Back on the farm, in those days of meager means, when we counted trips to the gas station in five dollar bills, we leased a Chevrolet Malibu. It was a fine car. Four wheels, a steering wheel, brakes, lights for night driving, a radio. That was about it. But it was new and without mechanical difficulties. That's all I cared about. Those that bought fancy vehicles, sports cars, muscle cars and the like were a mystery to me. How could it be worth all the extra cost and care? A car is a car is a car - just for getting from point A to point B, mostly to and from work.
Switzerland corrupted me. As part of my assignment to run 3M Switzerland, I was given a new BMW 535i as a company car. With manual transmission. To be run on smooth, well maintained and groomed roads. Through the mountains. With curves. Acceleration meant something. The dull roar reverberated through the seat. We anticipated Bonnie would need a people hauler and, given our special relationship with the leasing company, we afforded her an Audi T6. That's a diesel wagon with enough power and four wheel traction to pull her up a snowy and not yet plowed mountain pass in the dead of winter, in the middle of the night, without a slip or skid (yeah, in hind-sight, that was nuts). Unfortunately, we learned to appreciate fine automotive engineering and performance there. Not that I would have financed that from my own pocket (though the Audi payment was bigger than my house payment back in the time of the Malibu), but it sure was nice. And fun.
Spring forward to a recent visit with my sister. For years my father has been giving her grief for the 2002 purchase of a brand new Ford Mustang Special Edition Bullitt. "I hit my head," he'd cry, "and Whiplash." After a ride, he'd limp in, feinting a crippling injury to his buttocks. "No room," he'd complain, "why would you pay extra for that?" On this day, she needed to pick up her Mustang from the HKS parking lot where she'd left it after picking up her plain old SUV from the shop. "If you help me, you can drive it back," she bribed.
I had driven it once before, long ago, on a short hop. I killed the engine at every intersection. That's what I remember of it. After my Formula 1 days in Switzerland, though, I was ready to give it another shot. As I crawled in (literally) and took my seat, the shifter felt cool (literally and figuratively) in my hands. I started the engine and heard and felt the reason the Bullitt was worth the extra bucks. And why she'd kept it all these years. I looked around to see if anyone noticed the rumble. Nope, they were too busy reading their phones. Too bad. "Varoom," I gunned the engine. Suddenly I was in high school riding in my older friends Mach I, feeling all punk and gnarly as he slid around corners and let the pipes have it. Back to the present, to see if I could get this gem out of the parking lot without killing it.
Evelyn led me for a tour around Dallas. She said it was so she could use the backroads to avoid all the traffic. I think she just wanted me to have the full experience. With every turn, every intersection, every unoccupied stretch of road, I became more confident, pressing the accelerator a little harder each time. Once even hitting my head on the liner. I was doing so well, she decided to give me a test.
As she entered this particular intersection, she stopped in the middle for oncoming traffic to turn left. Fortunately I was still paying attention, not totally absorbed in the fun of a hot little car, enough to notice the signal light turning yellow. It was a large intersection with light rail tracks cutting across the middle, so I waited for the light. I could see the cars line up behind me, and across the road. The light turned green, so I pulled out into the intersection as she had and waited for the oncoming traffic to clear. That's when I heard the train bells. Seriously!? I was situated perfectly across the tracks. Seeing a gap in the oncoming traffic I gunned it - into silence. Killed it. Fortunately, it started right up, and the car coming from the other side took pity and gave me the opening to ease the clutch and get through the intersection. After which I gunned it again, letting the roar of that fine engine replenish my ego.
It was a blast. She's debated selling the vehicle for practical matters, given its age and lack of use. I don't think she will, but if she does I get first right of refusal. After all, a retiree is just a teenager with money....
 |
| Swiss Nirvana |
Spring forward to a recent visit with my sister. For years my father has been giving her grief for the 2002 purchase of a brand new Ford Mustang Special Edition Bullitt. "I hit my head," he'd cry, "and Whiplash." After a ride, he'd limp in, feinting a crippling injury to his buttocks. "No room," he'd complain, "why would you pay extra for that?" On this day, she needed to pick up her Mustang from the HKS parking lot where she'd left it after picking up her plain old SUV from the shop. "If you help me, you can drive it back," she bribed.
Evelyn led me for a tour around Dallas. She said it was so she could use the backroads to avoid all the traffic. I think she just wanted me to have the full experience. With every turn, every intersection, every unoccupied stretch of road, I became more confident, pressing the accelerator a little harder each time. Once even hitting my head on the liner. I was doing so well, she decided to give me a test.As she entered this particular intersection, she stopped in the middle for oncoming traffic to turn left. Fortunately I was still paying attention, not totally absorbed in the fun of a hot little car, enough to notice the signal light turning yellow. It was a large intersection with light rail tracks cutting across the middle, so I waited for the light. I could see the cars line up behind me, and across the road. The light turned green, so I pulled out into the intersection as she had and waited for the oncoming traffic to clear. That's when I heard the train bells. Seriously!? I was situated perfectly across the tracks. Seeing a gap in the oncoming traffic I gunned it - into silence. Killed it. Fortunately, it started right up, and the car coming from the other side took pity and gave me the opening to ease the clutch and get through the intersection. After which I gunned it again, letting the roar of that fine engine replenish my ego.
It was a blast. She's debated selling the vehicle for practical matters, given its age and lack of use. I don't think she will, but if she does I get first right of refusal. After all, a retiree is just a teenager with money....
Comments
Post a Comment