Love affair

Ryan's workhorse of a truck. It feels very filmic being a passenger!

I am fast falling in love with old American cars. I love everything about them: Their vast scale, their hulking box like construction, their corroding paintwork and bent chrome fenders, their occasional space age design flourish like glittering fins or intakes, but most of all I love the sound they make when they take off. A groaning roar of aging engine swallowing quarts of incombustible leaded fuel undercut by the peel of rubber against tarmac as the car lurches down highway.

Recently whilst out with my flatmate Ryan we spotted a black Chevy '67 Camaro. It was the quintessential muscle car of its day incapable of going in any direction besides straight forwards. As we ambled over to the window to show our appreciation to the car’s occupants we were greeted by the gummy smiles of its passengers. A couple of rednecks sinking six packs on an afternoon cruise wearing sun leathered faces that fixed their ages somewhere between thirty and seventy. As they amiably waved and sped off into the distance Ryan remarked, “Gee, did you see that old boy driving? He had the perfect number of teeth. Three…one in his mouth and two in his pocket.” It made me smile. Maybe I can rent an old wreck for my month long roadtrip? I shall have to investigate.


A '67 Camaro like the one we saw. Beautiful.