Cruisin’ The Capital

 

Pirate Press     November 2016

Now with 40% more Pumpkin Spice!

 

Car-centric events in Mississippi are a real “Feast-or-Famine” occurrence. For months at a time, the automotive landscape is bleaker than Death Valley and then suddenly three spring up at the same time. For the first weekend of Fall, there was the kickoff of “Cruisin’ The Coast”, “Cars and Coffee” in Biloxi and “Euro Fest” in Jackson. But given the prominence of Italian cars at Euro Fest, it wasn’t hard to decide which to attend. So, on October 1st, almost exactly one year after the “Ferrari Days” event I attended in New Orleans, we ventured to our state capital to attend another Ferrari meet. This one was much smaller though, and not officially sanctioned by the Ferrari factory. However, I took exception to the name, “Euro Fest” which sounds like a triple-x flick about a slatternly Czech girl and a hotel room of amorous suitors. The improbable title notwithstanding, the car show took place in the same city where I saw my first Ferrari nearly thirty years ago.  

 

That was in January 1987 at Ferrari South, the only authorized dealership between Florida and Texas. My Father volunteered to drive me the three hours to Jackson so I wouldn’t get hopelessly lost and end up somewhere like the pecan orchards of Indianola. And this was the Eighties, where you didn’t drive anywhere without a gas station highway map that unfolded into the size of a small tent. Back in those dark days before Al Gore claimed he invented the internet, there was no GPS or crowd-sourcing apps like Trip Advisor or Yelp, so we just rolled the dice when stopping for food in an unknown town. They say you can’t judge a book by its cover, but you do have much better odds of choosing a restaurant by its storefront. And we lucked out when we stopped at a nice two story, wood-sided eatery on the forested outskirts of Jackson.  Lunch was going along swimmingly until I attempted to open a glass bottle of Heinz ketchup. Remember, these were the old times when restaurants still had pay phones, so the ubiquitous fast food squeeze bottles were as foreign as wireless routers. Back then it could take a lot of cajoling, begging, pleading, embarrassing hand gestures and sometimes even a ritual-sacrifice before you could eventually coax the ketchup out of the bottle. And unlike a good bottle of wine, you didn’t want to receive an aged bottle of ketchup where the contents had the same viscosity as flypaper. Nope, you’d have better luck breaking the glass bottle over the bow of the Titanic and picking out the glass shards than persuading it to pour out in a reasonable amount of time. As such, when the ketchup finally decided to exit the bottle it did so with an explosive force equal to that generated by Mount St. Helens. But instead of grey soot and ash, this was an enormous, anomalous blob of ketchup moving at roughly the speed of light towards my crotch. Almost as if guided by an extraterrestrial intelligence, it somehow completely missed my plate and napkin and made a perfect bulls-eye on my button-fly jeans. I immediately grabbed my napkin and desperately tried to wipe it off, but I only succeeded in rubbing it more into the faded denim. Meanwhile, my stern Father made an exasperated expression that seemed to convey he couldn’t take my anywhere without it embarrassing him. A trip to the men’s room was also futile in removing the stain which now bore an eerie resemblance to Gorbachev’s Port-Wine Birthmark. Determined there was nothing else I could do, I sheepishly left with the huge crimson stain on the front of my pants, looking like an unprepared woman who was surprised by the early arrival of her monthly visitor.

 

Shortly thereafter, we arrived at 419 South Gallatin Street, the location of Ferrari South. Granted, Gallatin Street in Jackson was never a prosperous section of the state capital even when the economy was booming in the 1980’s under a Republican president. I always thought it was a little incongruous that a dealership purveying $125,000 sports cars was built in an impoverished area where houses were a half-century old and displaced less square footage than a politician’s kitchen. Additionally, the nearby named Hooker Street did little to boost property values and encourage community reinvestments. Finally, Jackson’s mass-transit authority was within walking distance and became a hub for a parade of modern-day carpetbaggers. In 2014, this unsavory element helped catapult Jackson to number two for murder rates in the Southeast (behind only New Orleans) and number four nationwide. 

