Ferrari Mailing List: Re: It all depends how you drive...

[Steve Jenkins (steve]

Ken:

Please tell me you archive this stuff. I am a true fan.

Sorry we weren't able to meet up when you were in Seattle this week. I was
being deposed. Next time, my friend.

SJ

-----Original Message-----
From: Ken Rentiers [mailto:rentiers [at] mac.com] 
Sent: Sunday, December 31, 2006 6:15 AM
To: Steve Jenkins
Cc: The FerrariList
Subject: [Ferrari] It all depends how you drive...



On Dec 31, 2006, at 1:32 AM, Britt2Asa [at] aol.com wrote:

> I think it all comes down to whether you are a car person or just a  
> person
> who loves cars...

I must be a car person:


LIke a huge gray aorta, the north-south freeway of California  
bifurcates at San Francisco as it runs to LA. Yet with all the extra  
lanes, traffic never stops. The western-most of the two roads, I - 5,  
avoids  the tank towns of Merced and Modesto and runs south through  
grassy hills, over canals and past great plantings of oranges, lemons  
and apricots.

Thirty miles due west of Bakersfield, Buttonwillow, CA sits on  
InterState 5; an island of gas stations, all night cafes and cheap  
motels lighting up the dark California night. At three AM I sit at  
the counter of Denny's in Buttonwillow. The speakers play Motown, the  
patrons are a mix. Night shift workers, early birds like me and dazed  
partygoers, too exhausted to go home. The waitress smiles, conjuring  
up endless cups of coffee. My omelette comes with hash browns,  
Outside  trucks roar by. Epiphany. A singular moment of complete and  
abject happiness, alone in time and space.

God help me, I love it on the road.


The waitress slams down bottles of Heinz Ketchup and evil red Tabasco  
Sauce. I can use both, mixing 'em together to spice up the eggs and  
potatoes. It occurs to me that I am on the 10,000 Mile Diet. The  
coffee beans are from Colombia, the Tabasco Sauce from the parishes  
of SW Louisiana. All those Colombian coffee growers and Cajun pepper  
pickers would be immediately worse off if I misguidedly switched to  
indigenous foods.

As endless studies show, all of our human societies see a dozen kids  
as an asset when terminally poor, but the brats become a sudden  
liability once cash starts to flow. The best way to reduce the  
world's carbon footprint is flip a coin. Heads - all those with even  
birthdays kill themselves by sundown. Tails - the reverse. I  
guarantee this method will reduce emissions worldwide by 50% in 24  
hours. The only problem is getting people to cooperate!

Next best: raise the standard of living in third world countries so  
they will stop  breeding. My 10,000 Mile Diet is guilt-free. It's the  
100 MIle DIet* that ensures third world poverty, overpopulation  and  
increased pollution. Unintended consequences are just hell!


5:30 AM  - rolling eastbound on I - 210 through Pasadena, I am  
skirting Los Angeles on the north. To my right a carpet of tiny  
lights extends to the horizon. I crest the coastal range as sky gets  
pink and descend through fields of slowly turning windmills into Palm  
Springs.


11:30 AM I hit the westernmost of all the Cracker Barrels, exit 184  
between Phoenix and Tucson. Holiday crowds, A 30 minute wait. I  
volunteer to sit in the smoking section. It is almost deserted. They  
put me at the empty end. Unlike the overtaxed waitresses in the smoke- 
free part of the place, the smoking section server has little to do.  
I make it even easier by ordering the pork roast special, which I  
know will be sitting out ready to go. 30 minutes later I am back on  
the road. Those who got there before me are just getting seated.


Soft music on XM, I cross the desert  at 80 - 90 mph on cruise  
control. Somewhere out there, ringed by ragged distant blue ranges,  
surrounded by endless emptiness punctuated only with sage and joshua  
trees I  come to realize why I took this long, long trip; this five  
day journey down the left coast and across the southwestern deserts.

Somewhere out there I meet myself.


I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la,
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la


It's been awhile. Got lost somehow in the domestic years, years fast  
becoming a blur like the hills on the darkening eastern horizon,  
swept by pink and blue clouds. Beneath the hills are the lights of  
Las Cruces.

Writing this in Las Cruces. 900 miles today. Home tomorrow. Start a  
new year, start another life. But just now, I want one, really cold,  
Beefeater martini straight up and a good steak!


Drive them boys. Drive them like you stole them. Drive them 'till the  
paint wears off. Caress your transmission, make love to your clutch,  
as Britt has said, but get that damn car out and go somewhere.
Enzo sits in Heaven, just to the right of St. Peter. If you don't  
follow my advice you will meet him someday, sooner than you may wish.

"Not him St. Peter! That sunnuvabitch left my wonderful Ferrari  
sitting in his garage 'till the seals rotted. He goes straight to hell!"


A Very Happy New Year to all!

ken
6:00 AM
Las Cruces, NM and headin' for Texas

*http://100milediet.org/category/about/
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