I finally joined USA7, and thought it civil to introduce myself. I have also been asked to
tell the tale of my purchasing a Birkin in Chicago and driving it home, this past October. So....
I apologize in advance, if this is too long for this forum. Excuse it as a newbie faux pas if it is, and please let me know if I have
violated any unwritten rules.
Randall
The plan was simple. Fly to Chicago, buy a Birkin S-3, and drive it two thousand miles across country. Simple enough, but as with many things, the devil is in the details. I didn't want to wait, and take the chance someone else would buy the car before I could. So, I took a week-long vacation and flew to Chicago on Sunday. I don't know how I could explain to any sane person why I was in Chicago, to buy a car based on four pictures, a scant advertisement, and a single phone call. Especially if that mythical sane person already knew of my earlier trip to Garden City, Kansas to do the same thing based on the same precursors, and finding that the car was not as depicted. But, after an uneventful flight, two train rides, and a moderate walk to the hotel, I wondered (not for the first time) what I would find.
Bright and early...well, actually, the sun wasn't over the horizon, yet, so it was still pretty dark...on Monday morning, I set out to
meet the car. The world is full of enablers. Instead of making me walk back to the train station, and take a train just one stop, the
hotel manager asked the guy cleaning the floor to take me where I needed to go. It was still about an hour and a half before I had
arranged to arrive at the seller's house, and I didn't want to try explaining why I was in Chicago to buy a car based on four pictures, a scanty ad, etc. So I told the floor cleaning guy to drop me at the next train station. Fortunately, the seller lived about a half mile away. So, I got a quick ride to the village of Flossmoor, Illinois. I walked around the town center, and enjoyed all of the renovated old brick buildings. That took about fifteen minutes, then I began a leisurely stroll to the seller's house. With my pre-printed map in hand, it was easy to find my way. Until I walked down the wrong street, thinking I was one block further than I was.
As I walked down the street, I looked at the numbers, as one does when one is looking for a particular address. Imagine my surprise, when the number I was looking for wasn't there. Visions of Garden City began flashing in my head. It didn't take too long to decide the best course of action was to go to the end of the block and confirm I was on the right street. Naturally, I wasn't. The right street was where the map showed it to be, thankfully. So, with a lighter, but still leisurely step, I moseyed towards the seller's house. I was still early when I arrived, but I waked up and introduced myself, anyway. He was gracious enough to not suggest I invest in a better alarm clock.
He and I looked over the car, talked about the stuff that came with it, and took it for a drive. The car was, and is, stunning. It looks much better in person than in the pictures. And it looks really good in the pictures. When I drove it, I confirmed two things. First, I fit really well into the car. That was important. I didn't fit so well in the Seven I looked at in North Carolina, so I was a little bit concerned. I actually had to move the seat forward about two inches. The peddles need some adjustment to be perfect, but they are designed to be easily adjusted, so no problems there. The second thing I confirmed was that I am completely and utterly insane.
That car is a sports car on steroids. No, that's wrong. Steroids not only enhance performance, they build bulk. There's no bulk on this car. It's like a skinny little guy so buzzing with adrenaline that he can lift train cars. Wow. The Porsche is so balanced that it
responds without too much active thought by the driver. Sort of a bio-mechanical extension of the driver. An equal partner in the
enjoyment of sport driving. Not so the Birkin. That's more like an ang