 

As we walked up to Ferrari South, Dick Manning, the Sales Manager, rushed to greeted us at the door. In retrospect, this was probably because with the scarlet stain on my pants and the part of town we were in, he probably thought I’d been stabbed and had mistaken the dealership for an Urgent Care facility. However, he relaxed once he saw that wasn’t the case. I introduced myself and he recalled us speaking on the phone. Although I had made it clear that I was not there to buy a Ferrari, he still gave us the royal treatment.

 

Incidentally, that would be my first (and last) visit to Ferrari South as the owner, Ed Wettach, would shutter the dealership in 1994. Wettach, as local lore has it, became a real-life Horatio Alger. He was a typical used-car salesman until he sold his future wife a Corvette. That woman just happened to be Eleanor Hederman of the Hederman family that owned Jackson’s Clarion-Ledger newspaper. He married her and flush from a $110 Million dollar sale of the Clarion-Ledger to Gannet Corp., opened Ferrari South in 1984 and used it as his private toy box. He leveraged his position as a dealer to obtain not only the newest and best Ferraris for himself, but also at a steep discount. One of his most famous acquisitions was a 1993 Ferrari F40 LM, one of just 19 built worldwide. But believing the road to Atlanta was paved with gold, Wettach began a “Sherman’s March” to Georgia’s capital in 1995 with plans for a fancy new Ferrari dealership there. As with the Civil War that happened 100 years earlier, there was considerable bloodshed and casualties from employees who either left or were fired. In the ensuing years, Ferrari of Atlanta thrived but Wettach passed away in 2013 after a long struggle with MDS, a rare form of blood and bone marrow cancer.

 

A postcard of the dealership in better days

 

And as it stands now, with rampant rust and graffiti

 

Fast-forward to present day and our destination for Euro Fest was Ridgeland, a swanky suburb about 10 minutes north of Jackson. It can be confusing to find as there are three locations in the same vicinity that sound similar. With the local lazy southern drawl, Ridgeland, Richland and Richton are all pronounced the same but are vastly different. There were many other small towns we passed through and the lack of imagination when naming them seemed to reflect the local intellect, or lack thereof. For instance, there was “Rock Hill” “Dry Creek” and “Strong River”. There was even a billboard for a motel named the “Luxury Inn” that included directions which read “Near Giant Cross” as if every passerby was a local who would immediately recognize the location they were speaking of. Sure enough, ten miles down the road the Luxury Inn was smack dab between a church and a catfish restaurant, two of the most prolific industries in Mississippi.   

 

North of Hattiesburg, there was a startling sound like distant thunder which was odd given the clear forecast and picturesque Autumn weather. The cacophony grew louder and louder before we spotted the origin of the disturbance. Behind us, it looked like a giant, angry swarm was rapidly approaching. We watched as nearly 200 bikers on hot-rodded Harley Davidson’s roared past us. They were so loud, I told my wife they couldn’t even sneak up on a marching band. After the deafening display, I laughed at the name of their gang stitched on their leather jackets: “Sons of Silence”.

 

Euro Fest was expected to draw 15,000 spectators to view 150 entries, manufactured in five different countries, and coming from eight different states. Aside from Ferrari, some of the other marquees represented were BMW, Jaguar, Porsche and Rolls Royce. It took place in a 500,000 square foot open-air lifestyle center known as Renaissance at Colony Park. We were also surprised when we spotted a 190-foot-tall replica of the Washington Monument near the entrance. However, it turns out that the monolithic obelisk was designed more for civic-minded progress than flag-waving patriotism.  Upon further inspection, there was nary a piece of marble or granite to be found. Instead, we discovered that it was a carefully camouflaged cell phone tower concealed in 4-foot by 8-foot fiberglass panels, painted to mimic the approximation of stone. And yet, the irony was not lost on us: it was a perfect metaphor for how today’s government painstakingly cultivates an image to disguise its true nature.

 

However, after a stroll around the Renaissance at Colony Park, I personally felt that a statue of Atlas would be more appropriate given that the whole center feels as it was founded on Ayn Rand’s philosophy of Objectivism. It’s also no surprise that shopping there requires a political lobbyist’s salary and with such affluent tenants as Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse and a Rolex dealer, it’s equally easy to wreck your cholesterol as well as your bank account. Fittingly, the Ferraris were parked in front of Biaggi’s Italian Ristorante, so we had a spectacular view of them as we dined on such traditional delicacies as bomboloni, calamari and tiramisu.

