Get a car, get a horse…but mainly, get a life
My favorite plot of land in the world is a five-acre chunk of the hilltop on Lakewood Road, a couple miles up the North Shore of Lake Superior from Duluth. When IÂ’m test-driving a new car, I am always surprised how much the engine has to work to climb the long, gradual hill, which rises so abruptly to the top that it makes the earlier slope seem level. Equally amazing is how easy it is to sail back down, with that rapidly approaching vista of the big lake ahead.
I always drive down the full two miles without touching the gas pedal, just to prove that things will keep rolling, faster and faster, until I have to get on the brakes to stop for the Interstate 35. IÂ’m sure we could keep going until we ended with a splash. On the long haul up, however, you either get a good run or you need to downshift a manual transmission, while a carÂ’s automatic transmission downshifts itself to improve its torque for the deceptively steep finishing rise.
In the whirlwind world of automotive test drives, the benefits of spending a week at a time with the worldÂ’s newest and flashiest cars are obvious. Sometimes you have to affect an attitude befitting the car youÂ’re driving, if itÂ’s a Porsche, for example. Or a Cadillac, or Lexus, or BMW, when you might hesitate to climb out if youÂ’re wearing your scruffiest jeans. But whether I drive a $12,000 subcompact or a $100,000 luxury sedan or sports car, itÂ’s easy to stay humble, because IÂ’ve never forgotten how my fascination with cars began.
On my fifth birthday, my family moved from downtown Duluth to an old house on that Lakewood Road hilltop. We had a spectacular view of Lake Superior to the south and east through a heavily wooded five-acre plot. My dad was disabled with a lung removed from working in the steel plants during World War II, and my mom worked to buy groceries, first at the animal hospital owned by her veterinarian brother, Jack McKay, and later at St. LukeÂ’s Hospital, where my dad died when I was in high school.
My sister, Patt, and I grew up on that hilltop, although we had far different likes and dislikes, and far different opinions. Her opinions usually prevailed, because she was a couple of years older than I, and along with being more impulsive and extroverted, she also was bigger and stronger, and didnÂ’t hesitate to demonstrate the benefits of her physical advantage in disputes with her more introspective twerp of a brother.
Among our disagreements was Lake Superior, which I always felt a kinship with, needing frequent visits to this day, as if it were a family member. Patt didn’t need it and ultimately bought property on a flat piece of land in Esko, well out of view – and chill – of the big lake.
As a young kid, I was fascinated by all shape, size and manner of cars, and wanted to learn how to drive them more than how to fix their engines. Patt, meanwhile, had little time for cars because she was equally fascinated with horses. She got a horse when she was a teenager, and she named it Copper Khan Prince. Pretty lofty name for a nice-looking horse, one that befouled our five acres with attempts to fertilize a lawn I thought better suited for the one-kid baseball or football games I had invented.
By age 10, I could name every baseball batting order in both the National and American Leagues, and also every car, at a glance. We owned a green 1946 Dodge, which had replaced a grayish-white 1941 Plymouth as the family car. Later we got a black, 1951 DeSoto. All of these were well-used when we got them, but fantastic and new to us.
So enamored with cars was I that I would walk out to the road, which was gravel then, and stare down almost the full two miles to the lake. About every half hour or so, a car would appear as a tiny speck, Â’way down the road, and I would fix my gaze on that car, challenging myself to see how close it had to get before I could identify it. I got so I could name that Chevy, or whatever, from almost a mile away.
I used to always suggest that with cars, you only had to “feed†them when you used them, unlike horses, which were slower, messier, and you had to feed them whether you rode them or not. My sister scoffed, and probably smacked me if it suited her, and she went off riding her horse, while I never did, and never asked to.
What I did do, from age 10 or 11 on, was play summer baseball in the Lakeside area of Duluth. Usually, my mom would drop me off at 7 a.m. at Portman Square, with a bag lunch, as she went to work at the hospital, and sheÂ’d pick me up at 5:30 p.m. on her way home. Once in a while, after IÂ’d reached age 12, IÂ’d ride my bicycle the six miles to the playground instead.
The first two miles were fantastic, because I could make that Schwinn fly down the Lakewood hill. I could coast so fast that I was afraid to pedal because any more speed and IÂ’d be out of control. If only IÂ’d had a speedometer. It was more work riding in on the Old North Shore road, but not bad. Coming back home, however, was another matter. When IÂ’d first turn up the Lakewood Road, the first hill was so steep IÂ’d have to get off the bike and push it. Then I could ride for most of a mile. But then came that long, slow-sloping hill that was simply impossible to scale, and IÂ’d end up straining with every muscle, standing up in the pedals and pumping until the bike would come to a virtual standstill. Then IÂ’d hop off and push that balloon-tire, non-shifting bike the last half-mile.
