The Thing About Chasing Cars - Part 2

So where were we – that’s right, on my way home from Pittsburgh to Birmingham, AL on a cold and rainy day. But no stinkin’ rain can dampen my spirits – I have a 79 Mercedes convertible to bring home. The rest of the trip is what one could call many things. Exciting? Strange? Frustrating? Twilight Zone? You pick the description, each and every one is true at some point along the way.

5:00 PM

I return my rental car at a Hertz Local Edition where they normally will give you a ride back home, etc. Notice the word normally in that sentence, that is the key word.

‘Oh, we are so, so, sorry, but we don’t have any drivers but we have called you a cab’. I still call that service.

6:15 PM

75 minutes later, now 6:15 the rental place closed, I stand out in the cold and no taxi yet – and I don’t know the name of the cab company. I call the garage and they can pick me up.

7:00 PM

Two full, very full and cold, hours later the cab shows up at the same time as the garage owner. I tell the taxi guy to get lost, he is not happy, and I hop in for the ride back to my little, light yellow pot of gold.

Put on the illegal temporary plate (Pennsylvania frowns on those) I get in, start the car, it is running, it is comfortable and while the dashboard lights don’t work, nor the heater, this still will be fun.

7:20 PM

All goes great for the first 1.5 miles. Road construction, stopped traffic and the low gas light comes on. I ain’t  gonna make it, I will run out of gas. 2 miles, 25 minutes later I get to an exit with a gas station. Whew, dodged that bullet. In my ever optimistic car mind that must be the only difficulty I am going to experience and the rest of the drive is going to be oh, so cool.

As the late John Pinnette used to say ‘Oh, nay, nay’.

11:48 PM

183 miles later I am driving past Sutton, West Virginia – don’t know where that is? Neither did I, heading towards Gassaway, West Virginia – again, never heard of it but I know it now. The big Mercedes has a top speed of 15 miles an hour. With 600 plus miles to go, I am thinking that just maybe I might not make it.

11:53 PM

Sure enough, 3 miles later, my beauty is dead. Taps play, I look up at the stars in the dark, dark sky and realize ‘I’m stuck’. That AAA Gold Membership is worth every penny so I call.

11:55 PM

Because of my Alabama phone number, AAA rings to Alabama first. Actual conversation follows.

‘We can help you honey, where are you?’

‘I am at exit 57 off of I-79 south.’

 Long pause

‘We don’t have an I-79 in Alabama’.

‘That’s because I am in West Virginia’.

‘I am so, so, sorry honey, but I have to transfer you to AAA in West Virginia’.

Not a problem. About 8 minutes later when no one has picked up and I have listened to music, heard the complete history of AAA, all of the advantages of being a member, new special rewards and how to raise my child, in real time, in triplicate, I realize that no one is going to answer.

12:04 AM

So I call again.

‘Oh honey, I am so, so sorry, I will patch you through and stay on the line until someone picks up’.

That is very nice and I accept the offer. 10 minutes later AAA picks up making the transfer complete.

‘Where are you located?’

‘I am at exit 57, off of I-79 south, heading south on 19.’

Long pause.

‘We don’t have an I-79 in Virginia?’

‘I am in West Virginia’.

Say it with me now.

‘Oh honey, I am so, so sorry but I am going to have to transfer you to West Virginia.’

Somehow I knew that she was going to say that.

12:15 AM

It is now about 12:15 and I haven’t even spoken with a AAA person yet. I start the car with hopes that maybe ‘car heal thyself’ comments have worked – she starts – maybe I can make it - but as soon as I go into gear she begins to bog down. AAA is my only answer. Finally, someone says

‘AAA West Virginia’.

I wanted to say ‘The West Virginia?’ but I kept my mouth shut. I describe where I am, she is going to dispatch a tow truck which will be there within 45 minutes. 

Then the 5 minute later call from AAA.

‘Sir, just confirming where you are?’

‘Oh, I am out of West Virginia now, close to Alabama, can you transfer me to them?’

It is not what I say but I think it real hard, probably hard enough to be heard over the phone. I describe my location and am told that a tow truck will be dispatched soon. 10 minutes later I get a call from the towing company. They ask.

‘Can you tell me where you are located?’

‘Switzerland’

Again, I do not say that but I think it, real, real hard. I describe yet again where I am and the owner says

‘I will send someone right away. Where would you like to have the car towed?’

‘Alabama?’

