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NEVER
underestimate the Strada 4x2.
First
off, it’s as craggily handsome as, well, David Cook.
Cook
who?
That’s
the “idol” that James Deakin, a.k.a. Simon Cowell, has
so correctly predicted to defeat David Archuleta—“by a
mile.” Paula Abdul could not have objected, either.
The
Strada 4x2 that I toyed with was painted black. While
driving it, I kept singing, “Black is black, I want my
baby back!”
Terrible
rhyme, huh?
But
that’s the way it was in the ’60s: You mostly shouted,
ignored rhymes.
I guess
David Cook, given his penchant for superlative additives
to songs he want to croon, can come up with a superb
interpretation of it once he decides to do it.
Like
James, I also happen to have a huge faith of DC.
EVEN if
I was a bit cynical before I sat behind the wheel of the
Strada 4x2, I knew from gut feel I would be more than
satisfied with this machine. True enough, it exceeded
expectations, if not brushed aside unfounded fears, the
minute I drove it. Thanks AR (Arlan Reyes).
The
Strada 4x2 that I drove was a manual, yes, but who’s
complaining?
Not me,
James.
Since
when have we raised a howl against the stick shift?
Eight of
the 10 vehicles you see on the road are still manual.
The stick shift is here to stay for as long as Barangay
Ginebra is around.
REMEMBER, we will never run out of machos in this tiny
corner of the globe. As proof, Richard Merk, Rico J and
his macho guwapito are multiplying by leaps and
bounds like mushrooms sprouting at every crack of
lightning.
These
days when gas prices rise as quickly as flood waters
with one quick afternoon downpour, I didn’t stay long on
first and second gears with the Strada 4x2. Even on
third, the Strada 4x2 responded so well.
It was a
drastic habit change of mine—the quick gear change-ups,
I mean. To my pleasant surprise, I recorded stunning gas
savings—not to mention that this Strada 4x2 is a real
deal: a fuel miser. On fifth gear, it ran like a
well-behaved sedan.
Reality
has always been a good barometer to the unbelieving.
For, even as I was tempted to race my Strada 4x2 to 120
kph, at times 130 kph, my fuel consumption never
wavered.
The Nlex
(North Luzon Expressway) has always been my final
testing area. Over there, the Strada did not fail.
IT was
superbly stable, even when I didn’t have much load
coming home from Pangasinan; this Strada is really
something from “head to foot.”
Quiet,
even if it’s diesel.
Its
maneuverability beyond question, it’s as light as a
feather.
But to
segue now to another world, fellers.
In the
aftermath of the recent novel Volvo bash starring the
All-New Volvo XC70 AWD were a flood of dreams in my
sleep about the wonders of “life lived together.”
I
couldn’t commend Atty. Albert Arcilla and his angels Lyn
Buena and Loi Concepcion of Viking Cars enough about the
soundness, originality and exquisiteness of their
unprecedented concept: Putting the motoring journalist
to a real test about how to treat life the politically
correct way.
NO,
Volvo has not become Dr. Love. Okay, well, in a way,
yes. But what’s wrong with that?
When was
the last time you shared life’s “sweet nothings” with
your dearest one—if not dearest ones?
Ah,
what’s this, remembering the past with some
soul-searching embellishing the rather daunting task
with your beloved by your side—in a rendezvous a bit far
from the love nest?
Cute,
huh?
And what
about the kids, if not apo, joining the fray by doing
their own romping at the back of the wagon, when the
freedom-to-drive without rules and borders was on?
No, with
this thrill of a lifetime, you need not explore the
inner soul of the Volvo XC70.
Rather,
let yourself just glide by, letting this Volvo hold you
by the hand, as though guiding you to take the beaten,
safe path.
Have you
lost your way, dah-lin’?
Or, is
it freedom you really wanted all these years but the
trouble is, you just didn’t know the “way to San Jose?”
Gosh!
The world will always be beautiful for as long as you
cherish your freedom.
Who said
cars are only made for driving?
To
Volvo, man, oh, man, they are also made for dreaming.
Volvo
even made us become expert lensmen overnight!
Okay, my
“No Counter Flow” entry did not win it, although Tito
Hermoso admitted he fell in love with it and chief judge
Romy Gacad couldn’t allow it to win because if he did,
I’d reject it. Romy has been my glassmate, almost
nightly, in the Sydney Olympics of 2000.
But,
hey, the victor richly deserved the accolade.
And the
winner is…James Deakin, who, sadly, was cloned for life
by Simon “The Scowl” Cowell. Ugh!
Here’s a
glass to James D, whose winning photo seemed like not a
product of an instamatic!
Said Ira
“Irate” Panganiban: “I demand a recount!”
Pee stop.
Wowie, the dashing son of Dave and Lenny Vela, will
exchange I do’s with the charming Evey tomorrow, June
28. “Finally, with God’s grace, I will soon be a
grandpa,” said Dave, my childhood, Honda City-driving
buddy, with whom I did numerous duets of Beatles hits
during our pakbet days in high school. I am a
ninong tomorrow…naturally. |
