A few weeks ago I did my little sister a favor and helped her sell my mother’s Mercedes-Benz E350 wagon. It is a 2012 car, and my father bought it for her new. He kept every single record, including the Munroney window sticker, maintenance records, and even his notes from when he called the dealer to research the model. My mom drove the car until 2019 or so. I even drove it when I visited her in the assisted living facility she spent her last years in. My other sister lives about 40 minutes away so my driving of that wagon was limited to a shuttle trip on Houston freeways between those two spots. It sat for a few years while mom rarely drove it. In fact on one of my visits I bought a trickle charger for the car’s battery because it wasn’t getting enough use.
My little sister bought the car from mom a few years before mom died and she used it for commuting in Seattle until very recently. She asked me about selling it. I even considered buying it as my ski car (the Brown Subaru Outback that at one time belonged to Nick) was reaching its EoL with close to 300k miles. But I ended up buying that Blue Subaru you see in other posts. I’m glad I didn’t because this Merc is WAY too nice to suffer being my ski car and dog hauler!
It has very low miles and has been meticulously maintained by my father and my sister. I suggested to her that we sell it on BringATrailer, because I know these E-class wagons have a cult following and that platform would be the best place to have them find it.
The auction was a best possible result, in much the same way as when I auctioned my Dad’s 280se 3.5 almost a decade ago. Multiple bidders interested in the car and a result that beat our expectations.
Caught up in the enthusiasm of the auction I offered to drive the car to the auction winner, no matter where in North America they happened to be. At that moment the two highest bidders were in Washington and Colorado, so not really a big deal for me. A one or two day drive respectively. Well, of course the winner is on the east coast. So this week, I’m driving mom’s Mercedes almost coast to coast.
I’m planning to leave at dawn Wednesday. The plan is to drive only during daylight, and only have two planned stops: one in Chicago to see my son Chris, the other at the destination when I deliver the car to its new owner. I have a ticket to fly home early Monday, which is refundable/flexible should I have any issues.
But feel free to follow along. If I can find all the components I will set up the Timelapse rig. I will also post pics and stories on Instagram @chuckgoolsbee. Join me!
I stupidly committed to going to a car show this weekend. Now I’m trying to get some projects done on a compressed schedule. I was hoping to bring (and registered) the Jaguar. However it has spent the past couple of years atop my four post lift snugly slumbering. I pulled the M6 out from under it, which was a project in and of itself. Both cars had their batteries out and sitting on tenders. I didn’t want to start either up right now, so I had to push the big coupe out. Initially wasn’t able to move it more than a few centimeters. Aired up the tires, which were all low (~16psi) and it rolled much easier. Reinstalled the battery and checked that the dash lights up.
The three foam pads under the hood/bonnet are very dry and will disintegrate instantly if touched. I have had a new set for a while, and I guess it is time to install them. Should be a quick job, just vacuum off the old ones, remove the left over adhesive underneath and apply the new ones. Amazing how fast the old ones suck right off the underside of the bonnet with the shop vac!
Step one done!
Meanwhile with the Jaguar I remember that I have to replace the carburetor floats. I bought some new ones made out of some high-tech synthetic material from SNG Barrett a few years ago. I go to my stash of Jag parts upstairs and for the life of me cannot find them. I remember exactly where they were in my old shop! Oh well. I will search for them in the morning.
The 65E in a state of disassembly.
In other car news, I helped my little sister sell my mom’s old Benz Wagon on BringATrailer this past week. I had considered buying it from her, but my use would be for a ski and dog shuttle, and this car is just way too nice for that task. My old Subaru is a far better option. Anyway, my pitch to sell it on BAT rather than any other method worked just as I promised my sister; those wagons have a cult following out there and I knew BAT was the place to find them. We experienced the best possible outcome with multiple parties very interested in the car. It is going to its new home soon.
That is, hitting a deer when living in Central Oregon. I have been living here for over fifteen years now and have somehow avoided hitting one, despite probably a thousand close calls. Well, I finally ran out of luck.
