2016 Chicago Auto Show: What Better Reason to Hit the Windy City?

I'm not the kind of guy who refuses to travel to the snow belt for an auto show simply because it's mid winter. I am the kind of guy who won't spend his own money to do it. That's why I haven't been to the Detroit show in 10 years. Fortunately, Nissan steps up and underwrites the cost for somewhere between 100 and 200 auto media to make the pilgrimage to the Chicago Auto Show's media days each February. They also throw a huge reception the night before the official proceedings begin. 

Nissan Armada reveal at its Wednesday evening reception.

Despite not being stuffed full of new- and concept-car reveals as Los Angeles and Detroit are, you would be hard pressed to find a seasoned journalist who won't admit Chicago is his or her favorite show of the season. The simple reason is, there is still a lot going on, we don't have to sprint from one press conference to the next, all the carmakers' PR wonks who have even a passing interest in interacting with the media show up, and the herd of media is concentrated enough that we have plenty of access to the executives and PR types.

I won't take this opportunity to rant on the Detroit show, but it is essentially the antithesis of the Chicago show in virtually every respect. I don't miss it one little bit. What's worse than going to Detroit in the middle of winter? Being at its auto show and competing with 5,000 “credentialed media” at least half of which probably have never earned a penny reviewing cars or covering the industry. Attending every press conference is like trying to be among the first group through the entrance of your local Walmart when the doors open on Black Friday.

Nope. Chicago is different – much different.

Although Chicago doesn't host the season's most product reveals – in fact, it's probably fourth behind Detroit, Los Angeles and New York – it is the nation's biggest retail show. That is, it is the best-attended show in the land. 

During its nine-day run this year, show promoters expect in excess of 1 million visitors to cruise past more than than 1,000 vehicles displayed across more than 1 million square feet of show floor at McCormick Place. Launched in 1901, the Chicago show holds bragging rights to being the most frequently held auto show in the country.

Journalists attending the media days witnessed the covers being removed from 21 new, redesigned or unique-trim-edition models from Chevrolet, Chrysler, Ford, Kia, Hyundai, Infiniti, Mercedes-Benz Nissan, Ram and Toyota. 

Kia showed off its all-new Niro – a crossover hybrid delivering up to 50 mpg. Nissan rolled out its redesigned 2017 Armada. Chevrolet unveiled its track-bred Camaro 1LE that returns to the lineup in 2017. Infiniti took the wraps off three new engine versions of its Q50 sedan – one will deliver 400 horsepower. Ram dominated the stage with its Power Wagon – basically a 1500 Rebel on steroids.

 

In addition to lots of vehicles over which to drool, there are interactive exhibits, driving courses and Family Day.

There's never a dull moment during the three-day, two-night media event. Nissan always kicks off the festivities with a huge cocktail/hors d'oeuvres reception on Wednesday evening. Nissan spiced up this year's event with its unveiling the redesigned Armada. 

Ram Power Wagon.

Thursday kicks off with the MAMA breakfast. MAMA is the Midwest auto media's trade organization. In addition to bacon and eggs, the event always includes the announcement of MAMA's choice for its Family Vehicle of the Year. This year it went to the Volvo XC90. I must admit, I sneaked out as the breakfast speaker from Ford marketing took the podium to regale the overfed group with feats of Ford's wonderfulness. Kia was the first scheduled press conference of the morning and I wanted a front-row seat. It's always highly entertaining.

There were eight more carmaker press conferences scheduled throughout the day, as well as a couple of non-carmaker pressers. In the middle of all of this was the annual Economic Club of Chicago's luncheon. Credentialed media are invited to attend.

Kia kicked off the press-conference lineup with a little music.

Chevrolet closed the day with its reveal of its redesigned 2017 Trax crossover and track-worthy 1LE package for Camaro. The announcements were followed by a reception. Marching back and forth across the expanses of the show floor – one of my peers' Fitbit clocked more than seven miles – from one press conference to the next for six hours is mighty thirsty work. The Chicago Beer Company Chi Town Lake Shore Lagers Chevy dispensed at the reception provided at least some temporary relief.

Because Nissan housed us at the Hyatt Regency attached to McCormick Place, thankfully we had only a short walk back to our rooms at day's end. The walk carried us past the hotel bar where a few of us detoured for another brew. More walking, lots of thirst.

Some of Geno's staff serving up pizza slices at the Mazda dinner.

