Posted By: 67500vert
Been a long time... - 03/16/04 02:51 AM
Since I drove my car, and since I wrote about it. Here goes.
The air smelled different. Damp, yet fresh. The snow was gone, the roads were dry. But she didn't know that. I ran my hand along her side, on the blanket of NOAH that had tried to keep the winter chill off. Oh, she had been started a half dozen times since I told her it was time to sleep. Each time she never failed me. Oh, she worked at it a little, like the time there was an ever so slight layer of frost on her battery. Each time I could feel her disappointment. "You're not taking me anywhere, why should I start?" Yet she never failed. Her starter motor would turn, fuel and air would mix, and she would, grudgingly, cough to life.
But this day was different. I could feel it as I peeled the cover back. She could smell the air. I reconnected her battery, settled in her seat. I think she knew. It had been long enough, surely, she thought, the roads were bare today. She cranked, but it did not take as long today. November's 93 octane was married with March air in the AFB. Travelling down the runners, getting compressed, igniting, BAM! She was running. At first rough, but as the spring air filled her lungs, the idle smoothed out.
"Are we going out today?" Yes.
I slid the shifter to the big R. The familiar CLUNK, the one I have been hearing over 20 odd years of Mopars. The 727 worked it's blood through and back she drifted. Oh yeah, we were goin' for a ride!
Easy at first. She hadn't moved but a couple feet in nearly 6 months. She paraded down the street, almost prancing, look at me, I'm back! "come on, come on!" she teased. Not yet, let's warm up a little.
Almost as if on auto pilot, she led me to our favorite secluded on ramp. I watched the few cars ahead, and slowed. I wanted everyone to have a good head start. I knew full well that once she got to moving she was not going to want to stop.
Through the light, following the left turn arrow. We were here. Stop. Look around, the area was clear. Neutral. Blip the gas. She was warmed up. She was ready.
Drive. Left foot brake. Right foot gas. The tach climbed. She strained. Like a bronco, leaning into the gate, she torqued. I let her go. Off the brake, gas to the floor, 235 millimeters of Mr. Goodrich's finest howled from each rear corner. She slid to the right, just so. I watched the mirror, the cloud of hydrocarbons blurred the sight. The tires smoked. Through first gear, still spinning in second, finally the rubber caught the concrete and she ran. Oh how she ran. Third gear hit just as hard as it did last summer. The end of the ramp approached. Quickly. "let's go" she said, "LET'S GO!"
No, sorry. Traffic was looming, 85 would be it today. I backed off, she cruised effortlessly and merged. Just a couple miles to the next exit, I know she wanted more. I nailed the throttle a couple times, but she would have to be content with this for now.
Off the highway, "thank you" she said. "that was fun." We stopped to make the turn to the main road. I drifted out on the left hand bend and nailed it again. "WHOA!" she hollered, as her rear flung out to the right. "HEE HEE, HA HA" I knew that little goose had caught her by surprise, but oh how she loved it.
We drove the last bit home in silence. Feeling the comfort, the rapport, that can only come from the bond that is created when man builds a machine with his bare hands. When a pile of iron and steel is pulled together and given life. We eased up the alley, and i coaxed her back into the garage. There had always been a twinge of sadness each time I turned off the key after our little winter start-ups. But this time there was not. Summer was not far away. She would be free to run more often, her top down, living as she was meant. It won't be much longer, I whispered. "I know" she said. "cover me, I want to rest. I want to be ready when the weather turns."
I slid the cover back over her, feeling the warmth of the hood. I closed the garage door. She'll be ready. And so will I.
The air smelled different. Damp, yet fresh. The snow was gone, the roads were dry. But she didn't know that. I ran my hand along her side, on the blanket of NOAH that had tried to keep the winter chill off. Oh, she had been started a half dozen times since I told her it was time to sleep. Each time she never failed me. Oh, she worked at it a little, like the time there was an ever so slight layer of frost on her battery. Each time I could feel her disappointment. "You're not taking me anywhere, why should I start?" Yet she never failed. Her starter motor would turn, fuel and air would mix, and she would, grudgingly, cough to life.
But this day was different. I could feel it as I peeled the cover back. She could smell the air. I reconnected her battery, settled in her seat. I think she knew. It had been long enough, surely, she thought, the roads were bare today. She cranked, but it did not take as long today. November's 93 octane was married with March air in the AFB. Travelling down the runners, getting compressed, igniting, BAM! She was running. At first rough, but as the spring air filled her lungs, the idle smoothed out.
"Are we going out today?" Yes.
I slid the shifter to the big R. The familiar CLUNK, the one I have been hearing over 20 odd years of Mopars. The 727 worked it's blood through and back she drifted. Oh yeah, we were goin' for a ride!
Easy at first. She hadn't moved but a couple feet in nearly 6 months. She paraded down the street, almost prancing, look at me, I'm back! "come on, come on!" she teased. Not yet, let's warm up a little.
Almost as if on auto pilot, she led me to our favorite secluded on ramp. I watched the few cars ahead, and slowed. I wanted everyone to have a good head start. I knew full well that once she got to moving she was not going to want to stop.
Through the light, following the left turn arrow. We were here. Stop. Look around, the area was clear. Neutral. Blip the gas. She was warmed up. She was ready.
Drive. Left foot brake. Right foot gas. The tach climbed. She strained. Like a bronco, leaning into the gate, she torqued. I let her go. Off the brake, gas to the floor, 235 millimeters of Mr. Goodrich's finest howled from each rear corner. She slid to the right, just so. I watched the mirror, the cloud of hydrocarbons blurred the sight. The tires smoked. Through first gear, still spinning in second, finally the rubber caught the concrete and she ran. Oh how she ran. Third gear hit just as hard as it did last summer. The end of the ramp approached. Quickly. "let's go" she said, "LET'S GO!"
No, sorry. Traffic was looming, 85 would be it today. I backed off, she cruised effortlessly and merged. Just a couple miles to the next exit, I know she wanted more. I nailed the throttle a couple times, but she would have to be content with this for now.
Off the highway, "thank you" she said. "that was fun." We stopped to make the turn to the main road. I drifted out on the left hand bend and nailed it again. "WHOA!" she hollered, as her rear flung out to the right. "HEE HEE, HA HA" I knew that little goose had caught her by surprise, but oh how she loved it.
We drove the last bit home in silence. Feeling the comfort, the rapport, that can only come from the bond that is created when man builds a machine with his bare hands. When a pile of iron and steel is pulled together and given life. We eased up the alley, and i coaxed her back into the garage. There had always been a twinge of sadness each time I turned off the key after our little winter start-ups. But this time there was not. Summer was not far away. She would be free to run more often, her top down, living as she was meant. It won't be much longer, I whispered. "I know" she said. "cover me, I want to rest. I want to be ready when the weather turns."
I slid the cover back over her, feeling the warmth of the hood. I closed the garage door. She'll be ready. And so will I.
I'll stick a pin in it for a few days. Mike
That was great! 