Aug. 31st, 2007

rickps: (Rambler American)


















Well, no, I didn't drive the QE2 but something nearly as big.  Friend Dan, my car pusher buddy, came by for dinner last night.  As always, he brings something from the current stable of cars his company is selling.  This time, a 2005 Jaguar (that's pronounced jag-U-are, thank you) XJR.  This beast is big, Titanic big, Hindenburg big, aircraft carrier big.  Sitting in the driver's throne ('seat' seems such a wrong word for it), one looks out over a huge rippling ocean of hood.  At the far, far end is the signature chrome jumping kitty hood ornament.  The interior view from any seat in the throne room is like that of a posh men's club.  All one needs is a tweed jacketed gent named Nigel puffing on a pipe and complaining about the Boer war.  Acres of burled walnut surround the gauges and fiddly bits that are, I'm told, supposed to do something or other regarding the barge's functioning.  Firm (this is the 'sporting' XJ, after all) leather seats hold you gently in place.

Ah, but lest I digress further, this is, after all, a motorized conveyance, and is intended to transport one from Point A to Point B.  Of course, if the destination is shorter than this tank, like the width of Rhode Island, one need not twist the key fob and awaken the host of electro-mechanical minions waiting at your beck and call.  But twist I did and the 390 horsepower Ford-ified and supercharged motive device purred (I think) to life.  Manipulating the bizarre 'J-gate' shifter into Drive and depressing the acceleromotrix ('gas pedal' is so crude, don't you know), the world begins to slip past your windows.  So smoothly that the ash burning a hole in Nigel's tie is hardly disturbed.

Ah yes, it's required to change direction from time to time, isn't it?  Such decisions should not be made in haste in this dowager empress of a vehicle.  A turn of the (how gauche) steering wheel and you (and Nigel) will notice that the view outside has subtly changed.  Eventually.  Should one not wish to be late for tea time, stomping on the acceleromotrix is recommended.  A soft whine of the supercharger interrupts Nigel's particularly chilling anecdote and your world view blurs.  You cannot help but notice that your greatly increased speed is accompanied by a commensurate plummet of the fuel indicator.  But that's for the servants to fret about, no?

In what seems like a moment, one arrives at one's destination.  Nigel alights from the vehicle, a contented smile on his grizzled visage.

Dinner is served.  How very Remains of the Day.

As one returns to this, the Andrea Doria of land yachts, one may be intrigued by the various electronic wizards that are arrayed around one.  Pressing this and that, one is ultimately rewarded by a proper British female voice informing one that "the navigation guidance system will commence in a few moments".  How nice.  This ever-so-humble voice will then from time to time suggest changes in your route.  How positively grand!

Once arriving home and exiting the vehicle, you realize that this would be the perfect conveyance to transport oneself cross country (assuming one can find enough refueling locations... but that's for the servants to fret about, no?).  But then, it looks so lovely sitting in the car park, doesn't it?
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Usually when I post to LJ, it's with a clear vision of what I want to say. Not this time, be patient... )

And so, on balance, how has it been after a year?  Not bad.  But I really did leave my heart in San Francisco.

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