On first glance I wasn't too sure about trying to strike up a conversation, but a quick appraisal of how she was outfitted and the quality of the company she was traveling with made me feel easier about approaching a total stranger.
She was obviously from California, in ways that only a fellow left-coaster can spot with a particular ornamental badge on her backside stating her roots as an authentico Cali-girl.
Her vintage was a tad younger than my own, born around the time of the Tet Offensive, RFK entering the Presidential race and Hair opening on Broadway - 1968. I have to say that she looked pretty darn good for her age and was probably making somebody very happy at home.
After doing my Cro-Magnon manly duty of checking out her chassis, her curves, and all of her attributes that would make any fella with a hankering for some extra-marital fun and adventure whip out their checkbook and yell, "how much?", I recalled what I had waiting for me at home and came to my senses.
I did manage to get a few shots of her with my handy dandy digital camera that I keep with me. Scroll down...if you dare to witness what sort of stranger on the road can make me think such uncharacteristically naughty thoughts...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I give you, a pristine, 1968 Plymouth GTX, California plates, headed for somewhere north/east,
...where I hope she finds a climate controlled garage, 92 octane fuel, and cases upon cases of Royal Purple synthetic 10W40 waiting for her at the end of her journey.
1 comment:
Oooooooh! Nice!!
Post a Comment