I think a little piece of you-knowwhere just froze over. Americans have voted Jaguar as the most reliable car in the nation. Yes, Jaguar. Most reliable. Traditionally, most sen- tences with "Jaguar" and "reliable" in them have also contained a strong negative, and have come sprinkled with cuss words. However, in what must be the turnaround of the century, this year Jaguar beat out Lexus and Toyota in the latest J.D. Power survey of longterm reliability, which is amazing for a carmaker known for beautiful but evil mechanical objects. Perhaps being owned by Ford for a few years helped Jaguar dispel its dependability demons, but whatever it was, it has allegedly worked. Jaguar's reputation for being complicated, expensive, and trouble-prone developed over the years, especially in the late 80s and early 90s. Jags were so maintenance-intensive that a new industry grew up to put nice reliable Ford motors in beautiful but busted Jag XK sedans. They'd replace the devil-spawned Lucas electrics with anything American, and the exorcism was complete. That reputation has hung over Jag, deserved or not, for decades. Now, I have personal history with Jaguar. In the hills and curves of my misspent youth, I owned a couple of MGs, a Nash-Healey, and - back when I was young, skinny, and single -- a bright blue 1964 Jaguar XKE convertible, which I bought for $2,600 in 1975. It looked great, and often ran great, and you can imagine what a snorting buck I felt like driving it. And I have to say it was reliable in its own way: I could always count on my Jag to act just exactly like a Jag should, good and bad.

For instance, I could always count on my Jag to make girls go "Wooo." At that time in life, making girls go "Wooo" (among other things) was very important to me, and the Jag was a vital co-conspirator in these endeavors.

It could also be counted on to draw a crowd at convenient times. Whenever it broke down, I'd release the long, front-hinged bonnet and the whole snout of the car tipped forward to reveal that beautiful engine. A crowd of appreciative onlookers would gather to either help or watch me replace the doggone fuel pump again, or re-synch the three carbs again, or adjust the electrical system with the brass hammer normally reserved for the knock-off wire wheels.

In all those ways, I found it to be rock-solid.

Ultimately, though, I found I could also rely on my Jag to show me what a young fool I could be. Not just that I drove it, but that I don't still have it. That's right, I sold it cheap, and have always regretted it.

In that way, I can still count on Jaguars. The sight of a Jag convertible, like seeing an old love, takes my breath away, every time, and makes me sad. They're so valuable now I can't afford one, and I had one and let it go.

Then I kick myself once more, for all the good times.