Of all the world crises that have afflicted us lately, the only one I'm enjoying is this latest big drop in gas prices. Without the wild fluctuations in the price of gas, I reckon we'd have to talk about the stock market, or worse yet, politics, and it's just not polite to talk so ugly at dinner.

But gas for two-eighty-five, combined with beautiful October weather, make a fine and wonderful thing, and together bring out my favorite genetic glitch in the male DNA, that built-in motor in our guts that gives guys the irresistible urge to turn gasoline into noise.

It doesn't matter if our particular poison is motorcycles, old cars, big trucks, more motorcycles, boats, or even a big honkin' tractor, most men love going fast and making a racket doing it.

And I know it's genetic, because I saw both my little boys turning every toy into a race car and brrrrrrrring all over every available surface. (Well, not every toy. Handed a Barbie doll by some meddling girl, they bent the legs and made a gun out of it.)

Like I said, it's genetic. My mama said my first word was not "Mama" but "car," which apparently hurt her maternal feelings. My kids were shocked that the car had even been invented back then. "Are you sure your first word wasn't 'horsie' or 'T-rex'?" they say, staying just out of reach.

They're just jealous that I was blessed to grow up in the era of muscle cars and hot sports cars, when gas was cheap, girls were tan, and life was good. I somehow wound up with a '64 Jaguar E-Type convertible, which while incredibly attractive to those girls, also taught me how to fix things by the side of the road in the dark.

I remember that I could fill up the gas tank for $7, and I guess admitting that, and enjoying it, officially makes me a geezer.

But anyway, by the time we're teenagers, roaring up the road with burning desire, quick reflexes, and almost complete ignorance, we're hooked on the feeling of freedom that comes with wondering what's over the next hill and following our wonder.

Which has been pretty well nigh impossible when gas was over $4 a gallon. As cheap as I am, and no longer being a teenager, I tend to figure how much each mile costs at over $4 a gallon, and that fact (along with actually doing math) really takes the fun out of driving. I found myself beginning to begrudge every mile and every errand at that price, and just aiming for the horizon for the fun of it was way out of the question.

Even riding a motorcycle was less fun, if that's possible without a snowstorm or a plague of bugs. I never thought I could get $15 worth of gas in a mere motorcycle, and I never thought I'd ride my bike in a gas-saving manner, which is to say riding like a grown-up.

But, now, for this one moment, gas is cheap and life is good. We may not be kids anymore, but when we're tearing down the open road, who can tell?

Besides, I have an ugly feeling that we're someday going to recognize that these days are the good old days.