Sports car drivers yearn for interesting roads. Unfortunately there aren’t many in the Chicago burbs. Instead it’s a steady diet of stoplights and train crossings followed by more stop lights. Once the traffic does move, you’re invariably stuck behind an old man in a hat driving his Camry five miles below the posted limit while he ponders the fit of his dentures. Other than the occasional stoplight race or the juvenile tailgating of a clumsy SUV as it teeters around an exit ramp, having a sports car around here is a waste. You’re better off with some Lexus pod that isolates you so much from your surroundings you forget how annoying it is to drive around here.
TT Old and New
After 11 years owning the original 225 hp 2001 TT roadster and enduring its reputation promulgated by the automotive press of being a hair dresser’s car, I was ready for a change. I used to think that it was only the car magazines that viewed the TT as chick car until one day while driving in downtown Chicago a drunk felt it was his civic duty to roll down his window and inform me I was driving a girl’s car. I replied I didn’t know anything about that but I did know it was fast. To prove my point I dropped the clutch and sped off leaving him sitting at the stop light in his girlfriend’s sad old Concorde. He must have been either a mean drunk looking for a fight or an aspiring automotive journalist.
Ignoring its reputation as a soft car, I spent many an hour thrashing it on local race tracks, cooking its brakes to foul smelling lumps. Brake fade would inevitably occur after a few hours and my wife, who would sometimes drive home from the events, became accustomed to pumping the brakes a few times to summon up enough friction to slow the car. Other than the brakes however, the 2001 TT acquitted itself well on the undulations of Road America and tight turns of Blackhawk Farms as long as you remembered to follow the Quattro line and do a bit of trail braking to counter under steer.
The auto press’s condemnation of it as “hairdresser’s car” bothered me so when the odometer turned the century mark I set out to buy something different. The Boxster S, the darling of the auto scribes, was my first choice, but when the time came to lay the money down I just couldn’t bring myself to give up the all-weather confidence of Quattro. I looked around for another reasonably priced all-wheel drive roadster only to discover there wasn’t one. So there I was, right back where I started. Only this time it would be the more muscular TTS.
I ordered a new 2011 TTS with Oolong gray exterior and baseball optic leather interior. With a 0-60 time of 5.1 seconds and a top speed of 155mph, it would surely shake the hairdresser’s car stigma, right? Wrong! The monkeys at the auto rags refer even to the TTS as a car for “ladies of impeccable taste and generous means”. From their standpoint all small roadsters, including the awesome Boxster S, fit the profile. Face it, small car equals chick car in the auto press lexicon. Don’t even think of buying a Miata unless you've already put money down for a sex-change operation. It’s quite a contrast to the high esteem entusiasts held for the British roadsters of the 50’s and 60’s. Apparently auto writers were a bit more open-minded back then.
Specs, Specs and more Specs
While the original TT was one of the first cars to break the 100hp per liter of engine displacement barrier, it was held back by a heavy chassis. Still it was quick, able to reach sixty in 6.5 seconds, and capable of 143 mph top speed, but not nearly as fast as the more solidly built TTS. In contrast to the rounded styling and oversize headlights of the TT the TTS exhibits more aggressive styling evidenced by its smaller, more menacing headlight openings trimmed with alien invader LED running lights. Gone is the WWI fighter plane instrument cluster of the orignal TT. In its place is a handsome but less distinctive interior that's more in keeping with the corporate Audi design aesthetic. Overall the TTS is both more refined and exciting to drive, likely due to its stiffer chassis and a rev happy 265 hp turbo four channeling power though with a weapons grade dual clutch automated manual. The impression of wielding a powerful weapon is most strongly felt when using the launch control feature where the 19 inch wheels and summer performance tires keep things moving in an efficient military fashion. Audi S brakes bring about a cease fire quickly and without fade. Amazingly the TTS is lighter than its predecessor due to its hybrid steel and aluminum chassis. To futher save weight the TTS sports a magnesium steering wheel.
Escape
Rather than take the most direct route which would have required slogging though the rush hour traffic of downtown Chicago we opted for the end run of the Illinois toll way. Even though this meant the IPASS transponder would silently and electronically siphon money out of my bank account, we shot through Chicago land like a oolong gray missile. Due to the spotty enforcement and the sheer volume of cars, the traffic moved at 80 mph. If the state could have somehow ticketed all the speeders on that morning the state’s budget shortfall would be a thing of the past. I suppose the IPASS system could be used as evidence of speeding but they’ve chosen not to utilize it for that purpose, yet.
