friedstinkytofu

2012-01-25T01:01:00.002-05:00

Another DIY! So this is the intake I finally settled on. Simpler than the last one, but also pricier.

DIY Modshack/Forge Style Intake for VW GTI MK6

2012-01-25T00:31:00.002-05:00

So here is the finished intake. My original DIY intake had a good (non-sealed) heat shield but had a 45 degree bend right before the MAF. So instead, I searched around for a sealed air filter to use the velocity stack to direct air STRAIGHT into the MAF. Yes, I like the gimmicky velocity stack still. Sue me.

I liked the ITG, Modshack, Forge intakes, but were too pricey and also many involved moving the MAF and replacing stock intake tube (I realize the Modshack one doesn't). They looked simple enough to build so... why not?

Things needed:

- Enclosed air filter - I used the kamotors air filter. I advise against getting one any longer as room is a tight fit.

- 1 inch wide x 1/8 inch thick aluminum strip

- 3 inch dia Couplers (one needs to be at least 3 in long), clamps

- M6 screw and washer

- 6 inch inlet, 3 inch outlet velocity stack (blox, ebay special, etc)

- dremel, drill, sandpaper

- ~5 inch round object and sharp corner for bending guide

Anyway, Where did I start... Firstly by ordering an intake. Unfortunately, cheap enclosed filters are not popular int he US (though popular in Europe). kamotors had one on ebay and though a bit pricey (RS-type was almost half the price), it was shorter and domestic.

Here is the mock-up of the filter after the MAF.

In order to support the filter/velocity stack I decided to use one of the stock intake box mounts. Here is a photo of me trying to figure out the spacing based on the old diy intake

I decided to use a 1 inch wide, 1/8 inch thick aluminum strip to hold up the intake. I realized it had to provide 2 functions: It had to hold up the intake, and also prevent it from moving side to side. Double sided tape should prevent the intake from flying up well enough due to its light weight. So here is the start of my bends on the aluminum. (notice my next DIY write up... oil catch can!)

Remember to work slowly, and bend against something with a similar size diameter. Dont try to bend it in one step. see how the bending guide affects the bend, where you put pressure, etc. Also dont trim before the bending. Use the excess as a good lever. I used a large jar in my case. I also used the corner of a railing for the sharper bend. Constantly check and mock up with the intake for the appropriate curvature around the bar as well as the bend for mounting. I also had to keep in mind that I was to add some 1/8 inch rubber to protect the intake from being scratched/dented/cracked.

Bent and partially trimmed!

Here I am mocking it up and finding the right place to trim and drill the hole. I made sure that the support piece ended before the engine cover and prevented the filter enclosure from rubbing up against it.

In the process, I noticed that the velocity stack was also too long. So some trimming (around 0.375 inches) was needed.

Hard at work drilling holes!

And after some drilling, and trimming of both the support piece and velocity stack, here is the result...

Here is the support piece with the rubber/weather stripping added. I'm personally pretty proud of how well it turned out. Yours can look as good as this with lots of patience and care.

Here is the velocity stack assembled with the filter

As I said, with patience and proper care, you can achieve good results

Here is the support piece bolted on the car. As a note, the 3 inch silicon was a pain in the butt to get on, but it will, with enough man strength and cursing.

Also, since the support piece is bolted on, I can place washers underneath as a source of fine height adjustment. Just dont rely on it however for your height placement. Remember, always mock up constantly as you build. I caught mistakes many times throughout the process by doing so and saved a lot of error correction. The velocity stack is not touching the plastic hood piece in front. It's about 3mm away. I also added weather stripping to the battery box to prevent rubbing also. Here is the finished product!

Overall, this was a much easier build than my last DIY and looks way better and should function better. Drawback though was that it was ~ 40 dollars more (more expensive filter).

I am open to comments, especially criticism. My projects are always open for possible ways to improve. Thanks for reading! I hope it helps or inspires your next project!

My next mod to this intake might be a carbon fiber or fiberglass intake port to 3inch adapter (like what they have before the enclosed filter on the ITG and forge intakes). It's surprising no one has tried to make one so I may attempt to do so, so that the intake directly draws air from the outside.

2012-01-25T00:25:00.003-05:00

It's been too long! since my last post I have graduated, found a job, and most importantly, found more projects than I have time for. So ever so slowly I will start writing here again.

To start off, here is one I wrote for a VW forum a few weeks back.

DIY K&N/Neuspeed Syle Intake for VW GTI MK6

2012-01-25T00:15:00.005-05:00

If there is one thing I hate shelling out copious amounts of cash for, it's paying $300+ for a filter on a stick and cheap molded plastic/aluminum. Thus when it came time to put an intake on the car, I opted to build my own.

I noticed that the Neuspeed and K&N intakes only had heat shields and not airboxes in their systems. While the K&N is a full intake, I opted for a simple neuspeed style curve as I wanted to keep my stock intake tube. I figured it was good enough for stage 1.

I will only show results in the pics as it should be all pretty straight forward. This DIY is to really show whats easily possible with some time.

I first started off with the following parts:

-3" 45 degree mandrel bend (ebay)

-6" to 3" aluminum velocity stack (ebay)

-K&N filter to fit (RU-3100)

-couplers and clamps - 3"

-1/8" thick ABS plastic sheet (taps plastic)

-cardboard/tape

-plastic epoxy glue

-1-1/4 in weather stripping (local autoparts)

For the velocity stack and filter. This part can obviously be substituted for a regular 3in filter. I was just thought they looked cool and hey, possible some function? <-- though probably negligible...

Anyway, First thing was to cut the 3" bend tubing to size (dremel and patience) after mocking it up with the stock airbox off and the MAF positioned to where you want it. I did it by eye, but its probably a good idea to mock up the curve with cardboard cutouts.

After the tube was cut, it was only a matter of assembly and voila! Filter on stick:

I ran around like this making glorious noise for a couple of weeks and decided that not having some shielding/air ducting was pissing me off, so i decided to mock one up using cardboard.

And then i proceeded to tear apart the cardboard mock up in order to trace what I needed onto the ABS plastic sheet. I opted for ABS plastic as building material of choice as it's easy to work with once heated up with a heat gun. Aluminum is a good material as well, but just harder to bend for the thicker stuff.

After cutting out all the pieces, I bent the pieces at the appropriate places using the cardboard mockup as a guide, and then proceeded to tack everything in place with a bit of hot glue, and then glue the crap out of everything using epoxy. Take note: I glued around the hot glue first, and then removed the hot glue after it set and filled in the rest with epoxy. I did not want hot glue on my heat shield.

In order to zip tie it to the stock intake piece (you'll see later on in the pics) I dremeled slots into the shield.

I trimmed the parts, sanded it down, and had the whole thing ready to paint:

And here it is painted. I also ziptied it to the stock intake piece.

Turns out i had to zip tie it to the intake piece AFTER i bolted the stock piece back on as i couldnt screw in one of the two fasteners (guess which one!)

Here it is, completed with the weather stripping stuck on and then the whole unit ziptied-attached on the car!

Unfortunately, I made the shield wall sit too low and even with the high rubber weather stripping, I dont think it touches (I also removed my hood insulation).

But all in all, it was a fun project. There are some definite issues however to keep in mind:

1. It is only a shield and not an airbox. At speed it should channel enough cold air to not have it draw warm air, but when it's sitting, it will draw warm air most likely.

2. the 45 degree bend sitting so near the MAF will most likely affect its readings a tad. That said, I haven't noticed anything except more noise and smoother operation of the car, but that doesnt mean it isnt having an effect. Also, the MAF has a grid taht should technically smooth out the air.

I am also in the process of building my own Modshack style intake with the same velocity stack and a canister Forge Motorsports style filter. I may even construct my own duct to build a Forge WINtake replica.

Sore Tofu...

2009-07-15T06:56:00.004-04:00

Well, this is my story of the Trial Run. I'll probably change/add bits and pieces as they come to me day by day.

I do have some more to write about, especially on the lessons I learned from this ride, but I'll have to do that another day. It's 7:00am and I haven't slept a wink.

I regret not taking pictures of some things, and I realized today just after I washed my motorbike that I never took a photo of it in the 'after' state. Shame.

Day Trippin'.

2009-07-15T00:05:00.063-04:00

The big day.

I never woke up to leave at 5:30am as planned. Instead, I slept in and didn't actually set off until 8:30am. Here's the motorbike freshly washed and packed up, with my backpack securely tied and clipped onto my rear seat. I was still feeling horrid from being sick, but I was ready to head out.

It had rained the night before and as you can see. The ground was still a bit damp, and the air still moist. The clouds made me worry a bit. If it started to rain 50 miles in, I was ready to stop, wait it out, and then head straight back home (Weak, I know. But I really didn't want my first long motorcycle trip to be a miserable one).

And no, one of my headlights isn't out. It's supposed to be that way. The other headlight is the high-beam.

It started off with all the excitement and anticipation in the world and proceeded onto I-85N/US-70E and then later exited onto US-501 heading north. Unfortunately, it did start to sprinkle a bit of rain while I was along US-501 which made me worry quite a bit that it was going to suddenly turn into a torrential downpour. I also started to wonder if I really should have left Sunday instead, since it was the perfect bright and sunny day.

