The Chuff Zone

[ccm911]

 

 

 

 

 

You Can go Home again.

By Christopher Mahalick, RTR

 

Back when I was ten years old, there was only one thing I wanted in this world.  A mini-cycle.  Brand was not important.  Be it a Suzuki TM-75, Honda XR-75, or even a Yamaha Mini-Enduro; the acquisition of such drove my entire existence.  It consumed me.  Other kids wanted to play Little League Baseball or Mini-Football.  But not this budding young grease-jockey.  Team Sports?  Get Real!  If it didn’t involve an engine, I really could not see the point.  Still can’t.

 

And the penultimate manifestation of this obsession was the occurrence of one, singular repetitive dream.  See, in this dream, I already had the mini-cycle.  It was already sitting in my garage, yet I hadn’t realized it until one glorious morning. I would be walking through the garage, and lo and behold, there it was!  A shiny new TM-75, just waiting for me to abuse.  And every time without fail, as I mounted the seat and went for the kick-starter, I would wake up!  And if I went back to sleep, the dream would refuse to materialize, leaving me living in the desperation of a reality that, unfortunately, did not include the aforementioned mini-cycle. 

 

And in the end, I got lucky.  My parents wisely realized that a two hundred dollar, 1975 Honda XR-75 would prove to be far cheaper than the cost of the ensuing counseling, which would surely be required to diagnose the cause and cure of my youthful depression.  Some folks count their marriage day or the birth of a first child as high points in their lives. I count the day I got the Honda, as well as the days when I got the RM-80 and the RM-100 as being the high-holy days of my(pathetic) existence.

 

And then came the cars.

 

The first car that I ever owned would occur during my college years.  It was a well thrashed FIAT X/19.  Not off to a good start.  Duh!  The engine burned up on the Verrazano Narrows bridge.  And then the wiring burned up on the PA turnpike late one October evening.  Which to this day has left me leery of Italian engineering and Soviet era metallurgy.

 

But a couple of years later, the dream was back, only with a new object playing center stage.  If you guessed Porsche 911, then you would be absolutely correct.  After a succession of such engineering marvels as the Chevy Vega, Renault Le Car, and MG Midget, I should have taken up bowling.  Yet the memory of a 911 Turbo pulling into my neighbor’s driveway in 1976 would not go away. These folks always had some interesting rides stopping by, including a bunch of E-Type Jags, Maseratis, Ferraris, and even Evel Kenievel driving up in a bright red Cadillac Eldorado ragtop with white leather(I’ll have to defer that awesome story to a later date).

 

But it was always about the Porsche 911.

 

And once again, at about age twenty-one, the dream resurfaced.  Only this time the lead(and only) act would be a 911.  And once again, I would just happen to “notice�? it one day sitting in the garage.  And once again, I would awaken just as I was about to turn the key. Not again!

 

But it happened that I actually did get to buy one in the year 2000.  And the day of delivery can never be matched by a marriage, first child, etc.  Some things actually do remain constant in this life.

 

A few years back, I had some transmission trouble on the track, and no money to rectify the situation.  Most definitely, a bad combination.  So the 911 languished outside for about a year or so.  Ignored like an unwelcome houseguest.

 

But then I got a job-job, and eventually had the money to put it back together.  Combined with a thorough detail, the 911 was once again, “standing tall�?.  Only at this point, life was consumed with the renovation of my home.  So my once loved Targa just sat forlornly in the garage, waiting for the day it would once again be driven in the manner to which it had become accustomed.  And it sat for about another year.

 

And then one glorious morning, as I was walking out through the garage to get the mail, the dream miraculously became reality.  It hit me like a ton of bricks.  “Hey, there is a perfectly fine 911 sitting in the garage just waiting to be taken out for a beating�?.  I think it is moments like these that come to mind(at least mine) when folks bow their heads and speak reverently of the phenomenon known as an “epiphany�?.    

 

An epiphany which had to wait a few minutes, as the battery was dead.  But never fear.  The Sears CraftsMAN  battery charger set to START delivered a jolt which brought to life a far more appealing creation than Frankenstein’s monster.

 

So it was time to get re-acquainted.  A rekindling if you may.  And boy, did it rock!  After a slower “warm up lap�? it was time to rip loose on the back roads of Valley Forge mountain.  And some re-acquaintance it was.  Like the first ride on a motorcycle, the spark was back.  As I gained more and more confidence, the wheels were howling and the wheel was being briskly sawed back and forth in a display of self-preservation.  I just could not stop.  That car just kept getting better and better.  I returned back to the garage about an hour and a half later with aching arms and a disturbing(but well worth it ) tightness in my chest.   

 

Some folks are lucky in love, while some are lucky financially.  I, on the other hand have been intensely lucky in the realization of all of my motoring dreams.  And the other night, a Ducati surfaced.  This may be a harbinger of things to come, if past history is any indication.

 

I hate to tell you this(posthumously) Tom Wolfe, but you certainly CAN go home again.  And if “going home�? involves a 911, it can actually be much better the second time around.

 

It is President’s Day 2008, as of this writing.  And to be honest, those presidents died so we can all have a day off on which to take out our Porsches for some “brisk exercise�?.  I mean,  it really would be the right thing to do.  So I think I’ll end this column right now.  I just saw the Targa smirking at me through the garage window, so it looks like the only way to make it right would be a nice thorough “slapping�?.

 

I am a Patriot after all.