An all too short love affair...

A gorgeous Saturday afternoon in late April 1963. 

I'm a 17-year-old high school senior, sitting on the front steps waiting for one of buddy's to pick me. 

My dad's and mom's friends, Ed, and his wife pull into our driveway in a red, 1963 Jaguar XKE. 

My jaw drops, I've never seen an E Type except in car magazines. Ed hops out, tosses me the keys and says "Take it for a ride." Ed heads for the backyard to see my dad, Nomi, his wife joins my mom in the kitchen.

I'm stunned and amazed or dazed and confused in my 501 Levis, gray t-shirt and Converse All-Stars standing in the driveway with the Jag key fob in my hand.

Some background on the Jaguar XKE: 

The E Type was as good as automobiles could be in 63, it was sleek, fast with a racing heritage going back to the Jaguar D Type racing cars of the 50s. 
The E Type was a scarce commodity worldwide and they were expensive for the time. They are even more expensive today. 
The E Type is still considered to be one of the most beautiful cars ever built and is the only car in the collection of the New York Museum of Modern Art. 

I slip into the tan, the Brits call it Bisquit, leather bucket seat, Ed is short so I slide the seat back and adjust the backrest. My arms are extended with a slight bend at the elbows, hands at 10 and two on the wood-rimmed steering wheel.

My right hand naturally falls to the shift lever, into neutral, start the Jag's overhead cam straight-six. It comes to life. Parking brake off and I back onto the street. Minutes later I'm heading south on US 81. 

A few miles out of town, I shift the Jag down into 2nd gear, run the tach to redline, shift to 3rd and on into 4th. A moment later the speedometer reads a tick over 120. I'm in teenage gear head heaven. 

I'm frustrated all the roads are too damn straight, I want curves, sweeping curves, banked curves, tight curves. I know where a few are, they're west of Thompson. I put the E Type through its paces. The Jag is fast in a straight line and fast on the twisties too. The car sounds magnificent especially when its wound up.

Back in town, I drive by my girlfriend's house, not home. Her mother gives me the evil eye. I drive to the Kegs Drive-in and tool slowly by. Kids are breaking their necks to see the Jag. 

I see my friends, 

"We came by to get you and your dad said you out driving around in a Jag, we didn't believe him."

Three car rides later I see my girlfriend, she leaps out of her friend's car and joins me. 

"Is this better than your Prom night in the Corvette?"

"Are you kidding?" She says and kisses me on the cheek.

"Be tough to park in this wouldn't it?" She gives me a punch on the arm, but she knows its true. 

We drove around and show the Jag off, downtown, the tennis courts, the campus and Riverside park. The Jag puts smiles on most people's faces. 

A local leather-jacketed hood flipped me the bird as we drove by. I slowed down and said, "Remember when I kicked your ass in junior High, pull over and I'll do it again." He didn't ake me up on my offer. 

A local cop, the nemesis of every teenage driver glared at me, I said nothing and stared straight ahead and purred away from the light.
It was over too soon, I drove home thanked, Ed. My girl and I had a coke with the adults and left in my 57 Chevy Belair which I held in total disdain other than the fact it was good for parking.