Soon, we were in Hoosier State bound for Indianapolis and enjoying the light traffic on Hwy 65. Here the TTS proved to be a quieter and a more refined highway cruiser than its predecessor, exhibiting just a hint of wind noise from its brushed aluminum wing mirrors. The car braved crosswinds and passing big rigs with aplomb owing to its GM-derived magnetic ride control. During the US Grand Prix era, this was the route we would take early on Saturday mornings to watch F1 qualifying. I miss the days when it was an easy drive to attend a Formula One race Sadly, Indy could no longer pony up Bernie’s steep F1 appearance fee.
Like an F1 car, the TTS blasts power through the sequential manual transmission like a rotary cannon sprays live ammo down range. Unlike a Formula One car, the TTS can be driven in two automatic modes, normal and sport. While it's a hoot to use the manual paddle shifters, the best way to tap into the full potential of the TTS is to leave the selector in Sport Mode where it uses motion sensors to preselect the gear it will use next, downshifting automatically as you brake for a corner. On rare occasions it misinterprets your intention, causing a slight hesitation as it scrambles for the right gear.
Green Car or Gas Hog.
Decisions, decisions. Do you want to extract the last bit of energy from each drop of fuel or turn every stoplight into a moon launch? If you're looking to impress your Green Peace girl friend, leave the selector in the normal position and the transmission stays in short shift mode. The trade-off here is lethargic performance until you tromp the go pedal hard enough the goad a downshift. Be careful here or you’ll end up with an abrupt shift and a lap full of latte. Set the gear selector to sport and the car hangs on the redline like a pit bull on a t-bone. This option is best for your local race track, or since most tracks have banned convertibles, your local industrial park. Perhaps the best choice is to flip the gearshift over to the manual gate and enjoy the tactile feel of the aluminum paddle shifters. It really is a manual. Deal with it.
Pot holes, on Interstates?
At the time of purchase the dealer offered wheel insurance. While I’d never heard of it before, it made sense for a car with 19 inch aluminum wheels, protected by mere baloney skin Toyo Proxies in a world of hungry pot holes and angry curbs. Nevertheless, I opted to put my faith in the car's adaptive magnetic suspension and my somewhat dubious reflexes. How could I have known I’d hit a pothole in the middle of an interstate highway near of Lexington and that in Tennessee, I would smack a piece of concrete protruding above the road surface. Magnetic suspension or not, these impacts at 80mph were as violent as they were unavoidable. Miraculously the Toyo Proxies and big wheels survived without showing any sign of the carnage. However the newness of the TTS was rapidly fading.
The first hour of a road trip is vaguely unpleasant. The vibration and noise make it hard to get comfortable. After a while however your body becomes used to the rhythm of the road and you settle into a kind of meditative trance that melts miles. All you need is the occasional stop for gas and snacks. Speaking of snacks, healthly eating is not a primary concern during a road trip. Road trips alter time, space and the very fabric of reality. Real world calories and their consequence seem less meaningful. Candy bars and salty snacks seldom eaten at home seem more appropriate on the road. Almost any junk food is OK except those barely digestible bits, more mineral than vegetable, known as corn nuts. I'm not sure whether they're grown or mined but I do know they suck, unless of course you try the new chili lime flavor. Then they're not bad.
The Arrival
After passing Gatlinburg, Tennessee the scenery started to change. Mountains rose up around us and the Interstate twisted and turned through the passes. An an hour outside of Canton, NC we called ahead and received some final directions and a request to buy some wine at the local grocery store. In North Carolina the only places you can buy wine and beer are food stores. Hard liquor is sold exclusively in state-owned liquor stores. Once we arrived in Canton we discovered we still had to drive several more miles into the mountains guided by a set of somewhat vague internet directions to the town of Cruso. After a few confusing turns we found ourselves at the town line, identified by a sign proclaiming in the be the home of nine miles of friendly people and one old crab. It was still daylight when we found ourselves confronted by a locked wrought iron gate of the Springdale golf course community. Since the golf course closes early in October, the residents must drive down the mountainside and use a garage door transmitter to admit their guests. While we waited for entry us in we had time to notice a brook babbling next to the gate and behind us on the other side of highway 276 the cold clear Pigeon River, one of the many trout streams in the area.
