Road trip: Nero and I, and 300 miles of CLK63 Black Series magic.
03-14-2016, 01:32 PM
#1
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Thread Starter
Road trip: Nero and I, and 300 miles of CLK63 Black Series magic.
Sometimes you just wake up and don't know what the hell you are doing. Sometimes you open your eyes, look around, and ask yourself if all of the stress is worth it, or if you should just sell everything and move to an island alone for a while.
Most of us on here are high achievers, and have fairly stressful and time intensive jobs, which is why we get to enjoy rewards such as this amazing car, the CLK63 Black Series. It is the consolation prize for pushing harder to build a career and achieve more than the "average". Owning a Black Series, at least for me, is my way of staying sane in a world that seems to have lost their marbles, and which pushes everyone to their breaking points on a daily basis.
Being a fairly simple man, sometimes I just need to drive. Hop into my car, turn off my cell phones for a while, and just 'be'. So just over a week ago I woke up and realized this was one of those days where I needed to regroup my thoughts, and there was really only one way to do that: Fire up Nero, and head out to wherever the roads led me.
Since Nero is a thirsty guy, I pulled up to my usual fuel pump, filled his belly with Shell V-Power 93 octane, and headed out onto the highway.
There is something magical about this car. Whenever I am in it, I am quite literally free. Nothing bothers me, and I feel like I am exactly where I should be. It has the ability to cover highway quickly, quietly, and with a consistent thirst for more. Above all, being in the CLK63 Black Series just makes you feel special every time you are behind the wheel.
Often on these journeys, I like to stop in places where I am not near much of anything, and enjoy the quiet and time in places that I normally just fly past with little more than a casual glance in there direction. It is a recharge in many ways, and in the back of my mind is my way of flipping the proverbial bird to schedules, time, and the constant rush to always have to be "somewhere".
As such, I have an affinity for rest stops. No idea why. But maybe it is the transient nature of them. Everyone stopping there on their way to anywhere other than where they are. The irony being that there is usually something there to remind you exactly where you are, even when you are really just trying to get lost and be invisible for a while. This nice little reminder was on the floor of one such "way station" along I-69 North on my blast through Indiana.
The other symbolic thing that I have always enjoyed about rest stops is that I always feel like they are launching me to somewhere I would rather be. Someplace better. Of course in this case, being inside the CLK63 Black Series quite honestly is that 'better' place.
So with well over a hundred miles behind me, and more falling quickly to the power of Nero, and my liberally planted right foot, I happened upon the exit that led to where my Grandpa lived. I have not been out there for years, and usually remind myself that, "Next time I will take the time and stop. I don't really have time now, but next time I will," and next time never comes."To hell with it. I am going THIS time," and with a stab at the world class AMG brakes, combined with a proper signal, and cut at the steering wheel, allowed me to catch the almost passed exit. Grabbing at the carbon fiber shift paddles to downshift rapidly, the wonderful V8 barked the exhaust with approval, and today became 'next time'.
Most of the journey is back country roads, which in Indiana means you are usually alone. Alone to use the speed limits as a casual suggestion, and where the firm suspension reminds you that you must pay attention to what you are doing. Rapping up through the gears on the barren straight sections, every care or doubt I ever had flies out the finely tuned exhaust. In no time at all, due in part to my generous speed, and disdain for anything resembling fuel economy or common sense, I had arrived at my destination. Time to have a quick conversation with my Grandpa. To tell him where I have been, and apologize for missing him for so long.
The conversation was fairly one sided, but I knew Grandpa was listening. He liked the car, and was proud that I had followed in his footsteps by showing blatant disregard for normalcy and societal norms with regard to my choice of transportation. Keeping in mind that when I was 6 years old, and he was well into his 70s, he would run around with me sitting by his side in a fully blown and modified gold Chevelle SS with twin black rally stripes and Mickey Thompson racing slicks on it. Often our trips were deep into triple digits because he did not want his grandson to be a 'sissy'.
With proper respect paid, I bid farewell to Grandpa, promised to visit again in the warmer weather, and drove off into the now dark night to see if my favorite bakery from my childhood was still open. It is quite literally in a town with one stoplight, but never did I expect them to be open at almost 9 p.m. on a Saturday night. Luckily for me, I was wrong, and they had my favorite brownies. It is amazing how a simple thing like that can bring me back to being 6 years old again.
"Hmmm....that brownie was pretty damn good. But I am only about 40 miles away from Coney Island. I wonder how long it will take to get there if I take more back roads," I thought to myself. With a push of the start button, and a loud 'BRAP! BRAP' of the evosport exhaust, Nero answered my question with a very obvious deviousness and said, "Not long. Not long at all," and off we blasted into the crisp night air.
In no time at all, I was at another 'happy place'. Coney Island is a wonderful place, and makes hot dogs and hamburgers in a way that I cannot find anywhere else. I genuinely love going there, and it feels like a tradition, even with me usually going there alone.
