Escape Velocity

There are times when the highway beckons.

When the roads around town, between home and work, provide no relief. When you're feeling too many things bearing down on you...the way one of my favorite songs puts it:

"I have been in cities where the multitudes envelope me,

The stations and the depots felt so cold.

Looked up at the city spires, they couldn't build them any higher,

A giant's teeth were clenched around my soul."

It's those times when you need an escape. You know, when you've given your last at the end of a too long day..."it's been a long month this week"...and you're not quite so exhausted that you can't do anything but collapse. That's physically tired; and when you're like that, that's just what you do...collapse on your bed, and then somehow you sleep it off and rally the next day.

No, I'm talking about emotionally tired. Times when your brain needs room to vent.

S P A C E.

When only open land will give it to you. Maybe it's farm fields, maybe the coastline, maybe it's the desert.

Maybe for you, it's Highway 1, heading North past San Simeon. Maybe it's the trip up Wyoming's Wind River Canyon. For others, Alligator Alley proves to be the right fit. Maybe it's Hwy 60, heading NW out of Phoenix. Who knows. But you've decided on how you want to spend this evening.

You find yourself pausing a bit as you walk up to it. You just waxed it the other day. It's a little dusty already, but not bad. A quick swipe with your finger confirms that the finish under the dust is still as slick as butter. You open the door...reverently?...something like that. It's different than coming up to just any other car. With this one, it's like approaching a thoroughbred. You do it with a mixture of reverence and awe.

You slip into the driver's seat. You pull the door shut, and hear that solid "thud." Listen to the silence for a moment...it's the last time you'll hear, or want to hear, that silence for a while. You turn the key, and the engine purrs, then roars to life. It's the sound of American Muscle, pure and powerful.

You move cautiously through the crowded streets around home. She (or he, if you have a male car) may be a bruiser, but it's still your baby and you never can trust other drivers too much. You finally reach your favorite stretch of road. A quick look around confirms...traffic is sparse or non-existent. Now is the time.

You give it some throttle. A little smirk crosses your face. Maybe you're one who stomps right to WOT; maybe you squeeze the peddle instead of stomp. Either way, we all seem to get to the same place: whipping down the road, sliding through the gears, and with each jump in speed and roll of pavement under the wheels, the stress seems to melt away. Soon, you find you're focused on sensations: the white lines flashing by on the blacktop ahead, the sound of the wind rushing past, the drone of the pipes underneath and behind you. You're in a zone, and you find you've relaxed deep into the seat. And it's then you notice your little smirk has turned into a big ol' grin. You ask yourself "when did that happen?" And eventually, you let off the throttle and let 'er slow on down. Because just like that thoroughbred, you have to let 'er cool down on the way back to the stable. But you have what you came for. You've reset your levels and refilled your tank...until next time.

This is your escape vehicle...your transport to sanity. Yours may have a name: The Mistress, HellBitch, Ares, or Maggie Mae. Maybe it's the Lady in Red, or Plain Jane, or The Interceptor. Maybe Loco, or the Batmobile, or Dr. Evil.

They go by many different names, but one thing is for sure. If you see me in mine, or one of my compadres in theirs, take a little care in what you say. Let me give you some advice: don't call it "a car."

Because you see, it's not just "a car," ... it's a MOPAR.

Dodge Challenger...An Orange in an Apple Orchard

Growing up, I watched Motor Trend, Car & Driver, and other similar magazines doing their periodic "Pony Wars" comparing the Chevrolet Camaro of my day with the Ford Mustang. These were early 80's shootouts, which is to say fairly pedestrian and boring, compared to the technology of today or what I imagine the late 60's pony car shootouts entailed.

Conspicuously missing from those articles was the Dodge Charger or Challenger. This was with good reason, as the Charger and Challenger both effectively sunsetted as muscle cars in 1974-75. The Dodge ponies were therefore nowhere on my radar screen as a young kid dreaming of owning my own cool car...old muscle cars were not as common in my little part of the world as they were in other parts of the country. Like many youngsters of my day, I was only exposed to classic Dodges by the Dukes of Hazzard.

