National Treasure 

Adopting America’s Original Sports Car 

  Pirate Press       September 2019 

Even after half a century, life’s cyclical nature never ceases to amaze me. That is, how things in our lives come back around whether it’s days, weeks, months or even decades later. My earliest recollection of a sports car was in the mid-70s, when I was around 8 years old. We lived at the end in a Cul-de-sac, and a prominent lawyer lived in the first house. One day, I spotted a menacing black car parked in his driveway. I didn’t know what it was, but the pop-up headlights assured me that it was something special. Those exotic headlights and the swoopy curves made it look like the Batmobile. Years later, I would learn that it was a third-generation (or C3) Corvette, a model that was produced from 1968-1982.  

How I ended up with a Corvette after all those years reads like an automotive rom-com. I grew up pining (and chasing) a foreign Italian beauty only to finally land it and realize the girl next door was the one I’d overlooked all along. It’s true—my Ferrari 360 was stunning and sounded incredible, but was a terrible car to drive. Couple that with the expensive maintenance and horrible reliability, and it was a four-wheeled financial disaster in the making.  After all was said and done, the Ferrari ended up costing me $50 for each mile I drove it.  

But despite the bitter taste in my mouth and the painful sting to my wallet, I still couldn’t deny the burning desire I had for another sports car. I just knew that this time it had to be something I would actually enjoy driving without worrying about everything else.  With that in mind, I had a pretty specific set of criteria I was looking for:  First off, it had to have a V8, because I was done with forced-induction four-cylinders. Granted, my Saturn’s supercharged engine has been a paradigm of reliability, but the power delivery has always been jagged and rough, as you’d expect of a tiny motor forced to develop a staggering 150hp per liter!  

Secondly, it had to have an automatic transmission because after thirty years of rowing gears, I was just plain tired of it. Almost as important was the styling. While I knew I wasn’t going to find anything that looked better than the Ferrari, it still needed to look good. I feel our cars are representations of us, and that it should be something I’m excited to drive daily.    

Meanwhile, the mileage was also a hot button. I tend to keep my cars an average of nine years, so I wanted relatively low miles to ensure it would be around for a while. Unbelievably, I’d seen some 2015 and 2016 models with nearly 100,000 miles on them which was a deal-breaker. Given today’s technology, most modern cars last well beyond their first six-figures, but I still get nervous when any car’s odometer rolls over that milestone.  

Also, it’s bound to piss off PETA and all the pro-vegans, but I can’t help that I love leather seats. It’s a guilty pleasure (like eating meat) that I’m just not yet ready to forfeit for the betterment of the planet. However, the inclusion of this in sports cars also seems to be wildly sporadic. Thanks to manufacturers byzantine marketing strategies, many times leather is only available if you opted for redundant features like the “Overhead LED Map Light” package. I realize cloth is a grippier, better surface for spirited driving, but the Cro-Magnon in me prefers cowhides. 

Another concern was overall vehicle mass, as automobiles in general have steadily gained weight thanks to an ever-expanding diet of technology and safety features. Each subsequent sports car generation is heavier than the last, despite increased use of aluminum and other lightweight materials designed to offset it. For instance, the new 2020 C8 Corvette is expected to weigh 3,600 pounds, 150 pounds heavier than the C7 (which itself was 100 pounds more the C6). Even my Saturns have not been immune— my 2006 Ion weighed 450 pounds more than my 1997 SC2.     

Lastly, my final and most important consideration was, of course, price. If you’ve ever compared the private party and dealer prices of the same vehicle, you know there’s a huge discrepancy. In the case of my Ion, the difference is $1,630. Likewise, the prices I’ve seen tend to indicate that most sellers actually believe their vehicle is worth substantially more than fair market value. For that reason, I passed on quite a few including one dealer in Florida who refused to budge at all on the price, even after a test drive and cash in hand. Even crazier, several sales people I spoke with never returned my calls leading me to wonder how they ever manage to sell any cars at all? But on the flipside were sports cars priced so attractively in Georgia, Florida, Louisiana and Texas that they were sold before I could get to them. I don’t know if it was smaller dealers snapping them up to resell, but I refuse to believe they were all sold to people who simply wandered in off the street. A perfect example is a Corvette that had just been listed in New Orleans.  Of course, I couldn’t go that weekend to check it out because Hurricane Barry was rolling in. Yet unbelievably, somebody actually bought it right out from underneath me! What I want to know is what idiot goes car shopping in a Hurricane???  

