My reason for buying a Bonneville:
Once, when younger, dumber, and uglier than I am now, I was heading home from work at 11:30 or so. I was in my first year of college and had worked the late shift at the grocery store; it was midnight or so.
Well, passing out of the city and into the countryside around it, I was passed in a no-passing zone by a 1996 red Bonneville SSE. I was driving a red 1994 Grand Prix, 3.1 liter that I considered holier than all things. Needless to say, I wasn’t pleased at the actions of the little snot-nosed brats in their daddy’* Bonneville.
So I followed.
They sped up, just as soon as they saw me coming. I stayed on their rear, refusing to let this go. We went down through town around 60-70 (screw the cops…they were gonna see the Bonneville first!) and I did just fine.
Two miles into it, I could tell they were getting nervous. I was far more aggressive than they were (it was MY GP, their father’* Bonneville) and they took it down a back road. This was narrower and curvier, and there was sand over parts of it.
That’* where I almost lost it.
Doing about sixty, I went around a corner and suddenly the rear-end of the car whipped out on me. I went sliding down the road sideways, hauling the wheel the other way, and flipped it 180 degrees in the other direction. I jerked the wheel back and ended up length-wise in the middle of the road, breathing hard, and seeing visions of my near death flashing through my eyes.
That’* when I realized that an extra 300 pounds, two teenagers in the back, and traction-control make a difference.
I wasn’t going to let it go, of course. I caught up with them just as they were heading back into town. I pulled up next to them at a light, but by that point, they were done. I found out later, through my brother, that they had been terrified the entire time; my brother had a huge mouth in the school, and it was well known that I carried a gun. They were honestly expecting me to start shooting. :ROLL:
Anyway, I went home, determined that the next car I bought was going to be a Bonneville…with the i.
There'* a post-script to this story. This past year, a good friend bought a used Bonneville...guess whose it was? I got to drive it...and smoke it with mine own.