On the phone, Norm sounded like he’d seen a lot of life. He wasn’t quick or chatty. He was very measured and thoughtful as I described how to get to the marina, and warned him about the “No Truck Turnaround” sign that protects a narrow stretch of road near the marina where we’d have to do the loading. Norm was coming to take my Suburban, my boys’ / nanny’s vehicle, down to Florida. After that I’d have no vehicle at all until I arrived in Florida after this long relocation / adventure.
He arrived late because of traffic but otherwise without incident, and we proceeded to strap down the Suburban as he talked about his old boat, a Bertram fishing boat he and six partners owned up in Alaska that he’d sunk more money into than he cared to remember. “Anyone who owns one of those boats over there,” he said, pointing to the marina in general, “…is nuts. Except for you, of course.” I’d told him about the trip to come, and why I didn’t need a vehicle in Seattle anymore, and he, like most people, was a little fascinated with all of the adventure and change. Like most people he was also wary, and a little skeptical, but after strapping her tight with old rusty chains that have probably secured thousands of vehicles moving tens of millions of miles, he took my last vehicle away anyway.
With the Audi TT going back to its original owner, my step-father, the Suburban loaded on the truck, and the Mercedes already in Florida weeks before, for the first time since I was sixteen, I was car-less. Well, officially car-less, anyway. A year or so ago the Mercedes was getting repaired from some hooligan rock-throwing damage and I had to take the bus to work. As I was walking on the sidewalk, approaching the bus stop, a dumpy pickup passed with a young guy hanging out the window and he was yelling something at me I couldn't understand… I’m sure it wasn’t related to the bus at all – he was just being obnoxious, but I imagined at the time he was yelling because I was walking to take the bus. I grinned as I considered the circumstances: “Okay, dude. My wife has the TT, my nanny has the Suburban, and my Mercedes is in the shop. So I have to take the bus today. Jeez.”After I sent the Suburban away, I borrowed a friend’s Porsche 911 and received my first scream since… ever. I’ve never felt so good – or received so many looks – as I rolled down the road. But that thing didn’t just roll; it glided. In a Porsche 911 it seems like an affront to the car to take a corner at less than 30 mph. I will never again think those guys are dicks just because they have a showy, expensive car. They’re not driving like that to show off or say “Hey, everyone! Look at me!” They are just fulfilling the car’s potential and its mandate to the driver: “Rev me high, drive me fast, and corner me tight. I can take it and I demand it.”When I turned sixteen I bought a ’78 Volkswagen Scirocco for $3500. It smelled like its little tree. Spice. Since then I’ve had a Toyota Supra, two motorcycles, two Volkswagen Busses, a Subaru wagon, a Jeep, and the aforementioned Mercedes, Suburban and TT. Now, still car-less, I’m borrowing a Camry with about 108k miles on it. It’s getting the job done as I move from boatyard to marina to whichever home I happen to be visiting as I scramble around the area trying to close things out here and get myself and my boat moving south. It could be six months before I arrive in Florida and need a car again, but I’m already looking, wondering what it will be. A compromise? A Porsche Cayenne that will be a blast to drive but still feel safe with my boys in the back? An Audi A4 – sporty but still “adult”? An Audi A8 – black, smooth as silk and a little bit mafia? Or will Porsche come through and make those 911 back seats work with boosters, somehow, and still be safe, with airbags all over the place like the Mercedes? It’s no wonder some people have so many cars.
