If Bruce Wayne were a car, he'd be a Cadillac XLR.

Today I had the distinct pleasure of delivering a Cadillac XLR. With a DOHC 4.6L V8, fully independent suspension, and even A/C equipped seats, this ride is one of luxury. Then you dip into the throttle and learn exactly what the car is willing to do.

Comfortable seats, a retractable hard top, and heads up display (the car's speed is visible on the windshield at all times) make this a road tripper's dream. I found myself digging into the throttle just to hear the ferocious exhaust crackle.

If I were to criticize the Cadillac in any way, it is that the car seems almost too staid in exterior styling. Like Bruce Wayne, it seems mild-mannered. Very few people have experienced the full on craziness that lurks just below the surface, though.

Would I drive a Cadillac XLR? Yes. I'd just have to be on the constant lookout for purple clouds of poison gas from villains.

The 2012 Fiat 500 and other hateful things.

To your standard redneck's world view, no purse should not cost more than your first car. Many people started our driving careers in vehicles that were valued at $500 or less, and by this standard there are far too many purses for sale on the open market that are severely over valued. Here's a picture of a $600 purse:

I know that my sister, as elegant and refined as she is, could easily describe to me what makes the above pictured item vastly superior to a brown paper bag or a good JanSport backpack. I won't pretend to understand the distinction, though. To me, a small but expensive item better have a purpose other than looks.

Which leads me to the following item:

That's a 2012 Fiat 500. Many of you have already made some noise resembling that of the audience to a puppy's first steps. I understand that small cars are very cool right now. Fuel economy is nice, I get it. But that car is $20,000 USD. That's a Toyota Yaris and a Harley Sportster. That's a slightly used Corvette Z06. For $20k, you could get a real car.

Let me explain my distaste for the 500. I picked one up for the local Fiat dealer recently to perform some repair work to the smashed front fender. Snagging the keys, I was drawn into a conversation by the salesman about how I liked the Fiat's looks (I used neutral language; it wouldn't do to lose his business over so small an issue as honesty), whether I'd driven one yet (I have), how much fun they are (I was biting my lip so hard I could taste blood), and how excited the entire United States of America was for the upcoming Abarth edition (the glossiest of lipstick on this pig... er... 500).

I got out the door before my mouth lost the account. Quickly, I dove into the car and pulled the hood from my sweat shirt over my head. This instinctive response was born of the fact that driving these cars (and I've driven enough now that I wear a hooded shirt daily just in case) is so massively embarrassing.

Then the dealer knocked on the window.

He asked why I was wearing my hood. I confessed that the car was, in my eye, a designer purse and that I felt very embarrassed by it.

Our conversation covered all the bases, from why a reverse lockout on a 5 speed manual transmission is stupid and irritating (the 500 has one), how front wheel drive is great for commuting but awful for sportiness (the 500 is FWD), and who exactly the 500 is made for (women).

The dealer seemed saddened by the revelation (he honestly thought straight men liked 500s), but cheerfully reaffirmed when he and I both decided that 500s need not be practical, inexpensive or manly. Fiat 500s are the automotive equivalent of a $600 purse.

If you're reading this, Sister of mine, might I suggest you buy the automatic 500. Actually, I'll shut up. I honestly don't understand these things.

Top Gear loves the Karma too!

Henrik Fisker and Fisker Automotive Group are racking up quite the list of awards this year – and their pile might just about be complete with their latest accolade. The UK’s immensely popular Top Gear TV show just named the Fisker Karma the “Car of the Year” and Top Gear Magazine named the extended range electric vehicle the “Luxury Car of the Year” – an award that has previously been graced upon such high end autos as the Mercedes-Benz CLS Coupe, the Jaguar XJ and the Rolls-Royce Phantom Coupe. In our recent interview with Henrik Fisker about his groundbreaking luxury design he noted that he just wanted to show the public that green design can be cool, and from the looks of it he is certainly succeeding.

