Deep in the heart of central Texas, it’s twenty nine degrees. I’m hungover, waking with a half-eaten McDonald’s burger laying next to me. What a waste, I tell myself. Eventually, I collect my head, walk out into the cold and crank over my two-week old 1986 BMW 325. These little cars have a funny high-pitch starter whine, cranking to high hell for two seconds and drumming to life in an instant.
The dog is wandering through the yard as I spread out a Mexican blanket in the back for him. Today, we’re going on a quick drive while the roads are free from the fear of ice to get to a little spot along Highway 360 where I can take a few photos of the little E30 (nicknamed EDirty).
The reason this is a special little trip, and this is a special little story, is this E30 has restored the pleasure of driving that I’ve lacked for a long time. Over the last year, life has kicked me sideways, upside down, and underground many times. I’ve been bruised hard enough to lose interest in most of what I loved; be it people, writing, or automobilia.