A Better, soon to be Vanished Time?

A fall day on I-64W, one mile prior to the White Sulphur Springs Exit.

On the joy of driving and a dystopian future….

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100,000 Miles

My beloved 2014 Nissan 370Z, affectionately nicknamed the “Batmobile” for its resemblance to various incarnations of the fictional vehicle, recently turned over 100,000 miles. Getting the service done took three trips to the dealer in Covington, VA.

The first trip, five weeks ago, was for the oil change, tire rotation, and alignment, although I knew I’d also need new front brake pads and the rotors turned. There was also some speed related hum coming from the front left wheel. Well, not only were the rotors worn past the point of turning, the bearing was going bad, which was the source of the hum, and the tires, which I hoped to keep on for at least another thousand miles, were close to 2/32”. I had the oil changed, ordered the parts, opting to replace the right front bearing as well, and with winter approaching, I decided to get another set of Goodyear Eagle Exhilarate all season, M+S, Y rated (186 mph) tires for my chariot.

Parts and tires were to be on hand at the dealer in two weeks; however, due to my work schedule, I had to push the appointment out to four weeks. When I returned a month later, the service rep told me that the distributor had sent four back tires. Oh, the agony! I had the brakes and bearings repaired with promise that the front tires, which are slightly narrower with a higher profile, would be on hand within a week. On Friday I made the third trip to finally have the new paws put on and aligned.

While it was something of an inconvenience to make three trips for servicing, each was an excuse to take the machine out for a run on a splendid 18 mile or so stretch of Interstate 64, a section of highway that has sparse traffic, sweeping curves, and beautiful scenery.

On the trip home at the beginning of September, the weather was near perfect – low 80s, low humidity, and not a cloud in the sky – all of which mandated that the top be down. I soaked in the curves of the Allegany Mountains, lush and green, with a gentle blush of fall color just starting to show. Passing the state line back into West Virginia, I glanced at the speedometer to see the needle at 100, the 332 horses galloping along effortlessly. Easing off the gas I was more concerning about the failing front left bearing than the chance of getting a ticket, although I didn’t need that for sure. On the second trip, last week, the weather was not as nice - it was foggy, and overcast – but the drive was still enjoyable. However, Friday the sky was clear as could be with not a single cloud in sight and the leaves were really starting to show their spectacular brilliance of hues – bright vivid reds, deep oranges, gleaming yellows - all a canvas of Nature’s handy work. Suffice to say the photo above, taken on the return trip later in the afternoon, barely does justice to the beauty of the drive.

When I drove over at 10:30, the temperature was still a cool 45 degrees, too cool to take the top down. By midafternoon, the big ball of fire in the sky had warmed things up to the low 70s. Although the wind was kicking up and clouds were starting to roll in, I knew this would probably be the last chance this year to feel the wind in my hair at 80 to 100 mph. So with a push of a button on the center console, off the top went, tucked safely away in the bin behind the seats. The iPhone music app, connected to the Bose stereo system, shuffled between Lynyrd Skynyrd, Swing Out Sister and, of course, Rush.

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The Three Zs

My first Z car was an ’86 300ZX; fire-engine red with twin turbo chargers, T-Tops, and a bra. I bought that car new in Santa Clara. She was a beauty and a joy to drive. I remember a road trip with my boss, John Laughtenslager, God rest his soul, that we took to the National Automobile Museum in Reno in the summer of ’86. At one point along an uphill stretch of I-80, we hit 114 mph with the tops off. A few times, I took the machine out for the day along the twisty bits of Mt. Hamilton Road, had lunch at Lick Observatory, and then headed back down the mountain, just for the fun of it! I drove that car up and down California, from San Diego to Mt Shasta. California weather being as nice as it so often is, it didn’t matter if the drive was over the hills to the beach on Highway 17, down the coast on Highway 1, which is one of the most spectacular drives anywhere, or elsewhere, the tops were always off. As one might expect, a Rush CD or cassette was usually playing on the stereo.

300ZX (Z31). My 1986 model did not have the turbo scoop, although it still had the turbocharger under the hood, but it was the same color as this car.

Sadly, a few years later circumstances necessitated I part ways with the red beauty.

It was over two decades later before my next Z car. This time it was a 2005 350Z ragtop that was pearl white with 40,000 miles on the odometer, which I bought in February 2010 in Raleigh, NC. As with the 300, the car was simply a joy to drive. However, while I enjoyed the T-Tops in the 300, the 350 was the first convertible I had owned and I was hooked on top-down motoring. The car made it from Asheville to the coast, and DC to West Virginia, where my parents now lived. It was on those trips to mom and dad’s that I learned the joys of WV back roads, many of which are a single lane of pavement thru the most remote and rugged areas of the state. Late in 2010, I took the risk of driving to my folks for the holidays with the tires a bit thinner than they should have been. Of course it snowed, and after trying several times to back out of their parking area, each time only sliding further into a rut, I finally gave up and called the tow truck.

Snow Z. The 2005 350Z buried in the West Virginia snow.

