Wacky Automotive News

I like to call myself a “car guy.” I’ve always liked cars…worked on them, etc. But I admit that as time goes on it’s harder and harder to keep up on all of the new vehicles that get introduced.

My friend Matt (who actually is a car guy) asked me what I thought of the new, mid-engine Chevy Corvette, and I kind of drew a blank. Yes, I’d certainly seen pictures of it and the specifications, and I’d read all of the breathless descriptions of it in the car magazines. But I really had no opinion on it. I’ve never really been “into” Corvettes. Maybe I’m not such a car guy after all.  Ah, well.

The Really Big News of the automotive world in the last couple of weeks is that Volkswagen is…wait for it :::drumroll::: changing their iconic logo! Everybody knows the “VW” logo, right? It’s been staring at us from the front of Microbuses, Golfs and Jettas since forever. It’s gone through a couple of very minor permutations over the years, but has always stayed basically the same. Oh, and none of the other evolutions of the logo garnered any attention from the press.

Now, here in 2019, for some reason Volkswagen decided that they needed to update the logo. Accordingly, they made a big announcement. The obviously-bored automotive press, seized on this news and reported it with a seriousness befitting the death of General Motors (should that ever happen).

Here’s the old one.

And here’s the new one.  

Not much difference, you say?  True.  But look more closely and sharp-eyed readers will see that the space between the "V" and the "W" is larger on the new logo.  And there is a space at the bottom of the "legs" of the "W" and the surrounding circle.  Completely different!  Volkswagen says that the old, three-dimensional logo was not computer friendly, whatever that means.

I guess that for Germans, radical change comes a little bit at a time.  Baby steps, Wolfgang, baby steps.

Getting Emotionally Attached To A Car

Before I talk much about Matt and my trip from Washington to his home in Atlanta, Georgia, I have to tell you a little bit about my car. For the last ten years or so I’ve driven minivans that were converted into taxis. But last year I ditched the cabs and switched over to Uber. Doing so allowed me to use a “regular” car, i.e. one with no taxi branding. It didn't have to be a van, either.  Ah, but which one to choose?

I wanted something with good gas mileage. I was getting killed with my last van (a Dodge Caravan) which averaged 14-15 mpg in city driving. A lot of Uber drivers use the Toyota Prius hybrid. They’re fairly inexpensive to buy, they get great gas mileage and they’re very cheap to operate. For me though, I’m just not a fan. I think the Prius looks funky, which you can read as "ugly." 

My sister once had a succession of Toyota Avalons. They were beautiful cars! For one thing, they’re huge – you can easily fit six people inside. And the sweet 3.0 liter V-6 engine powering the thing runs like a friggin' sewing machine. To me, the Avalon is at least as good a car as a Lexus, without the Lexus' high price. Or so I thought.

Turns out that Avalons hold their value pretty well. Even older ones are not cheap. And not only that, they get horrible gas mileage in the city! To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.

Then I thought about diesels. I’ve always liked the Volkswagen Jetta, and I thought if I could find a nice one with a diesel it would be just the ticket. So I started looking around. Coincidentally, my local Pensacola dealer had a fire-engine red Jetta station wagon in stock. But they wanted a lot of money for it. Red cars must command higher prices.

But over in Mobile, Alabama there was a VW dealer that had a couple of diesel Jetta sedans for sale – both at very attractive prices. Out of curiosity, my buddy Terry and I drove over in my van. A little later that day I drove off in a used silver VW diesel Jetta.

A word about Volkswagen diesels…

Yes, Volkswagen got caught cheating on the U.S. emissions test. It is not as serious as you might imagine. The details are very complicated – much too complicated to go into on this blog - but you can read all about it HERE. The upshot is that VW wasn't completely disabling the emission control systems of their cars.  They just had to fool the sensors into thinking that the vehicle's nitrogen-oxide emissions were a little lower than they actually were. 

