Tuesday, Oct. 14, 2003: I know it's coming. It's coming for my week of vacation -- the first vacation I've had a chance to take in several years -- and my wife laid down the law.

She had flung two folding suitcases on our bed last night and said, "If these can fit, fine. If not, you're in trouble, buster."

Ooooo. She knew I had a choice of vehicles for this week: A pricey four-door full-size sedan or .. a 2004 Mercedes-Benz SLK Special Edition.

Guess which I chose.

It's a once-in-a-lifetime thing, I told myself, to be able to drive through the rural South to the mountains of western North Carolina, where the leaves would be reaching peak Fall color. And this SLK, a sports car to lust for, is one of the very few hardtop-convertibles in the world. Only the Lexus SC430 truly challenges it -- at $20,000 more.

I could see us winding up and down colorful mountain roads, the top down, leaves tumbling into our laps, the sun playing chase behind the yellows, reds and oranges. On the 700-mile trip up and back, of course, we'd leave the top up. The ride should be a quiet as any hardtop. Intrusive noise from most convertibles is an interstate irritation.

Heck, this was a no-brainer for me.

But after looking at the two suitcases, I decided to go online to see how much trunk space the SLK has. I've had SLK's in the past, but who can remember from trunk to trunk? Seen one trunk ...

Trunk: 9.5 cubic feet, with the top up. Hmmm. Should hold those two suitcases with room to spare. I smiled.

The SLK pulled into my driveway about 5 p.m.

I shook hands with the delivery person, exchanged pleasantries .. and popped the trunk. Yep. I wouldn't have to travel alone.

Wednesday, Oct. 15, 2003: In the newspaper business, I deal with deadlines daily. On vacation, I want NO time schedule of any kind. And that's the way it would be. I laid down the law.

Seven-hundred mile days are possible, of course, but we were going to take our time driving north, spending the night somewhere in Georgia. That was the plan.

So it was that we packed in the morning, put the two suitcases -- and a whole bunch more -- in the trunk and didn't get underway until about 10 a.m. Wife put Big Dog in her minivan to deliver to our son enroute, where she'd also leave that family hauler.

On this trip, one we've made many times before with now-deceased family members, the worst part is Florida. It's just damn boring from beautiful Southwest Florida, where I live, to the Georgia border, where it feels as if you've finally accomplished something. Gas prices are high, motels are overpriced and the whole thing makes me say I live in North Miami, which ends somewhere north of Gainesville. Too much of Florida is becoming a Sea of Sameness, but novelist Carl Hiaasen makes the point better than I can.

When we hit the Georgia line, we cue the CD changer, located in the trunk, to play the three CDs we've brought of Lewis Grizzard in live performances. I loved Lewis. Miss his wit and insight. He has not been replaced since his untimely death. Likely won't be. He was perfect for his time and place. That's all any of us can hope for.

"Wish I could do that," the voice on the CD says.

"That dog'd bite yoooooooou," comes the reply.

CDs are forever, Lewis.

We pass cotton fields, some picked, some ready to be picked, white puffs stark standouts against red clay soil. A billboard in one field proclaims, "Grown in the U.S.A. Made in the U.S.A. It makes a difference."

By late afternoon, we are well into Central Georgia and decide to stop overnight outside of Macon.

Nice motel. $31. Fill up with premium fuel (the SLK with its 192 horsepower, supercharged four-cylinder engine demands it) at a price 20 cents per gallon cheaper than Florida. But, hey, Florida has no state income tax, and Georgia does -- the reason Georgia has lower taxes on fuel.

Thursday, Oct. 16, 2003: By now, I've formed some opinions about this 2004 SLK Special Edition.

The first check of fuel mileage places the real-world figure at 27-28 mpg for interstate cruising. Not bad at all. The EPA estimates are 22 city and 28 highway. 'bout right. But the cruise control is very, very slow to return to the preset speed. This fact is hanging me out in onrushing traffic because I almost always drive by cruise control. I set it, stay in the right lane until I need to pass, brake and it goes off, then hit resume as I pull into the left, passing lane. But the SLK is so slow that traffic coming up behind me in the passing lane catches me quickly.

I am forced to drive by foot.

Ugh. This is an easy fix for Mercedes, however, and about the only thing I dislike about the SLK.

Basically, what I have is a two-seat sports car that converts from coupe to roadster in 25 seconds with the tug of a single button. It starts life at $40,320 for the basest of models, but our Special Edition came in a tad above $47,000. The five-speed automatic transmission that made travel in cities easier was a $1,360 option. So were 17-inch alloy wheels with high-performance tires.

