REFLECTING ON THE END OF THE BEGINNING
As I finish writing this exercise in fun and self-indulgence, I can only think that we, the generations of people from the 1920s till now and probably the next thirty years, we are the ones who drove cars, real cars. We are the ones who rode in the steam and diesel trains; some of us were lucky enough to fly in Concorde, to listen to the growl of a V8 Chevy engine, the purr of a Ferrari. We are the ones who could watch cars and motorcycles racing against each other and not feel like criminals. We are the ones who could still get speeding tickets, impress girls with our cars first and penis engineering afterwards.
Someone picking this up in 2050 might be being transported in God knows what, some grass-powered hybrid. We have been the lucky generations. And that’s why every new car, every turn of the ignition key, is a new baby to me. It’s what man’s made out of nature. It’s rock ’n’ roll.
Do I like cars?!