There are millions of cool old cars on the road in San Francisco. It’s the first thing you notice on the drive in from the airport. I had what my friend called “the cool car twitch” about me as I struggled to catch a look at that crisp ’72 Merc sports, that incredible ’63 Impala in the slow lane.
Perhaps it might be a little surprising in a country where consumption is king, but Americans love to nurture, nurse and ride old motors. The all-encompassing credit crisis (that everyone mentions here every other sentence) is sure to encourage the cult of the old beater.
This fine fellow (Thomas was his name) is a perfect example of an American neoclassicist. Rocking a beautiful little 2002 as well as a mountainbike, not to mention well the hat, beard and specs, you don’t get much more San Francisco than that (well if the bike was a fixey, then it would be bang on-message).
“America was built around the car, man…” Thomas told me, as he sped away from the kerb, “…and old cars rock, dude”.
I couldn’t have put it better myself.
