Real love

Being a poor person all of the past 55 years has often been an eye-opening experience, sometimes good and sometimes bad. Along with the constant companionship of poverty has been the unique experience of having a job of which most of my clientele are multimillionaires. Talk about extremes in lifestyles! I may be riding around with characters in Bentleys as we go to lunch and discuss their mansion interiors, or we may go down the Ohio River on a custom mega-yacht that needs several truck loads of rich mahogany for the lavish ocean- going interior. Nearly all of my clients have Gulf Streams, Lears, or at the least a couple of King Airs. Most of the houses that I work on are at least 35,000 square feet and larger, often with as many as three or four kitchens. All these houses have granite floors , bath rooms , and wonderful libraries. The stables for their automobiles are only the finest in the world. Mercedes is the norm and quite mundane, as one elderly couple had a 911 Porsche with a whale tail that they only used for Sunday afternoon ventures down Kingston Pike for Baskin and Robbins icecream . Most of the time the steel blue shark sat in an airconditioned garage on carpet, wall to wall ,no less. Can you imagine an automobile capable of 190 mph sitting year round except for Sunday drives observing the dogwoods?What a waste!The reason I'm telling this background is to explain that even though I'm poor I'm not braindead. I leave these wealthy star walkers with never a tinge of envy except at times a certain part of my mind lingers on their automobiles, and the sheer euphoria that a fine machine can induce on most men. I really don't care much for the Mercedes, and the average BMW won't turn my head, but let it have 911 written on its rear and I'm rapt with attention. The old 928 was a truly awesome machine, that when running , would make the wildest roller coaster seem boring. Tuned dual exhausts have the same effect as Angelina Jolie's whispering dirty promises in my ears. The only brush with automotive ecstasy that I have ever had was an old 1966 Jaguar XKE 2+2. It was red with some rust and the leather was a little ragged on the drivers seat. The thing was typically British in the fact that the electrical system was totally undependable with constant things not working today but being perfect tomorrow . The thing had a bonnet(hood) that was a mile long and tilted forward to expose this 4.2 liter in-line 6 cylinder. Three carbuerators drank 104 octane gasoline and only ran well on cold, damp mornings. It was the only time in my life that I could wake up , look out the window, and rejoice if it was a cold,dismal, foggy day. All of the above heralded" a turn the Jag loose on the world day". I think that the Hound of the Baskervilles must have had the same engine as he prowled the moors on those cold nights. Arthur Conan Doyle would have had Holmes in a Series 1 with glassed in headlights, much like mine. You could smell the leather as I would fall down into the cockpit, looking at the no-nonsense instruments about to come alive if the gods of 12 volt were smiling this day. I would turn the small key on , flip the fuel pump button and, Thunk thunk thunk , I'd hear the 104 octane coming up front to the Strombergs, ready for the next step- hitting the starter button. What happens next is only understood by someone who has owned a Brutal XKE. All hell would break loose as the engine came to life with an almost sexual thud as the fine tuned engine roared out the glasspacked up-turned dual exhaust. The engine would sit at stop lights with a snarl and a promise that it would take on any Detroit ass and chew it up, at least on a long road. The book said that any speeds over 180 mph should call for extra venting on the brakes. Man, who wanted to stop?! Jan and Dean sang about a Stingray and an XKE in Deadman's Curve, a gory song of speed and death. Well I sold the Jag because I needed money and it needed rehab. I can still hear it in my dreams nearly redlineing in 2nd as I went by the old IGA grocery. I can see it sitting in my driveway, looking like it was going 120 just sitting still. I hope someone fixed her up and in its own mechanical way, I hope it misses me every once in a while. I wish it aviation fuel and cold, damp days, and I hope it doesn't have to transport senile people for icecream on Sunday afternoons.