By Nicole Demouth
SS Chevelles among other things
I am a fan of the muscle car. In fact, I’m practically drooling over the keyboard as I write this, because I’m picturing a jet-black Chevelle SS 396. Shall we say, 1970? Leather interior, white wall tires, Big Block motor, lobing cam. Just thinking about it is enough to make me stockpile the closet with 8-tracks, Turtle Wax, and bail money until my paychecks start turning out more digits. It’s all about patience.
Of course, in a world filled with such heartbreakers as Chevelles, GTOs, Mustangs, and Dusters of the late 60s and early 70s, it’s hard to stomach the weed-whacking buzz of little foreign cars racing in the night air. It makes me feel as though playing pool and listening to Led Zeppelin have been kicked aside for repetitive car model decals and bad suburban rap. I bought two new Coleman “Mosquito Deleto” systems this summer, only to realize it was just the boy down the street.
It became all too real when I saw a JSP carbon fiber wing on a BMW that was circling the city. “Thank God,” I thought. The numerous pileups of post air-born Beamers on I-71 had become an almost unbearable distraction during my daily commute.
When I was a freshman in college, I bought my first car. It was a used ’88 Saab. Oh, I got daring and switched the stock stereo with an Alpine detachable face so I could play compact discs. I also bought new speakers, because the previous owner noted that he spilled coffee down the dashboard. I was so badass.
The stereo was all I touched. It was a Saab. A carefully designed vehicle of tradition that came over here ready to handle with as much finesse and stamina as the driver needed if, in fact, the driver chose to use it. Which, I guess, is why I didn’t get the whole post-production rendering of the BMW, because there is a huge difference between Saab and BMW.
Someone ended up breaking into my car to steal the stereo, and I was left with the face. What is frustrating (and excuse me for getting off track here) is that they busted the window open, unlocked the door, and cracked the dashboard so they could wedge the component out. When it was all said and done, the police officer and I decided it was a shoddy job, seeing as ripping it out had caused all sorts of damage to my wiring. According to a witness, the two of them had quite a struggle, which makes me laugh, but I was still mad. The point is, if you’re going to steal something, at least do a remarkable job of it.
I apologize for straying. I suppose I just have this preconceived notion that anything truly “fast and furious” is either put on a trailer and taken to the drag strip or kept in the garage for special occasions. It’s not to say that the owners of these carefully-kept cars hate to show them off, it’s just that they have such “I will blow your doors off” promise and they’re treated like kings and queens, not a jester.
Street racing imports in some desolate neighborhood is all just a fad that will eventually disappear. If it wasn’t cool in America during the beginning days of rally off-road and road racing, it certainly won’t outlast the future years of racing.
It’s not my money, though, right? I just feel badly for people who street race. They can’t get the full feel of the professionals. Why bother going out at night and hiding from the cops, then setting up to race on some street with the loudest vehicles in the city, and then scatter when the cops swarm and bitch when you get caught? If you want a life like that, deal drugs. Don’t keep me up at night.
