"I GUESS WE should've installedthose snow tires," photographer Brian Vancemutters as the icy precipitation morphsfrom a slow shower into sheer whiteout,covering our gray r8 in a thick blanket ofpowder. Seconds ago—literally—light andfluffy snowflakes,like mini-parachutes, werefloating to the ground, barely dusting thecurvy two-lane that led down to the shore ofsouthern oregon's crater Lake.

no problem,we thought. plus, the r8 has all-wheel driveand stability and traction control, so evenif the snowfall intensified moderately, wefigured we'd still be okay.now, however, a blizzard is upon us, notonly hindering our vision, blending the eightfoot-high snow banks with the downpour,but also wreaking havoc on our pZero-shodaudi. remember Bambi on ice?"whoa, whoa," i gasp as the r8 slip-slides toward a wall of roadside ice, the tractioncontrollight flickering like i've just won a prize.i feel like Marcus gronholm, but without thefame, the talent, and the rally car. with thegraziano six-speed nestled into second, ikeep my throttle and steering inputs light.Soon we're confronted with a steep incline."Keep your momentum going up this hill,"Vance suggests. "and whatever you do, don'tstop!" good advice, for sure, but i have toask myself: what in the hell are we doinghere in this $125,000 supercar?

THE PCT

The phone message went something like this:"ron, we'd like you to do a story on the audir8. take it on a long road trip, get people'sreactions, see if it really is an everyday exotic.check with Brian on photography and, ohyeah, pick an exciting route."

Initial reaction: Sweet! c'mon, it was a coolassignment and an even cooler car. plus,week-long hall pass? following reaction:crap! picking an interesting and challengingroute—preferably one that hadn't been done before—was suddenly a daunting task.i did what any sensible writer would do—asked the photographer.

"hey, Brian, where should we take ther8?"

how 'bout the pct?"

"huh?"

"the pacific crest trail, the hiking trailthat goes from Mexico to canada. we couldparallel and cross it through three states,the while driving through mountains, deserts,valleys, prairies—you name it. and i'm surewe'd hit all sorts of weather. it's the perfectroute to test an all-wheel-drive sports car.""excellent! i'm glad you like my idea."

HELLO, CAMPO

The pacific crest trail, first explored inthe 1930s and designated a scenic trailby the U.S. government in 1968, spans2650 miles, stretching its arms fromcampo, california, at the doorstep ofMexico, all the way to British columbia,nine miles into Manning provincial park.along the way, the pct meanders throughsix of north america's seven ecozones,passes the three deepest lakes in theU.S.—tahoe, crater, and chelan—andtraverses three national monuments, sevennational parks, 24 national forests, and 33federally mandated wildernesses. Boastingthe greatest elevation changes of any ofamerica's national Scenic trails, the pctattracts about 300 thru-hikers (peoplewho attempt to conquer the trail in oneseason) a year, with only about half provingsuccessful. in fact, it's alleged that feweradventurers have thru-hiked the pct thanclimbed Mt. Everest.

Seeing that hiking it would've required usto take sabbaticals, not to mention get intoLance armstrong shape, Brian and i figuredzigzagging all over it in a 420-horsepowermid-engine audi makes much more sense.what doesn't make much sense, though, isattempting to squeeze a week's worth of gearfor two into the r8's 3.5-cubic-foot front trunkand 3.2-cubic-foot shelf behind the seats. Butjust as thru-hikers must pack light, so must we;thus, we limited our necessities to the following:two duffels, three laptops, one camera bag (abody, a flash, and three lenses), one tripod, tworadios, one atlas, two ipods, one radar detector,and two positive attitudes.

When we get near campo, signage isminimal, the pct seemingly elusive.

Following our map, we're promptlypresented with dirt, making me suspiciousof our friend, rand Mcnally.

"You think we're going the right way?"

