Freedom on Four Wheels

Freedom on Four Wheels

Or: Why a Convertible Was Never Just a Car to Us.

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There are songs that sound like summer.

California Dreaming is one of them.

As soon as the first notes come on the car radio, something curious happens. Reinhold almost automatically reaches for the button that opens the roof, I lean back, and suddenly even a country road in Schleswig-Holstein feels just a little bit like California.

Perhaps that is the real magic of a convertible.

Not the car itself.

But the feeling.

The sun on your skin.

The wind in your hair.

The sky as your roof.

And that quiet promise that something wonderful might be waiting just around the next bend.

When I look through our photos today, I realize that almost every memorable road trip of our life together eventually had no roof over its head.

Apparently, we do not collect cars.

We collect open skies.

Our first great love. Not particularly sensible, but extremely convincing.

Back When We Still Fit Inside

Our first great love was a Corvette.

To be precise: three of them.

One red.

One yellow.

One black.

No matter the color, a Corvette never simply sits somewhere.

It makes an entrance.

And it carries itself with the unmistakable attitude of a car saying:

Please do not pretend I am sensible.

Sexy as Jennifer Lopez. Just with considerably more gasoline in the mix.

Along Lake Constance, between vineyards, sparkling water and that relaxed southern German atmosphere, it felt like a promise on wheels. And every single time, Reinhold turned into a little boy who had just been told that Christmas had been moved to June.

Life without a Corvette was possible.

It just seemed rather pointless.

Still, the years passed. Other cars came and went. The Corvette remained a memory.

A very beautiful one.

And eventually we found ourselves asking:

Do we really no longer fit inside?

At our trusted dealership, we were given an afternoon to try sitting in a Corvette C8.

Breathe in. Get in.

Breathe out. Get out.

Graceful is not the word I would use.

The bitter realization:

The Corvette still looked absolutely stunning.

So did we.

But together, things had become a little tight.

The new mid-engine layout had done wonders for the car.

For us, not so much.

The wide center console occupied exactly the space we had become rather fond of keeping for ourselves.

You do not have to win back every great love.

Sometimes the memory is enough.

And a convertible with a little more room.

Yellow Corvette. Punk-Is-Dead T-shirt. Subtlety was never one of our strongest qualities.

A Mustang, the Desert and Two Women

In California, a convertible is almost part of the basic equipment.

Like palm trees, endless highways, and the feeling that someone might yell “Action!” at any moment.

Driving from Los Angeles to Las Vegas with Lena in a Mustang sounded like a wonderful idea.

Top down.

American road.

Desert.

Open space.

Movie-scene atmosphere.

And yes, that is exactly what it was.

At least for a while.

At some point, however, summer turned into an oven.

Not pleasantly warm.

Not sunny.

Just so hot that we seriously began to wonder how long a person could survive with the roof down before turning into a dried date.

In the end, common sense won.

The roof went up.

The air conditioning went on.

Even freedom occasionally requires technical assistance.

Two women on the road. One is driving. The other is offering unsolicited advice. I will not tell you who is who.

Arya and the Magic Roof

For adults, an electric convertible top is technology.

For children, it is magic.

Arya stood there watching as the roof folded away as if by sorcery.

First there was a car.

Then suddenly there was sky.

That takes a moment to process.

From that day on, Reinhold probably gained one more fan.

And so did the convertible.

Although it remains unclear which of the two received more admiration: Grandpa, because he apparently controlled this miracle, or the car, because it could do things ordinary cars simply could not.

Moments like these remind you why some memories stay with you.

Not because something spectacular happened.

But because a child is amazed.

And a grandfather smiles.

Grandpa’s biggest fan. And probably the biggest fan of his car as well.

Lavender, Leather and Open Roads

In Provence, driving a convertible takes on yet another color.

The air smells different there.

Of warmth.

Of herbs.

Of dust on narrow country roads.

And of lavender turning entire landscapes purple.

You do not simply travel from A to B.

You glide through a painting.

Fields on either side.

The sky above.

The road ahead.

And somewhere in between sits Reinhold, visibly content, as if someone had designed this landscape exclusively for convertible drivers.

Of course, that is nonsense.

But beautiful nonsense.

And sometimes that is the very best kind.

Some roads lead through landscapes. Others lead straight through memories.

The Forest Comes Along

Things become dangerous when I discover plants.

Lots of plants.

Beautiful plants.

Plants that absolutely have to come home with us.

And suddenly our convertible is standing there, roof down, loaded like a small travelling jungle.

When our friend Manfred saw the photo, he dryly commented:

“Where is the forest supposed to go – and where is Edith?”

A fair question.

The answer was probably: there is always room somewhere.

If necessary, between bamboo and joy.

“Where is the forest supposed to go – and where am I?” A perfectly reasonable question.

Home Works Too

Of course, you do not always have to travel to California, Lake Constance, Provence, or the Côte d’Azur to feel the sky above your head.

Sometimes the Holstein Switzerland region is enough.

Lakes.

Gentle hills.

Old tree-lined avenues.

Roads winding through fields and forests.

Not a spectacular landscape.

Not one that demands attention.

But one that quietly reveals its beauty.

When the sun is shining and the roof is down, even a familiar road begins to feel different.

A short drive suddenly becomes an outing.

An ordinary afternoon becomes a gift.

Home becomes a little holiday.

So we simply set off.

Not far.

Not spectacular.

Just open.

Across the countryside.

With the wind in our faces and that quiet feeling that you really do not need much.

A car.

Sunshine.

Time.

And someone beside you who enjoys being on the road just as much as you do.

California on our caps. Schleswig-Holstein beyond the windshield. An unexpectedly good combination.

The Sky Feels Closer

The cars have changed.

The memories have remained.

Lena on American highways.

Arya’s sense of wonder.

Lavender fields in Provence.

And half a forest riding in the back seat.

Perhaps that is the real reason I wanted to tell this convertible story.

Not because of the cars.

Not because of the horsepower.

But because of those small, wonderfully unreasonable moments of happiness.

You set off.

The roof opens.

The sky feels closer.

And suddenly life seems just a little lighter.

As we grow older, we learn that luxury comes in many forms.

For us, sometimes it is as simple as this:

The sun on our skin.

The wind in our hair.

California Dreaming on the radio.

And the freedom to simply drive away.

Sometimes a story ends exactly where it began: somewhere between California Dreaming, open skies, and the desire to keep driving.

 

More reflections from the series can be found here:
Life in between

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