So, with that kind of competition, I feel fortunate I ever found the Corvette, though admittedly it was the culmination of a relentless, year-long search wherein I traveled thousands of miles and looked at hundreds of cars.    

Luckily, it was located in New Orleans which I consider our “backyard.” Since with Amanda’s surgery we made more trips and spent more time there in the past twelve months than in all our prior years combined.  And that the seller was an elderly 65 year-old man was both a blessing and a curse; it was a blessing because not being afflicted by the raging hormones of youth coursing through his veins, the Corvette was totally unmolested and 100% stock right down to the AC Delco air filter. However, it was also a curse due to his lack of proficiency with email and cell phones which meant communication was difficult at best. Email replies generally took three days, and he completely missed my phone call after I drove all the way over to look at the car the first time. Following that mishap, I had written it off, but an apologetic call from him convinced me I should give it another shot.  

I’ve had a lot of people ask me why I picked the C5 over a newer or more powerful Corvette such as a C6 or a Z06. The answer is that to me, the C5 is the best looking of any year model. The newer C6 loses the distinctive pop-up headlights I’ve loved since my youth and its overall shape is too angular for my tastes. Finally, neither the C5 Z06 or C6 Z06 are available with an automatic transmission, which I wasn’t willing to compromise on. 

Robert, the caretaker of the Corvette since new, looked pretty much as I’d imagined him from our conversations on the phone, save for a silver, two-inch pony tail dangling off the back of his head. A retired NASA engineer, he confessed to owning Corvettes since 1984 and is in the process of building a supercharged 482 cubic-inch V8 for his ’69 Corvette. He nonchalantly reckoned it should be good for “around 900hp” when he’s finished with it. Of course, this would normally be dismissed as an outright falsehood if not for the magnitude of Corvette engines and pieces littering his shop. In fact, I’ve seen entire Chevy parts departments with less equipment than he has. It also explains how his 2002 C5 was able to remain stock for seventeen years and only accumulate 55,000 miles on it. With a dedicated race car, he’s selling the C5 since he never has time to drive it.  

Cosmetically and mechanically, the Corvette was in fantastic shape, a testament to his description of always keeping it garaged and never driving it in the rain.    

2000 Ferrari 360	2002 Corvette C5
MSRP: $138,225	MSRP: $41,475
HP: 395 @ 8500 rpm	HP: 350 @ 5600 rpm
TQ: 275 @ 4750 rpm	TQ: 360 @ 4000 rpm
0-60: 4.6 sec.  0-100: 11.7 sec.  ¼ Mile: 13.1 @ 110 mph	0-60: 4.8 sec.  0-100: 11.1 sec.  ¼ Mile: 13.1 @ 110 mph
Top Speed: 175 mph	Top Speed: 175 mph
Engine: 3.6-liter 40-valve V8	Engine: 5.7-liter 16-valve V8
Weight: 3,291 lbs.  Height: 48 in.  Width: 76 in.  Length: 176 in.	Weight: 3,245 lbs.   Height: 47 in.  Width: 73 in.  Length: 179 in.

Judging by the nearly identical specs above, I’d almost accuse GM of plagiarizing Ferrari’s formula for the 360 were it not for the fact that the Bowling Green Bruiser beat the Maranello Mafioso to market by two years (1997 vs. 1999). It’s also a fascinating exercise in dualism as each take a wildly different approach to achieving the same end result. Chevrolet’s method is undeniably American—a huge (albeit low-tech) V8 that trades top-end horsepower for neck-snapping torque. The 360 is the polar opposite, with a small, high-revving V8. It’s not a stretch to say that the Corvette was designed for Main Street USA and the Ferrari for the Autobahn.  

