By naterisch
03/09/2015
Evil cell phones and even evil-er texting has triggered a national conversation on distracted driving, even though drivers have been distracted since long before cell phones were invented. As I was driving last week, listening to a guy on the radio talk about distracted driving—pause here for realization of irony—I discovered that food, beverages, loud music, and other deadly practices are now being targeted as driving distractions that must be legislated out of existence.
By naterisch
03/09/2015
This week’s piece is short because, well, sometimes you get lucky. Last week I described MacGyvering—oh, hell, I can say hacking, right?—the ABS control module in my Z3, fixing it with a Dremel tool, a soldering iron, and hot glue. (And thanks, everyone, who sent me e-mail suggesting better, cleaner, more professional ways to cut it open—X-Acto razor saw—and seal it shut—Plast-Aid). I chronicled my joy in driving the car a hundred feet and having the ABS and DSC lights go out for the first time in my stewardship.
By naterisch
03/02/2015
I find it rather ironic that we spend our winter months dreaming of the days when we can finally get together with our BMW compadres and do something—instead of wondering when all this snow will melt so we can find our cars again, or anointing that garage queen with another coat of P21S. (“It’s pure carnauba, honey, it’s good for your skin!”)—and then find ourselves with too many choices of what to do.
By naterisch
03/02/2015
As I’ve mentioned, the ABS and DSC lights had been blazing in my 1999 Z3 ever since I bought the car about a year and a half ago. I’d inspected the ABS sensors at all four wheels for torn wires, and tested their resistance: All checked out, yet the lights remained on. Web forums were full of posts from people whose cars had similar symptoms, many reporting that the culprit was the ABS control module. 
By naterisch
02/23/2015
First things first: I am not the best writer in the Doersen household—far from it. My wife, Val, is better. And the way our son is progressing, I may be a distant third by the time he’s in fifth grade. But I like BMWs more, so when Satch was looking for racing coverage, he settled for me. All of this might change after my wife actually attends a real, live, bona fide race, though—especially if that race is, say, the Twelve Hours of Sebring.

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