[jacket3ree]

I keep finding myself in agreement with the distinguished gentleman from New Jersey.  

I don't know what Stanford should do moving forward. Maybe instead this thread can keep turning into Car Talk. (I miss those guys).  Just in case, here's a rundown of cars I've driven extensively, maintained, and/or owned, and their ultimate fates. This is totally self-indulgent, so sorry for that.

1974 Buick LeSabre. Retrieved from grandparents who could no longer handle her. Marshmallow suspension and comfortable front couch. First driven on Wyoming backroads when I was 14. I was responsible for changing the oil, flushing the cooling system, changing the automatic transmission fluid, washing, and drying. I assume Mom had the brakes and belts checked, but she did strand us in the middle of the Arizona desert on the way to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon that one time. She's probably still with the rest of the mothballed aircraft carriers in Suisun Bay, where we left her. (The car, not my mom.)

1969 VW Karmann Ghia.  My favorite car of all time. Even Karri U. dug it in high school and cried when I told her that a Famer A. Grey from Old People Can't Drive, MN wiped her out on my way to a job interview senior year. It was not maintained. Dad always felt that unchanged oil and magic kept that air-cooled 69 hp lawnmower engine humming without the need for human intervention. Great heating and defrost system. Open a lever and hope the rear engine heat would somehow migrate to the front on demand in sub-zero weather. I often drove to school with my head out the side window. Amazing snow and ice car though.

1975 Jeep CJ7. The straight six Levi's edition because my dad walked out of the Ford dealership in a huff during negotiations for the most cherry, candy apple red Ford Bronco you'd ever seen. The three of us and Chilton kept her purring like a kitten. Well, a kitten with tuberculosis. I had mastered the four-on-the-floor Ghia transmission on drives throughout metro Denver and the greater Rocky Mountains (up and over Berthoud, etc) and thought I was hot ****. So, Dad says, it's time to learn a real manual transmission, one without a syncro-mesh first gear. I admit I struggled, confidence shaken. Dad proceeded to cure me of my confidence issues the way he taught me to swim. At a lake. We're at Chatfield Reservoir, trailing a Jet14 wooden sloop. I'm on the boat, stow the sails, and collapse the mast. He backs down the ramp, and I winch the boat to the trailer and secure it. "Take her out." "What?" "Take her out and I know you know that if you stall, we'll be here a really long time, your mom will be pissed, and I'll garnish your wages until you've paid off the repair bill."  (Our Jeep had a normal exhaust in the normal position - not a snorkel - so stalling would suck water back into the chambers, all six of them.)  Nothing like pressure to perform. "Yes sir."  Success! That Jeep got Dad through Rocky Mountain recreating with his three children and reluctant wife, the collapse of Teton Dam, commuting to Boulder for a PhD he never finished, divorce and its aftermath, and marriage to a second wife. I wouldn't be surprised if he coaxed half a million miles out of her (the car, not his second wife). Then he fell in love with Volvos and F150s.

1978 Audi 4000 Turbo. Saturn red. What a car!  While Dad was living in an apartment without a garage, a Colorado golf ball size hailstorm dimpled almost every square inch on that car, so I was offered her services my senior year in Atlanta.  Gladly accepted.  Between the efficient 4-cylinder turbo, six speed manual, and all those dimples, I got 56 mpg from Denver to ATL with the AC off and windows rolled up. (No one said I was intelligent, particularly when I was proving a point to no one in particular. Stopped for gas twice.)  That car hosted plenty of steamy and illicit activities in the "comfort" of its bucket seats with stick and handbrake between, including an epic Key West getaway with more people than seatbelts. It was broken into and caught fire once, but I loved that car. Dad kept it forever. I think he liked the look of dimples, Colorado plates, and a GT Student Parking sticker on the back.

1985 VW Sirocco. "Can I take the Audi to California?"  "No. Use all that fancy fellowship money you're getting."  "But that's for the fancy tuition." "Use all that fancy fellowship money you're getting." So I found a deal. What an effing lemon on four wheels that car was. Stranded in Utah on the way to California. Stranded at the crack house parking lot on Turk Street with a proper Southern Belle visiting from Georgia to see exotic California for the first time because she knows a guy there. I went through nine fuel pumps with that POS, the driver side power window stopped operating (fortunately down, made for fun summers), and I ultimately jammed 4x4 redwood posts through the front window while rebuilding our front porch. That was the second time windows were broken. Someone prowling Mountain View really wanted a stock VW radio for some reason. So on to a truck. I dumped this car on a niece learning to drive. She knows stick!!