No matter. my first stop to take photos was randomly on the side of the road where I saw some skid marks. Essentially, the entire initial stretch of US-501 looks identical to the one in the photo above. Sure there might be some areas with more clearing, or areas with my trees/shrubs, but the basic gist is there.

By this time, I had already realized my first mistake. In an effort to fit as many directions as I could onto the sheet of paper, I proceeded to write very small and closely packed. While I thought this was genius at the time, it proved to make reading directions on the road extremely difficult. I had to scrutinize to read every single word that I wrote on the page. It was hardly safe. And to make matters worse, though the directions at the top of the page were easier to read, I still had to lean back on the seat a bit to see the text. This meant that reading the directions below the halfway point on the page would be entirely impossible while moving.

If I remember correctly, I arrived in the small town of Halifax (or at least I think it was) and took some photo of a monument along the way. I was stopped across the street in a bay where they kept emergency vehicles. The drivers it seems were glaring at me as I sat on my motorbike and snapped photos. C'mon, why the suspicious looks? It's obvious I'm only a passing tourist.

The town itself was rather interesting in an old fashioned way. They had small blue banners on the street lamps that had the city's name and while the roads and sidewalks weren't in perfect condition, you could tell who ever ran the place at least put an effort to make it look 'quaint.'

That said however, I would never want to live there. Moving on.

This bridge was my next random photo stop. Why? because it looked wonderful.

Just look at it! Look at the reflection, and the brick building. I really need to take up some sort of painting as this would be a perfect scene to paint. As a side note, I had to edit the photo above because as I was about the take it, a truck drove by at a million miles an hour and almost blew my motorbike over.

109.8 miles so far. Moving on.

I must mention, my first run-in with karma was when I had to take a left turn somewhere to continue on US-501. I was stuck behind a white van that was traveling 10mph below the posted speed limit. So after following in frustration for about five minutes, I finally see an opportunity to pass and i rocket pass the car. Though not on purpose, I probably looked like an asshole.

And of course right after i pass him, I also end up missing my turn in the process.

Karma. It really exists.

My first full rest stop (where I actually get off the bike to stretch out my legs) was at Absolute Auction's 253 Acres apparently. Truth is, I passed a railroad trestle and thought it looked classically stunning.

It really doesn't look as good at all from the side I took the photo from. Sadness.

My mp3 player also decided to crap out at this point. Only about two measly hours into the trip. The battery on this has really faded. I tried to find one prior to the trip that ran on AAA batteries, so that I could just pop a new one in if the old one ran out. That way, I could carry spares around and listen to music all day. Oh well, I was planning to use only earplugs for the Blue Ridge Parkway anyway. The engine will be my music.

More road to go.

I finally stopped at a Shell gas station for my first fill up, and also to get a bit of food. The bike didn't take as much as I thought it would. Only 2.9 gallons or so. I probably could have pushed it a little more, but I wanted a full tank of gas entering the Blue Ridge Parkway. I desired non-stop enjoyment and who knows where the first gas station up there would be.

Ahh~. Burger King. The breakfast of champions. Right beside my emergency fuel bottle.

I watched my motorbike parked outside like hawk, and grew ever paranoid when someone either parked close or walked near it. Though the backpack is in a way locked onto the rear seat, the zippers themselves don't provide much security in terms of getting to the stuff inside the pack.

"That's right guy... walk away..."

Before I hit the Parkway, going on US-501 Business (I transitioned to the business route somewhere and I have no clue how) there was the most brilliant set of turns that I still consider the best along the whole trip. It was only a few twists and turns but it really let the adrenaline rush into my blood.

It also hits me at this point that because I instinctively put my wallet in my back pocket instead of the tank bag, my butt bone isn't as sore anymore I guess I've sat with that wallet for so many years that I've created a dent that needs to be permanently filled with a wallet.

Then finally...

The Entrance!

Blue Ridge Parkway, here I come.

This is a sign of a happy Asian.

My first photo/rest spot on the BRP. Buena Vista stop. I'm trying to make an effort to identify the names of the actual places I stop at. But as you will see later on, I just completely fail at doing this and stop trying. If there is a sign close by, I will shoot a photo. If I remember, I will write it down. If not, well...

Apparently, the elevation at this stop is 2325 ft, while the drop down below is 1500 ft. Two thoughts came to mind.

'I should calculate the potential energy.' - engineering thought

'That would be one hell of a jump.' - stupid thought

Background. Bike. Beautiful.

My next stop was Fork Mountain. It completely slipped my mind to drink some water at the last break so I thought I might as well take another relaxing break and snap a few more photos.

I started to notice more mosquitoes and bugs buzzing around but it still wasn't too bad.

My sweet lid. I don't think I can wear anything other than an Arai ever again. To know that its handmade by some Japanese dude is just cool. It's really the next best thing to something made by some bitter Italian dude who smokes a cigarette all the time. It's called 'passion.'

I decided to also check up my tire wear and my chicken strips. Too bad the camera didn't focus correctly. Most people try to get rid of their chicken strips for reasons of pride. Me on the other hand. I want to rid of them for a different reason. Because I paid money for these tires, I need to squeeze as much as I can out of them. I blame my Asian heritage.

As you can see, I'm not going nuts doing any sort of knee dragging, but I am moving in a spirited manner.

I wish I had a better camera and actually knew how to take fancy artsy photos. Need it for times like this.

I didn't actually care to look for the name of the next rest area I stopped at as it was a quick a quick stop anyway. It seemed like a major stopping point for most cars vehicles though, and not just a lookout place.

The only other motorcycles that I've seen on the BRP so far were Harleys and BMWs, like the BMW in the pic above.

BMW, BMW.

Mind you I'm not at all complaining, I just found it surprising that's all. I think the only other motorbike I saw that wasn't a Harley or a BMW was a Honda Goldwing. That thing must have weighed the same as a light truck carrying two people, and luggage piled high.

Nagisa, so pretty.

Nagisa with BMWs in the background.

I suddenly realized after taking that last photo above, if I continue doing what I am doing now, I'm was just going to end up with only pictures of my motorcycle on the entire trip.

Whatever. Moving on.

I finally arrive at the beginning of Skyline drive and I in my excitement, I completely forgot to take any sort of picture of the entrance. I did however, manage to snag a small brochure (since the larger one couldn't fit in my tank bag) after I paid the cheapest pass ($10.00) to get into the Park.

The park ranger manning the entrance booth gives me a warning before I leave however, as if foreshadowing impending events.

He says (in the nicest way an old park ranger can say), "Remember, the speed limit through the rest of the way is 35 miles an hour."

So I ride off thinking sure, I can do that. And I take it easy for the first 5 miles. After that, I just end up getting progressively faster and faster having the time of my life, forgetting completely about police officers. All I'm doing is riding this sweet road, concentrating every bit of my body on the bike, the road, and watching out for up coming obstacles/turns.

It was just a matter of time.

I come up to a bicycle, and out of courtesy and gentlemanly conduct, I slow down and pass him on the inside. And I can tell he also meant for this to happen as he went extremely wide in his turn to let me through.

And like I mentioned already, it really was just a matter of time.

As I pull out and check my rear-view mirror, what do I see? A park ranger truck, with its lights flashing, and sirens going off.

Disaster!

I tried to put on the biggest squished up pouty face I could. Little did I realize until much later that you can't actually see my entire face. Only my sad panda eyes.

As I stop and think about what just happened, and how I should go about the rest of the way on Skyline Drive, I notice that the bugs/mosquitoes are just swarming me now.

Mile 259. Stopped on the dot by the law.

The ticket basically ruined the rest of the Skyline Drive as I putted along. The road may have been virtually free of vehicles traveling my direction prior ticket, but after I ended up stuck behind multiple slow moving vehicles (at speed limit or below) for the rest of the way. What I also noticed about bugs, was that if you travel at less than 45 mph, the bugs don't splatter or fly above your helmet, they end up just landing on it and walking around the visor. They also end up flying underneath your helmet into the visor area. I had to open my visor multiple times to clear it. Even a butterfly managed to somehow get its way into my helmet.

This was my next stop after being stuck behind slow moving cars and eating insects for what seemed like an eternity. My motorbike was hot (running 215 degrees) I was bored, and none of the cars seemed to want to turn off anytime soon. The stop was called Tanners Ridge Overlook I think but I'm not sure and I couldn't be bothered.

Seriously, lots of Harleys in this Park. Look! There's one there! What a surprise!

Moving on, for a bit more.

By this time, gas was running low. And since I already passed one gas station, I decided to pull into this one for a fill up and a quick break. I told the Lady attending the station about my ticket and she felt bad for me.

"Bikers get tickets up here all the time," she said.

Wasn't sure how I felt about that comment, if it made me feel better or worse, but she was a very fun and pleasant person to talk to.

Supposedly, I was pretty much near/at the highest point on the mountain.

