Doug Clark: Ride comes with promise of ‘rich fragrance’

I’ve been pretty candid over the years when it comes to my obsession with clunker cars and all the troubles they’ve caused me.

Like the ’56 Buick I bought on the side of a road. The rattletrap began belching foul smoke two days after I drove it home.

And there was the ’62 Chevy wagon that had never been in a wreck. Until I got hold of it, that is. A month or so later, a drunk smashed into me. The jerk had the gall to salute me with his beer can before he sped off into the night.

I had the Chevy fixed and used it to buy a ’67 Olds Vista Guzzler.

Only the space shuttle consumes more fuel.

For a while I had the ’65 Buick Riviera that was formerly owned by Tom Foley.

Just like Tom, the car kept pulling to the left.

I’m leaving out six or seven other rolling relics. My old beaters come and go faster than beers at a biker rally.

But that was the old Doug. This will shock a lot of you out there, but I have changed my automotive ways.

I have decided to go green.

No. I’m not talking about one of those wimpy hybrid jelly beans.

The other day I bought a green 1987 Jaguar.

This is the fanciest car I’ve ever owned. It doesn’t even smoke or rattle. And today I am making an incredible offer.

I will take one of you lucky readers to lunch in my new/old Jag.

Just telephone or e-mail me via the contact information below. Then convince me that you are worthy of Jagging along.

(Har! We Jag owners are so droll.)

We’ll arrange the time and place, etc., once I select a winner.

I know what most of you are thinking: Putting me behind the wheel of a British luxury sedan is like putting Bozo the Clown in charge of Homeland Security.

(Sorry. Bad analogy. That already happened.)

Look. I know I don’t deserve a car like this. I’m a Spokane guy. I can’t even pronounce “Jaguar” right. I keep saying “Jag-wire,” like some hick from the sticks.

But my pal Dave Cebert knew that I had given my Crown Vic to my son, Ben. I had told Cebert I was looking for new wheels so he told me about this fabulous Jaguar he found. It had only 33,000 original miles on it and was being sold by a private owner at a surprisingly reasonable price.

Cebert said he would have bought it had he not already owned two Jaguars.

Honestly. Some people.

So I took a gander at this dream machine.

One test drive later I was hooked. Check out this passage from the 1987 Jaguar brochure:

“Cruising at highway speeds, the Jaguar sedan is seductively silent; its passenger cabin, uncommonly tranquil. Wrapped cozily in its soft supple seats, the Jaguar passengers and driver enjoy the rich fragrance of genuine leather, the handcrafted artistry of mirror-matched walnut trim, the gracious luxury of a fine English motorcar.”

Spokane streets still suck. But when you’re in a Jaguar you don’t care as much.

Anyway, I’ve only driven this baby a few days. But already I feel myself transforming into a completely new person with a new set of values that are way superior to all the rest of you.

Consider how I’ve changed:

•Clunker Doug loved cheesy nachos.

•Jaguar Doug’s a baked brie man now.

•Clunker Doug was afraid of swine flu.

•Jaguar Doug is terrified of capital gains taxes.

•Clunker Doug mocked the cops.

•Jaguar Doug scoffs at cads who drink screw-cap chardonnay.

•Clunker Doug wrote his column from home in his boxers.

•Jaguar Doug is being fitted for a chartreuse beret.

•Clunker Doug vibrated in the communal massage chairs at the mall.

•Jaguar Doug wants a hot stone treatment at the Davenport Hotel Spa Paradiso.

•Clunker Doug listened to AM talk radio.

•Jaguar Doug believes in world peace through public radio opera.

•Clunker Doug read paperback novels featuring hard-boiled private eyes.

•Jaguar Doug can’t get enough of that Oprah Book Club.

•Clunker Doug blamed his bosses for the layoffs and wage cuts.

•Jaguar Doug realizes that management always has the workers’ best interests at heart.