Fellow fiends:
Well, there's been a lot of loose talk the past few days about giving names
and/or genders to cars, nurturing men of the '90s, and whether or not the B
drives like a guided missle cruiser. I don't know much about that last one
(I had an acquaintance who piloted (is that the right term?) an aircraft
carrier and it did sound a bit different). But... let me come to the
defense of those who *do* provide monikers for their cars. I am happy to
remind you that my '63 B is known, about the house, as "Old Whitesides."
Mind you, not all my cars have had names. In fact, among my 3 lbcs, only
the MG has one.
Read on: In my mis-spent youth, I had a '76 Mercury Capri (remember? the
sexy european?). One winter's saturday some ten+ years ago, I drove it east
from Boston, on twisty, snowy highways in western Massachusetts; it was a
blast, performing perfectly for me (just the right amount of over-steer,
even at 5 mph!). I got to my friends' home in record time, with a big smile
on my face, and from that time on the car was called "The Rocket Sled."
Prior to that time I'd called it "The Thresher" as, after three hit-and-run
accidents in Chicago (in the period of five years; I speak the truth), it
appeared to be imploding. What I mean to be saying here is that I don't
*automatically* name a car and I don't think cars *must* have names. OTOH,
if an event correlates, ... why not?
You may well ask: whence "Old Whitesides?" Ahhh, thereby hangs a tale!
Will "warm and fuzzy" Zehring
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