Tuesday: Aston Martin's new U.S. vice president and general manager, Julian Jenkins, sent us the heartbreakingly beautiful DBS as the kind of gesture of magnanimity to which I can totally relate. I called dibs. If you have the money (for fuel, of course, although it beats the Foose F-150 with 11 city/17 highway mpg), buy this car. You will dress better just to honor the unbearably exquisite interior, trimmed in the finest suede, carbon fiber, stitched leather, and billet aluminum. I would like the people who hand-assembled it to know that I even wore makeup.
The DBS is a visceral driver's car, with a 510-hp V-12 that begs to be flogged and never breaks a sweat in the process. Carbon-ceramic brakes - a first for a roadgoing Aston - ensure that, no matter how fast you go (very; you can't help it), stopping will not be a problem.
I never want to give it back.
Wednesday: The Roush 427R Mustang waited next to the exit of our parking garage, giving Francois in the ticket booth a ringside seat for the beastly, blood-curdling roar of the 435-hp, 4.6-liter supercharged V-8.
"Too bad it's not really a 427," he said, referring to its garish body decals.
"It'll still burn rubber," I shot back, then executed a perfect, wheel-spinning, 90-degree snap through the exit and down Fourth Avenue. Ho-ho-ho.
Next stop, downtown Detroit, this rock-crushing sledgehammer's natural habitat. Three valets at the RenCen rushed me (I mean, the car) to snag the keys. Later, when I loudly departed, an entire block of pedestrians stopped to watch. You would deny the world this tiny moment of 15 city/20 highway mileage pleasure?
Thursday: Regaining my decorum, I borrowed an understated but even more egregiously thirsty Range Rover HSE (12 city/18 highway). Yes, it costs a lot, and its nearly three tons is a bit piggish. But it is also the most exquisite, luxuriously capable SUV in the world. Period. This iconic representation of gross, hedonistic excess is redeemed with one leisurely trip over treacherous Black Bear Pass into Telluride, Colorado. Or a vertical romp up the terrifying Lion's Back in Moab, Utah. Land Rovers are the vehicle of choice for grueling off-road challenges, because they are unstoppable, and when the worst is behind you, the best is still all around you. You deserve it, bwana.
Friday: I had a Fit. Which seemed a fitting end to all the madness. Honda's babiest car is dwarfed by the Roush, and yet it has more passenger and cargo volume. It has superb visibility, it's funky, it'll go 80 mph without scaring you to death, and it's functional as all hell. The carpet feels like flocked cardboard, but the Fit delivers 28 city/34 highway miles of love. You can stuff a bicycle inside.
I don't have a bike. Is that OK?