OK...semi-seriously. I always thought they were cool while watching them race in the 60s, but never thought about actually owning one. I liked Chevys. Much later (late 70s), I started being flown around in a client's plane by his pilot...a guy named Dick Smith. Most of the time just the two of us for 2-3 hours each way, so I'd sit in the co-pilot's seat and have to listen to him talking about freeking Cobra this and freeking Cobra that. Sucker never repeated a story.
Later, I moved up to Vettes for autocrossing and some open track, and he'd keep giving me crap about that. We had a class called Open Street Prepared in the San Francisco Region, so for my next car, I figured I'd try a Cobra. This was in the 90s. Dick couldn't be happier...guess he figured I finally got religion, and he was my exorcist. I didn't mind...I started winning events, so I became a believer and I appreciated how durable and easy they were to work on for the minor suspension tuning and stuff I did.
Then I found this place, met a displaced Mongolian, an albino Afrikan and a spooky glider pilot, and we all went and visited some strange folks in Provo. Saw a stack of bare arruminum bodies, and that sorta did it.
I appreciate the swiss army knife character of it. Unlike hot roads, you can drive these basturds around corners, and yet they still turn heads. Unlike a vintage Ferraghini, they're easy to fix and yet they're still exotic. Unlike Hogs, my wifey can sit next to me and yet they make as much noise.
I'll keep it now just to piss Evan off when he sees my name in the Doomsday Book along with his.