1995 Dodge Dakota. Old school version. Extended cab and long bed. Six on the floor. Put 285,000 miles on it. Eventually I was fueling it with close to straight Toluene vainly trying to pass smog. Then it didn't and the roof caved in, so my daughter donated it to KQED for me.

1995 Dodge Caravan. The ultimate family wagon with built-in car seats. By this time, we'd found a great mechanic, Julio, to keep this and the truck running. Took the gang everywhere. Rose Bowl. Canada twice. The Grand Circle National Park Circuit. One cool memory was in the Mineral King area of Sequoia heading to what was an epic all day hike. "Why is there chicken wire on all the cars?" "Dunno." Ans: Marmots! We came back from the twilight to rodents scurrying out from under the car. Shiii.... Opening the hood revealed the damage. They hadn't yet run out of wire insulation to eat. I didn't have a Chilton on hand. Panic is setting in on my wife's face, which translates to the kids. No worries, we have sleeping bags and I once wanted to take auto shop in high school! I twisted together what I thought should be twisted together. Wife not impressed. Hilarity ensues when she takes the kids 200 yards away behind large boulders while I start the car. Yes, Dad is expendable. She fires up!  Made it back to the Bay Area without incident and Julio says I did a really good job, no reason to rewire it. Boom! So that car went over 300,000 and finally dropped a transmission over at Bridgepoint. R.I.P. you forest green champion.

Honda Pilot of the 21st century. Replaced the caravan. Great all-purpose car-UV for schlepping high school kids and their teammates. Eventually reeked of puke and urine when my son and his friends saved some girls from the clutches of their own stupidity at a New Year party. Not enough Fabreze in the world to fix that.

VW Golf of uncertain vintage. My niece's parents repay the "favor" and dump a non-GTI hatchback in our lap to replace the truck. Half the things didn't work because of their grandchildren's peanut butter stuck in every crevice, but it did the job. I took her to 275,000 and Julio took perverse pride in keeping her going ('Probably built on a Tuesday. I can make this engine last forever.') but alas, it started to rain inside, so my wife made me get a new car. Thank you.

The current lineup:

2018 Mazda 5. No complaints. Replaced the Pilot after the kids started having their own kids.

2018 Mazda 3. Replaced the Golf. Great deal with a sub $18k price tag because I stopped looking for a stick. Got it with 5,000 miles because someone stopped payments. They had decent taste in preset radio stations, so I haven't changed anything and plan to drive this one into the ground or until they stop selling gas, whichever comes first. Shelter in place extended its life significantly.

2000 Honda S2000. We had one problem with the Pilot ever, and that was an airbag recall. It was a football Saturday, so I was slightly miffed by promising my wife I would shuttle her so she wasn't stuck at the dealer all day. What a jerk. (Me, not my wife.) I was in the process of moving on from the Golf and she'd had enough of my 'maybe I should get a Camaro/wish Fiat still made a Spider because that was my dream car in junior high' nonsense that when we saw a refurbished S2k with 55,000 miles on it in the lot she demanded I buy it just to shut me up. (Oh you think I'm stupid do you?  The long game.) Price tag even less than that Mazda 3. After shooting the particulars to my car-nut son-in-law who within two minutes had the low down (single owner, garaged, new top, new tires, new transmission), I couldn't say no. Fun car. Mid engine, short throw six speed with 9,000 rpm redline. You can drive it like a Civic and get almost 30 mpg, or drive it like you mean it. Zero traction control (RWD) and no clock, because a clock would add weight at the track. (I do carry a spare tire. Many of my fellow owners - and we pretend we're riding Harleys when we pass each other out there - don't.) I've been known to go to Nevada for lunch and come back via Ebbetts Pass. I've been up an over Hamilton and back on Mines Road more times than I can count. I'll not drive this into the ground, but pass it to my son-in-law as soon as I can't get in or out of it. I'm sure he'll convert it to electric if they stop selling gas. Premium gas.

Anyone else have cool car stories while we debate the future of Stanford Sports as we once knew it?

(Good luck to Brink in the draft tonight.)

