September 26, 2013
So there I was Sunday at the Midwest Fall Swap Meet & Auto Show at the Minnesota state fairgrounds.
Cars shows are fun, interesting and absurd. Men and a surprising number of women sit in lawn chairs next to the machines they love. They talk with strangers about the virtues of forged cranks over cast. They recite the same stories over and over again.
In the swap meet area, humans stroll past tables piled with the most random collections of old parts imaginable. Then they take a break to eat a deep fried corn dog.
I bought my ticket to these gatherings — a 1967 Plymouth Barracuda — a year ago. Why did I make the purchase? Even if I could explain all the reasons, this company blog probably isn’t the place to do so. I get the “mid-life crisis” line a lot.
The main thing is that old cars are cool. Dudes ask you about the motor. Chicks dig convertibles. A shiny Olds 442 can take your breath away.
There’s no question American muscle cars are beautiful machines. I am particularly drawn to the details — the badges, the grilles, the nameplate fonts, the tail lights, the dashboard knobs.
See what I mean?