 

 

There was also a rogue element at Euro Fest that I had not experienced at any car shows before, and that unpredictable factor was the general public. Previously, the Ferrari events I had attended were largely private affairs that helped separate the wheat from the chaff. But that cushion was absent here and it brought out the absolute worst society has to offer: teenagers, shopping and selfies. That’s right, these kids were literally falling all over themselves trying to snap pictures in front of the cars, even though they knew nothing about them. Young and old were equally mystified by the various marquees, not being able to tell the difference between a Fiat and a Ferrari. A bright red Lotus Esprit Turbo generated a lot of attention due to its cuneiform curves. I witnessed a thirty-something woman drag her two young daughters over to it while sighing heavily that it was the same car Richard Gere drove in “Pretty Woman”. Similarly, I overheard a teenage boy confidently told his friend that it was a million-dollar Lamborghini. They had no idea it was a 1981 model with just 220 hp and a price less than $20K on Ebay. But, the height of these clueless onlookers had to be when I spotted an elderly man snapping photos of a new Accord. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he could see as many as he wanted at the Honda store. Later on, I would reflect on the entire day and remain amused at what an exercise in ethnology it was.  

 

 

Aside from the registered show cars, there were a lot of high performance vehicles parked amongst the hoi polloi. I spotted an Acura NSX and a C7 Corvette Stingray on one aisle, while a Dodge Viper and Porsche 911 Turbo were on another. But it was a brand-new 2017 Tesla Model X that garnered the most attention. It might have slipped through as discretely as any other random luxury crossover, but that chance disappeared when its signature gull-wing doors lifted up. “What is that?!?” asked my wife, genuinely perplexed. I explained that it was essentially a $100,000 electric SUV, but that answer didn’t sit well with her. Apparently, she could justify such a price tag for a Ferrari which combined sleek bodywork with high-performance, but a $100,000 battery-powered minivan was as alien to her as a flying saucer.  

 

 

1971 Alfa Romeo Junior Zagato 

This Alfa Romeo was a pleasant surprise, as both the styling and the Champagne Metallizzato color strongly evoked the late sixties Space-Race era that it was born in. It belonged to Mike Glore of New Orleans who had perhaps the strangest stable of cars present. At one end was the aforementioned antique Alfa Romeo, and the newer end was a sunburst orange 2012 McLaren MP4-12C.

 

2003 Westfield Seven  

Along with the Alfa, this Westfield Seven was one of the stranger oddities. It’s essentially a kit-car based on a Lotus Seven, hence the strong physical resemblance. However, the main difference between the two is that Westfield continues manufacturing their models in fiberglass as Lotus originally did, whereas Caterham (who bought the rights) now uses aluminum. And given the light body weight, all versions of the Seven are terrific performers with engine choices ranging from mild to wild.

 

2013 Maserati GranTurismo MC Stradale

With its special one-of-a-kind Lamborghini Verde Ithaca Pearl Green paint, this Maserati was certainly the brightest and most flamboyant vehicle in attendance. Unfortunately, it was more flash than dash, with a relatively weak 444hp V-8 to motivate its four-doors and 4000-plus pounds. It was offered by Motorcars of Jackson and touted as the owner’s personal vehicle. With just 6,000 miles on the odometer, it was being advertised for $135,000 but had no takers. Such an ostentatious appearance clearly requires someone with the questionable taste and money of a professional athlete. 

 

2012 McLaren MP4-12C 

Next to the Ferraris, this Pearl White McLaren was my favorite exotic at the show. I heard it before I saw it, when the owner revved it up to demonstrate the custom exhaust it was equipped with it. As I made my way through the crowd, I caught the tail-end of his conversation explaining the special system. I may not have gotten to speak to him, but the McLaren didn’t need an introduction.  The “Warp Drive” vanity plate was quite as fitting as the 600hp twin-turbo V8 made it one of the fastest cars at Euro Fest.

