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I've been chanting one single phrase for the last ten hours or so.

"Close but no cigar."

I suspect that when people die and go to Hell, they are shuttled off in a Greyhound bus.

Maybe I should start at the beginning. Go make coffee or paint a room, it's going to be a long read.

I've been lusting for a Honda S2000 since it came out. A sporty convertible in screaming yellow, with an 8000 rpm redline (8200 limiter cutoff), 6 speed manual transmission with throws so short people rave it's like a video game, and Go-kart like handling that would make most go-karts look like shopping carts.

What's not to love right? I know!

It started as a wishful dream really, something to do while I had a spare moment at work. While surfing through the internet, I found a site that searched for used cars, oodle.com. I typed in "2006 Yellow Honda S2000" and a bunch of hits appeared. Prices averaged $25,000 US.

What got me started thinking about owning one was our Canadian dollar being above par to the US single down south.

I didn't think I'd get one. I mean, I can barely afford to eat three square meals a week, but the dream would not die.

I first decided to find out how hard it was to import a vehicle. I figure with all the hassles required to bring one in, it would totally stop me.

But it wasn't hard. It was tedious, but once all the paperwork was in order, bringing one in would just cost money and time. After a few phone calls, I was assured that I could bring one in.


Next, I found the perfect car near Chicago. I actually called them up to ask about buying it. However I was not ready and after waiting purposely 4-5 days, it was sold, with a list price of $24,880, I'm not surprised.

Well that ended my dream. So close, but no cigar.

Except I found another car for a $1000 more, but it had a factory body kit.

I started going crazy. I really wanted the car. So I made some phone calls yet again. Next thing I knew and without really intending to, I put a $200 refundable deposit onto the car of my dreams. The first pawn had been sacrificed in a risky game of vehicular chess, and I was on my way to a Pawn-to-E3's King gambit.

Things moved way too fast. If I was to really buy the car I had to get insurance, which I can't buy unless I had proof of ownership and a bill of sale. So I had to get those. Then I needed to send all relevant documentation to the US border 72 hours ahead of pick up - which the salesman did on my behalf.

I also needed a letter of "Recall Clearance" to import into Canada. This document basically states that there are no outstanding recalls awaiting to be done on the car. The letter has to be issued from Honda USA, which they refused because I wasn't an American citizen. Without this letter, I can forget about paying the difference I owed.

That should have killed my dreams full stop, except RIV (Registrar of Imported Vehicles - Canada's governing body of vehicle importation) knows that US automotive companies are playing hardball, so they would obtain the letter on my behalf.

Let's recap. I have all US Customs documents faxed. All other pertinent papers have been faxed to me. I took out $5750 US cash, and another $20K at my ready in the forms of 1% dividend credit cards. I booked a greyhound bus ticket to first Buffalo, and then an Amtrak train ride into Schenectady, NY. From there a guy at the dealership would pick me up and drive me over to Glenville, where my car rested. Cankles even volunteered to accompany me.

The trip was painful. On Sunday night, we boarded the bus from downtown Toronto at 11pm. We bumped and jittered our way to Buffalo, arriving at 2am. Then we took a cab to the Amtrak station. There was just one problem - the train station was completely closed.

We were in the middle of nowhere. We had to wait until 4:20am for our train to arrive, standing outside by the platform. I had $5750 in cash tucked in my pants pocket. The work laptop was in my backpack. Getting jacked would be the least of our worries.

So we both took off to look for shelter. Luckily we found an empty multi-story parking lot and we settled into an alcove on the ground floor, where casual prying eyes wouldn't see us. There we waited like hobos without so much as a heated grate. Half falling asleep, half laughing at how stupid we were, both wishing it was just a bit warmer.

We passed out on the train all the way to Schenectady. Upon arrival, we were met by Rick, one of their mechanics. Real nice guy, easy to get along. Doesn't like President Bush all that much.

I saw my car for the first time. Not bad, not bad at all. There was a pretty curbed rim from what could very well have been a bad parallel parking job. There was a noticeable dent on the driver side, behind the door, above the filler cap area. There were scratches on the bottom-right of the front skirt. There was another scratch on the top of the spoiler.

The interior had a little bit of scuffed leather but not much else was wrong - until I noticed the convertible canopy.

There were two tears both near the manual latches that are used to baton down the convertible top, one on each side. The left was way worse. It was haphazardly sewn up, with some sticky goop brushed over top to stop the water from coming in. I was pretty upset at that. All the other stuff I could either fix or ignore, but the rip in the cloth housing gave me real pause.