They’re both so close in weight, height, and width that you’d need a measuring tape and scale to tell the difference. Yet, to be so similar on paper, they’re vastly different to drive. For starters, no one buys a Corvette or Ferrari for the luggage space, but in a pinch, the Chevy is the clear winner. While the 360 has some room in the nose for a couple small bags, the C5’s cargo area can swallow three sets of golf clubs.  Surprisingly, outward visibility is also better in the Corvette, though not by much as both suffer from a slightly distorted rear view given the steeply raked glass hatch in each.  

 As for the seats, the Corvette has long been derided for such items as poor side bolsters and lumbar support. But to be completely honest, I was pleasantly surprised by how comfortable they were on the 150-mile drive back home. In comparison, the Ferrari had carbon-fiber racing seats that cost $14,000 apiece. How ridiculous is it to think that just the 360’s seats cost more than my whole Corvette? That notwithstanding, at 19 pounds each they are 36 pounds lighter than the Chevrolet chairs. But more expensive isn’t necessarily better as they were thinly-padded, fixed bucket seats that offered no range of movement. I’m a huge proponent of weight-saving measures, but I wouldn’t want to undertake the same two-hour drive in them. Even worse, the Italians don’t believe in cruise control, so the Ferrari requires a firm foot on the accelerator at all times. Not so in the Corvette, which I was able to pilot from Slidell to Escatawpa without touching the gas pedal a single time.  

It's a given that the interior of a car costing roughly $100,000 more would be nicer, but the Corvette’s hard plastic dash and other surfaces was the most disappointing aspect of the car for me. Coming from a Saturn, I know all about GM’s low-rent materials, so I was particularly surprised to see them present in Chevrolet’s flagship sports car. Of course, the Ferrari’s delicate Connolly leather is highly prone to expensive warping and shrinking, so in this case the Corvette’s cheap plastic is actually the better alternative.       

Tires sizes are perhaps the biggest difference between the two thoroughbreds, with the Ferrari embracing 18-inch wheels at all four corners, while the Corvette opts for 17s in the front and 18s in the back. But despite that incongruity, both still agree on identical-sized 275/40R18 rear tires.  The 360 was equipped with factory-correct Bridgestone S-02 tires that retail for around $400 apiece while the Corvette wears new $340 Kumho Ecsta MX Extended Mobility Tires (EMT). Commonly known as “Run-Flats” these tires feature a strengthened sidewall that, in the event of a tire puncture, lets you safely drive on them without damaging the wheel. Goodyear Eagle EMTs were original equipment on the C5 due to the vehicle not having room for a spare tire. Regardless, I applaud Robert for retaining the run-flat tires and hope I never have to use them. Ferrari’s solution was a can of Fix-A-Flat that they passed off as an “OEM Tire Repair Kit.” These are highly prized by owners and collectors alike, and can fetch upwards of $1,000. 

My buddy Rick compared the color of the Corvette to Mississippi State’s “True Maroon.” His son attends college there and Victoria spent a week on campus for Dance Camp. But what I was proudest of was that it looked remarkably like the “Rosso Barchetta” color of my 360. Chevrolet bills it as “Magnetic Red II Metallic” which is slightly confusing. Does Magnetic Red come before or after Purple Rain? Regardless, it’s much more elegant and less flashy than the “Arrest-Me-Officer” color that is “Torch Red.” I felt that given the dark red color, “Ruby”, like the gem, would be a fitting name for the C5. But illustrating the different thought processes between myself and Amanda, I fondly recalled Ruby, ATI’s sexy mascot for its video cards, while she thought of the kid’s cartoon “Max and Ruby” about a pair of silly rabbits. That notwithstanding, the actual ruby gemstone is spiritually recognized as a protective jewel that brings happiness and passion into the life of the wearer. I’d say that perfectly describes my feelings for the Corvette.    