I have no clue and tell him that which seems to satisfy as a response.

1:10 AM

45 minutes later, no truck has shown up I call back. A groggy dispatcher says

‘They are coming from Charleston, it will take about 30 to 40 minutes’.

OK, what else can you say? Send a medflight?

1:25 AM

I  get a call.

‘Where are you?  I am at exit 62 and I can’t see your car anywhere.’

Hmmm, tough one, it might be because I am at exit 57. I am nice on the outside but something tells me Satan is rubbing his hands as I speak. I know it is not this guy’s fault. 20 minutes later he is there and loads up my retirement fund. She actually looks good on the flatbed truck, I honestly think that. 20 minutes later we arrive at the Microtel in Gassaway.

1:50 AM

Nice woman behind the counter sees me with the tow truck driver and asks

‘You need a room with two beds?’

‘I don’t care, whatever you have.’

And she looks at and I realize she thinks the tow truck driver is sharing my room. He quickly comments that it is just me as he is the one towing the car. He stays to make sure I have a room, tells me where he is towing the car and heads out.

2:00 AM

I get my first key to a room on the first floor. First key you are thinking? Yes, actually the first of 4 room keys. My first room opens into a dirty room. The former residents looked like they kept it neat so maybe I will just stay (NO I would not do that, but the thought did cross my mind at 2:00 AM). The second key to a new room didn’t work at all. I get a third key to my second room – yep, it doesn’t work either.  A third key to my second room, you guessed it, it doesn’t work either. Finally, on the fourth trip to the lobby she gives me a new room and a new key and I can go settle in.

Before sleep can happen I have to see how I can get to an airport and then get home. The Charleston Airport is about 60 miles away and they have a reasonably priced flight that leaves at 2:00 in the afternoon. Perfect, I book the flight.

2:30 AM

Find a car service. I try three different websites, enter all of the information and all three say ‘No taxi or shuttle service available, will a horse and buggy do? Have you considered hitchhiking?’ Alas, it is true, no taxi, shuttle service, limousine or anything where one can pay a driver to take one somewhere.

2:45 AM

A one way rental is the only option. I look for the nearest Hertz – the site laughs out loud at me. The nearest Hertz is 60 miles away. So I would need a car to get the car that I need, that doesn’t sound like a plan. Panic sets in. About 3 miles away is an Enterprise rental agency – I log onto the site, book my car, get my reservation confirmation and I am now all set. I can actually get home and worry about the Mercedes when I get home.

3:00 AM

Sleep (fitful).

6:30 AM

I wake up and plan my day. First call to Enterprise to get a ride from the hotel. They don’t open until 9:00. That’s OK, I have plenty of time. So a nice shower, downstairs to grab some breakfast, do a bit of work and watch some TV. All of that should be possible, except, the internet is down and the ceiling mounted TV that I cannot reach has no remote. Oh well, just bad news anyway.

9:05 AM

I call Enterprise. I ask about my car. I am so nervous my voice sounds like a teenager asking out last year’s Homecoming Queen to a dance.

‘Hi, I have a one-way rental scheduled for this morning and I wonder if you can come get me at the hotel just down the road’ (I honestly think I said 3.1 miles so she would know).

‘Sir, I am so, so sorry (she calls me sir, she sounds young) but we don’t have a car for you. In fact, we won’t have one until tomorrow at the earliest.’

‘But I am flying out today. I also have a reservation confirmation. I am getting a Chevy Spark, a green one, like in the picture on the website.’

‘I am sorry but we do not have any cars. I have to get management approval for the one way rental. I will work on it but I don’t think I can get one today.’

I hang up and two thoughts cross my mind:

• The Jerry Seinfeld Show – ‘It is great that you can take the reservation, but you also must keep the reservation.’
• Gassaway is the town that the Eagles wrote about in “Hotel California’

As I write out my last will and testament, a note for my wife and three children telling them how much I love them, wish I was a better dad, and wish them a wonderful life, I think that maybe the garage where the car is located might know how to get me to the airport.

Skeeter answers the phone. Yes, Skeeter. I tell him I am just going to leave the car and have it shipped home and is that an issue?

‘Nope, s’pose we can find a spot for it til’ you can get it.’

‘Oh, thank you, thank you. Is there a car service, taxi, shuttle, anyone that can drive me to Charleston to catch my flight.’

‘Well, I got a friend who might can do that. Let me call ‘im and see if he can.’

