Gonna buy me a Mercury and cruise it up and down the road.

I am a diehard Mercury fan. Any Merc, big, small, new, old, running, rusted out, I don't care. I believe in american cars and American bikes. I don't like the fact that they're not built in America anymore, but the Big Three are classic American marques. That's why every car that's ever occupied the driveway has had Ford, GM, or Mopar badges, even rentals. There just is no beating them. Of course, at hill climbs and rallies, I do occasionally love to hear an Italian engine wail and howl like it's tearing a hole in Hell itself. But it's the growl, roar, and bark of the American V8 that I love the most. If I can't get that, a well-tuned V6 can do a tidy job. Dare to be different, right?



You should have heard the fellow on the other end of the phone at a certain famous mail-order parts company when I asked about anything that might maybe kinda work on a front-drive 1993 60 degree six inhabiting the engine bay of a Cutlass. He tried to help, first by trying to talk me out of it, then by giving me prices and sources of parts that might not work, but might just do the trick. The target is around 400, so it might never happen, but he helped all he could. I've got my work cut out for me if I want a high-power V6, offroadable tow rig/city cruiser.

Of course, the other car is already a "little hot rod." It's a '07 Merc Milan six. 220 horse out of 183 is pretty good. But I get the feeling it's being held back. The low end is great, but the transmission is a bit shifty. It tends to pick the gear I'd like it to, you just have to speak its language. Off the line is great (even with the auto, you can pull a great holeshot. The converter stalls around 900 if you go easy on it, or up to about 1300 if you stomp on it. By the time it shifts gears, the engine is already making as much power as the four-banger does wide open. Like I said, the pull at low rpms is pretty fun.

Handling is crisp, predictable, and smooth. I find the power steering to have a good amount of resistance. I've only felt the vehicle skid once, and that was on a wet road with the traction control off. I call it "active Positraction." I mentioned the responsiveness and low end earlier, but that's on a good day. On a bad day, things are jerky, opening the throttle is just a suggestion (the computer gets final say, since it is infuriatingly drive-by-wire). Response is not crisp, but compared with the ocean-liner handling and throttle response of the Olds, it only annoys me when the person in the right seat is being impatient and wants faster starts, later stops, and general disregard for gas milage and parts longevity. Well, she should know her daughter better. When she gets impatient and says "speed up to 60 faster" she should know that that means all four windows down, pedal to the metal, engine spooling up past four grand, exhaust note loud. I may be a hotrod enthusiast, but I'm secure enough in the machine's ability to not have to show it off. My mom just likes to get there now, even if "there" is a red light. She doesn't like not being in control.

So back to what I like to call "on-ramps with a pissed off nervous backseat driver." The Milan is not a straight-line car. It does the quarter in 15 seconds at a hair over 90, or so I'm told. I intend to get it up to Bandimere soon and get timed in an E.T. class sometime this year. I'm confident it'll lose. 0-60 in nine seconds. Those numbers are bad for a car of this magnitude. Where's the lead brick?

The car itself is the lead brick. Coming in at over two tons, it's one heavy mutha. The speedometer goes to 120, the revs are limited at 133, but the car doesn't even want to do 90. I'm sure with a long enough road 133 could happen, but I don't know where that blacktop would be. I felt it complain at 87 and asked to do more last summer out in the flatlands with my dad at the helm. Besides a Corvette or a red Barchetta, I can't think of a better mountain backroads rallymobile. But if fast acceleration is needed from 55 on up, it's not gonna happen. The low end is promising, but the stock tune can't deliver.

Of course, none of that amounts to a hill of beans, the favorite thing for my family to do in that car is to cruise it up and down the road.

Mountain Rednecks

A little while ago I mentioned Jeeping in an MG 1100, towing a big trailer with an Olds Cutlass, towing someone out of a ditch with a Mustang (with the tow rope just tied to the back of the frame). We've also driven a Mercury Milan all over Hell and back on washboard dirt and Indian reservation roads... at 80 miles an hour. By God, if we're going to break it, we'll break it during the warranty. My grandpa has hauled lumber and bags of concrete up dirt Cascade backroads; I know because I was in the bed of his El Camino one time for a supply run. You'd think he was haulin' shine or something.

