In the mid Atlantic states, like Upstate SC, where i live, we have had a four year drought. But i don't know why nature has to fix it in the first six months of '03. I am so tired of rain, it is thus far the wettest spring in over a hundred years. Last time it was this wet, the Union Cavalry was hither and yon in these parts.
Been working really hard in the office, so today, being off thursday afternoons, and the sun shining, i thanked Abby, my trusty Weimerainer, who watches over my SPF in the garage, flicked the gear shift out of first, and grabbing the rollbar, gave the Great Stroker a shove, and rolled it out onto the driveway. Latched up the Simpson, flicked the Accusump on, watched the
oil pressure come up, tickled the HP Holley, and teased the primary's to bring the revs and fuel pressure up just right.
Then headed out into the country. The wet spring has put an incredible amount of greenery on the trees, in a few minutes i was alone on winding rural roads, the kind so rural they don't have any stripe down the middle. Down into the shallow valleys, then under the trees arching overhead, next by the wooden fences by Brattonsville, where much of the Patriot movie was filmed, then along the winding roads where the battle scenes were filmed, just rolling grassy hills and distant forests, not a sign of human intrusion. The roads were a bit bumpy, patched here and there, but i gained speed, hastening down this and that lane. At bridges over creeks, and tidy turns, i blipped thundering downshifts, no doubt sadly causing the upland Gray Squirrels to suffer many miscarriages of their young.
The great white clouds overhead, the distant thunderheads forming, the damp forests and the tiny distant cottages here and there just made for a great time, burning the 93 octane.
The supple suspension soaked up the heaves and dips, as i was able to use all the road, occasionally breathing on the Wilwoods for a shaded corner, or a rustic cotton gin mill. Here and there field hands would look up when the crackling sound of the sidepipes heralded my coming, and i would blip an acknowledgment of their waves.
Cut across Chester county, ran longside the site of Huck's defeat, where the patriots taught the British Redcoats the accuracy of their flintlocks, sending them back in disarray to Charleston.
Every now and then the road straightened enough for a few seconds, allowing me to put all four venturi butterflys vertical, as i negotiated the dips and and patches.
Came back, and just sat in the Great Stroker for a few minutes in the garage, being glad i am so lucky to live here, and have this car, and a family that understands why dinosaurs were put here so long ago, so they could become fuel for my engine.
The cobwebs of daily exasperation are wiped away again,
All the best.....