With recent numbers out of the Technischer Üeberwachungs Verein (TÜV) that gave the Karma an impressive 112 mpg rating, it is one of the greenest cars on the road. With a price tag for the basic model at $95,900, this is no family vehicle but a serious sports car with a body of undulating curves that perfectly match its uncanny ability to take a bend in the road. Top Gear writers and TV hosts recognized the car’s driving skills, masterful aesthetic and innovative design with these two well deserved awards.
“Cleverness abounds in the Fisker and adds to the air of intelligent luxury. It works well, it looks good and it must be a genuinely exciting thing to own,” said Charlie Turner, BBC Top Gear magazine editor. “It’s the top-of-the-line spec that features no leather, just textiles and reclaimed wood. And it’s more convincing than it sounds, managing to look, feel and smell premium without any cow peel in it at all,” he added.
In response to the awards Henrik Fisker said, “it is fantastic news that the Karma has won two awards from Top Gear. We realize that we are at the beginning of our journey and awards like this remind us we are on the right road – building enticing green cars that people actually want to own.” Fisker added that he was especially excited that this was a European award for an American-made car, “it’s a triumph that American engineers have designed and engineered this ground breaking car at our global Headquarters in Anaheim, CA and that there is now a new American car option that is bold, beautiful, smart, and environmentally responsible."

Source: http://inhabitat.com/fisker-karma-named-top-car-of-the-year-by-bbcs-top-gear/fisker-car-of-the-year-5/

Best of 2011 Nominees

I'm getting ready to celebrate Thanksgiving, and in developing a mental list of things that I'm thankful for, a list of the best of 2011 is emerging. I'll put up the potentials, you let me know what you think and we'll have a list of the best things a Pusher Truck enthusiast experienced in 2011 by year's end.

Man of the Year:

1. Ron Swanson/Nick Offerman

On Parks & Recreation, Ron Swanson is a breakfast enthusiast Libertarian with a weakness for women named Tammy and a strong sense of self reliance. The actor portraying Ron may not be so different.

Nick Offerman, the man pictured to the left, is an accomplished wood-worker and has an impressive body of work. Check out www.offermanwoodshop.com for more info.

Pros: A man's man. Very little drama. Not afraid to get dirty.

Cons: He's still a fancy-pants actor.

2. Henrik Fisker

Henrik Fisker teamed with Bernhard Koehler to create an electric car that didn't suck. They surveyed the automotive landscape and saw only a sea of beige in the Toyota Prius and Honda Insight. Sure, the Tesla Roadster was available, but one does not waft to the country club in anything built on a Lotus Elise platform. The Fisker Karma, on the other hand, brings refined elegance with its performance. Henrik Fisker, thank you for saving us from both boredom and hippies. Check his work out at www.fiskerautomotive.com/en-us

Pros: 981 ft/lbs of rear wheel drive torque. Stunning beauty. Leonardo DiCaprio has shunned his Prius for one.

Cons: I can't afford one.

3. Colton Lucas

Colton, a 12 year old resident of Kitzmiller, Maryland, shot and killed a 376 pound black bear. Of the more commendable aspects of killing so large a man-eating-predator is the fact that Colton had to drag that 376 pounds out of the woods, skin it, clean it and eat it. So, in addition to making this world a little safer from bear attack, young Mr. Lucas also provided for himself and his family. Very manly indeed.

Pros: One less bear equals one less bear attack.  Pulling the trigger was the easy part.

Cons: Nothing comes to mind.

Car of the Year: 

1. Fisker Karma

Pros: Electric, rear wheel drive, 981 ft/lbs of torque, American made, and, well, just look at it.

Cons: Price tag.

www.fiskerautomotive.com

2. Icon BR Series

Pros: Modern drivetrain, no rust, manlier than sipping beer through a mustache while watching UFC in your underwear in a room that you built of mahogany and cedar.

Cons: If the other models are any indicator, Icon charges a gob of cash for one.

www.icon4x4.com/overview/coming-soon

3. 2012 Jeep Wrangler Rubicon

Pros: You can almost drive this thing over any natural solid. It is reasonably priced, now has 285 horses (thank you, new 3.6 V6), both manual and automatic transmissions are solid, and has selectable lockers front and rear. Oh, and it's cheap.