"got to be," Vance replies. at least oneof us is sure. we charge ahead and after a right turn, there it is…not the trailhead butthe border fence, staring at us like a 15-footbully. if the fence isn't enough, there are, asa second defense, border-patrol vehiclesparked every half mile. for a region that oftenexperiences temps in the 90s, the feelinghere is a cold one. a scan to the right revealsa worn wooden post with the etched words,"pacific crest trail." we've made it. it's a senseof accomplishment, but it soon dawns on usthat we have yet to even begin.

ALL THE WAY TO RENO

After hustling through Julian, palm Springs,and Big Bear city, we head west towardtehachapi Summit, already our seventhcrossing of the pct. the rolling, emeraldhills around tehachapi are a reminder thatcalifornia has myriad natural treasures anda contradiction that, just to the north, the pctchallenges hikers with a waterless stretch ofnearly 36 miles. as we soon discover on theroad from caliente to Bodfish, the area alsoboasts asphalt treasures. from highway 58 tohighway 178, this narrow road presents themost enthusiastic pilot with about 40 milesof tight twists, all with little traffic and littlemargin for error. one wrong move, and thegrim reaper will shake your hand in thevalley below. we dial it back a tenth, as wedon't want to wad up our r8. and we don'tfeel like dying, either.

Lake isabella and 5250-foot walker passin our rearview, we settle for the night inridgecrest, home of the china Lake navalweapons center. with bombs and missilespoised nearby, we, of course, sleep likebabies. Before we can depart the lovelycomfort inn, the r8 attracts a crowd,including a family of five, three motorcyclists,and two german tourists, the last shockedand awed by our carriage. "how'd you getthis? we haven't even seen one of theseback home." tempted to weave hyperbolethat could make their heads explode, inaturally opt for the truth. "we work for Motortrend and we're doing a road trip along thepacific crest trail all the way from Mexicoto canada." too much information?

We say bye to ridgecrest and hello tohighway 395, a route that keeps us parallelto the pct, which, directly to the west, isdissecting Sequoia, Kings canyon, andYosemite national parks. on highway 89,we crest carson pass at 8574 feet—ourhighest summit of the trip—and collide with our first snowstorm that, fortunately, turnsthe sky white but leaves the roads black.a stop-'n'-go in Sacramento, and it's backon i-80, destination reno via Lake tahoe.Before looping around the tenth deepestlake in the world, we cross the pct againat donner pass, site of the ill-fated donnerparty of 1846-1847. My Seiko indicatesnoon, as suitable a time as any for a snack.But as we stare at the bronze donner partymonument with a bucket of thighs and breasts in hand, irony turns to unease, ourappetites lost.

OBLIGATIORY DETOUR

Why reno? a glance at the map reveals thatthe "Biggest Little city" is a gateway to theBlack rock desert, home of the land speedrecord held by raf pilot andy greene, who,in october 1997, drove his thrust SSc to aworld record of 763 mph. this record, notto mention all those who attempt to breakit, makes Black rock an obligatory detourfor a machine with fast intentions. Since wehave a car whose speedometer can tickle187 mph, we have to go to Black rock—it'sa rite of passage.

Out on the playa, not far from where theannual Burning Man festival attracts about 40,000 fun-loving frolickers, the desertfloor seems dry but not completely devoidof moisture, its flourlike sand baked to amedium-well. a reconnaissance run revealssome bumps, an occasional divot, and plentyof washboard sections, the remnants of winterrain and runoff. the conditions quell any ideasof our verifying the r8's claimed top speed,but they don't prevent us from baptizing theaudi with a brisk run. or four.

VISTIT TO THE VORTEX

Back in the golden State, cruising at tripledigitspeeds on highway 299, the sort ofroad on which 100 miles maybe nets twoother cars, we crest cedar pass at 6305 feetand then fall into beautiful valleys seeminglysoaked in lime and chocolate. the isolationis comforting, the purr of the direct-injectionV-8 behind us intoxicating. we drink more.