Nitrogen-oxide emissions are the ones that create the black soot that diesels used to be known for.  The U.S. has the most-stringent nitrogen-oxide standards of any country in the world.  But VW diesels couldn't quite meet them.  So the clever German engineers at VW programmed the car's computer to recognize when emission-testing gear was hooked up.  Then it would adjust the fuel-air mixture accordingly to temporarily get the right readings.  When the test gear was removed, the car reverted to its regular ways.  

But even so, it's not like the VW's were rolling coal as the drivers of modified diesel pickup trucks like to say when their trucks are laying down a thick cloud of black smoke under acceleration.  Modern diesel trucks and cars (and VW's) have been pretty smoke-free for years as limits got tighter and tighter.

Once it was discovered that VW cheated, they had to fix the cars…fix them or buy ‘em back if that’s what the owner wanted. VW ended up buying back a shit-ton of cars. They fixed those and then re-sold them in their dealerships. Needless to say, anyone who’d ever heard of the “dieselgate” scandal stayed far away from a Volkswagen diesel.  The stigma was real, man.

To get rid of the cars, VW offered an incredible warranty. As a “certified pre-owned” used car, my 2012 Jetta TDI came with a two-year, unlimited mileage bumper-to-bumper warranty plus an extended warranty on the engine and transmission.  Hey, it was enough to sell me!

I love this car!  Some people like Volkwagens, some don’t. I happen to really like them…especially this one and the way it drives. I don’t know what it is, but German cars just drive…differently…than other makes. They’re quirky, for sure, but they have a distinctive and solid feel on the road.

The Jetta is a little tight for five people (I maybe should’ve bought the slightly-larger Passat), but it has an absolutely huge trunk. People comment on that all the time. They also think it’s way newer than it is – VW really hasn’t changed the Jetta much over the years. I had mine in for service recently, and the loaner car was a 2019 Jetta. It really looked, felt and drove a lot like my own - with the exception of the gas mileage, which was worse than my diesel.

In town, my TDI averages about 30 mpg. Not great, but it’s been a really hot summer and I’ve been doing a lot of sitting and idling with the a/c on, which is hell on gas mileage. But out on the highway the Jetta routinely turns in 40 mpg, sometimes more. On a long trip I can plan on 40. It’s amazing. And the turbo-diesel engine makes the car so much fun to drive! On the Interstate, just push the gas pedal down and the thing literally surges powerfully ahead – no downshifting, no screaming engine, no drama. It just goes!  It's fun.

Even though I'm a "car guy," it has been a long time since I was excited about or even emotionally attached to a damn car. But I really love this VW Jetta. I plan to drive the wheels off it and then sell it and find another diesel Jetta with lower mileage.

Sand Dunes, Sea Oats, and Salty Dogs

Terry and I are very different.  Perhaps it is those differences that make us such good friends.  I mentioned in a previous post that while he and I were out on an early-morning motorcycle ride along the beach, we stopped to take some pictures of our bikes. Terry, overcome with the beauty of our surroundings began composing a poem. In my post I sort of scoffed that I'm not much for poetry. But I do respect it, I suppose.

The road Terry and I were riding on is a little barrier island that connects Pensacola and Navarre Beaches. It is home to Gulf Islands National Seashore. Aside from a few parking lots, it's a pretty remote and desolate area, devoid of development. There's little traffic. It kind of has the feel of an undiscovered no-man's-land.

Now, I'm generally not a romantic, introspective or sensitive guy. I guess I'm too jaded to be really wowed by anything anymore. But! Hang on... I will admit that sometimes you just have to stop and smell the sea oats, to coin a phrase. And if you do...if you just stop, and take a moment to stare out over the Gulf of Mexico, take in the clean, fresh salt air and listen to the waves lapping gently at the water's edge, you cannot help but be moved by the incredible beauty and tranquility of the place. Even a crusty old guy like me can appreciate that. As awesome as the experience was, it did not, however, inspire me to wax poetic.

Terry, on the other hand...well, like I say, we're different.  I mentioned that he had started to compose a poem on the side of the road there.  Later on, he posted the finished version on his Facebook page.