In April of 2014, I took the 350 into the dealer at Wake Forest for routine service, which turned into oil, brakes, and rotors. Sounds familiar, right? My current ride, built in August 2013, had been sitting on the lot since at least September. Although I had made note of the car, I had not actually looked at it. Well, this time since I had some time to spare while waiting on the service and brake changes, I took a look. As one would expect, as soon as I was standing next to the car, a salesman was at my side in a heartbeat. I allowed him to talk me into a test drive, and as they say, that was that. I said goodbye to the 350 and drove home in the 370.

I’ve taken this Z from Pittsburg to St. Augustine, from Pigeon Forge, TN, to the coast and DC, and so many places in between, including those backroads of West Virginia. Did I mention that some county roads in this state are not only a single lane, they aren’t even paved? Yes, the Batmobile has successfully negotiated thru 15 miles or so of national forest on a gravel road thanks to the fact that the navigation computer showed that gavel road with the same marking a single lane paved road!

The car is not the fastest on the road, clocking in 0 to 60 mph at 4.7 sec or so, and the quarter mile at a respectable 13.3 sec @ 105 mph. It averages just over 22 mpg, and on the highway, I can get just at 400 miles out of a single tank of gas. Despite the slowly increasing number of little rattles from the tight chassis, she is, as both the other Zs, a pure joy to drive, especially with top down.

One memorable trip was in late May of 2017, when I went to pay my respects at my grandparent’s grave in Sevierville, TN. The next day, I drove thru Gatlinburg and headed to the Smoky Mountains National Park where I had hiked so many times as a teen with my uncle. Zeppelin’s “The Rain Song” from the House of the Holy LP set a mellow tone for the morning as I headed first to Cades Cove. Looping around the picturesque cove, I turned south over the mountains on Highway 441. After soaking in the views at Newfound Gap on the state line, I pulled over for lunch next to a waterfall along the way. At the south edge of the park, I turned northeast onto the Blue Ridge Parkway where I was to meet my uncle at a trailhead parking area about 15 miles away for one more hike.

The Batmobile at Newfound Gap along the Tennessee – North Carolina State Line.

Normally I would be inclined to push the car to the limits on a curvy road like the Parkway. With little to no traffic, I’d push the speed to 80 or more, using each turn to test the tires, suspension, and skill to come as close possible published lateral acceleration of 0.99 g. But on this day, the weather was perfect, the top was down, and I was in another time when road trips and motoring for the sake of being on the road in and of itself were experiences to be relished and savored. I was cruising at a leisurely 45 mph or so, just enjoying the Parkway, the scented country air, and the remarkable views of the mountains all around. As “The Ocean” played, memories of driving the 300 down the California coast crossed my mind. When the album finished, I switched the sound system from Bluetooth to XM’s Classic Rock channel. As I neared the parking area where we were to meet, Rush’s “Red Barchetta” came on the radio. The timing could not have been more perfect for the song ended just as I pulled into the lot see my white-haired uncle waiting for me by his car.

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Red Barchetta

In November 1973, Richard S. Foster penned a short two-page story set in a dystopian 1982. In the story, so many regulations had made driving less joyful and, in some cases, even dangerous. Despite the government mandating ever increasing safety features, some drivers kept their old cars in running order, taking them out for weekend drives, often along those back country roads. However, the dangerous part came when some drivers of the new MSVs – Modern Safety Vehicles – discovered they could take delight in chasing down the weekend drivers of the older cars, crashing into them and damaging their older cars while they drove away, their MSVs unscathed. Such is human nature…

Sometime in 1979 or 1980, Neil Peart later took turned Foster’s story around, penning the lyrics for “Red Barchetta,” the second cut on the seminal LP, Moving Pictures. In the interview below, cued for a when he discusses the song, he doesn’t mention much else about the genesis for the lyrics, focusing more on the theatrical soundscape the band was trying to create, but he does give nod to Foster’s article.

Let’s listen now to a live version of the song from band’s 30th Anniversary tour, the R30 Tour, recorded on September 24, 2004 at the Festhalle Frankfurt, Germany before we shift gears.

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The Lyrics

My uncle has a country place, that no-one knows about He says it used to be a farm, before the Motor Law Sundays I elude the ‘Eyes’, and hop the Turbine Freight To far outside the Wire, where my white-haired uncle waits

Jump to the ground As the Turbo slows to cross the borderline Run like the wind As excitement shivers up and down my spine Down in his barn My uncle preserved for me an old machine – For fifty-odd years To keep it as new has been his dearest dream

I strip away the old debris, that hides a shining car A brilliant red Barchetta, from a better, vanished time Fire up the willing engine, responding with a roar! Tires spitting gravel, I commit my weekly crime…

Wind in my hair – Shifting and drifting – Mechanical music Adrenalin surge –

Well-weathered leather Hot metal and oil The scented country air Sunlight on chrome The blur of the landscape Every nerve aware

Suddenly ahead of me, across the mountainside A gleaming alloy air-car shoots towards me, two lanes wide I spin around with shrieking tires, to run the deadly race Go screaming through the valley as another joins the chase

Drive like the wind Straining the limits of machine and man Laughing out loud With fear and hope, I’ve got a desperate plan At the one-lane bridge I leave the giants stranded At the riverside Race back to the farm To dream with my uncle At the fireside…

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Switching Gears

In Foster’s story, the chase ensues because a nefarious MSV driver is trying to run down Buzz. In the song, even though Peart doesn’t say it, I’ve always had the sense that the chase ensues because the “gleaming alloy air cars” are actually police cruisers out to apprehend the protagonist red-handed during his “weekly crime.”