Mazda always throws a dinner on Thursday evening at Chicago's Geno's Pizza. Although its menu offers sandwiches, salads and apps, it's really all about the pizza. You can spend up to $35 on a deep-dish pizza at Geno's. Hey, it is that good!

Several of the carmakers pitch in to underwrite the after-dinner party. This year it was at Reggie's Rock Club. It features two rooms with stages where bands perform throughout the night. The music was nothing short of awesome. A hardcore group of us continued the evening at the hotel bar until they turned off the lights. “You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here....”

Rocking at the after party.

For the media, Friday morning is specifically geared toward social media. Although many of us Tweet, Instagram and Facebook throughout the show, Friday mornings target people who do nothing else but keep one another up to date on their comings and goings through various social-media platforms. The rest of us basically take the opportunity to catch up on photos we missed the previous day, wander around shooting the breeze with carmaker PR types and hanging around the media lounge debating about which shuttle we will take to the airport. 

I was in Chicago for a total of six meals. Two of these were breakfast. I ate pizza three times. My doctor would not be pleased, but, it's Chicago! What do you expect me to eat? I love this show!

A Little Keys Soul in the All-New Buick Cascada Convertible

I'm not the kind of guy who whines about taking a break from a workation to, well, do a little work. So, when Buick offered me a berth on its Cascada event in Key West, I dropped my paint roller, repacked my bag and headed to the Ft. Lauderdale airport.

I try to pick up a house-painting gig or two in Florida after the holidays each year. I like to paint. Most people don't. I pick up a few bucks, enjoy the warm sunshine – although not so much this year – and get to reconnect with Florida friends while freeing someone of the burden of putting a coat of paint on a room or two. It's a win, win, win, win, win.

Buick took a rather novel approach to this early showcasing of its all-new convertible. The four-night event was broken into two waves of two nights each. Buick then divided each wave into two groups of roughly a dozen or so media. On day 1, one group flew into Miami and the other into Key West. Day 2 had the Miami group driving south to Key West and the Key West group driving north to Miami. Both groups lunched together near their drive's midpoint in Islamorada, just north of Marathon. Each group reached its destination in time for dinner and a good night's sleep before flying home.

You can't go to the Keys without enjoying a sunset or two.

For the uninitiated, there isn't much in the way of steering required on most of this 170-mile slog. It's a straight line along US 1 for 125 miles from Key West to Florida City before picking up the Florida Turnpike extension for the final 50 miles or so to Miami's South Beach. You make more steering adjustments traveling through a car wash. Urban sprawl occupies much of the US 1 landscape. “Oh, look, another T-shirt shop!” The monotony of the string of bars, sea-shell shops and restaurants is periodically interrupted for some drop-dead gorgeous sights like the Seven Mile Bridge.

Believe me, hauling butt through the keys in a convertible is not a bad way to spend a January afternoon. Sometimes I love being me. I was lucky to be on the wave with decent weather. The wave earlier in the week had to choose between rolling with the top up and being toasty warm, or dropping the top and dressing like they were on their way to scale Mt. Everest. My wave had sun and temps in the high 60s.

Cascada (pronounced CASS-cah-dah) is Buick's first convertible in 25 years. It was well worth the wait. Amply insulated the top screens out most outside noise when in place. Raising or lowering it requires just the push of a button and 17 seconds-- a process that can be accomplished when the car is in motion at speeds up to 31 mph.

A head turner, Cascada is handsomely styled. At a mid-morning stop at Sombrero Beach near Marathon, our eight or ten cars were mobbed by passersby. Before we knew it, we were opening hoods, trunks and doors to give everyone a better look. A pair rode up on bicycles and each snapped the other's picture while sitting behind the wheel of my Buick.

Buick's intent was to build a halo car capable of attracting shoppers to Buick showrooms. Mission accomplished. Even at the reasonable starting price of $33,990, Buick doesn't expect Cascada to be a huge seller; but it will put the brand on people's radar. Buick created a humorous 3-minute video (Check it out here.) with “Bridesmaids” star Ellie Kemper that represents the way it expects this soft top to bring shoppers to the brand.

Buyers won't need to waste a lot of time dithering over content choices. There are only two grades: the entry-level “Standard” and the upscale $36,990 “Premium.” Basically, a few added safety technologies, like forward-collision alert, lane-departure warning, front/rear park assist and rain-sensing wipers separate the two trims. There are also differences in their 20-inch wheels. Even in its Standard trim, this car is loaded with content, such as high-intensity discharge headlamps that follow the direction of the wheels, leather seating, a seven-inch color touchscreen, Bluetooth, Siri Eyes Free, navigation system, Wi-Fi hotspot, remote start and dual-zone climate control.

