I love driving.

Not the commuting kind of driving, where you are going fast, going not so fast, not going at all, and there are a plethora of idiots thinking that they know a way to go faster and what they are late for is more important than what you are late for.

Not the city kind of driving, where it is more of an obstacle course of avoidance; dodging things, people, construction, inattentive drivers, aggressive drivers, narrowing streets, widening streets… oh my god! I’m in a turn lane… oh my god! I just missed my turn….argh!

The kind of driving I love is where you are on an open road, shifting through the gears, down shifting into the corner, accelerating through the corner, then navigating through the next turn in the road.  Windows wound down, good music playing, wind dancing through my hair.  You can hear the tires on the road, the sounds of a happy engine, you are engaged in the activity of driving because you are part of the mechanics.

I had forgotten this until today.

We recently put a car, that we had inherited a few years ago, back on the road.  A little 1984 VW Jetta, with a 5-speed transmission.  It has its share of age related things and issues from being stored for so long, but it puts on a good show.  Rumbly little engine, short stick shift, looks like it was drawn with a ruler…  Sitting at the lights, waiting for them to change, shift into first gear, feeling that place in the peddle where the clutch engages…light turns green and gone…shifts made, reaching the speed as quickly as I can get there…