From what I can tell, my friends and family liked my BMW.  A lot.  I, too, have fond memories of it.  It is undoubtedly the most fun car that I’ve had.  It was the fastest, the most luxurious, the newest, and the most prestigious.  The problem was that all of those things came at a cost.

My 1999 BMW 540i

In truth, I began thinking about selling the BMW the spring after I acquired it.  Upkeep was horrendously expensive in terms of both money and time.  I found myself worrying about where to park it to prevent door dings.  I found myself spending hours washing, waxing, and detailing it every month.  I found myself paying thousands of dollars for both routine items (try $1000 for a set of tires) and the too-frequent mechanical issue (try another $1000 for fixing a radiator expansion tank).

The 540i shod in snow tires

Even with snow tires, it was never a good car for snow and ice.  And salt?  I lived in constant fear (never realized) of corrosion.

The 540i stuck despite snow tires and shoveling

The trouble was that I’d get serious about selling it, then I’d go out for “one last drive,” and suddenly all of my concerns would fade away.  I’d forget about its issues and costs, and I’d just love driving.  The big German V8 would growl, the six-speed manual would snick-snick from gear to gear, and the steering would be one with my hands.  The best analogy I can think of would be a flawed relationship, where the good times were so good that they made all of the many problems seem inconsequential by comparison.

The BMW's interior

I drove that car more than any other I’ve owned.  In the 26 months it was my daily driver, I put 52,000 miles on it.  It was such a wonderful GT car.  Road trips, BMW-club driving school, around town… all fantastic.

When I finally did resolve to sell it, the right buyer took almost six months to materialize.  The good news is that I was able to sell what was a very special car to a true enthusiast.  He saw my ad in the local BMW club newsletter, drove hundreds of miles to Minneapolis from Sioux Falls, SD with a trailer to pick it up, and showed up at my door wearing a BMW t-shirt.

Why did I give it up?  I was heading off to grad school, and I knew there would be no way I could afford its upkeep while not gainfully employed.

My favorite car next to my favorite lake (Superior)

It had its issues, yes, but the BMW has been the only car that I’ve been truly sad to see go.

Stats

• Silver 1999 BMW 540i
• 4.4 L naturally aspirated V8
• 282 hp / 320 lb-ft
• 6-speed manual transmission
• Grey leather interior
• 73,000 miles when acquired (September 29, 2004)
• 125,000 miles when sold (August 6, 2007)

What do you do when your red Pontiac Bonneville gets totaled by a Chevy Avalanche?  If you’re me, you replace it with… another red Pontiac Bonneville; specifically, a 1995 Pontiac Bonneville SSE.

My 1995 Bonneville

The new car looked so similar to the old car that several people commented to me, “Wow, they did an incredible job repairing your car!”  That would have been quite the trick, since I got the replacement a week after the collision, and the interior went from gray cloth to black leather.

I can appreciate a good prank...

Along the way, BonnevilleClub grew.  Users took it upon themselves to print calling cards promoting the site, plaster the URL on their car windows, make t-shirts, and organize meets.  They were the engine of the site; I was more of a benevolent, hands-off financier than a day-to-day manager.  That distance taught me the value of hiring good people and the importance of dealing with issues.  It also honed my server administration skills.  Overall, a very positive venture.

I sold my second Bonneville to a gentleman who was buying it for his daughter.  It took about a month to sell, and at the time, I thought that was unusually long.  Little did I know that my next car would need almost half a year to find a buyer.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Stats

• Red 1995 Pontiac Bonneville SSE
• 3.8 L naturally aspirated V6
• 205 hp / 230 lb-ft
• 4-speed automatic transmission
• Black leather interior
• 155,000 miles when acquired (ca. May 1, 2002)
• 188,000 miles when sold (ca. November, 2004)

I don’t think I appreciated how life-altering my first Bonneville would be.  It would be the car that would lead me to start one of my most successful projects thus far, BonnevilleClub (later sold, now defunct).  It almost never happened.

In the summer of 2001, I was still happily driving around in my Thunderbird.  My dad decided that it would be good if I had a newer vehicle, so he set about finding one.  The result: a first-generation Acura Legend sedan.  It was a nice car, one that would go on to give years of service in another role, but I didn’t see its benefits over the Thunderbird as offsetting its relatively significant cost.  Thus, it was rejected.

My dad’s second attempt was a red 1993 Pontiac Bonneville SSE.  Now that was a superior machine.  Television ads from the era suggest that it was GM’s answer to BMW: a luxury sports sedan.