As far as the aural delight of each, it’s hard to beat the sound of an American V8. The Corvette has a pleasing burble at idle, but its true voice is somewhat stifled by the stock mufflers and catalytic converters. On the other hand, the Ferrari practically screams with its aftermarket Fuchs titanium exhaust, and what a glorious sound it is! No contest here, the 360 is the victor even if the Corvette wasn’t handicapped by its factory pipes. 

Finally, the Corvette is easier to drive and yet actually weighing less, it paradoxically seems bigger and heavier. And despite its hydro-formed frame adding stiffness, the C5 still flexes and creaks quite a bit over bumps and pavement imperfections.   

Some of my friends think it’s crazy to use a Corvette as a daily driver. However, I was emboldened by a lot of things, the least of which is Mark Blackwell’s 2000 C5 which he racked up 773,338 miles on. Other than regular oil changes, he didn’t even have to pull the valves covers until 750,000 miles to change the head gasket.  

Honestly, I don’t know if I will like it, or how long I’ll keep it. But for the money, it’s certainly a lot more fun and exciting to drive than anything else I’ve found. I’ll have more details and experiences to share in the coming months so stay tuned!

Leaving The Big Easy

Dinner in Slidell

Temporarily Using my Ferrari License Plate

Amanda Threw A Surprise Corvette-Themed Birthday Party For Me

Arriving In Style At Work

Hot Miami Nights!

  Pirate Press      January 2019

After our Hyundai self-imploded in Atlanta, I foolishly believed my bad luck for the year had run out. Therefore, I was brazenly emboldened to tackle another ridiculously long road trip in my seemingly never-ending search for a suitable Ferrari replacement.

Once more, I found an apparently too-good-to-be-true car for sale. But this one was in sunny South Florida, nearly double the distance we had driven to Georgia the month before. Still, I reasoned, the ten hour drive was doable, and factoring in stops for food/gas and the Eastern Time Zone would only inflate it to twelve hours. I confidently calculated that if we left at 6am, we could be there by 6pm.

But, like many things in life which turn out otherwise, it initially seemed so deceptively easy.

The first impendent was, of course, the fact that despite my best intentions I’m never, ever, able to actually leave on time. Secondly, Amanda and my daughter conspired to arrange an #UsToo protest that wanted them recognized for their willingness and sacrifice (Victoria’s words, not mine) in undertaking this lengthy spur of the moment travel. Their price, it was revealed, was a day at Disney World on our way back. I accepted their terms when I realized that they might as well go with me since the Doll House in Ft. Lauderdale had closed down.

The first couple hours of our drive on I-10 were uneventful until we came upon the exit for Defuniak Springs. There we began to see firsthand the awful destruction caused by Hurricane Michael nearly three months earlier. Massive oaks had been completely ripped out of the ground, and countless pine trees were snapped in half like brittle matchsticks. It was a staggering display of Mother Nature’s fury and a sobering reminder that it could very well have been us in the storm's path.

In terms of barometric pressure, Hurricane Michael roared ashore as the third-most intense Atlantic hurricane to ever make U.S. landfall, behind the 1935 Labor Day hurricane and our own Hurricane Camille in 1969. With a wind speed just 1 mph below Category 5 status, Michael also had the dubious distinction of being the most powerful Hurricane to ever strike the Florida panhandle since records began in 1851. It reportedly racked up $6 billion in damages to U.S. fighter jets at Tyndall Air Force Base in Panama City, and we personally witnessed some of the estimated $5.18 billion in losses to agriculture and timber. At one point, we came upon a twisted roadside sign indicating a Rest Area, but as we approached it, there was literally nothing left but a cement slab.

Don't tell the ladies, but Michael was average-sized as far as hurricanes go. However, its violent eyewall created momentary wind speeds in excess of 200 mph that fueled the damage and powered a 20-foot storm surge. As such, the National Hurricane Center is considering revising Michael to a Category 5.

