Hot Rods, America’s only true sport.


Hot Rodding gets in your blood. I have never met anyone who didn’t have at least a mild interest in cars. And truth be told I have never seen anyone ignore a well executed hot rod, vintage muscle car, classic or sleek sports car as it cruised by with it’s subtle or not so subtle clues. Some had the glint of sparkling chrome off a freshly waxed bumper with the blinding reflection of the sun signaling the arrival of a 57 Chevy or a 69 Dodge. Others had the unmistakable silhouette of a Shelby Cobra or a Split Window Corvette. Then there was that low ground shaking lope of a roller cammed Hemi idling by as it turned on some primal yearning for power and speed. Still there was the bright, shiny and wild colors of paint screaming ” Look at me” like the fist time I witness a candy apple red paint job reflected in the sun. The pleasure I would get from just cruising my 71 Chevy Nova through the streets to waves and thumbs up was a genuine connection with people who had deep understanding of what it means be a Hot Rodder or a just longing for simpler times and the genuineĀ  pleasure of the open road with it’s promise of Freedom. I think that really is the attraction for this boy. The adventure of new placesĀ  with the understanding that anywhere you go, you have arrived at a place with an opening to the lives and stories of others because everybody has a car story.

Posted on Routine Patrol.

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