At this point, I get a call from work saying that I need to be back to work on something tomorrow. While I had been debating whether or not to actually turn back or head straight for New York after the BRP ride since my Motel money was squandered away on the speeding ticket, this really just put an end to any further outlandish plans in the trip. I had to arrive back at my place again by tonight. Somehow. The debate was not where I should go after this, but how I should turn back. Ride the BRP again? Or take the faster Highway route.

I did make up my mind though, whatever happened, I would ride to the end of Skyline Drive for sure. And estimating what time I had left after that, I would probably be forced to take the highway straight back.

My next stop, pictured below, was another overlook that I also didn't catch the name of. Though this one may not have been listed. That, or I missed the sign. Either way, it was a gorgeous view.

It was literally just a window in the road to let you peer miles and miles into the distance. Just lush green valley. Incredible.

And of course, the obligatory motorbike + background photo.

Danger! One of my securing backpack ties started to come loose of the rear passenger foot-pegs. The tie isn't actually necessary to keep the backpack down, but it did serve as a safety just in case the main strap came undone.

So as I'm looking at the marvalous view, a guy in a decked out Suzuki V-Strom rides in to take a view. I never caught his name, but apparently, he's a photographer from Iowa who works almost non-stop, traveling to locations. He finally got a week off so he decided to ride up to Atlanta, passing the BRP on the way down. He also tells me that I'm actually about 40 miles from the end of Skyline Drive. After a few minutes of small talk, he mentions to me that he had been trying to take movies from his camera while on his bike.

"Isn't that a bit dangerous I say?"

"It IS a 35 mph speed limit," he says.

And there you have it.

So I too attempt to take photos on my motorbike.

He was right, 35mph IS really slow.

I'm so glad I took this photo. It's probably one of my favorite ones from the trip.

Another nameless stop. I give Nick a call and tell him the bad news. I can tell he's disappointed and bummed but understanding. Sorry Nick, I tried at least!

The view from here was great, being able to see the houses below. What a backyard they have.

Some fellow riders. This is the only one that came out right for some reason. Others were blurry. A gold wing and a... what is THAT?! A Sportbike?! Well no, a sport-tourer but close enough.

And just like that, I make it out of Skyline Drive and onto the outskirts of Front Royal. At the end, I was actually pretty dead. There is really so much you can take in a day of the twisty roads, especially at speed.

In a moment of insanity, I decide not to take US-522 south but instead, find I-66 West towards Washington, DC. After about half an hour later, I come to my senses and realize my mistake. Why did I want to go to DC when I had to be back home by tonight. So I find US-17/US-29 and hoped that I found a larger interstate that pulled me south faster.

After pulling in and checking on the GPS (I finally had to pull it out) that I was indeed on the right path, I manage to get behind an old ford Bronco that is driving in a rather unpredictable drunken manner, weaving in the lane, abruptly changing lanes for no apparent reason. I'm scared beyond belief of this truck so when all the cars come to a stop at a red light, I carefully split the lane to just get away from the Bronco. As a result, I end up beside some kid's souped up Mazda Protege wagon.

Apparently, Mazda kid didn't like the fact that I came up beside him. When the lights turn green, I give it a little more gas to try to get ahead of the cars I passed, and this Mazda just steps on it and squeals the tires. I think 'What is going on,' and I look over for a split second and see the girl in the passenger seat with a frightened look on her face. Then suddenly the guy swerves AT me. Thankfully, I'm far enough ahead that I only swerved a little on instinct, and I open up the throttle full blast and shoot ahead. I look in my rear-view mirror and see this guy is coming straight for me so I try my best to get away. I'm scared shitless at this point, but still riding calm and as best as possible. I get around the traffic and sure enough, he does the same. I turn off, he does too.

And all this time I'm thinking in my head. Really? Is pulling up beside you really that bad? Bad enough you want to kill me? The only way I can see this ending up if he caught us was either I died, I got the crap kicked out of me, or he got the crap kicked out of him. In the end, one of us would either be dead or dying, and my bike would be destroyed. I'm sorry Mazda driver. I'm sorry that I had to pull in your lane, but I really wanted to get away from that Bronco. Is that really worth it for you to endanger my life?

I really just cant believe that people don't realize that in a battle between a car and a motorcycle, the car will always win. Or at least I HOPE he didn't know the implications of his actions and wasn't actually trying to kill me.

Anyway, I managed to get away and back onto US-70 and after a bit, I finally found I-95 and my worries of getting home were gone. In fact, it was a really nice change of pace riding on the highway, giving me time to reflect about things I really never would have thought about otherwise. It was very relaxing in a meditative way really. I reflected on many things such as past decisions, current decisions, where I was in life, where i wanted to go, family, friends, old friends, pets, everything.

I apologize for the lack of photos, as I was wanting to hurry along, and at this point, I really couldn't have been bothered.

I used to think that all I would ever care about was the twisty roads, but I learned that this really isn't the case. Too much back roads can really get tiring, what with all the turns, many bad potholes, and traffic lights. Even I can get tired of a brilliant road such as the BRP at the end of the day. I mean, all highway would be awful, but a nice mix is best.

After I passed Richmond, Virginia and exited onto I-85, the hardest leg of my journey began. Essentially, when I passed Richmond

I thought, 'Well I've been here before, Durham shouldn't be too far away.'

And since I hadn't seen a sign for Durham in a bit, I was convinced I was near and the next sign would say that it was less than an hour away (I wasn't really keeping track of time that much). So when the sign indicating the distance to Durham came up, I was completely disheartened. it read, "120 miles." I calculated that although I was averaging 75 mph, with another necessary fuel stop, it would bump up the time to a little more than 2 hours most likely.

But I had to get going. And by this time, it was already 8:30pm, so the sun was setting, and things were ready to get dark. the absolute worst was when night had already cast over the sky, and due to construction, the highway was clogged up about 60-50 miles from Durham. People were nose to nose moving at around 70 miles an hour. In a car, it's painful but its livable. On a motorcycle, its painful and frightening. The only solace I had was a couple on a BMW riding along side me. At least I didn't feel as lonely as I did before. Watching for cars, watching for deer, dark unlit highway. I've always hated riding at night.

Once I was 10 miles to Durham, things started to perk up. the volume of cars let up, the highway was finally lit again, and I started to see landmarks I recognized. And the best part was that the feeling of utter despair, fear, and pain immediately turned into one of excitement and anticipation again. It's just this feeling of making a journey of sorts, even though it was only a day, and then just arriving back home. Knowing that you just rode so far, it's almost unbelievable that I was even there. It was unbelievable that I was there, and now I'm back. In the same day. Coming back to somewhere that you know and recognize. It was such a great feeling. I think that I screamed so loudly in my helmet when I finally arrived at my exit that the car next to me must have heard.

To my roommate's surprise, I arrived back home at approximate 10:30pm (excuse the time on the motorbike's clock, I took the photo 4 hours later) and traveled a total of 611.6 miles in a day. So that means, subtracting the hour for food, gas, and police stop, I sat on my sportbike for 13 hours.

And this is the result. A bad-haired, sore to the bone, sick, tired Asian.

And this is the helmet after the ride. It was completely pristine at the start of the trip. The picture really doesn't show the extent which the bugs splattered my helmet. I had to clean some of the vents with a Q-tip. I wonder what my mouth would have tasted like, and my face would have looked like if I had worn an open faced helmet like so many other riders.

And so this is the route I ended up taking. I never made it to New York, but at least I still covered almost exactly the same amount of distance I would have ridden anyway. After all, this was a trial run for educational purposes.

Was it a fun trip? There were the good and bad parts.

Was it worth it? Yes.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.

photo courtesy of Google Maps

Nervous Tofu...

2009-07-13T00:55:00.004-04:00

I have to wake in 4 hours. I feel both excitement and anxiety.

But it's only 400-ish miles right?

600 miles if I make it to New York, which is around 4-5 gas stops.

I don't want to pass through New Jersey.

I hate that place.

The picture this time is actually my dog. His name is Tubby. He is extremely playful. So much so that he should have come with warning labels pasted all over him.

Trial Run.

2009-07-13T00:37:00.006-04:00

I decided to name the project... drum roll....

The North American Circle.

But that's it for now, because right NOW, I have more pressing matters at hand.

I have never been on my motorcycle for more than 2 hours. Longest trip I believe was the time I went out to pick up a part for work. I went there, picked up the part, and decided to explore a bit on the way back. That was it. So realizing that I needed much, MUCH more than just a 2 hour stint under my belt for the North American Circle.

The 'Trial Run' as i would like to call it will be starts from Durham, NC, and then making my way to where US-501 connects to the Blue Ridge Parkway, and then riding up to the very top (past Skyline Dr). From there, I will probably find a place to stay for the night. If i feel up to it, I may even head to New York where Nick is at the moment. I sure hope the weather is swell in the morning, and I also hope that I wont be as sick as this morning.

It definitely is a good thing I decided to go on the Trial Run mainly because I am starting to realize just how insane the North American Circle will be. I'm already fidgeting over a small 400 mile (and possibly 600 mile) stint and I can't even imagine how long the real trip will be. I will be riding alone though which does scare me a little more than if I were riding with someone else. What will be nice however, is that I will be able to iron out some bugs of the trip. What was important to bring, was was unimportant, what should have been brought, what had to be thrown out. So on so forth. Part of the test will be the DC charger outlet that I installed on Saturday. I'm hoping it will prove to be useful.

