Driven: the awesome Icon Bronco
Another intersection, and a fleet of intellectually unchallenging mid-sized saloons surround a couple on a pair of matching Harley-Davidsons, making the bikers look small and surrounded, bracketing the thudding V-twins with mediocrity. Until, that is, you catch the slight hitch in the posture of the riders in their new-tight leathers and the rental tags on the bikes: just another codified and threat-lite adventure, riding free within the confines of the Disney dangerous. Cracks in the facade, middle-class slumming. Rebels without a clue.
For some reason, this makes me angry. So, at the next set of lights, I shift into first and give the Bronco some real throttle. At this point, any faint illusion of normality is shattered. Because the Bronco, this middle-aged - if not grandaddy SUV - squats the rear, lifts its lantern jaw to the sky, and bucks right off, making a noise like an enraged elephant seal attached to a car battery. For a moment, all I can see in the triple-framed rear-view mirror are rows of slack jaws. Before they can quick-draw their camphones, we've already gone. Off to the dunes, and salvation.