Heading into town for an appointment, driving down Northwest Way and this buck came running full speed in front of me. I was maybe three car lengths behind an SUV and two other cars were heading the opposite direction. I never saw the deer as he jumped between the two northbound cars and then right in front of me. I was full on the clutch and brake pedals as fast as I could, but physics won. I hit the buck broadside. His hip hit just above my driver-side headlight, his shoulder hit the grille just inside the headlight on the other side (pushing a bracket into the radiator.) Grille destroyed. Hood buckled. Radiator leaking. Poor buck was in shock. Compound break of his femur. Head injury from hitting the ground (or maybe that mailbox, I’m not sure.) I was fine. I immediately called 911 and asked for the Sheriff to come euthanize the buck. The tailing northbound car stopped, as she saw the whole thing. Checked on me. Within a few minutes another car stopped and asked if I needed a gun. I said I had called the Sheriff but if she had one, it would be helpful. She walked from her truck and handed me a pistol. So within a few minutes of his injury, the buck’s suffering was gone. Lady took back her pistol and drove off. The other lady came and gave me a hug. I needed that. Sheriff showed up about ten minutes later. A while after that Linda came with the truck and a tow strap to get the car home. I didn’t want to drive it due to the coolant leak. Now it’s just insurance and body shop. And time of course. Sort of ruined my day.
Oh, guy in a pickup came by and took the buck home (legal in Oregon.)
Update: Insurance company being difficult, declared the car a total loss, despite the minor damage. ???????
I had to retrieve it from one body shop and bring it to a different one. The car will now have a salvage title, but since I plan to drive it like every other winter beater Subaru I have owned, that is until it mechanically expires. (The last one was hauled the the wrecking yard after a year of ominous knocking coming out of the driver side cylinder bank, at well over 250k miles on the odometer.) This one is just too nice a spec (full leather, manual, wagon, top spec) to let it go due to this level of damage. Hell, I don’t care about the paint, so long as it gets me around in winter until I can’t drive anymore!
Way back in my twenties I did some damage to this part of me. Well, it wasn’t intentional, as I bent it in a direction it was never intended when two other grown men fell on top of me while we were playing a “beer league” hockey game on a Wednesday night in Seattle. I bounced up off the ice and continued to play, but the next time I went down on that knee to stop a puck I could barely get back up again. I was at the far end of the rink from the dressing rooms, but I just skated off, leaving the players shrugging and asking “WTF!?” at me as I left play. (Hockey is really dull to play without a goaltender!)
I peeled off my gear to find my right knee looking like a bruised grapefruit of unusual size. I had a few arthroscopic surgeries and a lot of rehabilitation and physical therapy over the next few years, but it has never been the same. My first doctor said that that I could continue playing hockey. A subsequent doctor told me “If you want to be able to walk when you’re an old man you should probably stop playing hockey.” That was five years after the initial injury. I quit playing, but continued being active in other ways, specifically officiating ice hockey for another decade, because I love the sport, and wanted to remain involved. Eventually I stopped working games as it kept me away from my kids too much.
I kept on skiing though. I adapted my skiing style to minimize risk to that knee. I still ski to this day, and beyond riding my bike (which I only do to keep in shape, such as it is, to continue skiing) it is my primary form of recreation and exercise.
Back in the 90s my Orthopedic surgeon suggested a total knee replacement, but stressed that the procedure was in a state of constant evolution and improvement, so probably best to just keep an eye on that progress and pick a time later in life when my original equipment is causing more problems and discomfort than a replacement surgery would. That time is now at hand. My right leg is noticeably shorter than my left, so I walk with a limp. I start each day feeling okay, but if I walk enough I end up swollen and in pain. I would like to be more active, but this knee holds me back. I often descend stairs backwards, because if I face downward while stepping down, my limited range of motion throws me off balance just as my left foot is about to touch the stair below. So carrying things down stairs is almost impossible. I have to sleep on the right side of any bed so I can hang my right heel off the edge, because I can’t straighten my right leg. If I don’t do this and I actually sleep with a straight right leg I will wake up in pain of having my bone-on-bone all night long.
Spot the difference!
