Red October

A special Corvette returns after a 9-year absence 

 

  Pirate Press         December 2021

For the November 2012 issue of Pirate Press, I chronicled my first experience driving a Corvette. My daughter had won a beauty pageant, and I needed a convertible for the Homecoming parade, so a family friend graciously volunteered his 1999 C5. Given my track record and lead foot, I'm not sure I would have trusted myself with a Corvette convertible, but he did, and I thankfully managed to return it in one piece. 

The owner, whose age and haircut closely mimics that of a famous English band named after an insect, could have been an unacknowledged fifth member. And that got me thinking what popular Sixties musical act would I be: A Beetle, a Monkee, or a Door? I posed this purely hypothetical question to my better half, perhaps thinking she might romantically visualize me as rock-poet Jim Morrison, but instead she said I was definitely a Monkee. Nevertheless, I was flattered that she remembered it was my Chinese Zodiac Animal and I asked her if it was because of the sign's admirable qualities like Artistry, Charisma and Intelligence? No, she sweetly replied, it was the primate's propensity for flinging its own feces and masturbating in public that reminded her of me.

But I digress...

Now, nearly a decade later my daughter was chosen as a junior homecoming maid and I was loaned the same red Corvette for the 2021 parade. Upon dropping into the leather seat after a 9 year-absence, there was a sense of excitement, achievement and nervousness. Of course, the C5 is still roughly the same, minus some new tires and having racked up a few more miles. I say a "few more" because in 9 years it's only accumulated 2,000 additional miles. And that's primarily the reason for the new Michelin Pilot tires as the old Nittos had dry-rotted from the car sitting unused, sometimes for years at a time. Sadly, the owner refuses to sell it, claiming he's saving it for his granddaughter. And while this would be a dream come true for most any normal girl, her *wink-wink* "masculine manner" means she only wants a big, ugly truck and not a shiny, sports car.

So I gladly gave it some much needed exercise.   

And for what it's worth, the new Michelins are by far the best of the three tires I've personally tested on a C5. From a performance standpoint, the Kuhmo Run-Flats on my 2002 model were the worst, sacrificing lateral adhesion for the ability to drive 50-miles on a deflated tire. But in a car that I only drove 1,000 miles in 12 months, it's clear that ability wasn't a priority for me. However, the original owner quite possibly bought them due to living in an area I charitably characterized as "the armpit of Louisiana" and he obviously didn't feel safe breaking down there. Conversely, the new Michelins offered enough grip that I was able to pin the accelerator to the floor from a 20 mph roll without breaking them loose. Of course, I wasn't brave enough to try that in my C5, but it sure was fun in someone else's. And with 93 octane at $4-per-gallon, I also appreciated that it was dropped off with a full tank. After all, I'd be converting that petrol into excised hydrocarbons as rapidly as possible!

Otherwise, it's exactly how I remembered it, replete with the jarring ride and squeaky chassis that's endemic to every C5 out there. As such, driving it requires the forgiveness of a Catholic priest because it's truly a love/hate affair. I detest how it crashes over even the smallest bumps, but open it up for the briefest of moments and the roar and shove of the push-rod 350 is exhilarating. That 5.7-liter V8 might be old-fashioned but it still packs a wallop—even with four-valves-per-cylinder and variable valve-timing, my newer Fusion Sport can't hope to possibly keep up with it. Turning onto the highway, the Corvette accelerated to 90 mph so quickly that I had to hit the brakes, lest a State Trooper might nab me for speeding.

Clearly, the C5 is long on good looks and raw power, but in virtually all the other areas it's not so charming. For instance, take the convertible top which absolutely refused to retract. In fact, it seemed so hopeless that I was seriously considering driving it in the parade with the top up because I was running out of time. It was only after sheer desperation (and Googling it) that I finally managed to get it folded down.

And for most of the day, the weather was similarly uncooperative with scattered showers that soaked everything. I even delayed picking up the Corvette until that afternoon as I didn't want the road spray to dirty it. But as school dismissed at 3:00, the sun came out with a fiery vengeance making it miserably hot and humid. Growing up, October used to be a cool and dry month, but those days now seem as far away as my youth.

Unlike the homemade signs we used in 2012, Amanda wanted professionally designed ones this year. She located a sign-printing place, got a price, and was ready to order them when I asked how she planned on attaching them to the car? This was a point of contention since last time we used tape and midway through the parade they began to slide off. But she proudly explained that the new signs would have magnetic backs to eliminate that issue. I admired her problem-solving skills, yet had to point out something she hadn't considered: Corvettes have plastic door panels, so trying to use a magnet on them would be like taking an air-cooled Porsche to a radiator shop. In the end, we employed some suction-cup hooks— and while having to punch a couple holes in each sign wasn't the most elegant solution— they certainly held on well. In fact, they were so sturdy that I actually had trouble prying them off afterwards.    

However, I was pleasantly surprised that the Corvette marquee was so well represented in the Homecoming lineup with a white C4, two C5s, a C6, and several C7s, including a white 650hp Z06 model. Of the Torch Red C5 with tan top that was identical to mine, I quipped "Nice Car!" as we passed in traffic. At one point, I even saw a car with a sheep wearing a bikini and figured it must have been a new Lambikini.

Unfortunately, the Corvette's seats were hard and flat, and I discovered just how difficult the low-slung position made for tossing parade paraphernalia— I felt as incapable as Conor McGregor at Wrigley Field! The previous weekend we blew two Benjamins on over 1,000 party favors including 440 Taffy Fruit Chews (affectionately referred to as "Teeth Pullers" by a co-worker), 288 plastic footballs and 192 Moon Pies. Worse yet, there was so little room in the C5 that we had to invent creative ways to stash all the goodies, such as hanging beads from the sun visors, on the back of the headrests, and even stacking tiny frisbees over the gear shifter. The slippery convertible top didn't help either, as the items kept falling between the seats and I was tasked between driving and digging them out. Don't tell anyone, but I bet they're still a few melted Tootsie Rolls under there.    

 

 Miss Mississippi 2021, Bailey Mae Anderson, joined Victoria for a pic. 

