RiCharlie

Here's what I did with my Z today


It's one of my favorite times of day. Late in the afternoon when then sun is low in the horizon giving shape and texture to the clouds and casting a golden light over the land below. It's “Z” time.

I open the door , first to my garage then to my car. I slip into the drivers seat. I notice a few flecks on the steering wheel. I brush them away with my hand. No dust allowed here. My foot depresses the brake pedal and I push “Start.”

Instantly, the motor comes alive with a deep throated growl. Not too loud. Not too soft. Just the right notes. Slowly I back out, careful not to scrape the sides. Once outside I get out to close the garage door but before I do I remember something. Yesterday after I washed it, I failed to clean the windows and there was quite a bit of streaking. I return to the garage, retrieve a can of foaming glass cleaner and a nice clean cloth and then carefully clean both the front and rear windows. I notice a small black spot on the front hood but it comes off with a spritz of cleaner and a wipe of the rag. One last look then I put the cleaners back in the garage and pull down the garage door which hits the concrete with a thud. Then I turn toward the Z.

I never tire of looking at her beauty. With its low, compact lines and its pearl white body gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, it seems more a work of art than a machine.


I smile, take one last look and then I enter the cabin and slowly back down the rest of the driveway this time careful to avoid my wife's ten year old Honda parked along one side and a black lamppost on the other. Once into the road, I turn and head down our street, then, left on a larger road for about a mile and then right on another main drive until I reach the sign that says “295 North.” Route 295 starts south of Providence off I-95, curves up around to the west of the city and rejoins I-95 again north of the city. It's a high speed, six lane divided highway with three lanes and a breakdown each way separated by a median that is always at least one hundred feet wide. Often the separation is so great you can't even see the road heading in the opposite direction. It's an ideal road for driving.

The entrance at this point is a long “S” curve. I press down lightly on the accelerator and the “Z” surges forward. Not a mad dash but a well-controlled acceleration that effortlessly carries me through each curve with tires gripping and the wind beginning to rush through the cabin. Ahead, already on the highway, I notice several cars in a bunch and so I am careful when merging. I soon I find myself in the middle lane surrounded on the right by an old Ford. In front of me there is a Toyota Corolla and on the left I notice a small SUV of some sort. We travel together for a short distance and when I glance to the left I notice a young boy of about nine and his father in that SUV. He smiles, waves and gives me the thumbs up sign. I respond with a wave and a smile. Then the Corolla in front of me moves right leaving the road ahead clear. I gently depress the accelerator and watch in my rear view mirror as the others fall behind. Now there are no cars in front of me and soon those in back are a distant view. Soon I am alone on the highway. My GPS says the exit I want is 27 miles ahead. A smile breaks over my face.

I hear the rushing sound of the wind all around me. I feel it on my hand and face. I listen but cannot clearly hear the sound of the tires on the road. I know it must be there but with windows wide open, it's hard to distinguish from the wind. I cannot even hear the motor. I press gently on the accelerator and way down low I hear the faint sound of the engine adding a bit more speed. But mostly it's just the wind.

I notice a gentle rocking motion as the car glides over slight imperfections in the road but the overwhelming impression is one of stability and sure-footedness. I once read a review saying this car was more stable at a hundred than most others are sitting in the parking lot. And it's nearly true.

Together we climb up a steep hill through a deep rock canyon then gently down across a wide expanse of rolling hills. Ahead is a ribbon of highway, sometimes straight, sometimes curving around, winding through hills and meadows and tall grass lit by the golden light of the late-afternoon late summer sun.

It's not long before I see the distant shapes of other cars on the horizon.

I approach them slowly realizing that at any moment one might bolt from the pack right into my lane without looking, after all there are all kinds of drivers on the road. There are those that should have turned in their license years ago when their abilities started declining. There are people with screaming kids in the car and people whose minds are quietly elsewhere on serious problems at home or at work; young women putting on make-up and young men out to prove their manhood; cell phone users and assorted “text-ers” all using the very same highway. I give them plenty of room.

