There is a silent prayer of gratitude the pilot of an old Lotus car utters every time he arrives safely at his destination. Mine will be 13 this year, and having only owned it for 30 “driving days” it’s service has abandoned me twice. I forgive it. Esprits are like that. They are so very good at what they do that you forgive them of pretty much everything. In fact, before this, I owned one just like it (but in red) that pretty much tried everything in the parts catalog to alienate me, and I still wanted more.
Is not right, and I know that. I blame it on three things: 1-in 1981 my mother took me to see “For Your Eyes Only” which featured a copper S3 (that utterly claimed me). 2-getting an elementary education at Catholic schools convinced me that suffering is a natural part of life. 3-growing up as a mediocre competitive swimmer gave me discipline even in hopeless situations.
There should be a picture of me in the shop manual…
It is so bad that if I suddenly found myself in possession of a phenomenal surplus of funds, I would completely ignore other Marques, and probably end up with a stable full of Esprits. It’s like a wedge shaped Rorschach test that I shamelessly fail.
I adore Esprits completely. The lines to me are perfect. I know the engine note is maligned by others, but I love it. The handling is good, the power is good. I fit in it perfectly, and at this point, I know them, so there it is.
Another thing about the Lotus thing that is remarkable is that when you obtain one, it changes your social life. The Lotus community is full of a wonderfully diverse but quirky collection of car people, each one worth knowing, and the factory encourages it better than any other manufacturer in automobiles.
As things occur to me, I will endeavor to noodle on about them in this blog. Welcome.
Conversations with my Esprit 