Ultimate Parking Challenge

Driving in NYC is no fun, but parking is a riot! Street parking in my `hood’ is reasonable. You’ll need to bring your game when trying to park in Manhattan.

Indeed, every inch counts and at 160” for the Honda, I’m a front runner in the smack down parking game. It might take me five minutes moving forward and back as I rock myself into a spot, but I get a kick out of it. Thank goodness for power steering and a tactful clutch. Those marks on your Porsche, certainly not from me and if you cared, you’d have secured a $400/month spot in a garage or maybe purchase one for $80-$100K. Still, the marks aren’t from me.

There are some spots I walk away from wondering just how I got in there much less how I’m going to get out of there. Apparently driving through a bumper is the way out or in. That can only explain how someone managed to crack the front bumper of the Honda at parallel parking speeds. More marks and dents have appeared on the car in one month in NYC than 13 years in the rest of the country. I’m looking for a Porsche 911 with red paint on the bumper.

In Los Angeles, cars are pristine with few nicks and dings. In NYC, dealers must ask customers if they’d like to have their cars beaten before driving off the lot. Find the nicest Porsche and I’ll show you the finest scratch across both bumpers. Let the games begin!

Time to Come Clean

The trip across country, NYC grit and airport jet fumes made for a dirty car. Oh, and the new puppy isn’t helping matters inside. One of my joys in life is cleaning a car. I can, and have spent, entire days detailing a car. It is a personal bonding experience. Sadly, the living and parking situation at my place doesn’t allow for that one-on-one experience.

Not that I mind other people doing the work and the fine folk at Williamsburg Hand Wash and Detail Center treated the Honda well. Still, a car is like a significant other, you really don’t want anyone else’s hands near. I am impressed how well they took the dog slobber out of the back seats. Hugo, the 51 pound five month old Dutch Shepherd, drools like there’s an untouchable Golden Corral buffet back there and attempts to treat the seats likewise despite the military grade blanket placed for protection.

I dread the oil change and haven’t done so yet. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t change the oil myself. Parking is too close, the ground too cluttered and the car too low to justify more jacks and lifts for the operation. The Gulf station at the corner will get the privilege very soon. I’ll let you know how I do emotionally.