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It wasn’t quite as glamorous as I thought it would be. Beneath a young elm tree in an apartment parking lot, she’s dirty, pollen covered, and looking nothing like what I remember. It’d been well before the first snow since she’d last moved.
I gave her 15 minutes on jumper cables before even trying to start her, but she fired at the first try for me.
That’s how I started a drive which would lead just 55 miles up the interstate.
We made one quick visit to a friend’s house before continuing north to the shop which is normally closed on the weekends, but tonight two of us are present for her arrival. A stock airbox is installed, some sensors connected, a few things looked over. Then she’s washed, taken for fresh fuel, and some more miles are racked up on the old girl.
I took her home that night and parked her out front. The land lord doesn’t like loud cars …. but once won’t hurt.
Come morning I’m reminded that to her I’m just another driver and she’ll eventually forget me like the others. I turn the key to see her Trip meter set to 0 … she’d already forgotten yesterday.
At wide open throttle she stumbles, her wipers don’t work, one headlight stays down, the CD player has quit and a fog light is burnout. Her state inspection expired nearly two months ago … that’s why she’s with me.
With the T-tops off, we cruised back north to the shop. I try again, and she stumbles.
In my heart, I want to rebuild her… restore her to the car I had built and driven before, but that time is gone and never to be revisited. Never again will she scream as she had before … but she’ll always remember.
She’ll be mine so long as there are problems, but once those are all fixed, I’ll have to give her back. Today she sat in the garage with 10 second Camaros and a Pro-Stock Corvette … tonight she’s sleeping under a cover in the shop owner’s private garage and I have her keys, because right now she’s my car. Because right now, she’s my project … again.
-- Waking up the Virus, 05/29-30/05
I gave her 15 minutes on jumper cables before even trying to start her, but she fired at the first try for me.
That’s how I started a drive which would lead just 55 miles up the interstate.
We made one quick visit to a friend’s house before continuing north to the shop which is normally closed on the weekends, but tonight two of us are present for her arrival. A stock airbox is installed, some sensors connected, a few things looked over. Then she’s washed, taken for fresh fuel, and some more miles are racked up on the old girl.
I took her home that night and parked her out front. The land lord doesn’t like loud cars …. but once won’t hurt.
Come morning I’m reminded that to her I’m just another driver and she’ll eventually forget me like the others. I turn the key to see her Trip meter set to 0 … she’d already forgotten yesterday.
At wide open throttle she stumbles, her wipers don’t work, one headlight stays down, the CD player has quit and a fog light is burnout. Her state inspection expired nearly two months ago … that’s why she’s with me.
With the T-tops off, we cruised back north to the shop. I try again, and she stumbles.
In my heart, I want to rebuild her… restore her to the car I had built and driven before, but that time is gone and never to be revisited. Never again will she scream as she had before … but she’ll always remember.
She’ll be mine so long as there are problems, but once those are all fixed, I’ll have to give her back. Today she sat in the garage with 10 second Camaros and a Pro-Stock Corvette … tonight she’s sleeping under a cover in the shop owner’s private garage and I have her keys, because right now she’s my car. Because right now, she’s my project … again.
-- Waking up the Virus, 05/29-30/05
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