Range Rover has introduced a new version of their suburban assault vehicle, a massive beast that will get the kids to soccer practice on time at the cost of $100 per quickly-depleted tankful: the Range Rover Sport. I’m pretty sure they didn’t intend irony when they gave it that moniker, but I have to believe the marketing team that blessed one of the least-sporty vehicles on the road today with that appellation must have had a good laugh when all was said and done.
And… it will work.
As I slid into the morning rat-farce today heading north on 280 I saw your modern, aggressive grille in my rear-view mirror. Sleek, shiny, and black. Not some cheap-ass little 3-series.
You were behind me for perhaps two miles, the entire time maintaing a safe distance. I could have switched to a faster lane, but like hell I was going to give up the chance to have a courteous, safe driver behind me. Eventually, of course, someone had to move into the space you left in front of you, and climb into my tailpipe.
I remind myself that not all of the people who ride my bumper are impatient assholes; some of them are merely incompetent. You, Mr. Beemer Driver, were both courteous and competent, and obviously interested in not ramming your sweet ride into the rear of the guy in front of you.
Thank you, sir, for a few low-stress minutes on my drive to work this morning. Hopefully I’ll see you again.