And it is RED. Really, really red.

We pass a makeshift church with one of those replaceable plastic letter signs out front.

"First Church of Go" it proclaims.

My kind of church.

Police are probably still investigating who stole the D.

Friday, Oct. 17, 2003: With the luggage in the motel room, we can lower the top!

But wait a minute.

It's 35 degrees this morning!

Now, for many folks who must endure a February blizzard, 35 might be sweater weather. But Floridians never acclimate to cold. Never. 35 might as well be 20-below. All the same once it gets below 60. I decide to wear everything I brought. Heavy turtleneck with a heavy jacket over that. I hope my wife can stay warm.

"You're going to drop the top?" she asks.

I nod.

I find what passes for a windscreen, tucked behind the driver's seat. It's a piece of mesh that doesn't seem to fit when you try to stretch it over the twin roll bars of the SLK. The trick, I discover, is to affix the four anchors first, then pull the flexible mesh up and over the roll bars.

"If you want, we can roll up the windows and turn on the heat," I offer.

So that's what we do as we set out on the first day of leaf looking. The wind, mostly, flows around and over us, so the chilly temperature doesn't cause shivering. And the clothing helps.

With the top stowed in the trunk -- a crowd-drawing event every time that hardtop begins its stowaway dance -- we are left with 3.6 cubic feet of trunk room. That's enough to stash some rocks, lots of dried leaves and my camera gear. No suitcases, though. Not a chance.

Inside the SLK Special Edition, we have 43.8 cubic inches of space, with decent legroom. Not roomy exactly, but not cramped either. My wife even remarks that it's comfortable. Far out. Who needs back seats?

As the day wears on, though, her footwell fills up.

We must buy roadside fruits and veggies, of course, plus gifts for the grandgirls back home, etc.

By day's end, she has filled 41.3 cubic feet of interior space.

On the rolling stretches of mountain road, I use cruise control. And I notice something I haven't noticed with other systems: The SLK downshifts automatically and early on declines, using engine rpm to help slow the rushing pull of gravity. The supercharged four-cylinder with 200 foot-pounds of torque at 2,500 rpm has no trouble going uphill. None. In fact, this most base of SLK models can scoot 0 to 60 in 7 seconds. Not bad. Want more? The AMG model does 0 to 60 in 4.8 seconds!!

The SLK is not a new model by any means, so I'm surprised throughout the day when people ask what it is and comment on how beautiful it is. It happens every time I stop.

But have you ever noticed that once you buy a car you start seeing the make and model everywhere? Funny, there didn't seem to be that many before you bought yours. That's just human nature. Fact is, during all my 1,800 miles of travel, I saw exactly one other SLK. No wonder people commented. Some of them probably had never noticed one before.

Saturday, Oct. 18, 2003: This is our last leaf-looking day. I throw open the motel room door and .. the fog is so thick I can't see the office a hundred feet away.

I can't see the mountains across the street. Can't see the yellow-leafed tree at the top of the hill leading down to this motel.

About the only good thing I can think of this morning is that the Florida Marlins would be a good match against the New York Yankees.

By 10:30, the fog has lifted enough that we can head out. Yesterday, we had traveled an old favorite, Walnut Creek Road, a two-lane connection between Franklin and Cashiers. Winds gusting to 60 miles an hour earlier in the week had stripped some trees of leaves, however, so today we took a looping 125-mile route in the opposite direction. A new road for us.

And did it ever pay off.

The Nantahala Forest is beautiful. Colorful trees. Creeks with trout fishermen casting beside the road. Kayak and rafting outposts every mile or so. And pull-over lakes that beckon with rocky shores.

More and more, I'm impressed by the balanced performance the SLK gives me. The steering is right-where-you-point-it accurate. Brakes are awesome. The turning radius is a tight 33 feet and I can U-turn with minimum fuss. The car weighs 3,110 pounds, which might seem heavy but gives it a solid feel. Cowl shake is nonexistent.

I begin to feel one with the road.

We shop a flea market and I'm disgusted to find the place I used to rummage for castoffs I could use is now mostly crafts and new stuff I can find at Dollar General. Bah! You are destined to die, flea markets, if you travel that route. Get back to your roots.

The SLK is terrific after dark. Xenon headlights light up the road ahead, but it's how the SLK itself lights up for night entrance that is most special. Many convertibles have dark interiors, since they can't have an overhead light. But the SLK lights up inside and outside with the press of a remote control button. Lights on the outside mirrors illuminate the door area. Inside, controls are well lighted.

The black-on-white instruments are good, day or night.

