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In our city, there is a road a lot of people like taking sports cars on because of the twistiness, beauty and ability to go fast. I was fortunate that for 8 years, that was my route to work in my 2000 XKR Convertible:
Such is the cruel paradox of life, it never lets you have all the gifts fortuitously.
I have been on several life changing drives, most not on that list, never once had any of my sports cars, let alone the best Grand Tourer I have ever been in, the XK.
Done 101 (#2 on list) about 6 times, but prefer same road through Oregon and Washington (better scenery no traffic)
p.s. also been on some incredible trails, not once in the ultimate off-road vehicle I have possesed for years.
Last edited by Queen and Country; 01-16-2019 at 01:03 PM.
As many others, #2 (but not yet in my XK).
#35 (...but by bus... )
And while I haven't, the guy in the office next to me at work, has done #40 (many times... he's from Transylvania, and the road is near the village where he grew up, and still has relatives).
Mrs. LHR and I did the "Going to the Sun" road through Glacier National Park this summer ... but we did it in her Land Rover. To be fair, we wanted to take the Jag on the trip, but her cousin is a Montana State Patrol officer and we called her for guidance prior to departure. Her cousin just started laughing and said, "No. I live in Helena and it just snowed 400 feet above us yesterday. A RWD convertible is a TERRIBLE idea for the park."
Yellowstone and the Beartooth pass are probably the prettiest places we've been with the Jag, if you don't count the desert Southwest (which has it's own beauty to be fair).
I have driven across the country (and back) twice in the XKR. It is the perfect vehicle for the journey-- it's as of the car and the trip are made for each other. I have dozens of photos to share. Maybe I'll post them up.
In the meantime, I hope you'll indulge me on one thing: the photo below is of the Blue Ridge Parkway, through the Smokeys in North Carolina.
I have taken the liberty of pasting the article I wrote about the events of the day. Hope you like it.
I’m on the tail end of a cross-country journey with only one anchor date: my father’s memorial in Washington DC, two days away. And I’m a little ahead of schedule. So when the opportunity presents itself with only a mild detour, I head to the Blue Ridge Parkway.Where the Whites have the Kancamagus Highway, the Smokies have the Blue Ridge Parkway. And you can get close enough to Mt. Mitchell, so why not?
I’m not surprised that when I turn onto the Blue Ridge, it reminds me of the Kancamagus— a gorgeous, winding two-lane road (one lane each way), canopied by trees, with occasional pullouts with a few parking spaces by scenic overlooks. I’m blessed with a warm, sunny afternoon. Down goes the Jaguar’s top, and off I go.Somehow, for impossibly long stretches of time I have the road to myself. The top is down is the day is perfect and a find myself in a state of quiet bliss.
Then, behind me, motorcycles. A group of them (so they’re not cops) and they’re coming up quick (and you know I don’t drive slow). Sport bikes, not Harleys. Single file, riders all in leathers. Within thirty seconds or so the lead rider is right up on my ***. So, OK. Let’s kick it up a notch. Now the speed limit on the Blue Ridge Parkway is 45. I’ve been about 10 over, but now I leave that behind quick. I hit some turns hard, open it up on the straights. The riders stay tight behind behind me, of course, so close that I can make out the bikes: Ducatis, all, and a couple of 1098’s in there. No-bullshit racing bikes that can hit 150mph in about 9 seconds.In other words: what the Hell am I thinking? Time to move over, Old Jaguar Man. It was fun while it lasted. I slow, pull to the right, put on my flashers. The top’s down, so I can wave the bikes past. And what happens next is true. Swear to God.
The lead rider slows, sits up… and shakes his head No. Motions for me to keep leading.
Wait— what?? Is it On? Oh yes, my friend. It’s ON. I go into “paddle shift” mode and punch it. The Jag’s V8 is comfortable right up to about 7000 RPM, and I get there quick. To be blunt, I’m a little out of control. I’m cutting my lines across the whole road, and slamming the car forward at every glimpse of daylight. I’ve pushed the car hard before, but not like this— I’m on the reckless side of safe, and I know this isn’t going to last.
But up ahead, a rest area, and all the Ducatis are flashing their lights.I pull over and am joined by the bikes. The lead rider— younger than I’d have thought, hipster beard — comes up, and in a surprisingly thick drawl: “They teach y’all that in California? I gotta shake your hand, man! You were AWESOME!”
Handshakes all around, a friendly group. But I have to ask: “Aren’t you guys worried about, you know… cops?”