Cons: Maybe 20 mpg.

So, those are the things that impressed me most this year. What do you think? Anything to add? Change?

How an NSX changed the way I evaluate cars.

Today I was given the chance to drive an Acura NSX. I almost peed myself. Allow me to explain why.

When I was 11 years old I noticed that a weird off shoot of Honda popped up calling itself Acura. I was a car geek even then, reading every Car & Driver cover to cover when it showed up in the mail each month before I got from the mailbox to the house. I was eager to drive in the same way that sharks were eager to devour the entire cast of Deep Blue Sea.

Acura was a collection of front wheel drive boredom until 1990, when they offered a Ferrari competitor. Imagine Lifetime channel airing Ultimate Fighting Championship and you'll understand the departure that the NSX represented from the rest of the lineup. The critics couldn't stop singing praises for the weirdly excellent mid-engined barnstormer. I couldn't read enough about the home run that Honda had just hit over the fences of all the exotics from Lamborghini to Porsche and even the most hallowed Ferrari. Meeting one in person gives me the same tingle sensation that I assume my buddy Justin Barksdale experiences when meeting Mariners athletes.

So, here I was yesterday with the keys in hand and a destination in store. I was to drive a childhood hero, and I was getting paid. I felt a little guilty.

The guilt lifted, though, when I tried to climb in. I don't fit into Acura NSXs. I can put my wide butt into the seat. I can put my trunk-like feet on the pedals, but in the end I'm 10 gallons of crap trying to stuff myself into a svelte 5 gallon container. The NSX was an extra small tank top, I was the portly gal wearing it while waddling through the aisles of Walmart with no apparent sense of shame.

I wept bitterly, then drove the damned thing anyway with my head tilted to the side and my elbow jutted way out the open window. Yes, it is finger-tippy (the steering wheel reacts beautifully to input), the pedals are refined and precise, the shifter a proud evidence of intelligent life on planet Earth, and that motor? Oh, that motor. Honda, I thank you.

Now make the new NSX big enough for grown humans.

I want one I want one I want one.

SIAS again.

Masters and I just got back from SIAS; my second visit, his first. I had a second glance at the Fisker, and a more in depth look into some other rigs.

The Fisker is clearly the most exciting American car in attendance this year. From the electric drive train to the stunning looks (both inside and out), it made sense that this car drew a crowd all day. I've walked past it more than a dozen times in two days now, and each time there was a crowd at least two people deep around the monster. And this while only 100 feet from the new Audi R8 Spyder (which consequently had no real crowd drawn). Well done, Fisker. Now let me drive it and we've got a deal.

The Americans seemed to have some pretty big victories, actually. The Cadillac CTS, CTS4 and CTS-Vs were silently seething with pure villainous intent from the center of the lower floor. Mazda seemed duly intimidated by the rear drive hooligans. Ford had a steady line waiting to sit in the Mustang Boss 302, while the SVT Raptor alone had more people in, on and around it than Kia had in its entire booth. Sure, people were milling around the Ferrari and Maeserati booth, but the Chrysler/Dodge booth drew the real numbers thanks in no small part to the 6.4L Charger, 392 Challenger, Rubicon Wranglers, and the regrettable Fiat 500s. Chevy's Camaro and Corvette were crowd favorites, and I heard close to a dozen people commenting on how they wanted to sit in the locked ZR-1. I even saw a security guard stop to take a photo of the 638 horse Vette.

So, what did I walk away with? First, American cars are once again something that we can all take pride in. Well, except those wretched GMC trucks. Almost as lousily made as the Toyota pickups. Second, you can make eco-mental cars that are beautiful, exciting and even sexy. Third, I learned that sitting in a car and touching the materials in the cabin offers way more information than does reading statistics online.