As mentioned earlier, it was unseasonably hot for Autumn so Amanda suggested I turn on the air-conditioner as we trudged along in the 5-mph procession. I did and we promptly got a face full of hot air and dead leaves as it appeared the air-conditioner probably was last used when Obama was still in office. Seeing that it was doing the exact opposite of cooling us down, I simply shut it off and went back to monitoring the water temp which was flirting with the gauge's red line. It never quite made it there, but it certainly threatened to a couple of times. Aside from that, the other constant warning was an alert about checking the tire monitoring system. Apparently, the right rear TMPS wasn't sending any info about the tire's air pressure, so the system was throwing a hissy fit. I could reset it, but every time I restarted the car, the message returned as faithfully as a bounced check.  

And rather than making a sensible decision like getting to travel with the other Corvettes, the Homecoming Committee placed us behind the enormously unsafe Sophomore float, which contained 25 rowdy, over-caffeinated students. The theme was "Candy Land" and it was engineered with all the security and structural knowledge of, well, teenagers so it predictably began shedding large chunks of decoration almost as soon as we'd pulled out of the High School parking lot.   

So seeing as how 22 year-old Corvette parts are both terribly expensive to repair and replace, I had to remain hyper-vigilant to avoid the stray pieces that were dangerously blowing off. At one point I quickly swerved to miss a six-foot Gingerbread man that detached itself and threatened to crush us. Never one to miss an opportunity, Amanda quoted a hilarious reference to Shrek and excitedly exclaimed, "Not the gumdrop buttons!"   

But that wasn't the only hazard I was on guard against. Nope, my biggest concern was the complete lack of safety along the entire three-mile parade route. There were no physical barricades or impediments to prevent tiny kids from randomly darting out to retrieve a candy bar or necklace. This uncertain activity meant at any given moment I might have to suddenly dodge or brake for a child who foolishly believed a cheap plastic football was worth risking their life for. 

Back on the Sophomore float, which was now recklessly teetering like the Titanic, Victoria's friend Sarah had migrated to the back and they were playing a game whereby they were trying to throw each other pieces of candy between the moving vehicles. Still too far away, her friend kept motioning for us to come closer. Like a hijacking scene from The Fast & The Furious, I pulled the Corvette's fiberglass nose to within a few inches of the trailer's rear bumper so Victoria could get a perfect candy trajectory into the float. However, her friend misjudged and the Jolly Rancher hit our windshield like a runaway rock, causing me to nearly soil my pantaloons. Thankfully, it didn't crack it but it was certainly a pucker moment. I could only imagine the difficult conversation I'd have with the owner over how it happened.

 Sarah aboard the doomed Sophomore float.

The parade was finally nearing the end of the route, and the tree limbs and railroad tracks had sufficiently scraped and jolted loose the remaining artwork from the sides of the float. Victoria's friend was desperately clinging to a giant lollipop in an attempt to keep it from flying off and hitting the Corvette. "Hold it Sarah, Hold it!" Amanda pleaded with her. We were hemmed in and there was no where for us to go if it suddenly slipped out of her hands. 

Mercifully, we made it back before the float completely fell apart, the Corvette overheated, we hit a child, or any myriad number of other tragic things at the intersection of possibility and bad luck. 

Suffice it to say, we were all exhausted. I definitely think it's a lot better being on the receiving end of a parade versus the fatigue and outrageous cost of participating in it, but Victoria obviously believes otherwise.

So when we left, I let Victoria hop in the driver's seat and take us home. She may only have her Learner's Permit, but I still felt it was way less dangerous than turning her loose in a 900hp Hellcat like I did last year in Texas. That is, except for the fact that she was driving in three-inch heels which probably weren't the safest option when you have 350 hp under your right foot. 

 

The following evening was the actual Homecoming Ceremony which meant I was required to wear a suit for the first time in 15 years. Of course, this scenario provided no end of amusement for my wife and daughter who thought it was simply hilarious. Lord knows, I have trouble enough buying new socks, so I tried on many, many suits before I found a combination that I liked. One coat was so hot and uncomfortable that I felt like it might burst into flames, but then Amanda reminded me that it was a blazer. However, I finally settled on an Eco-Friendly suit that was made entirely of organic, plant-based material. I wasn't sure that it was the right one, but the salesman was confident it would grow on me, so I bought it.        

 

Yet for me personally, I considered the biggest triumph of the entire Homecoming Week was that we somehow miraculously avoided getting our yard rolled in toilet paper. It's funny how social attitudes on that have changed since I was in High School. Back then, getting your property plastered in toilet paper was a sign of disrespect. But now, it's considered a status symbol if you're deemed popular enough to warrant it. There was a Covid-imposed moratorium on that action last year, but before that, they got us good in 2019. And with Victoria and her friends rolling yards until 1 AM this year, I was definitely fearful of some retaliation. Luckily, that never transpired so I was able to remove the flood lights, bear traps and land mines from our yard that the neighbors kept complaining about. 

 

In the meantime, I might see if Amazon has a surplus sale on Mustard Gas for next year. Victoria might enjoy the spectacle in our front lawn, but I sure don't!    

 

Six Appeal

12 Months in a V6 Fusion Sport

  Pirate Press         October 2021

I've long remarked in these pages how time seems to fly and such a statement appears more relevant now than ever. Just a year ago, we collectively couldn't wait to dispense with 2020, but in what feels like the blink of an eye, 2021 is suddenly drawing to a close. 

So, with 2022 on the horizon that means it's also time to recap my first year of Fusion ownership. 12 months with it is four times longer than I owned the Ferrari and equal to my tenure with the Corvette. It's also puzzling to some people how I went from both of those sports cars to a sports sedan. One friend (okay, he's a foodie) equated it to starting out with a Filet Mignon and ending up with a salad. But to use his own simile, I was quick to point out that the leafy greens are clearly a better choice than artery-clogging red meat. 

