Tag Archives: car

The Rental Car

Having a rental car is much like driving a new car. It is, in fact, almost brand new with only 30,000 miles on it. And it has some nice modern features. It’s fast, but don’t tell the rental company I had it over the speed limit. And it handles like a sports car. I want to believe I’m driving a Porsche.

But it’s not like having my truck. Which is in the repair shop. My tuck is full sized. And it has a very strong six cylinder engine. That just so happens to get reasonable gas mileage. And I can fill it up with a lot of stuff. My stuff. Handy stuff. The truck also sits up a tad higher, and so do I when I’m in it. So I can see the world around me. Most of the time.

I would never buy a used vehicle that has a history as a member of a fleet, or as a rental car. People like me, and some much worse, have a tendency to not treat them very well. They drive them fast. And don’t pay attention when they open doors, thus banging them into things. And if the coffee spills on the seat or floor, oh well, someone else will clean it up.   I’m not saying that renters drive the car through mud bogs every day, but the rental is not the same as your own.

That said, I have to admit that I have been very careful with this car. My truck is in the shop because I had a minor collision in it. So, I am being especially aware of the distance between me and the car in front. And of brake lights and stopping distances. I do not want to damage this car, and I am a tad timid about driving at all.

When I get my truck back, I believe that I will continue to be cognizant of my surroundings. And brake lights. And stopping distances.

Having the rental is fun, but mostly very convenient. But I’m looking forward to having my truck back. And filling it up with my stuff.

That’s part of my story. What’s yours?


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The Phantom Camaro


Early Spring here in Georgia feels much more like mid Summer with temperatures hovering near 80 degrees and the sun shining brightly. Such lovely weather has a way of making people feel like being outdoors to have some fun. Some folks like to walk, others ride bicycles. People put the top down on their convertibles. And me, I go for a ride on my scooter.

Riding always makes me feel free and alive, but this special day for some reason I felt powerful. I’ll admit, my scooter is no Harley Davidson. Not a Honda, Kawasaki, BMW, Triumph, Indian or any other big motorcycle. It’s a scooter. But bigger than those little bitty things you see zipping in and out of traffic in the French and Italian movie scenes.

Full throttle, on a flat stretch of road, I can hit 60 miles per hour. And at that speed this day I felt good. I waved at other riders, always glad to see fellow two wheel enthusiast out enjoying a ride.

I try to keep my eyes on the road ahead, but I do take time to look in the rear view mirrors as well. And that’s where I saw it. It was bright red and it was trying to catch me. Wide and low I could hear it’s engine roaring. You know, the sound that a five million cubic inch engine will make. And it was decked out with air scoops, and air dams, and bright lights. In my rearview mirror it looked like a sinuous wisp of red smoke charging toward me.

But I soon realized that it wasn’t blasting past me at a thousand miles and hour. It wasn’t even getting any closer to me. A red sports car that you can’t drive fast because the police are always looking for any excuse to pull over a red sports car that might drive fast. I was racing a Camaro, and winning!

Shortly thereafter I noticed that the Camaro was slowly inching it’s way toward me. He must had had his pedal to the metal. HaHa! And then, as we rolled along up a slight hill, he cruised very slowly past me. Checking me out. What beast was this that could keep up with his Camaro!

And as he rolled past me and I looked over, fully expecting to see Steve McQueen driving, I took a good look. Funny looking Camaro I thought. Because it turns out it wasn’t a Camaro. Chevrolet yes, Camaro no. It was a Chevrolet Spark! This thing was shorter than my scooter! I was greatly humbled. But went on to enjoy the rest of my ride.

That’s part of my story. What’s yours?


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