Here, in this master-planned land of golf greens, polo fields and gated cul-de-sacs, the snowbirds are all a-twitter over what’s on Lillie Lipscomb’s driveway.
It isn’t just that Lipscomb, who used to work for Chrysler in that Motor City of Detroit, went and purchased a golf cart. It isn’t just that the cart in question is a fibreglass replica of a 1934 Ford, bug-eyed headlights, chromed hubcabs and all. What really wows them are the iridescent flames across the jet-black hood — flames that constantly change hue, from blue to bronze to amber to green and gold, depending on the sunlight.
”Soon as I delivered it,” says Alan Zimmerman, the man who sold Lipscomb her new chariot, ”she had a bunch of neighbours outside her house going Ooh! and Aah,! and Eeee!, like they’d seen a spaceship or something.”
The clincher was the beverage cooler — the one under the hood. ”I’m amazed by that cooler,” says Gil Owens, 70, a retired correctional officer from Enfield, Connecticut. He noted it even had a drainage plug, to be removed when the ice melted. ”I mean, who would have thought you could pack a few cold ones under your front hood?”
Lipscomb, 62, didn’t blink at the price to be paid for putt-putting about in style: $20 400 (R121 788), including taxes. Her eyes do narrow, though, when people use that four-letter word — cart – while referring to her hotwheels.
”How could you call this a golf cart?” she asks. ”It’s a car — a custom Streetrod, you know.”
Such little-wheeled luxury may seem extreme, but luxury golf car(t)s — some of them modeled after Lincoln Navigators, Humvees and even Lamborghinis — are popping up on fashionable driveways all over the country. And, for the truly status-conscious, there are custom-built models.
In many gated, recreational communities that cater to older Americans in Hawaii, California, Florida and other states across the Sun Belt, the personal golf car is fast overtaking the automobile as the preferred mode of day-to-day transport.
The craze hasn’t just seized die-hard duffers whom you might expect to be bogeying their days away — although pro golfer Nancy Lopez has often been spotted cruising the fairways of The Villages in her custom car, a replica Hummer H2, which, without any bells or whistles, has a base price of $18 000 (R107 460).
Even rank-and-file retirees who spend no more than a weekend a year on the fairways are garaging their once-beloved automobiles and using stylish golf cars for travel close to the nest.
It makes perfect sense to Gary Lester, a spokesman for The Villages, a 22 000-acre (8 800-hectare) sanctuary to 45 000 snowbirds in the heart of Florida that markets itself as ”the most golf-car-friendly community in existence.”
As he sees it, growing numbers of retiring Baby Boomers, fed up with the daily stress of gridlocked traffic and the hassle of having to hunt for parking, are seeking out insulated, super-sized developments like The Villages where all of one’s needs are a mere golf-car ride away.
Here, there are 30 restaurants, six churches, 300 holes of golf, a polo grounds, a high school, a plethora of theatres, clubs, grocery stores, strip malls and office complexes — all of them, Lester notes, accessible through a network of paved trails, ”golf-car-legal” roads and 15, two-lane tunnels (which go under the major intersections).
There’s never been any gridlock either, with one notable exception. ”When Arnold Palmer and Nancy Lopez were playing a match here a couple of years ago,” Lester says, ”I remember the most amazing sight: a string of golf cars backed up down the path toward that golf course, a half-mile (a kilometre) long.”
Traditional golf carts — the ones that look like riding mowers — typically sell for $5 000 (R29 850) to $6 000 (35 820). Most, like the E-Z-Go Freedom SE, seat two passengers, fit two golf bags in the rear, and feature 36-volt electric motors that can reach a maximum speed of 15 mph (24 kph). Presently, these basic ones represent 90% of the roughly $200-million (R1.2-billion) golf-car market.
But spiffy, personalized rides are catching on big-time, especially among baby boomers who are retiring early, says Michael Hruby, owner of LuxuryCarts.com, an online distributor based in Mililani, Hawaii.
Over the last six years, Hruby has watched sales of his luxury lines grow by 40% a year. In 2004, he did $1-million (R5.9-million) in business. ”And I think we’re still at the starting line,” he adds.
