🌄 What remains after the run
The quiet that follows after leaving the mountains.
Sunlight filtering through the trees, the sky, the shifting wind.
The body slowly releasing its tension.
That time held a kind of fulfillment completely different from the thrill of driving.
And from that day on, something inside me began to move—quietly, but unmistakably.
🚗 The winter day I first rode in the passenger seat
That winter, I rode in the passenger seat of a Seven for the first time.
It wasn’t just a “ride-along.”
It was the moment when the longing I had kept buried deep inside
appeared before me in real, tangible form.
☀️ Summer in Nikkō — Kirifuri and Ōzasa Farm
In summer, we went to Nikkō.
We drove through Kirifuri and Ōzasa Farm—roads I once rode on my motorcycle.
But in the Seven, everything felt different.
The perspective.
The smell of the wind.
The texture of the road.
It was the same route, yet an entirely different world.
And then, for the first time, he let me drive.
The feeling was nothing like being in the passenger seat.
But—
the true “decisive blow” came afterward.
🌊 The Bōsō Peninsula drive — the day everything was decided
“I’m heading to the Bōsō Peninsula this weekend. Want to come?”
The day before, I checked the forecast to make sure there was no rain.
I left home before dawn,
drove to my friend’s house,
and from there we took the highway toward the mountain pass we were aiming for.
When we climbed the pass, a sea of clouds spread out before us.
We took a short break, then descended and headed toward the next pass.
Somewhere along the way—
a stretch where it seemed safe enough for me to take the wheel—
my friend said:
“Want to switch?”
The feeling was different from the first time I drove in Nikkō.
That day, the image of driving my own Seven
and the reality of holding the wheel finally overlapped.
Every time I opened the throttle, the exhaust echoed.
A blip of the throttle on downshift sent the revs rising.
I looked toward the direction I wanted to turn and pressed the accelerator.
Occasionally I braked to drop speed,
then opened the throttle again to enjoy the sound and the surge.
All the while, being careful not to make my friend nervous.
🏁 And then, the fateful detour
On the way back from the pass, my friend said:
“Let’s stop by somewhere. There’s a shop I owe a lot to.”
Anyone in the Kanto region who researches Sevens knows this shop.
I even recognized the owner’s face from old magazines.
It was my first visit.
My friend introduced me,
and I listened as they talked about the current state of the Seven world.
It was the perfect chance to get a real, tangible sense of things.
In the workshop, I noticed a familiar car.
“This one sold a little while ago, right?”
“Yeah. But it came back.”
The reason?
The previous owner suddenly wanted to buy
“an old open‑top car named after an American snake.”
I thought it was a joke.
Was it hard to handle?
Did it have issues?
Those possibilities crossed my mind.
But I knew.
I already knew this Seven was a special one.
💻 The midnight ritual
On the shop’s website,
every car that gets sold is marked with the word “sold.”
I had developed a habit of staring at that word
and sighing at my own hesitation.
This car was one of them.
“Looks like they’ve got a good one in stock.”
I downloaded the photos,
even set them as my phone wallpaper.
“But it’s been sold.”
A part of me felt relieved.
Another part felt resigned.
Another part felt frustrated.
That cycle repeated over and over.
My friend watched silently.
“So… what do you think?”
Right there on the spot,
I said I wanted to sign the contract.
🔧 Anxiety — and the line I had to cross
This Seven was a special specification from 30 years ago.
Its character was different from the “relaxed touring model” I had imagined.
It wanted higher revs,
more gear changes,
precise rev‑matching.
The suspension was set up for that kind of driving.
Could I really handle it?
Honestly, I wasn’t sure.
But—
I still wanted it.
I wanted to take it home.
🚗 The ritual before the contract
“Want to take it for a drive?”
They let me test‑drive it for a short time.
My heart was pounding as I moved the steering wheel and shift knob,
completely absorbed.
In that moment,
I crossed a line.
The shop owner had probably seen people like me
for decades.
And now I had become one of them.
🛣️ The drive home
On the way back, sitting in the passenger seat beside my friend,
everything felt different from before.
A sound escaped me—
something between a sigh and a groan—
again and again.
“Welcome to this side,” my friend said.
Ah… I want to bring that home as soon as possible.
In Episode 4,
I’ll write about my very first drive.
