This text was not translated, because it is originally in English
Our names arent Tod and Buz, but my friend Bob Hayes and I recently drove a pristine 2005 Chevy Corvette Z51 from St. Louis along I-44 and I-40, paralleling sections of the historic highway made famous by the 1960s TV series. Better yet, I was buying this car from a friendly guy named Dan, on the strength of an ad that showed the cars luminous Magnetic Red paint from every angle, the cars odometer reading of 13,396 miles and shots of an undercarriage that had never been driven in rain or snow. A couple of airline tickets through Expedia, and Bob and I were off on our adventure, leaving the balmy 70-degree sanctuary of Southern California.

But would our trip be closer to an episode of Ice Road Truckers? Last week, before our journey, the Midwest and Northeast were hit with a blizzard/ice storm that the media described as crippling and historic. We met Dan at the airport during a merciful lull in storm activity, completed the transaction, hopped in the Vette, and tested the Chevys summer-compound Goodyear run-flats—the original 6-year-old tires—on ice. Of course, these were the wrong tool for the job, the frozen tread blocks chattering even during a low-speed U-turn. Stability control was our trusted friend here.

Fifty miles southwest of St. Louis, the slick roads road miraculously cleared, albeit with snowdrift berms on either side. We dodged the bullet of unhappily colliding air masses and didnt encounter the slightest bit of rain or snow for the remainder of the trip. Oklahoma would get about 10 inches of the fluffy white stuff the next day.

No time for visiting kitschy roadside attractions, we covered 500 miles on Sunday, pulling into a Super 8 at 2 a. m. on the outskirts of Oklahoma City. After five hours of sleep, it was back in the saddle for a 17-hour, 1300-mile drive back to Southern California, stopping briefly for a photo or two, and to replenish both fuel and our dwindling cache of beef jerky and Dr. Pepper. I vaguely remember a stop in New Mexico for a Dairy Queen burger.

So we made it in a day and a half, with a few adventures. Like black ice and Vette-swallowing potholes in Tulsa. Low on fuel here, we took an offramp to a gas station, only to find about two feet of unplowed snow completely blocking our path. Backing up onto I-40 was our only option, and a relatively safe one with sparse traffic at midnight.

There were a couple of Olympic-class adrenaline spikes when cresting hills, only to see a state trooper taking dead aim with a radar gun (luckily, we were mostly behaving ourselves with speed limits). And getting back to California, a dust storm of all things near Needles that really showed off the Vettes stability in crosswinds. Oh, and nearing midnight getting back to the L. A. area, there was the guy broken down in the fast lane on I-15 who thought hed flag down a speeding Corvette by jumping in front of us. Again, the Adren-o-Meter went off the scale.

After what seemed like an entire day of sleep, it felt good to power-wash the road grime from the Vettes composite skin, apply a nice coat of wax and tuck her away in the garage. She (sports cars, for some reason, are always female) proved an able cross-country tourer, the Z51 suspension firm yet comfortable, the tinted roof panel squawking a bit over bumps…but whats a Corvette without a few squeaks? With the engine loafing a 1900 rpm at 80 mph, the Vette returned 27. 2 mpg on one tankful, crazy-good for a 400-bhp car.

Dan didnt drive her much, one of the reasons for the sale. But Ill fix that. Bob and I have a cross-country head start.