"I'm glad she is going to an enthusiast." These were the last spoken words to me from the soft featured family man who had just sold an E30 BMW.
As I handed him the envelope of cash I could see the deal being sealed from the third person courtesy the mirror black finish on the 23 year old car. As the light filtering in through the trees danced off the panels, I could feel the wind through my hair as I traveled briskly with the surprisingly good condition convertible top no longer acting as a barrier between me and the reason convertibles were invented in the first place. The noise of the much beloved slant-6 echoed off the houses and joined in with the rustlings of the old growth trees that both lined and shaded the street.
There I sit, sawing at the wheel on twisty northern California roads, enjoying the light breeze of a warm spring with my fiancé, in all her innocent beauty and sincerity, smiling by my side. The feel of such a nicely planted chassis accented the nicely bolstered supple tan interior that smelled of well loved leather and simple elegance. The shifter was from a BMW M3 and as such made itself at home in my palms as I pushed and pulled. With every gear change the motor would start a new with its merry 6 cylinder song that would start pleasant but then, would rage to just short of a cacophony. Then came the highest gear the intoxication machine possessed. Eighty, ninety, a buck, buck-ten, buck-twenty, buck –thirty, buck-thirty-five, buck-forty. It had more but much to the relief of the license screaming for mercy in my back pocket I removed my foot from the illegal side of the throttle.
The real joy was the back roads to Napa. Steep inclines next to ridges and lakes with the smell of fresh air mixing with the interior and faded brake smell. And there is nothing like seeing yourself in a car you love next to the one you love, in front of a winery you love in a town you love. Nothing can be better. Not even the Wine