I had seen another electric blue Corvette, this one a 1990, online…and it was located only a few miles from our home. It was on there for quite a while even though it was advertised as being a non-smoker’s car and recently detailed. I sent the owner an e-mail asking if it were still for sale and soliciting a few more details. He invited me to come out and see it which I eagerly did. My wife came along for the experience, and we found that the car looked even better in person. The owner said I should start it up to listen to the engine. There is no describing the rumble that came from under the hood, especially as it is experienced from behind the steering wheel. Well, this ain’t no minivan, I told myself as the owner rambled on about having the air conditioning serviced a couple of years ago, the installation of new (aftermarket) injectors and a high performance chip that was supposed to give an extra 50 horsepower. I was too mesmerized by the tight cockpit and the V8 drone. Then I shut the engine off and took a walk around the car. Popped the hood and seeing that the engine had a patina of road dirt it was evident that this was a daily driver. The owner pointed to the MPG display on the dash - 25.2 - and while I somewhat disbelieved the figure (our Buick has a markedly optimistic opinion of its gas mileage that isn’t borne out by our actual expenditures) I was still impressed. 18-20, I thought, is probably more like it. I was sold. So was the Vette.
We arranged for an exchange of paperwork the following Monday. It was a long, long weekend, postponed an extra day when the seller had to work later than planned, but finally the deal was done and he handed me the keys. (Postscript: the seller was tragically killed in a MedFlight accident in May 2008. Our hearts go out to his family.)
My wife was in the minivan, following me in case the engine would blow up or some-odd components would happen to fall off on the five mile drive back to our place. I fired up the engine and put it in gear. It had a fast idle and the transmission grabbed, making the car just a bit eager to run. I held the brake and eased into the gas, not really knowing what to expect. The baritone growl moved from the front to the back of the car and we started out, with better comportment than I expected, in my first high-performance driving experience. Nothing fell off, nothing blew up, and we were home in short order. Then we decided it would be okay to take a drive.
Punch the throttle and the baritone sings tenor. Cool. Take a tight corner at 30 mph and the car runs on rails. Way cool. What a remarkable car! But it also rode rough as a cob. It was sort of like taking a Radio Flyer wagon (with wide tires) at speed over Madison’s freeze-heaved pavement. At least the seats were comfortable. And it could accelerate, er, smartly. Get it out onto the highway, though, and the brute acquired some serious manners. It felt as though it was being held back at 55, but on the interstate at 65, it started to get into its groove, and so did I.
Next it was time to do a test drive on the highway, at least 100 miles, to check out that gas mileage thing. I filled the tank near Stoughton Road and took the Beltline to I-39 for a drive north. Ran to Montello - what a joy to drive on a two-lane road with this thing - and back on the north end of Madison, at just over 100 miles I filled the tank again. The dash display said 28.5 mpg. Actual was just a tick under 30, having used 3.4 gallons in that 100 miles. And that was after topping off the tank. Wow.
