| Author | Message | ||
| DES (Sickspeed)
Senior Member Username: Sickspeed Post Number: 5604 Registered: 8-2002 |
Pat, you're a post whore.  | ||
| Pat Pasqualini (Enzo)
Member Username: Enzo Post Number: 746 Registered: 2-2002 |
Now | ||
| DES (Sickspeed)
Senior Member Username: Sickspeed Post Number: 5176 Registered: 8-2002 |
Archived. This is the last paragraph from the prologue, where we left off: �Excuse me.� It was the same voice I heard minutes ago. I turned and saw a figure before me. He was a blur, however because 20 yards behind him was a black Ferrari F50. I can�t believe I missed it when I pulled in�! �I�m in a real bind�, he said as he half-turned and pointed at the Ferrari. His voice was shaky and he was holding his left hand with his right hand. His left hand looked red and swollen. His eyebrows crinkled and he asked me a question that would change my life forever... Ferrari Fiction, Volume I Series I: The Adventures of Carbon McCoy Chapter I: Fueling The Fire, Part I �Do you know how to drive a stick?� He asked. I gazed at the F50 and mumbled something that wasn�t even remotely close to English. �I�m sorry�?�, he said. He looked at me a little confused. �Uh� Um, yeah� Yeah, I know how to drive a stick�� The world came back into focus. �Dude, are you okay�? Your hand looks pretty bad. Do you want me to take you to a hospital?� �Actually, I need to get my car back to Classic Coach; Horseless Carriage will be there any minute to pick it up. I was having some difficulty with the car but managed to fix it. Problem is, when I was closing the hood, it slipped and slammed down on my hand. I�m pretty sure it�s broken and I definitely can�t drive. It absolutely has to be in Texas by Monday or I�m screwed and Horseless Carriage won�t wait another day. I called my friend, Mike and he�s on his way, but he�s stuck in traffic and won�t get here in time. Can you help me out?� His genuine emotion and desperation was coming at me in 3D. I felt bad for him; he really was in a bind. His forehead was beaded with sweat. His wrinkle-free khakis weren�t looking so wrinkle-free at the moment and the expression on his face dictated the obvious pain he was in. Even if it was a Pinto, how could I not help this guy? �So you�re asking me to drive you, in your Ferrari F50, to Classic Coach?� �Yes�, he said anxiously, �I�ll have a taxi bring you back here to pick up your car. I�ll even pay you; I�ll pay you for your time, your trouble, wha-� �No trouble at all�, I said, as a grin began to make its way on my face. Let�s go before you change your mind, I thought. �Let me just park my car over on the side, there.� �Thank you so much!� He sighed a mixture of relief and pain. One way or another, I thought, he should see a doctor. �I really appreciate this, you won�t regret it, I give you my word.� �Dude, don�t sweat it. Just try to relax, I�ll be right back.� I ran into the gas station�s quickie mart and bought a bag of ice. I asked for an extra plastic shopping bag and made my way out the door, towards the Ferrari. I put some ice in the extra plastic bag and told him to ice his hand. He didn�t say much. I guess with the relief of a potential disaster alleviated, his mind began to focus on the problem at, um, �hand�. He went around to the passenger�s side and got in the car. The driver�s side door was open, exposing the cockpit. The smooth, leather folds of the interior beckoned my entrance. I stood erect, taking a deep breath, before I entered. This was my first time � I was a virgin. I�ve been waiting for this moment all my life. I slowly slipped in and, instantly, I was in heaven. I sat motionless for a moment. My whole body tingled. All of my senses were alive. I caressed the curve of- HONK! What the- �? �Hey, that�s my friend!� he declared. �Friend?� I thought. �What friend?� He stumbled opening the door and climbed out. �Mike! You made it! Thank god!� Oh, that friend. ����. The F50 owner came around to the driver�s side of the car. �Hey, listen, my friend made it on time. He can drive me after all. I�m really sorry to have bothered you.� �No, no bother at all.� What a bummer! �I�m just glad everything worked out okay.� �No I�m not! I wanted to drive your Ferrari!� I thought. �You should have someone look at that hand, though.� �D�oh! I was so close!� �Yeah, I will, thanks.� �Hey, no problem� take it easy.� I shook his good hand, gave his friend a parting nod and walked back to my car as I heard them assemble an itinerary to get to Classic Coach. �Hey, what�s your name, by the way?� he said. �Carbon� Carbon McCoy.� I replied. �Carbon, huh�? Well, it was nice meeting you.� �Likewise�, I said as I sulked back to my car. I opened the door, sank into the seat, lit a cigarette and rolled down the window just in time to hear the F50 engine come alive. BARRRUMBLE! �Mike� must be beside himself. I could see the smile on his face all the way from here. Oh, well� at least I got to sit in the driver�s seat of an F50. Life wasn�t so bad after all. I smiled and took another drag of my cigarette as I heard the F50 roar away, fading into the noise of the turnpike that I had forgotten was there. I sat for a few more minutes, smoking my cigarette, ready to continue my trip. Right before I was ready to leave, a silvery car pulled up to the gas pump. �Hmmm,� I thought, �that looks slightly different from the sports cars I usually see.� It turned out to be a Maserati, but I only knew that because I read it on the back of car. I always have trouble identifying them and I rarely see them, so I always forget what they look like. No big deal, right, it�s just a Maserati. They have a conservative look to them that really doesn�t stir me, anyway. However, the dude who emerged from the silvery coupe wasn�t just anyone� �it was Mark Ford the 4th (no, no relation to the big car company), great grandson of the late, great Mark Ford (more on that later). I sprang from my car. �Mark!