One of the riders shouts to another: “Hey Pete? (another Peter!) You worried about cops?”
The other rider takes off his helmet (another young dude), laughs. “Nah, it’s my day off.”
Oh— so “Pete’s”… Ah. Yes. An escort, as it were.Pete ambles over. We shake hands, have the Pete-Peter conversation, and he explains: “Mostly we just flash our lights, slow you down. But you’re out of state, so a North Carolina ticket wouldn’t go on your license anyway.” Huh.
During our talk, the sky has darkened. The promised Late-Afternoon Thundershowers are close. We say our goodbyes, they mount up… when the Lead Rider asks: “You wanna follow us for a bit? We’re heading down 216 in a few miles but ride behind us until then, we’ll show you a few lines. How’s that sound?” (“Lines” are the best path through a series of curves.)
How does that SOUND??? Having a Ducati Club with an off-duty State Cop escort me through the Blue Ridge Parkway?? That sounds just fine, fellas. I would like that very much.
What follows are twenty of the best top-down, red-lined, white-knuckle minutes of MY LIFE. I cross something off my Bucket List that I didn’t know was on there.
Far better writers than Peter Kelley have observed the difficulty of properly describing speed behind the wheel. It’s true: I can describe the sensations, the sounds; I can talk about studying speed and the physics of driving for decades while learning to push progressively faster and more complicated cars toward their limits.
All you really need to know is this: as you slam a car down a two-lane road at an unsafe speed toward a guardrail adorned with yellow CAUTION LEFT TURN arrows, what you mostly experience is fear. Unpleasant, dry-mouthed, palms-sweating fear.
But here’s the part no one tells you: when it ends, the feeling that replaces the fear is indescribable. And all that adrenaline has the strange and powerful effect of burning the event into memory. I will never forget it. But that’s always been my experience with ecstasy: it’s sneaky. You can’t plan it. It just sort of comes upon you. Provided, that is, that you’re in the midst of living. So.
In the past few years I’ve watched too many people I care about go from vibrant life forces to diminished, then feeble, then wheelchair-bound, then bedridden, then comatose before finally finding peace. And I gotta tell you: I now believe in bucket lists. Not so much of a fan of “someday” anymore.
If I am an inspiration (or poster boy) for anything, I hope it’s this: risk. Indulge. Then indulge again.
Raise your hand.
Speak up.
Take the shot.
Jump.
And above all else: for God’s sake just go over there and talk to her.
(OK, I was never very good at that one. But still. You get the point.)
So if you find yourself on a perfect winding road on a perfect afternoon, and a Ducati Club asks if you want to follow along…
We did the Pacific Coast last spring. I agree that the Oregon part was the best.
Starting at home in Regina (rhymes with fun) we went to Vancouver, south to Long Beach, west to the Grand Canyon (lots of old Route 66), a couple of nights in Vegas, then north to home.
The previous year we did the Black Hills with a side trip to look for aliens.
Great drives on both trips. The interior of British Columbia is hard to beat, though. Hours on end of twisties with hardly any traffic.
Tail of the Dragon in Tennessee/North Carolina. I put the top down and about a mile down the road, the rain came. About three miles later I got stuck behind a trike who really wanted to see everything.
The South Island of New Zealand has a huge mountain range running right down the middle. The East Coast, where I live, is reasonably dry where as the West Coast has lush green rain forests.
The drive from Christchurch to the West Coast is pretty epic as you wind your way up over the Alps then plunge down the other side in to the rain forests.
The drive down the West coast to the bottom of the island is pretty special too. It is a lot busier these days but you used to be able to drive for half an hour and not see another car. There are a few glaciers to stop off and view on the way down as well.
It is a shame that 95% of my driving is just 4.5 miles to work and back through suburbia
Blue Ridge Parkway 5 years ago. Cloudy and overcast until about 3000 feet and burst into the sunshine. Did the drive from the south end to Roanoke. Epic drive, epic car.
Like some of the guys on the West coast who get to travel the PCH and other great roads, some of us live close enough in and near the Smokies to drive that one quite regularly. Can't wait for it to open again and the weather to warm up to get back on it!
01-16-2019 | 11:41 AM
What is the most scenic or famous drive you've taken with your X150?
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To be fair, we wanted to take the Jag on the trip, but her cousin is a Montana State Patrol officer and we called her for guidance prior to departure. Her cousin just started laughing and said, "No. I live in Helena and it just snowed 400 feet above us yesterday. A RWD convertible is a TERRIBLE idea for the park."
