Pages

4.28.2014

DRAG RACING


I have a fast car.  I probably should not have a fast car though.  I no doubt use more gas than I would have to because I accelerate from a stop light as though I'm trying to get to the inside curve of Indy.  I tell myself not to, but it's paramount to holding a racing philly down to a kid's ride at a zoo.

It is hands down an adrenaline rush to look in my rear view mirror only to see the cars I have literally left in the dust at the light crawling to accelerate. Their cars; a) either don't have the sweet engine of endless speed that mines does, b) they are far more frugal and conscious of gas consumption than am I, or 3) they are not in the hurry to get from point A to point B that I feel is most always imperative so as to free up any available time - time to do more things in a day than can humanly ever be accomplished.

I am not a car buff.  I don't know types of engines, calibers, pistons or anything of the sort.  I do know how to check my oil, fill up my windshield wiper fluid, where the radiator is and how to put more antifreeze in, how to jump start a car with jumper cables, how to install a new car battery, put on new windshield wipers, and change a tire if the lug nuts weren't put on by Biff with an air ratchet, but my car smarts pretty much extinguish themselves there.  That is except for knowing what moves fast in comparison to things around me, and to previous vehicles I've owned.

As I glided along in the fast lane headed toward home after work, I began to break for the red stop light just ahead.  My rear view mirror revealed a very new souped up dodge charger - you know the retro ones they are making.  He pulled up next to my sleek black, lightly tinted windowed Hyundai Genesis as we waited for the red light to turn green.  I glanced at him.  His car was shiny black with oversized wet glossy looking tires and a big white stripe literally running from the front grille to the back bumper.   Stunning looking and giving the impression of fast. 

He glanced at my car and me.  I could read his Mr. Wanna Be Muscle Car man thoughts.  I nodded, smiled and lightly tipped my head acknowledging his sweet ride, but letting him know I would beat him out of the red light without even blinking an eye.  I did.

As I looked in my rear view mirror, way ahead of him now, I watched him accelerate to catch up.  When he did, he pumped on the gas in a show of testosterone dented masculinity.  I giggled.  I probably shouldn't have tempted him like that, but I just couldn't help myself. 

I'm a Cabernet Sauvignon lover.  Now there are all different price points and qualities of cab.  Once you drink a good one you know you don't want anything other than the smooth thick mellowness of a good one.  The kind, that when you swirl your glass, it slides down the side leaving a shadow behind.  You want the stuff that after you swallow there is a lingering and then a smoothness that makes you never want to swallow again so as not to lose that amazing taste. 

I've had other cars.  Cars I've liked and cars I've loved.  Never though have I had a car with such smooth pick up and the ability to get to 80 mph without knowing or feeling it.  Trust me I already have my line ready for the police officer who will ask after he stops me, "Do you know how fast you were going?"  ...."Officer, I am both aware that I might have been speeding but not aware of it either.  This car is so smooth that I literally forget I am speeding until I realize I am."

No comments:

Post a Comment