For four years, I’ve been driving a ’99 VW Cabrio. Generally, we take one day off per week and ride around with the top down. I adore the 2L motor and manual tranny, and we’ve spent many a pastoral afternoon before inexplicably ending up in Walkertown.
It’s got new running gear, but the top leaks, the paint is shit and the A/C is done. But it has taken us, unwaveringly, up 89 out of Madison to Mt. Airy, and so many more gorgeous vignettes of North Carolina. We’ll sell it for $2000 on Craigslist.
Speaking of which, as warm weather approacheth, the Wife and I scoured the conventional online sources using things like Car Gurus, but nothing stood out. Finally, we looked at Craigslist and Bob’s your uncle.
Low miles, Blue book price, two owners, always garaged. The Wife made the call Sunday, two weeks ago, we drove down, put a deposit on it and sealed the deal last Friday. I drove it this week and the Wife’s friend is in town, so they’re driving it today.
The ’99 Cabrio is simply a bucket of bolts designed to have a lot of fun. Countless F-150s have been left sitting at a green light, while I’m 100 yards gone, in second and reaching for third. It will be hard to put down.
Fun Machine 2.0 may as well have nuclear propulsion, from the feedback I’m getting from the 2.5L five cylinder and 6 speed auto tranny. This is a big car and you’re sitting on the ground. It is difficult for non-dwarfs to enter and exit.
Word is the 2013 model was chopped and channeled by the Mexicans who made it. The problem with driving a vehicle with such limited visibility is you’re the last to know when you’re having a wreck.
I zoom around Cornwallis and Church with no prob in old beaters, but this thing requires some forethought. I’m not hopeful I won’t be run over by a seventeen year old leaving Page High School at 4:00, or a soccer mom picking up kids at St. Pious at 3:00.
Anyway, I’m at the He-Man Woman Hater’s Club House for the weekend. I have my old truck and lots of patio stones, mulch, grass seed and straw have been put down. I was told a couple of weeks ago that everyone here thinks I’m gay.
There are several reasons for that, involving rugby shorts, sandals, a Barbie Car, and my failure to consort with the locals. If I were to walk around with my hair on fire, I could not attract more attention.
Let’s just say that while I find attractive women attractive, it’s never been sufficient to actually deal with one. Indeed, my experience has been like Hillary Clinton: the more you know, the less you care.
OTOH, I enjoy being comfortable, and if it pisses people off, so much the better. Especially these people, who are no less backward than I remember as a child.
The greatest gift I gave myself was the ability to make up my own mind about things. I have no desire to belong to any club which might accept me. And it’s not like I’m wearing my freak flag with tattoos and piercings. I remain too much the Quaker.
Oh yeah, I work in a dress store.