After treating a mother and son whom I had just met to dinner as a Random Act of Kindness, I bid them ado and wished them the best, and hoped that they could turn this place into a 'tradition' for the two of them.
Grabbing a quick 'refreshment' at a quiet place on my way out of town, I sat for about 45 minutes and just looked at Nero. I wondered what the engineers of the Black Series were thinking. How in the hell did they convince the people at Mercedes HQ that this car was a good idea, and who was on vacation during the meeting when this car was approved? You know what, I don't care how they did it, and whoever was on vacation should be gone more often. Because this car is amazing. It looks like nothing else. Just sitting and staring at it through the window you know there is something special awaiting. Something that was built to let you know that there are still 'car guys' out there, and they can build wonderful things when they don't listen to their Accounting Departments or PR people.
The clock had ticked past midnight, and I was now around 150 miles from home, so it was time to return. Get into my little metal shell and return to reality. I always feel better at night, and feel even better when I am in the Black Series. So looking out onto the road and seeing this open highway, and light fog, made everything perfect.
Superbright HID headlights piercing the night like a pair of pure white daggers, and with a comforting hug from the leather lined AMG seats, Nero and I raced home with not much more effort than it takes to blink your eyes...and the elapsed time seemed to be comparable. With miles falling like dominoes, and little regard given to much else, I was soon back home. Just after 1:18 a.m. I was back at the very same fuel pump that I had departed from the afternoon before. Filling back up I stood in admiration of the vessel that I never get tired of looking at. Every angle is perfect, every drive is magical, and every trip alone reminds me of why the work and stress is worth it. Because this car is a time machine. It makes the time I have more worthwhile and enjoyable, and for that I am thankful.
Pulling into the garage I sat there for another 30 minutes and just looked at the car. Now covered in around 300 miles of dirt, brake dust, and rain water. Not a garage queen by any stretch of the imagination. Instead, a perfect balance of fire and brimstone, lunacy and sanity, and above all...magic. The car has powers to make everything that worries you a blur in your rear view mirror, and leave you better off for it. Thank you, AMG. You built magic, and something that my Grandpa would be proud to ride in with this slightly irrational grandson. But that magic is why I love it. Thank you. Thank you for catching lightning in a bottle.
Most of us on here are high achievers, and have fairly stressful and time intensive jobs, which is why we get to enjoy rewards such as this amazing car, the CLK63 Black Series. It is the consolation prize for pushing harder to build a career and achieve more than the "average". Owning a Black Series, at least for me, is my way of staying sane in a world that seems to have lost their marbles, and which pushes everyone to their breaking points on a daily basis.
Being a fairly simple man, sometimes I just need to drive. Hop into my car, turn off my cell phones for a while, and just 'be'. So just over a week ago I woke up and realized this was one of those days where I needed to regroup my thoughts, and there was really only one way to do that: Fire up Nero, and head out to wherever the roads led me.
Since Nero is a thirsty guy, I pulled up to my usual fuel pump, filled his belly with Shell V-Power 93 octane, and headed out onto the highway.
There is something magical about this car. Whenever I am in it, I am quite literally free. Nothing bothers me, and I feel like I am exactly where I should be. It has the ability to cover highway quickly, quietly, and with a consistent thirst for more. Above all, being in the CLK63 Black Series just makes you feel special every time you are behind the wheel.
Often on these journeys, I like to stop in places where I am not near much of anything, and enjoy the quiet and time in places that I normally just fly past with little more than a casual glance in there direction. It is a recharge in many ways, and in the back of my mind is my way of flipping the proverbial bird to schedules, time, and the constant rush to always have to be "somewhere".
As such, I have an affinity for rest stops. No idea why. But maybe it is the transient nature of them. Everyone stopping there on their way to anywhere other than where they are. The irony being that there is usually something there to remind you exactly where you are, even when you are really just trying to get lost and be invisible for a while. This nice little reminder was on the floor of one such "way station" along I-69 North on my blast through Indiana.
The other symbolic thing that I have always enjoyed about rest stops is that I always feel like they are launching me to somewhere I would rather be. Someplace better. Of course in this case, being inside the CLK63 Black Series quite honestly is that 'better' place.
So with well over a hundred miles behind me, and more falling quickly to the power of Nero, and my liberally planted right foot, I happened upon the exit that led to where my Grandpa lived. I have not been out there for years, and usually remind myself that, "Next time I will take the time and stop. I don't really have time now, but next time I will," and next time never comes."To hell with it. I am going THIS time," and with a stab at the world class AMG brakes, combined with a proper signal, and cut at the steering wheel, allowed me to catch the almost passed exit. Grabbing at the carbon fiber shift paddles to downshift rapidly, the wonderful V8 barked the exhaust with approval, and today became 'next time'.
