Rosie the Riviter, a Critical Review

 So I've had the car, "Rosie", a 2012 Grand Sport Corvette (Centennial Edition, aka "blacked-out") for a few weeks now.  I don't intend to talk anymore about her after this, unless the Tall Man from Phantasm shows up, in which case I'll have to fashion two double-barrel sawed-off shotguns angled to a point from the back "greenhouse" area.  Note*  As appropriate, she only plays classic '70s hard rock and metal.  No faggy, '90s, wannabe shit.

  For the Iowa boys, I sent them homemade cookies: chocolate chip.  I made quite a few (about 400) using Ghirardelli chocolate chips and real butter.  Let's hope they're not allergic.  I was planning on sending them some cigars too, with a note, "Don't let your parents find out" but I realized yesterday they had replaced the battery we had pulled from the "greenhouse" trunk without the strap "battery hold" which explained the thumping sound when I go over serious bumps.  The battery jumps around now in it's cubby, still connected with the terminals.  No cigars for you!

  I drove to Daniel's Long Chevrolet (it's a nice day in Colorado Springs for a change) and they didn't have the "battery hold" strap (GM Part #2 under Battery Z06/GS as shown on the right which screws into two posts GM Part #3 [only one shown in the diagram, but there's two of 'em, one for each side of #2) but they ordered it for me for $2.95.  They did have the two required bolts that connect it to the posts (still in-tact as #3 times two) which were an astonishing $2.50 each (made of dwarf-star alloy no doubt).  I paused at the parts counter for quite some time, debating weather I wanted to pay five bucks for two nuts with washers attached, but I also realized that at Lowe's I'd likely have to buy a pack of 10 or so (though sometimes you can buy single ones on occasion) and that I couldn't easily remove the posts to check for the right size, etc. etc. and went ahead and got gang-banged on the two bolts (assumably Genuine GM Parts).  Still, I saved $8.95 for shipping which I saw online from GM so in the end, I still did okay (minus the gas to actually get to Daniel's which was probably a gallon or so).

  So my average gas mileage back from Sheboygan, Wisconsin was 27 mpg which, considering, was pretty good despite it being slightly uphill from the Mississippi River valley to my home altitude of about 5754 feet here in rural Fountain, Colorado, right on the outskirts just 5 miles south of the South Pole.  I suspect I could manage near 30 mpg along the I-25 corridor.  It's interesting I can travel at 1000 rpm easily and best gas mileage seems to be around 1500 rpm versus my Saturn Astra XR which is around 2500 rpm.  Day to day, around town and such, I'm averaging about 20 mpg as a combined city/highway deal.  Pretty pathetic as my Saturn Sky Redline Turbo was getting 28, but then there's the extra 136 horsepower..

  I've noticed I still have a bit of a time slamming her into 3rd from 2nd as I'm timid to hit 1st gear (understandably) but I'm getting the hang of the incredibly close, notchety gates for each shift point.  I raced a comparable 2012 SS Camaro today and we were even until 120 mph where the torque and 1000 pound weight loss of the 'Vette takes over for the win.  I remember racing against an LS2 'Vette from 2005 with my TransAm Firehawk LS1 back in 2005 and how after 120 the 'Vette still has tons of room where the LS1 starts to give-up around 130 mph, slowly creeping to 165 mph from that point.  Slooooowly.  The Sky would give up around 100 mph before a slow acceleration took place.  The Grand Sport can do about 210 mph theoretically.  I've seen some Autobahn runs from some amatures in proof.  After 170 is when the Grand Sport starts to slow down in the same way the Firehawk and Sky did.  Still, it's pretty impressive.  I have the LS3 configuration with a lot of Z06 parts.

  The brakes are excellent; far better than my 2007 Lotus Elise's and light-years better than my 1999 Pontiac Firehawk.  I'd say they're about 50% better than my Sky's was after the braided brake lines were installed (which was very similar to the Elise at that point).







  Acceleration is staggering, reaching 0-60 in 3.9 seconds on a good day, and 0-100 in 9.8 seconds, which is faster than almost any car on the road today, aside from the Z06 and ZR1 editions which make it in 9.5 and 9.3 seconds respectively (but a much harsher ride, and $50k more plus an additional $2200 in insurance every 6 months).











