If it weren’t for the motorcycle, this could so be Iowa in 1963. It reminds me how exciting it was to see—and hear—a real hot rod on the road when I was a kid; there were rather few except for one quite similar to this one but in a very crude and unfinished stage, sitting in the side yard at the house across the street from us. Its youthful owners never did get it finished before it eventually got hauled away at their dad’s insistance. But I loved to sit in it, and let my imagination run wild….bbbrrrappp; bbbrrrappp, the flathead Ford V8 missing its carbs and other vital organs magically came to life for me, and soon I’d be tearing down some country road at ninety. My ten year old body fit in it just right, unlike the grownups who have to fold themselves in and hunch over the wheel.
Aren’t hot rods the ultimate kiddie toy for grown ups? So utterly useless, except as a vehicle for channeling noisy childhood fantasies. But then we could say that about a lot of things.