Finishing up a two-hour solo drive, I roll my windows down and turn my music up. I took the long way home.
We purchased this vehicle just over a year ago and I can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face when the torque of the engine pushes me back in my seat or the stereo bass vibrates my body.
It’s not practical… I know that.
I’m a mom of two driving a two-door muscle car with a 392 Hemi engine.
And I love it.
I miss my hometown. I miss the concrete jungle and the people there. I miss the smell of gasoline, the roar of V8 engines as we drive beneath an overpass, and the smell of hot blacktop. I miss the pride we take in vehicles that has more to do with what’s under the hood than status portrayed.
I’m a Detroit girl surrounded by Teslas.
My dashboard lights up red as my music is cutoff and an alarm rings out. “Engine overheating.”
Without thinking, I’m pulled to the side of the road with my engine off. I’m just behind the crest of a hill. I know I should move but the road isn’t too busy so I stay and take deep breaths. The vehicle is still under warranty. I know that but it’s an unwelcome early end to my drive.
Without too much delay, the hood is popped. My coolant tank is nearly empty, hinting at a slow leak discovered. Evaporated before it hits the cement. Service records will show I’ve already had it in once suspecting this very issue. No leak found.
It’s been over 4 weeks and I’m still waiting for parts to come in, watching passively as the summer days flip by. Until then, I’m living vicariously. Taking my kids to Buddy’s Pizza to sit outside. We’ll watch the cars go by while I reminisce about my childhood, taking comfort in the passing cars.
megdanielle 
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