The well-defined eye also prolonged its devastation, as it remained a Category 3 hurricane even when it entered Georgia, making it the strongest storm to hit that state since 1898. I don’t want to get into the “Global Warming” debate, as people are fiercely divided, but scientists are strongly suggesting that climate change could be responsible for the proliferation of these monster storms. A record heat wave in October provided the ammunition for Michael to rapidly intensify, hitting Florida just three days after developing in the Yucatan as a Tropical Depression. I’m reluctant to jump to conclusions, but what I do know is that in 2018, I personally experienced heretofore unseen schizophrenic weather patterns with the worst snow I’ve ever driven in as well as the hottest autumn in memory.

Not long afterwards, I happened to look down and notice that my phone had not been charging for the entirety of the drive. Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal, but we were on a 12-hour road trip and I was using the Waze traffic app, which drains the battery faster than Oprah goes through a Holiday platter of cheesecakes. My iPhone was already down to 50% and I had a mini-panic attack wondering how we would navigate to our hotel in Miami. I had never considered myself nomophobic, but it was a terrifying realization of just how dependent a previously avowed smart phone stalwart such as myself had become. None of the USB ports in the truck were working, so I assumed that whatever was affecting it (a blown fuse, maybe?) would also prevent us from charging them from the cigarette lighter socket as well. I then chuckled to myself with amusement as I realized what a misnomer the term “cigarette lighter” is in 2018. My thirteen year-old daughter has never even seen an automotive cigarette lighter, much less relied on one as the single source of amusement in the backseat of a 1974 Toyota Corona as I did. In fact, I believe the last car I had with an actual cigarette lighter and ashtray was my 1996 Honda del Sol, possibly because Asians love smoking almost as much as gambling.

We stopped in Tallahassee for a late lunch at BurgerFI, my third favorite fast-casual hamburger joint behind In-N-Out and Shake Shack. Serving all-natural burgers from the Top 1% of hormone-free, steroid-free and antibiotic-free Angus beef, I decided to try their fancy “CEO” burger. It’s advertised as a Double Wagyu + Brisket Blend Burger with Homemade Candied Bacon-Tomato Jam, Truffle Aioli and Aged Swiss Cheese. Of course, I realize it’s a marketing mouthful as it’s not real Japanese Wagyu anymore than the Candied Bacon-Tomato Jam is homemade. And with white truffles fetching $6,000 per pound, how much actual truffle can they afford to put in a $12 hamburger?

But the good news is that when we left, the USB ports started miraculously working again, so we all simultaneously plugged in our depleted devices.

Some 90 minutes later, we jumped on I-75 near Lake City and that’s when the traffic became insane. Having driven to Disney three times in the past three years, I’ve witnessed the ever-increasing gridlock each time. But what I’ve also noticed in my travels far and wide is that a driver’s attitude is quite often (perhaps even subconsciously) intrinsically tied to the vehicle they drive. Of course, there are exceptions to this, but like stereotypes, remain largely accurate nonetheless. Therefore, and culled from nearly forty years of driving, I’ve personally witnessed that Mercedes owners are the most self-entitled and inconsiderate drivers on the road. These are the ones I’ve observed the most who are always speeding in the left hand lane and impatiently attempting to bully other motorists into letting them by. Statistically, this bears out, as a 2015 YouGov personality test of 200,000 current automotive customers illustrated. Mercedes owners scored at the bottom with just 7% categorizing themselves as “Friendly”. Similarly, only 9% deemed themselves “Bighearted”, indicating an aversion to being concerned with or helping others. However, they clearly have no self-esteem issues as nearly one out of every two felt that they were “Knowledgeable” (46%) as well as “A Leader” (45%).

The second biggest highway offender I’ve recognized belongs to (not surprisingly) BMW owners. And more than any other automotive brand, BMW drivers are the most universally maligned and draw the most criticism.  Whether or not this is historical momentum from the brand’s “Yuppie” era of the 1980s, it seems justified as a whopping 70% pronounced themselves “Knowledgeable” while only 9% admitted to being “Friendly”.  Finally, an interesting parapraxis among both the Mercedes and BMW survey pools is that both scored poorly on the “Dependability” trait, with scores of just 10% and 13% respectively.       