Sand Dunes, Sea Oats, and Salty Dogs

                             by Terry May

Sometimes I wanna go somewhere that's nowhere,
A place without a name,
Where the sky is bluer,
The water is clearer,
And the sun dances on the surface
Like a million sparkling diamonds,
Enough to make giddy girl giggle,
Don't dare to ask me where,
I'll tell you a Pirate's riddle,
It's not on Pensacola Beach or Navarre,
It's somewhere in the middle,
That's exactly where you are,
Somewhere on the National Seashore,
Don't blink or you will go too far!

Total Recall

Oh, I’m glad I’m not a writer. My friend Terry actually is a writer. He’s got a book that’s out now called, “The Broken Earth.” It’s a historical novel, set in the time right after the end of the Civil War.

Being old (semi-)retired guys, Terry and I have a lot of free time. So we go out to eat a lot – breakfasts and lunches, mostly. When the weather is nice, we'll hop on our motorcycles early and ride off to someplace interesting for breakfast. And last Thursday we did just that.

Since we live in diametrically opposite ends of our little coastal city, we met up in downtown Pensacola just after sunrise. From there we rode out to the beach, and then eastbound on Route 399 which connects Pensacola Beach and Navarre Beach.

Rte 399 is a stunningly beautiful road that traverses the thin, fragile barrier island of sugar-white sand and sea oats. There used to be tall dunes on either side, hindering the view of the Gulf of Mexico, but Hurricanes Erin, Opal and Ivan respectively blew the dunes away. Now, drivers and motorcycle riders have a clear view of the water for the entire ride. Along the way, we stopped at various points to take some pictures of our bikes in the soft morning sun.

At one such photo-op, Terry began waxing poetic, as he's sometimes inspired to do. ”The sun is sparkling on the water…like…the diamonds on a little girl’s…something…” And that’s when I walked away to let him compose his poem in peace. I am not a fan of poetry. I am definitely…and defiantly not a poet.

At breakfast in a restaurant called Juana’s Pagoda on the water in Navarre Beach, Terry regaled me, as he usually does, with stories of his youth. He has an uncanny ability to remember intricate details of every person he’s ever met, all the way back to his elementary school days and maybe as early as the womb. He knows stuff like his late father’s birthday, as well as the day and date that he died. When he was a taxi- and then later an Uber driver, he would remember all of the details of the lives of every passenger he carried. It’s a unique – and quite bizarre – trait.

Sometimes, when we’re together, Terry will bring up stories from his past – events that happened, or people that he knew. Just being someplace can trigger odd memories for him, which he recalls with surprising clarity.

I am often astounded and amazed, and more than a little impressed at Terry’s ability to remember these kinds of things. But then it dawns on me: He’s a writer. He needs to remember these things because those very details are what allow him to flesh-out the backgrounds of the characters in the books he writes.

Me, I’d have to make it all up. I don’t remember shit. And moreover, I don’t want to. As soon as my passengers are out of my car, they’re gone from my consciousness. I don't remember which day of the week my dad died - hell, I don't even remember what year he died.  I’d never make a good cop; my powers of observation and retention are poor.

Police Officer (showing me two pictures: one, a mugshot of a man and the other, a security camera picture of a man with a gun getting out of my Uber in a bank parking lot): ”Mr. Barbanes, is this the man you dropped off at the Hancock Bank on Airport Road at 2:53 yesterday afternoon…the man that robbed that bank?”

Me: ”Uhhh, durrrrr…could be…”

Terry would know the man’s life story…where he grew up, who his parents were, how many brothers and sisters he had, that he had a mole on the back of his neck, what he’s doing in Pensacola, and what he plans to do with the money.

So not only would I not make a good policeman, I’ll never be a good novelist, either.

Terry, on the other hand, has that gift of being able to jot stuff down in his mind and file it away for future use. Thus, he’ll be able to populate his books with interesting people and their unique personalities. You know how movie or book critics sometimes complain that, ”The characters were not well-developed.” Well, Terry won’t ever have to hear that said about his work.

Road Trip!!