After two more pct crossings at casseland Britton Lake, we reach the trail's halfwaypoint, reconnecting with i-5 near Mt. Shasta,where we lodge for the evening. the nextmorning, relishing blueberry pancakes and14,162 feet of snowcapped Mt. Shasta, i beginreading the local Mountain Spirit chronicles.My curiosity is piqued. "the nervous systemof earth is catalyzing a loud magnetic call forhuman beings to de-plug from their electricalduties and follow their own inner authenticnature to new vistas of service." i can't stop."with a bit of luck, the right intent, and someimpeccable timing you may even bump intoan ascended Master or two, a Lemurian, orperhaps a native american spirit coming toshare the present moment with you."

Brian, we should go.

released from the Shasta vortex, Brianand i enter oregon, crossing the pct atSiskiyou Summit, near the state line. the tempreadout indicates 34 degrees, and snow isonce again chilling the r8's aluminum roof.we make our way toward crater Lake, wherethe pct hugs the western shore, hoping theinclement weather leaves us.

CRATER HATER

Like an unruly kid, the weather ignores ourwishes. for the most part, though, conditionsare mild as we approach crater Lake,subjecting us to flurries and temps in the mid-30s. the oregon leg of the pct, comparedwith the california and washington sections,is easygoing as well, treating trekkers togentle climbs and coniferous forests strewnwith sapphire lakes, all within the shortestand easiest span. this fact, and the mildweather, give us a sense of calm and safety.Make that a false sense.

Trying to minimize the r8's incessantwheelspin up the icy incline that standsbetween us and the road out of crater Lake,i'm easy on the gas, doing my best to maintainforward progress. the map indicateswe're mere feet from the shore, but the 22-degree whiteout enveloping us tells us somethingdifferent—get out! after all, oregon'shad a healthy appetite this year, what withJames Kim and the climbers on Mt. hood, andVance and i don't want to join them. fightingand fishtailing like a hooked barracuda, theaudi struggles and swerves up the hill, butmomentum and will seem to be on our side.even with summer tires, the all-wheel-driver8 and its electronic aids are enough toovercome this tempestuous hurdle. as theroad levels, the storm weakens, and we andour pirellis rest in relief. we've escaped.

The next morning in portland, our eyes rested and our bellies filled with the carboverload known as a holiday inn continentalbreakfast, we head east on highway 26 to Mt.hood, home of the timberline Lodge, filmlocation of the horror movie, "the Shining."Johnny isn't home, but two snowboardersare and, claiming they're huge audi fans,proceed to snap photos of the r8. "this isgoing up on my MySpace," one brags.

with washington just over the horizon, wehead east on i-84 and cross over the mightycolumbia river into the evergreen State justwest of the John day dam, one of the river's11 barriers that harvest hydropower andstymie spawning salmon. one state to go,we can taste the finish line.

LED ZEPELIN

Our visit to Seattle reaffirms what we've beenexperiencing since we left campo—the r8is a rock star. no doubt about it. page andplant wouldn't get more attention if theywalked into a London pub screaming foran order of custard pie. Sure, it's the audi'scurvaceous body, off-color "blade," andwide, squatting rear end, but most of allit's the devilish dozen, the 12 Led runninglights that sparkle day or night from eachheadlamp cluster. they act as strobes, as ifsignaling a grand entrance. they also seemto hypnotize passersby, and we soon classifythem into two groups—glance/gawk andhunter/gatherer.

A majority fall under glance/gawk—thosewho swivel their heads to catch a glimpse orsimply stare at the r8 in a trance, drooling atred lights—but the most noteworthy are thehunter/gatherers. it's these fearless followerswho hunt us down and gather around the r8like it's dinner. in addition to the rx-7 thatstalked us in palm Springs and the eclipseSpyder driver who screamed at us—"Yourcar is f@$#ing awesome!"—near puyallup, there's danny, a young Seattleite who tails usto our hotel in his SLK and then proceeds tofire off as many questions as photos. an hourlater, danny's SLK is perpendicular to the r8,its xenons lighting up the audi like a model.another hour passes, and danny now hastwo friends in tow, the latest equipped witha high-end digital SLr with a huge flash. doferraris get this sort of attention?