Mountain rednecks may not always have four-wheel drives, but we'll act like we do. Cars can take a lot more than you'd think. Guys in a Subaru 4WD drive like little old ladies offroad. Of course, they're trust-fund hippies mostly. And not like one little old lady from Pasadena, either. Boy, she drove that Super Stock of hers. Give a mountain redneck that same car and he'll be going rock crawling. Give an average flatlander a dry creek drainage and a Volvo and he'll be parking the Volvo. Give a mountain redneck those same two things and he'll show you a fun day.

Remember this guy? I figured I'd give him another time around on the front page. It's just so....perfect.

If you're offroading on an impromptu cross-country road trip, the proper way to drive is, contrary to what that jumpy man with the clipboard told you when you were 16, actually with one foot on the gas, the other on the wheel, no shirt on, and the entire upper half of your body out the window. Even if you're driving a damned Prius, this gets you cred.

Like this man.

According to him, Priuses have enough ground clearance that if you're not all uptight and greener-than-thou about it, they make okay off-road vehicles. Plus, having your Prius towed out of a boulderfield five states from where you live is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This one made it through that trail okay, though, apparently.

Now I want to put a Chevy truck IFS with a four inch lift under a Prius, weld on a skidplate, do a mini-tub, put on 20-inch beadlocks with offroad tires, and take that to the next offroad competition just to see if it works. This comes from the same place as my desire to put a 426 Hemi in a Geo Metro, with Positraction rear and a four-speed close-ratio box and watch Corvette guys embarrass themselves.

I think I need professional help with this. I'm not sure whether that should be psycholog-i-mica-tal or someone to hold things in place while I weld. I'll get back to you on that.

You might be from Colorado if

A winter statistic: 98% OF AMERICANS SCREAM BEFORE GOING IN THE DITCH ON A SLIPPERY ROAD. THE OTHER 2% ARE FROM COLORADO AND THEY SAY, 'HOLD MY SODA AND WATCH THIS!'

For rednecks, especially those of the mountain trailer trash breed (you've met us, even though you might not know it), that above sentence is usually uttered while at the wheel of a 12-year-old sedan.

NOW: You're from Colorado if you'll eat ice cream in the winter. Are you kidding? I stock my freezer with popsicles first thing in December. And we're not the only ones in the Costco line with a jumbo pack of Orange Dreamsicles, either.

When the weather report says it's going to be 65 degrees, you shave your legs and wear a skirt. That's in the spring. In the winter, the shave-legs-and-wear-skirt point is 47. Shorts for guys (and those of us who wouldn't be caught dead in a skirt) is at a clear 42 degree day.

It snows 5 inches and you don't expect school to be canceled. No shit. Five with seven more on the way means get an early start, the school won't be starting late.

You'll wear flip flops every day of the year, regardless of temperature. No, we'll wear Birkenstock sandals. Flip-flops don't happen until late May; the snow will suck them off your feet.

You have no accent at all, but can hear other people's. Actually, I must disagree here. Colorado has a few accents, which no non-Coloradan can pick up. Mostly, you can tell if someone's from the Front range, ranch country, the Western Slope, or right up Jack Frost's asscrack on the Divide. You think I'm kidding. Spend a winter in a trailer in Buena Vista.

And then you make fun of them. Okay, we'll make fun of people's accents, but mostly northeaserners. "Hey, nor-easter! That 'sat-ah-lights' means snowplow. No, you don't get snow where you're from. You ain't seen nothin' yet." Sometime's that's followed by "Hold my soda and watch this."