Finally, I learned that Americans are eager to buy cars that cause a fizzle, the kind that James May described. We want to be passionate about our cars again. We want flash, pizzazz and verve. Build us more Boss 302s, Ford. We don't want Fusions. Follow the CTS leader, GM. We aren't into Buick Regals. Give me more SRT8 Challengers, Dodge. I don't care about the Journey.

If you build it, we will come.

2011 Seattle International Auto Show

I went to the Auto Show today in Seattle. As I am a little overstimulated still, I'll try to write more tomorrow. Here's the highlight reel from today's smorgasbord. Sorry for the low quality cell phone pics.

Ferrari 458

Fisker Karma

Fisker Interior

Lamborghini Aventador

Audi R8 Spyder

Mercedes SLS AMG

Jaguar XK Convertable

Camaro SS 6 speed Manual

Want what you don't have? Make it!

This guy wanted a 4 door removable top Jeep but didn't have $30k to spend on a Wrangler Unlimited. Guess his next move.

He built the snot out of a Jeep Cherokee (the best bang-for-the-buck wheeler on the planet). Then, naturally, he cut off the roof.

Talk about having your cake and eating it too. Now this guy has a rig that's more capable than a Wrangler Rubicon Unlimited for the fraction of the cost and he can brag about building it himself.

You can read about the build at Pirate 4x4 Forum.

Now, get out there and build something. Send me pics so I can brag about you too.

Another from the pile of rejected applications.

Pusher Truck: The Rejected Applications File

The Emergency Rule: A Car Lunatic's Standard.

I am a proud product of Duvall, Washington. My lineage includes a scarily narrow family tree from Arkansas, so perhaps I was genetically predisposed towards 'hillbilly' tendencies, but I can't help but think that Duvall has imposed some level of influence on my life. As an example of Duvall's influence; many of you have a clear number in mind when asked how many cars you own, where I couldn't even start without throwing in asterisks and back stories. Car count? More like car biography. Ken Burns style.

Yep, I own many vehicles. And I may even, from time to time, attempt to claim too many as runners. For instance, there is a 1993 Mazda pickup stuck in the woods behind my Mother's house that I often label a running vehicle, even though it is stuck in a mud bog with two flat tires and no roof. Sure, in the strictest sense, it runs, but it wouldn't get me to a hospital quickly enough to save my life if I were bleeding severely. And here's the test.

If a car can't be driven with one hand (the other hypothetically severed) in enough time to prevent lethal hemorrhaging, then it cannot be considered a runner. I've found this a useful tool when attempting to relay to non-car people exactly how many of my cars are runners. Again, still no number can be affixed without a 9 hour mini-series in the way of an explanation.

If you are a car owner, I strongly urge you to count the items of your fleet that do not meet the Emergency Rule. It makes for a fun anecdote when boring the life out of others at dinner parties. Who knows, it may even save your life if your hand is severed and you need to get to a hospital. Of course, I'd likely die enroute trying to defend why we could have taken the 1993 Mazda pickup if we'd only taken the time to air up the flat tires, install a fresh battery, top off the gas tank, check the brake cylinder levels, and other minor touches.

But what a way to go!

A pet Tiger that we should all buy.

On August 18th, I wrote about the 1st generation Cadillac CTS. I was pleasantly surprised by its refinement, comfort, ride control, steering feel, and essentially every aspect of the vehicle. Well, today that ends. Today I drove a 556 horse 2009 Cadillac CTS-V.

This second generation CTS-V was not unlike the 2010 CTS4 that I drove in September, at least from the driver's seat. One notable exception was the little boost gauge on the bottom right side of the speedometer. On the other end of that little gauge was a fire-breathing supercharged LS9, only slightly detuned from its 638 horses in the Corvette ZR1. I wasn't worried until I accidentally engaged 25% of the throttle, and suddenly the cheesy wire mesh grill and lower bumper opening were forgiven.

At 25% throttle, with no intent on my side of stirring any antics, the rear tires of the CTS-V that I was piloting lost the inevitable fight with physics and the entire car started to pivot. I controlled the slide well, but I just learned my lesson; never awaken the beast beneath the hood. At least not on city streets.

