" ... as mile after mile of divided black ribbon unfolded beneath my '84 Interceptor. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get her last words out of my mind. As I came over the hill, I could see the setting sun and the clouds lined with orange and red. The tar in the cracks in the highway was the color of liquid gold, a spider web leading all the way to the horizon. I kicked the transmission down into third gear, snapped the throttle open and felt the rush as the half liter liquid cooled V-four screamed through its powerband. Suddenly, I couldn't remember a word that she had said ..."
-From the Life of Christopher T. Shields