Originally intended to document my experience of DeLorean ownership, focus is often radical and strange, boring and obtuse.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

The Ariel Atom

Wow! It's me and a tiny car! Holy!

Our city held our first annual 50s Greaserfest, which some would consider appropriate given all the politicians that took the stage and did their best to appeal to the audience down by the water.

We wandered up and down the rows of 50s and 60s classics, staring at their spiffy chrome and juicy juiced engines. We got ice cream Sundays and apologized to the owners of the cars as we spilled our dripping ice cream on their tweed seats. Then we noticed something totally unexpected.

The Ariel Atom.

I watched the tiny, candy coated hand-built racer roll across the grass, and was surprised at how quiet it was. It didn’t fit in with the other cars in the field, but it didn’t matter. It was the super-yummy Atom!

I’ve only ever seen this car in this awesome video, and was utterly blown away by it’s amazingness. I never thought I would ever see one in real life, since the company only makes a few hundred per year, and didn’t think there was much of a market for it way up north here where there’s snow on the ground for 13 of the 12 months of the year.

The owner was only there briefly and was preparing to leave, so I snapped a couple of pictures before he headed off to some race track to make some cocky Ferrari Enzo driver eat his dust, dust and more dust.

This particular Atom had the supercharged Chevrolet Ecotec engine in 250 hp format, which was 105% more powerful than the version Suz had in her Crapalier.

I don’t know if all Atom’s are, but this one was street-legal, so the owner tipped his hat to me, bid me adieu, felt his moustache with his fingertips, pulled his goggles over his eyes and slowly buzzed across the grass heading toward the exit.

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Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Sunday Car Show

I wrote a note so I don't forget about my haircut.

In a bit of a contrast to the bonehead I met at the gas station not long ago, the people I met at the Oldies 1150 car show were ultra-nice, super-friendly, but most importantly, offered no ridiculous ideas to make my DeLorean look better.

Suz and I had packed up a picnic and rode our bikes down to the Pier when we happened upon the car show which had already started. I immediately turned around and pedalled home as fast as I could to get my car.

Fifteen minutes later, we were parked on the dusty grass among some of the nicest and dustiest classics I've seen in a while.

When a trio of our friends showed up to keep Suz company, I had time to listen to such amusing comments like "this thing must be worth, like, $250,000!" and answer some questions. I'm happy to say that nobody asked anything stupid, like "is John DeLorean still in prison?" I just don't know how to answer that without insulting the Corky who asked it.

I was very excited to meet a man who told me his neighbour was the man who designed the DeLorean's gorgeous instrument cluster, and hasn't seen a DMC-12 since the day they hit the streets. I told him I would love to talk to him, as I might be able to write an article for DeLorean World Magazine, but he slipped away when I was distracted by another excited enthusiast.

Although I was upset about losing that contact, it was still a great day. The best part was meeting all the people who love the car, or who've never seen one before. Their smiles and enthusiasm were so super-awesome, they could even brighten John DeLorean's darkest day in solitary confinement.

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Wednesday, July 11, 2007

DeLorean Damage

I have a haircut appointment on Saturday.

Know what's funny? Jerks. Know why? Because they make great stories. Like the jerk I met recently while I was fueling up.

Had I followed the advice this stranger offered me, I would have ended up with the worst, scratched-up DeLorean this side of Freddy Krueger. Why? Because he didn't know what he was talking about.

And what's worse, he claimed to be a former DeLorean owner.

So what did Mr. Bullshit tell me? After first complimenting me on the car, he then told me how he knew all about them, because he owned one back when they were new. Then he started talking to me about "all those scratches everywhere." I didn't quite understand what he was talking about, but I mentioned that yes, there were a few scratches on it when I bought it.

But that wasn't what he meant. He ran his finger down the grain of the steel and told me it should look like a mirror; that there should not be ANY scratches on the stainless steel anywhere.

He knows, because he used to own one.

I asked him if he was talking about the grain in the steel. And I told him that there should, in fact, be those lines, because it was brushed stainless steel. But he argued further, telling me emphatically that there should be no lines whatsoever.

Now I was almost laughing. I decided to just play along, and thought maybe I'd get out of the gas station before the sun went down and the Vampires bit our necks, making our absurd argument eternal.

He told me to rub oil all over the body panels circularly with a pumice stone. I enthusiastically agreed this sounded like a good idea and that I'd give it a try. As I slipped down into my driver's seat laughing at this horrible, DMC-destroying suggestion, he clamoured up into his Jeep.

His parting words were how he and all his jerk-friends were into Porsches and Ferraris now. Yep, he knows what he's talking about because he's into Porsches and Ferraris. As if the lowly DeLorean is beneath him now.

What would have been really cool is if he were beneath my DeLorean as I drove away.

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Thursday, July 05, 2007

Native Protest Backfireage

Jam central.

The Native protest along highway 401 on Friday was supposed to cause traffic jams (above), but the blockade was no match for technology... or the police.

The delicious blending of design and efficiency that is our Honda Insight forced the Natives into a collective burst of joy. Joy which resulted in tears. Tears of joy. And what happens when tears well up in your eyes? You can't see.

Extra smooth sailing. Just like those sweet, smuggled cigs.And that's when the smooth-talking police negotiators jumped in and cleared the highway for us, so that we could achieve a super-awesome 76 mpg (3.7L per 100km) average. We were expecting a Rosie O'Donnell size traffic jam, but instead the 401 looked like this. To all the shmoes who got detoured onto highway 37, I only had this to say: so long suckers. Serves you right for waking up early, trying to beat the jam.

In fact, the only reason we ran into a traffic jam as seen in the main picture is because everyone was rubbernecking to see this totally wicked burned-out transport. Not because of the protest.

The Native protest backfired. And here's why. I used to be on their side. I used to feel badly for their situation and the deal they got in the past, by our government, to place them in that situation today.

They say they were trying to make the rest of Canada feel their inconveniences and frustration, but essentially, what they did was to alienate and anger the rest of Canada.

Last I checked, causing frustration and anger among your friends is not a good thing. Like the old cliche goes, why would you need enemies when you've got friends like this?

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