(This is part 14 of a multi-part series. If you wish to start at the beginning, click here)
College years were good. Really good. Like the best years of my life. Nothing more exciting than living around thousands of people your own age, bringing their goals, dreams, ambitions. It’s a mentally and physically stimulating place to be and anything seems possible. I can see why people never want to leave.
I didn’t return home after second year ended, opting to sublet an apartment and work for the University in their Summer New Student Orientation Program, while also getting Physics II out of the way. The relationship with the future mrs.gokstate was a mere 3 months young, but she was gone for the summer doing international service (I got to be the honorary boyfriend to drop her off and pick up from the airport).
A college town in the summer must be experienced at least once. It was completely chillaxed. Island time on the Plains. Surreal. Remember one summer evening a little known band called 311 came to play a short set in the small park by my sublet. No more than 30-40 people attending. Then there was the evening we were hanging out and word started getting passed that the police had found OJ, so we perched around the TV showing the most famous white Bronco footage of all time. In our apartment, we constantly dodged a 10 foot long piece of goalpost left by the previous occupants that had been torn down after K-State had beaten in-state rival KU that year. It’s a time I will never return to but in memory.
Junior year I did return home, though. Dad helped me get a job unloading trailers at a warehouse. The pay was good. I was doing grad school prep work in the down time and generally just living the young 20-something life.
Conversely, the MR2 was living out its senior life, having crested 130k miles. Nowadays that’s nothing, but one has to remember the mentality back in the 80’s and early 90’s, 100k miles on the odometer was the usable lifespan on most cars. Put up the tombstone, deliver the eulogy, and off to the junkyard. The MR2 was still mostly in pretty good shape. A quarter size rust spot had bubbled up on the roof by the retractable antenna, and the front lower valance was split and slightly rusted from an ill-advised jaunt down a rutted off road trail a year or two before. Still, my mindset was that at 130k miles, any car was on life support, and I started nudging Dad for a replacement. Again, not that I had any fundage to bring forth another car, just a supplication to the Bank of Dad. I don’t really remember the negotiations, but maybe the understanding went something like this: One last time. One more car sponsorship to get through college, then onto independent adulthood. This was it.
Returned to the classifieds. One immediately stood out from the others: a 1993 Eagle Talon TSI with 32k miles. Located at the Metro Ford used lot in Independence, MO. The price….Uh, well, pushing the ‘budget’ once again. Listed at $13,999. I had a trade-in this time, but the book value on an ’86 MR2 with 130k miles was a measly $1000. Not much. No matter, let’s push aside logic for the moment and go see this car. My older brother had a co-worker friend who was living with us at Dad’s bachelor pad that summer, Iceman (he kind of looked like Val Kilmer in Top Gun), and I asked him to accompany me to check out the Talon. Iceman came from a family who had a small town used lot, so he knew his way around cars well (and I still didn’t). Iceman and my brother had spent part of that summer doing basic maintenance on my brother’s ’87 Iroc 350, and I also heard stories about the ’87 Grand National that he temporarily got to lift off the family lot while he was high school Iceman.
After a 30 minute drive out to Independence, we came upon the lot and the shiny red Talon was there. I had a heart quiver similar to the day I drove by the National sales lot and caught sight of the black MR2. The Eagle was gorgeous. Not wanting to blow things, once we got the keys I asked Iceman to take the test drive. It was just the two of us, and Ice knew how to make that Talon move. I hadn’t experienced that kind of shove in the back of the seat experience before (technically, the Saab 9000 in our past had that kind of capability, but the stepmother never drove the car to its potential). Turbo lag, then whoosh, the houses of the residential road we were on went flying past. We both had big shit-eating grins on our faces. Iceman pulled over and I got behind the wheel. Wow! Turbo lag, torque-steer. I felt like I was wrestling with a rattlesnake. And I loved every moment of it. Ice told me in his opinion, this was a good car, as fast or faster than big brother’s Iroc. Well hell-yeah!
We left the car and later I talked to Dad about it. He was more concerned about the numbers. I don’t think it was quite within our reach, so I let it go for a week. Then, the next weekend classified still had the car, only this time there was additional wordage: “Special, $1000 off!” I brought the new info to Dad, and he could see I was still hot on this Talon. He said I could go in and try to negotiate. Unfortunately, he was tied up with work that Monday, but my stepdad was free and offered to go along. He would lend the responsible adult presence I needed to give an air of veracity to the negotiation. Ultimately, this was my deal, and the stakes were my next ride and Dad’s money. Tried to channel all of the things I had seen or heard from witnessing previous car purchase dances. We sat down and I told the salesman I was interested in the Talon. I had brought along the MR2 for trade bait. One of their service guys took the MR2 for a spin to ensure it ran without issue, then it was time to crunch numbers. Pen to paper, then the paper was slid across the table to us. Starting price: $13,999. They knocked $1000 off right off the top and actually offered me $2000 for the MR2! Double book value? Price down to 11,999 for a couple of year old TSI talon with only 32k miles. Would this work for you? I paused a moment, then pulled out the clipped newspaper ad. What about this $1000 off special you advertised here? Salesman and sales manager’s eyebrows went up and they leaned back. It was like I had just pulled the Ace of Spades on the last draw. The manager nodded slowly, Yeah, we can honor that. Yeesssssssss!!!!!!! Car now down to 11k. It was very obvious the car was worth the ask at this point. My stepfather came through with a check to put a $500 deposit down to hold it until my dad could get off work and finalize the finances. We walked out and the adrenaline surge was again launching pleasure rockets from my brain craters. I was shaking a little. That negotiation had gone very well. My stepfather said he was impressed with my composure and wheeler-dealering. Aside from actually paying for the car, I felt very manly.
That evening, Dad and I went out and he cut the check to bring the car home. Said goodbye to Mister Two after thanking it for years of faithful service.
1993 Eagle Talon TSI. 5 speed manual. No AWD (yes, they actually made non-AWD TSI’s). Automatic sliding seat belts (I know these irk everyone, but I found them ok. You could always unclip them). It had air-conditioning! Ice cold air-conditioning! A button with a white snowflake that turned to amber (normal) or green (max). I froze myself out. The ‘93 Talon was the slightly face-lifted version where the pop up headlights were replaced. I didn’t mind this after the MR2—pop up headlights are very cool when down, and very much un-aerodynamic when up. That sexy hood bulge...
No need to have anyone else drive home. I was clutch experienced. I just wasn’t used to double the MR2’s horsepower and the forced induction. That’s ok. I was willing to spend some time getting familiar.
Jackpot.
Vehicle: 1993 Eagle Talon TSI
HP: 195
TQ: 203 ft-lb
0-60: 6.3s
Top Speed: 143mph (never attempted by me)
Interesting Fact/Opinion: People idolize the golden age of Japanese cars of the 80’s or 90’s, but most don’t realize there was a serious bias against Japanese cars in the U.S. during this time. It wasn’t uncommon to see bumper stickers mandating that you “Eat Your Import,” and “Support Detroit,” while to the old timers (some of whom may have spent some time in the Pacific), there was something very distasteful and unpatriotic about “Jap cars.” Today, Detroit still needs native help, but the lines of production and origin have blended much, confusing the picture. Plus, the build quality became undeniable over time.
Soundtrack: Faith No More – The Real Thing