[jacket3ree]

I keep finding myself in agreement with the distinguished gentleman from New Jersey.  

I don't know what Stanford should do moving forward. Maybe instead this thread can keep turning into Car Talk. (I miss those guys).  Just in case, here's a rundown of cars I've driven extensively, maintained, and/or owned, and their ultimate fates. This is totally self-indulgent, so sorry for that.

1974 Buick LeSabre. Retrieved from grandparents who could no longer handle her. Marshmallow suspension and comfortable front couch. First driven on Wyoming backroads when I was 14. I was responsible for changing the oil, flushing the cooling system, changing the automatic transmission fluid, washing, and drying. I assume Mom had the brakes and belts checked, but she did strand us in the middle of the Arizona desert on the way to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon that one time. She's probably still with the rest of the mothballed aircraft carriers in Suisun Bay, where we left her. (The car, not my mom.)

1969 VW Karmann Ghia.  My favorite car of all time. Even Karri U. dug it in high school and cried when I told her that a Famer A. Grey from Old People Can't Drive, MN wiped her out on my way to a job interview senior year. It was not maintained. Dad always felt that unchanged oil and magic kept that air-cooled 69 hp lawnmower engine humming without the need for human intervention. Great heating and defrost system. Open a lever and hope the rear engine heat would somehow migrate to the front on demand in sub-zero weather. I often drove to school with my head out the side window. Amazing snow and ice car though.

1975 Jeep CJ7. The straight six Levi's edition because my dad walked out of the Ford dealership in a huff during negotiations for the most cherry, candy apple red Ford Bronco you'd ever seen. The three of us and Chilton kept her purring like a kitten. Well, a kitten with tuberculosis. I had mastered the four-on-the-floor Ghia transmission on drives throughout metro Denver and the greater Rocky Mountains (up and over Berthoud, etc) and thought I was hot ****. So, Dad says, it's time to learn a real manual transmission, one without a syncro-mesh first gear. I admit I struggled, confidence shaken. Dad proceeded to cure me of my confidence issues the way he taught me to swim. At a lake. We're at Chatfield Reservoir, trailing a Jet14 wooden sloop. I'm on the boat, stow the sails, and collapse the mast. He backs down the ramp, and I winch the boat to the trailer and secure it. "Take her out." "What?" "Take her out and I know you know that if you stall, we'll be here a really long time, your mom will be pissed, and I'll garnish your wages until you've paid off the repair bill."  (Our Jeep had a normal exhaust in the normal position - not a snorkel - so stalling would suck water back into the chambers, all six of them.)  Nothing like pressure to perform. "Yes sir."  Success! That Jeep got Dad through Rocky Mountain recreating with his three children and reluctant wife, the collapse of Teton Dam, commuting to Boulder for a PhD he never finished, divorce and its aftermath, and marriage to a second wife. I wouldn't be surprised if he coaxed half a million miles out of her (the car, not his second wife). Then he fell in love with Volvos and F150s.

1978 Audi 4000 Turbo. Saturn red. What a car!  While Dad was living in an apartment without a garage, a Colorado golf ball size hailstorm dimpled almost every square inch on that car, so I was offered her services my senior year in Atlanta.  Gladly accepted.  Between the efficient 4-cylinder turbo, six speed manual, and all those dimples, I got 56 mpg from Denver to ATL with the AC off and windows rolled up. (No one said I was intelligent, particularly when I was proving a point to no one in particular. Stopped for gas twice.)  That car hosted plenty of steamy and illicit activities in the "comfort" of its bucket seats with stick and handbrake between, including an epic Key West getaway with more people than seatbelts. It was broken into and caught fire once, but I loved that car. Dad kept it forever. I think he liked the look of dimples, Colorado plates, and a GT Student Parking sticker on the back.

1985 VW Sirocco. "Can I take the Audi to California?"  "No. Use all that fancy fellowship money you're getting."  "But that's for the fancy tuition." "Use all that fancy fellowship money you're getting." So I found a deal. What an effing lemon on four wheels that car was. Stranded in Utah on the way to California. Stranded at the crack house parking lot on Turk Street with a proper Southern Belle visiting from Georgia to see exotic California for the first time because she knows a guy there. I went through nine fuel pumps with that POS, the driver side power window stopped operating (fortunately down, made for fun summers), and I ultimately jammed 4x4 redwood posts through the front window while rebuilding our front porch. That was the second time windows were broken. Someone prowling Mountain View really wanted a stock VW radio for some reason. So on to a truck. I dumped this car on a niece learning to drive. She knows stick!!