But this is all if weather permits tomorrow.

I have complete faith in Nagisa, the Honda, but I still worry. I also worry about the squishy human bit.

Ikimasu!

Stewing Tofu...

2009-06-28T22:10:00.003-04:00

More details! as promised. Most of the things I'm writing down at the moment (and will write down later) are things I''ve already thought of for a while, but have never written down. It's good for me to do so, as it really takes a lot to organize my ideas.

Theres still more details that need to be written down, but that's it for today.

Oh, the dog by the way, her name is Layla. And no, she's not mine.

Crucial Four.

2009-06-28T22:02:00.008-04:00

Essentially, the plan is to cover four things.

1. Make a documentary
2. Raise funds for a cause
3. Review Motorcycles
4. Have a blast on a sweet trip

numéro un.
What is most important is the places along the way we want to tour. Factories, Monuments, Haunted houses, etc. Anything that should be incorporated into a North American tour. In fact, I'm in the process now of searching for someone that can help document the trip, preferably through film. Nick and I will probably blog/write about it anyway. We have experience writing for magazines, so i feel that writing will happen regardless. to capture the trip on video and not just photos shot by point click amateurs like us would be the best though. It could serve as something educational. Really show the North American people just what this place is all about.

numéro deux.
Nick was the one that threw this idea down. Why not raise money for a cause while we're at it? American Cancer Society, Unicef, etc. I've actually already spoken to Pat at the American Cancer Society Center in Raleigh North Carolina. She was incredibly helpful in suggesting what we needed to get the fund raising aspect of this trip rolling. Sponsors, Fundraiser Packages, a name?! (Seriously, I can't think of a catchy name for the trip so far). American Cancer Society I believe would be a good charity to raise funds for, and we could visit the Cancer centers along our way also.

numéro trois.
As mentioned before, it's going to be a ride around the continent. So why not review the motorcycles while we're at it. We both have experience reviewing vehicles, both on our own time and for magazines. The brilliant part about this is, Nick is an experienced rider, having ridden motorcycles for years. I am in a way more of an intermediate, although still new. We'll have 2 different view points. What would be even better would be if we recruited a third person, who just obtained his/her motorcycle license right before setting out on the trip as the third perspective. What motorcycles though? I'm leaning towards an SV650/S or a Kawasaki 650R of sorts since they're both sporty but still comfortable and easy to ride long distance. I dream of the BMW 1100GS, but i seriously doubt i can afford that type of bank (I love it though. It looks like a spaceship for god sakes!).

numéro quatre
It's just going to happen.

So what is the route then? Well, the specific details are still being listed and discussed But, we do have a rough idea how things will proceed. The trip will likely start in Alaska, and then proceed through the territories down to Calgary. After, we'll likely zig-zag across the US and Canadian border visiting places we want to go, and then pass through Montreal and then ending up on the Atlantic coast in PEI. Traveling south, we will hit Toronto, Michigan, New York, Philadelphia, and then back to where I go to school now, North Carolina. Then head all the way down to New Orleans. From there, details get blurry, but we will arrive somewhere in Texas for sure. One of the main questions now is Mexico. Will it be worth it to stay overnight there? Or just as a day trip? Either way, California will be along the way, then Seattle, and finally, the trip will end in Vancouver.

All this, with plenty of stops along the way. So far, it seems as though this will take along the lines of 2-3 months time. The tour will most likely begin sometime end of May next year, since that's when I graduate from my Masters program. It will also give us a year of much needed preparation time for such a large project.

More to come later...

Changed Tofu...

2009-06-28T01:21:00.005-04:00

Yes, I really haven't been keeping posts (OVER A YEAR!?!!) but hopefully now that I am using this as a way to journal my thoughts on my new adventure plan, I will feel less guilty about not posting reviews.

In short, this blog has changed direction, though I may still write a review if I fancy to do so.

Brewing Storm.

2009-06-28T01:18:00.005-04:00

It has been just over a year since my last post. And for good reason as well. School, work, Duke FSAE. The people I know, and the people who read this (if they do anymore) will know what sort of turmoil, aggravation, frustration, and ultimately SUCCESS (11th place in the rain) this past year has brought.

And now, as I past my days riding the motorcycle I love (Nagisa the '05 CBR600RR) an adventure is in its process, stirring and stewing away.

One of my best friends, Nick Goddard, had suggested quite a while ago that we go on a trip around the United States in something like a Factory Five Shelby replica, or something else with flair and a lot of presence. We'd tour factories, and basically anything that piqued our curiousity. It was a spended idea, but time and money were the things that stood firmly in our way. He had work, I had school. So the trip was put on the back burner for a long while, until...

I started riding motorcycles last year (2008) in September. I bought my first one. A beautiful '81 CB750F in jet black, Hermes, and then proceeded to ruin it by low-siding it at around 40mph. Months later, after I realized that I desperately needed a more reliable way of getting around, I purchased my new love, the 600RR.

With my interested in motorcycles running along at a fiery pace, I managed to procure the BBC documentaries 'Long Way Round' and 'Long Way Down' where Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman ride around the world, and then from the UK to South Africa in the latter.

And after watching those videos, I knew the trip had to be on motorcycles. Not only that, it wouldn't just be the US, but North America.

More details to come... Must sleep...

Disappearing tofu...

2008-05-04T05:38:00.004-04:00

So here is the long awaited article on the CTS-V. I drove the 2004 model when it first hit dealerships, and a second generation 2006 model that brought back such wonderful memories.

In other news, it’s obvious I haven’t been writing recently, and that’s because I took some time off for finals and Formula SAE. So far, both have consumed my soul.

That said, I have a few articles still on the way, and in the back of my mind. I just need more time!

Suited Muscle.

2008-05-04T05:27:00.007-04:00

*photo courtesy of the General Motors Company*

It used to be simple. If you wanted a car that could comfortably seat a family but also make you wet your pants with excitement, choices were few. Only a handful of cars could satiate the incredible fix of four doors and speed without either bursting into flame or falling apart. It was only a small niche with which BMW ruled, while others tried desperately to only catch up. Sure, there were the infamous rally turbo machines but unless you were still in high school and still feeling the side effects of puberty, the Evo and the Impreza just didn’t make the cut. Selection may have been slim, but at least petrol was cheap, and the ‘sport’ was special.

Nowadays however, things are very different. With the explosion of the sport saloon market, everyone and their grandmother drives an M badged beast of some sort. Individuality is lost in the sea of blue and white propellers of Bavaria. Not only that, Mercedes, Audi, Lexus, and Jaguar have decided that they too, would give it a go. Even mister health and safety—Volvo—has jumped on the bandwagon. What’s the outcome? A whole spectrum of cars, ready to thrash you around for everything you’re worth. Sounds great. Sounds fantastic. Sounds like the perfect world to live in. But don’t be so sure; because as more and more sport saloons arise, so too does the awful baggage along with it.

If you own an M3, you belong on Wall Street. You wear colorful neckties, and jabber constantly on a Bluetooth headset like a schizophrenic. Driving an AMG Merc on the other hand, meant you were slapping feudal serfs with wads of cash. You’d spend the evening discussing the arts and other trivial matters, while laughing at starving children in third world countries. And how perplexing are Volvos? How can a car with a big red R after its name ever be considered safe? So in the end, no matter what poison you pick, the result will always be the same. You’ll be the target of muggers. You’ll find your car keyed with obscenities. Ultimately, you’ll end up with no friends and in a tree somewhere after some spirited driving.

An unwanted reputation is a horrible weight, and Cadillac knew this all too well. Once the elderly started to buy smaller, more economical cars due to rising gas prices, Cadillac’s customers disappeared for good— literally. The best solution of course, is to wipe the slate clean, but with such a deeply ingrained image, the task was near impossible. So when it came time to build the very first CTS-V in 2004, Cadillac decided that instead of catering towards the old man, it would cater to the old man with two weeks to live and nothing to lose. And that’s great, because what other way is better, than to go through the pearly gates with a wide grin in a ball of fire?

*photo courtesy of the General Motors Company*

The recipe for a fast four-door cocktail isn’t a difficult one at all: One part sport suspension, one part noise, three parts horsepower, all topped off with a splash of aggression and flash. It’s a formula that has been copied a thousand times over and is usually accomplished with both German precision and delicate tweaking.

Cadillac knew they could never match the elegance of the Mercedes, or the chic of the BMW, and instead of crafting a cheap gaudy imitation, they decided to construct something a little different for the CTS-V. They threw all the ingredients in a bucket, tossed the rule book, and then proceeded to drown the whole concoction with 6.0 liters of displaced muscle. The friendly people at Cadillac say the V stands for velocity but honestly, it’s short for Very Insane. In the 2006 model that I test drove, the infamous LS2 Corvette engine had been stuffed, nudged, and hammered into the CTS-V to develop enough torque to beach an oil tanker— 395 ft-lbs to be exact.