  The car's ride is posh and refined, something I don't care for too much.  It's very quiet, though the NPP dual-stage exhaust butterfly valves open-up when romped, giving a little exhaust note that's not obnoxious.  The rear end doesn't hop around when pushed like every other car I've had (to include the Elise).  Because of this, it feels (like so many reviews indicate and understate) like a much much smaller car.  I can't exaggerate that fact enough.  It's rather impressive.  I have a descending 120-degree obtuse turn off of Powers Blvd. to Mesa Ridge Parkway where it suddenly rises, not unlike the "Andretti Hairpin" (aka turn #2) of the Laguna Seca raceway (for those that play car racing games).  The turn has an evil "bump" right as I near-exit out of it, which would upset the Lotus and the Sky's rear-end, shaking things up and upsetting the chassis for a proper exit, which, if the traction-control was left to assist (normal mode) would turn off fuel for a second to stabilize the exit properly.  "Rosie" the 'Vette does not suffer from this malady and chews it up and spits it out like it's nothing, likely because of the enormous 325-width tires (stock) and especially because of that absolutely amazing, hero-producing, magnetic-ride-control.  Makes every driver a hero, though those seats everyone bemoans in the literature, updated even further for 2012, double-bolstered, still give way to the driver being flung to and fro in aggressive multi-g turns requiring a bit of "hang on" upper-body workout and knee-to-compartment self-stabilization.  It's odd, that.  The lumbar I set to absolute zero and the side bolsters are "puffed out" to surround me deeply, still, I'm flung.  Seems the rest of the world shares the same fate when reviewing the car.  Very, "Shut up and hang on" to be sure.

  It's hard to break-loose the car.  I haven't accomplished it yet.  Taking turns aggressively (though tentatively) then romping on the gas mid-curve does not upset the chassis as it should, nor does the back-end whip around like I've seen on videos on YouTube.  I've taken a Powers-to-Bradley turn at 55 mph (northbound going right, staying in-lane) without any concern.  I'm wondering what her limits are.  I should take her out on a rainy day and push her a little more on a nice Sunday morning with no one around to see.  I can make it rain by waxing her, I'm sure.


  Speaking of, despite the "Carbon Flash" sparkly exterior, the car attracts dirt (as any black car should).  Very susceptible to "swirls" and water-spots makes it difficult to keep immaculate, though not impossible.  I've invested in some micro-fiber drying cloths and a washing hand-mit when I take her to the car-wash so as to avoid the scratchy "broom" and "spot free rinse" that isn't all that "spot free" on a black car on a hot day.



  She's dead-sexy and I get compliments, which is nice, without being overly distracting as Corvettes are ubiquitous enough and mine doesn't stand-out too much more than anyone else's except for the blackout configuration.  I've considered blackout tail light circles as it's a common cosmetic  "modification" but I think it's overkill, trying too hard as it were.  It's already got black-on-black stripes and black rims (stock) and the tail lights compliment the stock painted red brake calipers anyway.  Some people black-out their turn signals as well, but again, I'm not 19 anymore, and the Corvette community applauds a "clean" stock look more than anything else.  Matching numbers is a big deal and sort of the opposite of the Ricer community.  Bone-stock and clean (as in Don Felder sings in the song Takin' A Ride from the 1981 film, Heavy Metal at 0:50).

  There's a bit of a notoriety of the 'Vette being an "Old Man's Car", the 2014 Stingray trying to eliminate that potential by looking cooler, being cheaper a bit, and having a lot of nice video, onboard distractions like an iPhone-inspired tachometer, 3D Navigation and FaceBook and Internet access in the center console, something I sort of don't like as it divorces from the driving experience.  I find myself not listening to XM radio or my USB thumbdrive of every Rush song just to enjoy the car itself: call me "old skool" I guess.  You'd have to really wrench the car to make it fail on any level, and the 10 billion airbags as well make it incredibly safe a car (something I actually don't like much).  That and the fact the car costs $79,000 and up is a bit ridiculous that only successful (or lucky) men would consider, the women of the world probably wouldn't go for it in favor of a Rav4 or some other "practical", cute, SUV bullshit.  Honestly, the cargo bay "greenhouse" is about 5 to 6 feet long and can stow lumber for God's sake (or a double, sawed-off, pointed shotgun to fight enemies).

