When the rain moves into South Carolina, it really moves in. It’s not like the faint sprinkle of precipitation that I’d rather deal with, it’s what they call a gully-washer. To be phonetically correct, it’s a gurlee-weersher, but that’s not the point. Just as the Morton Salt canisters claim, when it rains, it pours.
Summer is just around the corner, and that means racing season is in full swing. I am a huge fan of racing, whether behind the wheel or in front of the TV screen. I have watched racing for a long time, but it wasn’t until recently that I fell in love with going to race tracks to watch racing in person.
In a month and a half, Betty and I will load the X535d and head west to Beaver Creek, Colorado, for Oktoberfest 2014. Each year, Oktoberfest always leads our “can’t miss” list of possible vacations. This year’s gathering is something of an anniversary: It will be my 20th Oktoberfest—in a row.
It has long been said that in America, any three people interested in the same thing will form a club; add two more members, and they’ll put out a magazine. That may be an exaggeration, but when you think about it, you realize that the roots of the BMW CCA in Boston pretty much followed the pattern more than 45 years ago.
A silver orb glows in the night sky, a patchwork of scars and ruts adorning its face. A crimson shadow creeps across to slowly suffocate the lunar shimmer. The blood moon rises. And it’s tax day. Surely, this is a sign—a higher calling to do something great. The only logical interpretation: Take a half-day off of work and go test-drive some BMWs. Well, it was the only logical conclusion I could come up with, at least.