Why We Love The Community Of Drivers

Illustration for article titled Why We Love The Community Of Drivers

If you read both the 2008 Mazdaspeed3 and 2008 BMW 128i review, you may have noticed that a couple of pictures looked similar. There's a reason, Mark and I were out driving together. When doing a review it helps to have someone to go with you for assistance in setting up photos and, you know, it's a chance to drive twice the cars. It just so happens that we were near a particularly twisty stretch of road taking pictures when a gentleman in a black Z3 pulled up. Maybe he knew some other great places to drive.

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It turns out he did. Our new friend Alan had an intimate knowledge of the land from over thirty years piloting this same stretch of asphalt and he implored us to follow him, which we happily did. After a brief drive over his home turf we stopped to chat and take some pictures. We exchanged information and went about our way. The next morning there was an email waiting for us was a scan of a highlighted map with notes and a long screed on his favorite roads (he was right, btw). It was just another reminder of why we love the community of drivers, made up of people who enjoy running up the miles on their cars and want to do so in a safe, responsible and enjoyable way. Thanks Alan.

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DISCUSSION

graverobber
Rob Emslie

Had this been a movie, he would have lead you for miles down some winding back-road, the houses on either side becoming fewer, and more infrequent, until you each suffered a strange and coincidental mechanical failure.

You flip open your cell phones, damn no signal! No problem, he says, my family's farm is not more than a mile up the road. Following him, you strike up a conversation- "Not too many rural folk as so into BMWs as you are." "Oh yeah," he says, "We're all into beemers in my family."

Upon reaching the farm you notice odd hanging decorations, made out of auto parts and animal bones, a blue and black rondel glints in the sun. The farm is quiet, the only noise being the buzzing of an inordinate number of flies. Stepping up onto the creaking porch, your friend opens the screen and turns back to you. "You all just wait here," he says with a knowing smile, "I'm gonna' go and get rudy. You're gonna' wanna' meet rudy."

You both start to feel really uncomfortable about the situation. Scanning the yard you see cars up on blocks- a '79 320i, an '84 528e, my god- a Z8 that has been banglized by some crude back-wood craftsman. You both gasp in horror.

A noise and flash of light in the corner of your eye draws you out of your sudden stupor. Rudy, a six-foot tall in-bred is racing toward you. He is naked but for two BMW badges covering his ample nipples and a thong made out of what looks like a seatbelt and human finger bones.

Screaming in terror as Rudy swings a blood-smeared half-shaft at your head, you both turn to run, but it's too late. Your 'friend' is already there, smiling manically and carrying a shift-lever with a M-badge knob on its end. "Pricks on the outside!" he shouts, "PRICKS. ON THE. OUTSIDE! And then your world goes dark.

Anyway, that's how I see it.