I drove the car through the back streets of Bellevue and was amazed that the wailing monster I'd met only a short few blocks behind was a docile house pet with tiny throttle inputs. It was comfortable, smooth, controlled and luxurious. I settled into the Recaro seat and found the A/C control that set the car and seat both to cool. I was feeling a little pampered. Then I found the traction control button on the steering wheel.

The car that had just terrified me was harnessed by traction control! The wheel spinning, power sliding monster was reined in by a computer control nazi. With only 25% throttle, I'd nearly wet myself, and it was in the tamest possible setting.

On the rest of my journey, I jumped up to freeway speed smoothly and effortlessly, passed a slow moving caravan of commuters, and even changed lanes with one of the most finely tuned steering setups I've ever experienced. Exiting the freeway, I found the brakes more than sufficient when the jack wagon in front of me decided to jump into my lane. Smooth, rapid deceleration was only a short pedal pump away.

True, this CTS-V was an automatic. And yes, the flappy paddles behind the steering wheel were laughably poor in execution, but I found that as long as I left the transmission in Drive and let the gas pedal inspire fear, I was good.

Yes, this second generation CTS-V is a ruthless brute of a car. Yes, it is ridiculous and absurd for a daily drive. True, driving one to within 75% of its potential will land you in prison. I won't argue with anyone who questions the sanity of a CTS-V owner.

But as soon as my checking account permits, I'll buy one. And you should too.

Anaconda Montana and You: A truncated guide.

I just spent the better part of four days in Anaconda, Montana. This being the hometown of one Andrew Gabriel Masters, I had a pretty good guide in the aforementioned hooligan. And of course we had his brother Effin' in tow (Stephen Phillip Masters).

We pitched out of Kirkland at 6pm on Thursday night and crossed into Montana in the dark sometime Friday morning (the 7th). I found my bed at the Masters' compound sometime around 4am. So far, my Montana experience had been of darkness and a weird shimmy coming randomly from the front of Effin's Eagle Vision.

Friday morning we headed into Butte, Montana for Andrew's orthodontic appointment at 10am. I was groggy, but got to wander around lower Butte for a good while. I even snapped this picture:

It appears to be a solid piece of granite that would normally mark the entrance to a business' driveway. I couldn't figure out why it was sitting the way it was.

After Masters got his braces removed, we drove over to Buck's little hot dog joint named Mr. Dogs. With home made buns and Chicago sourced dogs, you really can't go wrong. Add in grilled onions, bacon, bleu cheese (yes, it was perfect) and steak sauce and suddenly you have the best $7.00 hot dog I've ever eaten. If you find yourself hungry within an hour's drive of Butte, go to Mr. Dogs.

Full and groggy, we buzzed around Butte and found a small neighborhood called Walkerville. I was just noting how sketchy the area was when Effin's Eagle decided to overheat. On the side of the road, with an old utility knife in the ditch behind me and four cars with flat tires on the other side of the street ahead of me, I felt at home.

We fixed the Eagle, dropped through Butte once more, then headed to Anaconda. As far as Fridays go, this one seemed adventurous.

Sleep was fitful thanks to my growing cold. Saturday morning, I climbed out of bed with a hammer attacking the inner walls of my skull and nostrils flowing evil straight down the front of my face. We went to Gateway Christian Fellowship's Men's Breakfast. I met some interesting characters, ate some tasty (I assume, as my taste buds were shot thanks to that blasted cold) food, and even fellowshipped a little.

After the breakfast, we met with other community members for a food drive. Andrew, his father Phil, Franklin, Gabriel, Daniel and I hopped into Phil's truck and drove around Anaconda looking for bags of donated food on the sidewalk. Our group collected a total of 3,000 pounds of food, I got to see Anaconda in great detail both from the truck and on foot, and I made some great friends in Franklin, Gabriel, Daniel and Phil.