Unlike a BMW, it’s a car you need to grab by the scruff of the neck, shake it around, and beat it into submission. It responds to, not finger tippy delicacy, but plain brute force. Push this car beyond the limit, and no corner will be without gratuitous amounts of shouting and smoke emanating from the car. I mean sure, you may still end up in a tree at the end of the day, but hell, you wanted to be there. That is not to say there is no balance of poise in this car. Having been tested at the Nürburgring, the handling truly shows through. Point it one way, and it’ll take you where you want it to go.

Still, the best thing about the car is that at the end of the day, even after all its rear-wheel drive lunacy, it can still calm down and bring you gracefully to the next venue downtown. It feels down to earth and loved by the average blue collar worker. But that doesn’t mean it feels cheap— Not at all. In fact, it’s very well equipped, and the interior is both simple and functional. It may not be as refined as say, a Mercedes, but that’s the whole point. Underneath the silk suit lies a brute, ready to pummel anything to the ground and leave in a trail of white smoke. It’s the sledge hammer, to the screwdriver— the whiskey to the wine. And that’s what makes it so loveable, because what’s more fun: A scowling and scoffing European, or a fat chortling American with a pint in his hand?

With the coming of yet another CTS-V, I certainly hope it is as loveable as the old one. Having a release date in the fall, it won’t be long before I can toss one around to see for myself.

*photo courtesy of the General Motors Company*

Inexcusable tofu...

2008-03-14T01:40:00.006-04:00

I apologize for taking so long to pump this one out. I have no justification for such a horrible delay thus I will not provide you with one.

On a happier note however, this article is both short and sweet —sort of. It’s also indirectly related to cars, but will hopefully be yet another fun read.

I included pictures of me this time.

I’ve also started up another sister site that reviews or writes articles about random everyday items/topics. The reason I want to make a sister site is that I want to keep the FriedStinkyTofu strictly about cars. The site is:

http://thefullhalf.blogspot.com/

Raison pour Bouder.

2008-03-14T01:39:00.010-04:00

*photo is of me driving the Duke University 2005-2006 Formula SAE car*

I have a problem. Actually, I have two— length and hostility. I will always have a million and one ideas to write down; and with it, resentment toward some sort of entity— be it a car or something random. Thus, the goal of this piece was to keep it short, concise, and to avoid any trace of bitterness.

It was a good idea, I thought, to expand my repertoire, share something enlightening and write in a non-offensive manner. As I urged myself to visualize fluffy kittens and aromatic roses, I could only write one or two sentences before I slammed head-first into a concrete wall. A writer’s block had leeched into my creativity until all I could show for my time was a blank, drooling stare and an empty bottle of wine. I was trying to summon something positive out of thin air, to no avail. In fact, I managed to conjure up a million ideas of why things where awful and deserved to be banished into the depths of West Virginia, but couldn’t produce anything meaningful or relevant to rant about. I was frustrated, angry but most of all terrified that I was merely a reincarnation of a cranky old man with nothing to do but shout at the sky all day and scare kids off his lawn.

Being one-dimensional is my ultimate fear. On the off chance I had something meaningful to say, the most pathetic thing is to have a colleague’s eyes glaze over in boredom and change the subject. I don’t care if I was loved, loathed, or hated as long as my opinions have significance. Thankfully, I don’t consider myself to be boring or tedious. Friends and shallow acquaintances will at least listen to what I have to say, as opposed to rolling their eyes whenever I open my mouth. I’m not pessimistic at all, as my views tend to be rather positive and uplifting. If that was the case, where had all my cynicism originated from? With a bit of head-scratching, a lot of deliberation, and yet another bottle of wine, I finally realized where the true problem lay.

The trouble wasn’t with me, but inherently with cars themselves. With the vast amount of different types of cars on the market today, there isn’t one without some sort of major flaw. Ask anyone. There is genuinely something wrong with every car out there, be it a compromise or an oversight. Think about it this way. The 4Runner, the Evo, and the C-class are examples of perfectly great cars, but they all have some type of shortcoming. The 4Runner is too wide and the roof is too low. The Evo can never calm down and everyone will think you’re a punk teenage ricer fan-boy. The C-class looks overly loud and shouty with its new front grill and it’s trying much too hard nosing its way into the sport sedan market. And that’s just three cars.

I would be unspeakably wrong however, to say that this wasn’t a good thing because on the contrary, it is. The flaws of a car create its character, image, and possibly even appeal. It’s what forms a car’s soul and spirit, and sets it apart from a dryer— a machine. It’s also what makes driving and reviewing cars so interesting. Yes, I have to admit that I tend to be highly critical about the cars I review, but I honestly think it’s for the better. I could give any car a cheerful assessment and have it come out smelling of summer flowers each time but what would be the point of that? It would only serve to misinform. It would only be a dishonest service to the public. But most importantly of all, it would ultimately fail to shine light on cars that really mattered. And I think this is what really matters, because when a genuinely special car comes along— one I can’t help but notice, one that will stick out, and one that will eat away at my soul until I purchase one —my comments on such a car will express exactly what I believe. By watering down previous opinions, it’s impossible to have any significant standpoint on the matter at hand; and to be unable to convey the proper sentiment is the greatest tragedy of all.

So ultimately, I still threw in bits of enmity and resentment. I might be one-dimensional but at least the cars I drive are not. To appease those who still think I’m over critical however, I’ll finally say something nice. Everyone should drop their things at this very moment, walk out the front door and purchase a Golf GTI. I mean seriously, what more could you want?

Difficult tofu...

2008-02-22T15:34:00.005-05:00

I have to admit, I was wrong when I said that last week’s article was hard to write because this one was a thousand times worse.

Instead of having ideas and concepts to write down, I had to somehow convey images and sentiments. Like always, I also had a million and one things to write down.

In the end, I think I did a good job with it.

It worries me though, it's the longest article I've written so far.

This review is also featured on America Delivered:
http://www.americadelivered.com/wp/2008/02/25/2008-mustang-gt/

Uncommon Charm.

2008-02-22T15:21:00.018-05:00

*photo courtesy of the Ford Motor Company*

At the start of this week, I came to a traumatizing realization. Every single article on the Ford Mustang GT that I read gave it some sort of positive review. I was infuriated. No matter how hard I clawed at my brain, I just couldn’t see why. Various reviews praised aspects of the car that I knew were complete rubbish. How, I thought, could they get away with such blatant lies? I knew it wasn’t a good car and something had to be done. With hat in hand, I set out to prove them wrong.

My debut with the Mustang was when it first arrived at dealerships and my initial impression of the car was—unhappily—not a very good one. I was immensely disappointed because after all the publicity around the prototype’s unveiling, I expected something astounding. Cool dark photos had revealed the prototype in the most provocative ways, and I wanted adrenaline to course through my veins as I stepped into the car. I wanted it to make me quiver with anticipation as I turned the key. I wanted something to blow my mind as I drove down the road and wish with every fiber in my body that the car was mine. It was Ford’s modern retake on the Mustang that would hold true to its legendary roots, and it did. But unfortunately, it held onto much more than just memorable styling.

The most outrageous aspect of the car is its sheer size. It is absolutely, without a doubt, hugely, tremendously, appallingly, shockingly massive. It’s so big, in fact, playing chicken with freight trucks would be entirely possible. I had seen the prototype in person a year earlier and although it seemed a little large for my taste, I never actually realized its immense bulk until I physically traced it in person. As I walked around the car, which took several days, a feeling of dread came over me. I knew then and there I was going to be let down. It was going to be a classic case of ‘never meet your childhood heroes.’

To start off, I was thoroughly disgusted at its solid rear-axle. Ford sought off-the-line performance, so they had their engineers “develop a three-link, solid-axle rear suspension with outboard-mounted shocks and a Panhard rod to do just that.” I’m sorry, but there is nothing to develop with a live axle set up. The technology was invented right after the Stone Age, and unless you consider ripping an axle off a truck and cutting it down to size development, it just isn’t true. And so, with an iron beam connecting the wheels in the rear, you’d expect the handling to be awful right? Wrong. The handling was worse than awful. It was utterly abysmal.

Usually, to provide a ride that’s both comfortable and sporty, a compromise has to be met so that a car will glide over potholes and kiss the cracks on the road, but be rigid enough to allow the vehicle to make nippy turns without barreling over. Unfortunately, the Mustang achieves neither. Sure the springs are plenty soft, but they only serve to cause the car to sway like a dinghy in rough seas. Honestly, there wasn’t a hint of grace or poise at all. Turning a corner was like a medieval knight sword-fighting but with a trout— awkward and sloppy. Perhaps they sacrificed handling for ride comfort? No! I could still feel every nick and blemish on the road. What then was the point of making the suspension this way? What’s the point of having a classic throwback with all the old drawbacks?

But in spite of its faults, I could never hate the car. After my first test drive, I walked away with confusion. Not only did I find this car abhorrent, I also loved it. For the longest time, I could never figure out the rationale behind my thoughts. It was only on my second test drive that I started to realize why. The interior, for example, is noticeably handsome and laid out rather conveniently as well. The seats feel rather wide, but I realized that if they’re large enough to accommodate a rhinoceros, they’ll be able to fit any American just fine. They weren’t designed with a small Asian in mind, but a large 300 lb male.

