Germany

Second-to-Last Tango on Autobahn 27

March 18, 2014 by Matt Blyth

My two sensations from this drive were not post-worthy in the classic sense. One involved an uncomfortable tilt. The other was an engine’s song at sustained high speed – on second thought, maybe that second part belongs after all!

It was May 1988, within a month of our return to the U.S. following a three-year U.S. Army tour, and time to drive my 3.0 CS to Bremerhaven. There, shipment awaited to a grey-market conversion shop near Philly. Hey, a 3.0 CS! That sets the stage for future postings about that Karmann-sourced sireen, no? No. Let’s just say that most parts of my subsequent 15-year association with this big galumph of a Coupe was regrettable, and actually dulled my older-car enthusiasm for years. So this isn’t some dreamy BMW blogger waxing about his timeless classic.

16V vs. 16V … Was Moore the Merrier?

March 4, 2014 by Matt Blyth

Nostalgia, Autobahn Style was an earlier posting in my Autobahn 27 series, and described an encounter that led to wishing for Interstates instead of Autobahnen. To cast aside such twisted, fleeting blasphemy, this story aims to reinforce the best of Autobahn driving.

This vignette began in decidedly proletarian fashion, but evolved into a legendary drive that the author experienced vicariously. Things started one late-spring Saturday morning in Bremen. Out of nowhere, my wife expressed a hankering for that little-known Northern German specialty, the “Patty Melt with Fries”, best found at the Bremerhaven bowling alley. So darn, the only solution was to drive up A-27 to the U.S. Army garrison to our north. Double darn! Would an amazing encounter erupt, with our Peugeot 205 GTI being lured into a dice with a wanton pack of 911’s? Hardly. In fact, the drive of the day / month / three-year tour belonged to a Benzin-happy, Bondurant-schooled U.S. Army lieutenant, Ralph Moore.

Stoic Trees

February 22, 2014 by Matt Blyth

Other than consideration of the speeds involved, the primary fear while driving along Autobahn 27 north of Bremen was glute-grinding gusts of wind. They came without warning, and at speeds above 140 kph or so, our cars had no answer other than darting sideways, often well into the adjacent lane or shoulder. The 205 GTI corrected relatively easily, but the MR2 reacted indignantly. With nominal weight on the front wheels and fairly flat flanks, we sounded many a startled screech over the din of Herr Zwo’s shrill 1.6 liters (he was German-spec with 124 PS). Thankfully, we never left the road completely or angled into an adjacent vehicle.

After the initial few months of such occurrences, it dawned on us that the surrounding scenery never gave explicit warning. Instead was implicit evidence; namely, in the marshy plains that spread southward from the North Sea, numerous windmills (think Don Quixote, not Cape Cod) dotted the landscape, testament to the area’s windiness. But on A-27 itself, every klick or so we would whiz past a clump of trees that did not sway to betray the breezes. So these trees were not allies, unlike our Northern Army Group comrades – Germans, Dutch, Belgians, French, and English. Perhaps the trees were tweeting their topiary truculence at such a troubling troupe – historically, anyway.

French Fog

February 14, 2014 by Matt Blyth

This occurrence began in typical, innocent, Autobahn 27 fashion. I had been in Bremerhaven for work purposes, and now faced the drudgery of the roughly 50 km of Autobahn that separates Bremerhaven and our Bremen-Nord exit (Ausfahrt). The expectation was for a relaxed drive, maybe in the 140 – 150 kph range that the Peugeot 205 GTI seemed to enjoy. At those speeds, the 1.6 liter SOHC 8-valver and the Conti’s hummed contentedly, and the notorious sidewinds (I’ll try to establish their notoriety in an upcoming post, anyway) didn’t affect stability too badly.

So there I was, minding my business, probably listening to Armed Forces Network (AFN), a Sting cassette, or maybe even local media beamed from the Bremen Funkturm. Even in this placid mode, A-27demanded full attention to windows, mirrors, and instruments. Similar to NASCAR’s tiny oval in Bristol, TN, Autobahn hazards come from any direction: inattentive passers ahead; left lane lords behind; ramp racers drifting from the sides; even leghorn-worthy fog dropped from above – and can cause sudden driver input to the steering wheel, pedals, and shifter.

Nostalgia, Autobahn Style (a/k/a Highway Song?)

February 6, 2014 by Matt Blyth

Not everyone gets the opportunity to spend extended time on the Autobahnen, or even drive them at all. So to many, it may seem odd that a blast down A-27 – or any highway, really – could warrant a post about Autobahn-induced spousal homesickness. But this involved a coincidental encounter that completely justified her pinings for native grounds.

Our marriage was less than a month old, and save for the brief honeymoon at a SC beach, our time together was all in Germany. The immersion tracked with the expatriation paradigm, with wonderful newness soon replaced by noticing how different Germany can be compared with, well, anywhere. C’mon – stores not open past noon on Saturdays (except for one Langer Samstag per month that granted a whopping four hour extension) and heavens-no on Sunday? Throw in parsimonious smiles, warmth, English, etc. from the very formal Northern Germans; a two-week summer courtesy of the North Sea’s proximity; etc., and you get the picture: honeymoon over.

Autobahn 27: Seven Fables for Six More Weeks of Winter

February 2, 2014 by Matt Blyth

The title implies a series. And a series can imply greatness, say, when it involves Homer (the Greek or the Simpson), Stephen King, or DTM. In certain portions of York County, PA, the title could conjure up the storied Seven Gates of Hell, behind which lurked, predictably, an evil insane asylum. The myth has been proven false, but that didn’t keep York down too long, as our infamous Intelligent Design scrap rode the charts the whole way to the U.S. Supreme Court.

Where does the Elfer enter this tale? Well, it doesn’t. First off, I didn’t buy the Elfer as garage royalty. But between a heavy workload and the Polar Vortex’s fluffy fallout, I haven’t driven the car since early December. Beyond being borderline criminal, that leaves nothing worthy of posting. After all, a Porsche not in motion still holds beauty, but musings about indulgent haunches belong in other blogs, perhaps of the agrarian variety.

The solution: Return to the memory banks, all the way to – you got it – my three years in Germany! Bremen isn’t a customary tourist destination for Americans, but its blessed proximity to both Autobahn 1 and the playground known as Autobahn 27 allowed me to assemble a bevy of memorable tomes. So please feel free to ride on, unless the Gates of Hell reference (hey, they even named a craft beer after it!) wasn’t too wretched.

Installments (click on photo or title to read each):

Part 1: Nostalgia, Autobahn Style (a/k/a Highway Song?)

Part 2: French Fog

Part 3: Stoic Trees

Part 4: 16V vs. 16V … Was Moore the Merrier?

Part 5: Temperature Taming

Part 6: Second to last Tango on Autobahn 27

Part 7: Last Joust in Germany