Designed and engineered from the ground up as a convertible, Cascada has plenty of reinforced framing built in. It feels firm and stable over the road. A 200-horsepower 1.6-liter turbocharged four-cylinder engine flows power to the front wheels through a six-speed automatic transmission. This isn't a sports car by any stretch of the imagination, but it is responsive and nimble.

Surprisingly roomy for a smaller convertible, the interior comfortably holds four adults. A unique power-sliding front-seat system moves the front buckets forward for easy backseat access. Sensors in the seat backs recognize the position of the rear-seat passenger's knees, automatically stopping a half inch or so from them when the front seats return to their original position.

Buick hosted us at the Casa Marina in Key West. This was the winter home of Henry Flagler, whose railroad basically put South Florida on the map. Situated about 15 blocks from Mallory Square, getting from the hotel to the action on Duval Street requires some mode of transportation. But once there, be prepared to party.

A squad of seagulls preparing to buzz diners at the beach-side tables.

Casa Marina has no shortage of personality. During my beach-side lunch at the hotel, various birds mounted a two-pronged offensive. Roosters wandered around my feet as seagulls – rats with wings – buzz bombed my table. A gull's wing actually smacked my head at one point. My fish and chips was delicious, but there was a bit too much ambiance for my taste.

On the other end of the drive, Buick put us up at The Edition Miami Beach on South Beach's Collins Avenue. It's fairly typical of South Beach hotels: lots of white paint and furniture. For dinner, Buick spirited us off site to Milo's where I had a terrific steak.

If there is a nit to pick with this car, it's its name. It's one of those names that isn't pronounced as it looks. Figuring Buick had to have a reason to pick something that doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, I had to Bing its meaning: “waterfall” in Spanish. They probably told us the meaning and the reason it was chosen at the formal presentation, but I was concentrating so hard on writing out the phonetic spelling, so I could say it with some degree of accuracy, I missed whatever explanation was offered.

There is no question in my mind that Cascada will make its mark within the Buick lineup. Convertible choices are limited, and this one should get its fair share of that market. I'd be happy to drive it between Key West and South Beach any time.

Winter Blahs: I Ain't Got 'Em

I'm not the kind of guy who slips into a winter funk. I guess I just don't have time for that nonsense. Well, and I don't really deal with winter, and haven't for more than 30 years.

Every year after the Christmas holidays there are always stories about people who, looking forward and not seeing another real holiday until May's Memorial Day, are consumed with despair. Slogging through snow and ice as your nose goes numb only adds to the melancholy.

According to a Gallop Poll, in 2014, 70% of people hated their jobs. Man, if you've got to deal with winter weather to get to a job – if you are one of the ones fortunate enough to have a job – that you abhor, you probably define misery.

I made a promise to myself decades ago that I would never live north of the Mason-Dixon line again. And I haven't. My family moved from Ohio to Wheeling, WVa when I was the tender age of 10. Although I would move to another 11 cities in 9 different states before coming to rest in Greenville, SC forty years later, they were all located in the South and Southwest. Sure, other then the 25-plus years I spent in South Florida, and the 3 years I lived in West Texas and New Mexico, I resided in places that get cold and even have an occasional snow. Most winters, we have three to six inches in Greenville. But here's the kicker: Most winter-afternoon temperatures sneak into the 50s and the sky is sunny four out of five days. 

Nope. Winter weather has little impact on my attitude.

And as for my job....what job? Sure, this is a two-edge sword. While I don't make any money that I can count on, my time is pretty much my own. Rather than day dreaming in a stuffy cubicle in an office somewhere, I am sitting in my home office in my sweats typing this lame attempt at some prose. Would I rather be making money? You bet, but I do what I want when I want and I get weekends off. Sweet!

So, although my job – such as it is – may be found lacking in several areas, such as generating an actual income, it certainly doesn't inspire hate. I'm mean, really? Later this month I fly to Key West to drive the all-new Buick Cascada convertible and then head to the California coast to test out the redesigned Nissan Sentra. Woe is me; my life sucks.

To those laboring under the gloomy skies of the winter blahs, I'd like to say, I share your pain; but, of course, I don't. I may not have any money, but I am pretty damn pleased with myself.

