I won't mention my car's specifics until the end (BUT I am thrilled with both the make and model of my recently-acquired car to the point of delirious, short maniacal gasps of joy) because I now think everyone should have a dream car, or be immersed enough in their current car, that it qualifies as a stepping-stone to attaining a "dream," and I don't want to dissuade anyone from their pursuit of legendary status. It's a mental Everest sometimes, but if you can look in the garage or the driveway and 'see' your dream sitting there, it all becomes real quick. So I will skirt around my car's iconic initials so this article echoes fairly for everyone, regardless of what they own or dream of owning. Because three weeks ago, I thought I'd be driving my ultra-reliable 2000 Subaru Legacy until the stars aligned. Almost instantly, it appears they did!
I wrote a well-received article of the art of driving and how I no longer dreamt of owning a 1987 Lamborghini Countach (since the brass at Lamborghini decided to only sell ONLY automatic-transmission cars), and that I had fallen in love with the schematics for another car with an attainable price tag (no lottery-required). In fact, that very car "walked" into my life two weeks ago... and I am ecstatic, to drive, race, or just stare at it sitting out there on the front lawn. I have watched myself become obsessive, when—at 56 years old and dozens of cars have passed through my ownership—I didn't know I had the capacity to love a machine ever again...
I’ve come to realize that the true magic lies not in the specific make or model, but in the experience—the connection we forge with our vehicles. I’ve watched myself become obsessive, captivated by the sound of a finely tuned engine, the feel of a well-balanced chassis, and the thrill of pushing limits on winding backroads as the 5-speed eats through curves. If my adrenalized admiration is a problem, I am NOT ready to admit it just yet, I'm not letting any therapist talk me down from these heights. I never thought I’d discover such a love for a machine, yet here I am—dancing wildly with excitement, much like Tom Cruise on Oprah’s couch, overwhelmed by the sheer joy of driving. In fact, Tom Cruise looks sane compared to my emotional state when I approach my car. Katie Holmes vs. my dream car? Katie who? Tom who?
My journey into this passion has been intertwined with legends—cars built upon success, innovation, and relentless refinement. Unlike my earlier dream of a 1987 Lamborghini Countach, I found that the real magic resides in cars that are born from champions—vehicles that have been tested, tweaked, and pushed to the edge of possibility.
This brings me to the world of rally cars—machines born in the brutal, unforgiving arena of the World Rally Championship (WRC). These cars are not just race cars; they are the pinnacle of automotive engineering, designed to conquer forests, ice, snow, and gravel at breathtaking speeds. In 1993, rally cars became, mandated by the WRC (World Rally Championship), street-legal—bringing the highest level of performance directly to the public. Brands like Subaru, Toyota, Ford, and others took their race cars and transformed them into road-going legends—cars that carry the DNA of relentless testing and near-impossible performance.
SPOILER: this is my car, this is its pedigree.
The beauty of this is that such cars aren’t just for the elite. They are accessible to anyone willing to embrace the thrill of driving—whether on backroads or urban streets and opt for the turbcharged sedan over another mundane Dodge Caravan. Driving my ******* "***"—an embodiment of rally spirit—through Vancouver Island’s winding byways has opened a new world for me. It’s a world where the car’s G-forces, acceleration, and agility can be felt with every corner between me and 7-11. It’s a vehicle-engineered doctor's note to tear through forests and across savannahs, yet is perfectly capable of making rush hour feel like a victory lap.
Years ago, I immersed myself in sim racing, owning over 60 driving games, and I’ve watched how far virtual driving has come. Today’s simulators, with their realistic graphics and responsive peripherals, can nearly replicate the sensation of real driving. Grown men have thrown $5000+ at a sim setup, essentially "buying" the sensation of driving, down to the violent force-feedback, and they boast about their small dominion they had over their wives in this purchase. My middle-range setup, with a Thrustmaster wheel and pedals, costing less than CA$400 used, allows me to chase that adrenaline virtually, bridging the gap between fantasy and reality. A willing suspension of disbelief is no longer required to get a full dose of driving prowess, today's computers deliver a photo-realistic experience at 120 frames a second. My setup is so solid that I wouldn't upgrade my wheel or peripherals, sim driving doesn't need to be any better, it had me at, "hello."