But in a bizarre sort of way, it also sums up (hopefully once and for all) why I chose to settle down with the Fusion. The Ford is definitely, er healthier, than a Corvette or Ferrari particularly for my psyche and bank account. Over the past 12,000 miles and 12 months, the only mechanical failure has been a new battery. And as the original one was 7 years old, I couldn't fault it as most fail within half that time. The only downside was an uncooperative Ford dealer who wouldn't fit me in to replace it, so I ended up with a new Diehard battery from Advance Auto. Apparently, the old battery had been on its way out for some time— the Fusion now starts as fast as if I'd swapped a disk drive for a solid state one.   

And as my bad luck would have it, my windshield was cracked this Spring by an errant highway rock. I simply shook my head at the cosmic odds involved that allowed my Saturn to travel 10 years and cover 100,000 miles without a single stone chip, but my Fusion got one after just 6 months and 6,000 miles. Fortunately, the star-shaped pit was hardly larger than a pin-head and didn't spread. My insurance picked up the $75 repair bill to fill-in the spot and it's all but invisible now.

Shortly thereafter, it was also time for the Fusion's first oil change, a task I was not enthused about due to the cumbersome underbody cover. I first noticed these unwieldy enclosures on my Red Line, but as the oil filter was on top of the block, it didn't interfere with my changing it. However, it popped up later on my wife's 2015 Hyundai and is now on my Fusion, so there's clearly no escaping them. I understand the engineering and principal behind it as it helps straighten and smooth under car airflow. But if you're doing it in your driveway like I am, it adds a lot of unnecessary labor and frustration. 

For that reason, I finally broke down and bought a pair of ramps, rather than continue to risk it with a pair of wobbly tire jacks like I've been doing for the past 25 years.  Of course, it was no substitution for a real lift, but it did make the dreaded procedure considerably less painful. 

I heavily debated the use of full synthetic versus semi-synthetic motor oil, and after much research, finally decided that for a naturally aspirated engine like my 3.5 V6, Ford's Synthetic Blend was more than adequate. After all, the 3.0 V6 in our Ford Freestyle was a close cousin and it went 150,000 trouble-free miles on the same Motorcraft oil. 

Yet the most baffling part is how the Fusion's 213 cubic inch V6 requires just 5 quarts of oil but my 122 cubic inch four-cylinder Saturn needed 7 quarts. Aside from that, I was rather chagrined to find a "MicroGard" oil filter, a brand I was admittedly not familiar with. Since the oil was changed prior to my purchase of the car, I can only assume that the dealership was responsible for the O'Reilly's oil filter. 

Regardless, even after removing the under car tray, changing the Fusion's oil was still much easier than the sadistic Saturn which required (among other things) a 9" deep socket wrench and unbolting the intercooler fill tube. Finally, my Fusion's Cyclone V6 runs so cleanly that for the first month the oil wasn't even dirty enough to spot on the dipstick. Although I had refilled the crankcase with the specified amount, it nonetheless led to a lot of anxiety over whether I needed to add more or not? I trusted the process and eventually the oil level became visible, but of all the cars I've owned, this was definitely a first.  

And the Fusion was also my first car I've ever had to worry about "Swollen Nuts" on— an affliction that sounds like something a urologist, not a mechanic, should examine. Thankfully, it didn't have anything to do with "Blue Balls" but rather was a case of Ford using cheap, plastic-capped lug nuts. To future-proof this problem from ever happening again, I replaced them with "White Knights" that were carved from cold-forged and heat-treated steel with a triple chrome plating. 

            

I suppose what makes the Fusion so enjoyable on a daily basis is that it's full of practical, ergonomically designed items that compliment the driving experience instead of detracting from it. In short, the Fusion adapts to the driver, the driver doesn't have to adapt to it. Both the Corvette and Ferrari had their fuel filler door releases hidden under the center console lid and it was a pain just to access them. The 360 required more contorting and twisting than a Cirque Du Soleil dancer to reach it, and the Corvette's never wanted to open or close smoothly, like it was constantly catching on something. But undoubtedly the most useful item on the Fusion is the sliding sun visor, something the Ferrari or Corvette didn't possess. It might seem insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but driving to work daily with the sun rising and setting on my side certainly makes me grateful for it. The 360's sun visor, albeit upholstered in beautiful British Connolly leather, wasn't large enough to actually be effective. And the Corvette's was so stiff and creaky that I actually feared it might snap off, so I simply squinted the entire time.  

Also, and in what may be the most unusual compliment I've ever applied to a car, I had to remark about how sumptuous the Fusion's headrests are. Granted, the leather is probably the least soft of any car I've ever owned, due to the necessary need for durability. Yet, somehow the headrest is like a fluffy cloud that reminds me of my La-Z-Boy recliner. Illustrating that more expensive isn't necessarily better, the Ferrari's carbon fiber sport seats were a $25,000 option and they didn't even include a separate headrest!         

As for other cosmetic issues, they're been a few which I suppose I can blame on climate change. The sun and heat have been so relentless this summer that it faded my black antennae to a bizarre bronzed color, and the excessive interior temperatures caused the mirror to completely detach from the windshield. Initially, I believed I could drive without a rear-view mirror and I probably could have had the backup camera not been integrated into it. Admittedly, I've become rather spoiled on that device as the Fusion is the first vehicle I've owned that has it. So, it was another trip to my local glass shop to professionally reattach it, which thankfully cost just $20. 

BELOW: The Torque Solutions anodized finish didn't even last one summer in Mississippi's brutal heat. Hopefully, the new Steeda aluminum antenna fares better.  

Predictably, the extreme UV exposure also dried out the windshield wipers so I began looking for a new set. In so doing, I read that the NAPA-branded blades were actually comparable to much pricier ones so I decided to give them a try. I managed to catch them on sale and ended up paying just $10 for both, quite a savings over the $50 I typically spend on Bosch Icon wipers. Even if they only last six-months, I'm still coming out financially ahead!  

 

And speaking of saving money (which admittedly doesn't get mentioned much in these articles) I've calculated that over the past year I've banked $500 thanks to using regular fuel instead of the pricey premium gas that my Saturn required. Of course, I'm leaving some horsepower on the table by choosing 87 octane over 93, but if gas prices do ever come back down, I might be swayed to get that tune after all. 