Later that evening, we were near Orlando when Waze suddenly warned me about an “Object on Road Ahead!” These alerts, while generally helpful, aren’t always accurate. Many times, I never see any evidence of a hazard, or if there is something, it usually has blown onto the shoulder. Still, I had a gut feeling that this might be something to be concerned about, so I moved out from the car I was behind and into an empty lane. I made an executive decision that if there was something in the road, I don’t want the vehicle in front of us striking it and slinging it into our windshield.

Suddenly, I saw it— an enormous, shredded 18-wheeler tire directly in front of us. The black rubber against the black pavement at night made it invisible until I was directly upon it. At 85 mph, I couldn’t risk swerving so I braced for impact. There was a horrendously sickening jolt as the colossal chunk of steel-belted rubber collided with the Hyundai. Immediately, there was all manner of gut-wrenching sounds followed by sparks flying, worrisome noises of rattling pieces, and debris hitting the road.

My initial concern was of a punctured tire, ruptured radiator, or damage to the oil pan, all things which would incapacitate our rental car and leave us stranded. Bravely (though Amanda might say stubbornly) I continued driving, desperate to try and get us to Miami, despite the frightening rubbing and grinding sounds present. I was curious, yet equally terrified, as I tried calculating the extent of the damage possible.

Around 10pm, we finally made it to Miami, and for the past couple hours I had closely monitored the tire pressures and other ancillary functions. Based on that, it seemed the damage might only be cosmetic. However, when I opened my email to let the dealer know I had made it to Miami and would see him tomorrow morning, I had flashbacks of Atlanta one month earlier when the vehicle was sold out from underneath me. Apparently, someone bought the car just after we got underway, so we’d driven all day for nothing. With that disappointment and hitting the tire, it appeared that I just couldn’t escape the bad luck that had literally plagued me since June.

Miami was similarly unwelcoming with high heat and humidity and none of the glamour advertised on TV. Far from the tropical paradise it’s portrayed to be where celebrities are often seen frolicking in the white sand, we were kept awake all night by car horns, sirens and what sounded like gunshots in the distance. Not surprisingly, Miami was recently ranked “The Worst City to Live in America” while Travel+Leisure designated it “America’s Rudest City”. So what happened to The Magic City’s Southern Hospitality? Both reports cite the huge wage disparity as a determining factor with the top 1% of earners in the Miami metro area making about $2 million annually, which is 45 times greater than the average income of the other 99% of earners. The report also observed, “Citywide violence is closely associated with a range of negative social and economic outcomes, including incarceration, unstable employment, lower cognitive functioning and anxiety.” But, while I agree with the findings, I do need to stress that Miami certainly does not have a monopoly on “lower cognitive functioning” residents. In my travels, that affliction seems to be nationwide.  

Moon over Miami.

The next morning, I was able to visually inspect our Hyundai and thankfully the tires were still inflated and there were no fluids pooling underneath it. However, there was obvious damage to the front lip with the lower valance ripped up and the front skid-plate completely missing. The front passenger fender liner was also a casualty as it was pretty chewed up from rubbing against the wheel. But there was some solace in realizing the annoying flapping and grinding I had been hearing was just from the wheel well guard and nothing major. Of all the damage, it would be the cheapest and easiest to fix.

And fix it I would have to unless I wanted my insurance premiums to go up again. After my claim in May 2017 where the “lower cognitive functioning” woman came to a complete stop instead of yielding, my rates jumped from $100 per month to $180.   

So with our second Hyundai damaged and my prospective car sold, there wasn’t anything for us to do but turn around and head back to Orlando the next morning.