I have been scheduled for this surgery a couple of times now, the first for the summer of 2020, (guess what stopped that one) and again in Colorado during our aborted relocation there. But now it is definitely happening this coming Friday.
The same surgeon that worked on Linda’s hip will be doing the surgery on my knee. I picked this date to coincide with the end of the ski season (and NHL Playoffs on the TV), but with enough recovery time for Nick & Izzy’s wedding in early July. I’ve been working out in a gym since September, with a lot of emphasis on my legs. I hope that my efforts will pay off with a swift recovery.
Dr. Goolsbee will be helping me through this recovery with her amazing patience and kindness. As soon as I am able I will update you all on progress, but I imagine my weekend and early next week will be spent in an opiate haze.
Back in June of 2000, I joined my father in his then new-to-him Jaguar XK 120 for an absolutely looney car rally called the La Carrera Nevada. The year before we had driven through Nevada on the Cannonball Classic in the E-Type. Our minds were blown on US 50, as it traversed Utah and Nevada. I became enamored with the Basin & Range country and the delightful driving to be found there. Now, twenty three years later, I am living at the far northern edge of The Great Basin and take opportunities to explore it by car whenever possible.
There is an event I like to attend in Las Vegas every June and half of its appeal to me is the chance to explore new roads in this great American outback of the basin & range country.
I had hoped to once again traverse Nevada, but this time west-to-east on US 50, and then turn south on Nevada Highway 318 (Home of the Silver State Challenge) down to Vegas. 318 is a road I have never driven, especially the section where they run the SSC.
Well, fate intervened and as I was leaving Fallon east on 50 my TPMS light on the dashboard of my 2007 M Roadster lit up. Just a week and a half ago I had finally replaced the long-dead TPMS sensors in the car and now for the third time in three days the idiot lamp had lit. The passenger side rear tire had been losing pressure ever so slowly and I would just stop and add ~5-10PSI and keep driving. But now, my brain and the light told me “get this checked you idiot. You are about to head into a vast blank spot on the map filled with empty roads and sparse cell phone coverage!”
I hung a U-turn and backtracked through the town and went to a Les Schwab tire store. They diagnosed it as a leaking valve stem. Sadly, the delay was enough to put the kibosh on my Highway 318 dreams, as I was expected at a dinner in Vegas at 8:30 pm and it was almost noon. The margin was just too thin.
If I just went south on US 95 I would be in Vegas in around five hours, but I just couldn’t bear to do that. 95 is the main route between Nevada’s two population poles of Reno and Las Vegas. It is choked with truck traffic and of course I had driven it before. I’m here to explore.
I know that if I go east on US 50 there are several possibilities of highways heading south that will get me there with some wide open horizons. I have driven several, but there may be one or two new ones. Sure enough I see Nevada 361 and check my memory about if I have driven it before. I can’t recall if I have, but it seems like a good option, so off I go.
At first the asphalt is smooth as silk, clearly repaved within the past few years. I think I see maybe four or five other vehicles. Nice road to open the taps and let the S54 pull like it was born to do. Well, at least until I get about halfway, and the road surface gets as rough as a fifteen year old boys’ pimply face. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. And then 361 ended at US 95. I resigned myself to just loping along with the traffic on 95 from here to Vegas.
One moment of amusement happens along here. There is a long line of traffic with a slow truck at the head of it. At an opportunity where I can see for miles, and a break in oncoming traffic coincides, I drop down three gears and pull a long pass. A distance behind the slow truck is a Ford Explorer in dull grey, and sporting those swivel-spotlights on it’s A-pillars that scream “COP CAR” to everyone – except me. Why? The Ford has Oregon plates, but they are just regular civilian plates, not the orange ones they put on actual state fleet vehicles. I pass it, chuckling, and have to pull in between this fake cop and the slow truck several car-lengths ahead of it as oncoming traffic has returned. Laughing to myself as I pass the truck finally I vanish over the horizon amused at the dozen vehicles stacked up behind that Ford for the next 250 miles.