More recently, in the last 2 years, I found myself optimistically entering my midlife crisis, and looking for a new vehicle. Coming out of a pickup truck, and with a family of four to accommodate, I found myself looking for my class of dream car: a "big, fast, growling, American sedan." In terms of styling, power, and solid design, a black 2006 Dodge Charger R/T fit the bill perfectly. But I did look at a Mustang GT too...yes, I said sedan, but I've been in deep like with the Mustang design since they released the "new, old look" in 2005. What can I say, I'm an old school kind of guy. Checking one out at the Chicago Auto Show, though, sitting in the driver's seat and trying to overlook the lack of rear doors and talk myself into it, I reached back into the floor of the passenger seat. I was rewarded with a wedge fit for my forearm, between the back of the passenger seat and the front edge of the rear seat. As my kids grew, they'd never fit back there. My thought was that they shouldn't even list this as a four passenger vehicle...only little children or chicken-legged scrawny teens would ever fit back there. And I come from a family of offensive linemen, so that seemed an unlikely future for my children...Mustang was out of the running.

So I became a Mopar guy, and I was anxious to read Motor Trend's write-up "Pony Car War!...New Camaro v. Mustang v. Challenger." FINALLY...a three-way pony car war, and one in which I felt I had a horse in the race. Challenger, go get 'em little brother!

If you've read the issue, which came out in June 2009, then you know (and even if not, you can guess), the Challenger R/T came in 3rd, the Mustang GT 2nd, and the Camaro SS 1st . I was disappointed until I delved into the statistics of the showdown, and confirmed what my eyes already told me: they were comparing apples and an orange. The Challenger (and Charger) aren't "Pony Cars,"...they're something much different, and in my opinion, shouldn't be compared in the same test with Camaro and Mustang.

Here's how I come to that conclusion:

• Passenger capacity: Challenger carries 5 to the Camaro's and Mustang's 4. That may seem really close at first, and dismissable. But look at the size of each rear seat passenger that each can accommodate. Rear headroom in the Chally is almost 2" more than Camaro and 2.5" more than Mustang. How about legroom? Rear seat passengers in a Challenger get 2.7" more room to stretch their sticks than in Camaro and 2.8" more room than Mustang. And, living in the "City of Broad Shoulders", as I do, let's look at rear seat shoulder room: Challenger offers 53.9", topping Mustang by 2.3" and giving passengers a whopping 11.4" of additional personal space over Camaro. If you're one of two adults in the back seat of a Camaro, don't breathe in deep and expand those lungs too much.
• Weight: Once one concludes that Challenger is the only one of the three that can comfortably carry adults larger than hobbits in the rear seat, all the other numbers fall into context, starting with weight. I would expect additional sheet metal, structural framing, etc. to be necessary to support more human pounds of flesh. I see it as understandable that Challenger would weigh in at 300 lbs more than Camaro and 600 more than Mustang.
• Braking: Weighing more, and able to carry more weight, is it any wonder the Challenger takes longer to brake?
• Engine: Here's where I had my biggest bone to pick with Motor Trend's review. Talk about stacking the deck for Camaro, and comparing apples to oranges! The as-tested Camaro SS has a 6.2L V-8, to the Charger R/T's 5.7L V-8 and the Mustang GT's 4.6L engine. No wonder the Camaro SS had the performance numbers in the test: 0-60 in 4.7 v. the Chally (5.1) and Mustang (4.9). Similar disparity was seen in 1/4 mile times: Camaro (13.0 sec.), Challenger (13.6) and Mustang (13.5). Now excuse me, but to be fair, there is a little baby out there called the Challenger SRT-8, sporting a 6.1L hemi...why not compare displacement to displacement? Do that, and you're looking at 426hp for Camaro and 425hp for Challenger. For that matter, let's be fair to the Mustang guys and let them bring their GT500 to the party...5.4L/540hp, 0-60 in 4.1, 1/4 mile in 12.1. How does that feel, Camaro?

Now, in my editorial here, Dodge doesn't get off the hook. Look, Dodge: if there's going to continue to be these "Pony Car Wars," then build a pony car. There's a missing niche in the Dodge lineup between the Viper and the Charger/Challenger: a small, 2+2 seater, muscular welterweight...2 seats and two baby boosters strapped to an engine. Take the 6.1L hemi, stick it in a frame that sheds 500 lbs from the Challenger, retro-style it, and let it go punch Chevy and Ford in the nose.

