A Car Day

Friday morning comes early on an East Coast beach. It’s a productive time to rise and shine, get up, and go for a walk along the sand. Quiet, empty beach, sun rising softly out over the water. Just sharing it all with a few other ambitious morning souls, out beachcombing themselves, walking their dogs, leaning over for the occasional shell.

Unfortunately, I am not one of those people. I wish I was, and on the rare occasions when I’ve risen and shined I’ve really enjoyed it. Vowed to do it more often. 

The boat is gently rocking my dreams when the phone goes off at 8:30. Moses, our young Uber driver, is on the way to pick us up in thirty minutes. Making my way to the coffee maker, Paul has already made a pot and is working away on his computer. It’s the week end, another day in sunny subtropical South Florida. And we’re driving up to Boca Raton to look at some cars.

By 10:00 AM the heat is inescapable. It soaks the air. We get to the building where the cars are stored and the AC appears to be broken. I can see a red Porsche Turbo and a silver McClaren through the open door. Will muddle on in I guess.

I know a lot of people view this sort of pastime as trivial. Self indulgent posing. But for me it’s been going on a long time. In third grade I mostly sat at my desk drawing cars. Using dimes and pennies to get the wheels perfectly round and just right. It turned out I had no talent for art, but this was only the beginning of the journey. 

A friend’s father had one of the first Porsche 911’s in Atlanta, black, and I would marvel as he raced up the long hill in front of our house while I waited for the school bus.  

“I wish that man would slow down. There are children on this street.” said my mother. 

In fifth grade my favorite race car driver, Scottish Formula One champion Jim Clark, was killed in an accident in Hockenheim, Germany. I stayed home from school that day in mourning. 

Sometime later my father came home with a Jaguar 4.2 Sedan, all leather and wood on the inside, chrome beauty of a triple carb inline six under the hood. The hook was in deep at this point. 

In high school my baseball coach drove a Porsche 912 and, knowing my love for these machines, took me out for a spin. Even allowed me a short stint behind the wheel. I remain indebted still. 

Short version is I’ve always loved these things, sometimes irrationally. Followed racing and motorsports like some people follow politics. Or golf. And in those days the element of danger was very real. Drivers I idolized were killed every year. Cars were dangerous. And don’t even get me started on motorcycles, another passion.

You get the picture. 

Aston Martin DB11

As we pull into the unairconditioned warehouse Moses hangs back but Paul waves him on.

“You’ve got to see this Moses. Come on. You’re my bodyguard.” 

For all you car guys and girls out there, here’s the inventory. Everyone else, please bear with me. Or take a bathroom break.

2008 Porsche Turbo Coupe, red. 32K miles

2013 Ferrari 458, black. 14K miles

2019 McLaren 720S, orange. 6K miles

2019 Aston Martin DB11 Convertible, silver. 11K miles

2019 Lamborghini Urus, blue. 13K miles

2020 Mercedes Benz G-63 SUV, blue. 16K miles

2018 McLaren 720S, silver. 11K miles

2017 Ferrari F12 Coupe, red. 7K miles

2017 Lamborghini Huracan, red. 9K miles

2020 Mercedes Benz Brabus SUV. 16K miles

2020 McLaren 720S, white. 6K miles

2021 Jeep Gladiator 6X6, black. 14K miles

2019 BMW X7 SUV, blue. 31K miles

2019 GMC Yukon Denali, white. 32K miles

2020 Cadillac Escalade, blue. 35K miles

2016 USSV Rhino GX, black. 31K miles

2019 Mercedes Benz G-63 SUV, green. 32K miles

To be clear, I can’t afford to buy any of these cars. I’m just along as another set of eyes for my friend Paul. Because I follow this sort of thing, am good company, and have an educated opinion. It’s also a fun way to while away a morning. 

In spite of the relatively high price tags on these vehicles, some are in better shape than others. 

The Jeep looks like it’s spent most of its life in the Everglades. Underwater.

The Lamborghini Huracan is missing its engine, which we finally find on the floor behind some wrecked body panels. This will be an expensive fix. 

I had never heard of a USSV Rhino. Built in California on Ford F-450 truck chassis, they’re like a Hummer. On steroids. Bulletproof glass and body, they are huge and heavy. With gunports. But plush inside, all captains chairs and leather. I’m told their primary market are Chinese billionaires, Saudi sheiks, and Mexican drug lords. This one has been run into something in front (which was immediately pulverized into cosmic dust,) but a quick look at the Ford F-450 parts catalog makes it attractive at under $120K. New ones are over $200K. It gets bid to $140K and we’re out.  

USSV Rhino GX

The Aston Martin catches my fancy, and we decide that this car at under $90K would be an easy resell at $120K. Not everyone is into Astons, or even know what they are, and this one might slip under the radar. The next day we bid it up to $90,000 but it finally hammers at $105,000. Someone else wanted it more, oh well.

I love McLarens but none of these will go for less than $175,000 and without a more thorough inspection, they can hide some VERY expensive issues. Pass.

Same with the Ferraris.

The Porsche Turbo, mundane as it is among these supercars, sells for a bargain $80K.

In the meantime, and more in line with my budget, I find a highly regarded Cuban restaurant near the marina. But when we get there that night it is temporarily closed for repairs. No Aston Martin, no picadillo, no beans and rice. What kind of town is this anyway.

We settle for more Italian and it’s pretty good. All these transplanted New Yorkers love their Italian food. Spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, and Italian sausage with penne pasta. Good bread, salad, and Trebbiano rounds out the evening. After dinner Paul plays some more blackjack, I wander around the casino, and we end up back at the boat, AC cranked up, watching Denzel in Equalizer 2. No Jim Clark but still, my kind of superhero.