biden and TR, I love Corvettes and I've written about them multiple times.  OBX Dave is an American man living in the southeast so he probably likes Corvettes too.  Lucky for him, there's a 1987 Corvette convertible for sale in Moyock.  Unfortunately for him, the owner had it painted with Line X and added a bunch of Batman logos to it.

For the uninitiated, Line X is stuff you use to paint the bed of your pickup truck to keep it from getting damaged when stuff bounces around in there.  I have never, ever, seen it used to paint anything else, let alone a sports car.  But I guess it's a cheap alternative to matte paint and it's likely plentiful in the OBX--I dredged this up from Craigslist because all of the local car dealers only have pickups in stock.  Anyway, the C4 is a fantastic car with clean lines, 240 horsepower, 345 (!) pound-feet of torque, and plentiful parts.  If you can chisel the Line X, remove the Batman stuff, and replace the wheel spikes with proper lug nuts you'll have a gem of a beach car (fiberglass won't rust in salty air).

Before you chisel off the Line X, chisel the seller down by telling him it will cost you $10k to straighten this thing out and no one wants it in this condition so he won't do any better than your $5k offer.  I suspect the seller is a salty dog, and an old one at that, given his statement "No Texting or emails will be answered. A good old fashioned telephone call with a real human on the other end will be the first to buy this when they see and drive it."

Maybe this is a little too Mad Max for OBX Dave.  No problem!  Here's a 1964 Triumph Spitfire in Moyock!  Moyock hooks you up!  

Perhaps I should have used quotation marks around 1964 Triumph Spitfire though, here's a quote from the listing:

The tub is in great condition. The floors were replaced. No rust. Nice interior. All gauges work. Paint is old with scratches and dents. Engine and trans are from a 1975 Spitfire. Differential is from a a GT6 with 3.27 gears so cruising on the highway is comfortable. 70 mph at 3400 RPM. Weber 32/36 carb and manifold with a powermaster tubular exhaust manifold. GT6 front springs cut down to lower suspension. Heavy duty sway bar. Wire wheels with good tires. NOS soft top that fits well.

Mr. KQ, Marls, and anyone else who's been around an old British car knows the first few statements smell fishy.  The tub is in great condition?  No rust?  Impossible--I suspect that's why the floors were replaced and there's more rust lurking somewhere.  All gauges work?  Also impossible--the gauges probably didn't work when new, let along 60 years later.  And that last line?  A new old stock top that fits well?  Again, the new new stock top didn't fit 60 years ago.

It only gets better with important components like the entire powertrain coming from at least two other cars and a front suspension "cut down" from a donor car.  Luckily it has that heavy duty sway bar though.  

But it's green over tan and I'm a sucker for that.  And it's British, and the hood hinges forward, and it has antique plates and wire wheels, and the way the line of the door dips down right before the hips jag up ... what's not to love?  You can definitely take it to the beach in this car, just make sure you have Uber on your phone and a AAA membership.

Fine, fine, you're saying "c'mon zman, you can do better than this!"  I can.  This 1997 Porsche Boxster is for sale in Nags Head for $8,900.  The seller had the IMS bearing replaced so OBX Dave can drive it forever, worry-free.  That work cost about $2k by itself, just ask to see the receipt to be sure it was done.  Have your local service station do a pre-purchase inspection (that's maybe $50-$75) so you can get it on a lift and see what's going on underneath, and/or ask to talk to the guy who's been doing the work on it recently to verify it isn't a time bomb.  I would totally take a punt on this 986 if I lived locally.

So there you go, OBX Dave.  Let me know which convertible you wind up with.

Car(s) & Driver

Danimal thinks zman is an inspiration, and he's right! Zed's post about his stepdad's AMC Hornet got me all nostalgic about my earliest whips, of which I have fond(ish) memories. 

I learned to drive on a white 1979 VW Rabbit. My father was stationed in Japan for a year, so it fell to my Mom to teach me how to operate it, for the most part. That must've been awesome for her. Dad did start the process after I got my learner's permit at 15 years and six months of age. He drove us to my high school and parked the car at one end of a long, open lot. I got into the driver's seat, buckled up, and did all the standard safety checks: mirrors, seat belt, car in park, etc. 