On one memorable day when I had ridden my bike to the playground, it started to rain as I started heading homeward. I figured the faster I pedaled, the less wet I would get, which proved faulty when I was drenched after about a block. The raindrops felt like needles hitting my face, but I kept going, pretty miserable by the time I got to the Old North Shore road.
Finally, I got to the Lakewood Road, and as I turned northward, I realized how much more miserable it could get. Alternately pushing and riding the bike, and soaked to the bone, I wondered if I would ever make it as I strained to peek between the raindrops at the road ahead. Then I saw an unusual form approaching. It wasnÂ’t a car, or a motorcycle, or a bike. Unbelievably, it was Patt, riding along on Copper.
I must have looked pathetic, like the original drowned rat, and now, obviously to taunt and torment me, Patt had ridden her horse down to meet me. But she didn’t taunt me. She just dismounted and said “Here,†and thrust the reins into my hand. Then she wrenched the bicycle away from me, jumped on it, and took off, pedaling like crazy, heading up the hill.
I had no choice. I got on the horse, somehow, and I couldnÂ’t believe the luxurious feeling of sitting there, tall in the saddle, hanging onto the reins and wholly content to let Copper walk at a shuffle-stepping pace. I didnÂ’t care how long it was going to take, or that Patt was disappearing into the haze and rain ahead. But Copper did care. His mistress was getting away, so he bolted. I held on for dear life, pulling on the reins with absolutely no effect on his determination to catch up. Suddenly I knew how it must feel to ride in the Kentucky Derby. Or the Belmont, because itÂ’s longer.
We caught Patt, and mercifully Copper agreed to slow to a walk. We walked along the last half-mile together – me on the horse, and Patt pushing the Schwinn. I think that was the first time that I ever thought there was a chance that Patt might actually care about her nuisance of a little brother.
In later years, she raised four kids in her Esko home, and my wife, Joan, and I wound up in the Minneapolis-St. Paul area, where our sons, Jack and Jeff, grew up. We drove to Duluth almost weekly, and on those occasions when we saw Patt, I think she always thought journalists made a lot of money, because of the flashy new cars IÂ’d be driving. She always had her horses, and dogs, and cats, and absolutely no interest in replacing her 11-year-old Toyota pickup with 140,000 miles.
Patt had worked for over 20 years at St. MaryÂ’s Hospital, where she was universally called Patt, with two Ts. Both she and my mom were named Mary, and because my sisterÂ’s middle name was Patterson, after my momÂ’s motherÂ’s maiden name, calling her Patt was the best way to identify the right one.
All of those memories came rushing back to me last Saturday, when I returned to that favorite piece of real estate on top of the hill on Lakewood Road. The road is paved now, and cars come by more frequently, as you look down from the top of the hill. I gazed through the newly budding trees to see the bluer-than-blue lake under the light blue sky, recalling how fast things have flown by, from those childhood days with my dad, my mom, and my big sister.
Now IÂ’m the only one left, because last Saturday was the first day of my life without my big sister.
Mary (Patt) Forest was stolen from this world far, far too early, by a cruel and particularly vicious form of cancer that was never detected until three weeks ago. We don’t know the significance of some new “miracle†drugs she had recently been taking to relieve the rheumatoid arthritis that bothered her, but a couple months ago she came down with symptoms of the flu, with chills and a fever.
The conditions worsened until one of her best friends coaxed her to go back to “her†hospital for a thorough examination. She did that on Monday, May 10th. Blood tests led to more tests, which divulged a shocking and fast-moving cancer that had invaded some of her organs. The doctor said he was astonished at how suddenly the cancer hit, and how extensive it had spread in such a short time. I’d heard that same assessment almost four decades ago, when Paul Forest, Patt’s husband and the love of her life, died before he reached 30, leaving Patt to raise four kids alone.
She was all alone in the hospital two weeks ago, too, when she told the doctor to go ahead with a heavy hit of chemotherapy. It knocked her out, and by the time her son, Len, and daughter, Gail, came from their California homes, and sons John and James, and her little brother and his wife, reached her bedside, she was unable to talk or regain consciousness while her body fought hard.
