From the June 2021 issue Car and driver..
Somewhere near the Lake Murray Dam in South Carolina, I’m scrutinizing the windshield and trying to decipher the road sign on the other side of the intersection. Traffic passes Highway 6 and it happens to me: I’m squinting because the sun is on my face. It’s morning. The east is sunrise, so if you want to go north towards the dam, turn left. About a minute later, I’m at the dam. This is one of the checkpoints for the evil scavenger hunt. You won’t find it hard to find dams and other things, but I’m sticking to one rule, not so long ago, that GPS isn’t available.I am rediscovering my direction 1987 BMW 325is, And, with many amazing perceptions, it’s easier to navigate early in the morning or near dusk. As the sun approaches the horizon, you may not know where you are, but at least you know where you are heading.
I bought the first GPS, TomTom, in 2006. This purchase was the beginning of my innate navigation ability, a series of skills that had been sharpened since childhood, from childhood to sucking a part of the brain into a small computer and outsourcing it. My windshield. Now, even though I know where I’m heading, I launch Waze for information about traffic and police on the surface, but I don’t really trust my instincts anymore. I don’t judge when the navigation system hears about the people who led them to the lake. If Waze told me to hang a boat ramp to the left, I would probably think, “There must be a good reason for this lake shortcut.” Babur Babur, Grag Grag.
Print Director to see if I can regain my direction Eric Tinwall I gave me a list of South Carolina locations and gave me two days to find them without the help of Google and the satellites floating above us. My Steed in this project is the gray 325is from the BMW collection hidden near the Spartanberg factory, which is an extremely correct period. It’s a very fine fettle driver in foibles of some old cars. Most notably, the odometer doesn’t work. I don’t think BMW is too worried about the impact of that small flaw on resale value, but it reduces my distance calculation to dead reckoning. Ahoy! Can anyone tell me if this is the Bahamas or Asia?
My first stop is a gas station, and the pump guy on the other side immediately offers to buy the 325is. “Only the wheel center caps can be purchased on eBay for $ 75 each,” he says. It’s encouraging to know that if this conceit doesn’t work too well, I can start selling some of the cars. But for now, I’m moving on to my first waypoint. ZF transmission plant on North Old Laurens Road 2846, Gray Court, South Carolina. If you can find a map.
I look for one and stop at multiple gas stations. Finally, at the We Are Both sides of Lawrence, cashiers seek out a laminated map of South Carolina and a large foldable paper map of the East Coast. She is no longer on the computer, so she has to ask the manager how to call them. “I should give you them,” she says, and does not.
Armed with these new tools, I start getting lost for an hour. As you can see, if you have a 50-50 chance of driving in the right direction, you will go in the wrong direction. Finally, after a lot of backtracking and another stop to ask directions, I spy on a small sign pointing to a side road away from the main drag: ZF transmission. One down, eight more.
Now I’m heading to Colombia and the rest of the day’s destinations: Riverbanks Zoo and Gardens, Desert Places, World’s Largest Fire Extinguisher, Cocky Statue on the University of South Carolina Campus, and Footy and the Blowfish Monument .. The map of my gas station does not mention Darius Rucker.
It’s easy to jump on Interstate 26 and burn to Colombia, but in the spirit of moving at a slower pace, I decided to follow the two-lane US76. This quickly creates its own miasma of confusion, as the US76 sign pointing to Columbia actually leads to I-26, whether in the opposite direction or not. Fool me once and be ashamed of me, the Colombian sign. Then I also deceive me many times, because I don’t know which way is south.
US 76 meanders through the town of Armo. There you will be greeted by a sign that boasts an okra strut. I don’t know what it is, and I’m still loyal to the 1987 bubble, so I resign unknowingly. I saw an okra strut sign in front of my smartphone and thought it was a suspension part made of plants, but I forgot because I didn’t know where I was or when. You might stay or dine where, really, or when you get to where you want to go. It’s frustrating, I don’t know, but it’s also liberating. Questions can remain unanswered.
I overtake my target zoo and end up northeast of downtown. Now, on the streets of the city, I realized that short-term memory is another brain function that I outsourced to my cell phone. There is no way to remember more than 3 turns at a time, so you have to stop every few miles or every block. Fortunately, I just happened to pass by a huge fire hydrant. You’ll find everything on the list for the day, except for the Hootie monument. There’s another thing we’ve done before: give up.
The next morning, after I headed north towards Clemson and crossed the Lake Murray Dam, I think I got rights to some highway miles. On the I-26, the 325is easily handles traffic at 90 mph. Its hearty 2.5-liter in-line 6-cylinder roars in the high range of the tachometer. I have adopted a speed strategy that I refined during the Camaro’s formation. Find someone crazy than me and keep enough distance to see if you hit the trip wire of the speed trap. I wish I had an old fuzz buster.
I head to the bakery near Clemson and then proceed to highway 107 to get 325is on some fun roads. I’ve been driving more than yesterday, but now I’m confident in adapting to my surroundings. When I notice the Clemson sticker on the car, I think I’m approaching. However, the 50-50 rule applies, and as soon as you turn right you go to Pound Cake Man Bakery and instead go left and lose the trail. Once again, I give up boldly and angry, leaving the town and heading for the northern mountains. A corner more than a cookie is required.
I found the way I was looking for 24 miles outside Clemson. The Falling Waters Scenic Byway runs to the North Carolina border in a series of corners ideal for BMW in the E30 chassis. The 3rd gear climbs toward the Smoky’s one after another. As the door handles the angle towards the pavement, the small 14-inch tires bark, providing a high-quality drama at a pace that boring the modern M4. Most of us love old cars just for this serious tactile, exaggerated speed low stakes fun. However, if you want a complete throwback experience, add Frisson for pants seat navigation. Getting lost was a purely bad feeling. It’s refreshing now.
Returning to BMW’s visitor center, I will exchange the 325is for its spiritual heir, the 2021 M2 CS. The drive to my house is three and a half hours. I reflexively start Waze and then turn it off. I’m sure I can find a way back in the same way I got here. If not, I just keep driving.
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