I get a call a few minutes later from my co-worker, who was supposed to go home the day before, asking me how the trip is going. I tell him everything and he happens to be driving right past Gassaway and can bring me to the airport. If that isn’t divine intervention I don’t know what is. And a good thing too, Skeeter calls me back and tells me.

‘My friend can drive ya’, but he wants ya’ to come down to the garage, he doesn’t want to pick you up at the hotel.’

The hotel that is 1.5 miles away? That one? Fortunately I tell Skeeter that I actually have a ride and thank him for his help.

An hour later I am with my co-worker, in a brand new rental, heading to Charleston airport for a flight home. 

Maybe Stephen King can write a book about this? Oh, he did, it is titled ‘Misery’.

So that is the thing about chasing after cars, what they do on TV, ain’t, I mean, isn’t, anything like it is in real life.

The Thing About Chasing Cars - Part 1

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Mr. Dickens penned those words over a hundred years ago and for many of us this happens on a regular basis. My story for the next two months is just like that, the best and worst of times, rolled into one. Unfortunately, more the worst of times but with the rose colored glasses perspective of the best of times. Please enjoy my journey with me.

Wayne Carini of Chasing Classic Cars, Jeff Allen and Meg Bailey from The Car Chasers, the Gas Monkey guys from Fast and Loud are all becoming household names, at least in those homes where someone who is infatuated with cars lives. The premise, find a car that is under-priced, buy it, fix it up and sell it on for a profit (That's how they say it on Wheeler Dealer). Usually this is because someone doesn’t know what they have or the car is solid and straight but needs a little bit of work or just because it is so cool it must be worth more than I am going to pay for it. Soooo…go get it! All these shows make it looks so easy. Jeff Allen will offer a person 25% of their asking price and suddenly he and the owner are only $1,000 apart. Wayne gets the car home and his mechanics use a little WD40 on an 80 year old engine, put in some gas and voila – she starts and runs perfectly. Fast and Loud – I think theirs is mostly luck, but they seem to be lucky a lot.

I think if they can do it then someone like me who sells million dollar software systems and 

used to sell cars can certainly do the same thing. It will be like cheating as I not only rake in the cash but also have television networks wanting to make a show about my skills. And, it is all true. All, except that it being easy, bringing in the bacon and networks smashing down my door to sign me up for a 10 year show with a sign on bonus of $10 million. Other than those few things all of this is the complete, swear on the Bible, honest to goodness truth.

Reality for the other 99.99999% of us is different. Six, or was it 9 or 10, months ago a colleague

is selling her 1979 Mercedes 450SL in light yellow. You know the under-priced, perfect car. It grew up in the Southwest, never has seen rain, pampered for years with only 65,000 miles and made of unobtanium. All this for a price that is about a quarter of the price of one that I wouldn’t let park in the same garage as this one. However, the car has sat, and sat, and sat so it isn’t quite as beautiful anymore. Hoses are cracking, air conditioning only blows cold in the winter and while pretty rust free the beauty isn’t what it used to be. Now she looks more like the prom queen at her 35^th high school reunion who has been married 3 times and smoked more than one cigarette. Nice looking but no longer stunning.

But hey, pay you no mind to all of that – the car is cheap. I mean like really cheap (see the definition of really cheap later) so I can buy it, fix it up, and keep it or turn around and sell the car and make enough profit to pay for my childrens’, grandchildrens’, and great grandchildrens’ college funds plus purchase that beautiful lake house I have been eyeing. (Okay, in reality, I just want to make enough to put some nice parts on my other cars and try to restock the quickly depleting college fund.) I buy it, sight unseen, pictures only and the word of the mechanic who took care of the car for the last couple of years, and by caring for, he stored it. I tell the owners

‘Here is the money, send me the title and I will be up next week to drive it home!’

Their reply, after a long silence.

‘Ummm, we just need to do a few things to make it road ready first, up to $500 I will pay for.’

Such nice people. I say OK and send on the check. Meanwhile the Lost in Space robot is yelling ‘Danger Will Robinson, Danger’. Oh, shut up.

Six, or was it nine or ten, months later I happen to be flying for work near where the car is located and it is ‘ready’ to be picked up. All fluids changed and itching for a long drive. I did have to put in a new temperature regulator flux capacitor and replace a bad fuel injector and something else. Yada, yada, yada – just give me the damages and I will take it home and retire.

A $2,700 ‘getting her ready’ check and my trip home begins. 