On May 15, which had always been a festive day when we were kids, PattÂ’s 64th birthday arrived as she lay there. Funny thing about this life: You spend the first 40 years thinking how old 60 is, then you suddenly realize how young 60 is, if youÂ’re healthy. Or even if youÂ’re flat on your back, wheezing on a respirator. On Friday, May 21st, PattÂ’s kids decided to move her to the St. MaryÂ’s hospice unit, where she would get no more medical treatment. Remarkably, she started breathing on her own when removed from the respirator. Just as remarkably, her kidneys showed signs of functioning when taken off dialysis. But only for a few hours. With her four kids at her side that gloomy Friday afternoon, she simply stopped breathing.
Len and his wife, Niki, and Gail, John and James, and Joan and I, are trying to make sense of it all. I keep thinking of the unfairness, that itÂ’s a bad dream, and IÂ’ll wake up to find my big sister able to talk to me, to argue with me, or even to smack me around a little. Patt and I were never as close as we both would have liked. Different lifestyles, different lives. We got closer when my mom died, a year and a half ago, at age 99, and we were both pretty sure weÂ’d live that long, and get closer to each other.
Instead, I am left to drive this weekÂ’s flashy new car down the Lakewood Road hill. If you step on the gas you may not notice how swiftly it will to roll along, but if you donÂ’t touch the gas, you can take a little longer to appreciate how fast you go, even coasting. Just like life itself, I guess. But I will never forget how tough the climb is going the other way, and how sometimes, whether youÂ’re in a neat car, or on a horse, you can give someone a lift by proving how much you care.
(John Gilbert writes weekly auto reviews. He can be reached by e-mail at cars@jwgilbert.com..)
Subaru creates a new, mainstream Legacy for 2005
Subaru has an unusual problem. The Japanese company has carved a definite niche in the U.S. automotive market by making cars known to be utilitarian and quirky, in about equal doses. As useful and flexible as its all-wheel-drive sedans and wagons have been for families concerned about durability and foul-weather performance, they also have been a little weird. Call them stylishly challenged.
For 2005, Subaru’s “problem†is that the new Legacy GT is decidedly NOT weird, quirky or eccentric. Its lines flow smoothly from front to rear, and while driving the cars at the media introduction in the Las Vegas desert region, or during a recent week-long road test, I found the Legacy GT attracted a common reaction. People frequently asked what it was, and when told it was the new Subaru Legacy GT, they expressed surprise. Some said they thought at first it might be a BMW.
Nobody, until now, has ever mentioned Subaru and BMW in the same statement. So having achieved what might be called the automotive mainstream, Subaru must now take its unique assets and prove it can swim in that more-congested mainstream.
Subaru is a subsidiary of Fuji Heavy Industries, and the first Subaru compact and subcompact cars were built road-grader tough, with a primitive ruggedness. The first Legacy came along in 1989, and Subaru attempted to make it more stylish. It evolved, and evolved, but it always was readily identifiable by its corporate quirks.
By stubbornly clinging to a couple of ideas – a flat-opposed “boxer†engine and all-wheel drive – Subaru was out there ahead of the pack in foul-weather performance. Audi also has two decades established in all-wheel drive with its quattro system, but Subaru always provided it at bargain, economy-car prices. The new one does its best to hold that line, and the manufacturer hopes it will rise beyond 90,000 in annual sales.
The current Subaru Legacy continued to do everything a Subaru should, and looked close to mainstream. For 2005, the Legacy GT has shed its cocoon and is downright handsome. Strikingly attractive, its new body has been stretched by nearly two inches in overall length, over a wheelbase that is about an inch longer, at 105.1 inches. The low front grille tapers neatly to the passenger compartment, and while it still has a large hood scoop, it is integrated stylishly into the hood now. The silhouette has a sweeping roofline contour, and the rear has a well-fashioned look that does give it a BMW-ish appearance.
“We lost our way,†said product planner Toshio Masuda, explaining the motive behind the new car. “We asked ourselves, ‘Who are we?Â’ In 1995 we were credited with the worldÂ’s first sport-utility wagon, and weÂ’ve always kept our commitment to symmetric all-wheel drive engineering and value for our customers. For 2005, this model has sensuous performance, intelligent value, and design and quality built in, without making any sacrifice or compromise.Ââ€
The other thing that happened in recent years was the popularity in the U.S. of sport-utility vehicles of all sizes. The huge ones stand alone, but midsize and compact SUVs stress useful roominess and the great attribute of all-wheel drive for foul weather driving. Their popularity has proven that the market came back to where Subaru always has been. All that remained for Subaru to become fully capable of capitalizing was a complete overhaul in the styling department.