In that regard, I've felt like the stock Motorcraft engine air filter was pretty restrictive so I decided to take the plunge and go with an aftermarket one to celebrate the Fusion's first birthday and the arrival of cooler autumn temps. But after the expensive problems using one on our Freestyle, I was dead set against another K&N. Luckily, I stumbled upon Advanced Flow Engineering (aFe) and their "dry" filter which unlike K&N requires no oil whatsoever and won't damage the MAF meter. Additionally, aFe is an American company and all their products are designed and manufactured at their headquarters in Corona, California. One of their many steps they take to ensure proper fit, finish and quality is their urethane casting. And they are one of the only aftermarket filter companies to use a specially designed comb that prevents the urethane from leaking down into the filter element. One some other brands— K&N included— the urethane drips down into the filter and blocks airflow. Independent tests show the Pro Dry filter as flowing 70% better than the stock paper element with a 99.2% filtration efficiency. Of course, the aFe filter is slightly more expensive than a comparable K&N, but it was easy to justify with the better performance and no need to ever re-oil it. The only downside was limited availability as the two nearest dealers where either in Lafayette, Louisana or Destin, Florida. As such, I didn't have the immediate gratification of walking into my local auto parts store and picking it up like I could do with K&N.  

BELOW: The gunmetal gray aFe looks and flows much better than the stock Ford air filter. 

After dinner one evening, we walked out of the Half Shell Oyster House in Mobile and I spotted a curious car with an identity crisis. It had originally left the factory as a 1991 Acura NSX but somewhere in the past thirty years those lines had blurred. In today's terminology, it might be referred to as transgender— how else to explain a Japanese sports car festooned with a Lamborghini emblem and yellow fender badges like a Ferrari? Further marring the appearance was a hideous black stripe up the front of the car and tiny black winglets on the rear spoiler. The calipers were painted urine yellow and gaudy aftermarket wheels rounded out the "drug dealer" aesthetic. Underscoring the car's confusion was a Texas inspection sticker and a Georgia license plate with a Disability Exemption.

I cringed, wondering if the owner actually thought someone might truly believe it was a Lamborghini? Regardless, it was a terrible waste of an otherwise once-great car. When the NSX debuted in 1990, it was the first exotic that was comfortable and reliable enough for daily use and pristine examples are now fetching $100,000. That made it all the funnier that my humble Fusion Sport matches—and in some areas exceeds—Honda's first supercar. 

Despite the two-seater NSX being the first mass-produced vehicle with an all-aluminum body, and the Fusion's inclusion of heavy modern conveniences and safety features, the Ford still competitively sits within 10% of the Acura's curb weight (3,300 lbs vs. 3,000). Similarly, the NSX has comparatively tiny 15" front wheels and 16" rear wheels compared to the Fusion's stickier 18" rubber. Finally, the Ford's 3.5 V6 is 30 cubic inches larger than the Acura's 3.0 V6, which almost erases the edge of the NSX's Formula One-derived powertrain with final output being 270 to 265. Yet even being down 5-hp, the Blue Oval's engine makes maximum power 1000-rpm sooner and 40 more torque 2000-rpm earlier. This translates to the Fusion's better performance and faster response on the street.    

And speaking of street racing, this article wouldn't be complete without me recounting a recent highway encounter I had with a 2000-era V8 Dodge Ram. I had volunteered to pick up Pizza Hut for dinner, so I was taking the back way into Hurley, rather than sticking to the four-lane as I usually do. I was stuck behind a ratty, maroon Ram for a couple miles when it slowed in front of me. I saw the car in front of it turn so I figured now would be a good time to pass him. But as I swung out to pass, he gunned it in an attempt to hold me off, perhaps hoping that with the approaching bridge and curve I would be forced to drop back. A lesser person would have probably exercised better judgement and waited for the next straightaway before attempting to pass, but as my wife will attest, God never granted me much patience.  

Admittedly, the Dodge driver had caught me flat-footed so I had to bury the throttle to overcome his advantage while also navigating the rain-slicked bridge and curve that was rapidly approaching. An isolated summer shower had blown through the area earlier and the road was still wet from it. It was far from optimal conditions, but I was already committed to it so there was no backing off. 

I entered the curve and bridge around 90 mph, feathering the throttle, and being careful not to make any sudden inputs that would upset the balance of the car. Thankfully, the new Goodyears didn't slip and held on, but I was going about 40 mph faster than was prudent. And as soon as the road straightened back out, I relentlessly poured on the speed to really bury him. A couple seconds later, I saw that he was a good half-mile back so I eased off the throttle and watched the speedometer start dropping below 120 mph. Following that, I maintained a steady pace between 80-90 mph to ensure that he never caught back up. At the end of the day, I had to admire his spirit, but he apparently never learned that you don't bring a knife to a gunfight!      

In my last article, I mentioned how unusual it is for me to spot another V6 Fusion on the highway. However, I didn't understand how rare they really were until I did a nationwide search. Unbelievably, the entire six-cylinder line represents just 3.3% of all available Fusions. And my Sport model is an even tinier segment, accounting for just a handful of the 84 cars available. Secondly, of the couple Sport models I've seen for sale and on the highway, none were even close to the low mileage or pristine condition of mine. In fact, the highest mileage I've seen is 202,000, which certainly bodes well for the longevity of mine, although I definitely won't be keeping it that long.  

But in case I do sell it, it's nice to see that the Chinese chip shortage has significantly increased my equity. Despite it being 12 months older and with an additional 10,000 miles on it, it's worth considerably more now than what I paid for it a year ago. Below is the same year model as mine, but in Black, and going for $20K.

Finally, it struck me as funny that one afternoon I was cleaning the Fusion when my elderly next door neighbor suddenly shouted across the yard that it looked good. I was so perplexed that I immediately dropped the water hose and beat a hasty retreat inside. There, I took my frustration out on Amanda by furiously bombarding her with questions like how have we lived there for three years and he never once mentioned anything about the Ferrari or Corvette!?! Or how in that time span could he have never noticed either car, but suddenly spotted the Fusion as if it just mysteriously appeared like an alien spacecraft??? He's always outside doing septuagenarian stuff like spreading fertilizer or building bird feeders so I know he saw them. 