 
 I got the "Rosie the Riveter" air freshener, it's scent labeled, "Victory" which oddly smells like an old man who hasn't showered and smells like wheat and bad aftershave (so I'm letting it air-out in the garage before putting it back in the car, because I prefer a coconut interior scent anyway, the overwhelming new-car-smell is only just beginning to diminish, I won't miss the high-tech polymer smell).  "Roise" was a 1940's WW-II ad-campaign to get women to work the assembly lines while their husbands were fighting the war in the US.  Other countries were doing war-propaganda too, and the Germans were hiring women as well towards the end (actually, female Nazis was a pretty hot commodity in later "Stag" magazines in the late '50s, somewhat thanks to Bettie Page photographer/cop Jerry Tibbs.)  The imagery Norman Rockwell-like and very well crafted to be feminine, cute, and still tough, quite a fine line to accomplish so successfully in the '40s and an edgy concept not everyone embraced without workforce harassment (which, I'm sure, ran rampant at the time).  There's a song about her too, and according to it, she's got a boyfriend "Charlie" who's a Marine, just so you know she's not a bull dyke I guess, and a Marine at the time was considered a man's man, tougher than her, so it's okay.  Charlie still wears the pants, just to be clear.  Still, it gave women an open-door for equal opportunity in industry, which is great, and the Corvette is a bit of a "tough girl" in a way.  She still "rivets" with odd clacking of actuators when I sit in her, getting ready to "fight" with me well before I hit that now-working Start Engine button (she missed two more times in the last week, but started on the second press out of the dozens of times I've fired her up, as if to say, "I'm with you, but remember I got sass.")


 
 On a final note, the car has an information display that's monochrome but high-resolution under the speedometer.  With a bit of tinkering, you can get it to display a greeting message.  I put this on the right.  I think it's appropriate.

The Journey: A Journal Part 7 (The Final Battle)

 I woke up in Des Moines, Iowa at sunrise.  It was nearly 8am and I had slept a perfect 8 hours.  The rain had stopped outside.  I browsed the internet a tad further and it turns out sometimes if you press the start-engine button repeatedly on a C6 Corvette it will start and there'll be no need to jump it (which, I imagine, would be hard on the electrical system if you jump it every day).

  I pass Posh Spice's replacement, Iowa Jill at the reception desk and verify I was good to check-out.  I didn't get any breakfast, just some bottled water and a Diet Mt.Dew for the road, switching back to Atkin's as planned.

  I walked to Rosie and she was in-tact and unbruised.  Still getting used to her I remember my personal "First 30 Days Rule" which is that you should be very careful with a new vehicle of any kind because Entropy wants to destroy it, be it car, bike, submarine, or spaceship (or any combination of those).  I had programmed Rosie to open only when I was within 10 feet of her but otherwise lock-up completely and she unlocked when I approached.  I opened the passenger door first to put Cheesus Christ in the copilot's chair and the trunk "greenhouse" to put the mini-jumper box (which is now fully charged as I had plugged it in overnight just in-case.) and I noticed it also had a handy tire-inflator air-compressor as well.  I get into the driver's seat and prepare myself, ready for anything.



  After the second press, clutch depressed, she started right up; a much better sign.  I figure my way out the parking garage, the Ralph Bakshians no where to be found, after collecting their tolls, I suspect they went back under some bridge to count their earned threat-winnings.  There were a few speed-bumps within the garage and I was tenacious on hitting those, but interestingly, despite the incredibly low front-end of the 'Vette, it doesn't scrape on them ever.  I had test-driven one a month previously of the same breed (albeit $30k more expensive and 1 year newer) and noticed that indeed, it oddly doesn't scrape.  I must confess I had actually scraped the underside a tiny bit when I had that stint at the McDonald's / Gas Station when Exidor of the Rescue Rangers came to my aid (to add insult to injury) so it's "broken in" and not "brand new" now, which is a bit of a relief.   Anyway, I was careful (or so I thought) exiting the parking garage. 