We made it to Disney Springs by noon and, as one can imagine on Black Friday weekend, the crowds were unbelievable. Likewise, due to the unexpected nature of our trip, we didn’t have any lunch reservations as everything was booked-up online. Even so, Amanda had always wanted to eat at T-Rex Café so when we walked by, she begged me to ask the hostess if by chance they had any cancellations. I initially resisted but eventually acquiesced, and warned her that I was going to get laughed out of the restaurant. I walked up to the hostess and prefaced my inquiry with “I know you’re going to think I’m crazy…” and then bluntly asked if they had any tables available. Incredibly, they did, and it was even in the coveted “Ice Room”. I was literally dumbfounded that we scored such incredible seats with no reservations whatsoever. It was clearly the most tangible evidence of Disney magic that I had ever experienced! In fact, if you Google “T Rex Cafe Ice Room” you’ll be greeted with around 20 million results, all containing endless YouTube videos, pictures and forum discussions devoted to the amazing area. I quickly realized that the prices were equally amazing, as even a salad was $19.50 and a bottle of water was $4.50. When I casually mentioned this “Disney Tax” to Amanda, she cheerfully reminded me how much money I saved since the car I wanted was sold. It was the most outlandish justification I’d ever heard, but it somehow made perfect sense.

After lunch, I was dragged into the “World of Disney” store which as the titular name implies, is the largest Disney gift shop in the world. Covering a massive 56,000 square feet, it was nonetheless so crowded with people clamoring for Christmas gifts that we could hardly move. I wasn’t able to calculate the amount of money being spent per minute there, but I’m sure it exceeded the gross national product of many small countries. It's the perfect place to go if you hate your money.

For dinner, I managed to book us a table at The Boat House in Disney Springs. Readers may remember this venue from my February 2016 article on the Amphicar. This was a case of doing things in reverse, as we did the Amphicar excursion first, and two years later were actually eating at the restaurant it is based around. But it gets stranger: The Boat House exclusively serves Gibson’s Blue Star Heritage Angus Beef provided by the legendary Chicago Steakhouse. Even funnier, we dined at Gibson’s in Chicago when we picked up my Ferrari in May. So, I was curious to judge how the two cuts of beef, separated by 1,200 miles, would compare. In The Windy City, I ordered W.R.’s Chicago Cut, a massive 22 oz. bone-in ribeye intended for two people. Given Gibson’s reputation as the first restaurant group in the country to be awarded its own USDA Prime Certification, I was expecting the beef to be outstanding. However, I could not have been more disappointed as the $60 steak was riddled with gristle and wouldn’t pass muster in an Outback steakhouse. As such, it holds the inglorious distinction of being the worst special steak I’ve ever eaten.

Unfortunately, and for whatever reason, The Boat House did not have the same W.R. Chicago Cut on their menu, so I had to settle for their next closest thing: a boneless 16 oz. ribeye for $48.50. It was served with several small potatoes and a tiny container of steak sauce, two items conspicuously absent from our meal in Chicago. Despite that, my Boat House steak was excellent and was much more in line with what I expected from Gibson’s. As a rule, I never request steak sauce, but will try it when it’s served with the entree. It was enjoyable, even if it tasted like an elevated version of Heinz 57. However, I still contend that for me, there is no better steak sauce than the one served by the world-famous Peter Luger in New York.

The next morning, we arose early to catch the bus to Magic Kingdom for our carefully orchestrated 16-hour assault on it. That’s right, we purchased one-day park tickets, as well as passes for the after-hours Christmas party, so we were going to stay there from 8am until the park closed at midnight.

I found a red convertible, but it wasn't for sale!

Given our spontaneity, we had no park reservations, no fast passes, and no idea what we were doing. Truthfully, it sounded like the perfect recipe for disaster, but unbelievably, it was just the opposite! The Lake Buena Vista weather was beautiful, and because it was the last day of the Thanksgiving week, the typical holiday crowds were leaving in droves to return to school and work. We casually strolled all over Magic Kingdom, simply astounded at how empty it was, and reveled in the ease with which we were able to board the rides. Even the most popular attraction, the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train roller coaster, had a standby time of only 30 minutes, quite a difference from the usual, agonizingly-long 120 minute wait. Amanda was reluctant to ride it with us due to possible consequences from her brain surgery. However, she decided that it wasn’t going to hold her back and she loved it. After the ride was over, she gushed enthusiastically that she wasn’t even dizzy.

