Both are hella fast. The 4 door would be my choice for most purposes, except a drive to the beach. But this is not a road test.
Somewhere around 1988-90, 8 had a Mustang GT. When he was shopping, we test drove a new one. Yes, “we.” I drove so long, the salesman got pissed, because I was not in any way a buyer – just a hooner. Eventually, 8 settled on an ’87. This:
I loved that car and that I knew a dude who drove one. I was no fan of the color, since it didn’t have any* (except a blue rubstrip stripe) but the car was fucking awesome for late ’80s Detroit.
*Black, white, silver and grey are not “colors” for flaunty cars. #FACT.
We went all sorts of places in it and had adventures, great and mundane. But one constant prevailed. 8 ALWAYS drove. That was fine, being his car and all, but damn, dude. The one time I got to drive it was at a respectable speed, following you home on your motorcycle? I don’t think I got out of second gear. [Ed.: Sounds like your social life.]
I at least had the sense to turn over my keys to 8 on occasion, mostly so we wouldn’t be killed by me.
So fast forward to the present day. There are two BMWs in the garage. I am feeling frisky, being as old as the Rolling Stones and Porsche 911s. 8 carries a tinge of guilt for his stoic, probably wise choice of his safety over my lunacy from the Mustang days. I’m over it, but 8 thinks he should have given me one shot before it got traded in on a Scorpio. [Ed.: Probably because if you
predictably totalled the mustang, the deal would be killed and he would have bought an Accord.]
So he tosses me the keys.
8: Step one: do not start in 6th gear.
So there’s a blast up and down a winding tree- and water-lined road. Coming from Arizona, I don’t even recognize what those things are, but they seem nice and look soft and forgiving. Much more so than the people who are yelling at us to “slow the fuck down,” like we’re hooning an Opel.
Then it’s convertible time. I think it’s been 20+ years since the last time i drove one for more than a minute. The E93 is basically a secretary car with
only one a turbo, torque balls and a real live 6-speed manual to counter its softer suspension and inherent effeteness. I take it much easier on this car due to the ride and the fact that 8’s wife will throw knives if I scratch it.
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History has a way of repeating itself. Iraq:Syria. Notre Dame sucks; Notre Dame still sucks. And it’s true here, too. We’re driving down a two lanes, one-way street. The lady in the Malibu to my right wants to turn left onto the upcoming street. from that lane. Without bothering to change lanes or even look in our lane. It’s the best of “Flat out on Westnedge”
8 (shotgun): Oh shit.
Me: Oh look McDonalds. Mmmmm, cheeseburger.
8: Oh shit!
Me: Huh? OH SHIT!!!
Me: Now about those cheeseburgers…
or the time I totalled a Buick Century, that pulled the same turn across my path move from beside me, with my Marquis (so I planted her on the curb in front of the Osco). Except the screaming was less this time. And we stopped short of kicking her ass into the weeds. [Ed.: Because knives. ^^]
Then it’s back to the 8 Barrel estate to finally finish those beers before we head to dinner. But where are the keys? To either car?
Me: WHY IS EVERYBODY LOOKING AT ME? Oh wait. These keys? How’d those get there?