- Sep 1, 2005
- 704
Ah, the sweet affliction that I have previously coined "Velocitosis Vulgaris". From the earliest age, the condition seems to overwhelm its hapless victims. My first symptom manifested as an unnatural attraction to Hot Wheels. I remember wanting the chrome coated "Boss Hoss" Mustang so bad it made my teeth hurt. I can present credible evidence that this behavior preceded the date that I darkened the door of elementary school. Testors model cement was my favorite cologne, and to this day the odor brings back the best memories of a quiet saturday afternoon, unraveling the mysteries of a Tamiya styrene model kit. I later graduated to a Cox glow powered R/C Dune Buggy, which would start once in about ten thousand pulls and then cough and sputter for just long enough to hint of greater possibilities. The fact that the dang thing never ran was made up for by the fact that it had pneumatic knobby tires that promised all sorts of traction should it ever achieve movement under its own power. I could visualize those meats churning up the front lawn in wild explosions of speed and sound...even the theory of such things were enough to motivate a thousand more pulls on that tiny little string.
I was raised in a large and happy family, and looking back now I recognize that we were not dripping with money. In fact, we were poor as church mice. I was expected to buy my own school clothes by the time I was 14, and I found myself working at the local mechanized car wash. In an act of what now can only be seen as pure lunacy, my boss let me drive the cars into the wheel rack all summer, and that's really where I learned to drive. The year was 1978, and he rolled up one day in a brand new Corvette. Bright Yellow. For the rest of the summer, I fawned over that car as it sat outside of car wash's office, and it seemed only slightly more unattainable to me than scoring a berth on a moon launch or winning the affection of the Senior Prom Queen. I would lay awake at night fashioning all sorts adventures I could have in that car, blasting across the Navajo reservation north of Flagstaff, t-tops off, cranking Van Halen's eponymous album on the 8-track. (This was the most extravagant fantasy; my mother had declared Eddie and his band of merry men vulgar and obvious disciples of the Devil).
I was at the local DMV the very morning I reached the magical age of 15 years and 7 months, and I drove home with an elbow out of the open window of the family station wagon. However, in perhaps the grandest irony of my life, my dad forbad me from any form of car ownership while I was living under his roof. This because as a young man, he had nearly killed himself while driving a hot rod lincoln (really, I've seen ancient photos of the car after the crash; it was ugly. His father, my grandfather, wrote on the back of the tiny picture; "the car that son almost killed his self in"). Dad's opinion was that nothing good would come from the combination of youth and vehicle ownership, and in my case, he was quite probably right.
What this has to do with the price of rice in China is that all these years later, my enthusiasm has not wained. I continue to fall asleep at night with visions a cars playing in my head, and I'll still go out of my way to get next to cool car in traffic, just so I can bask in the light of automotive awesomeness. A few of my brethren on the GTForum who have slogged through my written rantings will remember that I've been lucky to own some pretty cool cars in the past few years.
As those cars have come and gone, I've concluded that my trusty ol' red Ford GT is basically without peer. The only car that I've ever owned that has come close to besting it is my Carrera GT, and its victory was a highly provisional one; if I lived in a more urban setting, the CGT would be an impossible car to own and enjoy. The GT has no such limitations. (I still own the CGT. It seems to have joined the rare rank of "keeper". It now sits next to my NSX).
And so, my search for the ultimate sports car continues. And if ever there was a case where the journey is more important than the destination, its this one. I now present the next contender. It's a 2013 Mclaren Coupe. Now, now, I know that some of you might call the 12C old news at this point. I recognize that Mclaren has just announced an upgraded version of the car called the 650s. I am undaunted. I bought the car new, with delivery miles and a full warranty. I got such a magnificent discount on the car that I would have been crazy to turn it down. The funny thing is, I would have paid more if they had asked. I've wanted one of these ever since a brief test ride about a year ago. These things are wicked quick; if you doubt that, google a few drag races involving the 12c and you'll see some pretty embarrassing slap-downs. So far, I am absolutely thrilled with the car. I will say that it has already made me forget any love I had for the 458s I've owned. We shall see how it compares to the FGT. Stay tuned...
I was raised in a large and happy family, and looking back now I recognize that we were not dripping with money. In fact, we were poor as church mice. I was expected to buy my own school clothes by the time I was 14, and I found myself working at the local mechanized car wash. In an act of what now can only be seen as pure lunacy, my boss let me drive the cars into the wheel rack all summer, and that's really where I learned to drive. The year was 1978, and he rolled up one day in a brand new Corvette. Bright Yellow. For the rest of the summer, I fawned over that car as it sat outside of car wash's office, and it seemed only slightly more unattainable to me than scoring a berth on a moon launch or winning the affection of the Senior Prom Queen. I would lay awake at night fashioning all sorts adventures I could have in that car, blasting across the Navajo reservation north of Flagstaff, t-tops off, cranking Van Halen's eponymous album on the 8-track. (This was the most extravagant fantasy; my mother had declared Eddie and his band of merry men vulgar and obvious disciples of the Devil).
I was at the local DMV the very morning I reached the magical age of 15 years and 7 months, and I drove home with an elbow out of the open window of the family station wagon. However, in perhaps the grandest irony of my life, my dad forbad me from any form of car ownership while I was living under his roof. This because as a young man, he had nearly killed himself while driving a hot rod lincoln (really, I've seen ancient photos of the car after the crash; it was ugly. His father, my grandfather, wrote on the back of the tiny picture; "the car that son almost killed his self in"). Dad's opinion was that nothing good would come from the combination of youth and vehicle ownership, and in my case, he was quite probably right.
What this has to do with the price of rice in China is that all these years later, my enthusiasm has not wained. I continue to fall asleep at night with visions a cars playing in my head, and I'll still go out of my way to get next to cool car in traffic, just so I can bask in the light of automotive awesomeness. A few of my brethren on the GTForum who have slogged through my written rantings will remember that I've been lucky to own some pretty cool cars in the past few years.
As those cars have come and gone, I've concluded that my trusty ol' red Ford GT is basically without peer. The only car that I've ever owned that has come close to besting it is my Carrera GT, and its victory was a highly provisional one; if I lived in a more urban setting, the CGT would be an impossible car to own and enjoy. The GT has no such limitations. (I still own the CGT. It seems to have joined the rare rank of "keeper". It now sits next to my NSX).
And so, my search for the ultimate sports car continues. And if ever there was a case where the journey is more important than the destination, its this one. I now present the next contender. It's a 2013 Mclaren Coupe. Now, now, I know that some of you might call the 12C old news at this point. I recognize that Mclaren has just announced an upgraded version of the car called the 650s. I am undaunted. I bought the car new, with delivery miles and a full warranty. I got such a magnificent discount on the car that I would have been crazy to turn it down. The funny thing is, I would have paid more if they had asked. I've wanted one of these ever since a brief test ride about a year ago. These things are wicked quick; if you doubt that, google a few drag races involving the 12c and you'll see some pretty embarrassing slap-downs. So far, I am absolutely thrilled with the car. I will say that it has already made me forget any love I had for the 458s I've owned. We shall see how it compares to the FGT. Stay tuned...
