Monday, July 28, 2008

"Performance Car" isn't just another pretty word

I thought getting a performance sports car was a rather silly idea thought up by big boys who like fast toys. Until we bought one. And I drove it. 20 hours so far.

My husband always wanted one. He talked himself out of a BMW based on reported wait times for service at the local dealership. I also didn't think they looked particularly sporty. Except for the M6 and I definitely wasn't going to endorse paying the sticker price for that model.

So a couple months ago he started talking about a certain German-engineered car that starts with "P" and no one knows whether it is pronounced as one syllable or two (find out here). After a visit to the dealership (why not humour the man, at least it was an afternoon out and a somewhat entertaining one at that) we determined that we should wait until we have more disposable income. (read: flush our money down the toilet)

Sure, they're pretty. Sure they're shiny. Sure, any one of them would be fun to drive. But I grew up in a mechanic's home and Dad never bought a new car in his life. He always bought dependable, used cars that were sturdy and had readily accessible parts. (read: domestic). So I said my piece (as quietly and graciously as possible) and then shut up about it. I did my closing argument with "If you decide to go ahead, I will support you, but don't confuse my support with endorsement."

But the fateful day: July 19. We googled the model he wanted and quite a few showed up. Mostly on the east or west coast. But on the second page, there it was: a bright red 2008, only 500 miles on it, a price lower than its ground clearance. In my home town.

We did the deal, I researched import requirements, got a plane ticket on points, made the necessary excuses and a few apologies, flew home Thursday, picked it up Friday, started my road trip back Saturday and here it is, Sunday night and I'm in Sheridan, Wyoming. I was initially somewhat embarrassed by the whole deal. Like my values system held that there's something wrong with owning a high-end sports car. Well, after I drove it, I began to get a clue about why the boys get so excited. Besides, my hubby has worked incredibly hard for the past 28 years in his career. And, put up with me for 27. I think he's earned it.

I'm buzzing from the adrenalin. It's a fun drive. The seats hug you tighter than the car hugs the curves. The highways are smooth and the stability management system lives up to its hype. Though the user's manual does say that even that system won't help you overcome the laws of physics.

My schedule was more flexible than his so I made arrangements to slip away from work for a few days (I had some banked hours and my computer is broken right now so productivity is at a standstill. It was like running away from home with full support.

I got to see my oldest brother & wife, 2 married nephews & their families and 2 married nieces and their families. Plus last night I stayed on the way back with our good friends from college. So a good trip, all in all.

Tomorrow the border crossing. I have all the paperwork listed as requirements for both USA exporting and Canada importing. That's a whole 'nother blog - how long that took and how much detail I had to wade through to find it.

So, my "support" has also turned into "endorsement." I suggested to hubby that I might not want to give it up when I get it home. He said, "Okay then, I guess we'll have to buy a matched pair."

Okay by me.

1 comment:

  1. Reminds me of the commercial "does it come in blue?"

    Do you have a photo?