So, I guess I'm insane - PeachParts Mercedes-Benz Forum

irish_flu · #1 03-11-2008, 11:20 PM

See, I've suffered from this weird "thing" ever since I was a young teen. I began to have the "urges" that I could not suppress. My dad, a kind soul, tried to help me manage it by buying me a magazine called "Car Toons" and (later on) things like Car & Driver. He was born with the same problem, as was his father before him. My urges, however, were still unsatiated.

I'd see the objects of my desire when I went out with my friends, at school, even at family functions. Sometimes they were out in the hot sun with their top down, sometimes they were glistening wet after a rain, I didn't care. They always looked good to me.

I could hear them speaking softly to me, at times. "Drive me!", they'd say. Some of them wanted to go to town and take it slow and easy, some always wanted to go fast, others wanted to have fun out in the woods or on some desolate dirt road where we could be alone. I've always been able to tell what they wanted me to do, and I've always been too happy to oblige.

There have been many, over the years.

Who can forget their first? She was a step-side Chevy, wood bed and all. Narrow where a truck should be narrow, and broad where a truck should be broad. She taught me all about the wonders and frustrations of that mysterious thing called the "3 on the tree". As with so many youthful relationships, it was over too quickly; we crashed and burned.

Some of them were small; the Festiva was compact and built like a brick house. I secretly loved knowing that no matter how badly I treated her, she would be OK. Then there was the Civic Hatchback "S", far tighter than I expected and able to buck like a mule.

Some of them were big, and didn't mind if I brought along all my friends. The '79 Thunderbird who burned far too brightly (literally), the Grand Marquis (two of them) who were sleek like a fish. They weren't driven so much as "piloted". The GMC 3/4-ton Conversion, the biggest of all, who loved nothing more than a night in the woods under the stars.

Some of them were dependable and long-term (the little Corolla comes to mind, though that became boring after awhile), others were one-night stands (a rented Mustang).

The little Cherokee liked to be driven roughly, bouncing around all over, but who also liked to be driven fast. She was always faster than any of my friends expected her to be, and I loved that.

Some were American, some were Japanese, and a couple of them of them were even Swedish!

The Volvo 245 had a little more junk in the trunk than anything I'd experienced before, but I quickly learned to appreciate that. I had to move very slowly with her, but we always went exactly where I wanted to go, with no communication break-down.

The Saab 9000; oh lord, the Saab. I've always had a thing for the red ones, and she never let me down. You remember that country song? "She was hotter than a two-dollar pistol, she was the fastest thing around. Long and lean, every young man's dream". Downright ROWDY. Handled far better than anything I've ever laid hands on. Before my Saab, I never knew it could even be like that; I'd never experienced anything so agile and willing. Oh, and the sounds that would come out of that factory Clarion Pro system when we'd really get it moving down the highway; sweet, sweet sounds, louder than I thought possible.

Now, the Benz. Big and blue (blue has always been my favorite), my first German. Smooth as silk when we go out, and hot enough when I ask for it nicely. I love knowing that the other guys are looking at us while we're downtown. She might be a little high-maintenance, and maybe a little tough on the wallet, but there's always a price for such beauty and class.

I have to admit that even when I have what I think I want, my mind and eyes still wander. One thing's for sure, though: I've loved them all.