adultery

People who drive 240s are a special breed. I can only compare the obsession to that of someone who loves old mustangs, or VW Busses - but I don't really know because I don't drive those. The thing about the 240 is that it is the perfect car. It is slow and boxy, yet wonderfully sexy and smooth. It runs forever, and you can work on it yourself.

I drive a 1981 Volvo 242 manual transmission with push-button overdrive affectionately named The Houride. I got the The Houride almost ten years ago, and it is my first and only car. It has driven me everywhere I ever drove and has only left me stuck a couple times - both of which a mechanic failed to diagnose the problem and put me on the road when he shouldn't have. That car has serviced a lot of crap that I put it through - including countless jaunts from Atlanta to Charlotte with the spedo pegged out at 85 the entire way. Needless to say, the car, and interior, should be completely ragged out. But she's still in decent shape. I've made it this long, that hopefully I will be able to keep her going until I get out of lawschool and buy a house with a garage, where I will begin proper restoration.

Whenever I see a 240, I admire. I look at the bumper, headlights, taillights, wheels, windshield trim, badges, antenna, paint color, etc - all in an attempt to identify the year and trim package. While I admire, and sometimes lust, I have still never met a 240 that I would trade for my own. Until this weekend. I was walking near school and from about 100 yards I saw it. It looked like my car, but from the distance without my glasses I couldn't even be sure that it was a 2 door. As I got closer I noticed that it was.

I started debating whether I should cross the street to get a closer look, and just then a woman came out of the store and went to the car. I walked over and I think I scared her - and asked the brainest question ever "Is this your car" as she was getting in. I'm talkin, this was the most gorgeous 1981 242 that I have ever seen in my entire life. Everything from the paint to the taillights was original and looked as though it had just been driven out of the showroom. It was the exact same model as my car - same color, same everything - only brand new. The woman was the original owner and the car had been garage kept in Arizona for most of its life. Houride, I hate to say it, but I would trade you for that baby.

If you love your car, or love to drive, or both - check out the Sunday Washington Post Car Pages. Warren Brown (left side of the page) writes wonderful reviews that make you want to hit the road in whatever you drive and roll the windows down and turn the stereo up.