As for the handling, even though Ford had stiffened up the chassis, the drive still felt mostly the same. But because I already knew the capabilities of the car, I never focused on the faults at all. As I drove along, the car made more and more sense to me. And something strange happened. Every time I came to a stoplight, I’d have a tremendous urge to leave in a cloud of white smoke, or drag race whoever was beside me; even if it was a minivan full of kids. I would floor the throttle randomly at times just to hear the engine grunt and feel the car lift its nose like an angry stallion. It would hold a slide with ease, for as long as I wanted— heaps of smoke pouring from my rear wheels. I would catch myself at times— grinning from ear to ear— as I dabbed some opposite lock on the steering wheel. I appreciated how easy it was to coax the back end into a drift with the help of the V8 engine and the live axle.

I was slowly uncovering the basis of why I could never hate the Mustang, but it wasn’t until I drove on the highway that the reason was fully revealed. As I turned onto the onramp and cruised along at night, it hit me. It was dark, it was late, and even though I had missed an exit, I didn’t have a worry in the world because at that very moment, I was exactly where I wanted to be. I was in an American legend on a long empty stretch of highway. The yellow markers on the ground. The miles and miles of asphalt. The glow from the passing streetlamps. Looking around at the odd car I’d pass, I knew I was part of something much more special than any Mercedes or BMW driver could ever wish to be. And that was it. The Mustang brought about emotions and conveyed thoughts like an old trusty companion. It gave a sense of nostalgia, of purpose, and of significance.

The long slides, the drag strip, and the roaring engine: they all made sense to me now. No matter what I was doing or where I was headed, I was in my very own classic road movie. I was a part of an American saga that only a car like the Mustang could recreate. The handling may be utterly hopeless, but the pure joy of throwing the car around by the scruff of its neck in a tail happy slide will make anyone chuckle with satisfaction. So in the end, the Mustang proved me wrong. I too stepped out of the car with a smile on my face— I, like so many before me, had been captivated by an experience that was indescribably enchanting.

*photo courtesy of the Ford Motor Company*

Belated tofu...

2008-02-17T20:05:00.010-05:00

I had a tremendously hard time writing this new article. I had too much to write down and the article ended up being two weeks late.

Thus, this one may be a bit more technical than the others, but I do hope that it’s still an interesting read though. For my sake as well as yours.

That said, I kept wanting to use the word ‘stupendous’ at different places for some odd and inexplicable reason. In the end however, I never did use it once.

And I apologize to the people who own BMW Z3s. You made the wrong choice.

Satisfied Definition.

2008-02-17T19:58:00.015-05:00

*photo courtesy of Honda Motor Company*

Let’s start with an extremely difficult question. What makes a good roadster? What separates a thrilling roadster from a relaxing two-seater convertible? We all know the classic definition: engine at the front, drive at the back, and more addictive than heroin. This description however, is much too broad. It allows manufacturers to create the most revolting vehicles ever to come into existence; like the woeful BMW Z3. It was an awkward nightmare of the roadster genre that would make you wake up in a puddle of sweat. It would make you walk home because it was simply dreadful. It would convince you to see the next available therapist. The driving position was too high, the gearbox felt like it was machined by 5-year olds using diagrams scribbled in crayon, and whenever the car was nudged a hair past its limit, it would proceed to spin out in the most ridiculous and unpredictable fashion. In fact, the way it jarred and chirped as it came to a halt was almost comical. Now, I could ramble on and on about the abomination BMW birthed, but it wouldn’t be constructive at all. In fact, it would serve no purpose other than infuriate those who‘ve already bought one, or embarrass those who like them.

Thankfully, Honda decided that they’d give it a go and created the S2000. The way it enthusiastically climbed to higher revs and threw me in and out of corners tickled my fancy in ways no car ever has, or probably ever should. The steering feedback told me about all the bumps in the road and although it had power steering, it was never light enough to think the car was an unpredictable feather, but at the same time, not heavy enough that you felt like you were driving a washing machine. The steering gave enough fight into a corner to leave you satisfied thinking that you did it, there was no effort from the car, and that you are the next track champion. The S2000 flatters petrol heads like us with a sense of hope. Regrettably, it’s most likely not due to talent, but at least it will go wherever you wish to every time with help from the double wishbone suspension. Here is a car that will make you feel like the conductor of a well tuned orchestra that, at your command, will play a magnificent concerto of noise and smoke.

Of course, the cause all the noise and smoke is attributed to a delightful engine Honda chose to dub the F22C. Although it cannot rev up to 9000rpm like its younger 2.0L brother could, it provides more torque which makes the car much easier to live with daily. Either way, both engines spoil me rotten with their instant throttle response. It might only be an inline-4, but that’s what Honda does best— make highly efficient and reliable four-bangers that rev with ease. They knew where their strengths lay, so instead dropping in a big heavy engine into the car, they fitted it with a four-pistoned hyperactive puppy. That’s 240bhp from a measly 2.2L. Next time you run to the supermarket, pick a 2-Litre bottle of soda and picture 240bhp from such a small amount. It’s inconceivable how much power they managed to pack into such a small displacement without any fancy turbos or superchargers. Anyone can slap on a turbo on an engine, but it takes huge amounts of effort to properly create a naturally aspirated engine. The result is a brilliantly smooth and non-intrusive power curve for the S2000 which is easily one of the most loveable features of this car.

My favorite aspect of this car however is the evident attempt from Honda to make a roadster without any compromise whatsoever. The fact that the only transmission the S2000 comes with is a manual six-speed makes me grin with optimism. This means that unlike the Porsche Boxster, which will have lazy business-men putting around in their automatics, the drivers with S2000s will at least once in a while slam the gear lever from third to second and squeal through a bend. The small seats are also an indication that unless you are fit and small enough to drive this car, don’t. If you are too big and fat, you’ll most certainly ruin the carefully calculated weight balance and power ratio. It’s as if Honda decided that it would be much too embarrassing to have some fat American giant drive the S2000 because it would appear too slow. This makes it an almost perfect fit for the roadster role. Yes, there are others such as the BMW Z4 and Mercedes SLK350 that are on the market, but both have big powerful engines that seem to pound corners with brute force instead of brushing them with a delicate touch. Miata is another heavy competitor in the roadster competition but it always had one major flaw. It lacked originality; they all seemed to be modeled after the classic British roadster concept, which is a wonderfully implemented and well used model. But because of this, it never had its own character and would forever feel like the baby brother, a shadow, or possibly even a clone. Sure it had all the qualities, but it lacked the style, history, and flair. Honda on the other hand chose to carve its own set of characteristic traits in the roadster family tree.

Admittedly, the S2000 does have its faults just like any other car. Because of the suspension design that allows for such large amounts of grip, it tends to squirm a little more than I like when the car does let go. Any split second loss of concentration will result in a slap in the face. This doesn’t mean that it’s unfeasible to hold it in big long slides because believe me, you can. It just needs a tiny bit more coaxing and sweet talking than usual. But that’s the challenge of a roadster. Anything less would be much too boring. Sure it would be fun at first, but with repetition comes monotony. So who cares if it will nip at your bottom at the slightest distraction? The satisfaction is much more rewarding when I smell the tire smoke and hear the engine scream to redline with a mischievous smirk.

*photo courtesy of Honda Motor Company*

Very fried tofu...

2008-02-03T07:22:00.001-05:00

This is becoming ridiculous. I drag myself out of bed at around one in the morning to continue onto my fourth article. The ideas needed to leave my fingers whether I wanted them to or not.

And with Courtney Tidwell’s Eyes are at the Billions, along with the lullaby’s of Sigur Rós as the backdrop to my creativity, the fourth article is finished six hours later. I have yet to sleep a wink, and daylight is already appearing outside my window.

I will most likely end up revising some parts and correcting others as writing at this fiendishly quick pace will result in errors.

I also used two pictures this time, mainly because the car is so beautiful.

Fluid Elegance.

2008-02-03T07:15:00.006-05:00

*photo courtesy of Mercedes-Benz International*

Over the weekend, I decided to head to a local bar with some friends to enjoy a couple of pints. As we discussed trivial things and laughed at each other’s drunkenness, two of the girls sitting at the table exploded in excitement as they rushed to acquaint themselves with a musician they recognized. Still stunned by their sudden outbreak, I watched in horror as they invited him over for a drink. He plopped himself down, introduced himself as ‘John,’ and then proceeded to grab the attention of all of the women nearby. John here was your typical amateur rock band artist and like all in his position, he was a lanky fellow with long wavy hair and slender fingers. He wore nothing but highly fashionable distressed clothing and had a nonchalant swagger, like he was indifferent to everything in the world— including shaving. Now I have to say in my defense, I have nothing against musicians. In fact, I’ve played four different instruments in the past— five including the pots and pans. But there was always something about rock musicians that I never understood. First was why they all wore the same clothing, and second was why I could never seem to strike up any sort of enthralling conversation with any of them.