And then Dad said, "floor it, and don't brake until I tell you to". Dude, what?

I didn't do anything at first, and then he reiterated his command and told me he was serious. This was the very first time I'd taken command of an automobile and I had about as much understanding of its operation as I did the female anatomy. Which is to say a very tenuous comprehension. I didn't know what I should touch, how hard I should press things, what all the noises meant. Completely clueless.

Eventually, though, I did what he told me to do and I punched it. We got up to about 40 mph and the far curb was coming up too fast for my taste when he told me to hit the brakes. I learned how seatbelts worked in that moment. And more importantly for Dad's lesson plan, I learned how well the brakes did their job.

Dad soon departed for his overseas assignment, and while I was in pretty good shape in terms of driving the car, he hadn't really told me very much about maintaining it. It was a great little car while it lasted. Which wasn't very long, unfortunately. I was driving home with my buddy from a tennis tournament a few months after I'd earned my license when the engine seized and belched up a bunch of black smoke. The mechanic asked me when I'd last had an oil change. "Oil change?", I said. And that was that for the little Rabbit.

My folks, probably too kindly, bought me a red 1986 Dodge Omni shortly thereafter. I'm pretty sure it was purchased new, though it had very few bells and whistles. It also weighed next to nothing, so while it didn't have a big engine, it was really quick off the line. My high school principal saw me driving it into the lot one morning and said, "that thing's a little pocket rocket", a phrase that tickled me at the time and has stuck with me ever since.

Mr. Gaul was a bit of a gearhead, and he told me more about my car than anyone else. One weekend afternoon, I found myself first in line at a stoplight and heard a honk from the next lane. I looked over, and he was smiling at me and revving his engine. That's how I came to have a race with my principal. I gave him a run for his money right off the line, but he had one of those big-block muscle cars and smoked me over the longer run. Later, he would do me an enormous solid when he really could've substantially and justifiably fucked up my educational future, for which I owe him dearly.

He finished his career at a couple of high schools in Texas, where he retired. I saw him at the school's 50th Anniversary back in the late 2010s, where he showed up with both arms fully sleeved with tattoos. He passed away from cancer shortly thereafter. Mr. Gaul was a righteous dude.

I had a number of other cars over the years. Learned to drive stick on a Ford Escort that I took to college. Drove my parents' Chevy Blazer for a few years before buying an S-10 pickup - a completely ridiculous purchase for someone living in suburbia and commuting to work. Bought a Ford Explorer after I got married and gave it to my wife after she got pregnant (figured out that whole female anatomy thing at least a little bit). So I drove her seafoam green Toyota Tercel for more years than I care to recall. Had a couple of Camrys, and then bought and still drive a 2014 MINI Cooper, the first car I've owned that I really desired. 

Seems I've come a long way in one sense, but in another, I guess I never really got away from driving really small, kinda quick little whips. At least I learned when and why to change the oil.

WCSAGD Regional Edition - Squeaky Lives Large

I have to crank this WCSAGD post out before the car at issue disappears from the internet.  As I said before, Squeaky is a sneaky car guy and baller.  And the perfect car is now on sale a few miles from his home.  I don't mean the perfect car for Squeaky, I mean the perfect car, period.  This car.

This is a 2024 Goodwood Green over Cognac Audi RS6 Avant Performance available at Herb Chambers Audi in Brookline, MA, the dealer from which I bought my first Audi.  In addition to having the practicality of all-wheel drive, 30 cubic feet of cargo space with the rear seatback up and 59 cubic feet with it down, it makes 621 horsepower.  And it's beautiful.

I want one of these very very badly, and in fact I recently went to my local dealer to inquire about getting one in Goodwood Green, an Audi Exclusive special order color, over cognac.  Despite the fact that you can build an RS6 in myriad Exclusive interior and exterior colors online using that link, you can't get Audit to do it for you in real life.  This is the last year of the current generation of RS6 so all the builds are spoken for.  I thought my Goodwood Green dreams would never come to fruition.  But then I started poking around on the Audi USA inventory site and found this unicorn in Brookline!  The car gods had smiled upon me!  I called them up and the car is available!!  It is the only new Goodwood Green RS6 for sale in America, possibly the world.  The person who special ordered it in this color combo flaked out so it's up for grabs.  A red (or really Goodwood Green) mist descended upon my mind and clouded my vision.