next comes Ken, a Microsoft exec wholikes to zip around Seattle in his brandnewblack 911 turbo. cruising throughfremont, he pulls beside us, stops, and seemsoblivious to the fact that he's blocking traffic.a game of 20 questions ensues, and Ken issoon suffering from gross car envy. i try tocomfort him with an old trick: "well, yourturbo is still quicker than the r8." it doesn'thelp. "Yeah, but it doesn't look like that!" he exclaims.

finally (Vance and i would like to appointthis man chief of the hunter/gatherers),there's Seth, a mortgage broker who enjoysfast cars—evidenced by his white-and-blueford gt—and making illegal U-turns onbusy public streets in said fast ford. "oh,great—that gt wants to race," i tell Vanceas it goes by, turns around, and then quicklyfills the rearview. not in the mood, i try toignore the guy, but the honking, the rolleddownwindow, and the hand gestures areimpossible to overlook. i give up. "You gota minute?" he asks. "do i have a choice?" ifeel like retorting. turns out Seth, who hasan r8 on order, has no interest in racingme—he just wants to get an early peek athis upcoming baby. So if you're looking for acherry, low-mileage ford gt, check Seattleareaaudi dealers this fall.

JUDICIOUS ENFORCER OF RAPID KA-BAND

it always happens when you least expect it. get comfortable and get nabbed. with twomore pct crossings in the books—whitepass on highway 12 and Snoqualmie passon i-90—and Mt. rainier and Mt. St. helenslooming behind (weather and closed roadshave stopped us from getting up close andpersonal with either), we're cruising onhighway 97, heading toward the Bavarianvillage of Leavenworth. the speed limit is60 but we're rolling at 80, the r8 amusedthat i'm consuming these luscious sweepersat such a leisurely pace. the sun is blazing,the sky is radiant, the traffic is light, and myValentine one radar detector is quiet—tooquiet. Simultaneously the V1 explodes in aKa-band eruption just as Vance shouts, "cop!"i engage each of the r8's 24 brake pistonsand bring the car down to 60 but, as the JerKturns around, i know it's too late. "that JerKwaited to flip on his radar," i tell Brian in mydefense. Uninterested in our mission andindifferent to the r8's capabilities, the JerKcites me, lightening my wallet by $153. andjust to kill me with kindness, he says, "thisis a beautiful car." i'm tempted to show theJerK just how beautifully the r8 can blazefrom 0 to 60 in 3.9 seconds and through thequarter mile in 12.5 at nearly 112 mph, buti instead thank him and move on.

At Stevens pass on highway 2, we crossthe pct for the 19th and final time. we hopedto make a 20th crossing on highway 20,but wdot informs us the road through thenorth cascades is still closed due to snow.not surprising—the washington section of the pct claims some of the trail's mosterratic weather patterns. we enter everettand hop back on i-5 for a sprint norththrough Bellingham, then up into Sumasat the canada border. the pct is about100 miles away, but this is as close as we'regoing to get.

Lacking cigars and champagne, weinstead celebrate by lighting memoriesand swigging numbers: campo, 3096 miles,Black rock, Mt. Shasta, 31 summits, 19 pctcrossings, Lake tahoe, Seattle, the hunter/gatherers, the JerK, palm Springs, and on andon. Staring at the filthy r8, which looks like it'sbeen baked in chocolate milk, i realize that,after spending about 150 hours behind thewheel, i want more. few cars in this realm aresuch lovely road-trippers, whether the pathis long, short, straight, or curvy. the cabin isroomy, the comfort level high, the enjoymentfactor off the charts. as we climb back in,the cockpit loaded with dirty clothes, emptybottles, and torn candy wrappers, i think backto the moment that nearly prevented us frombeing here—the blizzard at crater Lake. itthen dawns on me that the real beauty of ther8 isn't cruising rodeo drive or South Beach,reveling in the attention and glamour; it'staking it on a trip likethis. after all, how manycan say they drove a$125,000 super car…ina blizzard…near theshores of the deepestlake in the nation?