The rest of the day was spent visiting Justin, Andrew's buddy from way back. He'd just fixed a Dodge motorhome that he'd gotten for the screaming deal of free. With $40 in lock cylinder and a tiny amount elbow grease, he'd fixed the behemoth. It was awesome. Even more awesome, though, was his flatfender Willys Jeep. It had the original four cylinder, a manual trans, and tons of attitude.

Sunday morning, Andrew preached his David and Goliath sermon (see one version here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t8Cz4el8f5E ). It was pretty sweet. The entire church was welcoming and genuine. I met a guy named Ron who 100% reminded me of The Dude from Big Lebowski. It was a little unsettling.

Sunday evening we went up to Georgetown Lake (pictured above). Fishing, horse shoes, camp fire cooking and even a little laughter. Not too shabby.

Monday we headed home. Which is where I am now. It was a long weekend. I really enjoyed the experience, and hope to return soon.

And Andrew's Mom may be the sweetest woman alive.

Pusher Truck Tryouts

Dirt Chicken BBQ

http://www.fiskerautomotive.com/en-us/about/fisker-surf

The above imaged vehicle is a Fisker Surf. It is an electric hybrid, with an Ecotec 2.0 liter turbocharged four cylinder sourced from General Motors that makes 255 horsepower. Running just on the pair of 201 horse electric motors, the car produces 981 lb/ft of torque. Yes, damned near 1000 lb/ft of the stuff that makes 426 Hemis so terrifying at a race track.

The prices will likely cross $100k, which is a large chunk of change no question, but for the novelty of an eco-mental electric hybrid mixed with genuine performance, but mostly just those stunning looks, it is a steal.

If you're reading this, Mr. Fisker, I thank you.

Geo: Built for Adventure

Hot or Not?

Why I dislike Hipsters.

1. Mustaches should not, and honestly cannot be ironic.

2. Bicycles are for poor people and children.

3.  Knit wool caps should not be worn with a safety tip on the end like cranial prophylactics.

Fast and Furious has done more harm than good.

When The Fast and the Furious (TFATF) first came to theaters, I must have watched it 20 times. I remember spending more money on movie tickets than on rent. The cars, the clothes and the cool were intoxicating. I loved that movie.

Then I learned that the movie was about as factually accurate regarding cars as Twilight is regarding vampires. If that green Eclipse from TFATF were an actual 10 second car, then it wouldn't be a front wheel drive with a 420A (low horse 4 cylinder). It would have been an all wheel drive with a turbocharged 4G63T. And there's more.

Remember when the green Eclipse starts burning after Johnny Tran and his cohorts shoot it? Paul Walker turns to Vin Diesel, shouts, "NAWWSSS!!!" and the car explodes. Well, it turns out that Nitrous Oxide is not flammable. The car would be more explosive it were freshly waxed than if it were filled with Nitrous canisters.

There's plenty of little car geek factoids that TFATF producers didn't care to examine like the above examples, but now we, the car geeks of the world, have to listen to people like my new coworker who think that he can't drag race a manual transmission because he granny shifts and doesn't double clutch like he should. And he's convinced that 'NAWS' is the most fantastic substance on the planet.

Now I'm going downstairs to steal some DVD players so I can afford my overnight parts from Japan.

Sometimes $7 is worth losing.

Hypothetically, in a fictional style, and with no characters, names, places or dates being in any way factual, I have one helluva story to share.

I deliver pizza as a second job. Usually, I really enjoy the job. Tonight was the exception. Tonight I got stuck behind not one or two but three horse trailers doing at least 15 mph, I was yelled at by a man who was very angry that I was driving on his dirt road, I got lost twice while delivering otherwise hot pizza, and I delivered pizza to a man dressed only in his underwear (I assume it was his). For the sake of brevity, we'll focus on this aspect of my evening.

The man lived in the deepest, darkest part of the fictional town where I hypothetically deliver non-factual pizza. Only the lights of my little red Audi (lone fact in an otherwise entirely fictional story) illuminated his lack of clothing in the remote location where he lived. It was dark. And he was too immodestly attired.