It's a New Day, Not a New Year

I'm not the kind of guy who gets all sappy over a new year. Perhaps it's because I've seen so many of them that the bloom is off the rose, so to speak. I don't make resolutions or wax on poetically about how great or bad or sad or meaningful the past year was. After all, a year is just time: 12 months, 52 weeks, 356 days, 8,760 hours, 525,600 minutes and 31,536,000 seconds. Tic-toc, tic-toc.....

Some years are more fun than others. Some more prosperous. Some more tragic. Some just plain tougher. But, it's almost always a mixed bag of some or all of the above.

Do I always hope for the new year to be better than the last? Sure. But because I have no one through whom to live vicariously as I get older – kids, grand kids and so forth – as I age, each successive year is pretty much as the last only I have fewer things to do, fewer people to share them with and less money to finance them.

In truth, if it wasn't for my career – winding down though it may be – as a freelance journalist that spirits me off to various locations two or three times a month, I'd be in a rut so deep I couldn't see over its top.

The consequence of all of this is that I don't get particularly revved up about New Year's Eve/Day. Yes, it's another year; but anyone who thinks it's a monumental fresh start of some sort, is kidding themselves. It's a turn of a page only to the extent that time marches on. There is no real magic in it. Days are equal-opportunity time frames. Every day is a new day offering a similar clean slate on which to improve your self and your lot in life. January 1^st is no different.

I don't bother with New Year resolutions. Yes, I am captain of my own ship, but I have no control over the waters through which I sail. I can't calm the sea or raise the wind. Many people use the New Year as an annual opportunity for self reflection and that self reflection as a precursor to a pledge of self improvement over the course of the next year: I will lose weight, I will save more, I will be more kind and on and on. That's fine in my book, but time is funny. Most of us are procrastinators to some degree. This works against any intention to make a change over a time span as great as 31,536,000 seconds. These intentions – as good or noble as they may be – tend to get lost over the course of a year.

Nope, changing one's behavior is a day-to-day struggle, requiring a re-commitment every day. Framing change over the course of a year provides an out from fighting the good fight every day. There is always tomorrow, right? Each year has 364 tomorrows. Today is one, in fact.

I've found that enforcing a change in oneself is a battle that must be waged each and every day. Tomorrow is for losers.

On that note: Not Happy New Year, but happy new day!

A Car Guy's Dream Odyssey: An Epic Drive from Dallas to Albuquerque in the 2016 Camaro SS

I'm not the kind of guy who turns his nose up at the opportunity for a two-day drive simply because I've made the same trip a few times in the past. That the trip in question wound up in Albuquerque, where I find myself at least twice a year visiting family, doesn't mean I shouldn't go, should it? I mean, it's not the destination; it's the journey, right? Right.

That's even more the case when Chevrolet hands over keys to its redesigned 2016 Camaro SS to make this 650-mile jaunt. Yes, sign me up, please.

It was all part of Chevy's “Find New Roads” cross-country media drive. The way it worked was Chevy planned routes from the Atlantic to the Pacific coasts. Included cities actually were scattered all over the place. To cover so much geography, Chevy established two distinct routes broken into 500- to 700-mile segments, Chevy invited motoring media to choose a leg to drive. There were 8 to 10 Camaros and their media drivers per segment.

I know it's hard to imagine, but Chevy didn't invite me on this epic event. Nope. I suspect I don't tweet or Instagram enough to rate a seat on such a historic drive. In today's social-media-driven marketing world, most carmakers don't have much use for media types who can string together complete sentences. I'm pretty much over it. Despite Chevy passing me over – no doubt for someone who can't drive a manual transmission – I managed to finagle my way on to the event.

Chevy offered actual invitees the opportunity to bring along a significant other or a photographer. My craft-beer buddy Keith Griffin, who did score an invite, offered me the right-hand seat in his Camaro. I think it was as his photographer; at least I hope it was. We will keep it on the down low that I drove about half our segment.

After flying us into Dallas, Chevy gave each Camaro in our group 36 hours to complete the trip to Albuquerque. Chevy provided each driver with a prepaid Visa card for gas and incidentals like snacks and meals. Each Camaro was equipped with OnStar, which we used to guide us from one point to the next, as well as as our concierge to book our hotel rooms for the night with a Chevy credit card.

To spice things up, Chevy also concocted a contest: a scavenger hunt of sorts. Points were awarded for engaging in all manner of social-media posts on various social-media sites, as well as visiting specified sites along the way. Huge point awards were tied to going a little out of the way to include states not really on the route. One goal of the event was to include all 50 states. Racking up at least 1,000 miles on the odo also garnered a big point award.

