Perhaps I’m too practical, because I look at cars primarily as a means of transportation. If it starts, has what I consider the basic amenities – a radio, air conditioning, handles well and doesn’t drink a lot of gas – I’m happy.

But obviously cars can be so much more than that. They can become a part of your personality and, as I’m learning, part of your family.

While I haven’t reached the point of naming her, and maybe one of these days I will, the 356 Porsche I bought in 1965 for $2,000 from a Rambler dealer is a family member. She’s got a lot of miles. My guess is 350,000 since she was the primary mode of transportation for about 25 years before encountering a variety of “health issues” from rotting body parts to an engine that eventually gave out. Her revival has been slow and deliberative and is still a ways from being completed.

Yet, she’s passed inspection and she’s on the road…when she starts.

I’ve written about her before, how I fit my twin granddaughters into the tiny pop-up rear seats and took them for a spin on curvy roads in North Kingstown. It wasn’t that I was driving fast, but being low to the ground, the throaty rumble of the exhaust and pickup I imagined would make for an exciting ride. Maybe it was, but that wasn’t on Alex’s mind when we got back to my son’s house.

“What’s that,” she asked from behind me pointing at the window crank. I demonstrated and she was intrigued. “What a good idea,” she said, suggesting today’s cars could use them.

The car turns heads and one of my first outings after getting her back on the road after nearly 15 years was on Route 95. I picked a slow time of day on a Saturday for a test run of more than 50 MPH. She rattled yet the steering felt reliable and as the speedometer nudged 60, I spotted a Toyota on my tail. I kicked it up another 5 MPH. The Toyota stayed with me.

This was starting to annoy me, so I figured if she hadn’t come apart at 65, I would risk 70. Now the Toyota pulled alongside. What was he expecting, to race me?

Then I looked over. A kid in the front seat was taking photos – maybe a video – with his phone. I smiled and waved. He returned the salutation.

The car is no longer simply a mode of transportation – and a fun one to drive at that. She has personality and, in addition to being a member of the family all these years, is an extension of myself. Now that may sound freakish, for after all a car is just a machine.

However, the more I cover cruise events (I haven’t brought the Porsche for no way could she stand up to the meticulous work that goes into these cars) the more I understand how people truly see their cars as an extension of themselves. Earlier this summer I met Christine Hamm and her husband Steve at the Oakland Beach cruise night beside their GT 500s. Christine is a fanatic about her car, instantly brushing off a leaf seconds after falling on her roof and going to the extreme of color coordinating engine hoses to the vivid red of the machine that packs 730 horse power. This is her baby albeit a titan of the tarmac.

Then a couple of weeks ago I met Edward and Mary Ouellette of Coventry at the All American Assisted Living car show on Toll Gate Road. My guess is that they are in their late 70s, maybe 80s. They were lovingly attending their 1931 Model A Ford. With a feather duster Mary cleaned the wheel spokes. She informed me they aren’t called spokes, but “straws.” Ed pointed to the engine compartment that quite possibly is shiner today than when it rolled off Ford’s assembly line. A feature that distinguishes this model from others is the gas shutoff valve is under the hood rather than beneath the dash.

Their knowledge of the vehicle was impressive, yet what truly amazed me was how long they had owned the car. I expected it had been part of the family for decades, but I was wrong. They had bought it at a car show hardly a year before. This was their new child late in life and like proud parents they were showing her off.

I had a tingle of that feeling the last time I was on 95. I was minding my own business and not pushing it. There was some traffic when suddenly a white Mercedes sports car filled my rear view mirror. He had to be no more than four feet off my bumper. What was this, a “let’s see what she’s made of” customer?

Then to my surprise red and blue flashing lights reflected in the mirror. Since when did State Police start driving unmarked Mercedes? The other thought was, why was I getting pulled over when cars were passing me? I was annoyed, but also like a 40-year-old being asked for identification at a bar, feeling my car still has it.

I pulled off the highway and now with the Mercedes a good 20 feet behind me, I realized the lights I was seeing were from the state trooper behind him.

Yet I thought gripping the steering wheel and winding her through the gears, as I joined the stream of traffic, she still has it.