On my 21st birthday, a few months after I got my driver’s license, I drove my lousy old Fiat onto a busy intersection in Alkmaar and I was waiting for the traffic lights. I hated my job and was glad the weekend has just started.
Staring to nothing specific, my eyes suddenly got caught by a shiny, long, black beauty, cruising by from the right. It looked tremendously vicious and dignified at the same time and I was paralysed. By pure love.
In retrospect I think it was me who invented the phrase OMG in the year of 1997! For one eternal moment I felt every single fiber of my body being alive.
There was nothing else I wanted more than to follow that car, to find out what brand it was. But I was locked in, in the traffic and I wasn’t able to chase the phenomenon close enough to read the characters on the trunk, what was shaped like there was a too large wheel inside.
At home I excitedly told my Dad I had seen God’s car and I described it as far as I could. He attentively listened to my rant and later that night he came to me with The Car Bible. Thumbing through the book I found her. The Lincoln Continental Mark III.
It felt like I discovered a new body part.