My hunt had started. In first place the hunt for money. In the worst scenario I had to steal it, but in any case I had to have it. Soon.
Slowly I became ruthless. I could not think & talk about anything else. So, in the summer of 1997 I lost all my friends.

Every month I spelled the ads in the car magazines. In September I had checked at least 6 Lincolns in real, all over the country. Most of them looked too neglected. Dusty, rusty, dented, torn interiors, flat tyres … one car even had no engine inside!
After every review I cried louder on my way back. And no friends to comfort me.

For some reason I stuck to private sellers and skipped the specialised shops, thinking the last ones were too expensive. But at the end of October there was not much choice left. The specialised guys imported the cars from the USA and at least their cars were running and fixed up to an acceptable level for sale.

The shop I visited in the far north-east, was a crossing between a large hall and a workshop. There were around 40 American classics available. One third was parked outside in the cold rain. Mind they came from steamy hot California!
There were 4 Lincolns eligible and I spent at least 3 hours to sit in them, to sit ON them, to open every hood, trunk, booth, bonnet and lid of them, to talk to them, to squeeze them, to kick them and even … oh joy … turn on the ignition.
The specialised guys were patient with me. Almost like friends.

On my way back home I made my choice. I should buy the ‘gold’ one.
I would call the guys on Monday. To save her for me.