While out running errands yesterday I came across a car enthusiast putting his old gal to good work.
At our recycling center — yes I know I’m been putting up a lot of green posts recently — I watched as an older gentleman unloaded his bins from the trunk of his 1960s olive green hardtop Thunderbird. Great balls of fire if she wasn’t in good shape. There’s a pretty strong classic car presence in the area, but this beauty didn’t even have antique plates on her. No, she was clearly a working girl and a well-loved one at that. Not a speck of visible rust on her exterior. Just clean lines and a definite presence on the road.
I kicked myself yet again for not carrying my film camera around with me and even more so for not striking up a conversation about his well maintained vehicle.
I can’t help it. I’m forever rubber necking any time I see a classic on the road. Blame it on my parents I guess.
When you grow up listening to the Big Bopper and the Beatles and your Dad tells stories of all the cars his dad would bring home to test drive from working at the dealership, it’s hard not to develop a certain affinity for great classics.
Another time at the gas station a fellow pulled up with his 1930 Model A idling away. That time I did start gabbing with him. A creamy tan color and named Millie, the driver seemed to just take her out for short trips, but still. With a car like that you can’t help but stare.
I just wish I had a camera with me at all times to prove it.