Roger’s Pantera. It went fast and it was REALLY loud. I could hear him coming at least a mile away with the low vrub-vrub-vrub, vibrating widows and such. Conversations in the car were impossible, what with muscular steel torqueing through bodies. I remember riding in the car, snuggling baby Cimcie curled up on my lap (before child seat laws) with lips smiling in dreamland, a little soft bunny girl-doll, oblivious to being zoomed down Interstate 10 in an exotic Italian sports car by her race-car driver dad. To Grandmother’s house we go; a different ride than “over the river and through the woods”—this car needed flat, smooth surfaces. And, Roger turned corners like a pro, much to my passenger stomach’s dismay. During my pregnancy, riding in that car through Laurel Canyon always produced an up-chuck from me.

While driving through Beverly Hills, Roger got a “too loud” ticket. Back then, (1981) Beverly Hills neighbors would complain (especially in the hills) about anyone in the canyons even turning on a loud dishwasher after sunset. Anyway, Roger lined up all his receipts and his defense (he had actually passed the bar exam years earlier), and headed to court. His argument: the muffler was the original, not an add-on to annoy people. The judge dismissed the ticket.