Then I started doing the math.  Every Audi dealer charges at least $10k over sticker for these beasts and they are insanely expensive to begin with.  With tax, title, tire and wheel insurance, etc., the total nut would be about twice the cost of my undergraduate and law school tuitions (thank you, Virginia public school system).  I just couldn't do it.  I walked away.

But Squeaky doesn't have to walk away!  He only has one kid to pay for!  He needs this goddam thing in his life!

If not the RS6, then this 1971 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme convertible in New Hampshire.  Viking Blue paint, convertible top, seating for six, and 455 cubic inches.  What's not to like?

C'mon Squeaky, let's make this happen.

Automotive Interlude: WHzD

A confluence of events propels me to launch a new potentially-not-recurring series of posts with the theme "What Has zman Driven?".  First, Squeaky, a sneaky carguy/baller (sneaky Squeaky) suggested the them during an automotive text exchange this weekend.  Second, Marls, a not-so-sneaky baller/fan of strange cars sent me this BaT link this morning.  Twas kismet, I have to post about this.

If you're too lazy to click on Marls's link, I'll tell you that it takes you to a 1973 AMC Hornet X Gucci Sportabout.  It's glorious and preposterous, so much so that it should be Teedge's WCSAGD.

You're probably saying "So what, it's a green wagon.  What's the big deal?"  Clock the seats and headliner.

That's real authorized Gucci-branded stuff.  According to the listing, "This 1973 AMC Hornet X is one of approximately 4,800 Sportabout wagons equipped with the Gucci interior package featuring beige, green, and red vinyl upholstery along with a Gucci-logo headliner and special exterior badging."  It also has a little foot-shaped footrest for your left foot.  Here's a clearer photo of it.

This is when you likely call bullschtein on the What Has zMan Driven? aspect of the post and that's partially correct.  I have never driven a 1973 AMC Hornet X Gucci Sportabout, but I've spent many miles riding in a yellow (yellow!) 1976 AMC Hornet Sportabout which looked something like this, absent the wood paneling decal and the happy family.

This was the car my stepfather drove when he married my mother and it's probably at least one reason why I prefer wagons over SUVs.  Our family of five could pile into this shitbox with a week worth's of clothes and sorted sundries to keep us from killing each other between Teaneck and Rochester.  I have no idea why families of four need a Suburban for a weekend at the beach.  

Anyway, at least 15% of our Hornet's mass was rust.  It had an unmatched capacity to oxidize and my stepfather would always admonish us not to pick at the rust because he sincerely feared the whole thing might fall apart if you flaked off some schmutz from the wrong part of the car.  Despite spending its life in Arizona, Florida, and California, this Gucci version has some rust on it too, so it's an honest authentic example of the breed.

Unlike this Gucci, our Hornet had a manual transmission, three-on-the-tree-with-overdrive (my stepfather was very proud of the overdrive and would always say "it's a three-speed with overdrive" instead of "it's a four-speed.").  Another point of differentiation is that ours had a single bench seat in front, unlike the Gucci's fancy split bench, which meant that the three of us in the back greatly enjoyed when my mother would take a leg of our roadtrips because she had to slide the whole thing forward to reach the pedals.  The big driveshaft tunnel down the middle of the car would get really hot so out of fairness we rotated who had the middle seat straddling it.

The "Weather Eye" HVAC system brings back memories of riding in the middle of the front seat between my stepfather and my mother.

Lots of good times in the Hornet and with my stepfather, who was also my brother (he was a Pi Lam at Ohio Wesleyan).  He died this summer after complications from a fall so he never got to drive a Gucci Hornet Sportabout, but I don't think he minded too much.  We were all happy to part ways with the rusty yellow Hornet in 1985, but not at all happy to part ways with him this summer.