Friday, June 15, 2007

Hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard

Cruise Night is one of the biggest nights for Middletown's Main Street. It's a night on which I can see how out of touch I've always been with America's Petroleum Culture.

I never understood the draw of loud engines, burning rubber, or a howling metal 3,000 pound projectile in the hands of a 16 year old. The car songs of the Beach Boys and Jan and Dean were always lost on me, and though I love the Boss, even some of Springsteen's gearhead lyrics hit me with little effect.

For me cars have always held a practical purpose. Get me from point A to point Z. So, my first car was a VW Beetle, and in a succession of practical rides I now drive a Honda Accord. My last car, an Accord wagon did have a catchet for a few years as a hot street car. Go figure. I'm hankering to buy something that burns as little fossil fuel as possible.

I can appreciate the design aspect of a car. Particularly the seductive curves of the pre-1950 models. I can admire the work these guys, mostly, put into restoration. Let me tell you, these buggies shine.

Considering where we are in the world considering oil supplies, it strikes me odd that we still have this ongoing fetish about our wheels.

And we'll have fun, fun, fun till the price of gas hits $6 a gallon, where it belongs.

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