On Fri, 4 Mar 1994, Scott Fisher wrote:
> Yet there really is something different about driving a car with no roof.
> It puts you so much more in tune with the world around you: the smells,
> the changes in temperature, even changes in humidity become obvious
> agents affecting your life rather than subtle nuances. The changes
> happen faster than while walking, yet you're not insulated from them
> as while driving in a closed car, so you feel them. Driving through
> wooded roads as dusk collects beneat the trees is my favorite; the
> warm purple shadows climb into the cockpit beside you, nestling up
> against your ribs as the wind ripples soft little hairs on your arms.
> The dark, the open, the wild night sky all welcome you like a lover
> between cool satin sheets studded with winking stars, rather than
> being shut out and beating against the glass perimeter of a closed
> car like a bird fluttering futile wings against the glazing.
>
> --Scott
Lyrical, I'd say. I have an open car, too. I've had several of them over
the years, and hope always to have at least one for the times when the
evening is warm and a bit humid, and the wild night sky beckons...
I have top down memories, too. Of booming down the interstate with my new
wife and her aunt in my 49 Willys Jeepster, on a cold January afternoon
shortly after I finished replacing its anemic 4 cylinder with a fresh
Chevrolet V8. The booming, of course, was not from the engine, but from
the long top flapping against the center bow. Perhaps because this car
had never before been able to reach 70 mph, the top chose this trip to
flap against the center bow once too often, opening a small slit to the
rushing air. Like a breeched dike, a small opening became large, then
instant sunroof! I still remember my wife's aunt's words as I delivered
her half-frozen to her destination, with the top down to prevent further
damage: "you're lucky it has wheels."
Then, there was the game I used to play in my 67 Alpine. Early Alpines
had tops that could be erected without leaving the seat of the car. The
top was continually improved, however, until putting up the top of the
Mark V involved enough circumnavigations of the car to qualify as aerobic
exercise. So when rain threatened, I would try hard to get home to the
garage with the top down. Then, if the morrow dawned clear, I had won. I
usually made it, but I remember one day when the heavens opened, drenching
me so quickly that it made no sense to bother putting the top up. Then
the trick became to sit at a stop light, with the water pouring down, and
try to fix a gentle smile on my face as if I would have life no other way.
Yes, my open cars have often been like a lover welcoming me between cool
satin sheets... but then they made me sleep on the wet spot.
Ray Gibbons
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