Welcome back, everyone! And for you first-time visitors, let me get the obligatory plea out of the way right now: this magazine is made possible by contributions from Volvo fans -- we don't want your money (our sponsors handle that department), but we do need your stories, your photos and your expertise. If you did something to your car, took a trip or attended a club event, we'd like to hear about it, and so would a few thousand other Volvo owners and enthusiasts. The subject doesn't need to be grand -- for instance, in this issue John La Barbera tells us how to fix old Volvo horns. I'll bet that helps a hundred people, including Marsha and me, to mention two. That's the spirit, John!

Marsha and I were down at our local Volvo dealership recently. Passing through the showroom on our way to the parts department, we encountered two interesting cars -- actually, it was their juxtaposition that was most interesting. On the left stood a brand-new, saffron-colored (that's the official name for it) C70 coupe; on the right, an immaculate dark blue 1800ES. We had a good look at both.

"What's the story on the ES?" I asked my friend the parts manager, and he told me. A man had been having it professionally restored as a gift for his girlfriend. After many months, shortly before the car was ready, he and his amour parted company. The restoration place accepted the car in lieu of the unpaid balance on their work, finished the job and sold the car to a broker. The broker auctioned it to the dealership, which then sold it for $15,000, a considerable mark-up. Sort of a lose-lose-break even-win-win deal.

But never mind -- what about the long-awaited C70? It was stickered at a cool $40,000 and it was, well, nice. That word stuck with me -- it was "nice," not "gorgeous," not "magnificent." An engineering marvel it might well be, but it just wasn't distinctive -- not $40,000-worth, anyway.

Imagine the following scenario (yes, you must. I insist.): you are dining at the Svengali embassy when your subliminal pager alerts you to the fact that an international incident of incredible import is taking place on the premises -- the sacred gong of Svengo is being stolen! If deprived of their national cymbal, the Svengs will lose faith in their peaceful leader, the Dalai Parton, and their government will fall to a Nefarian-backed junta. And you wouldn't want that.

Using your gnat-rapid reflexes (and moving with surprising quickness for a big man), you rush to the service entrance just in time to see the skulduggerer himself (if that's not a word, it should be) disappear down the back alley into the crepuscular darkness in a cloud of tire smoke, gong firmly ensconced in the back seat of...?

The Interpol Adjective Abuse squad detains you immediately -- you have two choices: identify the miscreant's automobile or answer to Ms. Krebs, your tenth-grade English composition teacher. What will you do?

As a connoisseur of $40,000 automobiles, you would have no trouble with such responses as "Mercedes S-class," "BMW 5-something," "Cadillac STS (after rebate)," or even "big Lexus of some sort." If the guy had driven a C70, though, you'd be in a heap of trouble. How'd you like to try "Mustang, only without the nostrils" on for size? Or, if you had only seen the front of the car, "ten-year-old Chrysler Le Baron?" You'd be laughed out of the international thriller business and condemned to drive an AMC Pacer the rest of your miserable life.

Which explains, no doubt, why the Saint now drives a C70. Back when he used the 1800S (if memory serves), the bad guys always recognized him and he got beaten up in almost every episode.

On second thought, I guess that shows we shouldn't fight progress, after all. Still, if I meet the new owner of that blue ES on the road, I'll give him a friendly wave; if I see a saffron C70 coming the other way, I think I'd probably skip it.

Anyway, enjoy this issue (check out our new Bookstore while you're at it!). Keep 'em rolling, steer clear of Interpol whenever possible and, most of all, be safe.

Phil Singher, Editor