"Your boy, BJR" (jerseyshoreben)
03/20/2014 at 14:48 • Filed to: Triumph Trilogy
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"Your boy, BJR" (jerseyshoreben)
03/20/2014 at 14:48 • Filed to: Triumph Trilogy | 0
| 0 |
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Figured I'd try my hand at writing a short story.
I woke up this morning. Around 10. Brushed my teeth, dragged my comb though my thick black hair. It was the day I've been waiting for all year. The first really nice day of the year. The sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky. It was around 70 degrees today, and I was ready. After the long winter, I was finally going to fire up the old Triumph and take it out to stretch its legs. I figured I'd take it through the winding back roads of the county, run it through its four long gears, and really take in this beautiful spring day with some classic top down motoring. I got dressed, threw on my driving cap and wayfarers, along with my favorite pair of levis and my old clarks desert boots. Nothing felt quite the same for driving. Sure, there were better driving shoes out there, but something about those unstructured crepe soles just felt right when making the tach dance in that old brit sportscar. I liked to imagine myself as a recent WWII veteran, enjoying a nice bit of driving in the countryside, on a beautiful english summer day. I walked out to the detached garage where I kept her hibernating all winter. I had spent the previous few days getting her ready for the upcoming driving season, and I was ready to take it out for some exercise. I walked out, took off the cover, unsnapped the tonneau cover, opened the garage door, and pulled it out. Often times during the winter I'd wonder why I keep the thing, with pressure from my family "it's a waste of space!" "it's a money pit!" "why keep something you can't use for 5 months a year?" they'd always say, and sometimes, sometimes I'd almost agree with them. But right now, looking at her as the first natural sunlight in months hit her, dancing elegantly across the long hood, showing the shine in the still original creme paint, reflecting off the chrome, making the worn wood steering wheel light up, and showing the depth of color in the all original worn red leather seats, all of this beauty, this originality, this nostalgia of a time past, never to return, this sight alone made the lows worth it. I see what my grandpa saw when he bought the 4 year old car shortly before the birth of his first child, despite the impracticality or the questionably high maintenance, it was pure. A simple, beautiful little thing, the purest driving experience, the bond between man and machine. It was freedom, and fun. It took me a few years to track down the car, but when I found it, it was miraculously still original and in great shape. It wasn't a show winner by any means, but it just had a beautiful originality to it, like an old baseball glove that your dad gave you, or your great-grandfather's old hunting coat. It just felt right.
So when I finished basking in it's beauty, and dusting it off, I sat down and started her up. I sat there for a minute, letting her warm up, listening to the surprisingly deep burble from the little inline four, letting her idle there, talking to me. The musky but fantastic smell of the nearly 60 year old leather, the sound of the exhaust burble, and slight tinge of the exhaust fumes. I was proud of the car, and wanted to show it off. Although I could literally sit there and admire the car all day, the only thing better than looking at it was driving it. So deciding I wasted enough time, I put her into first and eased off the clutch. I decided for a warm up, I'd take the car through the hills around the river near my house. Pulling onto the river road, I heard a distinct burble, I checked the wing mirror and saw the familiar upside down triangle grille of an Alfa Duetto. Looks like there was a chase beginning……..
To be continued