Uncle Jack appreciated the finer things. One day in the 1970s, he rolled up to our house in a randy red Cadillac Eldorado convertible with a white top and white leather seats, a vision of contemporary Jewish-American aspiration that caused my dad to snort just a bit too loudly. We kids bounced around inside it like excited Corgis after Jack swung open the seven miles of door. As we drove off, I remember corkscrewing around and around in the seat to watch the world passing over and around us. It was completely different from our family's Buick wagon, in which everything happening outside was behind glass, we passengers just watching it like a boring show played on blue-tinted TV screens. In the top-down Eldo, driving suddenly became three breezy, sun-dazzled dimensions of sight and sound. Houses and trees flitted by, birds tweeted, bees buzzed, and other cars hissed around us on tires turning at speed. Best of all, there was no trace of the one odor I associated with all cars during those early years: the stale skunk of Dad's cigars. READ MORE ››
from Car and Driver Blog http://ift.tt/nSHy27
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