Sunday Worship

Fisrt off, I’m not at all religious, so don’t worry, this isn’t a sermon. I’m sure however the religious folks will condemn me to hell for linking the pleasures of driving to the term “worship.” Fine with me. 😉

This morning Nicholas wanted a “family breakfast”, which translated from kidspeak means “dad cooks.” His menu contained some things we had none of in the larder, so a trip into town was called for. Our kitchen faces east, and after yesterday’s overcast I could see dark clouds still clung to the Cascade mountains above our house. Walking out the front door though, it was clear blue skies that appeared to the southwest. That always bodes well in these parts. It was unseasonably warm on Friday and I missed the opportunity for top-down driving. I was not going to let this one pass by. Out past the Jetta parked in the driveway, and to the barn to uncover the 65E.

After checking fluids and reconnecting long undone electrical terminals, I pushed it halfway out the barn door and climbed in. Turned the key, and the Facet fuel pump began its odd pulsations in the boot. Pulled the choke all the way out and hit the starter button with an eye on the oil pressure gauge. The starter grinds for a few seconds, and the cat is reluctant to fire after the long winter slumber. It extends its muscular front legs out and draws its hindquarters up to stretch the long winter doldrums from its awakening muscle fibers. Pulling itself upright it twists its neck and yawns its feline mouth and sputters a cough. Just as I condsider releasing the starter button for a break and another go, it shudders and fires, falling into a fast 1800 RPM purring idle. It is awake! I pull out of the barn and drive around to the front of the house, run to just inside the front door for my coat (it is quite brisk!) and head down the driveway. I go slowly at first, allowing the just-out-of-hibernation machine to adjust to being active again. I watch the temp gauge and adjust the choke as the engine comes fully warm. By the time I’m down the hill to the main highway by the river I consider really opening it up and letting it roar.

Sitting at the stop sign I look both ways and the highway is completely empty. There are two residences here, a trailer home on my side and a dairy farm on the other. In consideration of their possible morning slumber I ease the Jaguar into the highway and pull away at a sedate pace. As I drop into second gear the reserve is overwhelmed by the desire to hear the big cat growl… just a little… and I run her up to 3500 RPM before upshifting into 3rd.

The sound is sublime.

The four miles into town is a series of sweeping rights and lefts and I take them with ease, but just enough throttle to keep them from being dull. Hearing the exhaust note echo off of the surroundings is like hearing a familiar old tune. A melody that brings a smile and nothing but pleasant memories rushing back. I drop the speed as I come up the riverbank into town and just let the car roll along in 3rd at 25mph, engine barely above idle. It is significantly warmer here in town that up on the hill where we live, even though the elevation difference is only a few hundred feet. I see that my favorite parking spot at the grocery (a lone spot that is protected by a lamppost and a grocery cart corral) is occupied, so I loop around past the front door and into another safe place, too far from the door for errant, inattentive, lazy SUV & pickup drivers to casually park. This is after all where my bonnet bender took place a year an a half ago. As I turn my head towards the door I see two grocery store employees staring at the Jaguar; obviously drawn to the open door by the unusual purr of the exhaust note.

I run in, shedding my coat, and find the items that Nick wanted, along with some half-price easter candy (no chocolate bunnies though!) The drive home is just as nice as the on in, if not more so. The sweepers are uphill this way, requiring more throttle. As I exit the first series of six or eight esses I glance down at the speedo, and see it touch 80. This road is 55 MPH and I didn’t bring the Valentine. I ease up a bit, but no TOO much… it would take a real grumpy Sheriff to ding me a hard one for 19 MPH over the limit so I drop it down below 75 for the remaining few miles of SR530. The hard right off the highway leads to a steep hill that switchbacks up several times before leveling out with an abrupt dip that provides, for a split second, a zero-gravity condition inside the car if done at JUST the right speed. I throttle up and enjoy the roar off the steep rocky hillside on the left and concrete jersey barrier on the right, then pop over that little parabolic hump at the top and feel myself being held down by the safety belts. It always feels better to do that in the open topped Jaguar than inside the Jetta’s sedan bodywork! My Sunday morning hoonage done, I settle down to a respectable and quiet speed for the mile or so home.

Pulling back into the barn I give the big cat a little pat on the dashboard, and shut her down. Springtime has arrived once again and a season of Sunday Drives lies ahead.