“Is it really possible to go faster than this on these roads?” my poor mother asks me, very clearly terrified by the way I’m driving. She doesn’t like it when I (or anyone for that matter) drives too fast, and I’ve already adjusted to “Mother Approved” speed, for her sake.
“Would it make you feel better if I said no?”
“Yes.”
“Then no. It isn’t.”
She’s mistaken her ride-along in the new 2017 Fiat 124 Spider for a leisurely jaunt through the countryside. We’re on my favorite driving loop in the Kettle Moraines, out to see how fast I can really take it. But we’ve been down this road (literally and figuratively) — about four years before, when I brought home my 1982 Fiat Sport Spider.
That was a proud day. Naturally, it had seemed like a fun idea taking my mom for a drive in my new pride and joy. I saved up, worked extra shifts and finally bought my first fun car. I learned quickly how to drive a manual, and I could already tell that this was what driving should be: twisty back roads, a light car, responsive steering. The Fiat wasn’t particularly quick, but speed didn’t matter. My mom also wasn’t terrified.
Years have passed. I graduated and moved to New York City, leaving my beloved Fiat back in the Midwest. If I’m lucky I get to drive it a couple times a year, but my dad has taken care of my Fiat, and driven it and used it like it was his own in exchange for garage space.