Spotted - Black Enzo
Discussion
It was a lovely drive to work today - almost no traffic, a bit overcast but warm enough to have the top down, making the most of my short time left in this delightful microclimate.
I cut may way through Rancho Santa Fe, listening to NPR, planning the day's experiments and marvelling at the contrast between the greenish grey of the road and the vivid blue blossom collecting at its edges, the highlights of the yellow stripe down middle, the greens and browns and bursts of coloured flowers. A much better commute than sitting on the 49 bus in pouring rain from Clapham Jnct to Sydney St.
Having switched from the radio to my iPod, I was dawdling at a stop sign when my ears and mirrors were filled with 6 litres of Italian symphony. One of the benefits of an open car is that your senses are exposed to far more - the smell of freshly cut grass and orange blossom, the noises of cars around you. I craned round in my seat to be confronted with a gleaming black Enzo.
Oh my,
I'd seen pictures of the car before, usually in red, and it always left me cold. Angular lines everywhere, the uncomfortable styling around the door, not really my thing. But in the flesh, or carbon fibre, it had presence. I pulled over and waved him past, better to hear that engine note. Bloody hell was it quick. A gear shift, and the engine note hardened, the car seemed to warp a hundred yards down the road.
I followed him for a few miles, through a lovely sweeping, uphill section, pedalling my MX-5 as fast at it would carry me, until I noticed a motorbike with his light on way, way back down the hill.
I was about to try to get a great 3/4 shot, when I noticed, with some relief I may add, that the cop on a bike was behind the Enzo, not me, and was gesturing for him to pull over.
Perhaps the cop just wanted a better look, although I think it was the same lawman in tights that pulled me over a couple of weeks ago, so I fear the worst for the driver, but then if one can afford an Enzo, one surely factors in the cost of speeding tickets.
I cut may way through Rancho Santa Fe, listening to NPR, planning the day's experiments and marvelling at the contrast between the greenish grey of the road and the vivid blue blossom collecting at its edges, the highlights of the yellow stripe down middle, the greens and browns and bursts of coloured flowers. A much better commute than sitting on the 49 bus in pouring rain from Clapham Jnct to Sydney St.
Having switched from the radio to my iPod, I was dawdling at a stop sign when my ears and mirrors were filled with 6 litres of Italian symphony. One of the benefits of an open car is that your senses are exposed to far more - the smell of freshly cut grass and orange blossom, the noises of cars around you. I craned round in my seat to be confronted with a gleaming black Enzo.
Oh my,
I'd seen pictures of the car before, usually in red, and it always left me cold. Angular lines everywhere, the uncomfortable styling around the door, not really my thing. But in the flesh, or carbon fibre, it had presence. I pulled over and waved him past, better to hear that engine note. Bloody hell was it quick. A gear shift, and the engine note hardened, the car seemed to warp a hundred yards down the road.
I followed him for a few miles, through a lovely sweeping, uphill section, pedalling my MX-5 as fast at it would carry me, until I noticed a motorbike with his light on way, way back down the hill.
I was about to try to get a great 3/4 shot, when I noticed, with some relief I may add, that the cop on a bike was behind the Enzo, not me, and was gesturing for him to pull over.
Perhaps the cop just wanted a better look, although I think it was the same lawman in tights that pulled me over a couple of weeks ago, so I fear the worst for the driver, but then if one can afford an Enzo, one surely factors in the cost of speeding tickets.
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