Until then, read these Pony Car Wars, and the Challenger's place in them, with a grain of salt. Camaro and Mustang can't let you rocket five (or even four) adults down the highway in comfort while letting them ride in a real muscle car, with cool retro styling to boot.

And since I'm editorializing, passengers in my Charger get something not even Challenger rear seat passengers get: their own door. I love my big, fast, growling, American sedan.

iPod-less No Longer

I have officially joined the late 20th Century. The family got me an iPod for Father's Day. Of course I love it; of course I'm addicted to it instantly.

So my first day with it, I grabbed just a handful of my CDs at random to load something on and try it out during my train trip. I happened to grab, among the CDs, my old Alan Parsons Project CD.

Walking around downtown Chicago with the iPod, I quickly came to two realizations:

1. It's REALLY COOL walking around Chicago to your own personal soundtrack, and
2. The Alan Parsons Project REALLY SUCKS.

I should just throw that CD away.

Father's Day 2009, Part 1

Father's Day 2009 is this weekend.

I was thinking I wanted to write another annual Father's Day post, but I didn't want to do it out of obligation, only out of inspiration. Funny how the muses can show up at the most opportunistic times...

Tonight was a good night. Sparky did very well in his baseball game, and his younger brother (let's call him "Ferris") actually stayed close to the field so I could keep an eye on him while I coached. This was a major accomplishment.

So I surprised the boys with a trip to the Dairy Queen drive-through for some Blizzards, just the three of us. And as we're driving home, a song very special to me came on the radio: "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears.

Now before you let out with the groan and grumble about overplayed 80's music, let me explain...

You see, I was struck by these lyrics when I heard them, in the months while we were waiting for Sparky to enter our lives:

"Welcome to your life
Theres no turning back
Even while we sleep
We will find you
Acting on your best behaviour
Turn your back on mother nature
Everybody wants to rule the world

Theres a room where the light wont find you
Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down
When they do I'll be right behind you..."

When each of the boys was born, we had a stereo right there in the room, and that was the first song we played for them. "Welcome to your life, boys..."

And in that moment in the car tonight, when the song came on and I told them how special it was to me, because of them, and we three shared that moment, all smiling, it struck me again what an incredible gift it is to be a dad.

The philosopher Kahlil Gibran, in his book "The Prophet", wrote this about children:

"You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable."

How true.

We, as fathers, as parents all, support, teach, nurture, encourage, celebrate, and support some more these precious gifts, these awesome responsibilities we've been given that are our children. We do it every waking moment of their lives, and often while they sleep as well. As the wisest nurturer I know, my mother, says: "every ounce of joy you get from your children you earn."

But make sure you also respect, laugh with, cry with, PLAY with, and truly enjoy your children as well. Do THAT every waking moment. Make sure you take your kids to DQ, or the park, or the hot dog stand, or a ball game, or go fly a kite with them every time they deserve it, and sometimes for no reason at all. Because I'll tell you: it's the "no reason at all" times that they'll remember.

I have more to say about fatherhood this Father's Day, but I'll save that for a separate post. Before you go to bed tonight, dads, make sure you go into your children's room, look at them sleeping for a minute, then tuck them in, rub their heads, and go off to sleep yourself, knowing you're the custodian of an awesome responsibility, but also the most precious gift you'll ever receive.

Good night.

Working on Your Own Car = "The SUCK"

I owned a Chevy S-10 ZR-2. The pickup with the off-road package...kevlar shields underneath, big 31" tires. I bought it new, with the intention of "running it into the ground." BAD maintenance issues started cropping up a few months before I paid it off, when I had to have fluid leaks fixed to the tune of $2,500!! (well, I paid a lot less, only because they made a deal with the regional service manager, but it would have cost that much).
Fast forward 16 months. I replaced the tires ($800), and while they were doing that, they found it needed a new front lower ball joint ($400) and a front bearing assembly ($600). $1800 later, they told me they found everything it needed.
Well, obviously not. 3 months later, I was planning to sell it, partly because I couldn't carry the whole family and partly because I wanted to drive a fast sedan. So I took it to the dealer and asked them to find EVERYTHING it needed. In no particular order, they found it needed:

Well, I decided I don't want to list all of it. Suffice to say it totals $2,800. Ish.