When the naked man handed me $7 less than the amount due for his food, I gladly accepted and leapt into my idling Bavarian cruiser. I wasn't going to argue with a man who had no pockets.

After returning to the fictional pizzeria, I was informed that the nude fella was aware of his accounting blunder, and that should I be willing to return to his deserted outpost, I could have $10 more. It took me nary a moment to decide that I didn't want to learn how little clothing this man found to be necessary, and I passed.

So, here's an insider's tip: If you want a discount on freshly delivered food items to your door, all you need do is answer the door in your (or possibly someone else's) undergarments. Unless you are an attractive human. Or if you are met at your door by a delivery person who is likewise attired. Then you may end up paying far more than full price.

My descent into fatness.

Masters and I visited Harbor freight today. For only $2.49, I bought a 36" pick-up and reach tool. I bought other things, of course, but the Fat Stick (as it will hereby be known) was the prize of the bunch. And the inevitable future cause of my increase in girth.

With my Fat Stick, I don't have to sit up to grab beer, remote controls, telephones or magazines. The only time I have to get up at all now is if Masters (the evil bastard) hides my Fat Stick. Which he is doing for fun now.

Fat Stick, I thank you.

Is James May (of Top Gear) designing clothing?

Buy one and support FinalGear.com

http://www.redbubble.com/people/finalgear/t-shirts/7733043-oh-cock

Pusher Truck Tryouts

What is Brouwer's: This is the reason you will have no paycheck.

If Alex Trebek tried to describe Brouwer's, aside from being in the question:answer format, it would clearly look like the title to this post. You see, Brouwer's is a bar in which high end beers, wines and whisk(e)ys are sold. The alcohol on tap is so high end that I have yet to receive an unpleasant drink. And when I order, I literally state that I want a dark brown liquid.

Located in Fremont, Brouwer's should be filled with hipster douches. Instead, there is a pleasant array of fat old people (yours truly), middle-aged couples, young non-douchers, scary older women, and everyone else in between. The beer selection on tap is second to none, and the bar staff are cool.

I just drank three amazing beers there. If I were a pusher truck driver I'd be upset that there 'weren't no gawtammed Coors Light' available. As I'm not a pusher truck driver, though, I really enjoyed myself. Please do the same yourself and support an amazing monger of fine ales.

A 2011 Wrangler and how it affected my value system.

A sweet little 2011 2 Door Wrangler came into the shop the other day. It is as base model as you can get, from manual windows and locks to a soft top and no A/C. The only optional extra was an automatic transmission, which, eh, whatever. The owner installed some 33 inch mud tires on cheesy looking 18 inch wheels, but aside from that, it is almost exactly the Wrangler that I'd order.

I was excited when I learned that it needed to be moved, as I'm hankering to own something similar (with 3 pedals, though, and without the cheeseball 18s). As I opened the door, I was assaulted by one externally unapparent modification.

Someone had installed bright pink seat covers.

I wept.

The Jeep seemed otherwise undamaged, so I moved it from point A to B with little fanfare. Remember, I love Jeeps. Always have. Then I saw what would come to offend my very core.

The license plate frame read: Silly Boys, Jeeps are for Girls.

I wept bitterly.

Who has the right to claim an entire range of vehicles for one gender, I ask you? Sure, Girls can have Jettas and Miatas. Enjoy. They can't Bogart trucks, Jeeps, or Mustangs, though. Those must be shared.

After much consideration, I came to a solution. With masking tape and a magic marker, I covered the license plate frame with a slogan of my own design. It reads:

Silly Girl, Jeeps are for Mud.

I feel vindicated.

A shouting match on the side of the road.

I lost my temper and yelled today. I yelled at someone who was yelling at me. We, together, were yelling on the side of the road with hazard lights flashing and horns around us honking.

I was wrong. He was too. We both knew equally that we were each wrong and each not going to back down. The rage within found voice. Gestures flew. Names were called.

Now, having had time to chill out, time to resolve the issue that caused us to be standing on the side of the road shouting, I have no anger within me.

Sometimes a good old fashioned argument solves the problem.

Bicycles suck.