With both the sleek four-door sedan and the companion station wagon – which Subaru prefers to call a sport-utility wagon – the fourth-generation Legacy has the all-wheel-drive segment covered, with various levels of power and all-wheel-drive systems available. The revised shape has extremely low coefficient of drag figures, with the sedan 0.28 and the wagon 0.31, thanks to a lowered center of gravity, and optional 17-inch wheels with low-profile tires enhance the GT model’s handling.
Subarus always have been tough, but the new Legacy improves its safety with the stronger body and a design that deflects impacts to the perimeter, with 39 percent of the structure using high-tensile steel protecting the occupants. Resistance to bending is improved 14 percent, torsional rigidity is 5 percent better.
The base 2.5-liter four-cylinder has 168 horsepower and 166 foot-pounds of torque – fully adequate for most everyday family purposes. The Legacy GT adds dual overhead camshafts instead of the single overhead-cam of the base engine, and an intercooled turbocharger boosts horsepower to 250 at 5,600 RPMs, and 250 foot-pounds of torque at 3,600 RPMs.
To get 250 horses out of 2.5 liters, Subaru has deployed all the high-tech tricks, with lighter yet stronger components and variable valve-timing. The stiffer body structure is lightened with selected aluminum body components, such as the hood, and aluminum parts to the refined suspension to help it stick to the road. The Legacy GT stays flat and performs very well, whether on normal roadways, or on the road course at Las Vegas Speedway – where even a rude and overbearing driving instructor’s constant barking failed to inhibit appreciation of the car’s high-speed performance.
The Legacy GT offers both a five-speed manual – a six-speed stick would be even better – or a five-speed automatic transmission. The automatic has a manual control gate for the shift lever, or can be controlled by buttons designed into the custom Momo steering wheel. It is pretty foolproof, too, because if you use the button on the steering wheel to downshift, for example, the system will take over to upshift automatically when you get back to normal cruising, effectively excusing you for being distracted by the volume of the 120-watt audio system.
Engage the sport setting on the automatic and shift points are held to higher RPMs. It is an adaptive system, which detects aggressive driving, downshifting more promptly when you lift off the throttle in hard cornering, where a conventional automatic might upshift and then need to hunt for a better gear when you get back on the gas.
The three all-wheel drive systems have distinctly different features. The base Legacy with a four-speed automatic has an electronically varied transfer clutch that actively controls power distribution to where traction is best for driving conditions.
The Legacy GT has two different systems. With manual transmission, a viscous-coupling method locks the center differential and distributes power 50-50 to front and rear, with slippage at any wheel redistributing the dosage of power to the wheels with better traction. The Legacy GT with automatic has variable torque distribution, a system with a planetary center differential and electronically variable hydraulic clutch to send 55 percent of the power to the rear wheels in normal use, but also with the ability to shift power when traction varies.
Naturally, adding power and performance, as well as all sorts of interior refinements, costs something, but Subaru hasnÂ’t forgotten its roots. The base Legacy 2.5 is a substantial bargain, priced at $20,995 for the sedan and $21,995 for the wagon. Add $1,000 for the automatic transmission, and moving upscale to the more-refined, but still-normally-aspirated 2.5 Limited hikes the price to $24,445 sedan or $25,645 wagon. The sportier and more potent Legacy 2.5 GT with the turbo engineÂ’s power and other refinements boosts the price to $28,495 for the sedan and $29,695 for the wagon.
Both the GT and basic Legacy deserve scrutiny, just donÂ’t walk into a Subaru showroom and expect to identify the new Legacy GT by some odd or quirky design. Like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly, thatÂ’s one part of SubaruÂ’s tradition that the company wonÂ’t mind discarding.
(John Gilbert writes weekly auto reviews. He can be reached at cars@jwgilbert.com.)
About the Author
John Gilbert is a lifetime Minnesotan and career journalist, specializing in cars and sports during and since spending 30 years at the Minneapolis Tribune, now the Star Tribune. More recently, he has continued translating the high-tech world of autos and sharing his passionate insights as a freelance writer/photographer/broadcaster. A member of the prestigious North American Car and Truck of the Year jury since 1993. John can be heard Monday-Friday from 9-11am on 610 KDAL(www.kdal610.com) on the "John Gilbert Show," and writes a column in the Duluth Reader.
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