Shit Scared

I'm scared, I've been scared in the past so I know scared. Forty something years ago I was a part-time rally driver, back before World Rally Championships in pocket rockets with their roll cages and radio contact to their teams and the myriad safety features designed to protect the drivers, I drove what was little more than a standard road car with knobbly tyres at high speeds through twisty fire trails that wound their way through dense bushland with an equally scared navigator yelling the course notes to me. Believe me that was scary.

Why am I scared now? For the first time in years I have a date and it scares me. I had almost given up trying to attract a woman after my wife left me and, because I was so gutted by the experience, I couldn't face the prospect of failure again. She told me that she still loved me but wasn't in love with me. She had been told by her friends, who had experience with this sort of thing, that it would ease the pain of my hurt. Bullshit, what did her friends know about my hurt? It was all some sort of relationship psycho-babble designed specifically so that the woman does not feel guilty about her decision to dump her husband. I wouldn't have been any more hurt if she had told me the truth which was that she had been seduced into having an affair with her boss and wanted to be with him. If she had told me that I would have been able to tell her that I knew her boss and his reputation and that this relationship had no chance of advancing beyond an affair, not that she would have listened to me.

I was saddened when the inevitable happened and thought for some time that I should contact her and offer her some support, but then I heard that she was hitting the hotels trolling for casual sex. I was sad because she couldn't, or wouldn't, answer my calls offering help, but then she always was a proud person, one who would never admit that she could have been wrong. She had to prove to herself that men still found her attractive, even though the men she now attracted would never have rated a second look from her in the past.

How is it, I hear you ask, that if I am so scared that I am actually going on this date?

Well it all sort of snuck up on me when I least expected it. It all started one morning last week; I was driving to the supermarket for my weekly supplies shop when I noticed that her rear tyre was almost flat. I flashed my lights to attract her attention and when I saw her looking in her wing mirror I signalled for her to pull over. "Your back tyre is almost flat, if you keep driving your will damage the tyre and possibly the rim." I did a quick calculation and worked out that tyre alone for this particular car would cost well over a thousand dollars. She got out of the car and stood looking at her still deflating tyre. "If you pop the boot I'll change it for you." (That's the trunk for you guys in the USA)

"You don't need to do that, I can call the auto club."

"And they'll take how long to get here? I can have this changed before you get sick of the hold music." She popped the boot and I dragged the skinny temporary spare from its well. "How far are you going?"

"Just to the supermarket, why?"

"That's okay, these spares are only designed to get you to somewhere that can fix your tyre and you have to be careful when you're driving because the performance difference between these and the standard road tyre is huge, we don't want you spinning off on a corner, do we?"

"You seem to know something about this."

"Well I suppose I should after forty years in the motor trade." I caught the expression on her face and realised immediately that I had stuffed up. It was time for damage control. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so condescending. Yes I do know something about these things and to make up for my stupidity I'll go with you to the tyre place, just to be sure that they don't take advantage of you."

"Would you? That would be nice because I know nothing other than where to put the nozzle when I have to refuel. My husband used to take care of all of that but he died last year. I guess I should learn."

I parked my car in the supermarket car park and we drove to a nearby tyre place and I stood back to watch the con. I could see his eyes light up when he looked at the BMW and the cash register in his mind was busily calculating how much he could make on this one. "This tyre is ruined and, even if we could, we aren't allowed by law to repair it and we can't put an inner-tube in it because the casing was never designed to take a tube and that leads us to the next problem. With this car it is important that you have tyres of the same tread pattern and wear because any difference, no matter how small, in the rolling circumference will ruin the drive train and looking at the wear on the front tyres they need to be replaced and you will need a wheel alignment, the shoulders are scrubbing badly." I think he'd just about covered all of the bases.

"And just how much will all of this cost?"

