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

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