At 6PM, the Disney employees began kicking out anyone who hadn’t purchased a $100 arm band for the Christmas party, and snack stations started popping up everywhere. These kiosks had an assortment of free cookies and beverages that was limited only by the size of one’s stomach. As such, I began voraciously devouring them at every opportunity, consuming roughly 15 jumbo chocolate chip cookies and 8 cups of eggnog during the first hour. Unfortunately, it all threatened to come back up during the Jingle Cruise. But, I didn’t see anyone else puking over the side of the boat, and I sure didn’t want to be the first to “toss my cookies”!      

Despite the gastrointestinal distress which thankfully passed, the 16 hours flew by. Victoria checked her Apple Watch, and it said we had taken a remarkable 16,000 steps which worked out to be something like 8 miles! Amanda admitted to her legs being a little sore, but otherwise, she was a real champ about it. I credit the steady supply of caffeine, sugar, and adrenaline for sustaining us through that marathon event.

The Disney Christmas Parade is about the only way you'll ever see snow in Florida.

The next day, I drove the 500+ miles back to Mississippi with the constant, irritating flapping of the right mangled fender liner as my sole source of entertainment. By the time we made it to Hurley, I was ready to finish the job and rip it the rest of the way out with my bare hands! If CIA operatives find that Barney’s “I Love You” theme is no longer effective for their "enhanced interrogation program" of terrorists, I hereby nominate the 10 hours of ceaseless scratching and rubbing I had to endure. It is guaranteed to melt the minds of even the most hardened criminals.  

Even less good news came in the form of the parts needed to fix my mechanical mishap. The affected pieces were identified as the front grill ($419.94), the bumper cover ($350.46), the front skid plate ($202.67), the fender liner ($130.47) and the front bumper lip ($70.49).

The fender liner was on national back order, but I managed to pick up the other pieces from Palmer Hyundai in Mobile. The parts manager took pity on me and knocked off $200, but even with his gesture of kindness, it still rang up to a staggering $918.34 before labor/installation.

Merry Christmas to me!

Truthfully, I’d never thought about it before, but it turns out that road debris like I encountered is much more common than I believed. In 2013, California spent $62 million cleaning up 155,000 cubic yards of litter and junk along its highways. To put that figure in perspective, that’s the equivalent of filling 1,000 swimming pools with 30,000 gallons of garbage each.  

But, road debris is more than just an eyesore: it can also be quite deadly. A 2016 survey from AAA uncovered that over a 4 year-period, highway hazards caused 200,000 accidents, 39,000 injuries and more than 500 deaths! Surprisingly, one of the biggest culprits was Christmas trees, along with furniture, lumber, tools, mattresses, garbage and even appliances. Undoubtedly, the scariest item reported was a bouncing bowling ball, while the funniest had to be an unclaimed artificial leg.

As I mentioned in my last article, our initial repair estimate indicated our Santa Fe would be ready November 26^th. But that date was quickly revised to December 15^th when I was notified that the engine was back-ordered. Now, the most current guess is January 25th for the engine’s arrival, along with an additional 14-24 business days to get it installed and tested before it will be ready. So, based on that schedule, it looks like we may very well be celebrating Valentine’s Day in Atlanta. But the funniest footnote regarding this came in the form of an "Important lefProduct Improvement Campaign" letter I received from Hyundai Corporate. Apparently unaware that my vehicle had already been in their care for the past two months, the delicately-worded manifesto urged me to take our Santa Fe to the dealer as soon as possible, but carefully avoided any mention of a recall. It cited, "excessive connecting rod bearing damage" that could cause "severe engine damage including engine failure." 

Regarding a Ferrari replacement, I’ve thrown in the towel after making three separate trips to three different states in the past three months and being shot down every time. Like I discovered last month, bad luck really does come in threes (or fours, if you count the tire we hit on the way to Miami). If nothing else, 2018 will certainly go down as the most unforgettable year of my life!

Finally, we're leaving the rain-soaked Mississippi coast for some New Year Cheer In Texas. Among other things, I'm looking forward to trying a steak that just might top the Japanese A5 Wagyu I ate in Manhattan.