Blue Ridge Pkwy
The next day we decided to take a twenty minute drive along Highway 276 to the nearby section of the Blue Ridge Parkway. Any hope of spirited driving was quickly dashed. It seems my neighbors from the suburbs of Chicago, complete with their SUVs, Camrys, hats and dentures descended en masse upon the Blue Ridge Parkway.
On this particular Tuesday in October our fellow tourists at the scenic overlooks of the Blue Ridge fell into the old-as-dirt age group. This rapidly growing popluation segment is affluent, likes to travel, and has reduced capacity. Not a good combination. It's going to be a major challenge to for the auto industry to accomodate these aging drivers. Already we've seen some of their efforts in the form of lane departure warnings, self parking systems, and blind spot warning. Is the autonomous car far behind?
You may be disappointed if you're looking to unwind your sports car on the two lane highways of the Smokey Mountains because you will likely find yourself stuck behind a turtle. Since there are no passing zones your only hope is that they see the freaky LED driving lights of the Audi, pull over, and let the devil car pass. Because this usually never happens I enlisted my sister-in-law's local knowledge and a plastic relief map of the Pisgah National Forest to come up with a possible solution. She suggested Route 215 because unlike the Blue Ridge Parkway it wasn't an AARP parade. It was likely to be deserted so we would use it to begin our exploration of the Cradle of Forestry, Slide Rock, Looking Glass Falls and Carolina Eastern BBQ.
Cradle of Forestry
The enjoyment of exploring the TTS's capabilities quickly evaporated once we reached the Blue Ridge Parkway. The same road that offered such spectacular and expansive views the day before was now shrouded in fog. A sign along the road warned us to stay off the Blue Ridge in icy or foggy conditions … too late. We were on it, winding along the road imagining rather than actually seeing the precipitous drops hidden in the fog. So much time passed driving through the clouds that I began to think we had made a wrong turn but then our objective appeared. Highway 276 was our way off the Parkway, out of the clouds and into the Cradle of Forestry. Lest you think the cradle is some Paul Bunyan sized piece of furniture built to attract tourists, the cradle is actually a legacy of the Vanderbilt family. The early settlers had cut down the original forest and denuded the hills creating an ecological disaster. The Vanderbilts brought in high- priced forestry talent from Germany to restore the land to its natural and most productive state of wooded mountainsides. The program was so successful it led to the founding of a school for aspiring foresters from around the country known as The Cradle of Forestry.
Looking Glass Falls
In these mountains the waterfalls are geologic rock stars and one of the biggest is Looking Glass Falls. Its allure may be due to the volume of its flow into a rock grotto setting or it might be the reflections of its namesake Looking Glass Rock when the sun hits it just right. Either way the falls made an ideal backdrop to photograph the TTS on this rainy day. While there was no sunshine to trigger any reflective properties the weather kept the tourists away and we were able to get up close and personal with this beauty. On a cautionary note, this waterfall claims its share of victims. Daredevils can’t resist the urge to dive into the too shallow pool beneath the falls or try to climb the slippery rocks beside the falls. No wonder hard liquor sales are controlled by the state in these parts.
Slide Rock
Farther downstream on Looking Glass Creek we came across Slide Rock where water flows over a long stretch of shallow smooth rock and then pours into an eight foot deep pool. The Forest Service operates it as a concession during the warmer months, so we found it deserted and less than inviting on this chilly day. Even so there was a fence along the creek to deter anyone who might be tempted. Perhaps if we had a supply of the local moonshine we might’ve had the courage to jump the fence. We spent our time hiking the area and building up an appetite for some…
BBQ, Eastern or Western
A few more miles down the mountain we arrived in Brevard, home of Hawg Wild BBQ. Unlike the rib joints that are famous in Chicago this place serves eastern, vinegar-based classic North Carolina BBQ. Hawg Wild is a family place, which means no alcohol.
Happily, sweet tea and lemonade are delicious ways to wash down the pork, chicken, hush puppies and baked beans. It was all so good I was soon ordering a family size carry-out meal to bring back to our hosts. More pulled pork, coleslaw and beans. We were advised to pass on the deep fried corn on the cob. Apparently it didn’t travel well.
When we emerged from Hawg Wild, I noticed a fly shop next door. It’s hard for an addicted angler like my self to resist a fly shop. So we stepped in and were transported into the world of fly patterns, insect hatches, water release schedules, rods, reels, lines and the smug confidence of the local guides. While the season was over in my home waters, it was still in full swing in North Carolina. We didn’t hire a guide right then but the hook was set.