'Humid' is over 25%. Damn straight. And this constant 45% we've been having means our swamp cooler won't function, except to give us new and creative mold problem. Really, the other day, I held a board meeting with all the various strains of mold that want to live in our bathroom. The toilet mold isn't getting his damage deposit back, the shower mold is getting evicted before he even gets to move in, and the mold that wants to happen on the ceiling because of the damn swamp cooler malfunctioning got hit with agent orange.

Your sense of direction is: Toward the mountains and away from the mountains. Is there any other way? March me across a compound hill leading into a drainage that will run 40 miles before it hits flat land, and I will be able to point where we came from. March me out on flat land and ask me the same thing, and I will get it very wrong.

You say 'the interstate' and everybody knows which one. Well, we only have two. Say "the highway" and everyone knows what you mean, too. Just give a number, like "24, 25, 285, 17," (ut-hut-hike!), and folks will know whether you mean Interstate, U.S., or Colorado road, too.

You think that May is a totally normal month for a blizzard. June's pretty normal, too, in Jack Frost's asscrack, oops, I mean the Divide.

You buy your flowers to set out on Mother's day, but try and hold off planting them until just before Father's day. There's any other way?

You grew up planning your Halloween costumes around your coat. I went as a fireman one time just so I got to wear heavy canvas duds. Another time I went as Chewbacca just so I could wear fur to stay warm. We only had three dry Halloweens when I was growing up, and one of then was 17 degrees.

You know what the Continental Divide is. Who doesn't?

You don't think Coors beer is that big a deal. They bought the whole town, of course it's a big deal. It just isn't any good from a beer or supply chain standpoint.

You went to Casa Bonita as a kid, and as an adult. And take every visitor there, too.

You've gone off-roading in a vehicle that was never intended for such activities. Can you say "Jeeping in an MG 1100?" How about "Towing a big-ass trailer up a dirt mountain road with a '93 Olsmobile Cutlass" Been there, done that. How about "Towed someone out of a mild Colorado ditch with an '83 Mustang?" Hell yeah. I always say, if you get stuck anywhere in Colorado, wait and a local will help you. If you get stuck within 90 miles of Denver, call me, we'll get you out.

You always know the elevation of where you are. 5373 feet.

You wake up to a beautiful, 80 degree day and you wonder if it's going to snow tomorrow. Or thundersnow. I didn't know that was possible until it happened. I thought the Reds had attacked. With a nuke.

You don't care that some company renamed it, the Broncos still play at Mile High.

Every movie theater has military and student discounts. Seriously, is that abnormal?

Everybody wears jeans to church. Some folks ride quads to church. I saw one feller ride a horse one time.

You actually know that ** South Park ** is a real place not just a show on TV. You also know that the really weird people are just over the pass on either side of South Park.

You know what a 'trust fund hippy' is, and you know its natural habitat is Boulder. Drinking Fat Tire Ale and saving the whales.

But where else do you have such a Postcard view from you front/back porch! Somewhere that's NOT Boulder.

You know you're talking to a fellow Coloradoan when they call it Elitches, not Six Flags. Fuck Six Flags. It will always be Elitch's, (both spellings are acceptable), and not to see Elitch's is not to see Denver.

A bear on your front porch doesn't bother you. It does tend to bother other people, though, so you'll probably throw a firecracker at it. Tom did that once, the bear jumped straight up out of his dumpster, hit the ground running, and never came back.

Your two favorite teams are the Broncos and whoever is beating the crap out of the Raiders. Except last season. The Broncos were' not on that list last year, but Elam was. Trading him was the dumbest thing that franchise has ever done.

When people out East tell you they have mountains in their state, too, you just laugh. They're hills. That's why y'all are called hillbillies. We've got hillbillies here, too, but here, they live in the FOOThills, and the real dangerous moonshiners, hunters, and general backwoods boys live up past the foothills, in the front or second range of the MOUNTAINS.

You go anywhere else on the planet and the air feels 'sticky' and you notice the sky is no longer blue. It's been sticky around here lately, too. Wouldn't it suck if the overall change in climate patterns that "global warming" is going to cause put us smack dab in the middle of a cold, wet zone?