I drove my car up to Washington State this past May for my usual summer job. The company would fly me up, but I like driving. Plus, it was planned that my friend Matt would fly up at the end of the season and road-trip back with me. We figured we’d hit some “bucket list” places on the way. We brainstormed a bit and finally came up with a rough idea of our route. We had a plan but left room for flexibility.

I’ve always wanted to visit Olympic National Park in the very northwest corner of the country. That, and the Going-To-The-Sun Road in Glacier National Park were two in my “must-see” category. Matt wanted to do Mt. Rainier and Crater Lake. And we both wanted to see Mt. Rushmore.

I picked Matt up in Seattle on Thursday night. We got an early start on Friday morning, and quickly realized that if we had any sort of schedule at all, it was going out the window. What with the requisite “photo-op” stops (and me needing to stop so frequently to pee), we weren’t making much time. Instead of cruising through Olympic National Park (first on our list), we ended up spending much more time than we’d planned. This kind of screwed up our whole timetable.

We discovered that we wanted to linger at places longer than we anticipated. Ultimately, we had to scratch a couple of things off our list. But we added a few others.

Road trips are cool. But sharing a car during the day and a hotel room at night with someone for a week can be awkward and stressful. You get to know a lot about the other person – maybe more than you ever wanted to know. It’s very easy to get on one another’s nerves. So it helps when your traveling companion is someone you get along and enjoy being with.

Matt and I have known each other for a long time now, and we get along great. Looking back, I don’t believe he and I have ever had an actual argument. Disagreement, yes; argument, no. I don’t know why that is, come to think of it.

Over the years, we’ve done more than a few road trips together. The first time was back in the late 1990’s when I delivered an airplane – a tiny, two-seat Cessna 150 - from Pensacola, Florida to Flint, Michigan. Since then we’ve been on many flying, camping, canoeing, hiking and road trips. He is an avid mountain biker, and is always suggesting that I buy a bike and ride with him – but I have to draw the line somewhere. With me on a bicycle, the vertical weight distribution would be all wrong.

Anyway, we left Seattle, Washington on Friday morning, and got back to his place in Atlanta on Thursday evening. It was an awesome, fun trip! I’ll describe some of it in the next few installments here – with pictures!

Minding Your Business, Part II

Remember the story in July of 2018 about the guy here in Florida who confronted a woman about parking in a handicapped spot at a convenience store and then shot her boyfriend when he came outside? I wrote about it HERE.

On Friday August 23, 2019, the man, Michael Drejka was convicted of manslaughter of Markeis McGlockton. He has yet to be sentenced, so the story is not over.

There are plenty of lessons here. Let’s deal focus on three:

First and foremost is that if you lay your hands on another man in anger, you might just end up dead. McGlockton acted violently – there is no disputing that. The surveillance video clearly shows him instigating the physical confrontation. For that, he paid with his life.  I'm guessing it wasn't the first time that McGlockton acted violently.  Some lessons have to be learned the hard way.

Right or wrong, justified or not, dying is always a possibility when you start a conversation with violence. No matter what Drejka did that day, McGlockton could have just called Drejka a bad name, gotten in his car and driven away. But he did not.

Second Lesson:  If someone physically attacks you, you don’t get to kill them! I’m sure things in that parking lot happened pretty quickly for Drejka, and he may very well have felt threatened with bodily harm by a man who was obviously quite younger and bigger than he was (but who was not brandishing a weapon at that point).  So did Drejka have a reasonable, genuine fear that his life was in danger? Ehhhh, the jury did not think so. You certainly can get your ass kicked. (Some people deserve it!) But that doesn’t give you, the ass-kickee permission to kill the ass-kicker.

Third Lesson: The media sucks.  Most stories that I've read, including THIS one from Reuters erroneously state that this case was a study in Florida's so-called "Stand Your Ground" law.  The reality is that Drejka's attorneys went for simple self-defense and did not invoke "Stand Your Ground."  But the media has an agenda that apparently has nothing to do with the truth.

