I do not possess a valid license endorsement to ride a motorcycle. In fact, I am not, for lack of a better word, allowed to have one. The conversation with my better half usually goes like this:
I will admit that I prefer fuel injection to carburetors. Even vintage fuel injection, like the mechanical Kugelfischer system in the 2002tii or the Bosch L-Jetronic I retrofitted into the 3.0CSi, generally does a better job than carburetors of providing easy starting, decent warm-up behavior, and drivability.
His name is Barry White, and I love him. Not typical words you’d hear from a former punk rocker. Strange things happen to me, as you might have gathered from reading some of my columns or my blog, but this has to be about the strangest thing yet—in my automotive history, at least.
When I die, if I am known for anything, it may be for Siegel’s Seven-Car Rule. This is the aphorism that states that every car guy needs seven cars, and lays to waste any argument to the contrary by rationally enumerating them:
When mid-August rolls around, some people will do anything to travel vast distances and rack up big credit-card debt in order to sit in long lines of traffic populated by the most beautiful automotive exotica you’ll never see anywhere else but here in this space and time—Monterey Classic Car Week. This past week the automotive world descended on California’s beautiful Monterey Peninsula for this annual homage to automobilia.