(The Infiniti FX35 at rest in the Little Village by the Bay. Could it be the best cross-country ride ever? Photo Socotra.)
OK- a performance car review it is not what I intended this morning, but I have flogged a variety of cars across this eight hundred mile route, and I am impressed.
Previous rides include the Syclone hot-rod pickup truck, the Bluesmobile police interceptor, two flavors of Mercedes (CLK500 and GLK350), a Caddie SRX, a Jeep Grand
Cherokee and some weird Chrysler hybrid I would not touch again with a ten-foot pole. Plus the old Sebring and Taurus and Mercury Villager of the mini-van phase of
my life.
Call it ten vehicles for comparison. I did not expect this 800 miles to the Little Village on the Bay to have a trifecta of monsoon, blizzard and gale force winds. So,
stand by and take the challenge drive with me.
I mean, I was going to give you a road test of that slick black Infiniti FX35 anyway, but I had no idea it would be an endurance contest. I thought it would be about the things you can readily ascertain by the evidence of your senses and experience. I had no way of knowing that the voyage of discovery would hold…wait, I knew exactly what was out there. I had the graphic of the storm in front of me.
I had planned too much to not go, so I went.
That is normally how the accident investigation kicks off, and I knew that, but for exactly the reason that accidents happen because people think they need to do things that they have planned because…they were planned.
Anyway, the Hertz people were gracious and the bulletin board invited me to hobble over to space #445, where The Beast awaited. It was glistening black, so dark you could fall into it like a moonlit lake.
I unstrapped the leg brace so I could squirm into the driver’s seat. I surveyed the cockpit: well laid out. Weird place for the electronic key, but having seen the
approach by Chrysler, Mercedes and Cadillac, I was able to figure it out. Ignition is a button to the right of the wheel. I fiddled with mirror settings: they are
huge, well placed, and there is an interactive screen on the dashboard to control navigation, rear camera, status and all sorts of fun facts on the state of the
vehicle.
The Hertz people had installed one of their “Neverlost” systems on a stalk that partly obscured the audio system controls, which you will not see in a civilian
version of the FX35, and I discovered I could get the two navigation systems to argue with one another about the best approach to leaving the airport and getting to
Big Pink, a disconcerting stream of information apparently linked to some ancient way-point entered into the Infiniti onboard GPS by another renter.
Five grand on the odometer. New car smell. I was ready to roll.
I looked out over a massive hood with aggressive bulged above the wheel wells. The black front end jutted out assertively. The flanks were massive. The ride was firm.
It accelerated like a bat out of hell. I liked it. The Infiniti was a beast, I decided.
I swung by Big Pink to get a hug from Rhonda the concierge and collect my bags, and glanced at the partly sunny skies. That was not going to last long, but there was nothing for it but to do it, and I rolled west on Route 50 to hit the Beltway and points north and west.
The car was peppy. I was impressed: the V-6 engine sips premium fuel and channels the horsepower through a seven-speed automatic trannie. I found it was most comfortable loping along at 80; top speed was advertised as 137 knots, though as I fiddled with the wiper controls to deal with the increasing amount of rain on the windshield. Rear window wiper adequate, though the minimal surface area was well compensated by the massive mirrors and the rear camera, when engaged.
Climbing up the front-range to the Allegany Mountains, the rain transitioned to a driving monsoon. Truck were throwing rooster-tails on Sideling Hill, approaching
Breezewood, the Village of Motels, the monsoon transitioned to a full blizzard.
Accumulation was significant, maybe four inches on the grass alongside. The pavement was treated, and the snow turned to slush that flew in a clinging gray mess onto the wildly flailing windshield wipers.
Hole-in-the-Wall was a near white out at the tunnel entrance. Johnstown was obscured in white, and I wondered just how intense the snow was going to get. I had a button near the cup holders that read “Snow,” and I pushed it. The ride seemed to settle out, and I wondered what it did- engage all-wheel drive?
The Satellite radio worked great. The Fuel economy was fair- about 20MPG, according to the on-board status module- could be better, I thought, and running on the recommended premium would be a daunting prospect, since The Beast has at least a twenty gallon tank that yielded a cruising range of well over 400 miles.
Damn, I thought. That was going to mean just one fuel stop between Washington and the Little Town by the Bay. Much better range than the Caddie SRX or the Mercedes GLK350. If I were fleeing the capital region, the Infiniti FX35 would be the refugee vehicle of choice.
Heading downhill towards Pittsburgh, the white-out transitioned with lessened altitude into the monsoon again, and the feeling of claustrophobia in the narrow
Jersey Barrier concrete channels of the construction zones grew. They are slowly widening the turnpike, but to do so they have to chop at the living rock of the hills, and it is bad enough in clear weather.
The signs direct the trucks to hug the barriers in the right lane, which puts any overtaking vehicle in the “Sui-Side” blind spot just where the rain is channeled into a blind gray spot in the right rear of the semi trailer. Nerve-wracking to punch the accelerator and punch through. The Beast tracked accurately and with authority.
Done with Pennsylvania at East Gate, the rain diminished across the Ohio Turnpike.
If you hear me complaining about how boring the Ohio Turnpike is, remind me sometime that “boring” is infinitely preferable to “thrilling.”
Passing Youngstown, the clouds lifted and there were patches of blue in the West. The nice woman in the navigation system informed me there was a gale warning fifteen miles ahead, as the turnpike arcs northwest adjacent to Lake Erie. I did not have time to be bored as the wind slammed against the Beast’s massive flanks.
I realized just how hard it was blowing when I finally stopped for gas near Elyria.
Climbing down from the driver’s seat and positioning the cane to leverage myself upright, the gale almost knocked me down. The Beast handled the wind a lot better
than I did.
The winds diminished at the big right hand turn at Toledo, and the sun came out. Three hundred easy miles later, I was wheeling into the Little Village by the Bay.
Each vista reminded me that this might be the last time I pass this way, to a place that has been home for a long, long time.
I parked in front of the house in the big driveway. Still had fifty miles to go on the second tank of gas. Damn, I thought. That is impressive. Best ride of ten vehicles, though they all had their strengths. The Beast had it all. It is a car I just might buy.
It is that good. I dragged the bags out of the back, and dug out the phone book. I needed to find a dumpster to rent, and I had to get to work.
(Storms behind, the Village by the Bay is lovely. Last time I will see it from the deck. Photo Socotra.)
Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com