We talked money, and the next thing I know I was walking away with the keys in my hands, having just bought the car.

Now we had to hightail it out of there. The US customs border closes at 4pm, and it was a five hour plus drive from where we were to Lewiston NY, a nicer sister town to Buffalo or Niagara Falls. It was 11am and we hadn't yet left.

So we bounced at 11:17am, and drove towards our destination on a time crunch. We drove as quickly as we dared, first with the top down until we realized we were both getting sunburned, then with the roof up, trying to speed without being noticed - a tall order when you're driving a little yellow sports car done up.

We got lost. Or we had to pee. Or we stopped to eat because we were hungry. Long story short, we didn't make the 4pm deadline, so we were forced to spend the night in Lewiston.

First things first, Vincena Pizza? It was the best tasting I've had in my life, better than Chicago's deep dish. I couldn't believe how delicious it was.

Second? The people are really friendly there. I mean, most people enjoyed chatting with me whether I was in the mood or not.

Third, the Riverside motel is pretty garbage, but you can't beat the scenary outside of your door for $69 a night.

Fourth, both Cankles and I fell asleep by 8pm and didn't wake up again until 7:30am the next morning.

We bought breakfast at the Village Bakery and then headed towards the custom's bridge, thanks to the instructions by the ladies working there.

We made it to the Canadian border no problem. The custom's officer was really nice, and was appreciative of the fact I gave him the oodle.com website to search for a car. The customs guys at the Canadian quarters were very helpful, teaching me how to fill out the form for importation. Everything went buttery smooth, as silky smooth as the 10w30 engine oil that kept the car running in tip top happy shape.

Until they noticed I didn't have the title to my car.

"What title?" I asked. "This is all the dealer guy gave me."

"The title of your car is needed to prove that you actually own the car. It has to be transferred to your name. Also, you didn't get anything stamped from the US. Turn around, go back and get that done."

I followed their instructions to the letter to get that accomplished back on the US side. I found the office, and spoke with the lady there.

"You don't have a title." Said the customs officer on the US side. This was getting to be a worrisome mantra.

"I called my dealer guy, he said that 'the letter of repossession' is the same as the title."

"No it's not. You can't cross the border with your vehicle without a title."

I called my dealer. To get a title from the DMV, it takes up to 2 weeks. Great. I'm stuck in the States.

Now here's the kicker. Breathe deep.

I drove back to the dealership in Schenactady, in pouring rain with leaky roof. There was a moment of utter panic as my gas fuel light went bright amber, with no ticks left on the fuel bar, and the next service station was still 15 miles away. We weren't going to even make it to the gas station....

I set the cruise control to 60mph, even trucks were blowing by me. I didn't care. I started praying when we first saw the 15 mile marker. I started to nearly cry when I knew we had done only 8 miles. I started calculating how fast I could run the 14 miles there and back in pouring rain, with no clothes to change out of.

When the sign said 2 miles to go and the car felt like it was sputtering, I know I was done for. I thank God silently that I only had a 4 mile trek.

And then, miraculously, like a hungry man seeing free food for the first time, the exit into the service station. We had made it with fuel to spare! Halleluiah!

After we fueled both car and stomach, we began driving anew, I was now averaging 80mph in the rain and not being able to spot cops on yonder. I didn't actually care at this point.

We got back to the train station in Schenectady and bought two tickets to buffalo without checking the bus schedule from there to Toronto. We hit the dealership at 3pm.

After speaking with the dealer about our problem, we checked online for the bus schedules. Woe be us! Amtrak train would arrive too late to catch the last bus from Buffalo to Toronto. So we need alternate methods.

We checked Greyhound and luckily there was a bus that went from Schenectady to Toronto via, Utica, Amsterdam, Syracuse, Rochester, Buffalo, Fort Erie, Niagara Falls Ontario, St. Catharines , and then "express" all the way back home.

So now this post. No car. No luck. No joy. My car that I had bought is still in the hands of the dealers, awaiting my title and them fixing the leaky roof.

It's been a hellish 2 days with the only bright spots being the friendly people in Lewiston. I want to thank the "Country Doctor", Frank - who loved my car and couldn't get over how great it looked. Then to the lady who owned or at least managed the Riverside motel, giving us a room quickly so Cankles could poo. Finally then to the ladies at the Village Bakery Shop, for recommending really nice teas, to blueberry muffin tops that rocked, and the map to the US/Canadian bridge. You guys are awesome.

Everyone else, including the US Customs lady, you can bite me!

Well, at least I got some nice pictures - even if it was just using my cellphone camera.

....Sigh.

posted by losir at 9:39 PM