Even though this trip was not intended to include fishing, upon our return to “our side” of the Blue Ridge, we booked a guide out of a fly shop in Waynesville, NC. The next day I was forced to abandon the TTS because my brother, a first time fly fisher, would join us. He drove us all in his four seat Pontiac coupe to Waynesville. We got there early enough to find a tobacco shop where I asked to buy a good fly fishing cigar. The proprietor gave me a blank stare. I explained it was important that it burned well in the wind with no runners. Still, he had no suggestions. The cigar I chose ended up having more runners than the Boston marathon
After our wader and boots fitting session we were introduced to our guide for the day. After exchanging greetings, we piled into his crew cab truck. Doubtless a pick-up is the most common vehicle used by fly fishers. After all they’re rugged, have space to store a strung rod in the bed and can handle the roughest roads. But they lack the most important factor for me. Fun.
An Improper Fish Car.
The TTS is my designated fish car. Sure it lacks the ultimate utility of a pick-up truck. You need to disassemble the rods when moving from stream to stream and packing in the small trunk for a four day trip requires careful planning. But there is an upside. The roads that lead to trout streams are not straight, nor are they flat. They twist and undulate along the streams and through the hills inviting a sports car driver to come out and play. Nonetheless, it’s rare to see a sports car or even a sports sedan parked streamside. The pick-up trucks and SUVs are the popular choices for the fly fisherman. Sometimes it seems a sport car to the stream is unwelcome, as if it violates an unwritten rule of the fly fishing fraternity.
High Sticking the Tuck
After a thirty-minute drive in Gary's fish truck, we arrived at the Tuckaseegee River. Gary handed us our rods and gave us a warning as we waded out in the wide river. The power company had scheduled a water release from an upstream dam at two o’clock. It could cause a dangerous situation if the water rose so he urged us to watch a rock to detect any sudden changes in water level. For now the depth ranged from ankle to thigh high and was an easy wade. I soon forgot to watch a rock or I forgot which rock to watch. They all looked alike. Fortunately, the power company didn’t open the dam after all. Fishermen dotted the water every 50 yards fishing in spots where the rainbow and brook trout were likely to hold. While Gary was helping some one else I used my standard technique of casting upstream and stripping in. No Dice. Soon Gary came along and began instructing me on the proper way to fish the Tuck. A technique known as high-sticking that meant standing to one side and casting up into the current. With the rod held high and away from the body, letting the indicator drift just below the surface and leading it with the rod tip. As with all fishing it required patience and practice, but it eventually paid off as we all caught fish. My brother couldn't believe he couldn't keep his hard earned fish but Gary explained that delayed harvest meant we were just fishng for sport.
With no set timetable we decided to wear out our welcome for a few more days but eventually the day arrived to pack our luggage in the TTS. Early on a Sunday morning set off to the flat lands of Illinois. The route back to Interstate 40 was complicated by a morning fog. Even after a series of wrong turns we ended up on course. Once on eastbound Interstate 40 I lit the TTS afterburners. One of the less obvious benefits of Quattro is high speed stability. The computer seems to sense any yaw and uses the Quattro system to counteract it. By now the fog was lifting, leaving only tattered remnants wafting off the mountainsides lending to them their namesake smoky appearance.
Gradually the mountains fell away and we were back on the arrow straight interstates of Tennessee, then Kentucky, and after lunch, the long empty stretches of Indiana. It was there the tailgaters appeared. An exotic looking sports car with a radar detector stuck in the windshield can win some unwelcome friends. Even mundane family sedans are stable at speeds over 100 mph and their drivers seem happy to go that speed if they have the security of a front door. Some of these drivers are so fearful of losing touch with their front door that they latch on 3 cars length behind and won’t budge from that spot for hundreds of miles. To shake free of these folks I would blast away for a few seconds at triple digit speeds, but they would eventually catch up. The only sure-fire method was to slow down to the speed limit whereupon they lose patience and drive on ahead.
The TTS performed flawlessly on the trip including surviving the pothole struck at 80 mph, all the while returning a average fuel consumption of 26.4 mpg. When we finally pulled into my driveway and pressed the TT’s integrated garage door transmitter it was hard not to imagine some catastrophe that might have occurred while we were away. Robbery, flood, fire, and meteor strike are all on the list of possibilities. Happy and relieved to see no evidence of any such hazard, I opened the garage and pulled the TTS into its spot to await its next mission.
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