Chevy treated us to dinner with assorted engineers and Camaro wonks at our hotel near the Dallas-Fort Worth airport on our arrival night. Eager to finally get behind the wheel, our 7:30 breakfast the next morning was the only thing standing in our way. We were on the road by 8:30.

Who wouldn't be eager to test the mettle of this land-locked jet fighter? Generating 455 horsepower, as well as 455 lb-ft of asphalt chomping torque, the Camaro SS's 6.2-liter V8 employs either a six-speed manual or eight-speed automatic transmission to turn the rear wheels. From a standstill, the automatic-equipped Camaro SS with its steering wheel-mounted shift paddles slingshots to 60 miles per hour in a scorching 4.0 seconds! Our red Camaro SS had the automatic. The zero-to-60 time is by Chevy's stopwatch, but I don't doubt it for a second. 

What dazzled us right out of the chute was just how quiet and well mannered this coupe is. Working our way along congested freeways and a surface road or two in our Dallas – well, actually our Grapevine – escape, this Camaro was remarkably driveable. Chevy engineers managed to make the chassis 28% stiffer and more than 220 pounds lighter than the 2015 Camaro. This not only contributes to the car's quietness, but enhances handling and fuel economy, too. The government estimates that with the 6.2L and automatic tranny, the Camaro will deliver 17 mpg city, 28 mpg highway and 20 mpg combined. We found this pretty accurate by our coupe's trip computer.

Although they won't accelerate off the line as the Camaro SS does, there will also be versions with a 275-horsepower 2-liter turbo four-cylinder and a 335-horsepower 3.6-liter V6.

Sure, the big story – at least for serious car guys – about Camaro SS is its performance and acceleration, but Chevy has upped the ante inside as well. Packed with all manner of connectivity technology – an available eight-inch color touchscreen dominates the dashboard's center, while a standard eight-inch monitor fills the center on the instrument cluster – the cabin is amazingly comfortable. Interrupted by lunch, a couple of fuel stops, a pit stop or two for personal biological imperatives, and a couple more stops at scavenger-hunt sites, we spent a solid nine hours on day one in the Camaro's highly supportive seats. My age is north of 60, and I was no more fatigued than had we only driven across Dallas.

Keith and I had explored various routes we might take to Albuquerque both in e-mails and face-to-face discussions at the Miami Auto Show a few days prior to landing in Texas. Having dated a Dallas lady for a couple of years, I made the drive between Dallas and family in Albuquerque several times. I knew there wasn't much to see or do along the direct route that would take us on Route 287 through Wichita Falls and on up to Amarillo where we would pick up I-40 for a direct shot into the Duke City.

We really didn't have much time to mess around taking a more southern route. Keith had an early afternoon flight out of Albuquerque the next day. Whatever we were going to do, we had to do by noon. A week or so before the event Chevy provided a list of a few interesting things to see and do scattered around the area between our starting and stopping points. These also wound up being point earners on the scavenger hunt. Only two of them were really doable for us in our gallop along the roads we planned to use. I suggested we also stop at the Big Texan near Amarillo for lunch. Not that either of us were going to accept the 72-oz-steak challenge, but I had never been and thought it would be fun.

Much of what little preplaning we had done went out the window once Chevy announced the rules of the scavenger hunt at the first-night's dinner. Calling an audible, team-captain Keith decided we should sweep directly north, picking up I-40 in Oklahoma to earn the 350 bonus points that state represented. In for a penny in for a pound, I suggested we might as well cannonball all the way up to Colorado and pick up that state's 350 points, too. We could then drop due south into Santa Fe on I-25.

Game on! Taking a short detour to snap a photo of the Camaro in front of the Texas Motor Speedway sign in Fort Worth, we blasted up Rt 287, picking up Rt 81 in Bowie. We grabbed I-40 just west of Oklahoma City and zero'd in on Amarillo. The Big Texan was still our lunch target. 

Somewhere in Oklahoma we stopped for a leg stretch and some gas. Keith used his Chevy-issued card to pay for the fuel and a few snacks. That was the last we saw of the card. Lost like last year's Easter Egg, it was not to be found. Somewhere between swiping the card in Oklahoma and sitting down for lunch in Amarillo, the card mysteriously disappeared. At that point I was very happy playing Gilligan to Keith's captain of our team. What me worry? Hell, Chevy barely knows I'm here. 