I get great pride as I pass each and every car slowly enough to give each driver and passenger time to drink in the beauty of my little beast. There are few that are better and none as attractive. It's like having the high school beauty queen at your side at the beach! It's an unabashed, vain, puffed-up ego trip. And I have to shamelessly admit, I love it!

Ahead and to the right, I see a mid-size sedan with a badge in the shape of a circle with a bar running through it. It's a Nissan. It's nice to see a member of the family! I have to get close to tell exactly what is it. Mostly it turns out to be an Altima, but this time it's a Maxima. I slowly easy by sending out a mental message to the driver, “I see we have both joined the Nissan family but I am the bad boy of the group!”

Of all the cars I enjoy finding on the road none is as satisfying as a new Cadillac. Unquestionably, this has to do with my father.

You see, even though my father loved Cadillacs, he never owned one. He was just a middle income guy and his car was a Buick Roadmaster with whitewall tires. It was a good car for its day but just not the same. When I was seventeen he bought a Pontiac Bonneville which was quite sporty in our minds. I distinctly remember the day I timed it and found it shot from zero to sixty in an amazing fourteen seconds! He liked it but still it was not a Cadillac.

Dad died many years ago never having realized his dream of owning a “Caddy.” Now, there's one right in front of me. It's black and best of all, it's in the left lane leading the pack. I ease over into the middle lane, behind and to the right of the one in front. I push down on the accelerator. Instantly the Z surges forward in an impressive display of power and I race past the Caddy. Soon he is far behind. Chalk up one for dad.

I suddenly realize I am well above the legal speed limit and so I gently brake fearing the worst may be lurking around the next corner or over the next hill.

As I slow down I notice in the rear view mirror a car rapidly gaining on me. As it gets closer I notice it's a BMW. Maybe I could out run him if I wanted but I have no desire to engage in dangerous games. So I move to the middle and let him pass. He passes and a while later disappears over the horizon.

My mind wanders off to the previous night when I took my wife to visit our son. It's about a twelve mile drive along a winding two lane highway into the wooded area between our house and the Connecticut boarder. I know she does not share my enthusiasm for my car. In fact, I know she does not like it at all and thinks of it only as some symbol of yet another male identity crisis. She complains it is too rough, she sits too low and I drive too fast. So to please her on the way I try extra hard to avoid rough spots in the road, give her two pillows to sit on and, most difficult of all, I drive at a speed which guarantees I will not hear the dreaded words, “Slow Down!” And so I plod along and in the process stifle my emotions as my 370 is passed in succession by a bunch of kids in a beat-up Pontiac, a woman in a Honda Accord and two gray-haired senior citizens in a Neon. In spite of my best efforts at deception, at the end she said to me, “ I think you drive differently when I am in the car.” That was yesterday. Today I am alone. The drive is perfect and the silence is golden.

As I cruse along the highway I sometimes wonder if other drivers are deliberately trying to get me to show off my Z. They always seem to get right on my tail often crossing several crowded lanes to do so. Or they pass no matter what the conditions are. Are they trying to prove something? Do they want me to race? Or is it just me incredulous at how fast and reckless some drivers are even in the most ill suited cars? It's a question I often ask but I never rise to any challenges real or imagined. Good thing. As I round a corner I see the BMW again. This time it's stopped on the side of the road with a police car parked behind.

I reach my exit and get off. I stop at a red light. Looking over to my right, a red headed woman in a white car looks over and gives me a big smile. I smile back. She is about my daughters age but what the heck. No harm done.

From here it's a short drive to see the people I have come to see. I look at the odometer and quickly calculate that I have used about six dollars worth of gas, if gas can be said to be “worth” four dollars a gallon. “Outrageous!” I think to myself. But then I know my company reimburses me for gas, plus I am paid by the hour from home. So I smile. And then there is the ride back. And so I smile some more.

And this is what I did with my Z today. Hope you enjoyed!