My young family was moving from Memphis, Tennessee, to Jacksonville, Florida, in the early fall of 1988. How to get my restored, red, MG TD there was a fun problem to solve. All agreed it would have to be a solo trip, and I wanted a long day-drive on "country" roads. I mapped a route going due east in southern Tennessee, then a right turn south to Jacksonville through rural Georgia. The appointed day came; the MG was ready on that cool, brisk morning. The passenger side tonneau cover was up and secure. The TD and I headed east before sun-up.
The engine was in perfect order. The suspension and steering seemed to invite me to become one with the car, its sounds, its smells, its essence. There evolved after several hours a kind of feeling that the car was not an object any longer, but now a being, alive just as I was. The fall foliage rushed by us in the curvy hills as Tennessee flatlands disappeared behind the TD and me. The car didn't want to stop, nor did I. Each fill-up, pit stop was an intrusion, an interruption of something unique to us on that day, on that journey, in that time.
Years passed. The MG went to another home after two decades with our family. Other cars came. Other journeys were planned and taken. Never again did the cars and the senses come to life as on that one, single and memorable day when we, my MG TD and I, merged so unforgettably in the best drive ever.