Okay, anyway, Drejka was found guilty and he will be sentenced at some later date.  He may face some jail time, or he might not. This is Florida, after all. But whatever sentence is handed down, it most likely won’t be Life Without Parole. Eventually, he’ll go on with his life. McGlockton is still dead.  I wouldn't want to be either of those two guys.

There are no winners here.

A Delicate Matter

I am back in Florida, having spent the last 90 days in Washington State drying cherries with helicopters. It’s nice to be back in my own house, sleeping in my own bed, eating my own food and getting back on my usual (ahem) routines. More about that later…

It was a relatively uneventful season…except for one crash that happened on a training flight before I got there. The ship was a write-off but the pilots were okay. The new-hire, an older guy is faking a back injury so he won’t have to fly anymore, I guess. Had I done a better job of researching him, I probably wouldn’t have hired him. But we were really hard-up for pilots this year, and so I took a chance. Next year will probably be worse as there is a real shortage of qualified helicopter pilots out there.

Other than that, we had a pretty good year, flying-wise. No records were set but the boss seemed happy.

The deal the company makes with pilots is this: Housing and food is provided in addition to a daily pay rate. We don’t specify how much food we’ll provide, but I assure prospective employees that nobody ever goes hungry at our outfit. The boss loves to eat, and he really likes it when we all eat together as a group.  So he takes us out a lot.

At the beginning of the season the boss and I go down to Costco in Wenatchee and load up on food for the crew houses that the pilots can prepare themselves. In addition, we all go out to Taco Tuesday, and of course Steak Night at The Club Sports Bar in Okanogan, which we love. Friday or Saturday nights will see us having pizza at The Bakery in Pateros. I usually cook a big meal once or twice a week, and we’ll do a cookout/barbecue as well. Then there are the random breakfasts and lunches at Smallwoods (which we also love). As I said, no one goes hungry.

Every morning I would meet the boss at 0700 for coffee and to discuss what we wanted to accomplish that day. Invariably, he would proffer a piece of pie (apple, naturally – they don’t make pies from the cherries they grow around Brewster). Coffee and pie for breakfast?! Not what anyone would call a good and healthy meal. But it would be impolite and disrespectful to refuse. So I did not. I did, however, decline the two big scoops of vanilla ice cream which the boss usually added to his own pie. 

In the beginning, the boss would get eight slices out of a normal store-bought pie. That morphed into four slices. It got ridiculous. (But if you’ve ever eaten pie from Cyrus O’Leary in Spokane, you’d understand our indulgence. They are AWESOME!)

One upshot of all this overeating was that I ballooned up to 210 pounds. I look and feel awful. It’s going to take some serious dieting and exercise to get back down to 180 pounds…if I even can at my age.

Another effect of our crazy diets in Washington is more…well…awkward to talk about. It’s a delicate matter. I spoke with the other pilots about this and they all concurred. To be blunt: Our poop schedules got all screwed-up. We were all pooping like crazy! Much more often than usual.

I am fortunate that here in Florida, I eat pretty healthy and don’t eat a whole lot. My diet is such that I burn off most of the food I eat during the day…if you know what I mean. I try to keep my total caloric intake down below 1,800, and preferably below 1,500 if I can. This means that there is not a lot of, um, byproduct. Once in the morning, and I’m good for the next 24-hours.

But up in Washington…I didn’t count, but we all must’ve been taking in 3,000 or 4,000 calories a day, maybe more. Just breakfast at Smallwoods alone could account for most of that! Portion control? Hah! Plus, none of us were exercising all that much. Consequently, we all had to adjust to having our days interrupted by inconvenient visits to the bathroom more often than usual.  (I know, I know...first-world problems, eh?)

But as I said, now I am back at home and eating more sensibly. Yes, I can already tell the difference. It’s a giant relief - in more ways than one.

I didn’t really want to go up to Washington this summer, and I don’t want to go back next summer but I think I’m going to have to. (It’s a long story.) Next summer will make a total of ten years that I’ve been going up to Brewster. So we shall see. This year was a lot of fun – we had a really great crew.  It makes it hard to quit. But ten years of doing anything is enough, no?