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I experience the Shenandoah Valley all too rarely of late. Two years I spent going to school, there... bitingly cold and windy in the winter, searing hot in the spring (without the oppressive humidity that the other side of the mountains wallow in), surreally clear most of the time. Raw-boned, quick to anger, just a few steps out-of-date, many flags and camouflage in evidence... and home to more higher learning than imaginable. Polar opposite circumstances, with a spectacular view, wherever you look. I suppose I miss it, a bit. It's where the wheels took us, today. Wheels, that may soon be replaced. I've found most of my rides to have personalities... docile, beastly, needy, dutiful, whorish, sublime. The docile, yet needy one got to jumpstart the little red tart, this afternoon. Japanese Lotus. As Chairman Kaga would say to the Iron Chef Combatants, "Kyoo No Tema, Kori Desu! (and the Theme is...)." Zoom-Zoom. Not particularly looking for any underlying parallels, Volvo life has been... neutral. Sturdy, rarely complaining, unsupposing. And as boring as watching paint dry. Which should be no complaint, really... considering some of the mobile horror stories with which I've been involved (there's still an entry developing, describing my tryst with Ms. Peel). But, I miss the rumble... the connectedness to the road... the gas mileage... the adrenaline rush of a rhythmic snaking through the mountains... my clutch leg and shifting arm having purpose. Practicality may be a problem, abandoning the hauling capacity... since I never seem to travel light. But the top's not been folded down, yet. That'll set the hook. Poor Inga... the ultimate insult, having to breathe life into the battery of it's potential successor. The Rolling Goomar (Carmella Soprano would know the type). Negotiations to ensue. Like it's said, getting there was half the fun. Crisp climb through the esses scaling the Blue Ridge, sneaking sidelong glimpses from the windshield to the sidelight: looming above, vast illuminated spines of rocky backbone...dusted by snow like powdered sugar.
A jumpstart. Vehicularly, and psychologically. Or as Shirley Jackson wrote, "Journeys end in lovers' meeting." A chilling prophecy, or a thematic one? We shall see. |
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