Regrets: I Have a Few

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I have a few regrets when it comes to my automotive loves–but, then again, too few to mention. I will anyway, though.

These regrets come in two flavors. Flavor one is the sweet deliciousness that lasts on my tongue of loves fondly remembered. My 1999 Corvette fixed-roof coupe fits squarely into this category.

Like most folks with a Y chromosome who like to pee standing up, I was genetically predisposed to want a Corvette at some point in my life. It was inescapable. I think the moment I knew was when I was reading a test of the then-new 1986 Corvette in Road & Track back in high school. It was a comparison between the ‘86 and a big-block Stingray of ‘69 or ’70 lineage–the exact year escapes me.

The C4 had been granted GM’s Tuned Port Injection the year before, and for 1986 it gained a few horsepower and even sharper handling according to the R&T scribes. Still, the numbers it produced–power, torque, gearing–were not nearly as impressive as its decade-and-a-half-older counterpart.

But when the magazine’s editors ran the cars through the battery of performance tests, the new car outpeformed the old car in nearly every measurable way. In my mind, the message was clear that GM was building a car that was more than the sum of its parts. My desire was fueled by that knowledge.

When I finally got the chance to buy my own, I had specific features in mind. I wanted a low-option performance model, and the 1999 fixed-roof coupe I ended up with fit the bill perfectly. There was nothing present that didn’t have something to do with going fast or handling well. I spent a couple years beating up on it at NCCC autocrosses and found that it was still a car that added up to more than the ingredients would suggest.

When I parted ways with it, it went to another active NCCC member. I missed it, but realized it was time to move on. As much as I loved it–and continue to love Corvettes–I’m just not a Corvette guy. I’m not sure what that even means, but I know it’s not me.

So where’s the regret?

Turns out I bailed too early. When I sold my Vette, the non-Z06 C5s still competed against their Z06 counterparts in the SCCA’s Super Stock Solo category. While my FRC had its own place to run in the NCCC, it was outclassed and outpowered in SCCA action.

Until the year after I sold it.

That’s when the SCCA Stock Class board moved the non-Z06 C5s to A Stock, where they became a highly competitive, if not dominant, force. While I’m okay moving on from the Vette, I’ll always regret that I missed a shot at adding to my Solo Nationals trophy collection. It’s a small collection, but I’m proud of each piece of hardware in it.

I feel like the Vette and I dated, parted amicably, then found out her new boyfriend totally got her to do some freaky stuff that I never even thought to ask about.

Takeaway message: Never put off the freaky stuff.

My next regret proves–or at least reinforces–the old adage that it’s dangerous to meet your heroes. The flavor is a bit more bitter.

I had always been a huge fan of Ferrari’s 308 GT4. You know, the weird, mid-engined, four-seat wedge that was just sexy enough to be Italian, but nerdy enough to be cool. I loved the fact that it eschewed typical Ferrari curves and swoops for origami edges and square corners and slanty lines. And it still made that ferocious OHC V8 snarl when the throttle opened past the fun zone.

One day I got the chance to drive one, and it was like finding out that one of the “Sesame Street” muppets was a PCP addict.

It was just … bad. I’d heard about weird Italian driving positions and odd ergonomics, but when I finally got behind the wheel, the seat/pedals/steering relationship seemed almost comically unusable. The pedals hinged through an arc that made it seem like their attachment point wasn’t even inside the car. The steering was heavy and slow, and the wheel tilted up and away like in some sort of van that only delivers disappointment.

My apologies to any 308 GT4 owners out there. Actually, I think it’s Ferrari who should be apologizing, but they probably won’t, so I will.

Only recently has my memory of my 308 GT4 encounter faded to the point where I have the hots to drive one again. Every time a picture of one comes across my desk, I find myself pausing for a few extra moments to ogle the creased lines and futuristic wedginess.

But I’m not going to heed that siren’s song again. I’m beginning to enjoy the fact that I’ve forgotten how bad the reality was. I’m even starting to enjoy the lustful fantasies again. If someone offers me a drive in their 308 GT4, I’ll just politely decline, not wanting my daydreams to be sullied yet again.

Okay, not really. I’ll drive the ass outta that thing. Maybe I was just stupid or high on paint fumes that first time I tried one. I just know that if I don’t try again, I’ll live to regret it, and I’ve got enough of those already.

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