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From the "suspicions confirmed" department comes the most recent copy of Grassroots Motorsports. The cover article is a road test between a Jag XKE, a 356C and the dreaded Minivan. You can already see where this is going, right? After lengthy descriptions of the test vehicles we are shown the cold hard numbers. A Honda Odyssey was shown to out accelerate, out brake and out handle the Big Dogs of our youth. Remember last year when I wrote about wailing through the back roads of Dover in a 356? I was going through the gears trying to keep the engine in the red most of the time. I believe I commented about the soccer mom in the minivan behind me with a load of kids aboard. Turns out, that she was not only loafing along but was probably on the brakes most of the ride. As I pointed out, I was driving as fast as that little bathtub would go and having a great time of it. The article pointed out that while modern cars (even minivans) are more capable they are not nearly as much fun as the sports cars of the past. First of all, nobody even looks up when you go by. That's not a bad thing if you're trying to get somewhere in a hurry. The last thing you need is everyone staring and pointing when you're trying to cut through residential neighborhood to make up some time. Take the Camary, they won't even know that you were there. A quick trip out the turnpike requires a Ford Crown Victoria. Something in a dark color with darkened windows would empty the left lane. A couple of antennas on the roof wouldn't hurt either. But try the same trip in a Porsche, and you begin to collect things. Like Honda Civics that have been slammed and are being driven by some guy that doesn't shave yet. Or delivery truck drivers who left their 930 back at the company parking lot. Or wish they had. Besides, really high speed driving was never what 356's were known for anyway. They're best at going around corners and there aren't really many corners on the Mass Pike. Unless you count the ramps which we all do right? The trouble is that as you fly down the exit ramp impressing anyone that can see you, there is still the same line of cars waiting to pay the toll facing everyone. When your foot (feet?) hits the brake and those 40-year-old wheel cylinders start to expand you just hope that the car stops reasonably straight. Brake adjustments were always sort of a black art. Was it two clicks back or three? A moment of uncertainty that no minivan driver ever need face. But where's the fun in that kind of boring travel. Of course some travel should be boring and predictable. Like driving your wife to the grocery store. No drama needed or wanted on that ride. Just get me there and get me home. Or going out to dinner. You get the idea. You don't want to be tinkering with throttle linkage on the side of the road with your spouse in the passenger seat. It doesn't make for a great tale. Too much pressure and not enough humor to make a good story. But it really is a hoot to have strangers wave or give you the thumbs up as you motor past. Or have people ask you what year the car is even though you have a 1957 license plate on the back. Don't be a jerk, just answer the questions. That's part of the reason why you own the car. With privilege comes responsibility. Isn't that what your mother told you? So there really is a place for motor vehicles without any heart or soul. But be sure that there is at least one car in the garage that will reply when you talk to it. A car that feels what you feel on a warm summer day as white puffy clouds are reflected off the hood. Have a sports car that was built for an earlier time. A time when life seemed more carefree and less serious. Back when sports cars were built for the ride and not the destination. Maybe that's what makes these old tubs so attractive to me in spite of the road test results. It's all about the ride. Keep the Faith! |
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