Most of the journey is back country roads, which in Indiana means you are usually alone. Alone to use the speed limits as a casual suggestion, and where the firm suspension reminds you that you must pay attention to what you are doing. Rapping up through the gears on the barren straight sections, every care or doubt I ever had flies out the finely tuned exhaust. In no time at all, due in part to my generous speed, and disdain for anything resembling fuel economy or common sense, I had arrived at my destination. Time to have a quick conversation with my Grandpa. To tell him where I have been, and apologize for missing him for so long.
The conversation was fairly one sided, but I knew Grandpa was listening. He liked the car, and was proud that I had followed in his footsteps by showing blatant disregard for normalcy and societal norms with regard to my choice of transportation. Keeping in mind that when I was 6 years old, and he was well into his 70s, he would run around with me sitting by his side in a fully blown and modified gold Chevelle SS with twin black rally stripes and Mickey Thompson racing slicks on it. Often our trips were deep into triple digits because he did not want his grandson to be a 'sissy'.
With proper respect paid, I bid farewell to Grandpa, promised to visit again in the warmer weather, and drove off into the now dark night to see if my favorite bakery from my childhood was still open. It is quite literally in a town with one stoplight, but never did I expect them to be open at almost 9 p.m. on a Saturday night. Luckily for me, I was wrong, and they had my favorite brownies. It is amazing how a simple thing like that can bring me back to being 6 years old again.
"Hmmm....that brownie was pretty damn good. But I am only about 40 miles away from Coney Island. I wonder how long it will take to get there if I take more back roads," I thought to myself. With a push of the start button, and a loud 'BRAP! BRAP' of the evosport exhaust, Nero answered my question with a very obvious deviousness and said, "Not long. Not long at all," and off we blasted into the crisp night air.
In no time at all, I was at another 'happy place'. Coney Island is a wonderful place, and makes hot dogs and hamburgers in a way that I cannot find anywhere else. I genuinely love going there, and it feels like a tradition, even with me usually going there alone.
After treating a mother and son whom I had just met to dinner as a Random Act of Kindness, I bid them ado and wished them the best, and hoped that they could turn this place into a 'tradition' for the two of them.
Grabbing a quick 'refreshment' at a quiet place on my way out of town, I sat for about 45 minutes and just looked at Nero. I wondered what the engineers of the Black Series were thinking. How in the hell did they convince the people at Mercedes HQ that this car was a good idea, and who was on vacation during the meeting when this car was approved? You know what, I don't care how they did it, and whoever was on vacation should be gone more often. Because this car is amazing. It looks like nothing else. Just sitting and staring at it through the window you know there is something special awaiting. Something that was built to let you know that there are still 'car guys' out there, and they can build wonderful things when they don't listen to their Accounting Departments or PR people.
The clock had ticked past midnight, and I was now around 150 miles from home, so it was time to return. Get into my little metal shell and return to reality. I always feel better at night, and feel even better when I am in the Black Series. So looking out onto the road and seeing this open highway, and light fog, made everything perfect.
Superbright HID headlights piercing the night like a pair of pure white daggers, and with a comforting hug from the leather lined AMG seats, Nero and I raced home with not much more effort than it takes to blink your eyes...and the elapsed time seemed to be comparable. With miles falling like dominoes, and little regard given to much else, I was soon back home. Just after 1:18 a.m. I was back at the very same fuel pump that I had departed from the afternoon before. Filling back up I stood in admiration of the vessel that I never get tired of looking at. Every angle is perfect, every drive is magical, and every trip alone reminds me of why the work and stress is worth it. Because this car is a time machine. It makes the time I have more worthwhile and enjoyable, and for that I am thankful.
Pulling into the garage I sat there for another 30 minutes and just looked at the car. Now covered in around 300 miles of dirt, brake dust, and rain water. Not a garage queen by any stretch of the imagination. Instead, a perfect balance of fire and brimstone, lunacy and sanity, and above all...magic. The car has powers to make everything that worries you a blur in your rear view mirror, and leave you better off for it. Thank you, AMG. You built magic, and something that my Grandpa would be proud to ride in with this slightly irrational grandson. But that magic is why I love it. Thank you. Thank you for catching lightning in a bottle.
Last edited by Meeyatch1; 03-14-2016 at 03:56 PM.
The following 3 users liked this post by Meeyatch1:
03-14-2016, 09:29 PM
#2
Junior Member
Great read and you've captured the essence of the Black Series. Other worldly. Irrational. Irreverent. Illogical. A siren song. Love it and thanks for sharing!
03-15-2016, 12:26 PM
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2008 CLK63 Black Series; 1978 Toyota Land Cruiser; 2015 BMW R1200GSA; 2003 Porsche 996 Turbo (gone)
Another literary wonder, trumpeting the bond between man, machine and the road 
05-18-2016, 09:14 AM
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2008 CLK63 Black Series, 2008 C300, 2006 CLS55, 1993 190E 2.6, 2001 E430T, 2014 GL500
Thanks for that!! Everytime I read one of your posts I hop into my Black and head off.
I had one question, could you put up a list of mods you've done to your car?
I had one question, could you put up a list of mods you've done to your car?
