“Once I saw it, I couldn’t get it out of my head,” he said, not unlike a child about to burst with the most exciting news ever, continuing, “then I drove it and it was over.  I had to have it.”  

I listened, half believing him; after all, I drove a BMW M3 Convertible Roadster, and what could be better?  I thought.  

Next thing I knew, he sold his other cars, rare collections of Egyptian artifacts and some old vinyl records, paperback books and a bunch of other junk and there it was.   Sure, it was pretty I thought.  He was right about that.  

But I had my car.  He had his. 

Then one day I drove it. 

There is no experience like it on earth.  Pure.  Uninhibited.  Unbridled. Cathartic.  Release.  In fact, if my entire existence, all the hardship, difficulty, effort and everything lead up to the hour alone in that car, wind wiping by at speeds in great excess of the posted…  breathing the distant cool distant ocean air…   I could spend eternity there…

Now I can’t get it out of MY head. 

The 2005 240 Horsepower V6 Morgan wood-frame Roadster.  0-60 in as fast as you can press the exhilarator pedal.  

What do they say in that Master Card commercial?  Priceless.

Part history, part modern technology – pure utter rapture.