The phone rings. I answer it. It's Vern of West Coast Cobra. He's just down the road visiting and he has a car he wants to let me use for a day. I say, "Sure!" What else could I say?

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Red - with a very distinctive white stripe down the middle.

The interior is a nice tan Imitation Leather. The steering wheel is from Grant, with neat finger grips on the inside edge that somehow remind me of the grooves on the handle of a .357 Magnum. The purpose is the same - to give you something solid to hang onto. The shifter is a ratchet style B&M unit that works a three-speed automatic. Oh, just as well, the footspace in a Cobra is narrow to begin with, so there's really only enough room for working two pedals anyway!

Vern just happens to deliver this car in what coincides with winter. And while it's not exactly freezing in Southern California that time of year, you have to bundle up for a fast ride in a Cobra because of the wind "thrill" factor.

Over the years I've managed to finagle myself into a number of fast cars, some so silky smooth you could call them something like Belinda. This thing is called Bruno.

There are some cars out there that fit perfectly into a womans hands and that includes cars like a Tans Am or a Corvette - but not Bruno. This is a mads car, especially when the wind chill takes hold. It becomes clear as soon as the 429 rumbles to life and the testosterone starts to flow through its veins. Blip the throttle once and you suddenly feel a few inches taller. Slide the B&M lever into drive and your shoulders expand. Turn the steering wheel a few notches and let the car move forward and your arms feel like you've just finished pumping iron. And once the car hits the freeway, heading south down Interstate 5, you suddenly feel like the Incredible Hulk!

Driving this thing is a rush, but it takes more than balls to drive it - or any car. You have to use your head as well. You have to learn the car's limits, and that's why we're heading for the Ortega Highway which winds like a serpent away from the Pacific Ocean, its narrow two lanes heading up into the hills.

Chugging down the freeway we crouch our bulk under the windshield, our body sheathed in a warm jacket, our head protected by a cap. At this stage in the journey people motor past giving us the high-sign and a happy smile. We, on the other hand, are trying to act nonchalant. You know, cool. What it really is, though, is frigid.

In California the highway patrol doesn't use radar, so the threat is always from behind while you're on the interstates. You have to be able to look behind you, especially at on-ramps where the troopers scoop up most of their prey.

Once we hit the Ortega Highway, we check behind us. No problem, it's go fast time. And yes, it does go fast. Every so often, maybe you need to get the adrenaline pumping. Bruno will do that.

In the sunshine, this is a fun winter ride- In the shadows of the Ortega Highway, and later, along the fogshrouded coast, it's cold. But beyond the chill, it's almost as though we've boarded a husky time machine. It's as though we're back in the late '50s and early '60s motoring along.