Serendipity
Continuing down US95, I resign myself to just riding the cruise control to Vegas, when my phone, who I swear now reads my mind says “this alternate route will only add 16 minutes”
I look and it is a string of small Nevada, and California highways that loop south and west in opposition to 95’s east and south route. I click it, and follow these roads. They are amazing. Utterly empty and with a stunning view of a snow covered mountain range that runs along the border, but mostly in California. At the apex, it runs through an agricultural valley, but the first and third thirds are delightful rolling hills. It is a wonderful alternative to the US95 slog. Despite Siri assuming it will add time, it actually ends up saving me quite a lot of time. Near zero traffic, I just fly along with my thoughts, once again experiencing the open roads that my father and I loved so much back in 1999/2000. It is appropriate to think of those great days with my father as it was five years ago today when he died. I was with him then, and I was with him again on these roads.
Rejoining US95 I again have to deal with other vehicles sharing the road with me. Oh well. I make it to Beatty, Nevada, which is a speed trap disguised as a town. I stop at a gas station to fill up the car, have a potty break, and refill my cooler with cold caffeinated drinks. As I’m doing this, the town cop issues at least three tickets, and has yet another pulled over as I leave the town. In Beatty, 25MPH means 25MPH.
Not long after leaving Beatty, I once again pass that Oregon Ford Phoney Cop car. It must have passed me while I was filling up with gasoline. Yep Siri, I gained sixteen minutes!
The rest of the run to Vegas is uneventful, beyond one wild donkey who crossed the highway in front of me. I even pick up a “rabbit” in the form of a Mazda minivan and a Toyota Camry who want to use the long divided section of 95 to travel at autobahn pace into the city. I let them pass and then pace them, but we’ll behind, to let my Valentine1 warn me if they get painted with radar. I pull into my hotel with almost two hours to spare before the event kickoff dinner. Time enough for a quick nap, and dreams about Highway 318 on the return voyage.
UPDATE: server is up again (obviously!) but this may be temporary. Later in the month I’m going to upgrade the hardware with some larger capacity drives. I might be doing some other work on the machine as well. Meanwhile enjoy things being back online.
We’re moving at the end of this month. Which means I’m moving our Internet connection and the machine that serves this website. Hopefully the downtime will be limited to a few hours, but it could be a day or two if things don’t go perfectly. As a firm believer in Murphy’s Law, I hope for the former and expect the latter.
There isn’t any truly mission-critical stuff happening here, so I imagine the vast majority of the Internet (meaning 99.99999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999997% will remain blissfully unaware.
I was heading down to Bend last week to meet Linda to watch the latest Bond flick ‘No Time To Die’ at the McMenamins Old St. Francis theatre. Zipping along on US97 southbound, which while not a freeway in the traditional sense, it is as close to one as we get in Central Oregon. I was in the Z4M, enjoying the last few drives before it is put away for the winter. (Every time I drive this car I think “I should drive this car more often!”… it is the much fun to drive.) For the past year or so there has been some roadside construction on 97 on the north end of Bend. No idea what the project might be, it’s not actual road construction, but something alongside it that has taken quite a long time to complete. So for a long while the speed limit has dropped from 65 MPH down to 45 MPH through said construction long before you reach the usual traffic clusterfsck that is the north side of Bend around Cooley & Robal lanes.
So I’m rolling along all by myself with no traffic ahead and none close behind for the whole section from Tumalo to Bend, and as I’m approaching the construction warning signs I get a STRONG Ka Band signal on my Valentine1 radar detector. A glance shows me that it’s signature arrows are showing me the signal is behind me. I glance in the rear view mirror and all I see is a Subaru in the left lane coming up fast. I’m in the right lane already, but knowing that the construction zone is coming up AND there is an L.E.O. behind me with active radar, I come off the accelerator and begin slowing to the construction zone speed of 45 MPH. Sure enough the Subaru blows by me at likely 75 MPH as we enter the construction zone. I glance in the mirror and see the unmistakable outline of a Dodge Charger in dark blue and yellow. The Oregon State Patrol. As he passes me he lights up and accelerates to what is likely well over 90 MPH to catch up to the Subaru. (oh the irony!)
I can only imagine what the cost of that ticket must be for the Subaru driver. 20+ over in a Construction Zone. Oh boy.
