In my line of work it's beneficial to have developed relationships with a few pre-owned premium car dealers, thus Ralph Schonwetter agrees to let me take it for an afternoon spin. After removing a '76 Lamborghini Countach and Ferrari 308 GTS that were blocking our subject car's exit, the E-Type coupe is parked outside in the rear of the shop. When the engine springs to life my skin begins to quiver with anticipation. Off I go, down the side roads around 4th and Burrard, where all the exotic machinery is displayed for the well-heeled and wanna-bes alike to purchase or drool on, respectively. Despite that the E-Type was designed first and foremost for racing, it is surprisingly user-friendly to the first-timer, and easy to maneuver through congested downtown traffic.

Men ogle longingly with schoolboy lust, shedding light on my understanding of what it must be like for a supermodel to walk past a crew of construction workers. Women on the other hand, make eye contact with me and smile as if I am Bond, James Bond (or are they smirking at what looks more like Austin Powers).

Making my way through the causeway in Stanley Park I open up the throttle. The wonderful 4.2-liter straight six revs effortlessly, its tachometer spinning to 5,500 without any feeling of strain or complaint. A near perfect heel-toe placement of the pedals allows for a quick blip of the throttle when downshifting, matching the engine revs to the chosen gear. All the while a symphony of mechanical sibilance and throaty exhaust notes emanate from all corners. Depressing the accelerator pedal provokes the beast of an engine. Its generous torque pulls the XKE forward, the sports car of sports cars gaining speed, faster, faster, faster, ahh… crap! Just near the crescendo of automotive nirvana a slow moving plebeian transportation device obliviously blocks my progress. The engine lets out a condescending snarl, unimpressed with its thwarted efforts, its anticipation of letting itself loose on an uncluttered stretch of tarmac too much to bear.

Congested traffic makes a good opportunity to look around the inside of the car. The interior is in excellent shape. It is, of course, not as lavishly appointed as the new XK8, yet it incorporates a simple elegance few modern cars manage to attain. Surprisingly, Jaguar featured a telescopic steering wheel. After moving the seat, tilting the recline slightly and adjusting the steering wheel, it was easy to find the perfect driving position - something that I haven't been able to do with many Italian cars of the era. The wool headliner is in superb condition, and look, no vanity mirrors on the visor - a respite to a simpler time. Such luxury frivolity would hardly befit a machine that was built with the specific purpose of trouncing Ferrari etal at Le Mans.

Pointing north on the uphill grade of Taylor Way in West Vancouver, I'm playing tag with the enthusiastic driver of a Porsche 911 C4S. We both take the outside lane, going left onto the Upper Levels Highway. He gets in a few cars ahead - that's OK, I'll catch up on the highway. On the way up the on ramp I scoot in behind a white Ford Explorer and just happen to notice the little blue and red lamps on either side of his license plate. Whew - that was close. Slowly we merge onto the open road and putter along. The policeman pulls up beside the XKE and gives a thumbs-up before he takes off down the highway. Truly, life is very different in this car.

I veer off the Upper Levels and begin winding my way up the Sea-to-Sky highway. The XKE was designed for serpentine oceanside roadways like this Horseshoe Bay to Squamish, BC connector. Bending around a sharp left-hand curve its tail slides sideways with predictable nonchalance. It then snaps back into position when the accelerator pedal is first delicately feathered and then fully depressed to make speed. The short straight ends quickly as I'm forced to come down hard onto the brakes and hairpin to the right, and then left and then right again - two hundred plus feet of rocky cliff above the sea below.

I pull off the highway and pitch the car around in the opposite direction, just 'exiting the pit lane' in front of a sizable motor home that could be difficult to negotiate past. The RV is soon a fuzzy memory as the twisting pavement taunts me to increase my speed. I do, and the E responds with grace and poise, obliterating scenery as it blurs into the rearview mirror. As the Sea-to-Sky comes to an end I pull off to take the low road into West Vancouver. Marine Drive is a spectacular drive on a sunny afternoon, littered with ultra-tight corners and ridiculously narrow pieces of asphalt. Like the Sea-to-Sky, a granite crag to my left and an intimidating drop off at my right puts speed into a new perspective. Similar to traveling north to Milan from the French Riviera, multi-million dollar homes dangle on rock precipices, wherever a scrap of land can be found to build on.

Finding a nice quiet spot near Ambleside Beach in West Vancouver I take a few photos while an appreciative crowd of admirers look on. And admire they should, as this E-Type has never even seen a body shop, never had a rebuilt engine and never needed either. This totally original example has no body rot, evil scratches or dents. In fact it's nearly perfect. If only I had a spare 30K… or 30K at all for that matter.

On the way back over Lions Gate Bridge and into Vancouver, a brand new Jaguar S-Type pulls up beside me. Side by side we drive back through the Stanley Park causeway. Once downtown, the suave driver of the new S-Type rolls down his window and says casually, "It's the heritage." He's got a point. What other car companies can boast as rich a sports car and motorsport heritage as Jaguar? A handful at best.

I snake my way along Pacific Boulevard, past sun worshippers catching the last rays of the afternoon sky, continuing through the shadows of the towering apartment buildings that make up much of Vancouver's West End. In one last attempt to burn the moment into my sub-conscience mind for future release I let out the clutch and come down heavily on the accelerator, sparking an angry twin cam growl. 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th and in seconds the Burrard Street Bridge is behind me as if my tires hadn't even touched its cement surface. Turning left on 2nd Avenue, I pass the Jaguar dealer on my right. To my surprise, a new XK8 Coupe is parked in the service parking lot. Why not, a picture must be worth enough words to stop me blabbing on about it.

Ralph has a grin on his face as I arrive back. I'm not sure if he is appreciating the sheer beauty of the car, as he is an avid car enthusiast, or if he is just happy to see the Jaguar arrive back to his showroom unscathed. Like all great moments in life, this one is over much too soon. But, like another famous Brit once said, 'Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.