The Rake Magazine

I never thought it would happen.

Chevrolet has made a car that people like you will want.

..Want like that song you sing to yourself in those private automotive moments when you hope no one is watching.

..Want like that Barbie you think about and hope is sentiment you pray no one will share. (Especially not Elliot as he can afford it, or so he thinks).

I am talking about the new Chevrolet Malibu. It drives better than Saturn Aura and is more comfortable than a Camry. It also shares interior appointments with other "high-content" GM stablemates like Cadillac.

You don't need pictures.

Just think of what it will mean to get your hands on Barbie.

At last.

(I am thinking like the Guv' Pig of New York today, My apologies.)

Look, I deeply understand that trenchant matters of importance are upon us. Hillary is imploding, the silver haired wren is the latest casualty of climate change (speaking as an amateur orthonologist, it matters), sticky sidewalks in downtown Minneapolis are about to be re-introduced due to the flaccid governance of a weak Mayor system in spite of the fervor of one Raymond Thomas.

And yet.

From my little corner of the online world, I keep getting comments from suburban daughters protesting what they consider a creepy commentary on an Edina female sending her kids off to "camp."

While the page views are not about to unseat the Chocolate Rapper or Austin Hall's hands any time soon, the personal attacks on me have crossed from online to the check-out line at Lunds. I was cornered by a soccer mom last night as I discussed cars with the check-out dude and started talking about the Road Rake. Apparently, her daugther and a friend have been dissing my exposure of a Ferrari-clad mom in the lobby of Colonial Church last summer.

Note the derision in the daughter's voice:

"yah so what she wears a ferrari jacket.... OMG thats outrageous who cares like you took the time out of your day to make some video about some lady for edina... what i want to know is why are you looking at this womens chest reading her shirts when you are sending your kids off to camp who cares what shes wearing say goodbye to your kid and then go you think your kid is proud that you spend your time making jealous videos..."

The Road Rake will not stoop to answer a coddled cake-eater at YouTube.

On the other hand, I would like to point out to my blog readers that the chest footage has nothing to do with my observation that a woman, wearing a Ferarri jacket, who sends her kids off to a three-day "camp" with care packages the size of a Marshall Plan drop probably could not tell a real car from real kid.

George Marshall (pictured) could.

(Pictured: The tiny "Ursaab" 92001 which reminds me of a small plane stepped on by an elephant.)

I give to you, again, a post from Kurt Nelson, skier, writer, road pilot, with a few thoughts on automotive flight:

Born from Jets: You have all seen the advertising for Saab, touting their long heritage in aeronautics and airplane history. Well, this is not really a jet story, but it does involve a Saab leaving the ground, so I guess Born from Jets is accurate. Saab was started as an aeronautics company, and in the mid 1940s a group of their engineers decided to build a car, which resulted in the Saab 92001 or “Ursaab” and the rest is history.

(Pictured: A jet fighter plane in the SAAB Museum, and we all thought Swedes were pacifists.)

I have had the happy occasion of getting my Saab off the ground a number of times over the years, but it was the first time that evokes such good memories and makes me continue to look for places to launch.

A few years ago, my wife and I bought some property in Northwest Wisconsin, a very rural area, with great roads, ribbons of blacktop that stretch for miles and undulate with the local terrain, over peat bogs and thru white pine forests. Where most people just see a road to their cabin, I see roads that beckon for me to put my car to the test. It is in that spirit that this story comes.

Driving alone one morning to go for a mountain bike ride, I went past our normal access road, looking for another entry into the forest. The road had a large dip, one with a steep upside and a flat entry or landing depending on your point of view. My immediate thought was, hey, I could probably get my car off the ground if I try; and being one who likes to try, I gave it a shot.

I turned around and started into the approach again, but with a little more urgency, in fact I was giving it thru 3 gears, up to about 80mph, I rode up the steep side, and launched at the apex, now this was not 3 feet off the ground, more like all 4 wheels left the pavement for a time, I landed softly, but In my usual doubting way I thought, did I really leave terra firma, or was this just hopeful thinking. I turned around and tried it again. This time I hit the steep side at 90, and this time I heard the wheels spinning and engine revving as I left the pavement, so I knew that I had succeeded in getting weightless albeit for a brief instant.

A couple of weeks later my wife and I were going to spend the day at the property hiking and maybe a mountain bike ride, with a picnic. Knowing full well that I was going to let her in on the fun. I approached the dip, and rather than tell her what was going to happen I just got on the go peddle, getting the tires to chirp in 3 gears. We hit the dip at 90, and launched, all the while she was laughing with child like joy, and enthusiasm.

Not only did we get off the ground, we did it twice so I could hear that laughter again. how you approach it, and for me and my car born from jets, getting in the air is an appropriate nod to heritage.