Me with my 1993 Bonneville and my 1986 Thunderbird

About half a year after acquiring my Bonneville, I became frustrated by the dearth of quality information on the web pertaining to those vehicles.  Thus, I did what any good entrepreneur does when he sees an unmet need: I built a solution.  Modeled after ClubGP, BonnevilleClub came into being in early January 2002.  The only advertising I ever did for it was a couple of posts on rival car forums.  All of the subsequent growth was due to word-of-mouth and user-organized campaigns.

What I’ve failed to mention is that BonnevilleClub took years to gain significant traction.  And, like most successful companies, it experienced a nadir where its very existence was in jeopardy.  That time came in April 2002 when my car was crushed by a Chevy Avalanche while parked in a parking lot at Rose-Hulman.

My Bonneville, totaled by a Chevy Avalanche

My first Bonneville’s driving days were over.  That much was clear.  What wasn’t clear was what my next car would be.  Would BonnevilleClub die along with my Bonneville?

Stats

• Red 1993 Pontiac Bonneville SSE
• 3.8 L naturally aspirated V6
• 170 hp / 225 lb-ft
• 4-speed automatic transmission
• Miles when acquired: 105,000 (ca. July 2001)
• Miles when crushed: 115,000 (April 26, 2002)

For teenage Americans, the first car is a right of passage.  It represents independence.  Freedom.  Maturity.

I still remember the day I met my first car.  It was a summer day in 1998.  I’d had my license for a few months, but until that day, I’d been forced to borrow my mom’s car whenever I wanted to drive somewhere.  All that changed in an instant.

My dad pulled up in a dark red 1986 Ford Thunderbird Turbocoupe and gave me a chance to take it for a spin.  Sure, it was 12 years old, and yes, the paint was a bit weathered, but it was a car!  My car!  And it had a turbo!  I loved it.

My 1986 Ford Thunderbird Turbocoupe

Over the next few years, that Thunderbird would ferry me to adventures, get me to and from college numerous times, and serve as a guinea pig for my efforts to become mechanically inclined.

Even though it had the sporting aspirations of a turbo, in reality it wasn’t very fast.  The back seat was elfin (though that didn’t stop us from squeezing up to four people in there), and the body forced a never-ending battle against the cancer of rust.  It was wonderful all the same.

After three years and 28,000 miles, I sold it to a guy who answered a newspaper ad.  How quaint.

Stats

• Dark red 1986 Ford Thunderbird Turbocoupe
• 2.3 L turbocharged inline-4
• 3-speed automatic transmission
• 155 hp / 180 lb-ft torque
• Coupe body style
• 171,000 miles when acquired (ca. June 1998)
• 199,500 miles when sold (ca. June 2001)

Being nearly eight hours of driving from the nearest major cities, Sleep Giant Provincial Park is understandably little-trafficked.  I hadn’t been to Canada in a while, so last weekend I decided to check it out with a short backpacking trip.

The 94 mi² park, named after the humanoid appearance of a large rock formation, occupies most of a large peninsula jutting into Lake Superior. Scenic Highway 61 along Minnesota’s north shore is the most direct way to get there, and since I like road trips almost as much as I like backpacking, that suited me just fine.  The drive made me appreciate just how far north the park is located; for those familiar with the area, driving from Minneapolis to Silver Bay still found me less than half way to my destination.

Cross the border, go through Thunder Bay, hop on the Trans-Canada Highway for a stretch, and you’ll eventually reach the park.  The nearly deserted park.

I encountered only a handful of mountain bikers and day hikers on the trail — no other backpackers.  That’s a real shame.  The park is well-maintained, the scenery is beautiful, and the wildlife is abundant.

I hiked for a while before deciding to stop.  I was the only person in my chosen backcountry campsite.

I had a great view of the lake from my tarp lean-to.

My tarp home. Far better than a tent.

Ditto for dinner.  I cooked out on the rocks, Isle Royale looming across the horizon in the distance.  (Three years ago, I stood on Isle Royale and shot a video that looked out over the lake towards Sleeping Giant.  Last weekend, I got the chance to gaze back.)

Cooking on the rocky shore of Lake Superior in Canada

Exploring the shore and staring into a pleasant campfire rounded out a relaxing day.  Not even a light rain that night or the patter of deer running through the forest in the dark could spoil the experience.  I mean, in the haze of interrupted sleep I first thought that the deer were bears, but that fear passed quickly.

The next day brought closure to my brief stay.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever return to Sleeping Giant, but I certainly wouldn’t mind going.