A band gayer than the movie Twilight

   I get to the end of it, a Ford Taurus annoyed at my slow-going behind me and I consider directions.  I realize I'm pretty deep in town and not sure where I-80 was, be it left or right, but North was right so I went right.  The Ford honked a "Shave and a Haircut" jingle at me and it confused me while I was exiting.  I noticed cars parked facing me on both sides of the street.  Ah.  One way, and it's not my way.  No one was stirring so early so it was no dire consequence and I turned down a non-one-way road immediately, pull a U-Turn, and park on the side of the road and shake-off my sleepy stupidity (though I swear there was no sign coming out that garage!)  I activate the Nav and set my "Home" location to be, well, my home.  Only 755 miles to go.









  I get onto I-80 in PDQ fashion.  It's nice outside and I continue my Rush tunes.  The car still feels a bit alien to me and I take it easy.  I count no less than 30 state troopers pulling over victims through Nebraska.










  As I pass Grand Island city (a rather odd place) I'm beginning to run low on petrol and it's about 2pm so I stop and get gas.  Another McDonald's there but I ignore that in-favor of a "King Kong Burgers" joint behind it, because it looks retarded.  I walk into the gas station (a BP I think) and get a few more drinks and get Rosie to actually start after a few pushes of the button).  Exiting to go around the gas station I notice a worker pouring sawdust over a rather giant gas spill that spans about 30 feet around.  I make my way around that and her and she ignores my car and walks into my way which I stop abruptly.  She seems annoyed at me that I was in her way and I gladly wave her on where she gave me hate looks.  Shrug.  I'm sure her destiny is gonna be full of jelly-beans.. and balloons; balloons that float.

  King Kong Burgers is a Greek restaurant, themed with giant apes and a jungle setting.  On the ceiling are stuffed animals like some psycho-circus.  They serve burgers and Grecian fast-food which I grew up with.  I get their double and a Greek salad side.  Later I'm told these are a bit of a chain and I saw some non-reservist active-duty USAF kids there eating (where's the base in the middle of nowhere, some 40 miles outside of Grand Island?)  Weird.  The food was remarkably good and well-seasoned and the salad was well above-average, especially for Nowhere, Nebraska.  If you see one on a road-trip it'd be in your best interest to go.  Oddly, they served NY Strip steak as well, which is out-of-place but whatever.  Most Greek restaurants feature Hunt's Ketchup and they have it in loads, though there's packets of Heinz for the non-Greek fast-food uninitiated.  It't the only time you should use Hunt's as I'm a ketchup superfan expert.   As I'm leaving the short Greek fat owner (pretty much me in 20 years) stopped me while he was sitting, enjoying lunch at his own place (a good sign btw) and asked me by holding my arm if I didn't like the food, if something was wrong with it.  I mentioned it was probably the best burger I had in months but I didn't eat the bun and that I was full.  I couldn't eat any more!  Good value.  I patted him on the shoulder and told him it was good to his satisfaction.  Only a Greek man would put all of this together and think it'd work and be a good idea.  Oddly, it does work, and it's very good.



"Ginger" my original 1999 TransAm Firehawk

  I get in Rosie and she starts up after about 3 tries.  I find gear selection is rather acceptable.  It reminds me of my old TransAm Firehawk (1999 LS1) except without all the problems it had that I took care of with SLP modifications.  The car is as if it's "Ginger's" spirit (name of my old TransAm) evolved, Pokemon style.  I missed her quite a bit.  I had sold her to a USAF F-16 maintenance troop in South Korea being stationed in Florida where he just sold her recently.  I had put 89k miles on her and had done serious modifications, impressively so, but he hadn't done any decent necessary work on her, such as the timing-chain, etc. and had put an additional 10k or so miles on her, and had ruined the dash with a carpeted dash-mat ala 1991 which is just vile.  He offered me $14k that I had sold her to him for, and I countered with a significantly lesser amount, and he then sold her to someone else he wouldn't tell me who.. sometimes it's best to let old girlfriends move on.


  The rest of the trip was uneventful.  I work my way into Colorado through I-76 then down to I-70 to I-270 and then to I-25 to Fountain, Colorado.  I get home around 5pm MST which is pretty good.  I didn't get any tickets.  It was very boring and slow-going.  I opened her up briefly once or twice but otherwise kept it at the speed limit, the evil roads entering Colorado on I-76 taken-up pretty well by the magnetic-ride-control mechanism.  Right before I arrive, I wash the road off briefly so she doesn't look so bug-smeared.  I get home and have Becky help me judge distance to park in the garage and I lock her up, then I sleep for a long time.



