Car sits shining And I sit here, behind the laptop, pining For a little more time behind the wheel— One of the simple pleasures I feel In this, my ever-simplifying life. It’s down to the basics: my wife, Good dogs, great friends, minimal strife. And, of course, a couple of toys For one of the world’s latest-maturing boys… The Riviera being chief among Them. Had I only half a lung, Half a leg, half a brain, I’d still go cruising, stately, down the lane In my big silver Buick, the color of hurricane- Driven rain Lit by a lightning flash. No need to talk trash. She makes her own statement, From her twin prows to where Jean’s Roll-Ator went When she still needed it. Now, Jean’s far more fit— At least as far as her gait concerned. And, along with me, she’s earned Some luxe time in this big, old, gas-guzzling barge, Rolling smooth, living large, Answering to no general or “sarge.” And so, we drive… Just one facet of what we call “being alive,” And a great way of escaping the mind of the hive, The sad-sack stories, the election year jive, The inanities upon which many thrive. The “Nailhead” happily throbs. In this context, there will be no sniffs, no sobs, Just we two, smiling, pretending to be snobs And listening to jazz by satellite From sunup to headlight-illuminated night. All nonsense I can ignore When I drive my ’64.
Yeah, it’s a love poem to a car. Guilty. So sue me. In a recent online Hemmings Motor News article entitled “32 Best Cars To Restore,” writer Richard Lentinello said of the 1963 through 1965 Buick Riviera, “There's no question that this is the absolute best-designed American car of the post-war era--it's simply spectacular.” See. I told ya. Not just my utterly biased opinion.
And better still, my Riv is pre-restored! All the dirty work was done for me! Ha!
See ya later. We’re off to an antique car and airplane show in Bethel, PA today.