Just a short while ago, I met a wonderfully charming novelist named Joanna Catherine Scott and had one of the most enchanting discussions. We chatted over a broad range of subjects, from her birth during a bombing raid in the Second World War, to defying that dreaded writers block. We even debated about modern culture and why I wrote in such an unbearably bitter manner. With this woman, I felt I could continue to converse with her until the very end of time. I also once knew a painter who always spouted on about his ideas and the crazy images that would appear in his eccentric mind. He was a man who everyday lived in the world of Alice and her wonderland, and I couldn’t do anything but hear him out each time. So why was this? Why was the musician so utterly dull while I found the novelist and painter to be so fascinating? All three were artists in their own right, but only the musician was unspeakably monotonous and wearisome. And as I wondered, staring at his half awake, possibly drug induced expression, it came to me. Musicians were all the same. They all had the same outlook, the same shuffle, and the same idiotic grin. The only thing any of them would talk about was the albums they had recorded and the details of their next gig. Almost always, they would digress into the latest news regarding their band, or even the emotions they felt from playing music. And that was the problem. John was uninteresting because like the others before him, he was a bad rerun. I knew what was coming, and although it may have been interesting the first time, the mind became immune after a several hundred doses.

Four-door sedans are the same way. They’ve all become unbearably mundane and routine. Sure, they come in a whole range of different varieties; from the lackluster ferry, to the soft luxurious cruiser, to the heart wrenching turbo monster. A Lexus LS600 for example, is a very different car than say, a Subaru WRX Sti Limited. One is a luxury car with soft comfortable leather seats and a base price of $62,000, while the other will make you gasp for air as you try to voice its name in one breath. But even with their differences, they all share one inherent connection. It doesn’t matter if it’s a Chevy Cavalier or a Rolls Royce Phantom, each and every one of them have the same shape. This common form has affixed itself onto every sedan for the last century, with the exception of the Citroen CX, and will most likely continue do so for years to come. And that’s why the Mercedes CLS550 is such an amazing piece of sculpture.

Tell a child to draw a sedan and he’ll sketch you a general profile; the front end, the passenger compartment, and the trunk. Show him the CLS and I guarantee that he’ll be stumped. Because unlike your ordinary run-of-the-mill four-door saloon, the figure is incredibly suave and silky. While it’s still as functional as any other humdrum sedan, it steals the mold from an alluring two-door coupé. The CLS is so unbelievably stunning that other cars, such as the Porsche Panamera, and the Jaguar XF, are all following in its footsteps. As I ran my fingers along its smooth lines, from the tip of the car, past the curving windows, and off the lip at the back, a shiver ran down the base of my spine. The CLS stirred deep emotions within me, and just glancing at the profile made me envision its fluid lines caressing the soft air. Even though the one I test drove was not the supercharged AMG version, the CLS550 still had a 5.5L V8 that would growl to life through an astonishing roar. With 382bhp and help from its 7-speed automatic transmission, it gave you enough power and torque to rip apart whole worlds. The interior was, as any other Mercedes, well laid out and uncluttered. Although a few of the buttons felt delicate and will most likely wear out in the future, the dark unpolished woods brought about romantic images of a grandiose opera house. It sets itself apart from any other saloon out there; and because of this, the CLS is truly the only sedan that had the elegance to captivate my soul.

*photo courtesy of Mercedes-Benz International*

Cold tofu...

2008-02-02T21:15:00.001-05:00

Okay, so here’s my third article and I’m very worried. The articles seem to get longer and longer each time. They also seem to get more and more technical in detail.

This one did take me a while to write up however, mainly because I wanted this to be a more detailed report. I also didn’t know how to start it. Thankfully, inspiration can be drawn from almost anywhere.

The fourth article has already been set into motion and hopefully, it will be shorter and funnier (and also less negative).

By the way, if you are an avid Prius fan or have bought one, I’m not sure if you’ll want to read this third one.

Misplaced Hatred.

2008-02-02T21:13:00.005-05:00

*photo courtesy of the Toyota Motor Corporation*

Today, an elderly fellow picking up what appeared to be his wife almost ran me over. Now normally, I would have shrugged it off and went along my way. ‘It’s because of his age,’ I’d say, or that ‘he just simply failed to see me, perhaps due to a mild stroke.’ It’s possible. But no, the set of circumstances was very different. He was driving a Prius. My blood vessels were near bursting from the pressure, my muscles tensed into steel, and I immediately had the urge to pummel the old man and his treacherous machine with whatever I had in my hand; which at the time was a roll of newspaper. Had it been any other car, I would have heard it coming. However, since it was the Toyota ‘Silent Hunter’ Prius, my spider sense never tingled until the very last moment. I despised this car of blithering idiots, and I’m sure that many out there would agree. Why? Because it’s horrid.

No matter how much Toyota tries to persuade us, it doesn’t do the super tree-hugging mileage that they claim. It just won’t. The mileage numbers they hand to us are from what they claim to be ‘ideal conditions;’ which means you either inch around like a 96-year-old grandmother, or not at all. But don’t worry, the mileage will be the last of your worries. In fact, you’ll be more concerned about being late to everything you’ve scheduled in life because the car is as competitive as a snail. As you quietly glide around the neighborhood, and suddenly want to enter busier streets, you put the pedal down thinking that the engine will kick in and the power will surge through. But no. When the engine engages, the only 'oomph' you get is the sensation of a light breeze brushing the rear of the car. In fact, I’m almost certain that if you stuck your head out the window and coughed, you’ll accelerate faster.

And of course, there's the computer display. It's located at the center of the dash, tells you if the power is coming from the engine or the electric motor, and is utterly pointless. I don’t need something that tells me how I’m getting around because I just simply don’t care. It might be a novelty at first but after a while, would you really care for it? Redirect that wasted power to the battery! The car was heavy and sluggish, the controls gave no feedback from the road, and it had a disappointingly cheap interior. Don’t get me wrong, it’s well equipped, but there are little bits that indicate it wasn’t as well made as it should have been. In the model I test drove, seams were present on some of the cheap plasticky dashboard bits and in some areas, panels didn’t seem to fit right. The center console didn’t close properly, and because the sticky rubber pads had fallen off, the lid would rattle each time I went over any sort of blemish on the asphalt. It almost feels as if Toyota dumped all the money that they had trying to design the hybrid system, and with the left over money from ordering in sushi, used it fabricate the interior. Toyota, I would much rather you get rid of that useless computer display and spend the money improving the build quality.

And with those reasons, it's no wonder the Prius is so awful. But should it really be a car we find repulsive? Because as I stood there in frustration and anger, I realized something. There is absolutely no reason to hate the car at all— none whatsoever. Yes, it might not be as well made as it should have been, and yes, it’s tremendously slow, but that’s not what’s important. The purpose of the Prius is to move people around in a fuel efficient manner, even if it’s at an incredibly slow pace. It wasn’t designed for people who drive around like their hair’s on fire, because the folks who’ll buy this sort of car won’t care about the speed or the sensation of power. They won’t care if it takes forever to reach highway speeds, as long as they get there; and if they do care, then they’ll have to debate whether or not they want to destroy the environment in a vile, abhorrent, mundane vehicle, or save yet another baby seal with an angelic hybrid.

As for the fuel economy, a Honda Civic may do well as the Prius, but the Prius is an economic car nevertheless; it will still do much better than any gas guzzling euro box. Therefore, there is absolutely no reason to hate it as much as some individuals do. Yes, the argument that diesels are much more economical still holds true, but who sells a diesel here in America that isn’t a truck? Volkswagen, BMW and Mercedes have diesel lineups that are either being imported to America, or will in the future, but they aren’t exactly budget cars. For those who want a cheap method of transportation, buying an expensive diesel just doesn’t make sense. And I’m sorry, no matter how hard anyone tries to convince me that diesel pumps are everywhere and very convenient, they just aren’t. The pumps tend to be tremendously frustrating either because only a single pump exists and isn't working or that you’re surrounded by giant trucks on a tight schedule. What’s more irritating is that some stations don’t even carry diesel all together. I don’t want to be travelling down the motorway needing a fill up and questioning if the station up ahead will carry diesel or not. If you live in Europe, where diesel models are plentiful along with the pumps, then by all means knock yourself out. But unfortunately for the rest of us in North America, buying one for fuel economy is not a very broad option. Besides, if you buy the Prius for the ‘green’ fashion trend, a diesel just won’t cut it; not when your car sounds like farm equipment.

Thus in conclusion, we shouldn’t view the Prius as a failed attempt at a revolutionary machine, but an everyday car. ‘Good try Toyota, but better luck next time.’ And who cares that it's only as gas sipping as a Honda Civic? It’s still an efficient car. So while the rest us devour fuel at 5mpg in our turbo killing machines, the Prius will do a bit better. And why not? That means more fossil fuels for the rest of us. So the next time you see one, don’t become bitter or irritated. Instead, thank the driver and put your foot down to help him burn that little extra he’s saving. As for me, I still hate the Toyota Prius and I still think it’s despicable. But at least now, thanks to that elderly gentleman, I’m one of the lucky few that have a legitimate excuse.

Speedy tofu service...

2008-01-29T16:17:00.000-05:00

So for this next article I wrote like a possessed demon. I tried to do as much research as my impatient mind allowed, so if there are any criticisms or comments, please do tell.