So, I decided to sell the truck. But the brakes (at least the rear brakes) HAD to be done...they were scraping.

The Reader's Digest version of what happened:

Father in law loaning me the jack and jack stands. Finds out they're at my brother-in-law's. 2 hour round trip to pick them up.
Jacked it up, took off the wheels...rotors won't come. Sledge, sledge, sledge...they won't come. After 2-3 hours of this, sprayed some break-free in, and finally get them off. Find I need new parking brake shoes...$80 for the pair. Trip to the Chevy parts department and back. Get the shoes on, CAN'T get the new rotors on. Rubber mallet, rubber mallet, rubber mallet. Finally use lug nuts W/washers to move it on, over the new parking brake shoes. Cross thread (slightly?) one lug nut!!! Go to put one caliper on...won't go on. Little piston in the caliper bracket is rust-frozen!!!. Hammer, hammer, hammer...NOTHING. 3 different parts stores...none carry them. Thank God I let my fingers do the walking. Chevy parts is closed. SCREWED for the day now. Borrow father-in-law's car, drove him home. Truck is in the garage minus one caliper, on all 4 wheels, ready to be jacked up again another day. Have to get the caliper bracket from a Chevy parts counter.

I realize what my father-in-law said...this was just unusually difficult. But I think this has cured me from EVER fantasizing about having my own jalopy and doing the work myself. EVER. EVER EVER EVER!!!

UPDATE: Well, day 2 of working on the truck started promising. I had the caliper bracket I needed; just needed to swap that on and be done with it. Weeelllll, the piston on the cliper was popped out, and when I went to push it back in, "squirt!", brake fluid. Ugh. Well, couldn't reseat the caliper, so I just swapped in the new one I had. Attached the brake line, and "drip, drip, drip." No matter how much I tightened it. Step on the brake pedal, and "SQUIRT" LOTS of brake fluid.

So I threw up my hands, gave up on it, and used my free AAA tow to get it towed. A mechanic finished it up.

Ummm...Directory "Assistance???"

We just returned from a family vacation to Colorado. On the way back, we routed through South Dakota so the kids could see Mt. Rushmore. I had spotted a book in the gift shop I wanted, but it was $35 and I figured I could be a cheapo and get it on Amazon for less when we got home. No such luck...it was $80 on Amazon. It wasn't available on the Mt. Rushmore gift shop web site, so I decided to call the gift shop at the memorial and ask about buying it from them over the phone.
When I decided to call, I wasn't near an internet connection to look up the number, so I called the old standby, 411.

Here is how the first call went:

(operator): What city and state, please?
(me): I guess Custer, South Dakota...that's the closest town I see...I need the number for the Mt. Rushmore National Memorial.
(op): the Mt. Rushmore National Memorial?
(me): Yes.
(op): and what type of business is this?
.....pause.....
(me): it's...the...national...memorial...?
(op): I have the Mt. Rushmore Natioanl Memorial Society, in Rapid City...
(me): (thinking I'd just call there and they'd have the number I needed) fine, I'll take that number.

Well, the society was closed for the day. So, thinking "that was just one oddball directory assistance person, I'll just call 411 again," I called back and got a (thank you) different directory assistant...

(op): what city and state, please?
(me): Near Custer, South Dakota, I need the number for the Mt. Rushmore National Memorial.
(op): The Mt. Rushmore National Memorial?
(me): yes
(op): Is that the water department?
.....pause.....
(me): no, it's the actual memorial, with the presidents' heads carved in the mountain...?
(op): Well I have a number for the Mt. Rushmore National Memorial...
(me): That will be fine.
(op): here's the number...


Who says education in America is in decline?

On Fatherhood 2...

It's Father's Day 2008.

I miss my dad terribly. It's been 13 years since we lost him, and still not a day goes by that I don't think about him. As I tell people, "it's hard being a dad without one." Dad was a huge baseball fan. And now, every time Sparky's having a tough time at the plate, and he's on his 4th, or maybe 5th and final pitch of the at bat...every time I've asked my dad "please help him hit this pitch"...you know that it's worked every single time. So I guess he's not so far away after all.

As for my two sons, it is wholly my honor to be their father. So thank you, boys. I am so very proud to be your dad.

Happy Father's Day to all the dads everywhere.