Dave Russell, sales manager at The Villages Golf Cars, agrees. ”We’re seeing more interest in the custom cars among the 55- to 60-year-old boomers,” he says. ”Their taste in golf cars is definitely more high-end.”
The interest in these chariots couldn’t have come at a better time; the golf industry as a whole has been stagnant since the economy tanked four years ago, which means people like Bill Andrews, president of Cart World in Lady Lake, Florida, have had a tough time selling ”fleet” carts.
Now that demand for high-end chariots is picking up, though, Andrews is looking to tap the trend by dolling up his standard models with pinstripes, 10-inch (25-centimetre) tires, rack-and-pinion steering, lockable front trunks, simulated burl-wood dash panels, carpeting, and very basic air-conditioning systems that run on ice poured into the canopy.
These amenities generally bump the sticker price up into the $8 000 (R47 760) to $9 000 (R53 730) range, but that doesn’t worry Andrews too much. ”The new buyers are the type that want everyone to look at them,” he says, ”no matter the price.”
Of course, when it comes to snazz appeal, nothing compares to a replica car.
Take, for instance, the Cadillac Escalade Cart, from Sport Electric Vehicles. Fully loaded means you get an AM/FM radio, CD player and eight-inch (20-centimetre) television on the dash, a global positioning system (in case you are visually challenged, and need to know exactly how far you are from the pin.), 13-inch (33-centimetre) aluminum wheels, leather seats, carpeted floors, and the hood, grill, headlights, taillights and turn signals of a regular Caddy. Sticker price: $22 000 (R131 340).
For the classically minded, there are a number of companies across the United States, from Lincoln Golf Car in Los Angeles to Phat Cat Carts in Clearwater, Florida (motto: ”Image is Everything.”), that offer kits which can transform even the most drab golf cart into a miniature ’57 Chevy or T-Bird, ’65 Mustang, or ’32 classic roadster. Generally, such makeovers run anywhere between $2 000 (R11 940) and $3 500 (R20 895); otherwise, a classic-bodied model, new, will set you back $18 000 (R107 460).
For those who want to make a fashion statement and haul up to 24 mph (39 kph), which is well over what a standard, low-speed golf car will do, there is the Neighborhood Electric Vehicle — NEV, for short.
NEVs are legal on any public road where the posted limit is 35 mph (56 kph) or less, but they are subject to a few rules. They must be driven by licenced drivers (not so with golf cars that go slower than 20 mph, 32 kph), be insured, registered, and sport visible tags. Also, they must have seatbelts, horns, headlights, taillights, turn signals and other safety accoutrements.
Hruby, the online distributor in Hawaii, says his hottest-selling NEV looks like a scaled-down version of a Lincoln Navigator. It comes with a gas engine that packs as much as 18 horsepower, ”for the guy who wants a little oomph from his pedal.”
Then there is the golf-car version of the Mercedes SLK (otherwise known as ”LaBenz”), the T-Rex, and the Humvee urban assault vehicle. (The Humvees top the price list: $26 000; (R155 220) One distributor, Leewood Inc., of Palm City, Florida, imports Tonino Lamborghini golf cars from Italy, which feature a logo that mirrors Lamborghinis prancing bull.
Neil Borden, 59, a New York City native, sees little need for the extra oomph of a NEV. He traded in his simple E-Z-Go earlier this year and upgraded to a ”golf car with class” — a 1934 Ford replica. It maxes out at 19,8 mph (32 kph), but for Borden, that’s velocity enough.
”I’m retired,” Borden says. ”What do I need to be in a hurry about?” Besides, he’s more than satisfied with his tilt steering wheel, spinner hubcaps, running-board fenders, black-naugahyde, retractable top, and the fact that he hasn’t added a drop of gas to his five-gallon tank in weeks. (These midnight-blue wheels get 40 miles to the gallon, or 17 kilometres to the litre.)
His wife, Nancy, 57, is equally enamored with this new addition to the family, but she has yet to drive it. ”If I make just even a little mark on this golf car, that’s going to be it for me,” she says. ”I’ll wait until it’s a little older before I get behind the wheel.” — Sapa-AP