I’ve already mentioned how much I like rubber. This tire fetish of mine is seasonal—I get afflicted whenever I switch the tires on my cars. This November was no different. Over the Thanksgiving break, I changed the tires in two of my cars, switching to winter tires in preparation for that dreaded white stuff, snow.
Every car I’ve owned has had a manual transmission. I don’t see this changing in the foreseeable future, as my wife won’t let me buy a Ferrari 458 Italia, which doesn’t come with a manual transmission. Something about not willing to sell our house and live in a cardboard box. Women.
I’ve just returned from a week long trip from Germany, and experienced something that makes me even crankier than driving—flying through Charles de Gaulle (CDG) airport in Paris.
Road trips make me un-cranky. My favorite trips tend to head west from Detroit, since these avoid Ohio. They seem to have some vague justification, like family gatherings, races, and so on, but these are just McGuffins, simply to point the car in a rough direction.
… for a day off work. Especially if it involves driving Porsches.
The local Ann Arbor Porsche dealership, Howard Cooper Porsche, sponsored one of the half days for a Porsche Sports Day at the Palace of Auburn Hills. We got to drive pretty much all of the different models that Porsche makes: the 911, Cayenne, Cayman, and Panamera.
I love rubber. Not just any rubber, though. I like my rubber black and circular. That’s right—I love tires.
I took a recent road trip for work to our proving grounds in Michigan’s upper peninsula, the UP. Although I’ve lived in Michigan for most of my life, this is only the second time I’ve been to the UP. The other time was to take my wife to Mackinac Island, which to many people around here doesn’t really count as going to the UP.
Some German wise guy once said something about time being relative. One German example I have of relative time is my first apartment in Germany. My neighbors in the building kept referring to my apartment as one of the “new” ones. Later I found out it’s because my part of the building, which was actually once the outer wall of the city, was built in the 1700s, a couple hundred years later than the rest of the building. The old stone bridge across from my apartment was completed around 1146AD, and carries traffic daily over the Danube river. The Germans know old.
(Warning: Much wordage ahead. Stay a while.)
My copy from England looked like a BBC representative shredded one corner with his teeth
I hate critics, probably because I don’t like being criticized.