Now I understand why my brother MusicMan got into so much trouble with all those Mustangs he drove in his teens and early twenties. And why my parents drove what I called pimp cars in the seventies.
The Sonata’s in the shop for some minor cosmetic repairs–on someone else’s insurance company’s dime–and they gave me this smokin’ Dodge Charger to drive in the meantime.
Be still my beating heart. This thing just grabs the road and begs you to tear it up. I’ve been good, honestly, but I don’t think I’d be able to if this were in my driveway all the time. I’d have to take it out to the desert and let it run.
Great ride, great handling. I am not thinking about the environmental impact because it’s only for a few magical hours of a few mystical days.
I’m not sure whether cars like this are the answer to mid-life crisis or the cause of it, but I am sure enjoying my commute this week.