We arrived at the Big Texan about 1:30 and chowed down on some barbecue. We burned roughly an hour eating and meandering around the restaurant, sections of which look like your grandfather's garage. Man, there's some uber weird stuff in there.

Reinvigorated, we mounted up and headed to our first official scavenger-hunt site: the Cadillac Ranch. A popular tourist spot, it's the Cadillac Stonehenge of West Texas consisting of a line of 10 Caddys of assorted years buried snout down. Once upon a time, you could actually identify the cars at which you were gazing. Today, they are barely recognizable hulks covered with graffiti. But costing us only about 30 minutes of travel time, it was worth 100 scavenger-hunt points.

The Cadillac Ranch: much ado about nothing.

With the posted speed limit along most of I-40 at 75 miles per hour, we felt 80 to 85 a reasonable pace. Contacting our new-found buddies at OnStar, we were directed north on Rt 385, through Dalhart and then onto Rt 87, where we clipped the northeast corner of New Mexico before rolling into Colorado on I-25.

Rt 385 and Rt 87 in Texas seem to have been laid out, paved and then forgotten by the locals. There was literally no other traffic on long stretches of these two-lane highways. It felt like we were on the raggedy edge of civilization. I fully expected some sort of cobbled-together Mad Max vehicle with zombie-like apocalypse survivors hanging all over it to come flying over a rise in an attempt to hijack us. I was driving this portion of our trip. We would crest a small rise and could see five or six miles ahead to the next small rise. No traffic. No Officer Friendlies. No reason not to air things out a little.

I won't go into detail, but suffice to say, the Camaro is stable and smooth as silk even at higher speeds. It was as much fun as I've ever had driving car.

Driving roughly 10 miles into Colorado, we took an exit and pulled over to snap a photo. Unfortunately, the sun had set 90 minutes earlier. What we got were photos of the Camaro's headlights. We would have to trust Chevy's GPS check of our car to verify our breaching the Colorado border.

Turning the reins back over to my partner for the sprint back down I-25 to Santa Fe, I busied myself with waking up the folks at OnStar to book rooms for the night. Because it was already nearly7:00, and we had at least a two-plus-hour slog to Santa Fe, we decided to overnight there. We had yet to eat dinner and lunch was already about 250 miles in our rearview mirror.

Like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, the dining room at La Fonda.

 Each time we contacted OnStar, the agent we spoke with was well aware who were were and what we were doing. I suspected that Chevy issued parameters regarding the types of hotels the agents could book us. When I told the agent we needed two Santa Fe hotel rooms near the Plaza, he began rattling off names like Four Seasons and La Fonda on the Plaza. Always wanting to stay at La Fonda, we booked there. Our agent offered to provide directions, but instead I asked for directions to the one scavenger-hunt location in Santa Fe: the Palace of the Governors. We figured as long as we were nearby, we might as well pick up its 100 points.

We parked within what we calculated to be walking distance and set out looking for this historic site. Expecting some sort of actual mansion, we walked by the thing twice before realizing what looked all too much like a store front was the Palace of the Governors. From the outside, it could have had “Better Call Saul” stenciled on the door. We snapped a couple of photos and walked back to the car.

Yep, it's the historic Palace of the Governors.

Contacting OnStar, we reached the same agent who had booked our rooms. When I asked for directions to the hotel, we could almost hear him sigh as he directed us a block up the street. Yep, we were on the Plaza and didn't realize it. Our hotel was easily visible from the Palace of the Governors. Quite the brain trust in our little team.

Our Camaro's trip odometer turned over exactly 800.00 miles as we pulled into a parking space in the hotel's garage at about 9:30. Thankfully the hotel's restaurant was still open and served up some wonderful Santa Fe Nut Brown Ale. We were both ready for a beer!

We didn't have to turn in our Camaro until 4 p.m. the following day. With Keith's early flight and our determination to clock another 200 miles to reach 1,000, we decided I would drop off Keith at the airport myself and then return the car to save some time and rack up more miles. We did hit the 1,000-mile mark.

Pulling into the designated spot to drop off the car in downtown Albuquerque, I hung out for an hour or so chatting up some of the Chevy PR folks as I waited for my niece and her daughter to pick me up. I spent a few days in Albuquerque for some R&R and to attend a family wedding.

I can't think of a better way to become acquainted with the redesigned Camaro SS than this little adventure. What a rush!