Tune in next month to hear about the trip. Trust me, you don’t want to miss it. The following outlines some of the excitement:

·         A cab that doesn’t show

·         Almost running out of gas

·         186 miles of driving

·         Midnight break down

·         2 hour wait time

·         Skeeter

Stay tuned…

The Thing about the Car Bug and Turning 50

By the time you read this I will have hit a very major milestone in my life. I will cross over the half-century mark. I know when I turned 40 just last year, or was that 10 years ago? I was shown the secret handshake for those that are four decades old. No one has told me what secret comes with turning 50, maybe just getting to 50 in one piece is the secret in itself. They say you are as old as you feel - who knew that 100 would feel so good!

Enough about my age - 46 years ago I was bitten by a bug. It's venom has no known cure and continues to ravish my body with no bounds of decency. I remember the day as if it was yesterday. 46 years ago, I was 4 years old (yes, 50 - 46 is 4, I have that much of my mind) and it's late summer, one of those perfect evenings with the sun just setting, crickets beginning to chirp, an evening that can only be found in Vermont that time of year. My friend's older brother just

purchased a used, new to him, red on red 1964 Chevrolet Impala SS. He pulled up to their house and there it sat, gleaming, almost glowing, in the early evening dusk. The red paint seemed two miles deep. The white band down 
the side screamed 'I am fast, very fast' and I remember staring at the chrome SS logo on the rear quarter panel thinking that it was alive and rumbling like the engine up front. The red interior, center console and the beyond describable chrome insert in the back seats set my heart to fluttering. my face went flush and I just stared. Nothing in the world had ever been so beautiful. I mean I always liked cars, Matchbox, Hot Wheels, remote control, battery operated, but that day -- that moment - 

I was infected with the real car bug and the fever has never subsided.

I know people often write about what it means to be a 'true' car guy, or girl. I am writing today to say that all that is written is true. As I have grown

older my affliction only worsens. My wife, my children, my non-car friends have to live with my obsession. Walking through a parking lot and seven rows over I spot the roof or maybe a small part of the trunk of a cool car and off we go, all walking over to see the car that dad says is cool. Why? They don't know, but dad says it is. I drive a BMW 2002, a box on box design and think it is one of the sexiest cars ever made so clearly what it means to be a cool car is different in my mind.

I have shared with my wife that I wish I could shut off my car brain. I wish there was a cure because I know it is difficult for those that I live with and around. I have tried to starve the disease and feed the fever and vice-versa -- nothing works. While driving I see every car that goes by and comment on most of them. While at home Velocity or NBC Sports Network channels are on the television and as for the recordings on my DVR, it is at least 4 to 1 cars over everything else. Races, car restoration shows, car information

shows, car shows about car shows, auctions - it makes no difference, if it is on I will watch it. Sometimes when I am 90 minutes into a 3 hour race I realize that my family has had to listen to roaring engines for the entire time and I feel bad. I watch auto auctions, Mecum, Barrett-Jackson, Joe’s local car, tractor, boat and lawn mower auction, really any auto auction that is on. Again, hours of the auctioneer crying out 

'Who will give me 55, 55, do I hear 60, 60'

and I think to myself, 'This is not fair to my family'. But, I simply can't change the channel.

For those of you who live with and put up with the truly car obsessed you deserve medals of honor, purple hearts, and other lofty awards for your

 service. It isn't easy but you bear with us even when we should have been ignored hours, really, years earlier. My own wife, Cathy, 

and my children, Ethan, Eliza and Seth, thank you for allowing me to babble on about cars, have two in the driveway that are twice the age the children with a third car on the way. You have allowed me to be me and have never complained - thank you. Please know that if I could control this demon I would, but it runs free and I am powerless to stop it.

For those of you who are car obsessed with a significant other, family, friends, you too need to thank them. Go ahead, do it right now, I can wait. To us knowing that a 67 Mustang did not have side markers but a 1968 did yet forget your anniversary or your child’s birthday seems totally normal. Dear car friends, it isn’t. We owe it to the rest of the world recognize that.

 

Did you say thank you yet? Did you give them a big hug? That's all you can do. Now, go back to the garage and get working.

That's the thing about the car bug, you don't know who it will strike, but when it does, there is no cure and the beast must be fed.