� He turned from the pump. He looked blankly at me at first, as I walked towards him. Then his expression changed to a half-smile. �Carbon!� I was surprised he even remembered my name. We met once at Wide World of Cars for about half an hour. �Carbon, how are you?� �Very well, thank you, Mr. Ford. What are you doing around here?� �I�m on my way to a track event. I was supposed to pick up a friend so he could help me out, but he cancelled last minute. Hey,� -and here it came; the question that changed my life forever (no, really, this time)- �what are you up to�? Would you like to join me?� Go to the track? With Mark Ford? �WHOOOOOOO�!� I thought. �I�d love to�, I said casually, �thank you.� �I have a summer home not too far from here and I need to stop and pick up a few things. Why don�t you follow me, you can leave your car there and we�ll go the rest of the way in my car.� �Yeah, sure, sounds great�!� I was ecstatic. Mark finished pumping his gas and I walked back to my car, ready to go. Just as I reached the door, Mark called me. �Hey, Carbon� have you ever been on a race track before?� �Uh, no�, I replied. He smiled, opened his door and said, �We�ll have to change that then, won�t we?� and got in his car. Stay tuned next month for Part II of Chapter I. | ||
| DES (Sickspeed)
Senior Member Username: Sickspeed Post Number: 5175 Registered: 8-2002 |
Archived. Ferrari Fiction, Volume I Series I: The Adventures of Carbon McCoy Prologue: Now where the hell did I put the keys to the Zonda�? Sigh. James is gonna kill me. Oh, I�m sorry! I didn�t realize you were back, already. Did you get your drink? Good. Anyway, like I was saying, I grew tired of doing the same shuffle, everyday; working with the same people, doing the same things. I yearned for change; excitement, uncertainty. That was what spurred my decision� �I just never knew my decision would lead me to where it has. Allow me to explain. It all started back in July of 2003 when I flew out to southern California for a weekend, to hang out with some people I met on the Internet. More specifically, a website called FerrariChat.com. Out of the kindness of their hearts, they invited me into their exotic world of fast cars, great fun and an easy feeling that life is good. The weekend left me soaked with awesome memories of times I would never forget. I was quickly drying off, however, from the heat of the impending reality 3,000 miles away. A dull and boring routine that I called life was awaiting my arrival. That�s when I made my decision to start new; fresh. A clean slate. I would get home, pack my things and just leave. I didn�t care that I didn�t know what would happen next, that was the point. I didn�t want to know. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen. Being 30,000 feet in the air probably isn�t the best time to make a life-altering decision, but I did it anyway. When I got home, I made a beeline for the office. I gave my boss six weeks notice and I told my landlord I would be leaving at the end of August. After that, I just sat back and did nothing � plans were all I made my entire life, but not anymore. My best friend was happy for me. She knew this was what I needed. She had been pushing me to do it for months, already. Very intuitive, that girl. My car was in good condition since I put the new transmission in it. I cleaned it out, had it washed, had a mechanic take one final look at it & changed all the fluids. California was my destination, although I didn�t care how long it took me to get there. I packed my car with all the necessary stuff � clothes, deodorant, a toothbrush, my 1:XX models, etc. When the day came, I was nervous. Nervous, but twice as excited. Not knowing what tomorrow would bring or where it would bring me fueled my eagerness to leave and go and get lost in a world I knew was out there but, hitherto, beyond me. My best friend saw me off. I promised to keep in touch. She held back tears I knew would flow once I pulled away. I got into my car, started it and was on my way. A brief stint on the parkway took me to the expressway. I favor southern temperatures more than their northern counterparts, so I figured I would drive south first, then west. My 15 minutes in the holy hell traffic in Manhattan was the final nail in the coffin containing the old me. The trip through the tunnel and into the sunlight cascading onto the New Jersey Turnpike was a sort of rebirth for me. I was a new man. About 20 minutes before I hit the southern Jersey border, I realized I needed gas. I pulled into the next station I saw. While refueling, I heard someone talking, somewhat frantically. It was a one-sided conversation, as I heard no other voices, so I assumed he was on a cell phone. I couldn�t really make out what he was saying nor did I care. I was doing my own thing. His talking drifted off to silence and all I heard was the gasoline pumping into my tank and cars going by in the distance. The noon hustle and bustle of a Friday on the turnpike was relaxing. That�s because I was no longer a part of the daily grind. The pump clicked. My tank was full. I awaited my printed receipt when a voice cut into my peacefulness. �Excuse me.� It was the same voice I heard minutes ago. I turned and saw a figure before me. He was a blur, however because 20 yards behind him was a black Ferrari F50. I can�t believe I missed it when I pulled in�! �I�m in a real bind�, he said as he half-turned and pointed at the Ferrari. His voice was shaky and he was holding his left hand with his right hand. His left hand looked red and swollen. His eyebrows crinkled and he asked me a question that would change my life forever... |