After ten days and hundreds of miles in the 95 Caravan, I can hardly contain the joy of being able to warm the leather, once again, on my SVX.
The rush of cranking over that sweet 6 . . . the low rumble of the KC exhaust . . . the feel of the leather-wrapped wheel as I lower it into its "memory" position . . . grabbing the shifter and sliding it into reverse . . . It's a pseudoerotic experience.
As I back out of the driveway and slide the shifter forward, I think to myself, "I don't care if I'm nuts. I LOVE THIS CAR!"
I slowly press the gas, just to get the feel once again. Two toots on the horn (It's a morning ritual) . . . I drive away, and I am transformed once again from mild-mannered father and husband into "Aredubjay" President of the SVX World Network and hopeless SVX fanatic. Life is good.
Though it pi$$ed and poured rain, all the way to work (40 miles), I was a happy, happy man. Gliding along . . . though the road was busy, there was no one else there, but me and my faithful white stallion with its horizontal hooves charging toward the battle of the day. I arrive at my destination and, as I dismount, (grabbing my laptop from the passenger's seat), I whisper, "God bless FHI."
Thoughts now, turn toward the drive home and another joust with windmills. I can hardly imagine that the SVX was once an "Impossible Dream."