The Thing About Rental Cars - Part 3

The greatest rental car comment ever uttered has to have come from Jeremy Clarkson on BBC's Top Gear. As he and James May set off on some excellent adventure Clarkson shows up in a light blue Toyota something or other. He points to the car and says 

'This is the fastest car in the world'. 

James asks how in the world could a boring sedan be the fastest car in the world? Mr. Clarkson exclaims 'It's a rental!'. From that point forward the little car never had a chance. So it is true with all rentals, they seemingly live the life of a London cabby horse in the late 1800’s.

As we conclude our series on rental cars I am here to share the plight of these vehicles. I am not talking about just Mustang GT's and Camaro SS's but even the little Toyota Yaris or the huge Chrysler Town and Country mini-van that have been treated in ways as people say 'I wouldn't treat my worst enemy like that.' I imagine as cars come off the manufacturing line and think with joy about their future owners some Taurus or Impala reminds them 'You could become a rental'. It is then the nightmares begin.

How do people treat rental cars? A few, like me, call us One Percenters, actually treat them well. My love of cars doesn't allow me to trash, beat on, dirty or do anything else that plagues how these poor 

beasts are treated. Maybe one standard deviation from me are those who just get in the cars and drive them neither caring that they are rental cars, or cars at all. A ding? No worries. Food on the floor? So what, the Avis people will clean it up. They generally don't misuse the vehicles but definitely have no issue leaving a rental in a tough neighborhood - unlocked.

There is a larger group who believe that a rental car is synonymous with 'garbage truck'. This group is generally comprised of families but a single salesperson living the jet set life of fast food, 84 ounce sodas from Shell stations can also fall into this category. These poor cars return after a week at the beach with enough sand to fix slippery roads for the city of Atlanta during an ice storm, enough dirt to plant potatoes and other root vegetables and 

enough garbage to keep Wall-E happily employed for a thousand years. How this is done in a single week I don't know but these renters seem to accomplish this without breaking a sweat. I am positive I once saw a bucket loader at the back of a mini-van helping to unload more trash than early Native Americans would make in a lifetime. 

The remaining 85% of the people get in their beast of burden and suddenly think they are Jeff Gordon or Jimmie Johnson. Behind the wheel they are at the Coca Cola 600 in Talladega and dang it, they are going to win. This type of driving behavior is regardless of location, weather or, scarily, driving skills. They drive like this in town or on the open road believing the right hand pedal must be to the floor while simultaneously slamming the brakes till they become molten pieces of metal dripping beneath the car at each and every traffic light. The phrase 'Drive it like you stole it' is their mantra. 

What's funny about the 85 Percenters is they do this no matter what kind of car they have. A mini-van - well it has one of those auto-manual shifters so they must want me to jam it in and out of gear. A Nissan Versa - the engine is so small I have to run it to 9,000 rpms just to get to the top of the hill (by the way, the car red-lines, which means that is the SAFE maximum engine revolutions, at 6500). We all know a Taurus can easily drive over the largest speed bump at 40 MPH and the little Chevy Cruze – ‘Pot hole? 

What pot hole?’ as they careen the vehicle through Neil Armstrong’s lunar crater the same way Grave Digger drives over other trucks. Do I need to mention what happens to Mustangs, Challengers, and Camaros? Let's not go there, I just had breakfast.

Why we treat rental cars like this I don’t know. Is it to help us get out our road rage? Do we have a bad home life so instead kicking the dog we kick our rentals? Maybe it is because a car in our past left us stranded so we put a horse head into the lot with a message

  

‘This could be you’.

Why though? Why only rental cars? People don’t annihilate tools they rent from Home Depot or from a neighbor (I do have a story about weed whacker that came back after a day’s use in let’s say less than pristine condition). This doesn’t seem to happen to vacation rentals. Even people who rent apartments and houses tend not to destroy them simply because they can. In fact, in other rental situations it is One Percenters who treat other rental objects roughly while the other 99% are respectful.

I read the following quote from a frequent car renter: 

'I normally don't abuse any car but have to admit that I did try to help a couple of pieces of junk end their misery.'

That about sums up the fate of the rental car.

So how do you treat your rental cars? Never mind, I don't think I could handle the answer. As one who loves cars and thinks of them as having a soul, it is difficult to sit back and watch the hopeless life of the rental car. I am thinking of starting my own non-profit – PETRC – People for the Ethical Treatment of Rental Cars.

That’s thing about rental cars – just as people never say ‘I want to grow up to be a jerk’, no car comes out of the factory wishing it will one day join a rental fleet.