A Nav-System Experience from Hell or Rush Hour in Atlanta

I'm not the kind of guy who expects everything to work perfectly all the time. I have more than enough – actually way more than enough – experience in my rearview mirror to appreciate that little glitches arise from time to time that simply defy logic or explanation. I have also been around long enough to realize there is little to be gained – other than scrubbing a few minutes, hours or days from my life expectancy – by going ballistic when things happen over which I have no control.

However, I am my father's son; so, I am hard wired to go ballistic at the drop of a hat. I must confess that once in a while a cock-eyed situation gets the better of me, and I do lose it. Doc Budelmann tells me that this isn't good for my blood pressure, nor my health in general. I sort of figured that, but a paid medical professional confirming it, has done much to boost my caution level to Defcon 4. Consequently, I try very hard to keep my temper in check. (If I could, I'd insert a smiley-face emogi here.)

Here's the news flash: I am only human! No matter how destructive I know losing my temper to be, sometimes the situation simply overwhelms my impulse control and the spittle flies. I had such an encounter Thursday as I slugged my way through Atlanta's rush-hour traffic in an heroic attempt to join the fun at the Greater Atlanta Automotive Media Association's (GAAMA) Christmas party. Well, they've taken to calling it their “year end” party, but that's another rant for another time.

Over the years I have attended three or four of these GAAMA holiday galas, but I hadn't made the past couple. It's a two-plus-hour slog to and from downtown Atlanta from sleepy little Greenville, SC. Although I have become somewhat of an expert traveling this route thanks to my countless trips to Atlanta's airport, driving home at 10:00 or 11:00 at night is not my idea of fun. Of course, I'm way too cheap to spring for a $150 hotel room. Discretion being the better part of valor, I just skip the party.

This year, though, Nissan offered to pick up my hotel room. Bless its heart! Because of Nissan's largesse, I decided to break with recent tradition and put in an appearance.

My plan included driving directly to the Marriott Courtyard Cumberland Galleria and checking in before heading to the party roughly 10 miles away. I calculated that leaving my house around 2:00 would get me to the hotel well before 5:00, avoiding the worst of Atlanta rush hour. Sometimes I crack myself up.

I was hip deep in my upstairs remodeling project when I realized it was already nearly 2:00. I dropped what I was doing, hopped into the shower, dressed, threw my suitcase into the GMC Sierra 1500 that I am driving this week and managed to pull out of my driveway about 2:30. Already 30 minutes behind my self-imposed schedule, I breathed deeply two or three times and retained my calm.

To help pass the time on this drive, I've sort of broken it up into more palatable segments. It's 46 miles to the Georgia state line, another 25 miles to the Commerce, GA exit with its huge outlet mall, and then another 30 or so miles to the Buford exit: the point where I-85 spreads out from 8 lanes to 12 lanes for the final 10-mile sprint to Atlanta's I-285 outer belt.

About 10 miles before the Buford exit, traffic on my side of I-85 came to a near standstill. Clearly there was an accident somewhere ahead. Still doing its job quite adequately at this point, the GMC's nav system had been warning me of the traffic delay for about 50 miles, offering an alternative route. I ignored the warnings, figuring whatever the issue, it would be cleared by the time I arrived there. Not so much.

Finally heeding the nav's advice, I took the next exit, followed the nav's 10-mile detour and returned to I-85 a couple of miles from the Buford exit. I calculated that between the stalled traffic, and the over-the-river-and-through-the-woods detour, I lost about 45 minutes. Suddenly my strategy to beat the heaviest rush-hour traffic – Atlanta's rush hour typically spans 6 a.m. to 8 p.m., but the worst is just before and just after work – had been dashed. Thankfully, I was going against the flow of commuters fleeing downtown and traffic wasn't too bad.

Still only about 4:45, I was optimistic I would arrive at the hotel in plenty of time to check in and meander at a leisurely pace to the party with its 7 p.m. start time. I pressed on.

There is a certain amount of mea culpa in what happened next because I didn't fully research the location of the hotel nor the party. I had no clue where either was located in terms of greater Atlanta or their proximity to I-85 or I-285. Silly me, I trusted the nav system to guide me to my destinations. What I know now that I didn't know then is that the hotel is located almost at the intersection of I-75 and I-285. All but about 3 miles of my journey should have been freeway miles.