The song has a particular prescience. The lyrics certainly imply, or even state directly, that in the setting of the song, some fifty-odd years from 1980, which would be present day, private farms are scarce, most people seem confined to cities, there is some sort of widespread surveillance of the populace, governments have outlawed or severely restricted the internal combustion engine, and driving a car with one is something of a criminal activity. The thoughtful reader may want to compare that and reflect on the zeitgeist concerning automobiles and carbon-based fuels…

However, the band also perfectly captures, both lyrically and musically, the cinematic effect that Neil refers to in the interview, the joy and thrill of the drive, of the chase, of being alive! “Every nerve aware.” And that is the entire point. If my opening above seems as a bit of a love letter about my Z cars, driving them hard hand fast, often well above any legal speed limit, and the trips I’ve taken in them, it is. When behind the wheel of a car designed for the driver, and when taking the car to the edge, one cannot just be along for the ride. One must be in total control, every nerve aware. The line between control and catastrophe can be quite thin, and when on that line, one is often fully alive.

Rules, regulations, and laws, which purport to keep us safe or serve the “greater good” usually do exactly the opposite. They stifle our growth, keeping us coddled and in near perpetual childhood. They keep us from being alive. As self-actualized adult humans, we aren’t meant to be perpetually safe, constantly coddled, nor stifled. We are meant to take risks, hopefully carefully considered risks, but risks nonetheless, we are meant to stumble, scrape our knees, break a bone or the bank, get back up, learn, grow, and move forward. We are meant to experience life - joy, beauty, angst, heartbreak, and everything in between - in the real, physical world. We must go out in the world and take our chances.[1]

I am increasingly convinced that our installed “leaders,” and those who would follow them are not only joyless, but they are woefully ignorant of how the real world works, and live in a fantasy land fueled by misanthropism, self-imposed guilt, and self-hate. They are far too confident their ways are best, but then, ignorance and prejudice, and fear, walk hand in hand.[2]

I’ll figuratively bite my tongue and refrain from going on about the ills of the “climate change” mantra, how carbon is actually good, EVs, how they blow up, etc. But I will say this - I would personally rank hydraulics, the internal combustion engine, electricity, and the transistor as the four greatest inventions that have made modern society what it is. Those shoving the Green New Deal, the Great Reset, Agenda 2030, and Transhumanism down our throats understand none of those. They are using their ill gotten power to take us backward. They will willingly sacrifice you and I to a lie on the altar of “Climate Change,” all based on hatred of their fellow man, ignorance, and pridefulness.

Stories like “A Nice Morning Drive,” songs such as “Red Barchetta,” and dystopian fiction in general should rightly serve as a warning to a path fraught with peril. Forget about the psychopaths who have managed to put themselves in charge, at least for the present, far too many people seem to take the future presented in such tales as a forgone conclusion. It isn’t.

My nieces are all adults, old enough to know the joy of driving the country back roads, of taking risks, of traveling, of making their own mistakes, of being fully alive. My grandchildren, however, are still very, young. I do not want them to grow up in a future where they must sneak out to see their grandfather in the back country of West Virginia and take the 370 out for an illicit weekend drive, as if that would only be the worst of it. I, for one, do not want to sit by the fireside and tell them stories of a better, vanquished time, which is exactly where we are headed if folks don’t, well, get their heads our of their behinds.

It doesn’t stop until enough people stop participating the nonsense.

What kind of future do you want for your children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews, dear reader? What kind of future do you want?

Namaste 🙏,

Thanks for reading, and

Keep fighting the tyranny folks!

Mark

October 9, 2022

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Notes

PDF copy of "A Nice Morning Drive"

A Nice Morning Drive

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Download • 3.91MB

[1] See lyrics to “Roll the Bones,” the title cut from the 1991 LP. [2] See lyrics to “Witch Hunt (Part III of Fear),” also from Moving Pictures, which is another cinematically excellent song.

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Personal Note

It has been nearly nine months since I’ve actually written an original article. COVID and Your Inner Nazi, posted on January 6 was the last. The last two posted in late January were copies of letters to West Virginia legislators. Work and life have a way of consuming time, especially when one is supervising the construction of – wait for it – a one-lane bridge or trying to design a new home. It is time to move writing back up the priority list.

The one lane bridge just before the crew pours the concrete.

The well cap stands watch, patiently awaiting the start of construction.