“Floor it!”
Did you just imagine yourself in a newly glossed old school low rumbling high powered pristine prestigious automobile badged Jaguar?... or did your cortex flash images of a taxi yellow moke, bmx stunting its way down a dirt getaway track after you and your protégés have just nascar style entered the vehicle as a result of a hasty retreat - after one of you is forced to hop out and give it a bit of a push start.
There’s no denying a sweet sweet ride once you’ve had the opportunity to experience one. The ease in which the amount of horse power delivered through what seemingly evolves into a fragile shell supported by a long flat stretch of bitumen can take your senses and your heart rate to another plane of existence. Some, in fact a lot of people make it one of their life goals to own such a machine and are fortunate enough to make it happen. There is a certain adrenaline rush to be had from such prestige and accompanied by the inevitable injection of confidence and power to be had by driving such a beast, I can really appreciate where the desire comes from. I’ve also stamped my admiration ticket for the quality craftsmanship and genius ingenuity that it takes for the design of such a seamless system. I definitely wouldn’t say no if one happened to end up in my driveway, by legitimate means of course. I would have to make sure I’d pay my dues to it every so often and blow the spider webs out the exhaust on one of those long flat roads I mentioned earlier.
On the opposing spectrum the humble moke has its own charm to be admired. A moke is like a staffy, it’s tough, it’s rough and no matter how much you mid air chest pump each other or paint it’s nails, it will keep on keepin on and love you unconditionally for it. Just remember to give it some fuel, maybe, or throw your left over beer in the tank, it’ll probably keep going for you. Your moke can take your brutal honesty and your second class patch-me-up jobs and substitute Macgyver parts on the chin, in fact if you got classy parts for it, it may take offence. Oh no, I just felt a rain drop ricochet off my shoulder, it’s fine, that’s what tarps are for! Tarp on, roll out! No judgement amongst friends and doors on cars just get in the way. Never mind the wild cats that take shelter in there over night, perhaps I’ll leave some milk out for them next time. Charming right?.. maybe not entirely sustainable or safe, let’s just say if it got stolen, and if it were stolen it’d be only for a laugh, it’d be like spotting the elephant in the room. I wouldn’t expect any of this from my Jag.
Let’s just say the difference between the two cars are chalk and cheese on all levels. They both offer extreme differences of comfort, luxury or lack of, safety, aesthetics, accessibility and ease. One requires the utmost attention to detail and precise clockwise then counter clockwise waxing motions and the other is raw fundamental mechanics, no fancy pants required. I like to think I like myself a Jag, but at this point in time I’ma jive with a moke because I know the Jag will end up in the garage making its own prestigious collection of dust particles. To me, the moke is free spirited and I wouldn’t jump off a cliff after it while watching it take my self worth with it. RI-burning-P moke, I’ll just walk to the store today.
** The wheels on the stuff go round and round