My car has a huge online presence, with forums and communities to service everyone's input on their *** and how their *** is king among all ***s. But I have had people scoffing at my upgrades, my painting, or, say, the $20 gear shift knob from Amazon. It's as-if these passive owners want to maintain the original car's ethos, which is garbage. The *** is essentially an after-market car, all the modifications and accoutrements come from outside the car company, enthusiasts who produce the accent on vehicular linguistics.
If the only time you are going to put a RED BULL sticker on your car is when RED BULL sponsors you, you'll be waiting in your stock OEM *** forever. But if you want those racing lines, ersatz sponsors, the flair, mods, and to remodel your car's interior 96% red, Temu, RedBubble, AliBaba, etc. are almost impossible websites to avoid. As soon as you try to put down your phone, having bought yet another keychain, it will "give" you $20 credit if you act instantly—and the prices are ridiculously cheap (seriously like 5-10% of Amazon's prices. It asks you how could you NOT get x, y, and z for your 91 octane beloved? It's a digital death of Romeo for a vehicular Juliet.) So hours will pass me by as I'm trying to avoid any further purchases, all-the-while going down car accessory rabbit holes until my thumbs bleed, and inevitably getting some neat "kit" along the way (coming two weeks later in the post). That said, I have some great bling that the nay-sayers will never endorse. I posted pictures of my car and was told to blackout my license plates because, "people will figure out where you are, where you drive, and call you in as a DUI" for no other reason than they want to do that to other people's lives, so I'm skeptical of the motives of some ***-owners; they're like human computer-viruses. And all we have in common is a our respect for the same damned car. And I'm posting maps for people to come and experience this countryside on their own. Altrusim isn't all it's cracked up to be.
I've had a genuine fear that someone with these mental–speed bumps, might key or damage my car. It's a 2011 with minor body dings and caulking-attempts, but it's been through its growing pains, and the engine rebuild is practically new. And while someone keying my door would infuriate me, I wouldn't be refinancing my mortgage to get it fixed. Initially you could put an amber-alert out for my senses, but I'd soon come to the understanding—it could be far worse and that idiot will never own an "experience" like mine, not one that didn't come with community hours.
My car was NOT garage-kept—it slept in the elements for 14 years. It has weathered 14 years of newbies grinding the clutch, impressing potential mates, and aunt Judy launching it on 232nd ave. It is supposed to be entering my life at this age in its development. I am inheriting an investment that was long paid off—to someone else. Now it's my turn.
In the end, what matters most is the connection—a feeling that transcends the vehicle itself. Whether tearing through forest trails or navigating city traffic, my car has become a symbol of freedom, mastery, and pure unadulterated joy. It’s a reminder that a car is more than a machine; it’s a vessel for dreams, a catalyst for adventure, and a testament to human ingenuity. I drove 22 hours in the first six days I had it, ripping through backroads and countrysides like it was finally my business to be out there.
And so, I say to everyone: find your dream (even as a thought-exercise, find something to qualify as your attainable dream), or find your current passion so deep that it becomes your dream—unless it's a Prius. Because in the end, it’s not about the make or model, but about the experience—the pure, unadulterated love of driving. How you get there is your business.
My car? A 2011 Subaru WRX (which stands for World Rally Experiment). Subaru is the star-cluster "Plaeiades" which is on their emblem and Subaru is Plaeiades in Japanese!
Where I once "wanted" the WRX STi (Subaru Technica International), the upper-echelon of Subaru, but I no longer see that as essential, this WRX is enough power, grip, and fun. A new one would demand respect I haven't earned from this one yet. In fact, if I won the lottery tomorrow, I wouldn't buy another car.
P.S. Since rediscovering the joy of driving in my Subaru WRX, I’ve started a Reddit community dedicated to celebrating the love of driving—regardless of what car you own or aspire to own. And we won't call the police and tell them you're driving your dream car drunk! It’s a space for ALL enthusiasts to share stories, tips, and passion for all kinds of driving experiences, from spirited backroad adventures to virtual racing. Since I coined the phrase "WRXing around" to capture that sense of spirited, carefree driving that I love so much and I thought I'd put it to use, but if you own a Ford Festiva, Mitsubishi Eclipse, or a Toyota Supra, this is for you and your cars too. If you’re passionate about driving or just love the idea of getting behind the wheel, I’d love for you to join me at WRXing Around in its infancy, contribute even!
https://www.reddit.com/r/WRXingaround/hot/