 
  The next day I give it her first of two wax jobs and wash her and detail the inside which turns from gray to black (the leather and trim was so sun-bleached and unloved it soaked up nearly a quart of Maguire's NXT shine).  The scary dealer said he'd send me the manual as it was missing, but I found it in a second trunk cubby soaking wet with several other supplements, including a DVD in a leather bag holding it all together.  All soaking wet and moldy.  CarFax did not indicate any vehicular water-damage reported.  The cubby was bone-dry, as was the interior.  Since the car originated from Bowling Green, KY to Oregon, perhaps the original owner left the bag outside in the consistent rain?  Very odd.  Still, Rosie's home, Cheesus is refrigerated, and I survived The Journey.

 

 

Afterward

 

  You've read the epilogue earlier, but here's a bit of information to finish things off.  The troubling problem of her not starting continues throughout the week, though I never need to jumpstart her, she still fusses with a requirement of several start-button pressings.  I cut into Cheesus and eat a slab as is a man's right.  I freeze a good portion and send the rest to the Vatican for inspection. 

 

  Today, I took her this morning to a scheduled appointment at Daniels Long Chevrolet and for some reason she started the first pressing.  When I get to the dealership (15 minutes early) I turn her off while listening to life-sustaining XM (FM died when "Clear Channel" took over and killed it).  I put every Rush album on MP3 format on a stick (16Gb) and that's installed permanently in the USB cubby of the audio system onboard.  Rush on-demand now, 24x7.

 

 

  They have me drive her into a bay and she starts, first time again.  I shut her off and explain my situation and show them she doesn't always start and that it takes sometimes up to 10 tries before she'll start.  I then press start.. and.. starts right up.  I get fussy and do it again.. and again.. and again.  We try it 10 more times and .. she starts right up.  I can't think of anything I did differently.  Maybe Rosie and I are starting to get along?  Maybe she's warming up to me?  Maybe she got scared I was gonna leave her there for weeks until she gets fixed?  She has abandonment issues?  Maybe she self-healed?  I've known GM cars to do that, they self-heal themselves.  Maybe Becky's electromagnetic phenomenology fixed it?  Dunno.  I just dunno.  Really weird, but convenient.  Today, we went to see Star Trek: Into Darkness (of course, both of us being Trekkers) and each time she stared right up.  No problems.  Several times stop and start.  Played stop/start in the garage today a few dozen times too.  No problems.  I sometimes wonder if since Colorado is so dry, something wet dried-out?  Hard to tell.  I rode the car through a LOT of water in Iowa, though never enough that the hood was under water.  I just dunno.  Still, it's a good thing, and now I can get to vanquishing evil in its tracks, though the not starting reliably adds to the suspense in a horror movie, don't it?  Yep. 

 

The End

 

The Journey: A Journal Part 5

 

  So, in the dark, pouring rain, the car won't start.  I can't back it up to the gas pump so I'm about out of gas as well.  I try starting the car a few times with no luck.  I triple-check that the clutch is depressed, I put the manual in the neutral setting and try the start button again.  Instrument cluster goes from zero to maximum and back in a sweep and .. the starter doesn't engage.  Frustrated (and about 40 miles outside of Davenport) I press OnStar.

  It's nice to have OnStar in these situations.  I remember not too long ago that wasn't a possibility, and you'd have to call a tow-truck and shovel a lot of money in their direction.  Lauren (a sassy ebony woman) assured me a jump-start would be on the way as I suspected it was a dead battery.  She said the local business was called "Rescue Rangers" who would be coming.  I incredulously asked, "So you're sending a team of chipmunks to save me?"  She found this mildly amusing (as did I) and I waited in the car.  I had her attempt a diagnostic remotely as I had no OBD-II sensor plug-in and she said the car showed no faults.  Hmm..

  "Rescue Rangers" showed up and it was an old coot of a man that looked exactly like Exidor from Mork and Mindy and equally eccentric.  The transaction was similar to this:

  The jump did the trick and I got the car started, backed-up to the gas pump and while it was running filled up the tank and signed the OnStar form he had.  He then got real close to me and longingly looked over the horizon, "You know.. there's a barn 'bout 2 miles that-a-way where a few young-uns will help you check out that bat'try n' maken sure it's a'runnin' right."  I thanked him and he grinned toothily at me, almost wistfully, and paused .. and we paused, then he suddened-off in his small pickup in the rainy night.