And I was very surprised that I pumped out another article in a day. But do not expect this productivity in the future. I can already feel my homework sneaking up on me.

I honestly wonder how many more articles about cars I can write up in a row before something else pulls my attention away. Maybe I will write something on sea lions after all? Only time will tell.

Growing Trend.

2008-01-29T16:11:00.001-05:00

Right now, I reside in the United States and without a doubt, it is the land of highways— they dominate the landscape. As a result, it’s unsurprising that the cars Americans generally make are large boat-like vessels. A friend of mine, owned a blue ’92 Chevrolet Lumina— *ahem* sorry, what I meant to say was, he owned a fortress on wheels. The car had couches for both front and rear seats, and seemed to have its own gravitational field as it rumbled along. It could only travel on highways considering how massively wide it was and unfortunately, due to a vacuum problem, the car would die without warning and along with it any sort of power to the brakes or steering. Thankfully however, because of straight American highways, the car only appeared to be calmly slowing down, while we frantically scrambled to get it restarted in time; before a large 18-wheeler could run us over. And it was true. An 18-wheeler was the only thing we were afraid of, because of how big the Lumina was. If we had hit any Japanese box on wheels, we would have only wondered why the roads were so horrid. ‘Good god! What was that awful bump?’ The car was heavy, had horrible gas mileage, and floated around like a yacht. In every turn, it would barrel roll like an airliner, and when braking, the nose would dive like it was trying to hide its head due to the embarrassment. And of course it would, it was an awful car. So why do auto manufacturers want to follow this trend?

The fact is, many new cars now are getting larger and heavier, and that makes me sick to my stomach. Traditionally small cars such as the Mazda Miata or even the tiny Mini Cooper kept hope alive that the cars of today would still remain small and not stout giants. But with the new Miata and the BMW Mini, all hope seems to have burned away. Consider the BMW line. If you compare the 5-series from the 80s to the current 3-series, the 3-series is just barely shorter than the 5-series. This is only due to the 5-series wider 80s style bumpers. For those who find disgust in specifics, I apologize beforehand as I need to spout numbers in order to prove a point. Even though both are similar in length, the new 3-series looks fat and massive because it is! A 535i from the 80s weighed 1,414 kg, while the new 330xd weighs an obese 1,775 kg. Even the lighter 320i is 9 kg heavier. The new 3-series might as well be called a 5-series, and the new 7-series should be re-christened the BMW T-series for ‘Tanker.’ I mean look at it! However, I believe some deeper thought needs to be put into why many of today’s new cars are gaining so much weight, and I believe one of the answers most people think of is the word ‘safety.’

A bigger car can technically be a safer car. We all know, or have at least heard of the momentum concept, so a heavier car, by theory, will have a higher momentum. This means that when you hit that Kia Rio in your lumbering SUV, you’ll feel a slight bump and notice that the CD player had annoyingly skipped; the Kia meanwhile, vaporizes into thin air. Once home, you’ll realize in anger that the Kia left bits of steel and paint on your front grill along with the bug splatter. So is bigger and heavier really better? If that were the case, then it certainly follows the modern trend. In order to crush the already massive cars on the market, even larger ones must be made. So the cars would get bigger and bigger, until we all drove supertankers, which is absurd. It has to be realized, a more massive car is not necessarily a safer car. Different dynamics in an accident can lead to very different results, and the engineering along with the design of a vehicle plays an enormous factor in its safety. I feel more protected in a well designed Volvo, than in some high sitting SUV that’s prone to flipping over. Ford and Firestone anyone?

But thankfully this movement, it seems, is starting to fade. The advent of skyrocketing gas prices and people wishing to go ‘greener,’ has manufacturers importing smaller cars from Europe; like the new Smart Fortwo. The first gen Fortwo was a huge hit everywhere else in the world, and even though the car had no power whatsoever, that was the whole point. In the city, you can’t cut through asphalt at 200mph because you’d hit or nick every car in sight, and run over that pesky child retrieving his ball. It was cute and spiffy as ever, tremendously safe, and extremely well put together. Yes, for its power and size it was indeed on the pricey side; but c’mon, it’s a Mercedes. You don’t hear people complaining about how their E-class isn’t as affordable as a Ford Taurus. Thus, with the second generation Fortwo finally being imported to America, I’m excited as ever. And it’s not just the Smart that has gotten my attention. Cars such as the Lamborghini Gallardo Superleggera, the Porsche GT3, and even the Lotus Exige have carved out weight from their base cars. Cheers to the people out there that realize lighter weight can be for the better.

Okay, so maybe those cars aren’t exactly small nor are they for the city, but at least the Fortwo is here at last. And to see one of those buzzing around the streets will certainly be refreshing; like having shrimp cocktail, instead of another hamburger.

*The portrayed Smart Fortwo was Nick Goddard's. It was the first one in America and because of this, he was on the Today Show. It's been sold recently on ebay.*

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xw37FcvsL0Q&eurl=http://cgi.ebay.com/ebaymotors/Smart-fortwo-passion-cab-The-very-first-smart-fortwo-Read-on-its-famous_W0QQcmdZViewItemQQcateg

Obsessing Numbers.

2008-01-28T13:56:00.011-05:00

One thing I never understood was the modern craze with numbers. When petrol heads congregate to chat about their beloved machines, they’ll always shift into some sort numbers rant; from top speed, to horsepower, to even cargo capacity. Although we may call ourselves ‘car connoisseurs,’ we’re all guilty of many times flipping through reports in magazines, scanning only the specifications. An article will claim that a certain car will roughly have some amount of horsepower, and so and so foot-pounds of torque. If the numbers are high we think ‘Great! The car sounds promising,’ or if the figures are much too low, then we grumble and complain how the manufacturer is slacking. Sure, we all know that the specifics listed can only convey an idea on how the car will behave; we all know this. But if that’s the case, then why is there still such a focus on it?

To prove a point, let me humor the numbers people. Take the 85’ Corolla GTS that I used to own as an example. According to the informative people at Toyota, the 4A-GEC 1.6L motor had a whopping 112hp, and 100ft-lbs of torque when it first rolled out of the factory. It was also rumored to have a top speed of around 115 mph using its 5-speed ‘sprint geared’ transmission. Unfortunately, those days were long gone when I purchased the vehicle. The decrepit transmission would unexpectedly pop out of second gear when tootling about in traffic, forcing me to curse. It was on its second engine, fourth transmission, second rear axle, and had done around 223,000 miles. In other words, it was a beater; but I didn’t care, because it was the best car I had ever driven.

So why is this? Now, I’ve driven all sorts of cars in the past; the fastest and most expensive was a right hand drive Ferrari 360 Modena while the slowest was a Mitsubishi dump truck. The Mitsubishi was the type of truck that after 5 minutes you'd need a neck brace to keep your head aligned. The transmission also felt like it would explode every time you let the clutch back in which was rather disconcerting because the cab sat right on top of the engine/transmission assembly. But even though the truck was undeniably one of my more memorable drives, it still failed to captivate my heart as much as that silly hatchback did. Why? Maybe I’m just talking nonsense, but before you toss me aside, hear me out.

It had a right sense of character and adventure. The car would feed me information through all the controls and creaks. It had a soul that awarded me in huge slides if I drove it like it was another appendage, or punish me with catastrophic spinouts if it felt I was being much too cocky. Either way, it was the loyal dog that would take whatever punishment you threw at it and wag its tail begging for more. And so my question to the other petrol heads is this: Whatever happened to just driving a car because you enjoyed it? Or because it put a smile on your face and made you feel like the only truly satisfied person in the world when you turned that wheel?

There are too many out there that purchase cars because it looks good on paper. It will smoke anyone on a track, and it will light a fire in anyone’s pants when they drive. But are they truly happy with the experience each time they take the wheel? Can they look around at the other people who drive the same car as they do and confidently say to themselves, ‘Yes, I’m better-off than everyone else.’ I had a bloke once ramble on about all the information he could muster from his peanut brain about his new Mercedes SLK and honestly, I didn’t care at all. I knew that it was a rubbish car to drive but above all else, I realized that I had more fun in my tin can, than he had in his euro box. And I think that’s the kicker; to find a car that will give you that sense of enjoyment.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to convince everyone to go out and immediately put money down on an old beater Corolla. In fact, I would recommend against such things. Trust me, there were some horrible times involving a dead car. But urge those who call themselves petrol heads to take a step back and really think about a car, not in terms of just numbers but the complete emotional package it brings along with it. And for those who’ve never had a dog before, I apologize. You’ll never understand the feeling.

And so it begins....

2008-01-28T13:45:00.000-05:00

With the fanfare of Gustuv Holst's Mars, this blog opens.

I used to think blogs were for useless people who wrote about their everyday lives and wanted to share the things they experienced to people who just frankly did not care.

But hopefully, this blog wont turn into something like that.

And hopefully, I wont write like a first grader.

...hopefully...

And what is this all about? Well, I'm not too sure, but from the looks of my first article posting, it will be ranting about cars, mechanics, sea lions, or anything that tickles my fancy.

Oh, and don't be surprised if I edit my posts. My grammar is awful when I tend to get excited and write at a million miles and hour.