The Parable of Helio
|I stab the brakes to shave off about 75% of my speed as I enter the corner, press in the clutch, throw it into second, then blip the throttle to about 3,500 RPM. The engine winds up eagerly, so I engage the clutch and get hard back on the throttle just at the apex of the corner. The tires complain a little but I don’t pull back. Then it’s Wolfgang Amadeus’ Marriage of Figaro Overture (the last 47 seconds, especially). Bliss. Powerful, incredible, overwhelming bliss.
When I leave Albertson’s with diapers, mayonnaise and an off-limits treat for myself, I drive the same route and experience bliss again. In my 2003 Civic.
And what of it? Am I not to live and experience the delectable oysters of life, even if they are small? True, I am not a racecar driver, and to my own dismay and humility, I’ve yet to master heel and toeing. Still, I know I will never, ever, be content navigating a lumbering 2-Ton SUV with an automatic transmission. Automatic!? It’s blasphemy!
And I cannot be alone in this hidden passion and secret fun upon which I occasionally feast.
