Let Me Tell You a Non-Literary Story

It begins with a defunct septic system. And since I did not want to be Gunga Din in drag and schlepp buckets of waste water to the woods, Mike and I headed to D.C. over Labor Day weekend to see our daughters. On Monday in Anacostia, Bonnie convinced me to watch a 2019 movie, Ford V Farrari, in which the latter company gets sold to Fiat.

This made me remember 1971, when Mike, a USAF pilot, left for Southeast Asia. Just before this, we traded in his 1967 Mercury Cougar for a new 124 Fiat sportscar. Mike carved his initials on the oil filter and told me to make sure to ask for it, so I would know the filter had been changed at the first month’s inspection. I didn’t. The very next day on a So Cal freeway, the engine light came on. A service station filled the Fiat with enough oil for me to reach a dealer in Santa Ana. Sure enough, Mike’s initials were on the filter. That dealer called the other one, and my Fiat was given a new filter and oil. But the next day I returned to the first dealer in Torrance whose manager refused to see me. What to do?  I sat in Palos Verdes at my parent’s place and typed a letter of complaint to the President of Fiat *USA. If the dealer didn’t change the filter, what else wasn’t done? Do Fiat dealers treat men this way or only women? 

What resulted? Sergio from Italy called me over a month later from San Francisco and said he was coming to see me in Napa Valley at my convenience. Which he did, a handsome young man in a lovely Italian suit and white shirt. He removed his jacket, rolled his sleeves, and told the mechanics at the Fiat dealer that he would teach them a few things. He also told them he was there on behalf of Fiat’s president in Italy. He said this lovely young teacher writes powerful letters and you would not like one written about you. When Sergio finished his inspection, he said, “Now I teach you to drive.” And we headed toward Lake Berryessa, which meant incline and curves. “Ladies kill this car,” I remember Sergio saying. “You must drive the 124 hard and fast.” And he did. Then I drove back to Napa. It was a driving lesson I’ve not forgotten.

It was that same year in 1971, returning home to Napa at 6 a.m. on an deserted freeway, when I decided to see how fast the Fiat would go. No one to hit, a Sunday morning, and I accelerated to over 100, thinking I would push the Fiat to just below the red zone of 120-140. Which is when I heard the siren and saw in my rearview mirror, the State trooper. I told him the truth. That  I’d wanted to see how it felt to really drive this car, knowing I wouldn’t endanger anyone. He kindly did not cite me for reckless driving or note my actual speed. But he said my moment of fun was going to be costly. And it was. Yet driving at that speed was exhilarating. And the movie last Monday brought back how much I loved this Fiat and regretted selling it in Napa to a young woman who was beside herself with joy to have my sportscar. What did I then drive? A yellow Datsun station wagon? We had a Chevy truck with a camper, too, and later a VW Rabbit for Mike’s tour in Germany.

Yet back in the USA, off and on for over two decades, I would see the Mazda Miata, a sportscar almost identical to the Fiat 124. I had to have one; and since 2010 I have driven a Miata in British racing green, a 2005 model, now with 145,000 miles. It cannot be driven hard and fast, but the Miata and I keep rolling along together.

I will see Ford V Farrari again, will relish the high-speed driving, enjoy Matt Damon as Carroll Shellby, and love the British actor, Christian Bale, as the famed driver, Ken Miles. The movie has an engaging screenplay, too.   Following Labor day, the Septic system was restored to use. Oh the things we take for granted until they are gone!

Next week I will  travel to Long Island  with Colm