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Showing posts with label classic cars. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classic cars. Show all posts

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Motorhead Madness

I found out something yesterday: Classic Car owners get together on the second Saturday of each month to show off their wheels.  I ran across this by accident, and spend a very enjoyable hour talking to the owners about their motorized passions.


The owner of this 1931 Model A told me that there are still something like 100,000 of them still on the road.  And that if you tighten the Distributor down too much, you'll short everything out.  Filed under Things I Did Not Know #[SQL Error: Integer Overflow].


This is very similar to the car that brought me home from the Hospital as a baby.  1956 Chevy Bel Air.  The rest of the car is as sweet.


Cars have always been rolling sculptures, and the 1950s were all about the Jet Age.


Muscle cars were of course well represented.  The 'vettes were out in force, as were a couple of GTOs.  But this one stood out to me:


That's the Business End of a 1970 Dodge Super Bee.  Man, a 440 is something like this would have some get up and go.  I was standing behind it when the owner fired it up and rev'ved the engine a couple times.  Suddenly I was 18 years old again.


As I was leaving, a wood sided Panel Van pulled in.  Sweet. 


Some owners had their sense of humor on display with their car.  And while I wonder how many Republican voters there were in Kennesaw in 1964, this was very well played indeed:


If you like old cars and you're in the area, it's worth a detour.  It's the second Saturday of each month between April and October, here:


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Saturday, August 4, 2012

A note to the Jaguar dealer ...

... on Alpharetta Highway: If you are going to send someone out with one of your flash rides, you might want to make sure that there's actually gas - sorry, sorry: petrol - in the tank.  Otherwise he might die blocking the turn lane here I want to, you know, turn.

And an extra pro-tip to the guy who's bringing him some gas - sorry, sorry, petrol:  it's bad form to come up so close to me from behind that you're almost kissing my bumper.  Sure, you're trying to get Mr. Bigshot rolling again, but if you had left ten feet I could have backed up and gone around him rather than being forced to wait.

In future if you could endeavor not to live down to all my worst expectations about Jaguar - insufferable stupid rich dudes and the arrogant toadies who tend to their automobiles that are broken down on the side of the road - I'd be very much appreciative.

Love, Borepatch.