1995 Dodge Dakota. Old school version. Extended cab and long bed. Six on the floor. Put 285,000 miles on it. Eventually I was fueling it with close to straight Toluene vainly trying to pass smog. Then it didn't and the roof caved in, so my daughter donated it to KQED for me.

1995 Dodge Caravan. The ultimate family wagon with built-in car seats. By this time, we'd found a great mechanic, Julio, to keep this and the truck running. Took the gang everywhere. Rose Bowl. Canada twice. The Grand Circle National Park Circuit. One cool memory was in the Mineral King area of Sequoia heading to what was an epic all day hike. "Why is there chicken wire on all the cars?" "Dunno." Ans: Marmots! We came back from the twilight to rodents scurrying out from under the car. Shiii.... Opening the hood revealed the damage. They hadn't yet run out of wire insulation to eat. I didn't have a Chilton on hand. Panic is setting in on my wife's face, which translates to the kids. No worries, we have sleeping bags and I once wanted to take auto shop in high school! I twisted together what I thought should be twisted together. Wife not impressed. Hilarity ensues when she takes the kids 200 yards away behind large boulders while I start the car. Yes, Dad is expendable. She fires up!  Made it back to the Bay Area without incident and Julio says I did a really good job, no reason to rewire it. Boom! So that car went over 300,000 and finally dropped a transmission over at Bridgepoint. R.I.P. you forest green champion.

Honda Pilot of the 21st century. Replaced the caravan. Great all-purpose car-UV for schlepping high school kids and their teammates. Eventually reeked of puke and urine when my son and his friends saved some girls from the clutches of their own stupidity at a New Year party. Not enough Fabreze in the world to fix that.

VW Golf of uncertain vintage. My niece's parents repay the "favor" and dump a non-GTI hatchback in our lap to replace the truck. Half the things didn't work because of their grandchildren's peanut butter stuck in every crevice, but it did the job. I took her to 275,000 and Julio took perverse pride in keeping her going ('Probably built on a Tuesday. I can make this engine last forever.') but alas, it started to rain inside, so my wife made me get a new car. Thank you.

The current lineup:

2018 Mazda 5. No complaints. Replaced the Pilot after the kids started having their own kids.

2018 Mazda 3. Replaced the Golf. Great deal with a sub $18k price tag because I stopped looking for a stick. Got it with 5,000 miles because someone stopped payments. They had decent taste in preset radio stations, so I haven't changed anything and plan to drive this one into the ground or until they stop selling gas, whichever comes first. Shelter in place extended its life significantly.

2000 Honda S2000. We had one problem with the Pilot ever, and that was an airbag recall. It was a football Saturday, so I was slightly miffed by promising my wife I would shuttle her so she wasn't stuck at the dealer all day. What a jerk. (Me, not my wife.) I was in the process of moving on from the Golf and she'd had enough of my 'maybe I should get a Camaro/wish Fiat still made a Spider because that was my dream car in junior high' nonsense that when we saw a refurbished S2k with 55,000 miles on it in the lot she demanded I buy it just to shut me up. (Oh you think I'm stupid do you?  The long game.) Price tag even less than that Mazda 3. After shooting the particulars to my car-nut son-in-law who within two minutes had the low down (single owner, garaged, new top, new tires, new transmission), I couldn't say no. Fun car. Mid engine, short throw six speed with 9,000 rpm redline. You can drive it like a Civic and get almost 30 mpg, or drive it like you mean it. Zero traction control (RWD) and no clock, because a clock would add weight at the track. (I do carry a spare tire. Many of my fellow owners - and we pretend we're riding Harleys when we pass each other out there - don't.) I've been known to go to Nevada for lunch and come back via Ebbetts Pass. I've been up an over Hamilton and back on Mines Road more times than I can count. I'll not drive this into the ground, but pass it to my son-in-law as soon as I can't get in or out of it. I'm sure he'll convert it to electric if they stop selling gas. Premium gas.

Anyone else have cool car stories while we debate the future of Stanford Sports as we once knew it?

(Good luck to Brink in the draft tonight.)