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"           I was driving home from Santa Barbara, California, last Sunday morning, using Pacific Coast Highway rather than Highway 101 through the valley. I love PCH, as it&amp;#039;s known around here, even though it&amp;#039;s often slow going and can be a mess of tourists and beach-goers any time of the year. But it is the road that I often dreamed about driving prior to reaching the age of having a driver&amp;#039;s license. My wife, Patty, knows how much I enjoy this twisty, narrow highway that we pick up in Santa Monica when going north and use all through the beach community of Malibu and through the farmland south of Oxnard, where we join the freeway that is 101.   As we were coming south, to the point where Malibu meets Santa Monica, I saw and heard a gaggle of sports cars \u2014 at least seven of them, maybe more \u2014 that were headed north. The noise was the delightful rasp of small-displacement engines wound tightly, and the sight made me think of a squadron of small jet fighters mixing in with a group of transports, as the Exige drivers fought their way through the crush of , and other behemoths of the road. I watched them in my mirrors until they disappeared from view around a curve, envying the fun they were having.   I continued to enjoy the drive along the coast until we came to the tunnel that leads to Interstate 10, where we were caught up in the whirl of Southern California freeway driving. But we made good time heading down the 405 and eventually reached Newport Beach and home, where we had several hours to relax until it was time to head south to Lake Elsinore for the wedding of our nephew, Greg Laher. Also on hand were two of our nieces, Abigail and Hannah, who both had cars that were new to them \u2014 a and a , respectively.   I was delighted to see their evident excitement about their cars, and to recognize that enormous sense of fulfillment that comes with learning to drive, gaining a license and then owning a car. It made me think about my first car and that wonderful sense of freedom to go anywhere I wanted to go, as long as I had gas money! Seeing this same elation in the eyes of my teenage nieces was a wonderful experience.   Throughout the drive to Elsinore and back, I thought about the thousands of miles I&amp;#039;ve driven on challenging roads, often in exciting cars. And while many of these trips were done solo, I realized that the best, most memorable ones were shared with others. Like the week-long drive around southern England that Patty and I made in a Rover 3500 in 1979, a trip that included a stop for afternoon tea at the home of the legendary Donald Healey, father of the Austin-Healey, and a stimulating dinner in London with former Grand Prix driver and R&amp;amp;amp;T contributor Innes Ireland.   Elsewhere in this issue there is a story about the historic Mille Miglia rally and my experience last year driving a C-Type in that event. Some of the best driving roads in the world are in the northern part of Italy, and in the sunny warmth of a May day, driving an open car, there are few pleasures that compare to winding your way up the hill into Siena and listening to your car&amp;#039;s exhaust note crackle and echo off the stone buildings that seem only an arm&amp;#039;s reach away. Or the surprised expression of a lady in a sidewalk caf\u00E9 in Viterbo as you aim your car directly at her table while trying to make the 180-degree turn around a stone wall \u2014 and then the boy in me couldn&amp;#039;t resist a quick blip of the throttle to punctuate the success of the maneuver.   These sorts of experiences are why we become lifelong car enthusiasts. Many people don&amp;#039;t understand it; to them a car is transportation, no more, no less. But to us it is a lifestyle that breeds a passion for automobiles and the thrill and challenge of the open road. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.roadandtrack.com/car-culture/a12924/the-highway-to-happiness/>