It’s October, time to see any number of fake spiderwebs and pumpkins on our local store, and prepare to be surrounded bunch of kids in adorable costumes, adults in questionable ones, and waiting patiently until November so you can get amazing deals on cheap candy. But, since it is traditional, I bring you a question as seasonal as Pumpkin Spice Latte and and horned hairbands.
Cars. Beautiful machines. Slabs of metal, glass, and plastic that can make us feel wonder, passion, nostalgia, and in the case of the 1942 Alfa Romeo 6C 2500 SS Bertone Coupe, Mild arousal. They are also large groups of two-ton projectiles, hurling around the highways and byways of our planet under the control of people who haven’t the faintest idea of how they work. Every time we go on the roads, or even sit comfortably on a building next to a road, we’re trusting our lives on people who we’ve never met, who may have had a horrible day at work or one too many martinis on their lunch. Not to mention that even if they haven’t and are awake and alert, at any time one of the 10,000 components that make their cars could spontaneously stop working, leaving them a passenger.
Add Pareidolia to that intoxicating cocktail of emotions and you end up associating certain vehicles to certain emotions. I know I am glad whenever I see a nice W126, and scared whenever I see…we’ll get back to that, but I’d rather hear your opinion first. It’s a pretty open-ended question. It could be the car itself that can be scary, like the 1959 Buick, the only car that has had clearly had enough of you even before you buy it, it could be a movie car, or a car that has something that makes it deadly like the widowmaker 911 Turbo’s. And now, here is what I think is the most terrifying car in the world.
Do not let its nice appearance lure you into a false sense of security. That innocuous little van is death in-car-nate. I could be driving a semi truck and I would still be afraid of its 34 Horse-of-the-apocalypse-powers. No matter who takes the wheel, they are instantly possessed by the dark spirits that lurk within. Crazed and drunk, the drivers proceed to drive at several hundred miles per hour, exploiting every little gap, cutting off and stopping so as to leave only a fraction of an inch between you and them. For the corrupted driver, we are but rolling chicanes in his slalom of death. Impressive, what when even the lightest of breezes would topple one of them on its side.
So how about you? Is yours from a movie or book? Or to paraphrase Mark Twain: “Truth is scarier than fiction.”?