There's leather for seats and steering wheel, and stepping up a notch can bring you wood trim and a wood-leather steering wheel. I'm happy with this one, however. Don't need more horsepower. Don't need more expensive trim. This is a great little roadster for city or vacation travel.

We pig out again for supper and then begin walking to the town square, where a country/gospel group is performing a free concert. It seems festivals are occuring in all the towns around here, celebrating the last week when tourist dollars jingle cash registers. Truly, the area is returned to the hard-core few after the third week in October.

Ghost towns. Happy the traffic is gone, I'm sure.

Now, walking uphill is not something I do regularly. The wife and I are huffing, puffing, limp-legged, sagging, pathetic excuses for fit folks by the time we reach the town square. I plop on the ground to lean back against a rail. Wife plops beside me. And we are entertained by the fast-picking banjo player and the sight of little children spontaneously clogging beside us.

Life is very, very good. Music in the cool night air. Warm coffee. Someone special with you. Life is good. Think about such moments when they occur, for they can't last. They will become your memories. And when time's moments turn ugly, memories are the movies of your soul.

Tomorrow, we leave this fairyland of fall color and dancing children.

Suddenly horns are honking. There's shouting in the air. Getting closer. It's drowning out the singer at the microphone. What the...?

Down the main street, just east of the square, comes a mini-parade of three or four vehicles, with "Just Married" scrawled on the windows and sides of a sport utility.

Hanging out a rear window, her bridal veil whipped by the wind, is one happy woman shouting at the top of her lungs.

As quickly as they appeared, the sounds and the vehicles fade away into the misty distance and the twang of guitar and sad-song vocals replace them.

"... your love was the hardest thing I ever lost ... "

It's 9 o'clock in Franklin. And things are breaking up.

Sunday, Oct. 19, 2003: The top goes back up.

There's no other way to get all this .. this .. stuff in the car. Besides, who wants to be whipped by winds of interstate speed. One of the real beauties of the SLK is how quiet the car's interior is while cruising at 75 miles an hour. The hardtop here is not some strapped down option. It was part of this car's design from the very beginning and the car is every bit as quiet with the top up as any sports coupe without convertible capabilities.

So we are off before mid-morning.

Good thing, too. Exiting traffic is bumper-to-bumper. We creep forward. Stop. Creep. Stop. It is this way for two hours.

Everyone leaves at once.

We will set no records today, unless it's for shortest distance after leaving North Carolina.

At lunch in a fast-food joint, I hear an adjacent couple talking about an accident. Something about "the woman looked dead." I paid no real attention.

Fifteen minutes from the restaurant, I came across the accident.

A car -- who could even tell what make or model -- had pulled from a side road onto a four-lane, divided highway where the average speed is 70 mph. The car had been broadsided on the driver's side, squarely between front and rear axles, by a large truck. The car's driver's side was smashed almost all the way to the passenger side.

Inside the crushed and twisted metal, two sheets were draped.

I drove on with no music playing, wondering who they were, how time and circumstance conspired to snuff out two lives on this lonely stretch of Georgia road. And I pondered why people would buy a Mercedes-Benz. I know, of course. It's safety.

This SLK is a good example. Name a safer small sports car. You can't. This SLK has rollbars, air bags in front of both seats, to the side of both seats, knee bolsters, anti-lock brakes, traction control, and sophisticated stability control. It doesn't get any safer at this size.

But I know what can happen when a moment's inattention sets in motion an unrecallable action.

Lives can be lost.

No car, no passenger vehicle, would have saved the two under those sheets.

I was particularly careful on the drive back to Florida.

Monday, Oct. 20, 2003: As we entered Florida about 10 a.m., I turned on my cell phone for the first time since vacation began. This was to be a vacation, I concluded, where I didn't take a laptop computer and didn't even turn on my cell phone.

The phone rang almost at once.

It was a person with the delivery service for Mercedes-Benz. They want to switch the car a day early. How about this morning at 10:30?

How about I just crossed the Florida-Georgia line, I replied. I'm hours and hours away.

Ooops.

Hey, I didn't know. The car was set for pick up on Tuesday.

So it was that I had to make a non-stop beeline for home, where a bright yellow Toyota MR2 sat waiting for me.

I reluctantly turned over the keys to the SLK, said I loved it and M-B would like the review.

Then I popped the front trunk of the MR2.

Whoa. Good thing I'd only be using it around town.

Wouldn't even hold my wife's returning rocks.

VIDNOTES: Yes, I did some taping in North Carolina. And put together a fast minute of video you'll find here in Windows Media format. I've had it with RealPlayer and its errors! No mas! Only Microsoft and Apple will play here now.

Home, James