The only satisfying conclusion I could draw was that given the distance and that all three are roughly the same shade of dark red, he might have thought it was the same car all along. Granted, he is pretty old, has terrible eyesight and drives a 2010 Nissan Sentra so he's clearly not a car enthusiast.

At least that's my story and I'm sticking to it!  

 

Disney Woke

How Radical Social Movements Are Ruining The Happiest Place On Earth.

 

  Pirate Press         August 2021

 

It has only been 14 months since we last went to Disney World, but it may as well have been a hundred years for all that has changed post-COVID. We left during the first week of February 2020, that tenuous time when global air travel was suddenly suspended and the virus was declared a public health emergency.  A month later, Disney World was closed indefinitely, marking only the seventh time in it's 50 years of operation, that such an occurrence has happened. Analysts estimated that shuttering the theme parks and properties was responsible for global losses of roughly $30 million per day magnifying just how much of a revenue generator they truly are. 

The week we were there in 2020 was a harbinger of the coming epidemic, with abnormally cold temperatures and miserable rain. Florida is known as "The Sunshine State" but we got none of that as COVID cast its long, sinister shadow.

Fortunately, the weather prediction for our 2021 Easter trip was a lot better. With vaccinations mounting, state's loosening lock downs and public confidence soaring, we figured Spring Break might be our last chance to visit Disney before the hordes of post-pandemic travelers arrived with a vengeance. But prior to embarking on the 1,000-mile round trip, I dropped off Amanda's 2015 Santa Fe at the dealer to address an annoying shudder under braking. It turned out that a caliper was seizing intermittently and had worn down the pad and rotor. I coughed up the $650 to replace both front pads and rotors as well as the caliper, but there was the lingering issue of the tires. Unbelievably, they were the original factory set and had 113,000 miles on them. I possessed no practical explanation as to how they lasted that long, other than being filled with nitrogen and rotated every 10,000 miles. I was loathe to part with them since they still had another 10,000 under their steel belts, but realistically it was the best time to install new ones. I wanted the same quartet of Kumho Crugens that it came with, but they were unavailable so I opted for the 235/60-18 Nexens that were on sale. Reviews of them were mixed, but with a 65,000-mile treadwear warranty, I figured they'd be the last set for our Hyundai. I joked with Amanda that this was going to be one of our most expensive Disney trips ever because we hadn't even left and had already spent $1,500!         

We departed before 6 a.m., and an hour later were treated to a beautiful sun rise over Mobile Bay. Fortunately, traffic on Easter Sunday was light but I knew that the acid test would come when we hit the I-75 corridor just north of Lake City, Florida. Funneling drivers from six-different states, I-75 is a 1,786-mile monster that spans the length of North America all the way up to Canada. It's not uncommon to spot license plates from as far away as Illinois and Michigan, but this time traffic was completely inundated with tourists from Georgia. Given that the CDC had just issued a Level 4 Threat Alert (the highest COVID-19 Threat Level possible) for the Peach State, that made it all the more charming to know that their infectious throngs would be swarming The Magic Kingdom when we arrived. 

But our immediate danger was in simply getting to Disney in one piece. Statistics confirm that not only is the congestion on I-75 getting worse every single year (some 80,000 vehicles travel it daily) it's also getting much more treacherous. For instance, traffic fatalities near Gainesville have seen a 52% spike over the past ten years. In 2019, a semi truck collided with a passenger van, killing five children aboard and injuring eight others. They were traveling from Louisiana and never made it to Disney World. 

And even if you don't end up getting killed, the traffic is so bad it makes you want to kill yourself. Take the account of a 48 year-old Mississippi man who on February 25th jumped to his death from the Millhopper Road overpass. His body reportedly bounced off a 2019 Kenworth tractor-trailer before landing in the Northbound lane. Now, I've hit my fair share of small, woodland creatures but I can only imagine the cacophony created from a full-sized adult body striking a vehicle moving at 80 mph. I bet the driver of the Kenworth had to stop at the next exit to change his underwear!

Mississippi had thankfully rescinded its mask mandate in March, but Florida wasn't expected to until June or July, so we were stuck wearing the hot and uncomfortable face coverings everywhere we went. I laughed about Disney's polite warning that guests who didn't comply "would be asked to leave" but it became very evident that The Mouse Mafia doesn't take those violations lightly. In fact, I was reprimanded multiple times when my mask didn't completely cover the top of my nose, and each time I retorted that it was because either I couldn't feel it or talking had caused it to drop down. Even so, I quickly got tired of the harassment and simply referred to them as Mask Nazis. Further infuriating me, they had the audacity to constantly badger me about it, but couldn't be bothered to refill any of the hand sanitizer stations.        

This hypocrisy also included temperature checks at all the parks and Disney Springs where we visited for dinner after arriving. And while the temperature screenings were mildly inconvenient, it seems the combination of endless waiting, heat and exhaustion took its toll on one patron from Louisiana who refused the health check and was promptly arrested. Broadcasting his elitist attitude, he claimed that Disney couldn't kick him out since he paid $15,000 to stay there for the week. I had to laugh as the last time I heard of someone getting forcibly removed, it was by a guy who had fondled Minnie Mouse. In my estimation, he was either very dumb or very weird— everyone knows the princesses are (literally) much more attractive targets unless you have a rodent fetish. 

For breakfast on our first day, Amanda booked us reservations at the hugely popular Trattoria Al Forno, an  upscale eatery at Disney's BoardWalk that loosely translates to "Oven Baked Italian Restaurant." Despite ten trips to Disney in the past ten years, we'd never set foot on the BoardWalk so were were looking forward to the unusual experience of visiting a new place.

Our only problem seemed to be in figuring out how to get there.

Due to Disney's byzantine bus schedule, it was impossible to go directly from our resort to the BoardWalk. Therefore, it was suggested that we catch a ride from All-Star Movies (where we were staying) to Animal Kingdom, even though we had no intentions of actually going in. Instead, we were told it would be easy to catch a shuttle to the BoardWalk from there. However, Disney transportation is like an airport terminal, with around thirty different gates for all the buses, and our connecting spot always seems to be the very last one. Despite that, we made the trek and waited for our BoardWalk bus to pick us up. Incredulously, a couple buses pulled in and expelled their passengers but never gave us the chance to board. We had allotted an hour for travel, but that had mostly been eaten up by the pickup snafus and our dining reservation was coming due shortly. In desperation, I approached one of the cast members in the office and explained our dilemma. Unfortunately, she agreed that Disney's bus routes outside the four main theme parks are problematic at best and had little to offer in the way of advice. 

