On my ride in to work this morning I rode by (ok, blew past) a DeTomaso Pantera. The Pantera was stuck in the fast lane, while I was enjoying every last inch of the HOV lane.
Some of you long-time readers might recall that I have a bit of a thing for Panteras. They're kind of odd cars: an italian-built monocoque chassis with a mid-mounted Ford V8, and a German (bullet-proof, or so I hear) transmission. They were only imported to the U.S. for 3 years.
For several years, I schemed and plotted and dreamed about how I was going to get my twitchy little fingers on one of these exotic, rust-prone beauties. I printed out pictures of them and used them to decorate my cube. I read about how to clean one's Pantera with clay and a spray bottle to keep it from melting into a puddle of rust. I spent hours going through die-cast models at every big-box store I went into looking for one to keep on my desk (until I found 20 of them on a bargain table at the grocery store. So THAT'S where they were.). I had dreams about driving my Pantera around.
Suffice it to say, I was a touch obsessed.
This morning, I saw the Pantera, thought "Hey, neat," and continued on my merry way without a second thought.
How could that be?
If you ever wonder what I'm thinking about, it's probably motorcycles. Sometimes pizza. But usually if I'm just sitting there, I've got motorcycles on the brain. Riding 'em, fixing 'em, plotting to sell 'em, looking at 'em - it's what's on my mind if I'm not otherwise occupied.
And why not? Motorcycles are awesome! I realize some people don't enjoy the sport, but for me riding a fast, black motorcycle is taking a giant step closer to nirvana. And a Pantera, stylish as it is, just can't beat a motorcycle when it comes to speed, handling, versatility, gas-mileage and adoring looks from the ladies. Not to mention value-for-money.
So instead of being jealous of the presumably-mustachioed Pantera driver, I kept riding, enjoying the freedom, power and grace of my sweet, sweet motorcycle.
Life is good.