. . . Anymore.
Something is wrong. Drastically wrong.
The sun is shining; a few clouds gently floating overhead. The temperature warm after a seemingly never-ending winter.
The top on the Z is folded neatly in the rear; she's purring like a kitten after a bottle of warm milk.
A quick scan of the gauges tells me every is as it should be... oil pressure fine... battery fine... engine temp fine... gasoline -- full.
Still - something is wrong.
I'm not having fun.
The warmth of the sun on my face is terrific. The wind through my hair is... is... missing!
I steal a glance at those clouds and then another quick scan of the gauges. I see the problem now.
I place my hand on the gear shift - more to verify what I already know than to shift.
The problem is ... the problem . . . is . . . that I'm only doing thirty miles per hour and am only in second gear.
The problem . . . is the slow van in front of me.
The problem . . . is the traffic. Traffic. TRAFFIC!
Everywhere there is traffic. Rush hour here in Maryland stars around 3 p.m., lasts until about 7 p.m., and it continues to get worse every day.
Congestion is fast becoming a real downer.
The shear volume of cars on the roads is choking the highways and byways where we used to drive for miles and only see a few cars.
I glance to my right - an SUV is seemingly parked there. I look left and see nothing. I make my move, pushing the little BMW through fourth gear as I come around the van - only to discover that the driver of the van must have a deep-rooted aversion of following too closely to traffic ahead of him... the nearest car is a half-mile away.
The Z quickly gains speed as I hit fifth gear. Popping around those slow cars reminds me of how much I enjoyed that little '55 BelAir. I sure miss that old girl.
I can feel the wind in my hair. The van is receding into the rear view mirror.
I smile.
This is fun.
Life is good.
