Racing The Clock ...and The Calendar.One sign of a "mid-life crisis" often is a shiny Sports car.
I got mine when I was in my twenties.
It was a British import, much-loved (especially by my mechanic) and a young lady I eventually married, was pretty impressed by my low slung 2-seater with wire-spoked wheels.
The first child meant getting a station wagon so bye-bye Triumph TR-3.
Of course, we now drove a nice sensible little Ford station wagon and our growing family really did need more than 2 leather bucket seats, but a first Sports car is sort of like your first love. Mostly fond memories.
Well, the British-trained mechanic HAD insisted on changing the oil every 1,000 miles.
Jump forward through several marriages, divorces and moves to various cities and states and here I am back in Charleston.
Driving one afternoon in Mt. Pleasant I see a beautifully-restored Triumph in a parking lot.
I slip my card under the windscreen wiper asking the owner to call me.
A few days before Christmas, we met. He let me pose beside it and even sit in it.
It was a VERY snug fit.