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 Cars and Driving a BMW...

I drive a BMW. There, I said it. It’s out in the open for all to see, hear, interpret and judge. I drive a BMW and being a car guy this can be difficult when talking with people who are not car people and sometimes even with a fellow automotive lover. Whenever the inevitable question of ‘What do you drive?’ arises I am never quite sure what to say. I feel like the old make up commercial with the tag line ‘Don’t judge me because I am beautiful.’ I want to scream, ‘Don’t judge me because I own a BMW.’ In my family we have a matching pair of silver and gold Ford Escapes that my wife and children drive. I could say I drive an Escape but two things plague me. 

First, I am lying because my daily cars are 1974 and 1976 BMW 2002s. 

Second, I want to share my excitement about driving a car that has been around since Nixon resigned and Gerald Ford took over. 

Unfortunately, many of the people I am speaking with not only don’t know who those two Presidents are, they don’t even have a 1970’s birth date.

So why the angst? It’s because I do drive a BMW. You know, those very expensive cars that well tanned, sunglass donning, fitness center going, tennis skirt wearing, Starbuck’s loving people drive. The car that is considered the Ultimate Driving Machine not because it can hold lateral Gs that will make a Lifestyle Lift droop or can take off from a light that muscle cars can only envy. I live in dread because BMW is synonymous with money. BMWs now define giant navigation screens, heated seats, active cruise-control and pretty colors like Mojave Metallic or Orion Silver with Dakota Venetian Beige leather seating. You see a BMW is not only the Ultimate Driving Machine but also the Ultimate Status Machine and, if the term still is in vogue, the Ultimate Yuppie Machine. 

When you own a BMW you have arrived, or at least have debt up to your ears. You live in the neighborhood that requires a certain type of bark mulch and your neighborhood meetings discuss how the new family, that doesn’t know any better, actually left their four garbage cans by the edge of the driveway until noon not one week, but two weeks in a row. When you own the Ultimate Driving Machine you are often assumed to be the Ultimate Snob. 

As humans, we, including me, do often judge a book by its cover, name or anything else we can use to put any item into a recognized category.

But I am not rich, live in a fancy neighborhood, play tennis or even belong to a gym. I just love cars! The more simple the better and my cars are

not only cute but are the definition of simple. They don't have power windows, door locks, not even power steering. In regards to air conditioning, officially one has it. Heated seats? On a 100 degree day in my home state of Alabama my vinyl seats puts the best heated seats that Sweden can offer to shame. NVH materials? Who in the world knows that that means but if hard vinyl, non-supportive seats and enough road and wind noise that requires you to carry a bullhorn to talk to your passengers represent the best of NVH, then my cars are Motor Trend’s Best in Class. A classic BMW is as much an Ultimate Driving machine as any of the multiple hundred horsepower, 22” wheel wearing, safety loaded cars that BMW produces today just done in a different package. My old cars hearken back to a more simple time, at least in car design, where you could feel the road and it required full-time attention to keep your car in the center of the lane. 

A time when sound proofing consisted of buying

 better speakers and a great aftermarket stereo. In short, a time when a car was, well, I don’t know, a car.

Overtime I have slowly become more comfortable with owning my little white vintage automobile. Now when I am asked what do I drive I will reply, with still some hesitancy in my voice, ‘I drive a BMW’. I wait for the look of ‘Oh yes, I should have guessed’. Once that look is over I follow up with ‘It is not the BMW you are thinking of’ and I go on to explain what my car is like. It is then that the non-car person and I can engage in a conversation. 

Whether the person drives a Toyota Yaris, a Mercedes CLK Black or something in between the discussion of what it is like to own and drive a 38 year old Ultimate Driving Machine is interesting to almost anyone. Most people will say ‘My uncle owned one of them, he loved it.’ My hope is to educate? to enlighten? to make interesting to? the non-car person to help him or her better understand that a car is more than a piece of transportation, or an accessory, but it is often part of a heritage that has been built on cars, and people, from the past. Maybe the car 

they are driving now represents the heritage of cars yet to be built. My ultimate hope is that maybe, just maybe, to convince that person to not simply judge someone by the name of the car they own but instead about what that person knows about the name of their car.

That’s the thing about cars…the name is just part of the car…and the owner…