 

 

2016 Ferrari F12

Whereas the Maserati was simply too gaudy and could be spotted from outer space, the F12 on display had the exact opposite problem and was too subdued. I didn’t feel that that the Argento Nurburgring silver paint properly conveyed the Ferrari’s powerful character. After all, with a 730hp naturally-aspirated V-12, it remains the fastest production Ferrari available. But to test my theory, I asked my wife which she thought was the quickest and most expensive Ferrari present. She incorrectly picked a black 488 and a red California, both eight-cylinder models, over the F12. Likewise, the performance is nearly as breath-taking as the sticker price, starting at $319,999. But everything is a la carte, so it’s not hard to rack up another $150,000 in accessories. For instance, one carbon fiber cup holder fetches $3,533 making for a very expensive way to carry your $5 Frappuccino. Similarly, convenience items standard on even the most basic cars such as electric mirrors are also a $3,533 option. Finally, the most sensible item, a suspension lift for raising the front a couple inches to clear steep inclines, seems a bargain at $5,461. But for me, the real kicker is that Ferrari is discontinuing the fitted car cover that came standard with every F12 purchase. Apparently, word is that the Italian automaker is too cheap to continue including it for free.   

 

The F12 belonged to Paul McNeill, a Senior Vice-President at Merrill Lynch in Ridgeland and also the President of the Mississippi Ferrari Chapter. He grew up in Oxford, England before moving to Jackson when he was 13. As such, he goes by the moniker “FerrariBrit” on the forums and is quite passionate about the prancing horse, having owned every generation of eight-cylinder Ferrari available in the past thirty years. Interestingly, he recently possessed a Rosso Corsa (Racing Red) 2015 F12 before trading it in on the platinum 2016 model. As he was proceeding to leave, he cranked the F12 and it emitted a Valkyrian shriek from the quad-exhaust tips before settling into a deep, gurgling idle. I turned around and looked at my wife as is if to say, “Can you believe that unearthly sound?!?” Noticing my surprise, Bobby Gill, the owner of an F430 Spider parked nearby, leaned over and remarked that Paul had turned the exhaust valves in the mufflers so that they stayed fully open all the time, resulting in the aural ambrosia. But the only option on the F12 I didn’t desire was the curiously named HELE Start&Stop feature. This “High Emotion Low Emissions” technology helps Ferrari achieve a 23% reduction in CO2 emissions at the risk of automatically stopping and starting the vehicle at every red light. Personally, I wouldn’t want that wear and tear on my drivetrain, nor telling people that I have HELE, which sounds like an autoimmune disease.           

 

 

2009 Nissan GT-R (Click Picture to Watch)

What’s this, a six-cylinder Nissan ranked ahead of Ferrari’s V-12 flagship? Indeed, as we were walking back from watching the Ferraris depart, I spied an unassuming silver Nissan GTR pulling up. I casually pointed it out to my wife and then I noticed the red fender badge which read “Alpha 16”. Suddenly, it hit me that this was Ben Haynes’ world-record GT-R. Six-months ago, he had made history when he dominated the TX2K16 event by beating a 2000+hp Lamborghini in the finals. I remember thinking that it was incredible the trophy was coming home to the Magnolia State instead of the usual areas like California or Florida.

 

So what kind of guy races a Nissan that can do 0-60 in 1.6 seconds and hit 216 in a half-mile? Ben is 31 and reminds me of a younger Brett Favre at the peak of his career. He owns a construction company in nearby Madison, BBH Construction, which allows him the budget to buy and modify his $60,000 Nissan, of which he has reportedly spent over $200K in upgrades. Naturally, tripling the stock horsepower means that very few items were carried over and the assembly was done by T1 Race Development in Rockwall, Texas. Primarily, the stock 3.8-liter V-6 was bored out to 4.2-liters and all internal pieces were replaced with T1’s proprietary GT1R components. Following that, an AMS Alpha 16 turbo kit was fitted which was akin to strapping dynamite to an atomic bomb. The explosive results speak for themselves and are what prompted him to create the now-famous “LMBOKLR” personalized plate which is short for “Lamborghini Killer”. Sure enough, when I spotted him, the same license plate was on it as was the parachute mandatory for slowing down from double-century digits. I gave him the thumbs up and he smiled and waved. Amazingly, despite 1600 horsepower going to all four wheels, it was trudging along in traffic as easily as a Toyota and nothing, save the parachute, tipped off its performance potential. Now, that’s what I call a supercar!