It's been a long year since I bought it, in Texas. I had it shipped to Atlanta, Georgia just in time for me to leave for the UK. By the time I got back to Atlanta the engine and gearbox problems had been identified, which meant it spent the next month being fixed. By the time it was fixed - guess what? Yes, I was back to the UK again. I shipped it to Savanna for the trip to the UK but - guess what? I got a job in California. No worries, I got the shippers to stop it before it got onto the boat, and arranged for it to go to San Francisco. Then the San Francisco job fell through and I intercepted it somewhere in the US. There was a rumour it was in Texas again when it was intercepted and turned around, back to Savanna. But then - guess what? The SF job was back on. Back on to the shippers, where's my car? No idea, sir, but we'll find out. And today, finally, 9 months after I last saw her, she's back with me. I've only driven it for 3 days, but after so much trouble, I feel very close to this car.
Tamas, the driver, contacted me last week to say he'd be dropping it off Sunday. We had a brief discussion by text of where's he could get the truck to, and we arranged to meet on Folsom and 7th, just off the I80 Interstate. 8:30AM he texts to say he's 15 minutes away and we were off. Bang on time, there was Tamas, a lovely guy who seemed as excited as I was. This is despite the fact that this is his job. Two week trips across USA in to monster rig, a week off at home and then back on the road.
Tamas told me the car was good, it started up first time (amazing considering its been lying idle all that time) and he really liked it. I told him the story of it following me around the US. "Ah" he murmured in a way that suggested he completely understood. "So the soup cost more than the meat?" What an excellent phrase. "Exactly" I replied. Tamas told me he'd just got back from dropping another Mustang over on the East coast ready for shipping to the UK. $35,000, he told me, but before I got too excited added: "But I don't show you picture; then you don't like your car so much!" I got his point. Pristeen, appraently, which mine clearly isn't. Anyway, I signed the papers and got in to drive it - with no tax, no insurance, no test, no registration, down The Embarcadero. It grumbled, bounced and shook its way along, the engine growling with more promise than power, but it felt great. And I didn't get nicked.
Home! it's sitting in the garage now, just like the horse after which it was named: sweaty, smelly, and leaking a bit, but much loved.