"Four tyres will set you back around a thousand each including fitting and balancing, that's if we fit the manufacturer's recommended tyres but I can sell you some equally good tyres made in Asia for about eight hundred each. The wheel alignment will be another hundred that will come to four thousand one hundred dollars, or three thousand three hundred depending on which way you want to go."

Selena, that's her name by the way, was thinking about this and looked at me for advice. "Just a moment there, that tyre has picked up a nail and that thing you told her about not being able to by law repair it is so much bullshit. It can be repaired with a tubeless plug so there is no need to replace these tyres and as for the alignment, if you look closely you will note that the fronts still have legal tread and have scrubbed evenly on both shoulders, something that is common to all cars with power steering. I have driven this car and it tracks straight and there is no camber steer, and that indicates to me that the alignment is still good, so why don't you forget about trying to con this woman and just put a plug in the flat tyre." He grumbled but did as I told him.

"I hate it when these guys try to take advantage of women, there almost as bad as those that offer cheap services and a free ninety-nine point safety check that's designed specifically so that they can tell you that they can't possibly allow you to drive it until they have repaired some totally fictitious terminal problem, which, of course they will charge considerably more than the dealers to repair. I took a car to one place for a new exhaust only to have him call me to tell me that my front disc rotors were dangerously thin and needed immediate replacement. Unfortunately for him it just so happened that I was in my office at home and was able to reach the car's repair manual that gave me the tolerances for disc rotors, so I asked him how thick they were. They weren't even half worn."

The tyre dealer grumbled back and replaced the temporary spare with the repaired tyre and threw the spare into the boot, took his twenty dollars with little grace and stormed back into the fitting bay.

We drove back to the shopping centre and I grabbed my re-usable shopping bags from my car and we walked inside. "Would you like a coffee, my treat?"

"Sure, why not." There was a coffee shop next to the supermarket and she asked me to grab a table while she ordered, something that was easier said than done, the table that is. I looked around and spied a couple thinking about leaving so I headed in their direction, reaching the table just as they stood up and a nanosecond ahead of a large woman loaded to the gunwales with shopping bags. I ignored the filthy look that she gave me and sat, claiming victory. I looked to the counter in time to see Selena pointing to the offerings in the cake display, I was going to have to be careful here, she might have the metabolism of a racing greyhound and could eat as much as she wanted of whatever she wanted and stay disgustingly slim, but I put on weight just by looking at food.

She sat and put the table number thingy on the table. "I really have to thank you for helping out. I knew that he would try it on about not being able to fix the tyre, I've been through that before when my husband was alive but tell me, what was that thing about the cheaper tyres?"

"It's a bit of a scam, they have realised that many modern European cars have wide wheels and low profile tyres and the factory recommended tyres are very expensive, a cost that many unsuspecting motorists haven't factored into their budgets, so they've hit on the idea of sourcing tyres really cheaply from Asian countries. They cost about a quarter of what they charge the customer so their profit margin is high and, because they're cheaper than the proper tyres you think you're getting a good deal, you're not. The problem with them is that, while the tread looks impressive, the grip is not as good as the recommended tyres. Another problem with them is that they wear quickly and the more they wear the louder they get."

"You mentioned the scrubbing of the front tyres, Is that a problem?"

"Not really, you'll have to rotate the tyres, and because they're directional you can only swap the fronts with the rears, not a diagonal swap like they used to do."

"You really know a lot about this don't you?"

"I've been involved in one way or another in motor sport pretty much all my life, I'm an Automotive Engineer by profession, or I was until I retired, and I was a part-time rally driver for years and gave that away when it went really professional, I couldn't afford the time or the cost of running a professional team."

"So you don't get involved any more?"

"I still run in tarmac rallies like the Targa Tasmania or the Classic Adelaide, only that didn't run last year. I'm a member of a car club and we have club runs on a regular basis where a bunch of us get together and drive a plotted course and end up somewhere a couple of hours later."

"Sounds like fun. What sorts of cars are involved?"

