Be safe regardless of her temptations
By Barry Vitcov
Relief from hot August days and nights might take many forms. Some of us use the cooler mornings to get in our daily walk, often with a pup by our side. Some wait for sundown before venturing out of their air-conditioned homes and perhaps a stroll along Main Street with an ice cream cone in hand. Others seek relief in whatever shade trees may provide or on the south side of Main Street, where buildings keep the sidewalks cooler. It may also be a time when a classic sports car beckons our poet to go for a ride up the hill to Callahan’s, cooling off with the thrill of driving a classic car.
She
By Christopher Smits
Aaaaaah, there she is …….
It has been a while, I had almost forgotten …
Those timeless, elegant lines,
Sleek, lithe, purposeful curves, muscular, but still delicate
Almost 40 years old, a true classic
I gently grasp the door handle, push the release button, it opens with a quiet click
I climb in, not so much seeing as feeling the leather, the contoured bucket seat
I scan the simple instrument panel, round gauges from an earlier time,
Appreciating the perfectly proportioned steering wheel, the oversize tachometer placed
directly in front of me, where it should be
I am reminded that you do not merely drive this car, you become part of it, you enter into
a partnership
If you are a good partner, and careful, and skillful, you will be rewarded with an
experience that few people ever have
I switch on the ignition, checking voltage, gas, and temp gauges
I hit the starter, the engine cranks over for 10 or 15 seconds
When I see the oil pressure begin to rise, I hit the fuel boost switch, fuel pressure jumps
up and she roars to life, echoing off the shop walls, making a little white smoke as she warms up.
I back out onto the street, looking around, watching for traffic, and head out toward the
freeway, I have a lunch date at Callahan’s
Even in town, even while driving slowly, the precise handling, the easy power, once
again conspire to seduce me
She whispers to me “Faster, faster, you can go faster”
I resist, keeping it to something reasonable in the 25 zones.
We get to I-5, I ease through the on-ramp, check mirrors, tighten my seat belt, put on my
black driving gloves (oh yes, just like the ones the guy wore in Bullitt), and open the
throttle.
She surges ahead, spooling up like a jet engine, snarling power slamming me back into
the seat.
The speedometer winds up, almost too quickly to read, 70, 80, 90, passing big rigs like
they were standing still
I double clutch into 3rd, and we are at 100, and climbing
Now she insists “Faster, Faster, you know you can go faster”
This what she lives for, this is when she is truly alive
But my better judgement is also getting more insistent, “Back it down, back it down, the
cops will get you for sure, they love to nail guys like you”
I glance at the gauges, we are doing 120, storming up to the summit, drifting through the
turns, slaloming past other cars, engine screaming, brakes getting hot, oil temp rising
Reluctantly, I come to my senses, and ease off to a more sane 70 or so
In no time, or so it seems, we are at the turn-off for Callahan’s
I put her in a shaded spot, away from other cars, and switch off
I sit quietly for a few moments, listening to the engine making ticking sounds as it cools
I open the door, slide out, and walk toward the lodge
Something makes me stop, turn around, and look at her again,
I see the small, sculpted, chrome logo on the engine cover, and I understand
Porsche 911 .
Christopher Smits lives in Talent, Oregon, out near the western hills, surrounded by open farmland. He has many interests, including aircraft restoration, old motorcycles, classic cars, running a rest home for wayward sailboats, and, quite by accident, writing. He has written poetry, several short stories, and is threatening to finish a couple of novels. Originally from England, Chris grew up in the Bay Area, amidst cherry orchards, and the Grateful Dead. He has a BS in Marketing, and an MBA, and is still wondering why he did that. Now retired, or so they tell him, Chris is busier than ever getting a farm up and running, learning guitar, and getting a 1977 Porsche 911 Targa back on the road.
Poetry Submissions Welcomed!
You are invited to submit original work to the Poetry Corner. There are only two restrictions: First, poems need to show a connection to Ashland and/or Southern Oregon. Your interpretation of that connection is fairly loose! Second, poems need to be aligned to the left margin. The publishing platform used by Ashland.news has issues with the creative use of space! There are no length restrictions but try to keep your poems to no more than 30 lines. Be sure to include the title of your poem, your name as you would like it to appear, the city or town in which you reside, and, if you wish, your preferred pronouns.
To submit poems, send to Barry Vitcov at [email protected].
