A Jag-Lover's Story

X. Two Weeks of Bliss

The re-assembly went quite quickly, and by the following weekend, I had everything but the brakes hooked up and ready to go. Two hours later, they too were ready.

The "new" battery was so badly drawn down, that I took it back to Sears. When they found out what it came out of, they made me raise my VISA card in my right hand and swear by all that is expensive that I had repaired the charging circuit, then they gave me my replacement.

The engine started right away, and as I filled the transmission I was once again rewarded by the gentle push against the brakes. I smoothed out the carpeting, dropped the bonnet into place, released the hand brake, and I was off. I had only intended to take her around the block, but the sun was out, the sky was blue, and third gear was reached with just a little searching, but not a GRRROOONNNNKKK to be heard.

I ventured out onto a freeway, and I was rewarded with a true and consistent exhaust note, and a wide variety of rattles from the boot lid and the doors. The response of my fellow motorists was surprising. Quite a number of people pulled up beside me to smile and give me a "thumbs-up." I tickled the throttle a bit more and quickly matched speeds with traffic, which typically runs 70MPH or higher. After twenty minutes or so, I figured Trish would be getting worried, so I turned for home.

Instead of pulling into the garage, I left the car in the driveway, and invited my son to help me wash it. What he lacks in skill he makes up for in enthusiasm. Still, he was a two-year-old, so his attention was easily diverted by crawly things, and I was soon left to finish what he had started. Sub-consciously I knew that I only had a few more days with the car, so I was determined to live the life of the Jaguar Owner in the time I had. Pretending I was preparing for Concours, I took out the wax and removed the footprints from the tops of the fenders. Polish took off the few flecks of rust from the chrome.

I had given up on the bus a couple of months before, so it was with great glee that I volunteered to drive the car-pool. I think my rider saw through the cracked varnish and seat leather to what the car represented. Her appreciation was gratifying. I drove for the rest of the week.

Each evening, I worked the remaining bugs out of the car, until one Wednesday, there was nothing left for me to do. With shaking hands, I dialed the pay phone at work to tell the new owner it was done. He arranged transport for the coming Friday. On Thursday afternoon, I got a call from the transport company to say that they had a truck leaving the area that evening, and could I please have my car ready. I said I could.

As I arrived home, I saw the carrier truck parked around the corner from my house. The driver met me in the driveway and conducted a brief but thorough inspection. While he worked, I gathered a few spares I believed belonged with the car. When he was done, I showed him how to start it, then pulled the key from my ring, and handed it over.

He backed the car down the driveway and headed down to the corner behind the truck. I followed him out on foot to watch as he loaded it on. Trish followed me across the street with my son and her camera. She snapped a couple of photos as it was loaded up. Then my Jaguar 3.4L "Mk 1" saloon was gone.

Next, Epilogue

Back to Table of Contents