@niche: DESTINATION WIDE OPEN.003621

Detroit. Our world has been twisted, turned and wrenched by 180-degree polar opposites. Every day, we’re offered a brief glimmer of hope about what The Future holds, but those endless possibilities are immediately confronted – and quashed – with sobering realities. Still, brilliant solutions are on offer for the collective “us” in a steady stream of innovation and wonder, and it’s pretty much the only thing that’s holding at bay that long, excruciating slide into mediocrity that I’ve often previously described.

We understand that contemporary life can be relentless, even oppressive at times as we continue to face a series of daunting challenges that affect our little corners of the world each and every day and that leave us little breathing room. It’s not as if we should allow ourselves to take a moment to step aside and catch our breath; we absolutely need to do it.

So, with that picture painted, what can be done in the meantime? I admit I’ve grown tired of this “It Won’t Be Long Now!” hole that this business is wallowing in. Dealing with the fact that the coming promise of the EV transition is not months but years away – despite what St. Elon says – has become a major drag (for some at least, but definitely not for me). Yes, the show-pony, six-figure (and up) EVs are present and accounted for, but the bread-and-butter mainstream EVs that need to come in at $35,000 or less? The clock is ticking: 2025? 2026? 2027? 2028? Needless to say, the promises being made by the manufacturers now must be taken with a giant grain of salt, because the reality of affordable EVs is, although not a total pipe dream, far over the hill and down a very long road.

Again, what can be done in the meantime? As Rudyard Kipling once famously said: 

“I am by nature a dealer in words, and words are the most powerful drug known to humanity.” 

Those words, for me, are getting harder and harder to come by while waiting out this excruciating transition to the EV Age. So, now what?

Here’s a novel idea: I favor a return to driving. No, not the occasional 40-minute jaunt consisting of errands and “must-dos,” but driving for the pure, unvarnished hell of it. I talk to a lot of enthusiasts who lament the fact that they don’t actually drive anymore. Even the drive to a typical “cars and coffee” in their favorite personal machine doesn’t seem to constitute real driving, because it has become a rote exercise of stoplights and speed limits just to get there. 

Yes, the urban malaise is by nature restrictive and soul sucking when it comes to the act of driving. Speed limits and revenue-generating law enforcement have definitely driven a wedge between enthusiasts and driving enjoyment. (The land rush to giant SUVs and heavy trucks hasn’t exactly helped.) But that can be overcome. Get out of the city, explore some roads you haven’t been on – it might just help. No, let me change that, it will definitely help. 

The end of the ICE Age and the dawn of the EV Age doesn’t have to be a motorized Purgatory. There is still a lot of driving to be done. (Track days are great, but they remain unaffordable for most, on many levels.) I am reminded of a certain time in my past, which I have talked about previously, when I had a 1987 Porsche 911 Turbo. It was painted a very rare color called Granite Green Metallic, which would change to a smoky gray in certain light. That car absolutely hated the urban slog; it would spit and load up and creak and groan in protest. The only thing that would cure that car’s blues was to take it out for some serious exercise, which I did most early Sunday mornings.

(This reminds me of stories from the early days of sports car owning and driving in L.A., when the traffic even back then wreaked havoc on the tuning disposition of various sports cars, especially Jaguars. When a typical owner would bring one in, the shop owner would get a concerned look and promise to take a look at it but, “give us a few days.” And after a proper amount of time went by, a mechanic would take the recalcitrant Jag out on a L.A. freeway du jour and run the living piss out of it. And miraculously, when he returned, that Jag would be purring like a happy cat again. And when the customer returned, he or she would be charged a sizable amount for what became known as an “L.A. Tune.” But I digress.)

I don’t expect a lot of readers to be familiar with the roads I’m about to talk about today, but I will try to give you an idea. Ann Arbor is about 45 minutes away. To get there from here you take three freeways: 696 West, to 275 South, to 14 West, which takes you right into downtown Ann Arbor. Today, these roads are in questionable shape – wheel, tire and suspension-tearing potholes are always a moment away – and are chock-full of endless streams of traffic. But back then, at certain times of the week, the roads were relatively wide open, especially on 14. 

I did a little research and found out that on early Sunday mornings, there was a law enforcement shift change between 6:00 and 7:00 a.m. So, if I timed my trip out perfectly, and hit 14 right around 6:00 a.m., it was relatively clear sailing all the way to Ann Arbor. I did a few dry runs where I was able to do intermittent, foot-to-the-floor bursts, and that Turbo would clear its throat and run like a champ, all happy and throaty and quick. I also noticed that at that time of morning in the summer, the sun was very low behind me, to the point I couldn’t even glance in my rearview mirror the sun was so strong. Conversely, that meant I could see way down the road in front of me, which was absolutely mandatory when contemplating top speed in a Turbo. (It’s an old fighter pilot trick that was learned back in the dogfight days – always keep the sun behind you to get a jump on your opposition. It works too.)

I made it a weekly ritual that summer, each time emboldened by the fact that there was not only minimal traffic, but the polizei were nowhere to be found. The best run was my last, at least for that summer, when I was able to hammer my Turbo – foot-to-the-proverbial-floor – for ten flat-out, uninterrupted, no-lift miles. Which was an indicated 165+ mph, or thereabouts, on the speedo. Needless to say, it didn’t take 45 minutes to get to Ann Arbor at that speed. And I could enjoy a nice steaming cup of coffee, grinning to myself, before the trip back.

Now, of course I’m not suggesting that can be done today, because heaven knows, the consequences would be ugly and extremely costly. But the point is this: a fun drive is still in the offing if you just take the time to do so by deviating from the beaten path of errands and pounding around in the urban slog. I can’t imagine a more enjoyable way to revel in the sunset of the ICE Age.

After all is said and done, it turns out that “no particular place” is the perfect destination. It’s even better when you get to do some wide-open bursts, but that’s up to you.

And that’s the High-Octane Truth for this week.

Editor’s Note: You can access previous issues of AE by clicking on “Next 1 Entries” below. – WG