I have to admit that while I love French Women, French Wine, and even French Politics, I do not care for French Cars. We might make better lovers, but I’ll take a German automobile any day of the week.
If you’ve ever pushed an 8 cylinder BMW to its limits, you know that it doesn’t seem to have any – it just asks you to push it harder. Actually, it’s not that different from a French lover.
My favorite cars are the classic American muscle cars. They might not be able to corner and they suck up gas like a bum sucking down malt liquor, but they sure are fantastic to drive. And isn’t that what owning a car is all about, enjoying driving?
Speaking of enjoying driving, my next post is going to touch on one of my favorite topics. Roads.
Have you ever destroyed a rental car? If the answer is no, you need to live alone. Destroying rental cars rules. Is it right? Is it even morally defensible? Hell no! Nonetheless, you need to destroy a rental car it’s awesome.
Here’s one of my fondest rental car destruction memories. Friends of mine were visiting the US for my 30th birthday. the holding of him came out from Spain. They were probably animals and hoodlums by European standards, but by American standards pretty tame. After moving to America from France, I have to admit I’ve become pretty American. My birthday party was a celebration in debauchery. Dancing girls, erotic enhancing the realms, and an all-night sex fest with my girlfriend who wasn’t old enough to drink yet. The best part was when a symbol of dancing girls surrounded me with skin and covered my face and cake. But I digress, about destroying rental cars.
After the party the gang of us wanted to go down to Mexico to go have a look around and do some surfing. Nothing says four wheeling like a minivan. We bow lots of tequila and Mexican fireworks and meet in beer and went to one of my favorites are spots. We destroyed surfboards first in the ways and then with giant Mexican firecrackers. We drank tequila and how the moon. And we beat the crap out of them minivan. After Mexico we take it through the great national parks of the West hitting Zion and the Grand Canyon. Not to mention plenty of others. Of course the Europeans wanted to go to Vegas. This is the only star adventure world did more damage to ourselves than the car.
As the hangover from various Wolof, and we took an assessment of the situation, we realize our car was beat. The wheels were bent and the tires were holding air. We’re missing hubcaps and we torn off part of the plastic undercarriage they gave the minivan its faux sport look. We will do as they were buried together in boxing used hubcaps. Instead of closing down the minivan in cleaning it up, collected dirty secret and see the scratches were intense and next. We run fastened the rest of the under carriage so that you can see it was torn apart. When we return the minivan we chatted up the dude who was operating the car rental agency. Western questions about San Diego and told him he was a cool guy. He didn’t have time to check out the van and signed off on everything. I was happy to give those Spaniards a taste of a great American pastime, destroying a rental car.
The love affair with cars goes as far back as cars themselves. The first time the spider of the gasoline engine started so did the patter of men’s hearts and the desire to use their shiny new automobile to get the hearts of the ladies going as well. Who is not intoxicated by the prayer of a finely tuned Jaguar engine? Who can’t reminisce about the first time they made out of vehicle? One minutes are you about my first love affair with a vehicle.
The car was a 1977 Datsun 280 Z, made the same year I was born. It had been in line 6 with fuel injection. It was the first sea to have fuel injection and while those injectors had their problems they sure could make that car haul ass. I remember when I started having problems with the engine. I got a friend help me rebuild it. That’s when the real problems began. After months of heartache and waiting I had a totally kick ass automobile. With the head all word out and high displacement pistons and a racing cam that thing was a beast.
Years later, my sister told me that she painted my mother to never make her ride with me in the car. I always like to see just how hard I can push the Z before the tires would break loose. There’s no way to know how far that is without giving the tires to break loose on a regular basis. A ride with me was an adventure in skidding around corners and white knuckling on to the vital grips that were provided for the terrified passengers. Meanwhile the leaky fuel injectors were spewing gas fumes in the cabin making you dizzy as starlight as you imagined this next term could be her last.
That car was like so many lovers have had sense. Exciting, trouble some, so hot, exotic, a pain in my ass yet I always wanted more. One day I had to sell my Z it was just a money pit. I miss her more than I miss most of the girlfriends I’ve had in my life.