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I thought
of what to say but there is nothing that describes it
better than the eloquent words of one Vance Mordecai
with which he addressed the participants at the event;
and which I, with his gracious consent, may post here
as an "Ode to the Z3":
My Name is vance-man, and
I am a Z3er.
I
have paid my dues, thank you very much…I have cleaned
that little plastic window.
But
like coupe owners and top-downers alike, I have also
watched the eyes of the world upon this car and seen,
in her glorious shine, deeper things…futures to
come…corners of the Earth.
No
surprise, that.
My
name is vance-man, and I am a Z3er.
Seems, with this car, I have taken a new purchase on
life, I can't help it. I unlocked something, oh yes,
that kicked down the barn doors. I mean, I simply
asked the beast within this machine to fend against a
monster of endless ribbon…and she ran with the ponies
just for me. And in the cowl shake and twitch and
spin of the rear, I connected the highway's white
lines and heard the mercies of guardian angels sing to
her ability to fly. And there was this smile---all
ours---alone and so strangely grateful.
Why
not?
My
name is vance-man, and I am a Z3er.
Yes,
I befriended freedom itself. Even took a liking to
going out for milk. Crazy strange, isn't it? Maybe
it's because the key I have, that starts this engine,
just stops time. Surprises me each and every time, it
does, with a brighter and keener awareness. Like a
lover underestimated, or a kindly friend who points
out what I forgot, this car simply brings the world to
me, time and time again…
"Hey,
Mister! Is that the one with the German racing
engine?" from a 13 year-old at a convenience store,
passing by on a BMX bike…
"Whoa, bet that baby can maneuver," from a work-crew
foreman who couldn't take his eyes off her and had to
stop what he was doing near the manhole just for a
better look-see…
"You're late, man! C'mon?! Get in!" from a
handle-bar moustached gentleman, in a 1932 James
Young Bentley, who, in a car parade I just happened
upon, thought I was late to join in and waved me to go
ahead of him in this grand procession of cars.
Even
the kindly sharing of "So-o-o-o-o, we were in a hurry,
were we?" from that nice State Trooper in Virginia.
Hey…
My
name is vance-man, and I am a Z3er.
Yet,
of all her glorious gifts, all her fine lines and
thunder, her Gummi-Pflege and 10W-60, her greatest
gift, by far, is you. All the daily drivers,
auto-crossers, track men and women, and Concours
winners, and weekend warriors, who so freely enrich
this event with grace and caring, simply by being
here, together.
Perhaps that is why I see, in the gleam of a not too
distant future, a great gathering of "other" car
owners. In a great meadow, they are…hundreds of
them. And yes, their cars shine like ours, their
banter is much like ours, even their brotherhood is
aglow, in part, just like ours. But then, amid the
hubbub and excitement of their grand event, I hear a
silence, a hush and eerie halting, earned by the sight
of the approach of so many. There! Can you see them
passing by? Together, all in a line they have come,
down the 405 and 81 and 66 and 17, across plains and
mountains, cities and villages, the entire country
over.
And
that day there will not be a choice, I assure you.
They will turn and stand, these "other" car owners.
They will want, like children in the presence of awe,
to better see the brilliant coming of this great Z3
parade.
And I
will be there that day, oh yes, driving right behind
you.
After
all…
My
name is vance-man, and I am a Z3er.
-- Vance Mordecai
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