It was then that I attempted a little "social engineering" in hopes of increasing our odds of getting to the BoardWalk quickly. I noticed on her name tag that she was from Havana, Cuba, so I teasingly asked her if she had any Romeo y Julieta cigars I could smoke while I waited? She acknowledged that she didn't, but nonetheless perked up at the mention of them. Seeing that I now had her attention, I pressed onward inquiring if she possessed any Havana Club Rum? She volunteered that her last time to visit Cuba was right before COVID and that while she couldn't find any Havana Club, she said all the local rums were pretty similar in taste and quality. I agreed, adding that Cuba's unique soil is the best in the world for growing sugarcane and tobacco. 

Following my carefully constructed rapport-building conversation, she was suddenly much more eager to help us and within a few minutes we found ourselves as the sole passengers on a bus destined for the BoardWalk. Having been accustomed to being crammed in these vehicles like sardines, it was quite a treat to be chauffeured around as VIPs. It was the first time—but not the last—that we would have an entire bus to ourselves during our week at Disney. But most importantly, it underscored how a little friendliness towards the cast members can pave the way for a much more "magical" experience. 

Full disclosure: I'm a fiend for flapjacks so I couldn't wait to try Trattoria's special buttermilk pancakes. Their Italian recipe makes them much fluffier and thicker than I'm used to, and ironically, more similar to Japanese Souffle Pancakes than traditional American ones. There was a side of strawberry compote that I combined with the butter and syrup to create the most mouthwatering matutinal meal of all time. I haven't ever eaten a strawberry shortcake for breakfast before, much less one slathered with butter and drenched in syrup, but it was gastronomic hedonism at it's finest. Meanwhile, Amanda said she felt like she needed to take her insulin just from gazing at my sugary abomination. 

Of course, our Gen Z daughter ordered a favorite among her peer group, opting for the Avocado Toast, a dish I'm sure Walt Disney never envisioned when he created The Magic Kingdom fifty years ago. And while I certainly wouldn't have requested it, I did have to begrudgingly admit that it looked pretty good. As one of the only green foods (fruit or vegetable) that Amanda doesn't eat, I happen to love avocados, but nonetheless believe that I need more to fuel my busy theme park day than just one and a couple slices of bread.

As we left Trattoria, we discovered that a quick walk around the BoardWalk led us right up to Epcot, which would have been wonderful to know about two hours earlier, saving us a lot of frustration. But, we filed it away for future reference and made our way to Test Track, our first ride of the day. It's a perennial favorite, although I feel the 250 hp and 65 mph top-speed is not as thrilling as when the ride first debuted in 1999. Nevertheless, it retains the title of fastest attraction at Disney World (beating out Rock 'n' Roller Coaster by just 5 mph) but competitors such as Universal's new Velocicoaster have surpassed it. Personally, I'd like to see them restore the ride's originally proposed top speed of 95 mph, before it was dialed down to match the (then) national speed limit of 65 mph. It would definitely breathe new life into the attraction.

But until Disney decides on that, I had the next best thing: Per Lotus Sports Car founder Colin Chapman, the easiest way to make a vehicle faster is to remove excess weight, and thanks to a little luck and imposed social distancing regulations, that's just what we got. Typically, each Test Track "SimCar" seats six passengers— three in the front and three in the back. However, with COVID protocols, the middle seat in both rows was purposely left empty so we were effectively burdened with one-third less mass. Couple that with our other two passengers being a woman and small girl, and our power-to-weight ratio improved even more.                

Although our top speed was still limited to 65 mph, the overall acceleration did feel mildly improved courtesy of roughly 500 fewer pounds to motivate. In fact, it was so fun it even gave me the inspiration to stalk a visiting Anorexics Anonymous group and try to ride as frequently as possible with them.

As we exited the ride and walked into the adjoining GM showroom, we were greeted by a brand-new C8 Corvette. I was surprised to see one, not because it's somewhat exotic, but rather due to it's star-crossed delivery schedule. Despite being introduced in July 2019,  a UAW strike delayed production until February 2020. But then just as the assembly process was beginning to ramp up, the pandemic struck a month later. GM responded by closing factories around the world, and slashing the Corvette staff from 250 to 20, reducing vehicle deliveries to a trickle. The assembly line was halted again in February and March of this year as the Bowling Green plant struggled with a shortage of transmission parts. All this has led to a frenzy surrounding sales of the car, with inflated prices and dealer waiting lists stretching into 2022. Given that, I'm surprised GM would lend one for a static display when it could easily sell it instead.    

And while it's nifty that the C8 is the first production Corvette to adopt a mid-engine design, the real news is the anticipation of the 2025 "Zora" model. Named after Zora Arkus-Duntov, the GM engineer acknowledged as the "Father of the Corvette", it will reportedly possess nearly 1000 hp from a hybrid gas/electric twin-turbo flat-plane crank V8. Both the Shelby GT500 at 760hp and the Dodge Demon at 840hp deliver more power than the outgoing 755hp Corvette ZR1, so it makes sense that Chevy would want to wrestle back the bragging rights for fastest American sports car. Of course, a lot can happen in the next four years, but the Zora certainly sounds exciting. 

 

Disney claimed that park capacity was being limited to 35% due to social distancing, but what we observed was clearly a lot more than that. Granted, it wasn't as crowded as previous Spring Breaks we've attended, but it was enough to generate two-hour waits at all the top attractions.  

 

Fortunately, we had Amanda's Disability Pass, which let us ride whatever we wanted without standing in line. In the past, we'd often paid for special "After Hours" parties which let us ride anything and everything for a brief 4 hours after the park closed. But this was even faster, with a special handicapped lane that bypassed the standard lines and led us right up to the ride itself.   