"Some pretty expensive stuff, a couple of Aston Martins, a Ferrari, a Z4 BMW, a bunch of ETypes, MGs, Austin Healeys, Triumphs and like that, there's usually a couple of dozen cars involved."

"What car do you drive?"

"Something that feels a little out of place in that crowd but it holds its own quite easily. I drive an STI spec Rex. (For the uninitiated a STI club spec Subaru Impreza WRX)"

"Mid-life crisis car, huh?"

"More like an old age crisis car. I feel young when I drive at high speed on the twisty roads we use, it gets the adrenalin pumping."

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"No more than driving to the shops, probably less so. You have a bunch of guys who know their limits and those of the cars they drive, so they don't get into trouble."

"Sounds like fun."

"If you'd like, there's a run on Sunday, I don't know the actual course but I've heard that we finish up at a winery that has a very good restaurant attached, and I'm looking for a navigator, interested?"

"Only if you promise not to frighten me too much."

"I promise. We start from the car park next to the oval at 10.15. I can pick you up at 10.00."

"I won't have to wear a helmet or anything like that, will I?"

"No, your hair will survive, just wear casual clothes, what you have on will be fine."

Sunday morning I had a change of heart, no I hadn't chickened out and decided not to pick her up, I decided to leave Rex at home and take my classic car instead. I got out of bed early and went to my garage where, hidden under a dusty cover sat a car I hadn't driven for almost a year, a 1963 Daimler SP250 Dart. I pulled the covers off and lifted the bonnet (Hood to you in the USA) to check the vital fluids, they were all topped up and ready. I sat in her and hit the starter, after a slight hesitation she fired up and the little V8 sound as sweet as ever. I let her idle for a while to get up to operational temperature before reversing out to give her a wash. Her silver paint gleamed in the sunlight as I finished with the chamois and stood back to admire her, Selena would look great in her.

A quick shower, a cup of coffee, fill the vacuum flask for the pit stop on the way and I was ready.

"That doesn't look much like a Rex to me." Selena said as she opened the door.

"No you're right, it isn't. I thought I'd give her a run today, it's been a while."

"You're full of surprises aren't you? What is it?"

"It isn't an 'it', she's a 'she' and this she is a Daimler. I bought her many years ago and have had her in storage for years, I trot her out on special occasions."

"So this is a special day is it?"

"You could say so." We had arrived at the assembly point and several of the members came over to have a look at her. I know it's a bloke thing but they walked around it several times, lifted the bonnet and peered at the little motor, leaned over to look into the cockpit with its black leather and chrome, all accompanied by suitable comments. It seemed rather odd for these owners of Aston Martins and Jaguars, Maseratis and Ferraris, Porsches and BMWs to be so engrossed by what was probably the oldest car there. Few of them had ever seen one of these in the flesh and they were suitably impressed. Selena stood by me as I introduced her and fielded questions about my pride and joy. She seemed to be at home in this situation and I was beginning to feel close to her.

We were given our course sheet and the person who organised the run gave us some up to date information on likely traffic conditions and cautioning us to stick to the speed limits. "Like that'll last." We heard one of the other drivers comment. The cars fired up and moved off, Selena was reading the instructions that gave us distances between intersections and directional changes. The first section was an easy transport leg along the coast before we turned off onto a narrow road that climbed steeply up a hill with plenty of sharp corners to a lookout that we all ignored as we powered past at close to the hundred kilometre an hour speed limit, some close on the low side while others, and we were included in this group were close on the high side.

The road wound down the other side of the hill until it reached a main road where we turned right then a couple of kilometres later left onto another narrow secondary road that wound its way through a mixture of bush and farmland. A left turn brought us onto a ring road that circled a large town before a long 50 kilometre stretch of undulating road with fast sweeping bends along the ridge line until we reached another main road. The Daimler relished the opportunity to stretch her legs on this section of road and the sound of the exhaust fought with the wind noise to make it difficult for Selena and I to talk at anything less than a shout.