I have a favorite driving road. It's tight, twisty, and heavily wooded. And bicyclists are ruining it.

On a road without shoulders, bicyclists tend to ride on the wrong side of the white line. They also pedal along lazily at 18 miles per hour. Try to imagine the danger that deer represent to cars, then add a sense of entitlement right before they pop through my windshield. That's the level of danger bicyclists represent on country roads.

Last night I rounded the bend on a section of Kelly road, outside Duvall, WA. I was doing 40mph in a 45 zone, the sun was out, and my windows were down. As I kissed the apex of the corner with my passenger front tire on the white line, a bicyclist came into sight just ahead, sitting a good 3 feet into the road. I lifted off the throttle, lost my exit line on the corner, and swung the wheel wide so that I was now on the wrong side of the road and losing speed rapidly.

Then he flipped me off.

I drove around him, his beady little bicyclist eyes trying to bore a hole through my skin. I waved and drove on. The rest of the trip, I dropped my speed even further and approached each blind corner as though another wingnut who can't afford gas was clogging the road.

Here's my thought: let's start enforcing minimum speed limits on all roads, especially small country back lanes with high speed limits. Or, in the same line of thought regarding safety, we could require bicyclists to wear bells around their necks so we can drive safely around them.

Why I want to build a Hot Rod.

Dad gave me a box of old car magazines last week. Since then, my time spent in the smallest room has developed a strong pull from within myself to build one of the marvels displayed on the once glossy pages. As such, I've narrowed my choices to the following styles:

All three above pictured cars are Model Ts with V8 engines and very little else. The top one is a 5 window, the middle a Track T (the nose and windshield are streamlined) and the bottom image is a fairly traditional T Bucket. What do you guys think? Are any one of the above cool enough to attempt?

I'm fairly certain I can trade my 1959 AMC Rambler wagon to make a Model T build happen. The resulting hot rod would be purely a toy, with no major transportation responsibilities. I'd keep the Audi, Boat and Suburban tow vehicle.

The Wrong Kind of All Wheel Drive.

Just look at that car. Take a second, clear your busy schedule for 10 seconds and look at the above imaged vehicle. It's beautiful.

Remember, that is an American luxury car. The kind of car that 30 years ago would have been stuffed with horrible couch-like seats, crushed velour upholstery, and anemic 150 horse 500 cubic inch V8 engines. This new breed of American luxury cars are rippling with muscle, all taut and quivering. They snub their noses at the Japanese, the Italians and even 'Ze Germanz.' That Cadillac you've been looking at is a perfect example of this new found exuberant rebellion.

If you remember, I drove a previous generation CTS and loved it. You can only imagine how excited I was to pilot the 2010 Cadillac CTS4 pictured above. I almost drooled when the keys met my palm.

The car was a disappointment.

Yes, this CTS was a V6, and yes it was the more powerful version than the 2004 CTS I had previously driven was equipped with. Yes, the interior of the 2010 CTS was much nicer than in the 2004 CTS. But, as I later came to suspect, the culprit here may have been the pesky digit attached to the end of the 2010 CTS' title.

Cadillac's CTS series is rear wheel drive (RWD) across the board, unless that number 4 pops into the title. Then it becomes an all wheel drive (AWD), though everything else about the car remains largely unaltered. Think of the CTS4 as the McDonald's Quarter Pounder with Cheese to the CTS' dairy-free Quarter Pounder. That one ingredient radically changed the experience for me.

I'm a huge fan of AWD, or at least I had previously thought myself to be, given my penchant for cars with four driven wheels. But this Cadillac became a heavy, numb, and groaning tug of a boat where the regular CTS was agile and nimble. The CTS4 was not entirely unlike the Cadillac of the '80s that I've come to loathe.

Perhaps Cadillac should consider a dingle-ball headliner option for the CTS4. Oh, you know what? They should offer a vinyl roof! Yes, that's more befitting the grossness I discovered.

In the mean time, I'll take a plain CTS. Hold the 4, and no thanks on the hyphen V.