Every time I look at my Spitfire, my heart thrills to the sight.  To me it is the prettiest little piece of automotive machinery every created.  The sexy lines, the eager stance, and the open friendliness of this car come together in a dynamic and beautiful package that calls to me in a way nothing else ever has.  Just the sight of it, a warm red top-down toy inviting me to come and play, never fails to put a smile on my face and lightness in my spirit.  But that’s only the beginning.           As I lower myself deep into the pocket of the interior I am instantly surrounded by symbols of a lost era.  The warm wood dash, the simple gauges and clunky knobs evoke nostalgia for the uncomplicated times they represent.  I breathe in the car’s scent, a unique combination of gas, oil, paint, and hydraulic fluid built up over years.  In this little cocoon, every control is exactly where it should be, aesthetically and logically.  Nestled in comfort, it all makes perfect sense and feels just right          As I turn the key in the ignition, I’m never sure that it will start.  I’m warmed with gladness that floods through me when it does, and I hear the engine start to sing.  The sound instantly becomes a part of me, as I can hear little else, and I am in tune with my car.  I listen for a minute, savoring the perfection of the engine’s hum.          My arm stretches forward to the shift knob, I release the clutch and step on the gas, and as the first gear creep escalates to meaningful acceleration, my eyes catch the climb of the tachometer needle.  I grit my teeth unconsciously as it gets higher than it should, edging past 4500 RPM, but I love the sound and the way it feels at its peak.  As if the motor is stretching all its muscles to reach just a little further.  I bow my head in unison with the needle dropping when I finally push in the clutch and slide the shifter down to second.  Again, I feel the surge as the engine turns faster and faster, pushing me back in my seat.  The el-shaped shift into third gear makes me pause just a little, to catch my breath, but we’re soon at the most powerful point, the height of third gear, and my whole body leans back in response to the momentum. It’s not my foot on the gas but my heart pounding that’s sending fuel to the engine as my arm vibrates with the shifter.  I let it really whine on this last shot before triumphantly pulling it down to fourth.  I take a deep breath as I settle in to cruise.  The slightest touch on the steering wheel brings an answer from the rack and pinion steering, and I eagerly anticipate the curves and the turns.         As I sail along the road, the wind surrounds me, whipping my face with hair as it flings all of my burdens away.  I can never reach this point without smiling.  I am as free as any human being could possibly be on solid ground, and thrilled and grateful to be there.  I am awed by the power of the wind, the warmth of the sun, and the delight they create in me and at that moment, I feel magnificent.  The happiness that fills me is so pure, so powerful, and so all encompassing that I am speechless.  I feel like I could drive like this forever.         Vintage sports cars are not for everyone.  If they were, it would take away some of the magic.  But as the days start to get longer, and we count down to Spring and another driving season, I know there’s magic waiting out there for a lot of you.

Kate’s 1976 Spitfire 1500                                     

K8S TOY

FM50458U