I’ve been driving my somewhat-newly-acquired 1995 BMW M3 for six or so months now. In that time, I’ve found attributes to love and issues to loathe, touching on just about every emotion in between. Safe to say, there is a difference between a 1995 Mercedes-Benz designed by old Germans with slide rulers and a BMW engineered by high school dropouts using a Windows 3.1 machine.
But this isn’t that article. Continue reading
A different kind of Porsche, indeed – and it’s sitting on the right-hand side of my garage as I write this. This is arguably the first production four-door Porsche – built long before the Panamera was a glint in its designer’s eye – except that it’s a Mercedes-Benz jointly developed by Porsche and Mercedes and assembled by both companies, with a lot of cross-town transportation going on. Of course, if you are a regular TTS reader or a three-pointed star enthusiast, you’ve likely read all about these cars and their unique place in the history of both manufacturers over the years. I’ve been a fan of them since they first came out, and even owned a remarkably good one with over 260,000 miles some several years ago. Ever since then, however, I’ve wanted to get another, better example of the model if and when the starts would align and I could both justify rationalize the cost AND find the right car. Now the rationale is simple: E500E’s are headed up in value.
Regular readers of TTS will understand – while we prognosticate at great length on vehicles we are stupid enough to purchase – rarely do we actually purchase any or all of the vehicles featured on these pages. Although, come to think of it, I have been asked where I’ve been hiding my Audi 90 20V and Lincoln Town Car. Regardless, my cohort is more apt to swap fleet members than I am. I’m more of a long-term relationship kind of guy when it comes to the mechanical children who inhabit my garage.
But this time I actually pulled the trigger. And while I’m still waiting to see through which door the 1995 E320 exits, the new kid (as yet unnamed) has landed, and is resting comfortably next to Rudi, our 1985 BMW 323i Baur TC2. Continue reading
Previous posts here on TTS had me talking about replacing my 1995 Mercedes-Benz E320, loudly rusting away before our very eyes. Off the table are the blue-sky kinds of cars we daydream about, replaced with actual daily conveyances to be flogged throughout the harsh four season we have here in the North Woods.
Candidates were casually considered, reviewed, and summarily dismissed. Mental masturbation at its finest. I had originally planned on running the Mercedes until at least the late autumn in order to stockpile additional funds for something truly interesting. But several issues have reared their ugly heads in rapid-fire succession – issues there is no way in Hell I’m remedying – and dear Shultz needs to go. Now. Continue reading
Poking around BaseFook the other day, one of the ads from which they thought I would derive tremendous value from was a t-shirt for The Manual Gearbox Preservation Society. “Pfft!” I thought, hating the fact that technology thinks it knows me better than I know myself. Then I started thinking that maybe the Interwebs were onto something. We’ve talked before about the gradual disappearance of the stick shift, and there’s no denying its days are numbered. So I took it upon myself to poke around looking at assorted manual cars that 1) I’d be stupid enough to buy, and 2) wouldn’t break the bank. Enter the Alfa 164, and this solid example located in Tulsa, OK for a paltry $2,500.
A Peek Behind the Curtain…
As far back as I can remember, I wanted to write for car magazines. Heck, I think I started flipping through my dad’s Car & Driver and Road & Track magazines when I was still potty training! As I got older I’d find myself taking beauty shots of the family cars, studying the specs, and even putting pen to paper from time to time. I’d go to car dealerships to get brochures about cars I liked but as a 12 year-old expat kid in Hong Kong was not likely to purchase – under the auspices of them being “for my dad.” Suffice it to say: I was addicted from a young age, and it’s only gotten worse.
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