They say you never forget your first time. It’s true for me. I’ll never forget the first time I gripped that Hurst Super Shifter in my hand and ripped through the gears of my Muncie 4-speed. A small, yet life-altering moment for a young hot rodder. We’d just swapped a manual transmission in place of my tired automatic in shop class, and I didn’t make it more than a half mile before earning my first ticket in my beloved 73 Camaro. Dang! Pulled me over for 62 MPH in a school zone. Luckily, the cop was my neighbor. Wrote me up for nine over, plus a few hours of traffic school.
No quicker had Officer Bishop disappeared from my rear-view mirror when I smashed into first, brought the RPM’s up to 6,500, dumped the clutch on that old country road, and pointing that beast in any direction that would get me across city limits as quickly as possible. I was free, and I was gone. My 17-year-old heart filled with adrenaline. Only me, my Camaro, and the unknown.
That was nearly 20 years ago, when cell phones were still bricks, and GPS wasn’t an app. Where did I go? I ended up tearing through the Rocky Mountains. That is, until I ran out of gas (turns out that old fuel gauge wasn’t working so well). Puttering to the side of the road, I found myself with a spectacular view of rolling green hills, tall pine trees, snow-capped mountains, and yeah . . . a river ran through it. The kind of scene Van Gogh would dream of discovering. So, what did I do with no directions, no cell phone, and no gas? I sat on the hood and enjoyed every moment of being alive.
In today’s modern world, there are countless amenities that enrich and improve our lives. And GPS is one of them. I remember the shocking day my old man took the large atlas (or a map for our younger readers) out of his car because it was no longer needed. There seems to be nowhere you can’t go, or anyplace you can’t find. Hell, it’s not uncommon now for a restomod to have a digital touchscreen in a 60-year-old car shouting out directions.
But I’m here to pose a question for you. Something that is critical for buying a classic car. It’s not a yes or no answer, and it’s not an easy question. It’s deeper and more profound than you realize. That question is simple: when was the last time you got in the car without turning on the GPS?
Yep. That simple question is a must-answer if you’re going to take hold of the keys of a classic. Think about it. Every time you run that GPS, you’re either looking for directions or for an ETA to your destination. It makes life a rush, but not the good kinda rush.
I often fear we’ve lost the art of wandering. The exhilaration of getting lost, yet discovering ourselves in the unknown. And this is one of the reasons I am a classic car fanatic.
He was doing the same thing as I that day. He was escaping the valley when he found me on the side of the road. At this point, I realized I’d better wave him down or risk being stuck overnight. Or worse, leaving my car while to hike out of the canyon for fuel. The man pulled over, and the first thing he said was, “Nice car.”
We made fast friends while we fueled up my Camaro. He shared stories of his Dodge Coronet, what high school was like in the 70s, and he gave me some tips on how to tune my carb for the higher elevation. I connected with someone who, ironically, was a fellow gearhead, and I made a friend, even if only for only a short while. The isolationism of tech in our vehicles seems to lock us out of these random events, blocking out the unknown and limiting our “what could have happened”.
Call me an old soul, outdated, not with the times. That may be a fair assessment in some respects. But as you browse the classifieds and classic car auctions, keep in mind that what you’re looking at isn’t simply some ancient piece of metal. Not only do these classic vehicles represent raw power and muscle, they’re also our last chance at freedom on four wheels.
I’ve been eyeing that big ‘68 Camaro up for auction, and it’s got me daydreaming. I can see myself tucked tightly in the houndstooth interior from TMI and grabbing the shifter to take control of this beast. The roar of an EFI-fed 454 waiting to dump loads of torque to the 12-bolt posi leaves me with a smile as wide as Texas. Let’s crank the tunes, tear up some concrete, and hit the road. Where to? Anywhere but here.
You see, this is a feeling only a classic car can provide. A sensation of wanderlust that can never be quenched. We have 600 miles of Pacific Coast Highway, crashing waves, and dramatic cliffs. Or maybe we’ll hit the road and cruise Route 66 from California to Illinois (you know it’s on my bucket list). I’ll stop in a tiny, forgotten town with glowing neon signs and gorgeous desert views, then hop in again and cruise under the stars. Maybe I’ll head back home to the Rockies and blaze through Yellowstone, with its untouched wilderness, bison casually walking down the two-lane highway, and camp out amongst the trees.
There’s no telling where I can go, when I’ll get there, or what waits for me. But in truth, that’s what I’m in need of. To hell with the constant pressure and society demanding to know where I am and when I’ll arrive. It’s an innate part of human nature to experience the unknown, because only then do we get to know who we really are. And for me, I choose to do that behind the wheel of a hot rod. I mean, isn’t that what they’re made for?
Post World War II birthed the hot rod generation. A ragtag team of rebels hell-bent on seeking the rush that could only be found in the seat of a cockpit or in the bottom of a foxhole. Hell, having a car was a source of patriotic pride. It was the Chevrolet jingle that read, “See the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet,” and the road trip was born. From there, the car community split into different segments: hot rodders, lowriders, and muscle cars. All in search of the same thing; freedom and adventure.
Today’s world seems to have lost the spark, the magic of what once was. The undiscoverable is often not only discovered but uploaded and cast to millions of cell phone screens on social media, dissolving all the mystery of what might be. It seems that the imagination and excitement of the unknown have been tamed before your adventure even begins.
I wish I could leave you with a profound and life-altering quote, but I’m going to leave that to a true adventurer. Because no one said it better than Edward Abbey, “May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.” I really hope you find it, because it’s a good day to get lost. I hope you turn off that phone, ditch that GPS, and, just for old times’ sake, hop in and get lost in, and with, your own Classic American Muscle.
