Folks, for a group of people who can endlessly discuss tires (not that
there's anything wrong with that), I don't think we're ever going to find
completely common ground on the "ultimate ride".
Perspective. When I was 8 the ultimate ride was a couple of boards and an
orange crate with four old rusty roller skates nailed to the corners.
Braking and suspension were optional and ignored as engineering principles.
Steering effort was high and erratic, trending to understeer. Acceleration
was limited due to lack of horsepower.
When I was 14 the ultimate ride was my high school homeroom teacher's Karmen
Ghia. It, too, had a panic bar and I remember grabbing it the one time he
drove me home. Oh my, my teacher could drive me home without being sued.
Imagine that.
When I was 17 and could actually drive my ultimate ride was anything that
moved in the general direction that it was steered and had enough
acceleration to outpace Bugs Bunny as he chased the turtle. Rear seats?
An option. Rear brakes? An option. A luxury even. Replace the exhaust
system every year? Expected.
In short, the quality of "ultimate" isn't embedded in the object; it's
embodied in the person.
Chimera and I have been beaten by a Miata on a short straightaway, he lost
me in the distance and I wasn't about to fight him for space on the blind
corner of that two-lane country road. My fuel injected Ford Explorer would
leave me behind on a quarter mile. I just don't care. When I'm driving the
Healey I feel good and there are smiles and thumbs-up all around. When I
want to push it, I can. Maybe some other car would do the same but I don't
think it would do it any better. That sounds pretty "ultimate" to me.
Bill Moyer, BJ7 aka Chimera
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