 
  It was dark, but I found the tractor-shop/barn that was a bit of a general store setup with a few lights going-out 1930's style and I grudgingly did not shut-off the car in the parking-lot area as a few locals eyed me in the rainy dark.  The store had a few of those rather helpful jumpstart micro units with the cables attached for rather cheap ($29) and they were pre-energized which is very convenient and can also be charged from either a house AC adapter OR a DC 12-volt accessory plug.  Just what the doctor ordered!  Inside, I met the "young'uns" who were running a repair shop in the back.  I asked (though rather late) if they could change a battery out at this late hour and they scrambled to help!  I drove the car to a little bay in the barn and I warned them once it stops it ain't gonna start too easy. 

  Corvette batteries are in the trunk in a cubby-hole and it was very difficult to extract as it's a tight fit and we ripped our hands up a bit and bled over the battery cutting our hands on the plastic hole overhang.  I myself ended up getting it out with a battery puller they had lying around that I had noticed and it made it a bit easier.  They ran a full diagnostic on the battery via a neet computer tool and it showed 700 out of 680 (I forget which unit of measurement that was.. watts) so it was just above fully-charged.  This means the alternator is kickin' it great, which is a plus.  So the problem isn't the battery so I wondered if the two key fobs which transmit an FM signal were conflicting with each other and I walked back with key fob #2 back about 50 feet and had them re-install the battery and try to start it.  No luck.  They ran a full diagnostic with an OBD-II sensor and it showed no short-circuit in the system.  They hit the start-engine button again and it started no problem.  I told them, "I guess she doesn't like me yet!" 

  They wouldn't take any money (except the $29 for the mini-jumpstarter) and I tried to give them anything but they declined because they said their boss (? Exidor) would fire them.  I asked if they liked whiskey or cigars or something and they looked uncomfortable.  I asked if they were over 21 yet and they admitted they weren't so I had them write down their addresses (both of them) and I'd send them thanks through the mail.


  Engine running I was back on my way to Des Moines, Iowa.  Rain was coming down HARD now on a biblical proportion and it was very dark outside and I feared for my life, white-knuckling the steering wheel at an antiquated 10 and 2.  Large trucks splashed tsunamis over me but the car held true.  I hit deep pockets of puddled water on I-80 but she did not hydroplane and I was impressed as she has 325-width tires I expected a little slippage.  I fully expected to be in a ditch but after 4 more hours of night driving I made it to Des Moines city, the Nav-girl within the Corvette got me to the Savoy Renaissance Hotel by 11:00 pm where the only parking was a parking garage across the street (Des Moines is very similar in size to Colorado Springs but .. older looking, as if its hey-day was in the 1950s).  At the parking garage, three ebony gentlemen that reminded me of the crows from a Ralph Bakshi film were guarding the fortress.  Very sly-like, they indicated that they very much indeed liked my car, and it'd be shame if it got stolen, and that the cost of entry was $5.  So tired I slurred my thanks and chose the highwaymen's tariff protection-money, parked Rosie, feeling actually rather safe because I knew she wouldn't start without the mini-jumpstarter device (which I took with me) and trudged across the street to the surprisingly 6-star hotel.
 

  I asked the posh woman behind a neo-desk if indeed it cost $5 to park across the street, and if that was the true parking spot for the hotel and she admitted it was to my relief, and told her that I was glad I wasn't recently swindled by the older boys out front.  She chucked and said that they're always there, from Saturday 6pm to 12am as it's also an events parking location for a concert hall across the way.  Guess I made it just in time to pay, though I'm not complaining for my "insurance" premium here.


I placed the rather sweaty Cheesus-Christ in the full-sized fridge, ordered simple room service and checked the forums on the interwebs about C6 Corvettes having a start-engine button problem.  Turns out it's fairly common and most folks disconnect, then reconnect their batteries to get it to work.  At least there's a technical service bulletin on the matter.  I ate my way-too-high-end burger on a square bun, called Becky and told her I wasn't dead, then passed-out.  Only 740 more miles to go.  What could happen?