 

In addition to the crowds, the oppressive heat was the second biggest source of fatigue. We had hoped that by visiting during the first week of April it would be rather mild before the typically steamy run-up to Summer. Instead, what we got was a bizarre combination of scorching days and chilly nights. Walking through the sweltering area of Animal Kingdom's Africa one afternoon, I remarked to Amanda that it was so miserably uncomfortable that I bet it was actually hotter than in the real Africa. Sure enough, I pulled up "Mozambique" which I had seen on a nearby sign, and was correct: With a daily high of  84 for Africa versus 92 for Florida, it was indeed worse in Lake Buena Vista than the arid region it was designed to represent.           

The annual "Flower and Garden" festival was in full-swing when we arrived, so there was even more gluttonous consumption of frilly and overpriced snacks than usual. And as you can imagine, with that quantity of food being devoured, there were invariably some unappetizing sights derived from it. Since food is not allowed on the buses, one kid creatively smuggled a massive turkey leg up the sleeve of his hoodie so he could gnaw on it undisturbed. Had he been a little older, he might have thought to shove it in his pants, thereby attracting some female companionship.                   

Small children at Disney are also amusing, whether it's a red-faced tantrum or an inevitable mishap with food. In this case, a grandfather was delivering a large pretzel to a toddler in a stroller when he clumsily dropped it. Yet despite it's less than round circumference, it performed an admirable duplication of a prehistoric wheel, awkwardly rolling a couple feet on the heavily trafficked ground before quickly tipping over. But much to my shock, the elderly man simply picked it up and handed it to the child as if nothing had happened. Publilius Syrus may have observed that "a rolling stone gathers no moss" but I'm not so sure he'd feel the same about a pretzel at Epcot. In fact, moss would be the least of my worries!

Amanda had struggled for two-months to get us dinner reservations at Topolino's Terrace, the stunning rooftop restaurant located in the new Riviera Resort. In January 2020, we were among the first to eat breakfast there and had fallen in love with the whole experience which was modeled after the cliff-side restaurants in France and Italy. So, after a long and sweaty day of being in the Parks, we caught a Skyliner to take us over for dinner there. We arrived and rode an elevator to the tenth floor before checking in with the restaurant manager. He informed us that our table wasn't quite ready yet, but invited us to enjoy the stunning sunset on the outdoor patio while we waited.

Once outside, I began to feel a little self-conscious as all the other guests seemed really dressed up while we were in typical park attire of t-shirts and shorts. When Amanda noticed the same thing, I defended our clothing choice by reminding her that we had spent all day park-hopping in the heat, while most of these guests looked like they were staying at the Riviera and had come freshly from their rooms.

Eventually, our table was ready and we made our way there. Once seated, I didn't feel as conspicuous and we focused on what we wanted to order. Their so-called "Flavors of the Riviera" tended toward dishes you might find in a Michelin Star restaurant, with prices to match. Amanda's Diver Scallops entree cost $49, while my Tomahawk Veal Chop was $52. Judged solely on weight and visual appeal, my French-trimmed rib bone was a much smarter purchase than her handful of tiny, bivalve mollusks. And with so many "Allergy-Friendly" and "Plant-Based" options on the menu, my sizzling hunk of red meat was a huge middle-finger to all the salad eaters.

While there, I casually sent a picture of my Veal Chop to a co-worker named Richard who shares my similar taste in fine dining. Victoria describes him as "Bougie like us" and loves to see his text messages that he intentionally writes in an onomatopoeia. He recalled his recent experience with steaks and how his cat had attempted to eat them in the middle of the night. When Victoria read it to us in a satirical accent, Amanda thought she said "butt holes" instead of "bite holes" and it lead to a lengthy discussion about last year's "Cats" movie and how their sphincters were digitally erased with CGI. When the movie bombed, James Corden blamed the poor box office on the removal of said orifices and campaigned for the unedited version to be released which was dubbed the "Butt Hole Cut." Despite their love of felines, neither Amanda nor Victoria knew about this controversy, and both laughed hysterically as I explained the whole sordid tale to them. Finally, the contiguity of discussing the repulsive subject matter in such a ritzy restaurant made it even funnier. Amanda was convinced that the taboo subject of feline anuses had never been spoken about in Topolino's before and probably never would again!

But the concluding humorous footnote to our dining experience came the following day when I noticed the overdue reminder for our reservation. It specifically mentioned the dress code and stated that "Men must wear khakis, slacks or dress shorts and collared shirts. Sport coats are optional.Women must wear Capri pants, skirts, dresses or dress shorts." 

Oops!

Even though the event was the night before, I felt a huge wave of embarrassment wash over me and then I finally understood why everyone seemed so overdressed. I cringed at the memory of me strolling in there with a Nike t-shirt (featuring, of all things, an alien abduction) and athletic shorts. Of course, I really had to tease Amanda about her Nightmare Before Christmas shirt: It was emblazoned with a huge picture of Jack Skellington complaining that he hated people and mornings. She was humiliated, but I couldn't stop laughing! We sure must have raised some eyebrows and it's amazing we didn't get kicked out!   

The next day, Victoria wanted to ride Expedition Everest so we caught the first bus to Animal Kingdom. At 199.5 feet tall, Everest is not only the tallest roller coaster in all of Disney World but also the highest artificial mountain in the world. It was deliberately kept under 200 feet due to FAA laws requiring structures of that height to have a blinking red light for low-flying aircraft and Disney Imagineers felt the inclusion of that red light would detract from the overall immersion.

 

Due to the 80-foot drop and the 50 mph speed, a minimum height requirement of 44-inches was instituted. However, cast members didn't seem to be enforcing it and I couldn't help but notice a small boy  behind us that didn't even look 36-inches tall. As such, I told Victoria to keep an eye on him as I strongly suspected we might get some entertainment out of it.

After the roller coaster was moving, it was time for the vertical climb of 118 feet which is intimidating even for seasoned riders such as myself. And as we approached the top, I could hear the mother behind us reassuring him that she'd heard the ride "wasn't that bad" and that he'd be fine. I gave a knowing wink to Victoria and she nodded back, as eager as I was for the inevitable hysterics to begin.