What happened next will go down in the annals of the greatest effed-up nav-system snafus. For whatever reason, the nav system decided to direct me off of I-85 about eight miles short of I-285. I followed its prompts and found myself on a frontage road of sorts that eventually turned into two lanes, winding through an industrial park. Now I'm in the thick of rush hour, and traffic is moving at a snail's pace on virtually every surface road in Atlanta.

At one point the street I was on crossed Pleasantdale Road. I glanced to the left and saw an entrance to I-85 S that I had been on earlier. The nav system guided me another mile or so then commanded a left-hand turn. It took me under I-85 where it had me turn left onto a frontage road along northbound I-85. I followed its directions back to Pleasantdale Road where it had me turn left again, cross over I-85 before taking another left onto the I-85 S entrance ramp. What? It was as though someone had poured a gallon of Old Grandad into the fuel tank. This nav system was like a drunken sailor. It had no clue where it was or where I needed to go. I had just lost another 30 or 40 minutes leaving I-85, running on a crowded surface street parallel to I-85 and then reacquiring I-85 10 miles later. I was still several miles short of I-285.

Reaching I-285, I was directed to take it West. A glance at the digital clock revealed it was now 5:45. My 2-hour trip was at more than 3 hours and the nav system was showing me still 20 miles from the hotel. About five miles into my I-285 stint, the nav unit's voice command told me exit the freeway onto Rt. 141, which also happens to be one of the myriad of Peachtree streets, lanes, boulevards, avenues and courts scattered around Atlanta proper.

As the digital clock ticked past 6:15 and the nav system had me making assorted left and right turns through the surface-street congestion – a couple of times the nav touchscreen actually showed the mileage to my destination increasing – I finally had had enough. I suspected my blood pressure was somewhere in the neighborhood of 220 over 195. The palm of my right hand ached from smacking the steering wheel. I was ready to bitch slap a nun!

With the party scheduled to begin at 7:00 and the mileage to the hotel an estimated 10 miles, I decided to wait post-party to find the hotel. I pulled over, entered the address to the party location, which actually was now behind me, and drove directly there. Apparently the GMC's nav unit was better equipped to find that address than that of the hotel because it directed me there without incident.

It was now 6:30 and I had been on the road for 4 hours. I felt like the passengers on the USS Minnow that left for a 3-hour tour and wound up stranded on a desert island. Ticked off? Oh, you bet.

Yes, sometimes I lose a little control; but I think in this instance, it was justified.

Also, I think you would find me hanged in my cubicle if I had to face driving through Atlanta traffic after work every day. Life is way too short for that nonsense.

My Steelers Face Uphill Struggle Through Balance of the Season

Wilson made mincemeat of the league's 28th-ranked pass defense.

I'm not the kind of guy to throw up my hands and give up on a team that still has a shot at a Wild Card spot in this year's NFL playoffs, but what in the wide, wide world of sports is going on with the Steelers?

Never has so much talent been used to so little effect.

Last week's game against the Seahawks in Seattle was as frustrating a thing to watch as any Steelers fan has had to endure. The horrendous officiating – are there no officiating standards in the NFL? – and Tomlin's failed crazy fake-field-goal call early in the game notwithstanding, the Steelers managed to look terrible on offense in spite of Big Ben tossing for 456 yards. Ben, though, is not without blame; he also managed to throw two interceptions that Seattle converted into points. Oh, and despite only being on the field for a few plays, back-up QB Landry Jones matched Ben's interception count.

The only bright spot in last week's failed offensive effort was Markus Wheaton with over 200 receiving yards. In Seattle, Steelers suffered from the same shortcoming that has haunted them for the past couple of seasons: They can't turn Red Zone penetrations into touchdowns. The offense is hell on wheels getting into the Red Zone, but drives all too often sputter out inside the 10-yard line and sometimes within the 5-yard line. Settling for three rather than seven has become the norm. 

On to the defense. There is a good reason why the Steelers are ranked 28^th in pass defense: They can't defend against the pass. What a train wreck the secondary is. Seattle QB Wilson threw with impunity last Sunday. His five touchdown tosses accounted for nearly all of Seattle's points. It was an embarrassing defensive performance.

So now what?

Steelers need an epiphany equal to Saul's on the road to Damascus to turn this season around. Basically they must run the table through the balance of the season to ensure a Wild Card spot in the playoffs. A second meeting with the Browns is the only gimme left this season. The Colts, Bengals, Broncos and Ravens make up the rest of the schedule. It will be an uphill struggle for a team that has run hot and cold through most of its games.