Tuesday, 25 December 2012

Classic Car Dealers

Classic Car Dealers

Somewhere west of Ogallala, rocketing across the plains at ninety-six in a sixty-nine Fury, a twangy voice on the radio lectured us with the old song: love and marriage, love and marriage, go together like a horse and carriage.My two female traveling companions and I exchanged glances, laughed and sang along: “…you can’t have one without the other.” In that moment everything crystallized: what it meant to be nineteen in 1972, free as a bird, barreling down the freeway with two friends in a big, powerful American sedan. We were headed for the Rockies, retracing the eight hundred mile pilgrimage my family and I made there every summer in the early sixties. This time though, I was literally and figuratively behind the wheel, re-writing the script. Back in the day, the Niedermeyer family would stop at church to pray for a safe trip before all six of us squeezed into our barely mid-sized ’62 Fairlane penalty-box. God drove a hard bargain for our safe-keeping: two seemingly endless days spent sweating on the CIA-interrogation approved clear plastic seat covers, second-guessing our pilot’s passing skills.

Classic Car Dealers

Classic Car Dealers

Classic Car Dealers

Classic Car Dealers

Classic Car Dealers

Classic Car Dealers

Classic Car Dealers

Classic Car Dealers

Classic Car Dealers

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