Naples, Florida...where "summer" and "winter" are verbs, good times are endless, and some guys are a little too slick while their women blink at you with credit-card-eyes. There's also a lot of loose talk; though not nearly so much as before the great 2000's real estate backwash...not nearly so much. All else being equal, it's a great place live or visit.
 
Naples is gorgeous; as far down on the Gulf Coast as you can drive without hooking a hard-left on the Tamiami Trail off east toward Miami. But you can lose your perspective easily here, just as you might in Del Mar, Greenwich, Palm Beach or Sedona. BMW Z-4 convertibles are more common than Pelicans or Tiger Woods' instant messages. Thus when I wanted a car for back and forth to the airport and office, though I had never been a Beamer devotee, I drove 25 miles to the Ft. Myers BMW store to see a guy I had met shortly after moving here. Two hours later I drove back in a handsome black Z-4 with a camel top, pleasantly surprised with the car's handling.
 
I wouldn't call it a "love affair" really, but a sort of casual comfort, the Z and I. That is until somewhere in April when the camel-colored top began to show interesting symmetrical patterns of discoloration; you know sort of like wheat field crop circles from extra terrestrials. "What's this?" I wondered. Surely this is not the stuff of the "ultimate driving machine." That's where it all started to veer toward the ditch.
 
Believing BMW's warranty was ironclad irrespective of the dealer, I headed over to the Naples BMW address just a few miles from my office. One by one they came out to greet me: a sales guy, a service guy, and the grand finale, Mike the service manager. They said they had never seen a striped top before, and with the scientific aplomb of Copenhagen, Mike the service manager opined, "Well, it appears to be some chemical osmotic effect soaking up into the camel fabric." Buoyed by this coruscating deduction I replied, "Great...I assume it's covered by warranty." Expressions hardened, eyes turned away, clouds shouldered their way across the golden Gulf sun. "Uh...it probably is Mr. Moore, but the BMW regional guy will need to look at it."  
 
Whatever you do, never ever entrust anything; not your pop-up toaster, your golf cart or your Scottish terrier to the "regional guy." In this case weeks passed, until once again I visited the Naples BMW store to remind them the "regional guy" was AWOL. A week hence I was asked to bring the car back because the man was on-site. Staring at the car he asked, "Did you get the car here?" knowing full well emblazoned on the license frame is the logo of the hated BMW rival in Ft. Myers, there for all to see. "No" I said, "no I didn't. Should that make a difference?"
 
Well, said the regional guy, "that appears to be a natural effect of sunlight on your top, and so we'll split the cost of a new top with you...they're about two grand." Suddenly I was Clint Eastwood at high-noon; the Naples BMW store became a scene of acute disequilibrium. "So what you're telling me is The Ultimate Driving Machine in fact offers a "half warranty?" 
 
 Later, deciding I'd have at least a 50-50 chance of a more redeeming result, I drove 25 miles up-coast to the original scene of the crime, aka BMW Ft. Myers. Timidly I presented the now famous Z-4 with the striped camel top. "Well Mr. Moore, I'll tell ya. The regional guy will have to look at that." I asked if that meant the lesser known BMW "fifty-fifty warranty" lie ahead. "No sir, that's what we call our Good Will Program. When in doubt, we split it with the customer."