 

Sure enough, we got to the peak of Everest and saw the spot where the Yeti had presumably ripped up the tracks. Then the coaster plunged backwards and the kid began screaming at the top of his lungs. And he continued to holler as we spiraled all the way down the mountain. When we finally reached the bottom, we all were crying: Victoria and I from laughter and him from abstract fear. Afterwards, Amanda castigated us for finding humor in it, but we couldn't help ourselves. These parents—whether because of defiance or stupidity—need to think twice before plunking their 7 year-olds on these high-speed coasters. There have been plenty of adults, never mind kids, that have experienced health issues from riding Expedition Everest. In 2007, a 44 year-old man died of a heart attack on it, and in both 2018 and 2019, a 26 year-old man and a 41 year-old woman both suffered seizures.

 

With the acquisition of my Fusion Sport last fall, it had been 30 years since I'd driven a Ford daily so I was excited about the opportunity to try the new Ford's Garage restaurant in Orlando. It's kind of a big deal, as it's the first eatery that's officially licensed to use the manufacturer's iconic logo and images. During our travels, we've eaten at several automotive-themed restaurants such as Quaker Steak & Lube and Gas Monkey Bar N' Grill so I was curious how Ford's Garage would stack up. 

 

It definitely got an A+ for presentation as it abounded with numerous Blue Oval touches such as a couple Model Ts parked in front, a six-cylinder engine by the entrance, and even repurposed truck tailgates for the benches. As it turned out, the benches were particularly important since there was a lot of waiting involved. It was immensely popular, as a party of eight behind us was from Dallas, Texas. However, there was no word on whether they drove a Ford or not. I told Amanda that actual owners such as myself should be given priority seating, but we had to wait regardless. 

 

Ford's Garage was also big into recycling: The urinals were Anheuser-Busch beer kegs, so the fluid going in looked the same coming out. Likewise for the napkins, which were blue shop rags that could be endlessly washed and reused.

 

 

Unfortunately, the hour delay for the food was about as thrilling as waiting in a real Ford service department, except for the lack of old copies of Motor Trend to read or stale doughnuts to snack on. I was also slightly put-off by the misleading advertisements that publicized "Prime Burgers." When I think of prime burgers, my mind naturally goes to burgers made with USDA Prime graded beef, but this isn't the case. Ford's Garage uses USDA Choice meat, which represents 50% of the consumer beef market, while Prime is just 2 percent— that's a big difference in both cost and flavor. Perhaps they should simply rebrand them "Premium Burgers" so as not to deceive customers like myself expecting actual USDA Prime.  

 

For that reason, I went with the Chicken Sandwich, which was a fried chicken breast with honey mustard on a brioche bun. I don't eat a lot of chicken sandwiches, but I can confidently say that Ford's  $13 sandwich is not as good as Popeyes' $3 one. That in itself is mildly disappointing, but I understand that the actual food takes a backseat to the experience at these tourist traps. 

 

    

For our last day at Magic Kingdom, we made a conscious effort to visit Splash Mountain, possibly for the final time. It's my wife's favorite ride in all of Disney, but political pressure is forcing it to be "re-themed" since a change.org petition claims that it is "steeped in extremely problematic and stereotypical racist tropes." But before you take that organization too seriously, please consider that they're also responsible for the recent request to keep Jeff Bezos in space and not allow him to return to Earth. Finally, the liberal media didn't disclose this, but while 21,000 voted to change Splash Mountain, 90,000 actually cast their ballots to keep it the same.   

 

 

 

In 2017, a scene in Pirates of the Caribbean was overhauled after being accused of misogyny, and now Jungle Cruise is also on the chopping block for it's "Racist Depictions Of Indigenous People." Apparently, some uneducated snowflakes felt that a historically-accurate portrayal of Papua New Guinea cannibals was unjustified, even though the Korowai tribe killed and ate victims as late as 2012 and still claim to practice it today. Yet, portraying cannibals authentically in 2021 is somehow deemed offensive. 

 

It's ridiculous that some groups get so triggered by silly amusement park rides, but shame on Disney, the most powerful entertainment company in the world, for yielding to their outrageous demands. What's next, pulling down the statues of Walt Disney at all the parks?

 

Unfortunately, Disney World is no longer the magical, innocent place it used to be. Calls for social reform and the pandemic have sucked a lot of the enchantment out of the experience. Furthermore, the original dress code drafted by Walt Disney in 1955 is being discarded in favor of a new "gender inclusive" one that allows facial hair, piercings and tattoos for all employees. At this rate, the new Beauty and the Beast might well just be a bearded lady! 

 

Lastly, if there's a secret Disney "No-Fly" list I've likely landed on it. Two months after we returned home, I received a suspicious email claiming I still owed Disney $95.47 with instructions to mail it to an address in Dallas, Texas.  Naturally, this had all the markings of a phishing attempt so I promptly deleted it. But a month later I received a more sinister email, this one threatening actual legal action if I didn't immediately remit the purported outstanding balance. Slightly incensed by another unsolicited email, I again dismissed it. Another month later, I finally answered the third email but I requested proof that it was legitimate. Apparently, Disney had neglected to add our parking fees when they charged us at the resort. But rather than absorbing the small amount due to an error on their part, they continued to harass me for a service that previously was free when staying on the property. 

 

Suffice it to say, I was quite angry given the thousands of dollars we spend there every visit and when I called Disney to pay the unwarranted balance over the phone, I made sure to express my displeasure. I told the stammering little fellow at Disney to relay to his Marxist bosses that the $95 I had to pay was dishonest, erroneous and reprehensible, and that in over ten years of visits we've never once been told we owed any money, much less been threatened with legal action. I stated that it also made it all the more insulting that the fee was for the absurd parking charges. I explained that I'm disgusted by the annual price increases as well as the continuing loss of benefits such as free parking. 

 

Naturally, he didn't have a valid rebuttal as everything I said was true, but it signals an unfortunate shift in Disney's burgeoning appetite of corporate greed. As a minority shareholder it makes me money, but on the other hand I feel like Walt is turning over in his grave. I'd love to one day take my grand kids to Disney, but not if it continues down the path it's going.