There was a pit stop of sorts where the drivers paused for coffee and a chat, passing comments about the performances of the various cars. I had to concede that I was struggling to keep up with the more modern cars around the corners but on the straight she held her own quite well. Selena was getting caught up in my enthusiasm, she grabbed my hand and said loud enough for those around us to hear, "I don't know, I think that you're doing extremely well considering that you don't have ABS brakes, traction or stability controls on your car, you're holding your own with ability, not technology." How good was that?

There followed another hour and a half of exhilarating driving before we pulled up in the car park of the destination winery slash restaurant. We weren't the first car there, neither were we the last. One of the more affluent drivers, he of the Aston Martin Vanquish, walked over and offered me more money than it was realistically worth for the Daimler. I declined his offer. "I couldn't sell her, she's been part of my history, I bought her new, and with a bit of luck, she would be part of my future." He looked at Selena who was talking to his wife.

"Fair enough, you can't blame me for trying." He thought about it for a while and I could see that he was just about to increase his offer. Selena caught my eye and shook her head.

"She's not for sale, at any price." I told him. He walked away, defeated.

"You weren't considering selling her were you?" Selena walked beside me as we headed into the cellar door. "Mary told me that he was going to try."

"No, although his first offer was for an obscene amount of money and he was just about to increase it. You don't think I should have sold her do you?"

"I would have been disappointed if you had, she's a part of you and it would be like losing an important body part and I wouldn't want you to do that." I was really beginning to like this woman, she understood me in ways that my ex couldn't or wouldn't, now if she preferred red wine to Chardonnay I believe that I would lower my guard. She looked at the wines on the cellar list. "I think I'd like to try the Riesling to cleanse the palate and then move on to the Sauvignon Blanc before getting serious with the reds." She looked at me and I just stood there with a silly grin on my face. "I hope that you didn't that the only wine I drink is Chardonnay."

"I hoped that you'd do exactly as you've done, I was holding my breath just in case, now I can breath normally." We sipped and spat our way through the range of wines and agreed on each of them. When we had finished I ordered six bottles of Sauvignon Blanc and six of Shiraz to make a mixed dozen. "If you'd like to order some on my order, you'll get a discount because I'm on their mailing list."

"No, I think that what I'd like would be to help you to drink yours." Was I hearing right? Was she making it clear that she wanted to continue this relationship? What was I going to do if it progressed even further? "I'd like to get to know you a little better, would you have dinner with me tonight?"

"That would be nice." What am I doing? If I have dinner with her I'll stuff everything up and that will be the end of it.

"You don't seem sure of that, you don't have to you know, but it would be nice. I promise not to devour you."

"I'm fine, I'm looking forward to it." So there you have it, I've committed myself to the agony of being with a woman again, something that I thought would never happen. Oh well, I'm sure it could be worse, but I can't think how.

Which brings me to now, I'm spruced up, scrubbed to within an inch of my life, my pits have been squirted, my hair, what's left of it has somehow been coaxed into behaving itself, my clothes are neatly pressed and clean and the me that stared back from the mirror was the best it's been for years. Maybe there is a positive to this torture.

She opened her door almost before I had rung the bell and what I was looking at quite literally took my breath away. "Come in why don't you." She pointed to a glass of white wine on the coffee table in her living room. "Have a drink while I finish preening, can't have you taking me out looking like a dag. (An extremely untidy person).

"That's impossible."

"Aren't you kind. I won't be a minute, make yourself at home, I don't suggest you turn on the TV, I won't be that long." She wasn't, I hadn't even finished the glass of excellent wine when she returned. If I thought she looked spectacular before, I was wrong, now she looked spectacular, but I couldn't even see what she had done. "I'm disappointed," she said as I held the door open for her, "I was hoping that you might have brought the 'Rex' tonight."

"I thought about it for,' quick pause to give the impression of thinking, "let me see, half a second, but then I didn't think that it would project the right image, a couple of old farts rocking up to a fancy restaurant in a young guys car like a couple of posers."